Brown Pants in Australia

ARGH! So mad. My car is wheezing and gasping on its last legs, and my perfect gift for my gun totin' nevvys is looking dead in the water.

When I sympathize with the kids over their terrible days, I usually end it with "some days are like that" and Miss Priss knows to follow THAT up with "Even in Australia."

The schmucks at CQBCITY could still step up and make things right for me, and Big O has a party to go to tonight, so maybe the day can be salvaged, but my car? Probably imagining all the green in my refund check getting sucked under it's hood as we speak.

Bring me my brown pants!!!!!!

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

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?

I like to fix things. How do you fix *ssholes?

Last night, Mrs G was back in France, 1944.


She was hiding with her 3 month old son in the woods, not because the soldiers were after HER specifically, but because that was what you did when the soldiers came to town, you made sure you stayed out of sight.

She woke up in the hospital, having been knocked unconscious when the bombs hit. No one could tell her where her son was.

The man to her left was dead, and they were trying to amputate the leg of the man to her right. Then the next bomb hit the hospital. She dropped her burning robe and leaped from the second floor.

She wandered the eight miles to her home in a daze, naked except for one slipper.

She was 21.

When she got home, her neighbors had found her infant son in the woods but had not been able to find her. He was fine.

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

Saturday afternoon Mrs G called the Honey and told him maybe a stroke?

By the time I made it next door, her speech was gone, except for one word, the name of that son safe at the neighbor's home so long ago. I called 911 and the last few days we've been visiting her in the hospital.

Her daughter, who lives a few hours away drives in every other day, making preparations to move into her mom's home for a while, until her mom is feeling better.

Mrs G had lost her speech but was still able to write, so she has not been completely locked into her own mind. She is still sharp as a tack. But last night her speech came flooding back to her and she told me the tale she says she has never shared with her children.

The son from that story, the story that drew huge wracking sobs from her, lives in town and still has not been to see his mother, has not called to inquire.

I would like to hunt him down, but Karma or the deity of his choosing will see that he gets his. My role in this is just to make sure that her cats get fed and that she knows that we love her. But it's hard. I'd like to do more.

Sigh.

So I put my foot in it at work.

We have one very blunt, outspoken girl at work, and one very fiery person. The ladies of the fishbowl prefer to stay neutral.

So Miss Blunt observes that Miss Fiery tends to get sick when our boss takes personal days on Fridays. It should be noted that Miss F's best friend is the receptionist, so from time to time on a Friday, the Receptionist (and she's sooo much more than that, but we'll call her Miss Sunshine) says--"Will you guys be okay without her? Because Miss F is sick." Which is awkward for all of us, because then we're resenting Miss Sunshine for just doing her job and being the bearer of bad tidings because it's her best friend she's asking about, and we feel like jerks for wanting her to come in because we're slammed. We've all been sick, we all take sick days. Not many of us call in consistently when the boss is known to be gone.

Huh. Miss Blunt calls 'em like she sees 'em, and I rather enjoy her straightforward attitude, although I tend to be a little more discreet myself--usually.

But this week is graduations of all sorts, as well as our office's busiest time of the year. So while it was a scheduled MORNING off for Miss F, she was supposed to call in to see if we needed her, because the Boss just went on vacation.

She called at noon, and Miss Sunshine told her she didn't know, because the reps were on the phone and I was at lunch, so Miss F said she was going to grab some lunch and call back after.

So she DID call back. At 2:30. I told her um, yeah, come in, and she tells me then she'll have to drop her daughter off so it won't be until at least 3. Then she paused, waiting for me to say, oh, never mind then. I told her to come on in.

Miss Blunt takes a lot of heat from Miss F for talking shit, but this was enough, and I DO NOT LIKE talking ABOUT people. I think the honest way to do it is to talk TO them. So I warned Miss Sunshine that I was going to say something to Miss Fiery about the schmucky call in. She suggested, given Miss Fiery's nature, that maybe I send it in an Email.

So Now Miss Fiery is completely pissed at me, and doesn't see how it's any of my business that she took two and a half hours to take her kid to lunch, because the boss told her she could (take him to lunch, that is). I think she really believes that if the boss had been in the office she really would have taken two and a half hours and then called in STILL not ready to come back.

Wouldn't it be chickenshit for me to let Miss Blunt take the heat for saying what we were all thinking, but never saying it TO Miss Fiery? I'd rather have it out in the open, so we can all move on.

Sweet Jeebus I hate drama. I hate it even more knowing I threw gas on the smoldering embers of this particular drama, but I also have to live inside my own head, you know?

BE a good citizen.
Treat others like you want to be treated.
Take other people into consideration.
sheesh!

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

update!

So my boss asked me to apologize, not for the message, just maybe for the delivery of said message, and Miss F and I are okay again.

Am I just getting old?

My sense of humor has always been slightly off track from that of most people. It's another thing I owe to my father's black humor, I suspect.

So I think I know where they were going. I can just envision the meeting, possibly over some sort of alcoholic beverage, where someone tossed out the phrase and got a big laugh.

But in the hungover light of day, didja STILL think it was a clever and socially acceptable Christmas promo (to run for weeks) to be talking about giving presents from Santa's Swollen Sac(k)?


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

I know the Illinois Governor is a scandal of pretty epic proportions, but why is no one talking about This???

So we have a sleazy politician (gasp!) selling himself and his influence? Well I never...Oh, no wait, 80% of America already assumes that happens.

But the Department of Defense KNEW that Roadside IEDs were going to be an issue before we went, and even after we SENT kids over, did nothing to attain the basic things already available to keep them safe?
WHY IS NO ONE GOING TO JAIL FOR THIS SHIT?
This is directly responsible for lives lost, and we're all going to shrug like it's another $30,000 toilet seat? Those crazy kids in government...

On a related note, did anyone read the artcle in Rolling stone that in addition to his investment banking background that everyone mentioned, the guy Dubya put in charge of the Big Fat Bailout has worked for Dubya before... wait for it...

He was in charge of the independent contractors rebuilding the infrastructure in Iraq! And now he's overeeing $700 billion of your money! Hooray! Hey, maybe he could get Brownie a job...just to clinch the deal. Good job, Brownie.

(Um, I'd post a link to the RS story but while I am fighting insomnia here, I am waaaay too fucking lazy. I still get actual paper magazines sent to me, delivered by fossil fuel burning vehicles. I know, bad californian.)

I love reading the things GI Kate posts. They break my heart, but I just don't understand why more of this isn't in the headlines. (I stole the link to the DoD stuff from her.)

Okay, forget whether or not you wanted to go to war.

This young man was a hero. One of thousands born amidst the shitstorm of chaos that is the Iraq war. He is dead at his own hand, because we did not have the support systems in place to help him come to terms with what he went through.

Vote for the candidates who can SEE the need for serious long term support systems for these young men and women. Because this is going to be bigger than the baby boomers retiring. If you don't give a rat's ass about someone who volunteered to go to war, maybe you'll give a rat's ass that they're going to be the next socio-economic burden on this country--We can be Pro-active and give these HEROES the support they have Earned through blood and misery, or we can be reactive and pay for the traumas as they snap under the pressures. WE owe it to these kids to be pro-active.

Jesus, how sad. How much of his Halliburton money is Dick Cheney going to give for the kids he sent to war?

Wednesday Heroes

I haven't been posting Wednesday Heroes because I haven't been posting much, and I don't really want this to be the Wednesday Hero Blog. But shit like this just makes my blood boil.

I wish we as the American people could prosecute the people who send our troops over under funded and ill equipped, make no provisions for the long term consequences, and still sleep at night cashing in on their Earmarks. Right along with Halliburton and the other bullshit contractors raking in bonuses for doing shit jobs.


ARRRRRRGH!!!!!

********

On a lighter note, finally saw Transformers, and while I never watched the original cartoon, I thought it kicked ass.

That is all.

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?

Let's get Real, shall we?

Reality TV is the deep fried Twinkie of junk food TV.

The Bachelor is such an appalling show. People are up in arms because the latest guy declined to choose in the last episode, taking a pass on both of the "heartbroken" women.

Right.On.

What is wrong with these women? How can one human being be such a vapid ball of quivering need? They are crying in the limo on the first episode, because they went home in the first round. They don't even have the ovaries to say they are embarrassed to be rejected in the first round, they were hoping to buy themselves a new pair of tatas from their fame, and now no one will know who they are. No, they sob that there had been a real sense of connection when they chatted at the cocktail party.

Even if you DID make it to the final round, what in the fucking hell is wrong with you that you think six weeks or SIX MONTHS in front of TV crews is going to establish a long and lasting relationship? How many of these have there been? I think there has been one successful couple? These women are so screwed up in their priorities. Where is some pride? Some...dare I say it... common sense? Where is the grandma who, on the home visit, says her granddaughter is acting like a damned fool over a guy she just met?

(See what happens when I accidentally log on through AOL?)
All of the trailer park commentors talk about how eeevil this guy is.

He's a tail chasing dog--who ever thought anything else about a man going on reality TV to find a mate? If anything people should give him props for saying upfront that he's not interested, instead of faking it for the six weeks after the show finishes so ABC gets to pretend it was a love match.

The girls are always horrified to learn that he was kissing another woman the same way he kissed them. The junior high lesson in social diseases should tell you that you have probably (in effect) kissed every girl in the house--since this isn't one of "those" blogs, we won't talk about what else your little microbial community may have shared.

The fact that they televise this shit so some little girl whose parents aren't paying attention will soak it all up like a sponge and think that life is like this....ack. Probably the same little girl who's wearing the Bratz line of pre-teen thong underwear. sigh.

I want to get the Honey cable for Christmas. I do. But then Little O will be soaking up whatever that sweet sixteen crap is on MTV. Say what you will about telling your kids "no" and controlling their TV viewing, but if it's on, they will FIND a way to watch. Don't kid yourselves.

PLEASE lord tiny baby jeebus, give me the ability to teach my daughter to THINK. I see the Honey's nieces dumbing themselves down the older they get, and it KILLS me. At least three of them would sell a kidney to go on one of those shows. Maybe not their own, but hey--that's what parents are for, no?

This Ulcer is brought to you by the letter Dubya

I will quit my job to campaign for the candidate that promises swift and terrible retribution for things like THIS.

Soldiers are being maimed and killed because we don't allow the GOOD body armor, even if sent from home, and you KNOW not all of the humvees were sent over properly equipped. I know there isn't anything we can do to take that back.

But the fuckers in that Rolling Stone article should be prosecuted. Villified. Could we spend oh, say, one tenth of Paris Hilton's airtime on something that matters? Can we see a story about how the staggering debt we've incurred is residing in these men's pockets?

(This article was stolen from Some Guy's Blog. No, really--Some Guy's Blog.)

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

They are finally at least naming that poor baby in Portugal's parents as suspects. I'd say yay, but I can't really find an upside to the loss of an innocent. Justice, I suppose, but that really remains to be seen, doesn't it? UGH.

WTF Wedsnesday is Back with a Vengance

My landlord rented my tiny two bedroom house out from under me, while I was scraping together the deposit.

MotherfuckerMotherfuckerMotherfuckerMotherfucker. 

I am back to square one.

How did I find out?  The landlord called to see if I could get out two days early.

I said no problem, since I was renting another house from them, just waiting to get the deposit together. 

Really?  Which house? 

Blah de blah blah way... No, that's already been rented. 

Yeah, to ME. 

No, someone is moving in as we speak.

 

My moving problems were solved, mentally I was already planning Little O's birthday celebration in October.

 

Dear Daniel-

Your haircut sucks ass.

If you were not so busy trying to get your suck-ass hair to follow the traditional comb over pattern favored by middle aged men in the seventies, you might have heard me when I told you I had an EXCHANGE. Your temper-tantrum sighing fit and repeatedly asking me if I had a reciept was not endearing in the least. If you had left your stupid "edgy" hair alone while greeting me, perhaps made eye contact, or even (gasp) attempted something close to conversation, you might have had MORE time to play with your hair at the end of the transaction, instead of having to call for a manager to void out your fuck up.
I don't have the patience for girls playing with their locks while I am trying to conduct business, and my experiences with male grooming in the service industry lately almost make me appreciate the time and attention you spent on your hair.

Oh, but that's right, your haircut sucks ass. Big hairy donkey balls, boy.

Just like your customer service.

cc: Border's Bookstore.

Today the part of Jen will be played by a moody, whiny little bitch.

I am blue.

I think it's a combination of things, several having to do with money and housing, but I also would like to blame my co-worker(s).

Work: I think my base line personality is pretty happy and pretty mellow. I can roll with your verbal punches, and if you throw one too many at me, I'll smack you back.

What stresses me out to no end, is having to listen to you throw them at someone else. Someone who is too classy (and bound by certain labor laws and working conditions) to slap the ever-loving shit out of you, even in a verbal sense. Even though she could make you cry and you would deserve every bit of it. I know it's not worth the drama to stir shit up. It will all be over soon. But you ruin every goddamned day that I have to sit and listen to you spew your bile. Have you EVER focused on the positive things in your life? EVER?

ahem.

I would like my man, my partner, my one and only, to help me around the house. I am tired of being the only one who does dishes. That's why they aren't done. Because I am tired. Not sleepy, TIRED.

I adore babies. I could eat them with a spoon. I loved every single second of being pregnant. I would LOVE to have another one. But we cannot afford it. Can.Not.Afford. We are a couple of bounced checks away from being on the Government dole, and I can't do it. If I won the lottery I'd be pregnant yesterday. Sigh.

I want the TWO books I have started to POOF! appear in front of me. I don't WANT to start a third. I want my very good books to come back to me. Where in the hell did I put them? Why don't I have any clue here?

Um , crazy ass recycle man? SHUUUT UP. It's FREE, asshat. Stop talking to me.

Sensitive new age guy ex husband who cannot earn a living because you insist on chasing your dream? Grow the fuck up.

Crappy mothers who have bred and then mistreated girls who turned into amazing women without any help from your sorry asses? Shut up and leave them alone--you do not deserve your incredible daughters.

Here is my list of demands:

Be nice. Even to the person helping you at wally world, even if they seem to have a family tree with only one branch. Be nice.

Be considerate. Think about the other person. Whether that's me or someody else.

Be patient. Are you really so important that you can't wait three seconds more?

Less is more. You don't need more stuff, you need to pay more attention to what's in front of you.

Shut up. Listen. No, REALLY listen.

bleah. This has been bitchy moments with Jennifer. Your usual psychotically chipper (hmm, that's probably more real life Jen than Blog Jen) girl will be back shortly.


*********

On a completely unrelated note?
My throbbing blog-crush on Greg Beck is only deepened by his confession about poetry. He needs (other)Jen's Tuesday Work Sucks Haikus.

Personal Space, People. Personal Space.

So, apparently, WTF Wednesdays are back ON, because bitches keep messin' with me.


Bones and Babs have a third member of their inconsiderate herd of cows. She shops at Safeway.

I was in the express lane with Little O and the lady in front of me was taking FOREVER, but all I had to purchase was a paperback book. I was going to take the least amount of time of anyone in that line. The mid-to-late forties lady behind me bumps me with her cart.

Now I am a big puss when it comes to those times in life I refer to as "Lucy Moments"--you know, when Lucille Ball was about to humiliate herself beyond all redemption? I cringe on other people's behalf for the mortification to come. I can totally put myself in their shoes, and I feel for them.

So I get bumped by this cart, and I don't even turn around, because I don't want to embarrass this lady, who has accidentally attempted to turn my bikini briefs into a thong. Then she does it again. This time I DO turn, and see that she is unloading her cart onto the belt, and is leaning over the cart to get to the conveyor belt.

I am still thinking how embarrassed I would be to realize that I've been molesting someone with my shopping cart. So I turn back to my endless conversation with Little O.

Yay! It's our turn. Remember, I have one freaking item. Bitch bumps me again. Her cart is EMPTY. I have moved forward to the ATM terminal, and I think okay, she pushed her cart a little too enthusiastically when the line moved.

WTF? She pushed me AGAIN with her cart. I had ONE item, had my ATM ready to go, and she is still fucking pushing me?

By the time I would have turned to her, my transaction was done. I resisted the urge to explain the law of physics that says two objects cannot occupy the same space at the same time and could she please stop attempting the anal probe while I entered my PIN number?

But I was seething as I waited for my overpriced iced coffee at the Starbucks inside the grocery store, and I kept turning around, trying to get a better look at her, because she HAD to be senile, or early onset Alzheimer's, or SOMETHING. Right? Yeah, I don't think so. Just another one of Them.

I don't know if my restraint demonstrated good manners, or just indicates why I got stuck as the mild mannered asassination victim. If I had had more groceries, I might have gone a little Saddam on her.

Legal Action Pending....

Dear Frito Lay-

I am bringing this matter to your attention in hopes of a speedy resolution. Chili's Restaurant has shamelessly stolen your formula for Chili Fritos, and I'll be Dogdamned if they are not sprinkling it on any shrimp type food item that they sell. My next letter will be to them, demanding my money back for the two horrible dinners that they have conned out of me. Their "Cajun" shrimp was frito flavored, I accepted it and moved on. Remembering my experience with the Cajun stylings, I instead opted for the garlic lime shrimp. Imagine my horror when I realized it was exactly the same. They are just crushing your product up and sprinkling it on things indiscriminately. I urge you to consider a cease and desist order.

Sincerely,

JennFactor10



Dear Chili's-

If I want frito's, I will go to 7-11 and buy a bag. The next gift card we are given will be spent solely on alcohol. To the smarmy superior waiter? If I wanted to buy a T-shirt at the Skynrd concert, you would totally be the guy I'd look for. If you are serving my food, however, please trim that shit on your face into some semblance of order. I am the most mild mannered easy to please customer you will ever run across. If I felt compelled to check my food for stray whiskers, you are in bad shape, indeed, dude. If you MUST have a pony tail like a matted weasel dangling halfway down your back, could you braid it maybe? comb it? I found myself wishing for a mullet that would imply some sort of vanity and haircare. Your tip was maintained only by the fact that you spelled Dessert in front of my four year old.

Sincerely,

A Concerned Customer

MMMMMust RRResist.....Don' t DO it, Jennifer!

Okay, nope, gotta be a harsh judgemental bitch about people in crisis.

So I just saw this blurb about the British couple vacationing in Portugal, who have lost their four year old daughter. Because they left her in the hotel room with her two year old siblings.

WTF?

I feel like I have a certain license to speak, as I am currently PARENTING a four year old daughter. So I say again, WTF?

They went to dinner at the hotel restaurant, and left the kids alone in the room? I still get a twinge letting Big O watch her when I run to the market around the corner and he is eleven. What do you do if the hotel catches fire? What food is so important that you leave your kids alone ANYWHERE when the eldest is four? FOUR.

Now everyone is offering money to them to offer as rewards, and if it gets her back, bravo. But then you bring the almighty smackdown on them for leaving their children alone in a strange place, and make sure that they do not keep the leftover money, so they can breed more kids to lose.

I debate taking down my header about Darwin every once in a while, because I am not always about the ranting so much as the rambling, but you know what? These people are exactly what I was talking about.

Fucking unbelievable.

Newsflash! Factor 10 assaults mom-bots in parking lot...

Back when Big O went to the overpriced future nazis for christ republican daycamp masquerading as an educational facility that the Ex insisted upon, the coffee swilling barbies that REALLY ran the school would block the entrance every morning as I tried to walk him in.

I am not bitter.

But let me just say... Bitch, you are wearing kitten heels at seven FUCKING a.m., with your overpriced track suit. Buy a pair of tennies. They make those in overpriced and trendy, too. Stop trying to blind me with the frigging boulder on your finger, and yes, we KNOW your husband is a neurosurgeon, but really, it's getting embarrassing that you force that into daily conversation. If you do not move your bony ass off of the path so that people with real jobs can drop off their kids, I am going to spike your empty bleached blonde head into that mud puddle you are making everyone walk through, so that you and "Babs" can catch up on your list of meaningless chores you invent to pretend that you have lives.

Today at the market, the senior golf version of Bones and Babs were doing their best to make me lose it. They stopped with their full carts immediately outside the entrance to the store, parking their carts in middle of the only freaking ramp into the parking lot, leaving just enough space on either side to allow carts to squeeze by. They were standing next to a table that the market provides for customers who want to sit down and chat. They stood there for twenty minutes, at least. I took a picture of them with my cell phone, and I'll post that bitch if I can ever figure out how. I was so mad, I was leaving and then I came back and pulled into the handicapped spot so I could roll down my window and tell them what inconsiderate cows they were.

My mother's voice popped into my head and asked if I knew what the kindergarten teachers at Little O's school looked like, because wouldn't that be just my luck, and I stopped myself and drove away. I called the Honey bitching, and called them inconsiderate cows just standing there, and Little O thought that was the funniest thing she had ever heard. You called them cows, mama! hahahahhahahahahaaaaa

Under the Heading: People Suck**

My son is named for his two great grandfathers. My grandpa passed away a few years ago, but the ex's grandpa is still alive and well in Chico, CA. We named our son after these men because they were both men to be admired and were universally adored.
The ex's Gramps recently lost his wife, and is alone at their home. He awoke the other night to a gun in his face and the demand for all of his money. Apparently he has never been in the habit of locking his back patio slider, and they walked right in. Gramps was not harmed, they didn't even take his wallet, just the cash inside. His health and his credit rating will both be fine, and nothing could ever shake Grandpa's faith. (There's a country song by Brooks and Dunn, Believe. It could have been written for this sweet old man. I love that song because it makes me think of him.)
If they had knocked on his door in the morning and said they needed money, Gramps would probably have fed them and emptied his wallet for them all the same.
He will turn 90 in April.
People.Suck.
**Profanity deleted because Gramps would not approve.