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

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?

You know, we're aging. I get that.

The drummer looks like they just rolled him out of his cardboard box, decided his shirt was too dirty to salvage, and had him take it off.

He looks like a suspect on CSI (vegas or ny, Miami is never anything but neon colored and/or freshly waxed skin glistening with a slight sheen of sweat).

I've written before about how badly tattoos age when they become covered with old man fur. I really think a cut up tee shirt was in order. Grandpa's nipple rings are flapping and he needs to pull his pants up. I realize that he is in a rock and roll band and cannot dress his age, but maybe they could give him the Dynasty treatment--not the beaded shoulder pads, more like the Linda Evans/Joan Collins soft filter.

Random madness...

I was wandering through Safeway, and I thought I'd make the Honey a little chocolate pick me up.

I don't think I offended him, but I certainly startled the man in the baking aisle when I shrieked "Are you FUCKING kidding me?"

Okay, I didn't exactly shriek it, but I hadn't meant to say it out loud.

I'm all about adding a little goodness into my family's ready to make treats. I read my labels and make my choices based upon the best options I'm willing to cook.

But a TEN dollar brownie mix?

That thing had better massage my colon and buff and shine my lower GI like one of those riding floor polishers you see in high rise lobbies after hours. You know what? You STILL better throw in a coupon, beeyotch. Haven't you heard there's a recession?

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



On a separate, glorious note, Little O consumes books like candy.

I am so tickled. One of the sets we ordered from Scholastic was Skippyjon Jones. He's a siamese cat who thinks he's a chihuahua superhero named El Skippito Bandito. Totally cute. Until Little O is reading (excellently and with different voices!!!) to her father, and she says "you are keeling me!"

The Honey casually pulls the book away from her to take a closer look, and yep. It's typed as keeling. My man who doesn't have a politically correct bone in his body (really, I've seen the x-rays), suddenly has a bug up his butt about Skippyjon Jones and his accent.

I think it's hilarious--the bug, not the accent.

random nonsense.

Entertainment Tonight came on, and Man, Howard Stern looked like a Skeksis*. It was disturbing.
************************************************
Speaking of disturbing, I think Little O is getting a book of bible stories for Christmas. At a baptism last weekend, she was getting creeped out by the forty foot high crucifix. My SDA-raised brain is always a little creeped out by Catholic Statuary (see childhood nightmares), but she really needs some backstory on that one!

Okay, and the other night at dinner I was asking why none of the nuns my nieces dealt with had the great names like Sister Immaculata or anything, why were they plain old Sister Irene and Sister Mabel?

The Honey started teasing me, asking why I was only asking the Mexicans, and I told him because they were Catholic! Favorite Smart-assed niece chimes in, saying she may be Jewish, after all, and Little O pipes up from next to me,

"I'm a poodle!"

It was a show stopper, I'm telling you.

I may not ever be Catholic, but my girl is getting a little religion in her stocking this year.

A poodle...sheesh.

Can I teach her to say Pastafarian?

*For those of you who did not watch the Dark Crystal on an endless loop, This is a skeksis:

So wrong.

I think I could not be Junice for Halloween without getting fired. But Oh, I want to be her for Halloween...

Shut Up! Now it won't play? I think this is the link, then. Bastards.

http://www.hulu.com/watch/37752/saturday-night-live-the-lawrence-welk-show

More.Fucking.Fish.

I didn't kill it this time.

Little O got 2 as her "goody bowl" for a birthday party. I guess it's good they gave us a back up, because one jumped out on the way home. The Honey and I were in separate cars, and I got the Kid, he got the fish. He stuck 'em in one big cup to take home, looked down about halfway home, and only one was in the cup. He found the other one on the floor board but didn't know when it started sucking air. He threw it back in the cup and kept driving. Yeah, you know the rest of the story. We're calling the survivor Lucky.


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

My mama-san comes to visit me tomorrow--yay!

My house is a mess--boo!

Little O wanted to give them a present--aaawww...

She carefully washed her snail shell collection tonight--I cannot wait to see my mom's face. Is there a snail shell anniversary?

RIP Pink and Purple Rainbow, aka Floaty the Fish

Yeah, he's floating in that big bowl in the sky.

I am so going to hell, where I will be tossed in a big slotted spoon over a lake of fire.

That is all.

Oh, the horror....

I am the great Satan of the fishbowl.

I may have finally killed Floaty.

Today we went to the Japanese Obon Festival.

My favorite quotes from Little O?

"Mama, why are there so many Japanese people here?"

As the traditional dancers were up on stage, she leans over and says,

"Mama, this is NOTHING like "I survived a Japanese Game show."

Little O actually got the coolest gimmicky prize ever--a fortune telling fish. It's a little red cellophane fish that dances on your hand. I wish they offered those at Chuck E Cheese instead of one more plastic ring I'm going to step on in the middle of the night. This thing is cool!

If only we had stopped there.

The horror came when Little O actually GOT the frigging ping pong ball into the bowl.

Fish in a bag, anyone?

shit...

So I looked it up on line, and it says that goldfish and bettas can peacefully co-exist. Great! I dropped our non-descript silver-white-see thru goldie into the bowl and it seemed fine. For a while. But the goldie started freaking out trying to swim through the glass and THAT excited Floaty, and it became apparent that Goldie was not going to live long and prosper.

We decided to put Floaty into the wee small bowl we use for cleaning until a different bowl could be purchased for Goldie, but the damned fish net had disappeared. I'm sure it will show up at some point as the catapult in some Littlest Pet Shop of Horrors scenario, but Little O swears she has no knowledge of its whereabouts.

Friends, using a slotted spoon to catch a fish is a bad idea even in expert hands.

In the hands of a klutz, it is, apparently, a deadly weapon. My pretty pretty betta flopped right out of the slotted spoon, onto the entertainment center, then onto the floor. In my hysteria, I dropped him/her again on the way up to the temporary housing.

I have stated repeatedly that I'm not much of a pet lover, but sweet lord tiny baby jeebus, I hope this fish lives. The goldfish? meh. But my pretty Pink and Purple Rainbow Floaty, please forgive me for trying to spike you into the berber. Twice.

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

To cap off our evening of horror, Little O just ran smack into the back of our breakfast nook, splitting her bottom lip right open and giving her upper lip that nice swollen/bee sting look.

School starts Tuesday.

Sweet.

WTF Wednesday--or why pacifiers are not the worst thing you can do to your kid.

So I belong to an online forum/advice thang with different moms asking for advice in a daily emailed newsletter. It totally paid off when I discovered sunflower-nut butter in place of peanut butter (Allergic) for the Honey. I think giving him back PB&J's in some form or another will ultimately trump his big fat surprise party as the best gift of his fortieth year. He eats one every.single.day. for breakfast.

Now on this forum, moms run the gamut. Some are dumb as a box of rocks, some are literally rocket scientists. I think overall everyone provides supportive comments and that encourages hesitant moms to ask questions that they really need help with.

mmmkay. I've given you my touchy feely supportive spiel. Now let me get down to it.

The question was about weaning her three (almost four) year old from the breast.

I had a miserable time trying to BF Big O. It hurt enough to make me cry and devastated me that I had to give it up at three months because I would sob through the whole feeding--have we met? Because I don't really DO that kind of drama. I wanted what was THE.VERY.BEST. for my beautiful boy. I felt like a failure.

When Little O came along, it was such a breeze I thought someone had replaced my nipples in my sleep. Because these worked MUCH better. As much as I loved nursing her, at about 7 months, when I had to go back to my job, I gradually switched over to the bottle. There was no guilt, because my beautiful boy was fine. So was my beautiful girl. I made the choices that worked the best for me in my life. Really, I think that's the way it should be for us all. Had my schedule and life allowed for a longer time on the breast, I would absolutely have done it--until my kids could ask for it by name. But again, my choice, my life. Whatever floats your nipply boat, man (ma'am).

The email in this forum explained that her husband and his family were mad at her about dragging it out, and so her husband refused to help her in the weaning process, telling her she had made her bed. She had her kid down to the bedtime booby, but it was beginning to hurt her. Oh, did I forget to mention that her milk stopped about three months ago?

Three months ago?

What the fuck?

Am I just completely insensitive to the la leche movement? Can that possibly be standard practice? CRSE, help me out here--will you be seeing this boy in his later years? Of course I mean aside from the dicky daddy who seems a terrible match for granola and homeschool earth momma, but she's been dry for THREE MONTHS!?

Just ew.

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

I tried. I really did. I wasn't going to touch it with a ten foot pole. but it's been spinning through my head since it showed up in my email on Monday, and I couldn't blog about anything else until I got it out of my system.

The Blue Light Special

On my BIG list, of things I envision in our life as the Cleavers, has always been a ping pong table. Why? Damned if I know.

Pool table? Nice, but honestly, you have to have an epic room to have a pool table set up (because no, it will NOT be the centerpiece of the living room). A ping pong table is good clean fun (and pool can be so very dirty...) and would also get Big O and the Honey something that is neither sport NOR Video game.

At our old house a ping pong table was never an option, but this house has a porch that is crying out for a folding green table. With small rubberized paddles (stop that) and featherweight balls that wouldn't damage anything if they got away.

So it seemed like destiny when KMART had a one day special on Friday. Eighty bucks for my slice of the american dream. Now, friends, eighty bucks is nothing--Except for the ever hovering spectre of abject poverty that flashes at the sides of my vision like some evil ghost of christmas future. But Kmart, my friends, specializes in abject poverty. They gots them the lay away. Sheeee-it.

So off I went to squander the extra hour I had, because work let us off early to prepare for the Christmas party. An hour should be long enough to put one item on the lay away, no?

Aw, HELLS NO, y'all.

This is the Central Valley, and I was goin' to the Southside. Unlike the northside Kmart, which they tore down to build a lovely Eddie Bauer/J Jill/ REI complex more in keeping with the Northside's yuppie ideal, southside has their lay away in the same hallway as the bathrooms. Because really, who doesn't want to stand in line as the great unwashed brush much too close to you on their way to and from the facilities?

For the entertainment of the masses, let me present the family Crack. Mama crack needs a bath. A toothbrush. Some basic hygeine. She's waiting for the clerk to fetch her christmas goods from the lay away. I know how to say it now. It's The Lay Away. Daddy Crack is there to move the basket around in random patterns while waiting for the clerk to fill it up. Uncle Crack is bitching about the injuries he got in Iraq--they all think that's hilarious. Oh, he was also in Vietnam and Korea. Uncle Crack looks maybe forty--which means he is probably twenty five in human years, and fifty in crack years. Look! Here comes grandma Crack, who drops off crack baby, because he needs to go. Mama Crack think it's hilarious to shove him into the men's room and kick him in the ass on his way in. She could have been punting a football. Bitch. He's maybe five or six. The clerk has come back with their stuff (finally) and they are poring over their stuff (and props to Crack Parents, they have made sure their kids are getting Christmas). As the clerk disappears to find the next pile of stuff, the sounds of crying come from the bathroom.

"Moooommmaaa.... Moooooommmmmaaaaaa!"

Mama Crack is joking with uncle Crack, and ignores the cries.

"Momma, help meeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!"

"WHAAT?"

"IT'S stuuuuck!"

"AAAAAAAIIIIIIII!!!!!!!"

Now he's really screaming.


AAAAIIIIII!!!! IT's Stuck in my butt! MAMA!!!! THE DOOKIE IS STUCK IN MY BUUUUTT!!!!!

MAAAAAAMMAAAAAAAA...The dookie is stuck in my buuuuuuuuuutttt!


I was trapped for almost my entire bonus hour with the family Crack, and the dookie was stuck in his butt.

But my freaking ping pong table is on The Lay Away. I'm so sending the Honey to pick it up.

just a brief bitchy CMA moment

Sara Evans had either be pregnant or the new spokewoman for Pepto, doing the upset stomach/diarreah dance.

The girls who sing the boondocks song? The brunette should be slapped for her leather shorts, and the blonde had hair that looked like Mrs. Roper. I am a walking hair disaster, so I have a little sympathy, but...but...you can pay professionals, and they will HELP you before you appear on National TV.

Dwight, I love you, but it is 2007, and we know you're bald. It's okay to remove your levi's jacket, maybe even get a new pair of jeans, and cut your hair. Leave the hat on if you want, but cut the lunatic fringe in the back.

Dammmit, I missed someone else who was bugging me! Must.Go.to.Work.

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.

...And we're back.

I read the blogs of the parents whose children strive for A's. Who cry when the dreaded B appears. Then there is my eldest, who sadly takes after his mother and finds ANYTHING else to do when homework is due. It hasn't been a WEEK, people. Huge blue stamp in the handy planner required by school....ASSIGNMENT NOT TURNED IN.


It hasn't been a WEEK. Foolish me for not checking this thing Friday night when I got him back from his lame-O/touchy feely/let's do affirmations father. Um, how about doing affirmations while you CHECK HIS WORK?

I am going to be on my poor kid like white on rice. We WILL develop some kind of discipline before high school. He HAS to go to college. Or become a plumber. Who will buy me pudding when I'm old?

Not.Even.One.Week.


sigh.

While you are contemplating my life under the bridge at seventy, go peek at this site to see why I am going to Hell. It makes me laugh. Maybe I should write a letter.

Ding! Dong! The Witch is Dead!

No, Not Merv Griffin (RIP Merv, I owe you one for writing the world's most annoying theme song. I'll be singing Jeopardy all day now...).

I'm talking about the dark prince of world affairs, the Beelzebub of domestic policy--wait, Cheney? No, He's still praying for a good old fashioned grassy knoll.

But Karl Rove has decided he's wreaked all the havoc he can in lil Dubya's puddin brain. With one year to go has decided to "step down" back to the stinking bubbling ooze he crawled out of.

Can I get a Whoop! Whoop!

Zippers, and Kidneys, and Houses, Oh My!

House hunting, on a teeny budget, with terrible credit.

Still a middle class white girl who'd like to keep her children away from gangs, meth, roaches, and freeway underpasses.

I've looked at some funkadelic houses in the last few days. The things that are in my budget are all three bedrooms made out of one bedroom houses. I'm not sure I'm ready to put Big O in a bedroom that is not technically attached to the house. I answered an ad for a 2 and 1/3 bedroom house. That one was detached, too. I saw another one that had, if I'm not mistaken, plywood counter top in one spot.

Is it bad that I'm considering the plywood one? I asked the landlord if he'd mind if I tiled it, since I'm kind of crafty, and he said he wouldn't mind at all. I will have to clarify that I expect materials to be shaved off of the rent.
Can we talk about rent? Sweet lord tiny baby Jesus. I'm too old and fat to sell my eggs, so I'm going to have to sell a kidney.

Wait! Can't you regenerate your liver if you donate part of it? How long does that take to regrow, and can I just have 'em put a zipper in so we can do it again when it grows back? I thinks the Honey's is pickled...Big o is a fine strapping boy, though. We could probably get two or three runs from his liver...

I'll keep you guys updated. But if you know anyone shopping for a kidney...

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

Okay, I've tried being respectful, and I can't take it any more!

Look down.

WTF is WRONG with Chesty Puller's forehead?

Did they photoshop two pictures together?

FRRRRReaky.

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

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.

surfing the blogrolls...

I love cruising other people's blogrolls to find new good stuff. Because we've all established how well that "Next Blog" button works out for us. I found this quote atGabalot's Bits.

Some People are like slinkies
Not really good for anything
But they still bring a smile to your face
When you push them down a flight of stairs

Jen

is one of those people with Fabulous links.

I knew I was in trouble when I needed the calculator.

I found this over at Welcome to My Life, Sorry About the Mess. I think I love this lady. Don't tell WHICH ones apply, just fess up to your fine!

Smoked pot -- $10
Did acid -- $5
Ever had sex at church-- $25
Woke up in the morning and did not know the person who was next to you -- $40
Had sex with someone on MySpace -- $25
Had sex for money -- $100
Vandalized something -- $20
Had sex on your parents' bed -- $10
Beat up someone -- $20
Been jumped -- $10
Crossed dressed -- $10
Given money to stripper -- $25
Been in love with a stripper -- $20
Kissed some one who's name you didn't know -- $0.10
Hit on some one of the same sex while at work -- $15
Ever drive drunk -- $20
Ever got drunk at work, or went to work while still drunk -- $50
Used toys while having sex -- $30
Got drunk, passed out and don't remember the night before -- $20
Went skinny dipping -- $5
Had sex in a pool -- $20
Kissed someone of the same sex -- $10
Had sex with someone of the same sex -- $20
Cheated on your significant other -- $10
Masturbated -- $10
Cheated on your significant other with their relative or close friend -- $20
Done oral -- $5
Got oral -- $5
Done / got oral in a car while it was moving -- $25
Stole something -- $10
Had sex with someone in jail -- $25
Made a nasty home video -- $15
Had a threesome -- $50
Had sex in the wild -- $20
Been in the same room while someone was having sex -- $25
Stole something worth over more than a hundred dollars -- $20
Had sex with someone 10 years older -- $20
Had sex with someone under 21 and you are over 27 -- $25
Been in love with two people or more at the same time -- $50
Said you love someone but didn't mean it -- $25
Went streaking -- $5
Went streaking in broad daylight -- $15
Been arrested -- $5
Spent time in jail -- $15
Peed in the pool -- $0.50
Played spin the bottle -- $5
Done something you regret -- $20
Had sex with your best friend -- $20
Had sex with someone you work with at work -- $25
Had anal sex -- $80
Lied to your mate -- $5
Lied to your mate about the sex being good -- $25

Ahem! I ended up with a total of $565.

I am soooo tagging CRSE, KIM, Bananas, and "the mind".

You know what? I'm tagging YOU, too! Leave your score in the comments. Tell me somebody else had to get a calculator out!