| CARVIEW |
Stuck in the Middle
He brought his flat screen TV over and set it up in the bedroom. We found the DVD player and then had to search for the remote. The batteries were dead.
“Have you seen any batteries around?”
“In the junk drawer in the kitchen.”
“Yeah, that’s where I keep them, but I don’t know if I have any. It seems like the nephews cleaned me out last time they were here.”
But we found batteries and watched Interstellar until 4 am. I had a pounding headache from staying up so late and drifted off to sleep as he struggled with the post-movie suspension of reality hangover he always has. Out loud.
Which means he was peppering me with questions that I simply responded to with, “it’s a movie.”
Later when we were marveling at how late we stayed up he asked, “how long was that movie, anyway?”
I tried to read the DVD case, but the print was too small so I said, “Many minutes too long.”
The next day we puttered in the garden with the same conversation we have every day but never gets old. The conversation about the hill of mutant cucumbers compared to the stunted cucumbers. About the tomato cages we still need to buy or build, depending on the day.
He brought his bad ass stereo over from the 1990’s, set it up in the den and it sounded like home. I had to dig around in a cabinet to find a CD player I wasn’t sure would work, but did. Then I had to forage around for CDs and we listened to Paul Simon and Bob Marley, because that’s all I could find. It was fitting, until Bob started skipping and stumbling over Get up, stand up.
In the home archive foraging, we found an HDMI cable that inspired a long conversation about streaming and mirroring and other technical things that we both agreed needed to be researched. Because neither of us really know what we’re talking about. At all.
When kids leave the house, they take all the techy knowledge with them.
I feel both young and old.
I can see it even in my face. The young me, meeting the old me.
And, I realize, this is middle age.
Edgy and Dramatic
Today kind of blew up in my face.
It’s what happens when you have two week days off and no kids…that kind of free time comes to gitya!
But, lets back up to Friday, the night Seth smashed his toes up really bad. The same exact toes he smashed up when he was three years old. Here’s an excerpt from the blog entry recounting the event:
4/2/03
At first look at Seth’s toes we noticed visible thin cuts or slashes on both of them. One of them was noticeably crooked, kind of hanging off to the right. The other toe was just a tad off kilter and very purple and swollen. With all the blood and the visible cuts my first thought, and J’s too, was that he had severed his toes and was going to need some major medical aid. We were both extremely hesitant to touch the toes. It seemed as though Seth’s toes might fall right off if we messed with them at all.
So, that’s pretty much exactly what Seth’s toes looked like on Friday, minus the crooked. I spent the night nursing my kid with pain pills and ice and we watched the newest Harry Potter movie. Seven years ago we watched the newest Shrek movie. Why do movies always come to my mind as the cureall?
And why do I go back and hunt up entries I wrote seven years ago and married? It makes me feel sick to read things I wrote when I had no idea what lie ahead…
But, what’s really important to talk about right now is that I’ve developed an ultra paranoia of dog diarrhea. My dog has a case of the runs and I’ve just spent a lot of time bathing him as well as wiping, mopping and scrubbing surfaces. I swear I can still smell the stench and I’m obsessively checking for piles of goo.
My two days off were supposed to be spent in the U.P.–an 8 gazillion hour drive away to some crazy ski resort. That trip was canceled so I found myself lounging around the house and not brushing my hair. Monday night I was invited to go out to the casino and so I dressed up for fancy cocktails and a swanky dinner. This is only the second time I’ve gone to a casino, the first being in Greek Town in the big “D.” D stands for decrepit. I don’t know why I ever agreed to go to a casino. I kind of envy people who have a good time…I suppose it’d be some kind of entertainment if I enjoyed it. But no, I tend to find the whole thing surreal and unhappy. The cocktails were good though and much needed.
Today I went back to work in my temporary manager position. I’ve acquired the nickname “Hanager.” It’s almost funny. Almost. Of course the workplace was exploding the moment I stepped foot inside–I didn’t even have my coat off before being bombarded with drama. It’s always the pharmacy’s fault too because our pharmacy SUCKS ASS and my work place should cut off whatever funky, crappy contract they have with them because it SUCKS.
So, I’m going along and going along at work when I get a message from Seth’s school that his toe is bothering him and is bleeding. So I left work. I didn’t go back. Later I got a weird call from the other manager who said, in this weird put-on professional voice: “I really hope your son gets better soon and if you can’t come back to work that’s fine, I understand, you need to take care of your son.”
OKay, that’s a fine thing to say if she didn’t say it like I was a stranger. This is a woman I have spent quite a bit of not-at-work time with AKA drinking, eating, shopping and listening to her cry about her life. I decided that kind of call means I should absolutely, without a doubt go back to work. I waited until Sam came home from school and then dun, dun, dun: my car wouldn’t start. UNBELIEVABLE.
I just don’t understand how life can cram so much crap into one day and then, to top it off, throw in some actual literal crap for good measure.
Out went the pot roast with roasted vegetables, in came the ramen noodles. It was just that kind of day. My kids are lucky I didn’t serve cold cereal.
But, who am I kidding? This is my hysterical life on wheels and no atypical slice.
And with that, I’m off to plunge the toilet!
(Somewhere there is beauty here…I’m sure of it!)
Whatever Happened Dear Joe…
Is everything.
I hate updates after long absences, but it doesn’t motivate me to blog more often nor give it up entirely. What can I say, I’m a libra.
Recaps are lame and really miss the personal point of my blog.
I hearby recommit myself to blogging on a regular basis.
Let the angels sing.
Two internet friends emailed me today out of the blue asking if I’m okay. This concerns me. I may be marked. My days may be numbered. Best to get to the blogging before I’m forgotten.
Random things off the top of my head that have happened to me since I last blogged:
June: I purchased a new cell phone that actually works the way it’s supposed to. I received a $50 mail-in rebate for the phone and promptly lost it. I did nothing about the lost mail-in rebate. I HATE mail-in rebates. Give me the rebate NOW.
July: I went on vacation. Nothing really happened on vacation. It was kind of a weird week. I did realize, however, that being single has LOTS of benefits. First of all, no spousal resentment, bitterness or expectations. If I felt like spending an entire day of my vacation reading a book…I DID! No one glared at me or nagged me to do something else. I also didn’t have any arguments with anyone that had to be held in a closed room for privacy and yet by its nature announced to the entire family that an argument was taking place behind the closed door. Being single was damn good that week. I also did a lot of kayaking and it was fun.
Oh. I also drank a lot of alcohol that vacation week, had a hangover twice (the only two I’ve had in years) and got sick once. That was dumb. My parents are big on hard cider and that stuff is wicked! It sneaks up on you, annihilates you and then leaves you for dead. A few days later it tempts again with it’s tart, crisp, refreshing bubbly self. Damn you, hard cider.
My rented cottage was straight from the 1970s. I mean, time machine 1970s. It was horrible and yet amazing at the same time. My boys asked me all week to “please turn the light on” in my bedroom. Why? Because if I turned on the ceiling light via the wall switch, I’d be touching this:
You see where the switch would be located and what it’s supposed to be, right? And, why is it funny to be a hunter with a dead animal in your hand and your pants down? That kind of humor makes no sense to me. It isn’t funny, it’s just weird. It’s also a bit alarming that my boys would encourage me to interact with a light switch such as that…Dear boys, I’m not that hard up!
I think I should probably win an award for vacationing in a rented cottage with the worst decor.
Other stuff that happened:
August: I had a foreign exchange student from Venezuela living at my house for a month or so. Wow, what a doozy of a story this one is…one I will tell another time. D. is super cool and I’m so happy our family has him as a new friend.
September: My mini van broke down while I was driving down a rural road. Luckily, it was a nice warm day out. My Mom decided to start a business with a couple friends of hers. Drama ensued and continues. It’s great! Gives us something to talk about.
October: My roof leaked. Really, really bad leaked. Like, grab a bucket and some towels leaking. It was…depressing. I was just about to buy a new car too. Instead, I have a brand new roof. It’s so spectacular with the exception that it’s a damn roof!
November: I bought a Soft Coated Wheaten Terrier puppy. I drove to a small town near St. Louis, MO in early November to pick him up. On my way, I stopped in St. Louis and found myself accidentally in the middle of a drag race. I did not win and the cops did not come after me.
I did win the best puppy ever though.
Also in November: Isaac debuted his acting self in the school play as Puck in “A Midnight Summer’s Dream.” I dare say, the boy was brilliant. Many of my family members traveled long distances to see the show and so I was a tiny bit nervous Isaac would bomb thus causing me great embarrassment. Instead, I was shining with pride.
The holidays were shmolidays and I have nothing to comment. I put my tree out by the curb a couple days ago to be picked up by the city and it has since become the neighborhood dumping ground for holiday trees. I find that strange, but for no particular reason.
I’m working as a manager at the place of employment these days. It’s supposedly a temporary position, but we’ll see. I’m devastated to find out I’m suited for the job…I never saw that coming.
January…is the month of birthdays in my house since half my kids chose that month to be born. My baby had his 10th birthday yesterday. I feel a little old, a little wistful and a lot glad.
I left work today and the sun had already set. I crunched through the parking lot’s chunks of ice and salt, kicked the snow off my shoes, started my car, scraped the ice off the windshield and the whole time I thought about spring. I kept thinking how now that the holidays are over and stale, I can look forward to spring. January is like hope, it’s the hump month for me: winter isn’t beginning, it’s growing closer to the end.
The joke is, come March I will be thinking: Fuck you Spring! You’ll never come, you bastard!
It’s going to be a good year. I can tell.
I do believe it’s true
Work has been fragmented and punctuated with a whole lot of summer laziness and road trips.
I like life that way, but something is uneasy in my spirit. I don’t know what it is, but I’ve been constantly wrestling with something vague and disconcerting. Even my sleep, which is usually dreamless has been haunted with uneasiness. I wake in the morning with hazy rememberance of uneasy dreams. Not nightmares, just something, which I can not remember but doesn’t feel right.
Last week I took the kids to my parents vacant house. Well, I took the boys. Olivia is an adult now, and as such, has an adult schedule of work and classes and dates with friends. It’s odd to reach that point in life where my children are no longer a unit. I remember as a child going to family gatherings and an aunt explaining the absence of one of my older cousins. Work, prior engagements and the like eventually pull barely grown children away from the family unit. It has begun in my own family. The parental house is vacant because Mom & Dad now spend their summers elsewhere on an island in Lake Michigan. I find it humorous that my parents leave a resort town and a house on a beautiful lake during the summer months, but it’s easy to understand if you like the kind of life an island in Lake Michigan has to offer.
The car ride home was hell. I cursed myself for not leaving northern Michigan earlier in the day, but really, I don’t think it would have mattered. Fourth of July weekend is always a stupid time to travel. As my family, packed into a minivan with nonworking air conditioning, crawled and paused along the freeway, we idly chattered. I vented and ranted about something that has been making me simmer inside. It was inappropriate to share with my 17 year old son with so many ears nearby, but I did anyhow. Isaac listened politely. I asked if he was sick of hearing it and he said, “Pretty much.” I shut up for a while.
Gabe, from the seat directly behind me, complained he was hungry. Gabe is always hungry and I wasn’t about to take any exit off the freeway. Our speed only averaged, at a guess, 10 miles an hour but I imagined it would be worse to get off and try to get into the mess again. Cars were stacked up a far as I could see. Instead I laughed and commented that if our family was one body, Gabe would be the stomach.
“What would I be?” Sam asked.
I thought briefly he should probably, given his recent award of an all expenses paid trip to any university of his choosing, be given the label “brain” but when I spoke, I said, “Sam, you’re the heart.”
The boys all agreed heartily. Sam has always been the heart of our family, loving easily and easily hurt. When Sam was three he often accompanied my ex husband on short grocery shopping trips. Ex would allow Sam a quarter to purchase candy from the little gumball machines near the exit of the store. Sam always deposited the small handful of candy into the front pocket of his overalls–because Sam’s wardrobe at that time consisted pretty much solely of an array of overall bibs. I have given OshKosh B’Gosh plenty of money.
At the dining room table during dinner, Sam would hold his hand over the front pocket of his bibs to safely protect his loot. Later, after dinner, he would share with his brothers. He wouldn’t touch the candy until he had the opportunity to share. No one told Sam to do this. It was always understood, by the other kids, that if Dad gave them a treat while out and about it was best to consume it before reaching home for the other kids to see.
Time, age and sibling rivalry have caused this part of Sam to be less visible, but it’s still there and still amazing to me.
“What about me?” Isaac asked.
“Oh, you’re the soul.”
I began to realize my silly comment about Gabe being the stomach was being overshadowed by something bigger. Everyone was wanting to know what their role was, where they belonged. I regretted giving Gabe the stomach, but now that I think about it, Gabe is the stomach. He’s always craving more, always wanting the answers and currently is a bit hollow. Hollow because he can’t see that the answers don’t really matter, it’s more about what you do with your day and how you treat people. Gabe and I have gone round and round, but he still insists on buying stupid self-help books that range in topics from how to get a girl to how to get rich.
Isaac was happy to be named the soul–in fact, it was almost like he was thinking in his head, please say soul, please say soul, please say soul.
“Yessssssss!” was Isaac’s response.
Somehow Isaac is exactly the soul of our family, but I don’t have words to describe how anymore than I have words to adequately describe what a soul is.
“What about Simon?” Sam asked.
“Simon is…” Why did I want to say brain? I don’t know why Simon is the brain, I just know he is. He’s a thinker and he has always seemed to understand things beyond his life experience.
“Simon’s the mind, the brain!” Sam exclaimed, seeming to read my mind. “And Seth’s the mouth!”
I laughed. Seth is definitely, without a doubt, the mouth. Seth says things we think, but won’t say. When we laugh at his quips, Seth gets pissy–he hates it when we laugh because he’s worried we’re laughing at him.
“What about me?” I asked. I hadn’t really thought of myself as part of this lovely unit I call my children. To me they are separate, not something I can really lay claim to, but honored to hang out in the thick of their awesomeness.
“They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you.”
Has always been the core of how I feel about my children.
“You are the conscience,” Isaac pronounced.
I pumped both arms in a victory response (because I didn’t need my hands on the steering wheel during a traffic jam) and mimicked Isaac’s “yessssssssss!”
The rest of the boys chimed in with agreement. I’m the conscience. Like Jiminy Cricket, I hop around and say, “Now look at what you’ve got yourself into! Why didn’t you listen to me?”
In fact, recently I had a conversation with Isaac in which I attempted to forewarn him about the dangers that lie ahead and how it would do him good to listen to me instead of making a mistake. Isaac listened intently and then said, “I think I’m just going to have to learn the hard way, Mom.”
“Most people do, Isaac.”
Luckily, we were only talking about girls.
Today
Here’s what I did today:
Drove Olivia to work
Got online and browsed Facebook
Emailed several friends
Made plans for this week and next with a few of those several friends
Drank so much coffee I had a racing heart
Drank three beers
Went back to drinking coffee
Showered
Dressed
During all this time I’m listening to Susan Tedeschi, Regina Spektor and a little bit of Michael Jackson. Oh jeez, I finally caved, okay?
Went out and bought “The Artist’s Way.” Why? Well, when three different people mention the book in the span of a week and I’m just sitting around doing nothing anyway, why not? Might as well go with the flow.
I’m incredibly hungry right now.
So I’m wandering around the bookstore, because I can’t remember the author’s name and even though I was certain it would be in the self-helpy, inspirational type section, I couldn’t find it. A clerk asked if I needed help (If you only knew, kind sir), I told him what I was looking for and I kid you not in the span of two-tenths of a second the book was in my hands. I was standing exactly in front of the bookshelf that held something like 12 copies. I think I was distracted with my peeling shoulders. I wore a sleeveless black shirt and was trying to concentrate on finding this book, but my shoulders had other things in mind. The shoulders wanted to peel huge flakes of my beautiful Beaver Island tan, right there in the bookstore, all over my black shirt. That’s when dead skin is at its finest and most noticeable. So I’m sort of brushing at my shoulders the way the actors do in a Head n’ Shoulders commercial. Then, I was embarrassed at the little flakes that were fluttering all over my black shirt and tried to nonchalantly brush at my bust and neckline area. I looked ridiculous, I’m sure.
It was just gross and really, not worth sharing. But, here I am.
Next up, Alex called.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m at the bookstore.”
“What book are you looking at?”
“Why Men Cheat,” I lied.
Alex laughed heartily.
“It isn’t funny.”
“MY bad.”
Why did I answer the phone?
I grabbed a coffee at the bookstore and headed home with my loot. As I was driving, I received a text message from YMAW:
“Did you mow your lawn yet?” (Which I’m assuming is a reference to a recent FB status of mine.)
“Yep.”
“Good.”
And that was it. Why do I have such strange men in my life? None of my women friends would contact me with such random nothingness. It’s like a check. Is Hannah still available to me for conversation and attention? Yep. Carry on.
I’m looking forward to my kids coming home from the ex’s. If I’m not going to work, I at least need to have my kids around to give me a sense of direction.
Free time does not suit me well.
More inane blog entries to follow.
Dumb Stuff
I’m driving to work and yet, not. Because, I’m sitting at the longest traffic light in the city, which happens to be a block from my house. So I’m sitting there, bored, and inspecting the Prius in front of me. My friend just bought a brand new Prius so it suddenly held mild interest to me.
There was a big fat US Army bumper sticker on the…bumper. Is it just me, or does that seem odd? Maybe I stereotype people more than I realize. I just can’t figure out what kind of person is such a big supporter of the military that they put a sticker on their car and yet, buy a Prius. Yeah, I definitely stereotype people too much. GUILTY!
But then I pulled into the parking lot and walked by the biggest boat car circa early 1970s. Just imagine the most hideous boat car because, I am not good with cars makes as they mostly look all the same to me. The license plate read: Sir Ice.
Sir Ice? On a big ass 70’s car.
Dude. Sir Ice?
That’s the voice in my head. I am beginning to realize that the characters in Will Ferrell movies are based on real people and that is shocking, people. And noteworthy.
The other day a nurse on the second floor called down and asked if I would flush a PICC line for her (because only RNs are allowed to touch PICC lines).
Guess whose PICC line I flushed? GUESS! Well, supposedly he was “Rocco” in Godfather II, but a little research reveals Rocco died in 1991. So now, I don’t know what to think because everyone at work believes he’s Rocco and the rest of the world says he’s dead. Maybe he went into the witness protection program.
I’ve cared for other famous people, like ex NFL players of teams that no longer exist. There was one guy, a star quarterback in his day–I thought my Dad would remember him since he’s a lifelong football fan. My Dad simply said, “Mmmmm, name sounds vaguely familiar.”
Too old to be famous and the people who would be impressed are too old to remember.
I’ve got too much time on my hands. Too. Much. Time.
Monkeys For Lunch!
I’ve been taking full advantage of having my hours cut at work. I like it. I like it too much.
A couple weeks ago I flew to Beaver Island and visited my parents for a few days. They recently purchased two kayaks and my Dad was all gung-ho about getting me in one. I’ve only tooled around on a kayak once or twice, so my experience is quite limited. I was a willing participant, but then my Dad, as he was giving me technique instructions said, “…well, if you stay upright, you’ll being doing good.”
Turns out it was my Dad who had trouble staying upright. I had trouble withholding my laughter. Apparently, I’m a natural kayaker. Of course, my Dad picked the kayaking days and they were always days Lake Michigan was calm with no sight of storm clouds. Sometimes it’s pretty difficult to find a day that lacks storm clouds. With so much sky available for viewing, it’s possible to watch a thunderstorm across the lake while sunbathing.
My last day on the island was Father’s Day and Dad wanted to kayak with me to a nearby island about 2 miles from my parents beach. I agreed to “go for it” with only slight anxiety. It turned out to be a lovely trip with the only trepidation being a tug boat that seemed to enjoy cutting across our path. No matter how fast we tried to paddle out of its way, it kept pointing in our direction.
Dad & I landed at a strange inlet on the neighboring island. It was a little creepy and made me feel like my Dad and I had traveled to an ancient place that only animals ever visit anymore. Of course, I’ve been reading the book “The Elders Speak” by George Anthony which is a choppy, somewhat disjointed account of Native American history on the Beaver Islands as told by the Anishinaabek elders. I’m sure the reading influenced my feel of the place, but it is strange to travel to land where no one has lived for a long, long time.
Of course, that’s nothing compared to the strange, creepy monkey sightings at my house.
Okay, so someone is playing an odd joke on my family and I don’t know why or how, but I suspect it’s one of my kids’ friends. Strange objects have been popping up in strange places and no one has a clue where they are coming from. One morning I was emptying the dishwasher and an unidentifiable metal object was sitting in the cupboard where the bowls go. It looks like a tin can for food with a tube opening on each end that is continuous with the main body of the object. I know, that’s a poor description, but I lack references. I asked everyone what it was, where it came from and what the hell it’s doing in the cupboard, but no one had any answers. I don’t like strange objects with unknown origins popping up in my house. I like answers.
A couple hours later, Seth came to me with a small stuffed animal that resembles a monkey…kind of. Maybe an ape would be more accurate. Seth found the toy in the pantry. No one knew where the monkey came from, but I instantly linked the unidentifiable object in my kitchen cupboard with the toy as possibly coming from the same source. I then carefully inspected the monkey for signs of spy equipment. Call me paranoid, but if you watch Weeds, it might have occurred to you too.
Vodpod videos no longer available.
What that clip doesn’t show, as if anyone cares, is Celia telling Nancy she used the Nanny Cam in her pantry to catch her daughter stealing food.
Ah ha! Now the connection is clear. Why I went to such lengths to demonstrate the way my brain works, is anyone’s guess.
The point to all of this is that, ever since the strange monkey finding in the pantry, the dear has become the object of a family game which eventually morphed into a home video starring Seth.
One morning, I stumbled into the bathroom and found our monkey resting on the top of the toilet tank.
Another morning, I went to make my java and found the little guy on top of the coffee maker. I moved him to the fridge when I grabbed my half n’ half.
Later, I went to the drawer where the silverware is kept and found monkey stuffed in there. He’s always waiting to surprise someone with his odd location. Who is moving him where, is unknown, such is the joy of living with so many people. It’s my turn and I’m trying to think up a good spot before the kids come home.
So one day, I’m in the den reading and hear the oven timer beep, beep, beep. I didn’t think anything of it. My kids cook, they use the timer, whatever. After a lot of beeps (which I continued to ignore because there was no burning smell accompanying the beeps and I’m really good at ignoring annoying sounds caused by boys) Sam finally called to me. “MOM! Is that your lunch on the stove? I think it’s done!”
“No. It’s not my lunch.”
“But MOM! I think it IS your lunch.”
“Sam, I didn’t make a lunch.”
“You should come see ANYWAY!”
Ahhh, Mom finally gets it that something funny is brewing in the kitchen for my benefit. The monkey had been placed in a frying pan on the stove and apparently it was too funny to wait for discovery. They tried nudging me with the oven timer, but even that was requiring too much patience. Seth began to flip the monkey around with a spatula and that’s when Sam, the video blogger, decided he had to capture the moment digitally.
I’m impressed with Seth’s ability to maintain a straight face. Just a few days ago I had to be filmed for a commercial at my workplace. We were told to stand around and talk…”about whatever, it doesn’t matter…pretend to be working” the camera man said. Well, you can’t tell me, when I’m AT WORK, to pretend to be working. That’s just not fair. So, I got a little lippy and then lost it. I couldn’t stop laughing.
I said to my coworkers, while PRETENDING to be working, “Man, that camera man sure is annoying.”
It turned out the camera man is just as lippy as me. “But he sure is HOT isn’t he?”
“Yeah, I wonder if he’s going to ask me out.”
“Hannah! You’re flirting!”
“What?? This is what we talk about at work!”
And so it went. We tried to gain composure and look professional, but then our social worker, in her pretending, pointed to a piece of paper that had a box checked “continent” and said to me, “See, this here means he’s continent.” And I bust out laughing again, because, no shit! Of all the dumb things to say! Finally, because I’m that bad at pretending to do something I do anyway, I talked to the social worker about a real situation at work and it was a wrap. Killed two birds with one stone: Filmed a commercial and figured out what to do with the C-Diff patient. Damn privacy laws were bent a little, but I had no choice. The show must go on! (There won’t be any sound included in the final product, in case someone is worried I’m advertising diarrhea.)
And then little Seth there eats a monkey without even cracking a smile. What gives?
Stupid Man
Dear Stupid Man,
Don’t endear yourself to me anymore. I’m done now, ya hear? I don’t care that you’ve been making nice gestures and spending money on me (I think because I’ve been teasing you that you’re stingy? I am a jokey kinda gal, I wasn’t hinting).
A. You are too young.
B. You say stupid things, hence the name “stupid man”
C. You probably say stupid things because you’re young. And stupid.
D. I don’t care that you always say I’m the most awesome person you know because
- You also tell me who you think is “hot” which is, coughstupidcough.
- You obviously don’t know many people.
Dear Other Stupid Man,
Stop calling me! If I wanted to waste more of my life listening to you say, “TIiiiight, Tight!” when something pleases you, I’d answer the phone. If I wanted to watch you inhale three plates of food at each meal, I’d answer the phone. If I wanted to watch you kiss your dog (who smells really bad, by the way) I’d answer the phone. If I wanted to watch you waste yourself in front of the TV with a joint, believe me, I’d call you.
Dear Decent Guy,
Don’t bother. I’m too cynical to notice you even if you had a flashing neon sign over your head.
Sincerely,
Stupid, Cynical Woman.
Stupid Life
My kids just left for 10 days. Every single one of them. Gone. For 10 days.
My ex is getting married this weekend and they’re having a family honeymoon I guess.
There’s part of me that’s a little angry, like: How dare you force my children to have a stepmom! Even though I know that’s irrational.
There’s another part of me that says: Hahahahahahahaha!
Because, life with my ex is barely tolerable.
Yesterday I took Sam, Simon & Seth out to lunch at Olivia’s place of employment. As we sat waiting for our sandwiches, talk skirted around the wedding and then Simon had something to say. As he was slowly sputtering out the words his face grew redder and redder. It was alarming. And he was saying: “Yeah, I don’t like her. She’s mean.”
Seth chimed in with a completely deadpan face, looking down at his hands as if a plan was formulating in his head, “Let’s get rid of her.”
My heart sank. The one comforting thought I’ve kept while all this wedding talk has been going on in my house is that my kids like Her. Because I can’t bear to think of my kids living with an adult who is mean.
Mean. Ugh.
My hours at work have been severely cut back. In July I have a total of 5 shifts scheduled.
Five. For the entire month of July.
So now I have to look for another job and I just don’t want to. I want my perfect schedule which correlates so perfectly with my custody schedule. I don’t want to start somewhere new where everything is…well, new. And scary! Lions and Tigers and Bears and Asshole Doctors.
Maybe I’ll go back to school.
I went to see the Derek Trucks Band in concert. That band is amazing. They sound better live than on CD. The CD will never be the same. It was an outdoor venue and the weather was perfect, everything was perfect and immensely fun.
So, I’ve determined to have more fun.
Starting now. These 10 lonely days. Fun!
Something I never said when I was twelve years old:
Sam: It has 160 gig hard drive and an Intel processor.
Heck, I didn’t even know what a C prompt was when I was twelve. Even more heck, Sam probably doesn’t know what a C prompt is either.
Where to Begin
I know, I’m always bragging about my kids.
And I’m trying to figure out how to put a video of my boys at the talent show without the video pointing back to this blog. I don’t think it’s going to work out.
Lets just say I have a couple rock stars on my hands.
They got two encores. They wrote the first song they played and improvised the encores.
Edit edit edity edit.
I passed the state boards. I know, I didn’t really tell anyone that it was taking forever for all the paperwork and the background check and etc. to be processed. I didn’t explain to anyone that the Michigan State Police somehow lost and/or forgot to send my criminal background check to the Board of Nursing. My fellow nursing students, I’m sure, were convinced I had failed the boards and was making excuses. But, it was TRUE. I was waiting and waiting and waiting. Finally, all the pieces fell into place and the date arrived.
The date: My car was overheating and I had to make an emergency call to my Dad who is retired and has lost all sense of life having urgency. He wanted to TALK about all the things I could do like: Read the manual
After I had just finished telling my Dad that I read the manual and it left me confused.
Or: Call the dealership.
DON’T HAVE TIME. MUST GO NOW TO MOST IMPORTANT TEST I’VE EVER TAKEN.
After 15 minutes of Dad reminiscing about the old days and what he used to do for his cars when they were overheating, he finally came to the conclusion that I could simply add water to my coolant resevoir and that would work just fine.
THANKS RETIRED DAD.
Me thinks Dad was savoring every single second of me calling and needing him instead of Mom.
The main thing is: I thought I failed. I was sure of it. But I didn’t. I passed.
YMAW wanted to take me out for a beer today after work to celebrate “Hannah’s not retarded.”
I went home and took a nap instead. I’m so exciting like that.
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Drought Resistant 
