The dog.

Last night I heard a lot of commotion on our street.

This? Is not unusual. My neighbors tend to be a bunch of banshees/fishwives and they yell and shriek and do things like, you know, call the police on each other. A lot.

Jason was outside, watering our flowers. He burst through the door and began rummaging through his tool-box. In a quick, determined way, which worried me.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

He said nothing.

"Jason, what are you doing?" I asked again.

He was silent for a moment and then said, "Something is going on up the street."

I said, immediately, because this is the way my mind works, "Well don't go up there!"

He never looked at me. "No. Someone needs help."

And he was gone again.

I turned on the television to occupy the children's minds and we waited. I know it was more than thirty minutes.

I wasn't necessarily worried, mind you. Jason is a big man and I never worry if he can take care of himself. He just always can. I knew he would be fine.

But I didn't like him being out there. Something just felt weird.

Finally he came back in the house. He looked defeated and distraught.

"What is it?" I said.

He came and wrapped his arms around me and said, quietly, so the children would not hear,

"The woman up the street came screaming down the road, asking me if I had a gun."

My eyes widened, "Oh my God! Why?"

His heart was pounding. I could feel it beating against mine. "Her dog was caught on a fence. The dog was trying to run under the fence and it got caught. It was a chain-link fence and it was broken at the bottom. It looked like the point had went through it's eye. She wanted me to shoot the dog."

He began to cry and continued, "I got it to lay down and I saw that it was only caught on the eyelid. I was able to cut through the wire and get it free from the fence."

"Will they take it to the vet?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

"She said she didn't have the money," he said. "The animal control came and picked it up. She called them before she saw me. They said they'll take it to get care and then take it to the animal shelter."

I wanted to go get it from the animal shelter so I could take care of it and give it a home and it wouldn't, you know, be running around the neighborhood unlicensed without a collar or anything on. I know people sometimes have dogs that live in their yards, but in our city it's not legal to tie a dog to a tree or a post and leave it outdoors all the time, so people just let their dogs run loose. It causes a lot of problems. And the dogs are the ones who suffer.

I know that people have financial problems sometimes too, but really I wish people would consider what a big financial responsibility a pet is before taking it on. I won't even get into the fact that it was a purebred dog, because I might lose my testimony. (Okay, maybe I will a little. I don't understand why people pay hundreds of dollars for a dog and then don't have money to take it to the vet. I just don't)

I mean, her?



I love her so much it hurts. Even though she had gas this morning and farted really near my face.

I just wish everybody loved their dogs the same way.

What MTV teaches me about life.

As I was watching "The Hills" today, I felt profound sadness. And not the usual sadness I feel while watching this program, which is because I can feel my brain cells rotting out of my head. This was a different kind of sadness.

In recent episodes, the gorgeous yet unfortunate Lauren, has began talking again to her ex Jason. At first I thought, logically, "That big dumbass."

Then, after a while, I began to think...maybe those two crazy kids can make it work.

Because, you know, that had happened to me and my Jason. So maybe, I thought, just MAYBE, it could happen for them too.

I mean, true, my husband never had arrests for DUI or anything. But he was a huge butthead and dumped me for someone else. I mean, had we been on our own reality show about people in their mid-twenties living in a small North Carolina town and working at crappy jobs and trying to make ends meet and not knowing anyone famous? I would have watched myself on that show and thought, logically, "That big dumbass."

Because really? I was pretty stupid to take him back.

I mean, it worked out, obviously, since we're married. And while it's not all bliss, it's really a pretty good life.

But still. If a girlfriend of mine had come to me and said, "This guy? I was totally in love with him? And he dumped me for this Whorish McWhorebag? And I found out I was pregnant? And I had a miscarriage? And now he's calling and wanting me back. What should I do?"

I'd be all like, "Drop that zero and get you a hero!". Finger snaps would be involved also.

Anyway, Lauren and Jason had been meeting up for dinner and coffee and talking. Jason was (is?) in rehab and seemed to be doing better. At one point he was dropping her off and she had this look on her face like, "OH MY GOD WHY IS HE NOT KISSING ME?!?!" and he was looking at her like, "MAYBE I SHOULD KISS HER."

But they did nothing. She got out of the car.

Today's show opened with him saying to her, "I want you to meet my girlfriend."

And I could just tell, her heart dropped.

And as stupid as it is, my heart dropped for her.

She went to the housewarming/kegger for the happy couple. During? Someone announced they were engaged.

And Lauren? Looked like she would puke.

So she went outside, maybe to puke, I don't know. Jason followed her out there and they were talking and out came his new girlfriend/fiance/whatever. And she totally sat in his lap and all slutted it up and kept on kissing him and acting like, well a twenty-year old. Which I guess she is, but that's not the point.

Now, granted, I don't think they'll ever make it down the aisle. The two of them are, what, like twenty and maybe twenty-one? And he's in rehab and his "engagement" party was a kegger? Frankly, I imagine he'll be living in a homeless shelter in a year and no one will even remember who he was.

Still.

My husband Jason had a lot of girlfriends before he met me. A lot. And one girl, before me, he loved.

I don't know this girl. I know her name. I've googled her and emailed her picture to a bunch of my friends and asked if I was prettier (I know. I don't even have an excuse like, "I was young!" because I was thirty-one when I did it, or "I was drunk!" because I don't drink. I'm just lame). All my friends said, "You are totally prettier than her and also? She looks like a mean bitch!" Because they love me.

I don't think she looks like a mean bitch. But I can't imagine her with my husband, either.

They broke up because she wanted to marry him. He loved her, I know he did, but he didn't want to marry her. She told him they didn't have to get married right THEN, but she wanted to work toward it. He told her he loved her, but he couldn't make that commitment. He didn't want to marry her. Or anyone, really. It was nothing about her.

They broke up, because of that.

A short time later, he realized how much he loved her and missed her and called and asked her to come back. She said, no. She was dating someone else.

I know that hurt him.

I don't know what time frame all of this occurred in, frankly. I met him in December and in maybe March or so of the next year he got an invitation to her wedding. He briefly mentioned it and of course, didn't go.

I thought that was kind of funny, actually. That she would send him the invitation. I don't know her, but I can imagine in her head she was thinking, "TAKE THAT YOU ASS. I AM WORTH MARRYING. I'M THE ONE WHO GOT AWAY."

Because really? They hadn't spoken since the break-up and the one call he made trying to win her back. It wasn't like they had remained friends and talked all along and she knew he was dating someone else and I was invited too. It was a big old F-YOU. You lose. I win. I'm worthy.

And I know why she did it.

Everybody has that one person. That one person that you love so much it makes you sick inside. The one person you can't imagine living without. The one who can hurt you so much and at the same time make your heart so full of love you feel like you're going to burst. The one you dream about spending your life with, having babies with, growing old with.

It makes you do stupid things. Like going to a kegger to celebrate their housewarming with their new girlfriend or sending them an invitation to your wedding.

Or taking them back, even when it was the "wrong" thing to do.

She's a little excited maybe?

Last night I had to go to the Elementary School for the PTO Board meeting.

Honestly? I'm still a little confused about what my role is. I just basically sat there and smiled politely and I have no idea what they are talking about. I mean, I read the notes and I really do try to keep up with what's going on, but since it was my very first meeting? Well, I don't know. I just nodded and smiled, which I am very good at.

After the meeting, I saw my daughter's teacher in the hall. I said hello and she smiled broadly and said:

"Girl Child is very excited about going to Disney World."

And I really wanted to say, "OH MY SWEET LORD! SO AM I! I JUST CAN'T WAIT! IT'S ONLY TWENTY-THREE DAYS AWAY!"

But yeah. I'm an adult and "responsible" and "not a huge freak" or whatever, so I said, "Oh, I know! Well, that's probably my fault. I booked the trip in May and in hindsight I should have waited to tell them until closer to the trip."

She laughed and said, "Somehow, and I don't know how she does it, she manages to work her trip into her writing every day."

I laughed too.

Then? I came home and took a look at her daily work.


Monday, September 10th, 2007
Topic: Cats

I love cats. They are furry. Cats are nice and soft. If I had a cat I would have to board her before I go to Disney World on October 21st. I am very excited about going to Disney World.


Tuesday, September 11th, 2007
Topic: The Tennessee River

The Tennessee River is very wet. It is very long. The Tennessee River is in Tennessee. It is not in Florida. Disney World is in Florida. So is Mickey.


Wednesday, September 12th, 2007
Topic: Marco Polo

Marco Polo was an explorer. He did not discover Disney World.


Really. What on Earth would I do without her?

That girl knows what is important in life.

Merry Christmas!

So my good friend, we'll call her, oh, I don't know, Lou-Lou, called me recently and said,

"Hey Chick! Whatcha doing?"

(Seriously? Even though my name is not actually Chick? She said Chick. So I didn't even have to edit! Sweet!)

And you know what I said?

"Wrapping Christmas presents."



Because I was.


And also?

I'm almost done Christmas shopping.


Additionally?

I'm upset with myself that I'm not completely done.


Something inside of me, perhaps the crazy, makes me shop really, really early. And wrap and do things like, address all my Christmas cards.

Last year I ordered my cards from the good people at Purple Stork.

They promptly emailed me the template for my card based on the design they had done and the note said, "Incidentally? You are the first card order of the year."

HA! I was upset that I hadn't already taken care of it.

It was SEPTEMBER.

This year, I have managed to make myself hold off. Because we'll be going to Disney World next month and I'm sure I'll only have approximately four hundred thousands photos from that trip to make cards with.

But yeah. I'm a freak.



Oh, and Lou-Lou's response?


"Yeah, I figured as much."

Mother Talk book review: The Splendor of Silence

Okay, first of all, isn't that the best title of a book, ever?

I mean, who doesn't wish for silence? Like, every single day? Especially when her co-workers just will NOT stop talking?


Just me?

Okay, sorry, I was probably projecting there a bit.

Anyway! I recently read the book,The Splendor of Silence by Indu Sundaresan as part of a Mother talk book review. Honestly, I didn't know what to expect when the package arrived. All I could keep thinking was, wow, what a beautiful book!

And it is. See?

I mean, really. Doesn't the woman look all mysterious and sexy?

On with the review though. Here is the basic, back of the cover stuff:

Sam Hawthorne, a twenty-five-year-old U.S. Army captain, arrives at the princely state of Rudrakot in search of his missing brother, Mike, carrying with him wounds from combat in Burma and several secrets. But Sam’s mission is soon threatened by the unlikeliest of sources — he falls hopelessly in love with Mila, daughter of the local political agent. Mila, unexpectedly attracted to Sam, nurtures a secret of her own and finds herself torn between loyalty to her family and Sam.
The Splendor of Silence opens twenty-one years later with Olivia, Sam’s daughter, receiving a trunk of treasures from India, along with a letter from an unknown narrator that finally fills all the silences of her childhood — telling her the story of her parents’ passionate and enduring love for each other that throws them in the path of racial prejudice, nationalist intrigue, and the explosive circumstances of a country and a society on the brink of independence from British rule.

Intriguing, yes?

I really, really loved the book, and it kind of surprised me that I did. Let's face it; I'm really not a fro-fro girl and this book is, above all, a love story. But in a good, engaging way. I had never read any of Sundaresan's work and I was blown away with her ability to tell a story. The book was really so absorbing that I had a hard time putting it down. And since I have the attention span of a smashed gnat? That's really saying something.

That being said, it does take a while for the plot to develop and the author does move between story lines a bit. But it all seems to meld together delightfully. Sundaresan has a gift, and it is an amazing one. The detail she puts into her writing is simply amazing. The author was born and raised in India and her appreciation for the richness of her culture is evident. You can almost see the sights and hear the sounds, her descriptions are so vivid. Also? I really cared about the characters and became very interested in what happened to them, which hadn't happened to me for years. (Honestly, it made me recall my obsession with Laura Ingalls Wilder's books, and how I used to pray Pa got through the snow storm or whatever).

I didn't even know I liked historical fiction! But I do apparently!

Such an interesting book. I would really recommend it. Read it at a time that you don't have anything else to do though, because you probably won't want to put it down.

It's a good thing he's cute.

My beloved left me a little note on my placemat at the table, so I would find it this morning.

Before you go thinking, "Awww!" or anything, it was a grocery list.

I don't mind that he was helping me write the grocery list. Really, I don't. I didn't even mind when he said on Sunday night, "So are you going to the grocery store tomorrow?"

The before-therapy me would have said, "Go to grocery store yourself!". Possibly, the f-word might have been used as well.

The new, improved me said, "No. I can't. Tomorrow I have to be at work at 7am. I then have to work all day with no possibility of even having lunch, run up a really steep hill and get to my car, drive for forty-five minutes to pick up the children and then race over to the church for Girl Scouts, which I will not be done with until 7:30pm. Then, I have to make dinner and help the children with homework. At some point, I'll likely have to use the restroom. So, no. I don't believe I can fit the grocery store anywhere into that equation."

He blinked a few times and then said, "Well, can you go Tuesday?"

And I said, "Okay then."

Because, yeah. I work a lot and I have a lot of crap to do. Last week I worked fifty-one hours. But he worked seventy, and he gets big old bonuses.

Plus, he's pretty much banned from going to the grocery store. He is not good at going to the grocery store. I say, "Jason, please get a gallon of milk" and he comes home with $200 worth of chips and cookies because, "They were on sale!" and I have to patiently explain that just because an item has a yellow tag on it, DOES NOT MEAN IT'S A GOOD VALUE.

It's an ongoing issue.

Anyway. His list.

*Water (6 or 7)
*Johnson and Johnson Baby Powder
*Camel lights, hard pack
*Tube-o-lays x 1
*Paper towels
*Ice cream
*Milk
*Gillette sensor excel

Then he wrote at the bottom:
Probably want to review as I feel as though I've left things off.

Really? I mean, I noticed that he was careful to list numerous products, including their brands (which, hello, I've known him for eight years, I think by now I've figured out what brand of razors he's using), but I do notice that he left off many, somewhat important things.

Like, oh, FOOD.



Boys! Gah!

***EDITED TO ADD:

Tube-o-Lays:

And the baby powder? Well, he gets sweaty. That's all I'm sayin'.

Look what I can do!

I know it appears that basically I do three things with my life.
1) Sleep
2) Work
3) Rant about various things on my blog.

I do all of these things, yes.

A lot.

However, I also do other things such as waste time thinking about celebrities, laundry, and making crafty things for my new home which I do not yet own.

So this weekend? I made these for my daughter's room which will be in our new house. Which we don't yet own.

I spelled out "Mean" to improve my street cred. Did it work?

So? What do you think?

Everyone in my house liked them a lot. Especially Boy Child who has requested his name painted with black stripes.

We'll see.

Righteous Indignation, coming right up!

Sometimes when I watch or read the news, I get irritated and annoyed. Like whenever I hear anything about Britney Spears? I feel my teeth begin to itch.

But this story? Oh my sweet Lord.

Lawsuit Over In-Vitro Twins

"An Australian woman who gave birth to twins instead of a single baby after undergoing in-vitro fertilization has sued her doctor for the cost of bringing up the second child.

The woman, who cannot be identified because of a court order, is seeking $329,000 to cover the expense of raising one child until age 21.

Testifying in the Supreme Court of the Australian Capital Territory on Tuesday, the 40-year-old mother said she told her doctor that she only wanted one child.

But an embryologist under the doctor's supervision implanted two embryos in her uterus, resulting in the birth of non-identical twin girls."

Holy Moses on a bicycle.

Are you people kidding me with this?

I spent the first ten minutes cursing at the computer. The second? I spent crying. The next ten minutes I devoted to brainstorming on just how I could raise $329,000 so I could offer it to this woman in exchange for the baby.

Because, you know what? I want the baby.

I want that little three year old child who is probably bright and beautiful and wonderful. I want to bring her to my little home and raise her. I want to snuggle with her at night and read books to her and take her to her first day of school. I want to take four hundred billion pictures of her and make her feel special and loved. And if one day she asked me why she wasn't living with her real birth mother I'd say, "YOUR BIRTH MOTHER JUST DID NOT TURN OUT."

When I was pregnant and found out it was twins, I was terrified. But it's never, ever been as hard as I was afraid it would be. Maybe I'm just lucky, I don't know. And yes, I've struggled. Good Lord, have I struggled. But one look at my children and I know it wasn't really a struggle at all because the reward? Worth way, way, WAY more than $329,000.

And you know what else? Does this woman not realize that she has a LIVING, BREATHING, EXISTING child? A child that someday will read this and KNOW that she was a "mistake"?

I mean, what the crap?

And what about people, like my own beautiful little sister, who LOSE one of their twins? What they wouldn't give to have this opportunity that this woman is COMPLAINING about.

GAH.

I know, feelings are feelings and this woman is entitled to be upset.

And I? Am entitled to think she's a huge douchehole.

Last night...

I couldn't sleep.

I don't sleep well anyway and there's a whole lot of nonsense going on at work. Which is sort of normal, I suppose. There's always b.s. but this is, I don't know, ADVANCED B.S. or something.

Anyway.

Most nights this week I've worked until midnightish so I can get certain things done. Last night I was so tired around 10:30pm that my head was bobbing and I just couldn't stay away.

I slept fitfully.

In a dream, a horrible nightmare, my mom called me and told me my dad had died.

I remember only her saying that he had died. I remember screaming and screaming in the dream...like an animal. Shrieking and weeping.

I woke up in a cold sweat. Terrified. Feeling unbelievably sad and alone.

My dad has cancer. He's doing well, but he still has cancer.

Last time I saw him I was struck at how, well, old he looked. I remember my dad being my age. I guess he was twenty-five when I was born, almost twenty-six. I was only six years old when he was the age I am right now.

Last time I saw him he was sitting in his little chair by his swimming pool, watching my son and daughter intently. He has gray in his beard and wrinkles around his eyes. He laughed as he watched them, trying so hard to snap the perfect picture of them jumping off the diving board.

Not that he's old now. He's not, not really.

But he's not 31. Not anymore.

My dad getting older makes me so aware of the fact that I'm getting older. That I've still not figured anything out and I'm still a huge mess. That I have no idea what I'm going to be when I grow up.



That even though I'm a grown woman, I still need my dad to be around.

Him? Not so much.

My secret lovah M has this really nice husband who sends her nice emails.

My husband?

He called me today and said, "Can I ask you a quick question?"

I said, "Shoot."

He said, "Okay, so if someone comes in and I interview them and they happen to MENTION that they have a child that's fifteen months old, can I ask them if they have childcare?"

Me, "Um, no."

Him, "Okay."

Me, "Jason, did you ask the person that?"

Him, "No. But I called you to see if I COULD. And if I COULD I was going to call her back and ask her."

Me, "Jason, are you SURE you didn't ask her?"

Him, insulted, "No! I didn't ask her!"

Me, with patience, "Sweetheart? Remember that time you asked that woman you were interviewing what church she went to?"

Him, "She was wearing a crucifix! It was a totally fair question!"

Me, "Um. Not really."

Him, "Okay! I love you! Bye!"




Sigh.

He really needs a good management course. I don't have time to train him.

Yeah...not really.

I got an email last night from someone I like and respect which said,

“Sheesh! You’re a little rough on Brit-Brit aren’t ya?”

Then a smiley face. So I’d know she still loves me or whatever.

I thought about that email for over an hour. Because, really? As sarcastic and snarky as I am, I hate being mean. I don’t WANT to be mean.

And in real life, I’m like, The Queen of Nice. Except not like Rosie’s “Queen of Nice” which actually means “I’m a raving lunatic but I’m pretending to be nice for T.V. and possibly? I have issues”.

But really, I’m not a bad person. I help children and the homeless and I’m the first person to give someone another chance. For example, recently? When the girl who dresses the most skantastic at work was walking around with her nipples showing? I didn’t say, “Oh my GOD she needs to cover up her NIPPLES!” like I wanted to. I said, “Bless her heart, she must be cold.”

But anyway, the more I thought about what I said? The more I realized I’m not being mean to Britney.

Okay, because seriously? When my children were born I couldn’t afford soup, much less a nanny and a big fancy house and all the clothes that Gymboree has to offer. I couldn’t even afford Kmart clothes and diapers.

I didn’t lose custody of my kids.

I didn’t have so much money in the bank that if I just invested wisely I could easily live off the interest forever and ever and retire quietly to some small town in South Carolina or whatever and raise my children in peace. I had to find a job. A job that paid me $7.75 an hour.

I didn’t lose custody of my kids.

I went through an extremely painful, emotional divorce. I had been unceremoniously dumped and it hurt. It really, really hurt. The people I wanted to help me get through it did not help me. They instead told me that it was all my fault and if I had just been a better housekeeper/better with money/anything but me, he wouldn’t have left me. I didn’t have fans who loved me. I didn’t have people who even believed in me. And I? Didn’t really believe in myself.

I didn’t go on drugs.
I didn’t shave my head.
I didn’t freak out.
I didn’t pose naked.
And most of all, I didn’t lose custody of my kids.

I am not special. I am in no way extraordinary. I did what anyone should do. I straightened my back and fixed my life to the best of my ability. And I did it without money and fame. I did it without resources. I did it without hope and without love. I’m not cool enough to be friends with people like Paris Hilton, thank God, so I had to influence myself. For the Boy Child. For the Girl Child. And for myself.

It’s not miraculous to get through your life and not get arrested. It’s not miraculous to have a job and work hard and do what you have to do to take care of the people you love.

Britney is just not reality. And it frightens me that people look up to her.

And what frightens me the most? Is that two children are caught in the middle of this nonsense.

So…nope. I wasn’t being a little rough. Even if I get sent frowny-faces now.

All kinds of news stories!

O.J. arrested!

Kids crocs get stuck in an escalator!

Men more likely to not wash after bathroom use!

Anorexia websites make even thin women feel bad!

and by far the least shocking:

Britney Spears temporarily loses custody of her kids!

I mean, man. You've spiraled pretty far downward when this man:

is deemed a better parent than you.

I'm just sayin'.

It's called Spell-check people. Please use it.

Jason is trying to hire a customer service representative.

One would think this would be an easy task as the job requirements are:

1) Basic math skills

(And not scary math. We're talking 5-2 here.)

2) The ability to show up.

3) To not be under the influence of any illegal substances while working.


Despite these requirements, he's having an extraordinarily difficult time finding someone.

Today he brought home a box of approximately 200 resumes so we could look over them and see if there were any potential candidates.

And instead? I found my blog entry for today.


Exhibit One:

Resume of a young man which says he earned a: DIAPOLMA in 1994. Excellent.
Also? He was the ASSITISTANT MANAGAR at a fast-food restaurant until Janauary of 2007. His responsibilities are listed as follows:

My duties at the McDonals was opening of the store each moring, also making depostits and staff.

No, I'm not kidding. It really says that.

Previously he worked at a fast-food restaurant as the ASSITISTENT MANAGAR and his responsibilities were: Dearling with customers on a daily basis making sure there food was right.

Okay then.


Exhibit Two:
A young person (honestly? No idea if it's a male or female. The name is way out there) who seeks: Apositioning in Customer Sevice.

Good luck with that.

The person wants us to know that he/she has: 4 years in cuctomer service retail

Also?

Good cummincation skills

Really? I wish I was kidding.

In this person's limited employment experience they have managed to diplay wedding orders for a shoe store and count invntory and credit card varification for a department store. I am also pleased to know that due to this individual having a job as a Dressing room attentdant they became very turst worthy.

Frankly, that sounds like a personal problem to me, but what do I know?


Exhibit Three:
By far this was my favorite of all the cover letters. What's not to love?

Dear Hiring Manager:

I discovered your advertisement in the Our Local Newspaper for a Full-time "Customer Service Representative" (um, why the quotes? It's not like it's an imaginary position) and would like to be considered for a candidate. I do have multi-offices (are you Donald Trump or something? You have multi-offices?) and business skills along with experiences that I feel would benefit your organization.

My working experience consists of my operating financial support in many accounting fields. Whether posting payments to billing for services rendered to a customer. (No, seriously. That was the whole sentence.) I have experience working delinquent accounts and solving problem circumstance surrounding a case. (What?) I am very familiar with the aspects and phases of treating and caring for a customer in hopes of satisfaction if possible yet quote a stern ruling if one existence with empathy.

Honest to Fred, I have absolutely no idea what that means.

Anyway, it goes on to say:

It would be beneficial to me to be interviewed with your firm to discuss my past working experiences and offer references if needed to confirm my expertise.

Seriously? I might bring her in just to see who would write things like this.

Is it just me or does that not make sense at all?



The moral of this story:

1)Please. For the love of Moses. Spell-check!

2) Also? Should you be criminally insane, please have someone who is not criminally insane read your resume before you send it.

3) If you are looking for a job, please let me know. Unless you are crazy, can't subtract 5-2, or are currently drunk or high or plan to be drunk or high.

If you are, we're just going to laugh at you.

Open letters: Now with extra wang!

Dear Man with the minuscule penis parked in the drop-off lane at the Elementary school,

You know, I honestly don’t know how small your penis actually is, but judging by the fact that not only are you driving the largest most yellow Hummer I’ve ever seen, you parked it squarely in the middle of the drop-off lane (lanes, I should say, since you blocked both sides), got out of the vehicle, and then went into the school for God knows what reason, I’m going to guess that it would require an electron microscope to see it.

Sir, the entire premise of a drop-off lane is so that people can, you know, DROP THEIR CHILDREN OFF in front of the school. Not have to sit there waiting while you go inside to floss your butt hair or whatever it is you were doing.

And yes, I understand it was raining this morning. Clearly, you will not melt and you are a complete douchehat to be so concerned about getting your wee little precious self wet. Grow a pair and get your shirt wet. Or, you know, get out your My Little Pony umbrella.

Screw you.

-That Chick





Dear Wad who works down the hall from me,

Dude. It’s 9am. Why are you eating onions?

And not just any onions. Onions so offensive that I can smell them the moment I step out into the hall. Onions so vile that the tiny little hairs in my nose began to curl.

I like onions just fine. I do not like them at 9am.

Stop it, stinky man.

Thanks!
That Chick



Dear guy who is cursing in the hall,

You kiss your mother with that mouth?

Knock it off.

-Chick





Dear son,

You know, when I found out I was pregnant with twins I prayed to God I would have two girls.

Because I didn’t, and don’t, understand boys.

Boys to me are one of those great mysteries of life, much like spray-on bedliners and Hair in a can. When I found out I was having a son I was terrified. I don’t understand bugs and eating things you stuck in your pocket last week or even football.

Somehow, though, it’s all worked out pretty good.

What’s weird is that even though you have a penis, you and I are pretty much alike. We both are sensitive and funny and seem to take great pleasure in laughing at the world around us, especially when it includes something goofy we’ve done. Neither of us seem to have a problem laughing at ourselves, and really? I think it’s a gift. It’s like this amazing gift that we get to share. That’s why I always laugh when you accidentally fart, even though your farts stink something awful.

It really amazes me how much I have come to respect and appreciate you in only nine short years. Especially considering how very much you seemed to hate me the first year of your life. You are always the one who encourages me to walk another mile when I feel like I can’t. You always eat everything I give you and act like it’s the best thing you’ve ever had, ever. And you? Come up with the best, most elaborate revenge fantasies ever. I mean, an angry monkey in a box? Genius.

So, thanks kid. For giving me hope for men everywhere.

Love,
Your old mom

Things which have no business surprising me.

1) Britney Spears getting called "fat" after her performance at the VMA's.

I mean, dude. She must be up to...what, like 120 pounds now! How does she go out of the house like that?!!?!?

*insert exaggerated eye-roll*

People, please. I would give Jason's left testicle to be as "fat" as Britney Spears.

If you want to call the girl a freaking train wreck, help yourself.
If you want to say her "stylist" should be dragged into the street like a dog and shot, then please feel free to do so. I mean, a bikini? How gauche.

But she's not fat. Not by any stretch of the imagination.


2) Someone just screamed "Fug you!" to someone else in the hall. Except they used the real bad word and I didn't because I'm trying to cut down. I owe myself like four hundred dollars in my "cussin' jar" and it might be to chilly to wear capri's soon so I'm trying to keep the bad words to a minimum.

(Except don't tell anyone, okay, but "Happy Ass" is my new favorite curse. That and "Piddle Dick" which technically contains no curses, but makes me laugh my happy ass off.)

I have no idea if they were serious or not. Around here, there is a definite possibility.

Also, it sounded like a woman so no matter how incorrect the other person was, the entire incident will be blamed on PMS or raging hormones, or menopause.


3) This morning? This guy in a really big truck decided that instead of waiting for the road to be clear to make his left hand turn he would instead just pull his really big truck in front of everyone? He got flipped off a lot.

I might have been one of the people flipping him off. I have no recollection of these events.


4) I saw my mom on Saturday and for the hinty eleventh time she decided to tell me how ugly my hair is. She asked me if I was dying it black and if I was goth now or something and then proceeded to tell me that long hair is ugly and makes you look old.

I don't know why she does this. But she does it every single time I see her. God forbid we just have a nice visit free of commentary about my personal appearance.


5) I am already placing bets on who will win The Biggest Loser.

I'm betting myself, mind you.

I'm nobody's fool.

Boo-hoo! And other sobbing noises!

I am an emotional nightmare these days.

Seriously. Just a wreck.

I've cried every single day for the past eleven days.

I cried last night because I got my new computer. I was just so overcome with joy at that bright shiny box. I cried again as I tried to set it up. Also? I said some curse words involving the desk from Hell, but we won't get all into that.

Then? I was watching The Biggest Loser and I cried when Grandpa Moses lost 31lbs in a week. Okay, I cried AFTER I shrieked such things as,

"Oh Sweet Lord! How is that humanly possible!"
and
"Can you believe that crap?!?! What the crap?"
and maybe
"I am NOT shrieking Jason!!!"

I did not cry because Amber was kicked off. She was such a freaking baby. I noticed she was an EMT and I know this is going to sound really evil and petty and vile, but I do not understand how she can do her job really well as an EMT if she couldn't run down a hill. I dated this guy (okay "dated" probably isn't wildly accurate. More like we went out once and then I attempted to avoid him everafter) and he was an EMT and he was, well, pretty overweight.

Okay. Honestly? You could run laps around him. And I say that as a member of the Fatty McLala club, so I'm just being honest here.

And he had some kind of problem where a patient...died? Maybe? I don't really remember. And he got sued? Maybe? (I didn't really care about what he said so I didn't really listen) And I think it was because he was so overweight he couldn't provide appropriate care. And I thought, "Holy crap! That would suck for that person."

Or something.




What was I talking about?


Oh yeah. Amber.

I'm glad she's gone.

This morning, I was driving behind a fire truck and it had an American flag hanging from the back. I got teary-eyed and thought things such as, "America! Freedom! Thank God no one killed me yesterday on September 11th!"

Not to mention the 200 times I cried because things were actually BAD.


Gah, what is WRONG with me? Hormones-o-plenty these days.

NEW! COMPUTER! ATTHEHOUSE!!!

It's there! It's there!

Know why?

Because my wonderful husband saw the truck coming down the street when he was leaving to go back to work after lunch, turned around and followed the truck and SIGNED FOR THE COMPUTER!

I knew he was helpful to have around!

Also? Tonight is the premier of The Biggest Loser!

It's a banner day in my world!

Woooo! Yeah! UH-HUH! Things which are good.

-Last night was the first Girl Scout meeting and I had…drum roll please…TEN GIRLS! Ten! Can you believe it?!!?

It was awesome. Really! I am so pleased to have more than three or four girls! I can be insane around these people and they just laugh and think it's normal. It's awesome!

-Today I’m getting MY! NEW! COMPUTER!

I am so freaking excited!!! I promise I won't try to intercept the DHL truck when I'm driving to therapy. I'll be a nice person and WAIT for it to be delivered or for them to attempt to deliver.

-A really nice computer service fellow from Dell responded to my post about my computer being dead. Now, is that nice or what?!!?

-My pictures and novel? CAN be saved. WILL be saved!

(I have no way to verify this...I'm just being optimistic)

-AND...

My customized Disney Maps arrived in the mail this morning! Okay, yesterday, but I didn't check the mail until this morning!

It's a good day!

New computer's coming! New computer's coming!

I am about to die here.

Seriously. It's miserable. I had absolutely no idea how reliant I am on the computer until I don't have one. Even though Jason frequently refers to me as being "glued to the computer" and makes references to my withdrawals and whatnot.

Good thing I hardly ever listen to him anyway.

I have a tracking number. It is at the DHL close to me...and I can't go get it.

I called and asked, very, very nicely if they would just hold the shipment so I could come pick it up and they said no. The very nice lady said they have to ATTEMPT delivery first, even though I won't be home and I promised her I wouldn't be home and if they would just hold it there I would come and sign for it and show my drivers license and even bake her some delicious oatmeal raisin cookies and she still said no.

I should have offered chocolate chip. I don't think things through.

Anyway. Hopefully TOMORROW I'll have my new computer at home and I'll be back to posting useless crap in no time.

I know you all are just holding your breath for it.

I can't take responsibility for these children.

Boy Child and Girl Child were having a discussion about the movie "Carrie" this morning. Neither of them has ever SEEN the movie "Carrie" and Girl Child was referring to it as "Kerr" this morning, but both of them obviously have a great deal of knowledge about it, as evidenced by the conversation they were having.

BC: So then, she gets oxen blood all over her.
GC: Oxen blood! No, it was pig blood!
BC: I'm pretty sure it was oxen blood Girl Child.
GC: No. I'm sure. I'm certain. I'm positive. It was pig blood.
BC: Mom? Was it pig blood.
Me: It was pig blood.
BC: Gah. That's asstastic.


Silence.


BC: Mom? I forget. Is asstastic good or bad?
Me: Bad.


Silence.



GC: Really, it could go either way.
BC: No kidding. I mean, one the one hand you say ass, which is usually bad.
GC, interjecting: Especially if you've been eating beans!
BC: But then there's "tastic", like fantastic. Which is good.
GC: It's not just good. It's fantastic!
BC: But the ass is SO bad-
Me: Can you guys please just get out of the car and go to freaking school now?!?!?



I mean really.

Oxen blood? Come on.

And I'm on the PTO board!

Boy Child came home with a note from his teacher which said the class needed certain things to be donated. Among them were water bottles with the caps attached, men's plain white t-shirts with no pockets, and magazines.

Since I'm an Environmental Specialist, I can't be trusted to recycle appropriately and don't keep water bottles. Jason has some plain white t-shirts, but he wears them until they have no underarms. That left magazines, and again since I can't be trusted to recycle, I have lots.

So I said to Boy Child, "Get some magazines there and take them to your class."

He was very pleased.

So, okay, I wasn't actually paying attention to what he was taking. I was doing important, life-altering stuff like talking on the phone to my sister and eating a pretzel.




You know where this is going right?




Boy Child brings home a note from his teacher.

Which says, "Thank you very much for the the magazines. It was very thoughtful of you to contribute to our class. However, we don't think Rolling Stone is appropriate for the fourth grade."


I think he took the extra special "We're all slutty bitches issue" too.


Sigh.

*&^%&&^$#!!!**$&^^^$ and also Contest Winners.

My computer at home?

Dead.

I mean, dead. Dead dead. Blue screen of death dead.

I called Dell Support and the guy laughed. Seriously. Laughed. Told me it would cost more to fix it than to buy a new one.


Jason came home around 7pm on Friday night and I was sitting on the couch weeping.

"What's wrong?!!?!" he asked, alarmed.

"My computer!" I sobbed. "It's dead."

He nodded sadly. "I tried to play solitare last night. It gave me the blue screen too."

I wept on.

"Honey," he said. "Don't worry. We'll get you another computer."

"I know," I wailed. "But I had five years worth of pictures saved. I had my novel. The one I've been working on since November. No back-up. I had all my writing in there. Everything."


I know he doesn't really understand. Not really. But he really tried. He looked very stricken for me.

Anyway. I know someone who is going to see if they can save anything off the hard drive. In the meantime, I'm shopping for a new computer.



In other news, the contest was pretty fun! For me anyway!


The first story was: TRUE.

That was also my favorite submitted story and submitted by none other than my sweet thang Liz from Lizarita. And yes, she and I do sort of have the same writing style, which leads me to believe we act a lot alike in real life too.

Except she has better hooters.


The second story was: TRUE.

This one actually happened to me. Yeah. The guy not only smelled of me, he told me I smelled like his mom.

*Note to that guy: Not a good way to impress chicks.

He, fortunately, was not a co-worker. He was a client when I was a credit counselor. And he was certifiable and showed me the paperwork that he was carrying in a big briefcase.


The third story was: FALSE.

I totally made it up. Did you like it?

The first person to correctly identify the true stories was: CHELLE.

So Liz and Chelle, please email me at thatchickoverthere@gmail.com with your real names and/or aliases or whatever and your addresses and I'll send you your groovtastic prize!



Thanks everyone for playing!