Suburban Bliss:: Birth Control Via The Written Word

I'm a real people person, also I love dreidels.

Logan had two weeks off this month, and for that I was so very thankful. Not only was it nice to have him around, it was also really nice to have a babysitter at my beck and call all the time. It's all so clear now. I need a full time nanny to help me out!

I'm still waiting to hear about the job I really want and last night I sent off five more resumes and five more cover letters and five more prayers. So far I've promised God I'll convert to Judaism (twice, for two different positions). I love bagels and I'm really good at guilt so I think I'll fit right in.

I've also told God I'll become an Episcopalian if I get another job I've applied for. The Episcopalians don't eat babies do they? I might be able to eat one baby, but if we have to eat more than one then I don't know I may have to take back that promise.

If I get any of the various jobs which are not at places of worship, then I'll remain a heathen.

The list of things I can't talk about keeps growing in spite of my best intentions. (Things like, I don't know MOMS Club!) (God, I am a huge bitch.) (Internet, stop encouraging me.)

I try not to talk about Logan's job very much but I have to say, I think Logan likes his job too much.

I don't think he'll ever find another job because he loves the people he works with and he loves his big window office and he loves the work he is doing for them and he loves the travel and the choosing of models and the photo shoots. He loves the photographer open houses with free food and drink. He loves the vendors that take him to lunch. Or the printer reps who take him to see 'The Producers' front row on Broadway.

I don't blame him for loving all that stuff. I love the people he works with too. And God knows I love all the fancy parties and lunches and dinners and fabulous photo shoots with beautiful models he gets to go on. I also love when he stays in a beautiful hotel room and has a bar at the pool and he has a jacuzzi in his room or maybe a private hot tub on his private balcony overlooking the mountains of Utah. I mean I totally love all of that. How nice for him, isn't it?

But HOLY FUCKING SHIT. We need more money. It's as simple as that.

I'm happy he's satisfied with the position he's holding right now and I'm happy he's happy to go to work everyday. Because that's important and I would be (I'm not being sarcastic at all) totally heartbroken if he worked as hard and as long as he does and he hated his job.

But the company has had a freeze on all raises for nearly two years now. I know times are tough for everyone, but I just don't see how people can stay happy and satisfied with their careers when their hard work is never rewarded in a monetary way.

Logan loves his job. He loves everything about it. In fact, the only thing he doesn't like is the lack of compensation. I mean they did have that special 'Fun Fair' last month and everyone got a BRAND NEW LUNCHBOX! Oh, and a bottle of water!

The lunchbox was really nice and also useful, but what may have been nice is if they filled that lunch box with the money that should have followed the increased work load and responsibilities he's taken on over the last two years.

Let's pray again that someone gives me a job, even if it's with the baby eating Episcopalians.

Please, just don't.

Isn't it funny how you can be sitting down on a Sunday night, your husband has a really retarded movie ordered up on Netflix and you're thinking, 'Maybe this is the chance I have to write a real post on my website. An essay of substance perhaps.' and then ***BOOM***

The president of your local 'MOMS Club' emails a polite request to remove a post which offended "A Few People" who have read my website. I guess they were offended by the fact that I mentioned MOMS Club specifically. I am sure the complainant wasn't the Diet Coke Breastfeeding Nazi I mentioned in the post.

In fairness, Hey! Look! Diet Coke Breastfeeding Nazi MOMS Club.

This email just made me so incredibly angry that Logan sat next to me watching The Princess and The Warrior and shaking his head. Because it's a horrible idea to ask me to remove something simply because it expresses an opinion you don't like. If you were reading last year my In Laws were pretty pissed off about the opinions I expressed on this website and they threatened to sue me because of the opinions I expressed on this website.

The thing is, I love my husband and I don't want to hurt him by hurting his family so I agreed not to discuss my in laws any further on my website. I wouldn't have agreed to it, except....have you seen him? He's so incredibly adorable I had to ease up on the In Laws.

But Stupid MOMS Club? Please, please let them sue me for expressing my dissatisfaction with a member, an Executive Member, of their organization.

Let's talk about my weekend for a bit before I go to bed though.

Last night we went to our sixth wedding since June. Everyone we know is now, just now, getting married. Logan and I have been married for 7 years. We've had kids for 6 years. Suddenly everyone decided it was a great idea to get married.

I'm happy about it, I really am. Everyone we know is getting married and some of them are having babies. And now they'll be in the same boat we are.

Except, babies and six year olds are really different.

Six year olds talk and three year olds talk on your vibrator...as if it's a phone. Newborns though, newborns make you think you'll always be at the top of your game.

There are those months at first where you think, "I suck at this!" or "I can't do this!"

But then pretty quickly you'll start to realize babies are easy to fool. You'll realize, I can easily distract this baby and they don't remember anything before that big rattle came in front of their face. But a three year old will remember that phone they were talking on that one time many years ago, forever.

So even though everyone we know is getting married now, we're still not fitting in very well.

Speaking of not fitting in. I wore a skirt from Ann Taylor last night. The skirt was a size 4. I tried it on and thought it would never fit. But it did fit, except that in the past when it 'fit' it fit just above my hips. Last night it fit as I eased it over my hips and then it fit around my waist, about six inches above my belly button.

I was nearly severed in half on Saturday night. Look at me struggling to look happy while my waist band tried to kill me. But, it was worth it because that skirt looked very nice and also two people I'm very fond of got married.

The wedding was a lovely affair and I promise, someday soon, I will write a real essay for your enjoyment.

One Ply

Who thought 1 ply toilet paper was a good idea?

More importantly....who thought bringing 1 ply toilet paper into this home was a good idea?

Oh yes, that's right, Logan. He may be hyper-talented in the marketable skill arena, but in the toilet paper buying arena:

Not so much.

Buried

I have a lead on a job. In an office. Without customers. Without potpourri. Without having to work every second my husband is home in order to make any significantly helpful cash.

Instead I would work during the day like normal people do. Max will go to daycare and unlike Madison I think Max would really love daycare. Things to do all day long! Because he and I find one another boring in general. In the past this wasn't an option, working during the day, for several reasons. Paying for two children in daycare would eat away at any take home pay I would make, Madison would never have adjusted to daycare well, she needs lots of down time and likes the slower pace of at home life (like her mother).

I have a referral for this job and I am absolutely qualified to do this job and I am currently furiously reading about resumes and using your 'non traditional' work in your resume and I'm making myself totally insane while I try to send out the resume and cover letter which will get me this job because I can taste this with every one of my tastebuds.

I need this to happen because applying for, and not getting, several minimum wage jobs has beaten my shaky self esteem to pieces. I've begun to resent Logan and his limitless talents. He designs, he makes champagne cage chairs, he draws, he decorates cakes, he likes people, he's nice to everyone, he draws blueprints for homes.....could he share some of the marketable skills over here?

Pray with all the power of the internet I get this job. This job that in 6 months I'll be quietly (I'm not about to get Dooced) hating because that's how I am...never happy. But at least I'll be hating the job and cashing a paycheck, unlike now when I loudly hate my job but don't even get a paycheck.

Me and my minivan.

I put up a little something at Dotmoms today.

You can see it here.

Melissa

Big Weekend.

It was a banner weekend in the Summers Domicile.

On Saturday morning Madison joined her Brownie troop in a parade. Maddie has had some reservations about participating in this idealized version of sisterhood but what wins her over at each event is the promise that grandma will buy her the cute outfit you get to wear if you're a brownie. She is totally my daughter.

Later that very same day was Madison's stupid fucking Build A Bear party. As my Nicer, Funnier Sister In Law says, "Build A Bear: Where the bears are so expensive we stuff them with dollar bills." This party she's been waiting for for nearly all her 5th year. The party which involved me going to the mall with five young girls while completely sober. If this isn't hell I don't want to know what is.

Before the party though Logan had to whip up a cake and I'm not ashamed to say it: What my husband does to a cake and a container of frosting is nothing short of a miracle and makes me want to do things to him which are not appropriate while preparing for your daughter's sixth birthday party.

Here is where I said, "That looks like a monkey and not a bear." Because I am not nice and Logan should have run the other way before marrying me.

If we didn't have an iBook with an airport how could he have come up with the design for the cake, RIGHT THERE AS HE FROSTED THE THING? In the kitchen! On the counter! My father, who was once so moved by a print out of a binary naked woman made up of all zeros and ones he brought it home from work to the family dinner table, would never believe he could actually see real porn RIGHT IN THE KITCHEN whenever he felt like it. You know, if he were alive today.

I am officially giving myself permission to heal from the horrible mistake I made buying this lovely machine. (Except for the part where I didn't get a cd burner....I'm still really retarded for that part.)

Here's the final, non-monkey, product.

Look at him, wouldn't you want to do dirty things to a man who created this?

Then it was off to the mall and also the death of my spirit. As I drove along in my MINI VAN with 5 children surrounding me, I felt out of place in my own life. How am I the type of woman who drives 5 children to the mall for a lame excuse for a birthday party? But I'm that lady, that lame and pathetic lady.

A bright spot in all of this is that I have fallen deeply and madly in love with one of Maddie's friend's. Tomorrow at Madison's conference I plan on asking her teacher to make sure Maddie and this little girl are Best Friends Forever. Or else. She wears curly pigtails and always smiles. Can you blame me?

Here is where Logan dies a thousand deaths as he waits to abandon ship to head off to a friend's bachelor party. I feel for him, except I was the one carting all that hyped up energy home.

<

Then rounding out the weekend was a meeting with Pinky! who feared, by my own words, I was borderline autistic. My rocking seemed to only slightly disturb her and she laughed at the places I thought one might laugh in response to my conversing.

But really, she had an incredibly easy manner for someone meeting 'Someone From The Internet'. When I met some women from a message board many years ago Logan said, "You're not going to marry them are you?" Because that's what you do when you meet someone from the internet. You play role playing video games and then you travel across the country and have a renaissance faire wedding. Well, so I've heard.

I didn't marry any of those women but I have a feeling if I were going to marry anyone from the internet, it would be someone like Pinky because we spent an hour talking and my face didn't light on fire with the heat of me trying to make small talk with someone I've just met. She's that good.

Logan asked me what we talked about and added, "You talked about sex didn't you." He said that jokingly, but we did. And when I told him that he heard porno music and entered into the Penthouse forum.

We talked about various piercings and a friend's (of Pinky's) love of latex shirts and the pain in the ass powdering yourself up for any article of clothing would be. Also we talked about how sex for teenagers has become a spectator sport and how I really hope Madison just masturbates. But still I really don't want to know about it.

Moving on from sex, I met Mr Pinky who does a Wednesday entry at Pinkplaidface and he was so taken aback when I called him Mr Pinky that I think it's not his real name and they're just hiding behind a made up name to protect their identities on the internet. But I'm onto them. I know.

They're real people.

They're real people who even give Internet People keychains. Which I love. And every time I hop in my mini van I'm reminded of Pinky and Mr Pinky and all their heartless lies about their true identities.

I'm a real people person.

Once a month I work in Madison's classroom.

Each time I work in her class it all starts out just fine. I think, "These are very sweet kids." and I'll think, "I love this teacher." and I'll think, "Maybe I should have gone ahead with that elementary ed major."

Then about 5 minutes into it I start to think, "What the fuck is wrong with that boy?"

Then I'll think, "Please, don't let that girl raise her hand....doh! Maybe if I ignore her. Maybe if I don't look at her she'll go away."

Or I'll think, "Wow, I hope that little girl gets her period soon...maybe the pms will go away then."

So then, in my private personal dialogue I'll think to myself, "You being a teacher would have been a crime against humanity."

In other news I've been applying for lots of stupid jobs and I've been spending a lot of time lying to get these jobs.

Many of the jobs I've been attempting to get ask the most ridiculous questions meant to 'test' my temperament...I guess.

"Do you generally think people are good?"

Answer I gave: "Oh yes! Of course! I love people! I'm a real people person!"
True answer: "I don't know if they're good or not but I generally don't get along with people."

"When someone is walking slowly in front of you....are you agitated?"

Answer I gave: "Oh no, of course not. I like to take time to smell the roses you know."
True answer: "Oh My God! Yes! That drives me crazy!!! Why can't they keep to the right or something!"

148 questions all answered with LIES! All LIES! (I am not kidding. 37 pages with 4 questions on each page.)

I distorted reality through these endless questions and all the while I had the sinking feeling that maybe the reason I have to lie to answer all these questions is because a retail position is not the right job for me.

While I answered the questions ("Would you say you're at your best while under stress?" Why yes! I love stress! I mean just look at how I handle my two relatively well behaved children!) I started to think maybe I should try to find a job in a dark basement without fresh air or light or even people.

The best came at a brief interview at a store which smelled of the cheapest of the cheap potpourri. As I filled out the application (more lies!) the smells filled my nose and made me throw up a little in my mouth and the vomit was so full of bile I burned a hole in my cheek.

During the interview the manager asked me, since they get dozens of applications why they should hire me over any of the other applicants.

I stared at her thoughtfully, considering this truly poignant question. Also, I ran through about 40 responses I truly wanted to blurt out at her through the bile induced hole in my cheek.

"You should hire me because let me see, oh that's right! I hate people!"

"You could hire me because, I don't know, I have a pulse?"

"Let's see why should you hire me....well, I shower daily."

But what I ended up saying really dazzled the manager.

"I really don't know why you should hire me. The thought of working here makes me want to grab that disgusting potpourri you're selling and shove it up your ass."

You'd think that would have put a big red flag on my application but no, she called for a second interview and I think Logan must have called them and told them I forgot my medication and will they please give me another chance because I actually love potpourri and especially Robert Kinkade things in all their varied forms.

Why does he hate me like this?

The thing is, me working retail is nearly as bad for humanity as me being a teacher.

What kind of job can I do in a dark room without any contact with people?

Healthy Eating.

Logan and I recently watched 'Super Size Me' and we felt pretty assured we've taught our children the difference between McDonald's and what we call 'Energy Food'.

But teachable moments are everywhere so today Logan asked Madison why it's not a good idea to eat at McDonald's all the time.

"You can't eat at McDonald's all the time or you'll get the same toy over and over!"

Uh.........

Bandwidth? What bandwidth?

I'm totally unprepared to write a heartfelt and moving post for my daughter's sixth birthday.

Not because I'm so sad she's growing older but because anything I can say will be extremely cliched and ridiculous.

I will say that the most surprising thing about having a six year old is how it's nearly as difficult as having a newborn...except for different reasons. In every way it's easier to have a six year old there's another way it's a lot harder to have a six year old.

I couldn't go back at this point. I love having chats with my little girl. I love seeing her reach out beyond me and all my failings and become a person all on her own.

However at each birthday I watch the video from the day she was born and I think to myself:

Thank God I'm not pushing her out ever again.

Happy birthday Maddie. I love remembering who you were but I love seeing who you're becoming even more.

Plattery.

In fairness to the Kinkade collectors among us, I should tell you I don't have any art in my home.

Not on my candles at least, so is it fair for me to judge you who collect art and dare to think the deep thoughts a Kinkade painting evokes. Like Lisa (who commented below) has heard, "I wonder if the people in that cottage are having cookies and hot cocoa."

We do have some art in our house.

This is my favorite in that collection. Maddie made it when we babysat for a friends one year old little boy last year.

(It says something like, "No babies. NO NO NO NO NO Girls Room")

We also have this which I bought for Logan's birthday the first year we were married and since I had never had a substantial amount of money I thought WE WERE LOADED! We weren't and thus began the downward spiral.

We also have this which counts as art, but it's still not a painting....or a replica of a painting with special 'Highlights' added on to a print transferred onto a canvas for $1000. But we like it.

Logan had this made for me as a gift on our wedding day and I couldn't believe I got one. We'd had the artist make one for his mother and they aren't cheap. But the artist LOVES Logan. Actually told him she hopes one day her son has as much love and respect for her as Logan has for his mother. (Logan really does love his mother, except if he really loved her he wouldn't be married to me that's for sure. Jerk.)

The best part of the plate is what Logan had put on the back.

I didn't have a platter made for him but I feel exactly the same way.

Updated to add: Laurie Eisenhardt is the artist who made the platter. She makes the cutest things. I'll have to show you more of them sometime. The only thing she doesn't make is websites. She has no web presence at all....sniffle. But if you're in the area she does sometimes have an annual holiday sale at her cute pink house in her cute cottage studio in the back.

Emasculation

I've discussed mini vans in the past. I have never said anything grand like, "I will NEVER drive a mini van!" because I know and have always known that mini vans have their place in this world. This world meaning the world I am now inhabiting.

We got our SUV before Max was born as a compromise to my desire for a van to cart the children in. Logan wasn't ready for the castration which would come from driving a mini van. He still has the Sexcort you know and that's bad enough. At least on occasion he gets to take the truck and refuel his pride.

You're thinking, big deal! It's just a car.

This is Detroit. There's no such thing as just a car. There is a tiny apartment down the street someone rents for $500 a month but he has a brand new Range Rover parked out front. It's that important to have a nice car in this area. Logan works for an ad agency which supplies the advertising for Chrysler. Cars are a big deal even if you don't want them to be, which I don't.

As I type Logan is being castrated at the car dealership. He's negotiating the purchase of our first minivan and it's like a rusty knife is slowly severing his testicles.

After our test drive, where Logan drove slumped over as if half dead, the salesperson asked brightly, "How was the ride?!"

Logan answered, "Emasculating."

I feel for the guy. God I do.

I wish I could buy a shiny new Rubicon for him. My sister and I used to walk through stores together before Christmas and we'd hand each other things that we would have bought if we had the money. It was a nice game because it's the thought that counts really. I tell Logan all the time that I'd buy him that...if I could. Though he appreciates the thought, he's kind of over the thought and just wants me to back it up with cold hearted materialism.

As such, I'm donating all of my plasma tomorrow. Wish me luck!

We're getting a used minivan because it's practical and it's cheap. Way cheaper than the truck we have now and I want to ease our finances now because I'm getting a little tired of being poor.

Speaking of being poor, we have to talk.

I love this blog more than anything I've ever done on a regular basis. I love my children more obviously and my husband and all of that. But as an activity I do on a near daily basis. I love this website more than anything else I've ever done. (Except Sex.)

But there's a problem.

Things are so tight and I know I've been saying that since last year. But it's not getting any better and even though I think to myself, "God, what's xx amount of dollars a month! I mean that's practically nothing!"

I realized this year, for maybe the first time in my life, how all of those 'practically nothings' are adding up.

Also there's the issue of the Incredible Bandwidth Eating Website. My website is like a bandwidth eating whore and it can't help itself...it just can't stop EATING the bandwidth.

The problem is that Typepad only allows me some bandwidth and so far this month my website has used up 303% of that bandwidth and we haven't even hit the middle of the month yet.

Typepad hasn't started charging for it yet but it's a matter of time and I can't pay for it. I can't even pay for the hosting and the Typepad fee. It's not a lot but what I'm saying is all the little things add up and six years of living in denial is finally catching up.

But like I said I love this website and I can't give it up. So I'm not asking you for anything I'm just warning you that the dreaded Google ads are going to be showing up....so that I can keep my website and still send Max to his gym class at the Y....because believe me the boy needs his gym class.

I know it seems like I'm making a big deal out of something stupid but I don't know if you recall why I left Blogspot...the banner ads...so this is extremely ironic.

Plus this way I can save all my plasma for the Rubicon.

First In A Series.

I'm pretty grateful for the gifts people give me, I love that anyone wants to give me, with all my whining and negativity, a gift.

However, if you're thinking about buying me a Christmas gift do not buy me a Thomas Kinkade holiday candle.

I don't think I need to explain this to you do I?

As an aside a woman I once knew explained to me how she simply had to have the latest Thomas Kinkade painting. It was collectible and it was only available for a limited time and before I could think I said, "Right, for a limited time....just like a happy meal toy." and she said, "Well yes, just like a happy meal toy...if a happy meal toy cost $800."

I sprayed my coffee out of my mouth all over the room at that moment because $800 is a lot of money to spend on a Starving Artist Oil Painting.

I guess I just don't know art...but I know candles and I don't want a Thomas Kinkade candle in my house....even if it is only available for a limited time.

So many quotes you'll poke your eyes out.

When I'm a bundle of nerves you can usually find me in the kitchen spot cleaning the wood floors.

Since I started taking my medicine I haven't been very upset about anything and the floor is really suffering, but if the floor were sparkling I would be suffering. I'm sorry kitchen floor, we can't both be happy at once.

The problem with me feeling generally 'okay' most of the time is that the lack of angst leads to a lack of things to bitch and moan about. I used to be able to go on and on about the kids and their talking and their questions and the bickering, but that all seems so manageable now and really, since Bush was elected....it all just pales in comparison.

But then since I'm a bumbling idiot really who just happens to like killing babies and sodomy I don't really want to talk about politics either.

So what I've come up with is a particularly funny story from this weekend, but I must warn you. It's a bit revealing and though funny it may make some of the people who read this site and know me in my everyday life, a little awkward.

My mother comes to mind. My brother. My sister. Various co workers of Logan's.

But I'm telling this story anyway because, Internet, you want content! You don't want a dirty floor and no comedy! You need funny!

I'm just warning you...don't read this if you know me and will be uncomfortable.

On the other hand, my brother has licked his fingers and simulated rubbing his nipples in front of the entire family on the eve of the baby Jesus' birth and my mother once, while playing a charades game (again, on the eve of the baby Jesus' birth) simulated 'Stuffing A Turkey' in a way that can only be described as obscene and forced a guest to flee our house to shower before attending a midnight mass to cleanse his soul of all evilness before Christmas Morn.

So I don't know, I may be fine with this.

The Current Hair Situation.

Most of this year has been made up of a string of bad hair days.

In February I had a bad haircut. I felt very self concious about it and it made me look like someone else. Kind of like an exuberant soccer mom preparing to take over the PTA via any means necessary. It was a mushroom cut and everytime I looked in the mirror I was startled by the mushroom on my head.

In an attempt to fix the bad hair I committed a senseless act of violence on my hair. It was so awful I still tear up when I think about it.

Then throughout March I talked about my hair as I waited for it to grow a little so it might be fixed or made better. Somehow I survived into April with this horrible hair. At that point I was at 47+ bad hair days in a row and not happy about it.

I can't believe this is true. I have had perhaps five good hair days since that time. I haven't mentioned my hair because, Jesus, that's annoying. But it totally stopped growing at some point between May and August. During this summer I was in such a shitty mood almost all the time I think my hair rebelled and doomed me to live with it looking this stupid forever.

Now that I'm medicated and taking a daily vitamin it's finally started growing again and it's long enough to get it fixed up and make it look, decent and if not decent at least better than this.

But I still haven't made a hair appointment. Because I'm afraid. I am afraid to get my hair cut. I'm suffering with Post Traumatic Hair Trauma.

I don't want to go back to that mushroom headed place I found myself in February. I certainly don't want to find myself stuck in that massacre the second stylist committed. But then it's so bad now. It's lifeless and in dire need of a coloring but I don't want to color it while it's this lifeless and stupid looking and what if the color turns out wrong? I'm sensitive, I'm not strong enough to handle any more hair trauma.

But then I'm also finding it hard to live with this hair. Jesus. It's horrid...like I soaked it in a vat of dirty dish water.

Look at my family. My beautiful family. My metrosexual husband. My lovely children....and there's me hovering over them like a big ugly monster with dish water hair sticking to her head for dear life.

I'm also convinced that my dish water hair clinging to my head is making me look even more fat in the face than normal. Or maybe that's just all the halloween candy which keeps showing up in my mouth.

Something has to happen, I have two weddings coming up this month. I can't keep looking like this, but God I don't know that I can overcome my fear. I can't live through another year with the mushroom head.

Gray.

I just really want to move on.

I've worked through most of my emotions...well at least the ones relating to this loss and what it means to me.

A few things that helped:

*Most everyone who commented and shared their thoughts or opinions. Except that one girl who had intelligent things to say like "Let's just bomb them all!"

*This post at One Good Thing with the letter from a reader at the bottom.

*I sent off a few letters to my senators and representatives and you should too. Go here to do it, if you're so inclined. Max wants his dream wedding people! Thanks to my friend Rebecca for taking time out of her busy Starbucks Bile sipping to send me the link.

*Watching The Daily Show which always makes me think things are going to be okay.

*Realizing that maybe people are just scared and don't know what to think and Bush tells them he's going to keep them safe and that's appealing in these uncertain times. Like the letter Flea posted at her site. Things are changing faster than people are ready to accept and that doesn't make them stupid or ignorant...it just means that changes are going to be slower to happen.

Things that did not help me through this time:

*Discussing politics with friends who are polar opposites of me.

Note to self: do not do this ever again. It may be wiser to have a wrestling match about politics with my big brother who is always right. I'd probably come out, if not physically unscathed, emotionally I'd at least be fine. Republican Friends + Questioning of the Tenets They Hold Dear= Nuclear Explosion. OOPS!

*It did not help to yell at Logan who is in full agreement with my political views. It doesn't feel good to be incredulous with someone who is just as incredulous. It only emphasizes the helplessness you're feeling.

*It did not help to realize I have not had my hair cut in NINE (9) months. To realize I have the worst hair ever. I thought it was bad way back in February when I got the Bad Cut. But this, this is hellish and there should be a law against hair like this. Mrs Kennedy may be enduring perpetual bed head but my hair. Oh my hair deserves it's own entry. I apologize for trying to slip it in here.

*Stroking Choppable did not help. He's still gross.

*It did not help to make play dough for preschool. It was supposed to be brown but with my mood and all it turned out matching my mood. In my defense brown is not an easy color to mix with food coloring:

Stay tuned for more talk about Madison's Hellish Birthday Party coming our way soon....and my hair. Jesus Christ my hair!

I'm almost ready.

I'm almost ready to move this blog on.

My laptop came home today. With a new keyboard and gosh, maybe even a working logic board.

This has improved my mood, only slightly.

What really improved my mood was teaching Max to say "Daddy, Jesus Fucking Christ, I'm gay."

I ask you...how can this not make the world a better place?

If you would just be like me the world would be better.

I'm sure I'll be able to move on soon. For now my whining is helping me process the state of things. The 'Moral Values' agenda is scaring me.

I also realized why I have seizures whenever someone says something like, "This country would be better off if more people prayed and believed in God."

The reason this makes me want to wash my hands of humanity forever, even though I'm sure the person that says it means no harm by spouting this kind of pat answer.

I'm sure the person who says this actually has found peace and a certain level of happiness by praying and believing in God.

What sends me into moral convulsions when someone says, "This world would be a better place if everyone prayed and believed in God." Is the fact that what they are really saying is:

"If everyone were more like me this world would be a better place."

It's a simple minded way of looking on the world and the fact that so much of Middle 'Merka believes this and would like to make sure everyone subscribes to the administration's 'Moral Values'.....well, it makes me a whiney bitch sipping on my Starbucks bile.

I will move on. It's just the third day since I realized how bad things are going to get over the next 4 years, forgive me for needing to rage about it for a moment.

The rage may find solace in getting my computer back. But it's still 'In Transit'. Steve Jobs must be traveling by car to hand deliver my brand new 14" Powerbook right to my door. I'm waiting for him.

Still waiting....

Choppable Is Pissed.

Shame On You Michigan

I've always had a hard time explaining homosexuality to my children.

Like anything that has complexity I had trouble coming up with the words to put it in a 4 year old's perspective. Since this was uncharted territory for me, I didn't know how to explain it.

But amazingly, one day I did explain it to her. And she's not corrupt! And she hasn't decided SHE MUST BE GAY!

She's decided that sometimes a man and a woman fall in love and sometimes two men fall in love and sometimes two women fall in love and in her mind there's nothing abnormal about that.

People, all kinds of people, find love.

Why would I need to protect her from that reality?

Now I'm having a hard time explaining why people everywhere are so determined to ban gay marriage.

"But if people love each other why can't they get married?"

"I guess a lot of people feel that being a man and woman in love gives them special privileges."

"But why?"

I have no fucking idea.

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*I'm reopening comments. Can we try to stay on point. Attacking me, my children and my husband personally are unacceptable. Try to play nice.

From now on I'm creating constitutional amendments for everything I don't like.

All along in this election I've been hearing the ads for Proposal 2. Stupid ads with scripty type floating across the most heinous and outdated 80's wedding photos.

"A man. A woman. As it should be."

I've had several seizures while watching these commercials. But in the back of my mind I've felt comforted thinking that my state wouldn't buy into this bull shit. But Holy Fucking Shit. They are buying into this bullshit.

When Max covers his eyes he says, "You can't see me mommy!" Because from his perspective I can't see him since he can't see anything.

Sometimes I wonder if I haven't matured past being a self centered 3 year old. I rarely talk politics with anyone. I just assumed everyone around me was on the same page. But they're not and now it's the night before the election and I'm so afraid Proposal 2 is going to pass.

I think Max may very well be gay. And constitutional amendment or not I will not deny him his chance to be Bridezilla. Please vote accordingly. (Also you should know Choppable HATES Proposal 2.)

On To Other Things

Logan's computer has a constitutional amendment denying the existence of USB ports so I can't upload any pictures from my digital camera. (Thank you Apple!). But Logan's office does not have a constitutional amendment banning USB ports at the office so he plugged in there and gave me a few shots from our weekend.

We decided to be a cat and a mouse for a party Saturday night. Logan thought being a mouse was a swell idea until he realized he looked like a mouse and he couldn't be cool dressed in all gray with an adorable little tail and gray and pink ears on his head. Isn't he adorable?

Here we are with Logan's friend Meg. Meg does not have a nose piercing, it was a purloined part of another's costume.
In this picture I noticed how when I smile I completely lose my upper lip so I wondered what it would look like if I had really full collagen lips. Lovely!

Here are Madison and Maxwell moments before vomiting all over the place. Not really, but why do they have to do that when I take their picture?

One year Madison was a monkey. Another year an adorable fat bumble bee. Then a chicken. This year she was everything I hate in a halloween costume. A soul killing confection of polyester and iron ons.

Next year there will be a constitutional amendment banning all costumes I can't stand.