Suburban Bliss:: Birth Control Via The Written Word

A very special Christmas treat.

Oh economy you're ruining my holiday. There were layoffs at Logan's job last week. I thought his job was immune to the automotive turmoil. Oh and we're waiting on payment from one of Logan's freelance clients who appears to have fallen off the face of the planet. Probably lost their business because of the automotive industry turmoil and the fact that no one has any money to spend around here.

Awesome.

So yes, I'm frustrated with December in general. And shopping for Christmas specifically.

I wonder if the kids would care if we had a Little House On The Prairie style Christmas with sugar sticks from Mankato.

It's almost as good as a Laptop, cellphone, trip to Texas, Paris and Chicago, and a puppy. In fact they're almost exactly the same.

I'm certain I can convince Maddie of this. Maybe if I throw in a rag doll named Charlotte.

Weekend Political Post: Are people still seriously buying this?

I have a bookmark folder titled "Weekend Political Rantings".

I'm not sure why I'm so fired up about this election. I guess the sense that there is a huge portion of this population who seem to believe that negative attacks far beyond policy criticism are an appropriate way to run a campaign and Christian Values are somehow appropriate for all of this country's diverse population.

It's making me furious, and I wish McCain's camp would just stop, mostly because every time I read one of these things or hear about a disgusting Robocall or campaign mailing. I have to give more money to the Obama camp. At the rate McCain's going, we'll be unable to pay our bills.

The best thing I saw all week was John McCain talking about negative ads.

Oh, you don't say. Weird.

After the stupid Terrorist garbage, McCain and Palin have moved onto the OMG HE'S A SOCIALIST!!!!! We won't have enough TOILET PAPER ONCE HE'S IN CHARGE!!!!

Funny thing is, he seemed to understand the basic tenets of Progressive Taxation just a few short years ago. I guess he was a socialist before it became a smear.

Progressive Taxation is okay, unless it's 2008 and I'm having my ass handed to me on a platter. Then it's SOCIALISM AND AMERICA!!!! YOU SHOULD BE TERRIFIED! A-hem. Here's a longer version of McCain's opinion, in fairness. Gee, maybe I would have voted for 2000McCain. 

Finally, this week I'd really like someone to explain why an abortion clinic bomber is not a domestic terrorist, while William Ayers is. Is it because Sarah Palin believes government should be smaller and "get out of the way" while she believes government should make personal moral decisions about who can get married and who can make decisions about one's own body? Does this make the abortion bomber's actions less reprehensible? Because she agrees with them? What?

At the very least, if you are not voting for Barack Obama because he is a "terrorist" and a "socialist", I honestly think you are ridiculous. Please at least find something real to motivate your vote for John McCain.

If you're not voting for Barack Obama because he's a black man, then please just stop reading.

Perspective

We're driving through a not-as-nice area of Detroit. I know to those who love to hate Detroit that seems like an anomaly, but it's true. Just like every other city there are not-as-nice areas of Detroit.

There's a church we pass on our way through and their inspirational sign reads:

"It could always be worse."

This seems like a bit of a stretch as far as "Inspiration" goes.

Time for a new banking institution

Dear Bank,

The other day, I was thinking of you Bank. Remember a few months ago when you cashed a check on my account only it wasn't our check and the numbers didn't match up or the names? Your teller had transposed a couple numbers and made an honest mistake? Remember how you made us wait 3 days to 'clear it all up' and in the mean time we were short $500?

I understand, mistakes happen. God knows I've goofed up our checking account a few times since we started our relationship. The thing I was thinking about though was how when I mess up, you make me pay you hundreds of dollars in fees and such. Isn't that funny?

My husband has a freelance client who really likes making his checks out to the name of his freelance business and not to him personally. It's true, we really should have a business account but I should also floss my teeth every day and not just the day before I visit the dentist.

Half the time, Bank, you don't even notice who the check is made out to. The other half of the time you refuse to deposit the money into our account. At least until I pull out of your branch and drive a quarter mile to another. Then they'll take the check without any questions.

The thing that bothers me about this issue is not just the lack of consistency in your actions but also the fact that I am only depositing the money. I am not taking cash back and you are holding the funds until the check clears. Which it will, just like it always does.

Yesterday I came by to deposit a check for a whopping $40. I was not getting any cash, I just wanted to put that whole $40 into my bank account, so I could buy a newspaper or something.

My signature is sort of messy. I used to write my whole name out but then I started signing my name like all the adults in my life. A big M with a scribble and a big S with a scribble, sometimes I just write M S-scribble because....Bank? Does it strike you as a little odd I have to explain all this to you?

Yesterday I tried to deposit forty whole dollars into my account and while waiting for my deposit slip you called over the intercom that I would need to sign my whole name on the back of my check because that is the legal name I gave you for my account. Also? Could I add that W initial I have on the account?

Bank? It's A FORTY DOLLAR CHECK. Just put it in my account for christ sakes.

I was stunned when you really did send my check back for a new signature. But guess what Bank? I signed it almost exactly the same but I squiggled my pen after the M just for you. I did not put the W though because Bank, I think you're just being a bitch now.

All this inconsistency and weird added road blocks aren't the thing that's making me want to grab my money and run from you Bank.

What I'm trying to say Bank is that if anyone wants to put money into my bank account? I'm cool with you letting them. Just place a hold on the check and if for some reason it doesn't clear, hey! we'll just pretend it never happened. Okay?

Sincerely, your 19 year customer,
M S-scribble

========================================================

New posts: I'm starting a book club for kids and reintroducing Did They Eat It? at a new venue. Did they? There's only one way to find out.....

Also I've been working on a secret new project and it's going to launch very soon and I can hardly wait for you to see it. More next week....

How to make me want to tear you limb from limb.

Be the WOW Tech Support Lady. Start out by calling the 'System Preferences' tab the "System Perfections", tell me, "Well you're connected to the internet, Macs are usually really good at this," go on to tell me there's nothing you can do saying, "You'll have to call Apple I guess."

Then, end the call with the canned speech including the words, ".....Is there anything else I can do for you today Mrs. Summers?"

Well, now that you mention it, can you tell me why my connection to the internet isn't working?

Raging Throat.

The good news is Max was not faking his sore throat when he came home early from school on Monday.

The bad news is I am only certain of this because I am currently unable to swallow without wincing in pain.

I've been tracking my sore throats. If I get two more in the next 8 months I can get someone to take my tonsils out. I never thought I'd be wishing for more sore throats.

Will never be my free pass. Ever.

Logan and I like to play a game from time to time. We call it 'Free Pass'. Let's say I was at the grocery store and David Beckham walked up to me and suggested we go back to his hotel so he could give me some soccer tips. I'm allowed to do that if that's who I've chosen as my 'Free Pass'.

Now, if say, George Clooney walked up and asked me the same thing, I would have to decline his invitation because he is probably lying because I don't think he knows how to play soccer and also because he's not my free pass. Usually my choice for free pass is so ridiculous Logan gets angry. Not because he feels inadequate in the face of my choice but because I typically pick someone like Stephen Colbert, "....because he's so funny!"

Logan says, "Why would you pick someone funny as your free pass? You're going to stay up all night talking?"

And honestly, I really might just do that.

All this to say, I would never in one million years choose Long Haired Swinger as my free pass. (Though one of the rules is it can't be anyone you actually know in real life.)

So I wish he would leave me alone.

I've managed to avoid Long Haired Swinger as the weather and my general demeanor turned cold. But in the last few weeks we've had a couple of warm ups in the weather and I guess warm ups make Long Haired Swinger think maybe my heart is melting toward him along with the snow.

One afternoon another mom brought her new puppy out to meet all the kids. Long Haired Swinger came strolling up to admire the cute puppy and I stared at the puppy pretending not to notice him.

He walked up and said, "How is Miss Summers today?" What is this third person thing? Why am I Miss?

He went on, "Oh puppies are so cute when they're little....just like people. Then they grow up and you're not sure you like them anymore."

And I replied, "Only if they grow up to be repellent!"

Only I didn't really say that. I made this noise I've perfected for any communication I have to make with Long Haired Swinger.

It sounds like this, "nnnnh." And I look at the ground while I say it. Or off into the distance in the opposite direction of him.

Him, burrowing his beady eyes into the top of my head: "Blah blahblah?
Me, looking at the ground. "nnnnh."
Him: Blah! Blahh blahhhhhh blah I am freaky!"
Me, looking at the sky: "Nnnnnnh."

The other day it was beautiful, almost 80 degrees. These glimpses of spring are probably the best thing about Michigan weather. When the sun does come out and it's warm for the first few times, it's so life affirming the whole world seems like a better place.

Until Long Haired Swinger crawls out of his hole.

On this day he walked up to where I was standing, alone. I usually hide outside the gate at pick up so he won't see me.

"How is Miss Summers today?" (WHO TALKS LIKE THIS?????)
"nnnnnh"
"So now that the weather is so beautiful does this mean we'll be seeing your smile again?"
"nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnhhhhhhhhhhh."

And I walked away.

The thing I can't figure out about this person is why he is even still interested in talking to me. I would think someone acting the way I am is a horrifying bitch. I would think to myself, "Wow, what a bitch!" And I would avoid that person.

I avoid people who have acted even less bitchy than I have just because I don't want to waste my time on people who are bitches.

Oh God, I just realized this. Does he think I'm playing hard to get? Does he think he can melt my ice queen ways and show me the tantric ways of his peoples?

Why can't Long Haired Swinger find this website like my in laws and the Presbyterians and get so angry about it's contents he never speaks to me again?

Why can't Stephen Colbert just show up on a whim at my playground and ask if I want to hear some of his new material?

It's Miffy!

Mrs Kennedy was contacted by Miffy's people and you know I love a good kerfluffle more than I like drinking until my kids are maimed. (Look how I do that! 10 years from now I'll be doing that! Stop reading now because it's not changing. Just ask the Presbyterians. It's been three years and I still make references to that one time....)

I guess the problem is that a long time ago Mrs Kennedy professed her undying love for Miffy. How can you not love Miffy? She's everything wonderful about the Netherlands. Besides being there with Alice. But apparently Miffy's people don't love free advertising and so they asked Mrs. Kennedy to shut the hell up about Miffy.

Okay.

So she replaced the Miffy image she had on her site with another drawing. A homemade Miffy compliments of a Sharpie and Jackson.

Miffy's people are still pissed.

I tried to leave this as a comment but blogger is having it's period and won't let me.

I asked Mrs Kennedy if Maddie could share her cell. Because Maddie is screwed if creating a 'likeness' is verboten.

I wonder if Miffy's creator, Dick, would appreciate Maddie's bondage version of Miffy.

What about Maddie's so called "Japanese Miffy":

Maybe Dick would like "Elvis Miffy" aka "Hitler Miffy'!" So cute! So Cuddly!

Maddie has a whole folder of this artwork. In a Miffy (totally legally obtained) folder. I dare the Dutch to come take it from her.

Take it from her cold dead hands.

Besides trying to bait Miffy's people into a fight, I also wrote a new post at the buzz off. Free coffee! $25 off $50 worth of clothing! 50% off a Janet Taylor approved 1 ounce sized flask! (I'll never move on. Ever.)

All I'm saying.

Thank God Anne Lamott 'exploited' her son and wrote about her first year as his mother.

I'm not sure I'd have made it out of my first year with two kids without that book.

That I took something from reading about her experience and that she made many dollars off that story must be purely evil and Ms. Lamott should have known better.

(There are a thousand places to have this mommy-blog debate if you would like. I'm not opening comments for it to happen here. I don't want to hear why you agree with me or why you disagree with me because I have a pretty good grasp of the discussion already from both sides.)

[Edit: Oops. I left comments open when I set this post to publish. Now comments are off. Sorry.]

It was my spechl day.

Madison made this card for me. She let Max add the little orange smiley face, but that was it.

She was right, it was my spechl day. Real, real spechl.

Logan unleashed a bit of Jackassery™ on me yesterday and well, it made my birthday full of comments like, "Are you stupid? Seriously, are you stupid? Just answer the question okay?"

But as a friend pointed out, everyone can perform acts of Jackassery™, except Jesus. He performs a lot of acts but Jackassery™? Not really.

I'm mostly over it.

We had a wee cake because when we buy a cake at the store, we always throw away over half of it. And though we get twice as much for the same price as this wee cake, those cakes taste like candle wax and kitchen sponge. This cake was amazing.

Here I am blowing out my candles. I made a wish.

I wished that someday soon we wouldn't be eating off a card table in the dining room because our dining room table is packed full of toiletries and various home remodeling items.

Also I wished that TrafficMaster Stainproof Grout never entered our lives.

Amen.

The best part about having a not-so-good birthday is that the year can only get better from here.

PS: I also wished you'd send me pictures of your favorite hats.

This makes me laugh.

...also choke on my tongue.

"Keeping Talent "Happy"....A Primer"

Dear Logan's old company....

When one has had their paycheck direct deposited on the last day of each month for the last 5 years, it might be worthwhile to mention, perhaps in an exit interview, that you'll be sending a paper check this month.

You might want to do that so that your former employee is aware that that envelope with the meaningless pay stub they've gotten in the mail for the last five years is actually a check which will need to be deposited before the last day of the month, when all their automatic bills are paid out of that account.

Since you didn't do that, yesterday was a day of blood shed in our bank account. Resulting in 14 overdrafts and 14 different $30 overdraft fees.

And dear bank, since when do you hold payroll checks for two business days?  Leaving me with no access to the money I just desposited into my account with about 12 hours until I am leaving for Chicago.

I am what one might call totally livid.

No wait, you should hold the check, leave me with no paycheck and then charge me $420 in fees for an obvious oversight (since we've been banking with you since 1993 and have always had our paychecks direct deposited).

It is physically impossible for me to have any money in the bank. Something always happens the minute we build up a small savings. It's unreal.

Madison Heights is dead to me.

Yesterday it was 50 degrees and very, very rainy. Logan had to go back to the office for a few hours after we got the kids to bed, so he took my car. My car was already running low on gas so I assumed he'd stop and put some in it before making the 30 mile round trip. But the wind was whipping cold rain all over the place by then and he was going to work at 8:45 and didn't get home until 11:30 (I know, man saving panties) and I'm sure he didn't want to leave me with no gas this morning.

This morning it was no longer spring in Michigan it was 20 degrees with that same wind which had been whipping rain around last night. Only it was daytime, I was wearing my short work out pants, no gloves or hat because I was racing to get my carpool kids to school.

I also didn't grab my phone on the way out the door.

You see where I'm going no?

I dropped the all the kids off, my gauge said I had 60 miles left, so I ran my errands, went to the gym and decided to swing by my house to get my hat and gloves so I could fill up the gas tank without freezing my hands off my body.

About 5 miles from my house, in Madison Heights (which is dead to me), surprise! No gas...when the digital gauge said I had 45 more. But I didn't because the car would not start again.

I sat for a minute and debated my options. Which were (since I didn't have my phone):
Walk the five miles to my house to call one of my girlfriends to help me.
Knock on some doors to see if anyone would let me use their phone.
Flag down a passerby (it was a relatively busy residential street) to borrow a cell phone.

I started to try to walk home, but about one block into the at least 32 block walk my ankles were freezing (I was wearing cropped workout pants and no socks), my ears were about to fall off and the hands in the pocket thing was not going to cut it in this hellish wind.

So I started back toward my car, stopping at doors along the way where cars were in the driveway. This neighborhood is not the 'nicest' area, but I chose 4 houses with cars in the driveways which looked the least like a banjo playing anal rapist lived there.

Not one person answered the fucking door.

I then turned on my hazard lights and began waving at people driving up and down the road. I did this for 40 minutes. I waved at at least 30 cars and not one of those people stopped to offer me any help. NOT A SINGLE PERSON. I am still just beyond awed.

I am a woman, in her 30's standing in workout clothes holding a Kate Spade bag outside a God damned minivan with it's hazards on in a no parking zone in 20 degree weather waving frantically at all the cars passing me and not one of you assholes could stop and offer me a little help? Couldn't call the police? Couldn't stop to offer me a phone?

My faith in humanity has been challenged today by those people on Gardenia between John R and Stephenson. If you were on that road today between 10:15 and 10:50 then you are exactly who I'm talking about. Shame on you.

I finally tackled someone and begged him to let me use his phone. He was just coming home from work and seemed reluctant to let me use his god damn cellphone for 3 minutes while I called Logan for help. I'm glad you decided to help me, Mr Shift Worker, but your kindness would have been more appreciated if you hadn't attempted to WALK AWAY FROM YOU WHILE I ASKED YOU IF I COULD USE YOUR PHONE FOR HELP. If I hadn't had to virtually CHASE YOU I may have better feelings about how you helped me.

Nonetheless, thanks.

Luckily Logan is shooting photography with our friend Joe today and Cari (his fiancee and also assistant) was not too far away getting gas herself when Logan called her. Cari was glad to help and didn't make me chase her to do it and didn't ignore me when I waved pleadingly at her.

Cari is also not from Madison Heights. This is not a coincidence.

Again, dead to me Madison Heights. We thought you were cute before because Madison could drive through and pretend she owned the city...since ever auto shop, liquor store and school has her name on the front. But now, we are changing Madison's name because we want no ties to you and your cold detatched ways.

I really don't talk about Logan's job because well we like paying our mortgage and eating.

But read this. Logan made the cut but quite a few of his friends, some our friends didn't and between my emotional instability, this news and what Madison Heights did to me, I've been crying all morning.

We all know I've been unsatisfied with where our financial life has been going for the last 3 years or so. I talked before about how I'd like Logan to find another job he loves like he loves this one. Where they are able to compensate him for the work he gives them.

With the huge Ford layoffs and the GM layoffs and the automotive industry struggling to thrive in this internationally competitive marketplace, I'm convinced the entire economy of this area is going to get much worse before it gets better.

I really hate to feel uneasy and uneasy is what I'm feeling. I want out.

The universe: reacting to trolls with philosophy.

Sometimes I'm just stunned by the universe when things like this happen. This is the fortune Logan got in his fortune cookie last night at his weekly pool league.

Yes, I realize there are women at the pool league. Not to worry I strapped my Man Saving Panties around his head to protect him. He's mine ladies....all. mine. And I am grateful he even came home after wards.

Hey! I thought I was over it but I'm not.

The ironic thing is, Logan is never uncertain about his beauty, he never stops beholding it. But then there's me drowning in self-loathing and doubt and I can't get a fortune cookie like that to save my f-ing life. Life is funny.

I've decided the Internet is having it's period and that is why it's being so bitchy. I was actually sort of surprised at how long the Internet has been kind to me. But then again, the first comment Bethany left about not leaving my husband while I go on vacation because he'd cheat on me, I didn't take as a slam but then it was! Duh!

Look how numb I am to your hatred PMS Internet. I don't even notice anymore when you're slamming me. The part where you said, "Your kids will be happy you're gone." Nice touch I didn't even register until you called me ugly. Woooo! Try some Midol and maybe Yasmin birth control because I hear that's good for PMS.

But I was wondering when the hatred would flare up because a lot of nice things are happening to me. But then when bad things are happening I get shitty comments about gratitude and etc. So hey! I guess I just have to not care anymore.

In California Heather revealed her biggest trick for dealing with the hatred which inevitably comes with writing on the internet. "Ignore and then? Ignore some more."

When she said that I was thinking, "You know, I've really started to get the hang of that." Which was a lie. I don't have the hang of it at all.

But you see the crappiness is not just happening to me. It's also happening to Very Mom. And Amalah's gotten an earful about a particular dress (but don't talk about it....she's over it and you should be too) and her decision to work outside the home.

So my theory holds up. The Internet is having it's period and soon all the raging hormones will stabilize and we'll all get along. Until I go to Amsterdam (the 23rd...we're not all going at the same time...though that would be really funny. A bus tour of nerds!) and then some of the Internet will be jealous, and when some people get jealous they don't understand that feeling and are uncomfortable with it. So they make that emotion about something else and they lash out in hateful ways to make other people feel badly.

On a related note: I've realized how I can't write about celebrities anymore at Flogging Baby. Last week I wrote about Britney's rumored next pregnancy and then yesterday I had to write about the car seat debacle. I've been making an effort not to be judgmental about the celebrities, to not say much because we don't know them. We know them even less than people know bloggers and I know how much it hurts when people say shitty things to me. Even still, the vitriol, hatred and judgements hurled at Britney, Katie and Angelina by the commenters on those posts...it's stomach turning.

Whenever I write about a hot celebrity my email fills with these words and also, I think, bad karma.

The problem is, let's be straight here, Blogging Baby is a blog which is based on good writing and interesting links and news but also as much based on traffic.  But Suburban Bliss is just mine. Traffic is of course something a personal blogger loves...but I loved writing this site when I had 8 people reading it.

You'll note the celebrity and gossip blogs have insane traffic and amazing ad revenue, because people love it. They eat it up like a big fat buttery biscuit. So, it just is a necessary evil at Blogging Baby.

But I think my karma is paying the price for writing pieces which put celebrities up for ridicule and hatred. Perhaps the universe is trying to teach me a lesson for letting people leave comments like this:

"I feel for little Sean. I can't imagine what his life will be like."

Because people have said something to that effect to me on this website.

"Um, wow if she actually is pregnant... her hubby acting the way he does, and she's stupid enough to have another one of his offspring?"

Ouch. I wince.

I won't even go into the Angelina/Brad debacles. Oh the rage the general public unleashes on celebrites who cheat (because you know, regular people never have affairs and start over with new lovers)...I've got a lot of shitty comments coming my way if that comment thread is any indication.

When you look at it that way, that I'm putting out even more opportunities for people to spew hatred and judgements at people in the world, perhaps I don't deserve to expect to be treated any differently in my own public forum.

So no more celebrity news other than birth and pregnancy announcments. And I will defer to the rest of the writers to report Katie Holme's delivery or Angelina's because even just a birth announcement sends people into a judgemental and nasty froth.

And my karma inbox is full.

Just smile and nod

On no less than four occasions on Saturday I said something to Logan and he didn't hear me. He looked like he heard me, he smile and vacantly nodded at me and then claimed he had never heard a thing I said.

We drove to the Henry Ford on Saturday and on the side of the freeway there was a huge sign that said, "The Henry Ford, next exit". We were in the far lane and so I suggested, maybe he needed to get over. I said this gently because Logan hates when I drive from the passenger seat. One of his favorite jokes is: "Oh no, I like to drive...that way we both get to drive!"

'Isn't that the exit you want?' I suggested gently. He vacantly nodded into the distance and drove right past it. I thought he had a different way he liked to go so I said nothing. Then 20 seconds later he said, "I wonder which exit I want."

So what did he think I said when I asked if that was the exit he wanted? What was he vacantly nodding about? So okay, we found our way. We decided to stop for lunch before going to the museum where a disgusting sandwich costs $4,000. We'd rather get our disgusting sandwiches at McDonald's for just $2.

As we got ready for our order I said, "The kids want a fountain drink." (Rather than the milk they typically get with their Obesity Happy Meal.) I said it to his face, he was looking at me when I said it. He arrived at the table with two milks.

The children started whining and I said, 'That's not what they asked for.'
He replied, "But that's what I always get for them."
I said, "And that's why I told you they wanted a fountain drink."
And. He. Said. "No you didn't."

I got a little snippy at that point. My head exploded and I'll admit I didn't speak kindly to my spouse as I questioned what the ever loving hell he thinks I'm saying TO. HIS. FACE. when he nods and doesn't hear a thing I'm saying? What is he saying yes to?

My attitude infuriated him and that was a really nice outing with the family!

On the way home from the museum I decided we would have to enunciate in our conversations from now on and at the end of each sentence I'll say 'Over' and he'll say, '10-4'. So we both know we've been heard because the affirmative head shake doesn't seem to mean anything. Logan looks at me while my mouth moves and hears nothing and just smiles and nods.

It's fine if he just wants to nod and not hear me but why does this selective hearing not work for important things like, "Does it really matter if the world knows I don't like your family?" or "I kind of like this color of paint for the living room?"

No when it comes to those things there is no vacant nodding and it's just not fair.

Did you hear anything I just said?

In other news: Would you like to see a childhood picture of me and the other lovely bloggers from Blogging Baby? Of course you would! If you can guess who each of the bloggers are, you could win a chair! A CHAIR!

My picture will be obvious to you since I have hardly any baby photos of myself. I'm going to have to raid my mother's house very soon. My picture is from my days at Bo Jangles Preschool. Bo Jangles people.

This would NEVER fly today in our ultra PC society, especially since the city I grew up in is eerily caucasian.

You're vacantly smiling and nodding aren't you.

Punch.

This stroller makes me want to punch someone. HARD.

SEVEN HUNDRED FORTY NINE DOLLARS.

ANGRY

ANGRY

ANGRY

Retraction.

[I've edited this post to say that I'm "Sleeping On It" which is to say I'm letting it simmer for a few moments. Please wait with baited breath to see what happens next.]

Prestige...

Yesterday I watched a car pull up outside on the side of my house, outside the dining room window as I worked at the table. I then watched a couple begin frantically making out. Then, I watched seat belts come off and then saw frantic arm movements centered around the male drivers crotch. I drew the line (finally) when her head went into his lap.

Does anyone remember when 'L' told me in my comments I was "sacrificing my mental health" for my "prestigious address"?

Indeed. It's so prestigious cheating couples like to park right in front of someone's home, where the young inhabitants are watching dora the explorer, while you get a hand job! In broad daylight! As 12 year olds walk home from school! Prestige!

Last night we had our friends Sarah and Bryan over for cards. A last game of cards as they're abandoning us for the beautiful wilds of northern Michigan. Before they even had their coats off I blurted the story out to them at the back door, because I can't help myself when I have an exciting story to share. I HAVE TO TELL IT RIGHT NOW!

Sarah was entirely outraged by this story. Outraged! Because the driver of the car with his hand job and interrupted blow job was totally a taker and what about her? Didn't he care about her needs?

No wonder he's cheating on his wife in his large green luxury sedan in a residential neighborhood. He's a selfish asshole.

In other news: I bought a $25 lap top bag yesterday and I have heartburn because I just spent $25 on something extra. Budget living is really cramping my shopping. Coming soon! Asa (who is expecting a very stylish little girl in June) will take us to her favorite baby stores.

[Edited to add: My camera is kept in a chest of drawers near the dining room window. If I'd stood up to take their picture (and believe me I would have loved it) they'd have seen me. When her head went down I simply stood up and started walking toward the window and off they zoomed. How I wish I'd have written down their plate. I'd publish it and send it to the local paper too. Because I'm a bitch.]

Nyquil

Today has been a particularly painful day. From about 3pm on I began thinking, longingly, of the moment I'd take a dose of Nyquil and fall into a deep restorative sleep and how tomorrow everything would look a little brighter. I'd be feeling better and I'd get a call about a job and it all hinged on that dose of Nyquil.

There aren't a lot of feelings worse than getting ready to take that sweet sweet nectar of slumber, and realizing the box....is empty.

Sure I'm going to lose my house, and I can't get a job and our home is surrounded by sewage oozing from pipes but what's sealed the deal on this day is the Nyquil stolen from me.

Right now I'm laying in bed and figuratively shaking my fist at God.

This is getting expensive, and stupid.

Hey! Ticket #2 as I sat outside Royal Oak Brewery reading blogs.

Help me. I've lost my mind.

(Also, the minivan makes a nice comfy office. Who knew?)

This post has ten links and I didn't ask for permission to use any of them. I'm a maverick that way.

This morning while delousing my daughter's head again. (6 new eggs!) I got this email.

Remember this woman had previously emailed me telling me it was fine since this is my personal website. They just can't get their stories straight. Silly women.

Melissa,

It has recently come to the attention of International MOMS Club® that
you have links from your website to both International MOMS Club's®
website and the Berkley, MI chapter's website. You do not have permission from either of this [sic] organizations to use their website
addresses on your personal website. By linking them, it gives the
appearance that International MOMS Club® and the chapter support your website, which is not the case. While the opinions are yours and can
freely be published, it is requested that you remove any links to these two sites.

If you have any questions, please feel free to contact me.
Sincerely,
Cxxxx Sxxxxxx
Asst. Regional Coordinator
Michigan/Wisconsin

Really? Did any of you savvy internet users think that by linking to the MOMS Club® International website they were supporting my opinions or that this was an 'official' website of the MOMS Club® organization?

Because it isn't and I thought I made that clear but it appears the MOMS Club® organization isn't familiar with how this InterWeb works.

I hate George Bush but by linking to the white house website I don't give off the appearance that I'm somehow tied to the government. This isn't how things work.

Oh MOMS Club®, this is making you absolutely crazy and I'm sorry it is. I just can't stand being told what I can or can't publish on this website from people I have no desire to please.

Also, I linked to this lame-o website when talking about the Gossip Geyser and The FYI Era. I hope you weren't under the impression they supported this website. I don't know how you would have got that impression, since I now absolutely can't stand the entire organization, but if you did. Let's clear this up now.

Disclaimer: The links I provide on this website do not imply any official ties to the organizations I link. The opinions on this website are mine and mine alone. Any links I use are meant to share more information with you, the reader.

Now, cut it out you annoying MOMS Club® and you annoying group of busy bodies.

Gossip Geyser

I ask you Internet, with all the power of Al Gore, please send all of your positive energy, karma if you will, to my husband.

On to bitchier things!

Remember last week when the MOMS Club thing came up?

Well there are all these bitchy things I want to say about that situation but will it be interesting to read? Or will I just reveal myself to be as annoying and catty as those tongue wagging gossips?

Well yes, and I think I'm okay with that. For tonight. (For ever...but I won't always expect you to listen to it.)

Like I said before, in any group of people there are always bad apples. There are also lots of great people and usually you just kind of ignore the bad apples to enjoy the good people.

Sometimes though you put a group of mothers together in an organization founded on the principle that being a stay at home mother is the best way to raise kids, you may run into more than your fair share of jackassery.

Also, I am totally intolerant of gossips and most annoying people.

Sometimes being a stay at home mother can be a little boring and I guess what some stay at home mothers do when they're bored is talk about everyone else in the group in a bitchy manner.

I've alluded to one other incident of jackassery with the 'Breast is Best....Also Diet Coke!' lady, but there were other moments of jackassery, mostly when our group was made up of two cities.

Like this overzealous woman who made it her job to personally supervise every action, every email I sent, every event I organized.....sending me emails every other minute in a very control freakish kind of way to make sure I was doing things the way she thought best.

I call that time the 'FYI Era' because during that time I had one million emails from that woman which started with the phrases: "FYI" or "Did you realize...." or "My God I'm a busy body who has nothing better to do but go over everything you do with a fine tooth comb."

But then my favorite was the woman who had a constant stream of gossip spouting out of her face. A fountain of gossip and no one was free of her cattiness. Her best friend, the mailman, the women in our group she couldn't stand for whatever reason. Any time I saw her I did a mental countdown to see when she'd start spouting. A Gossip Geyser. She never disappointed.

I thought I'd left the 'FYI Era' behind and the 'Gossip Geyser' behind because Royal Oak got it's own group and the 'Gossip Geyser' and the 'FYI Emailer' were left behind to wag their tongues at each other in their very own MOMS club.

But oh no, she's still with me!

After I got the polite request to remove the name MOMS Club from my website at the request of a 'coordinator' I contacted the International MOMS Club about the issue. The regional coordinator had never heard of the issue....so I began to wonder who on earth told my chapter's president to ask me to remove the MOMS Club name from my website.

When the regional coordinator got back to me she revealed that it was SURPRISE! The Gossip Geyser who politely requested I remove the MOMS Club name from my website.

And surprise! The regional coordinator told me that she should never have made that request since this is a personal website. The Gossip Geyser retired her coordinator position. Over this? I'm unsure but now that I know she's reading I'm just tickled to have this forum to vent my intense annoyance with this annoying woman.

Why is she reading this site and why does she care if I mention MOMS Club? And if she cares so much about me mentioning the MOMS Club....why didn't she say something to me herself?

Answer: she's the Gossiping Geyser and she doesn't have time. She simply creates messes and then walks away.

And in the words of my robotic spouse, "Gah...just let it go."

And, though that's annoying as hell to hear him say, I have to agree. I need to just let it go....but the whole thing gives me such a pleasurable mix of irritation and glee and well the truth is....I've become one of those women with nothing better to do but wag my tongue about these annoying women.

That's why you must send up all your positive energy to whatever cosmos is involved in getting me a job and getting me the hell out of this house. Also I gave my official membership resignation last week because this is the kind of stupid thing I just can't participate in anymore.

Diamond Encrusted Toilet Bowl Brush.

When I said Logan needed another job, did you think I wanted him to be happy at his next job, just paid what he's worth?

Because that is so totally not what I meant. I meant that I won't be happy until I am rich, FABULOUSLY RICH with a diamond encrusted toilet bowl brush...make that TWO diamond encrusted toilet bowl brushes!

Did you think I wanted him to stay in his field, maybe just designing for new clients? Because that's not what I meant. I meant I wanted him to sell his soul to the devil and become a LAWYER. Because designing at a new job with new clients and being paid what he's worth would still leave him happy...and I do NOT WANT HIM TO BE HAPPY.

Did you think that I meant that Logan could move his career forward within his field and would quite possibly find the satisfaction of more responsibilities and perks and more money in a new position? No no no. I won't be happy until I suck every last bit of joy out of his bones. That diamond encrusted toilet bowl brush isn't going to buy itself with 'Happiness'.

Believe me it's not easy to try and make Logan unhappy but I'm working very hard at making sure I take away all the joy in his life.

Thanks for the lovely email from the one person who understood what I was saying, it made a pretty shitty day feel even shittier!

I used to wonder why Dooce would let her hate mail bother her. I thought to myself, 'People are just mean and nasty when they're jealous. You're fabulous and everyone else thinks so. Screw those assholes.'

Then last night Logan, whom I had chained in the basement for his nightly Joy Depleting beating, said the exact same thing and I felt horribly misunderstood and frustrated and I realized why hate mail bothers me. (I realized this after I beat the living crap out of Logan because my goodness he seemed awfully happy yesterday and I can't have all that happiness rolling around!)

I throw myself out here warts and all and I make myself very vulnerable by doing so. Hate mail is misguided hatred from someone who doesn't understand that this is a website and one is not required to read it. It really shouldn't bother me, since these comments are many times from people who think they have it much worse than me and are therefore irritated when I have the nerve to feel any dissatisfaction with my life.

Unfortunately, the satisfaction in my life doesn't come from knowing my life isn't as shitty as anyone elses. I feel bad for everyone's shitty situations that cause them heartache and stress and worry. I may not want to read about their struggle to come up with the way through those things, but then I just don't read their fucking website.

I'm so glad I got that off my chest. Logan will be happy too because maybe tonight I won't have to beat the joy out of him with as much vigor.

So I had my interview yesterday afternoon. When you have an interview, do you feel like you're interviewing the place as much as they are interviewing you?

Because this time around in the job game I know what I'm looking for pretty clearly. I know what I need to be happy in a position. I need a part time position first of all. Logan travels a lot and works late a lot of the time and has a thriving freelance business, so my 'career' has to fit within his.

I do not want a full time position which is shoved into 29 hours of work because 'that's what we can afford'.

I don't want to sit through an interview where the job is outlined in excruciating detail and I'm told over and over 'this position is obviously far more work than what we can pay you for'.

I don't want to hear the fiery anger at the last girl who just 'up and left' because there's usually a reason people 'up and leave'.

I don't want to hear about how horrible the members of the synagogue are. I don't want to hear how bitchy Mrs Fineman is and how if the bar mitzvah for Mrs Greenburg doesn't go off perfectly there will be 'hell to pay'.

I don't even want to plan the Greenburg's bar mitzvah.

Perhaps she was trying to scare off the people who don't really want to work for far less money than the work they're doing is worth. Which absolutely worked.

It's not that I can't deal with impatient or angry people. I can. (I'll just make fun of them on my website to let off the steam.) It's that I want to work somewhere that holds a little less animosity toward the people it serves.

It was also a little troubling when I was introduced to the other members of the office staff and one started openly weeping and begging me to take her home and the other one didn't even look up from her work and only waved in my direction.

My office did have a window and part of me really wants a window in my office. Part of me just really wants an office. Part of me wants this skirt which Logan and I agree would be a lovely reward for getting a new position.

But then she said if I wanted to work there I would have to eat babies! Can you believe that? First the Episcopalians and now this.

Keep the job prayers coming. It's really important I continue to suck the joy out of Logan's life and my part time job is an integral part of the master plan.

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.

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.

===========================================

*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.

Non Traditional Student.

I'm taking a writing class each Thursday night for the next 4 weeks.

I think the class will be useful and ultimately helpful, but when I walked in the first night I saw them.

Remember in college how there were the 'Non Traditional Students'? And a lot of the time the non traditional students were really excited to be in school and they were really anxious and their way of dealing with the anxiety might be to ask a lot of questions? For the entire class? Their hands were always in the air. Asking for clarification, or sharing a 'funny' (or not) anecdote with the class. Every time their hands went up your eyes rolled into the back of your head and you wanted to peel your skin off because it was all so annoying?

Don't Rain On My Parade.

I'm a pretty pessimistic person in general. Even at my most chemically enhanced, I'm a bit of a pain in the ass.

So when you're a really negative person who sees the often ugly reality of all situations, what you do is marry the most positive and optimistic person in the world.

You do this so that a lot of your life is spent, in effect, raining on your optimistic spouse's parade.

In other news! My problems are solved!

According to Cal, who commented on my last post, the answer is finding Christ!

Weeeeee!

According to Cal I didn't realize life is hard! Oh, you mean life is hard? I thought that part where my father was a raging alcoholic was easy! I thought that part where my father killed himself was easy! I thought the part where my marriage nearly combusted was easy!

But life is hard so I should be an emotionless drone who pushes forward without feeling depressed or sleepless or in need of answers to big questions hanging over the Summers Domicile.

How could I expect not to have the 'Big Thing' interrupting my life! How could I be such a tool of the marketing machine to expect to sleep. I'm nothing but a sheep who expects to be happy! To live is to suffer, asshole.

I should go find Christ now.

In other, other news: Many of you have asked what the 'Big Deal' is, both here and in email and the thing is I have left it vague because really the 'Big Deal' isn't important. It's important to me and it's bothering me but you could fill that empty spot with anything that's troubling to you. My 'Big Deal' may not be a 'Big Deal' for you. For me it is.

Everyone has a 'Big Deal' and we all have our worries and things that keep us up at night sometimes.

Well, unless our name is 'Calzones' and we have found Christ and we spend our time spreading the word of the Lord lovingly through the blog-o-sphere.

Believe It, Achieve It!

I realized this week I will never be a runner. I've been training for a 10K using this book.

For a while it started to look like the treadmill and I wouldn't always be such intense adversaries. We started to get along and between my newfound friendship with the treadmill and Logan's iPod (with my own annoying mix of incongruous music all lined up) it started to feel almost good to go to the gym.

There it was in black and white what I needed to do to become a runner and I sort of started to feel like a runner.

Then about a week and a half ago I was running along having a grand time and I started to get some very intense stomach cramps and then, I won't even type it, I got this.

I've always thought running was a little crazy....but I decided to try it because I am 30 now and my metabolism is napping until I die or at least it appears that way.

Internally I draw the line at bloody nipples and/or 'Runner's Trots'....this is madness I will not participate in.

So the other day when I was struck with this unmentionable ailment and spent the evening in bed crying out with pain...I sort of decided that was it. Then, when I went back to the gym two more times and each time had the same experience. It pretty much sealed the deal.

I read up on my affliction and it appears if I cut all caffeine and aspartame from my diet...it may help! This is great news since all I consume in liquid form between the hours of 8am and 6pm is this and this.

I won't be running a 10K.

This is my limit. I have evaluated the situation and weighed my options and giving up Diet Coke and other aspartame laced liquids is not balancing out the feeling of achievment I may get by running a 10K.

I could draw so many parallels from this to just about every aspect of my life right now...but it would be somewhat inflammatory for me to do so. But let's just say this: There are many ways to solve problems and get to your goals. Sometimes you are willing to endure whatever means necessary to get to that goal and other times you only have what it takes to get part way there and somehow the end doesn't justify the means anymore.

We all have different levels of endurance and tolerance for hardship and adversity, and loose stools if you really think about it.

My Robotic Spouse is extremely disappointed in me. (First my need for sleep and now this!) Of course, his favorite running partner will stop in the woods to take care of business while she's running. I wish I could say I think her determination is great but I think she's lost her mind.

Instead I'm changing gears and getting only half the cramps by preparing for this instead.

Just like in the rest of my life, I set my goals where I'm willing to do the work to get to them.

Also, I like to make my goals gastroenterologically sound.

The Big Boy Bed Is Ruining My Life.

When Logan goes out of town I like to do little jobs around the house...to improve it. One year I replaced all our dreadful metal mini blinds with big, thick, beautiful Wide Slat Blinds. I hung them all by myself, and there were those who didn't believe in my power. But I did it and they're even still up!

During another trip I created a photo gallery in our hallway with some lovely oak I crafted into small ledges to hold our picture frames. I cut them (in a straight line) with a small jigsaw and then I sanded them and then I stained and varnished each of the pieces and I glued them and then nailed them together. I hung them on the wall using a stud finder and a level and they even stayed up!

FYI: They don't call oak a hard wood for nothing, as I realized after 7 nails bent like a set of wacky rubber joke nails and wouldn't go through the wood. You must drill pilot holes first! If you'd rather not do that be prepared for swear words to spill forth from your mouth that will make your mother weep.

While Logan's away this time, I plan on improving our home by doing something a little unconventional. I'm thinking of selling our son in a yard sale where I'll hide him among all of those 4 million t shirts of Logan's which I'll also be selling and some unsuspecting soul will take him home thinking he's a cute 'free gift' only to find that HE NEVER SLEEPS.

But I don't take returns so he's all yours!

The Black Hole In My Head.

First the bags under my eyes became an undeniable reality. Instead of saying to myself, "Well, that's just a bad picture."

I had to admit it was uncanny that 9,652 digital photos were coming back with the same bags under my eyes. It's not a lighting issue or an angle issue...it's just the fact that I have bags under my eyes.

Then Logan took this shot of me and that's not Photoshop adjusted folks, my roots are officially taking over the top of my head. (Don't look into the darkness for too long without protective gear...bad things happen*.)

*If I were clever I would put that evil cat eye thing from Lord Of The Rings in that black hole. But I'm not.

It actually looks like the top of my head is nothing but a big black hole.

Internet!

You know, Internet, I am trying to be understanding and patient....but why do people do this? Why? WHY? WHY???????

You Can't Fight Biology

Madison's been telling me a little boy in her class has been picking on her, teasing her. Now honestly, I have learned to temper my blinding Mother Bear instincts, unless there are tears.

If there are tears then I want to tear the rotten child apart limb by limb and serve him over noodles with a lovely merlot for dinner. If I sense pain from my daughter then biology takes over and I can't be held accountable for my actions.

Well...that was weird.

I hopped into my car today and the 'Service Engine Soon' light came on.

Then, as I whined into the phone to Pants about how we have to get the car in for service. And am I going to be stranded if I drive this car around? And you'll have to pick me up if we get stranded....

Suddenly the 'My God, Stop Whining' light came on.

Then, the 'Service Me You Whining Bitch' light came on.

Finally, the 'Look Here I Know You're Looking At Mini Vans So The Last Six Months Of This Lease Are Going To Be Hard On The Both Of Us....Get Used To It' light came on.

Who says Japanese cars don't have a sense of humor? [uncomfortable laughter] ha ha ha

I tried.

Someone emailed me about this and asked me to spread the word. I've tried and I've tried to come up with something profound to say about it. Something to express my feelings about a show which reduces the often painful decision to give up a child for adoption and the often painful process of finding a child to adopt to nothing more than another reality show with a baby as the 'prize'.

This is the email I received:

"Last week I made the mistake of watching the last bit of 20/20 and saw what they were advertising for this Friday's episode (4/30/04)- a 'reality show' about infertile couples vying for the right to adopt one girl's baby. I am outraged, and want to get the word out there so that people can contact ABC and tell them that the insensitivity with which they are approaching infertility and adoption is totally inappropriate. Exploitation of the painful decisions that couples must face perpetuates stereotypes and does nothing to educate the public about the very real desires and tragedies that happen to couples every day. How can anyone hope for greater sensitivity from co-workers, friends and family when the only public exposure of an adoption process is shown in the form of a contest?"

Here is another smart woman's take on this show, a woman who has been through the adoption process.

And another well worded letter based on personal experience to look at.

And finally, if you find this as offensive as I do, please take a moment to Email 20/20 and let them know.

My God, I Absolutely Love This Potty!

Ineffective Things I Have Said (or thought about saying) While Trying To Convince My Son To Use The Potty.

"You know, I'm cool with not changing your diaper anymore. I mean I'm not 'married' to it. Really, it's fine if you want to use the potty instead. Seriously, I'm not going to freak out about it or anything."

(While I am on the toilet) "WOW! This is fun! I really love using this potty."

"Why can't you be more like your sister? She was using the potty at two and a half! On the side of the freeway! In the middle of Philadelphia!"*
*Did not say, but if I had it would explain a lot of the brewing sibling rivalry we're cultivating in this house.

Actual Awkward Conversations I Have Had. Chapter 1

Mrs Kennedy tackled homelessness with Jackson yesterday. She handled it quite well, but really...would it be that bad to let him eat out of the trash can?

Anyway, it brought to mind one of the most ridiculous cocktail party conversations I've ever had in my entire life.

A woman was telling us the story of how she explained homelessness to her 5 year old son.

"Well, we were driving through Detroit coming back from some show and as you can imagine there were a lot of homeless people. Of course he asked about these people out so late at night with shopping carts full of things and I told him...(drunk-ish laughter)....'Those people don't have homes and do you know why they don't have homes?' (more drunk-ish laughter) 'Those people DIDN'T GO TO COLLEGE'"

Her: more roaring drunken laughter....only from her.

Everyone Else: awkward silence and horribly obvious segue.

What everyone should have said, "Why that's ridiculous! Everyone knows those people are homeless because they weren't breastfed!"

Fatter and Older

I've always looked young for my age. Even in kindergarten everyone thought I was an infant. When I turned 21, I was not surprised to be asked for my ID often. I've never understood getting upset about that, especially not when there are so many other things in this world worth being upset about.

However, I was annoyed a couple of times when, after showing my id, I was called a LIAR. To my face. In an unpleasant way. Once at an REM concert in the mid 90's, a security guard asked to see my id, convinced I was not old enough to be drinking the beer I had in hand. I proudly produced my license, she looked at it and said with a smirk, "This ain't you lady, this is your fatter, older sister."

Uhm, no. That's just fat, plain old me. I mean, okay it was a bad picture. I'm not exactly photogenic, especially not at the DMV, but Holy God what a WITCH.

Hello, My Name Is 'Dirty Laundry'

It turns out 2004 is not the year of becoming debt free. Apparently it is the year of telling your wife this is the year of No More Debt but what you really want is for your wife to not spend any money and squeeze groceries and household goods out of a fucking stone so that you, the breadwinner can go out with your buddies after work at least once a week and spend, as a 'reasonable' compromise, $25 each time. (Though before this recent 'compromise' you were spending more like $50 a week.)

This works out to $100 a month. Considering I am expected to spend $100 a month on things like...oh, everything we need in this house...I guess I'm a little annoyed at the thought of my husband drinking $100 at a bar every month.

I guess I'm sitting here picturing my husband drinking lotion and contact solution and toilet paper and dishwashing soap and laundry detergent and toothpaste. Because, in effect he's drinking away the portion of my budget alloted for these things.

He says things like, "I don't think $25 a week on my bar outings is unreasonable."

You know, he's right. If we had that money, then really $25 a week on bar outings wouldn't be unreasonable. But since we literally do not have $25 extra a week to spend on anything then I don't understand why exactly I'm supposed to smile and nod adoringly as my husband drinks my monthly toiletries budget.

Also, I'm thinking about Easter coming up on Sunday and how usually I'd buy my daughter and my son an adorable new outfit to wear to the various celebrations we participate in. However, this year....since it's the year of My Wife Spending Less Money So I Can Drink More With My Friends, I decided not to buy anything for the kids or myself to wear. I haven't spent any of my 'fun money' allowance this week just so I could get a god damn haircut this weekend.

But you know, God Forbid, my spouse not have his 'Bar Night'.

I'm so happy to learn this. Because really if I'd known it was the year of My Wife Spending Less So I Can Drink More With My Friends, I never would have agreed to the terms of this agreement.

It looks like the kids and I are going shopping tonight while my spouse is out hobnobbing at the bar with his co workers. I'll be buying all the things I haven't been buying while under the budget restrictions of 2004.

Really extravagant things like new shoes for my son, a new trash can to replace the broken (since December) one in our kitchen, maybe even a new toaster oven to replace the 25 year old yard sale find we've had for the last 7 years. Maybe I'll get one that works in less than one hour.

All this time my spouse has been telling me, "Let's wait on that."

With the budget restrictions and the ultimate goal of getting our financial house in order, I have complied...with angst of course but with a greater purpose in mind.

But, sheesh, if we have $25 a week to spend on drinking at a bar with co workers....we obviously must have money somewhere for a trash can for the love of God.

And if we can find money for the trash can, then what are we doing living with a bathroom that's literally crumbling beneath our feet? I mean if we have $100 a month to go to drinking, surely we can take $100 a month to begin remodeling the bathroom! The possibilities are endless and this is an excellent turn of events.

I only wish I'd known about this secret money tree my spouse has been growing in the basement all this time, really all this anxiety and insomnia I've been enduring about our impending financial doom could have been avoided.

Check yourself.

Proof there really should be a prescreening process for using the 'Self Check-Out' lane at the market.

I'd like to volunteer for the position.

(I'm so glad Sour Bob came back.)

Bring It

If those rats come any further south, there are going to be some serious issues.

I am so repulsed by this pack of rats, why couldn't we be over run with these?

At least it's not one of these.

Because a pack of these roaming my 'hood would have me moving away, effective immediately.

Speaking of disgusting animals, would you like to know what my cats most often hear from Pants? Of course you would.

"Come On" This is a barked set of two words which comes out as a single angry word. It's probably the thing the poor animals hear the most. In fact, I'm guessing they think it's actually their name.

"Would you sit the fuck down?" This is part of our nightly 'Let's All Get Cozy On The Sofa To Watch A Little Tee Vee Together' ritual. It's obviously one of Pants' favorite times of the day.

"Would you get your ass out of my face." I think the cats are taunting Pants with this one. They somehow always include a 'butt showing' in the nightly 'Let's Get Cozy' ritual.

"God damn it, you really stink." I've mentioned before, several times, how badly my cats smell. How unclean they are. This one is entirely not surprising.

Normally these things Pants barks at the animals are at least somewhat tempered by the heaping mounds of love Maddie pours all over them. After 10 lonely and loveless days of angry barked "ComeON's" and "Sit The Fuck Down's" and nothing else the cats have never been so happy for the suffocating attention of the only people in this house who feel anything resembling love for them.

Sure this love involves a lot of 'strangling' in the form of hugs, but you know, sometimes love hurts.

Burning Bridges.

I got my mother's group monthly newsletter this afternoon.

Among the usual entries, the calendar of events, a welcome to new members, a craft or two, was a 'Poem'.

A lovely poem about 'Group Participation'. A poem intended to rally people into action! To inspire! To encourage!

(Any Project Managers out there, please feel free to use this in your own organizations, I think you'll find it to be a great motivational tool.)

Are you an active member,
The kind that would be missed?
Or are you just contented
That your name is on the list?
Do you attend the meetings
And mingle with the crowd?
Or do you come to listen
Then crab both long and loud?
Do you take an active part
To help the club along?
Or are you satisfied to be
The kind to just 'belong'?
Do you ever give suggestions
When the club looks kinda sick?
Or leave that up to just a few
Then talk about the "clique"?
And then the program's schedule
That means success, if done
Do you put your shoulder to the wheel,
And work with everyone?
So attend the meetings regularly,
And help with hand and heart
Don't be just a member
But take an active part.
Think this over, member,
Are we right or wrong
Are you an active member-
Or do you just belong?

After the poem there's this lovely 'Motivational' discussion:

Someone has said that membership of an organization is made up of four bones. There are the wishbones who spend all their time wishing someone else would do the work. There are the jawbones who do all the talking and very little of anything else. Next come the knucklebones who knock everything everybody else tries to do. Finally, there are the backbones who get the load and do the work. BE THE BACKBONE...PARTICIPATE!

I'm just loving the use of name calling and negative comments about the current state of our group as a 'tool' to create a more positive and interactive group.

I'm finding this approach very odd, counterintuitive if you will. Using negativity to inspire people to participate? Reprimand, name call and then...magically, people will just jump at the chance to participate in the group.

I find the descriptions of the 'bones' of an organization to be particularly amusing. The language and descriptions of these parts of an organization, imply that if you are not participating in the group, you are one of the unflattering negative parts of the group.

There is nothing like being called a 'Knucklebone' who "knocks everything everybody else tries to do" or a 'Jawbone' who does "all the talking and very little of anything else", to make me just JUMP RIGHT IN.

This poem also leaves out some other key elements of a group run by women, many of the 'types' were covered by Jen at Mommy Needs Coffee. She coined the phrase 'PTAnal Militant Mom.

Now we're not talking about the PTA here, but the people are kind of the same.

I've mentioned my issues with my 'participation' in the past. That kind of thing kind of soured me on the whole thing really, and though I tried to resist letting a bad apple spoil the rest of the group for me. The bad apple got to smelling pretty badly and I found I really needed to avoid the bad apple. Instead, I carefully chose the things I would participate in to avoid smelling the 'Apple'.

I suppose that decision, makes me a 'Jawbone'. Or does it make me a 'Knucklebone'? Or simply a 'Wishbone'?

I just can't wait to get more involved, now that I've been insulted I have a renewed vigor for helping the group succeed!

I think this book might be helpful for someone. I'm really wondering which kind of 'bone' she is, all those 'helpful' emails helping me do my job. The constant pointing out of my errors and ways my job should be done. Hmmm....let's see, I think that qualifies Ms. Z as a 'Knucklebone' doesn't it? Oh, I hope she's taken her poem to heart!

I really wanted to spend time writing up my own little poem, but I don't have the time to be as obnoxious as some people.

-------------Update!--------------

Okay, a friend was so kind to be creative for me and she wrote me a poem. It's really pretty good and it fits pretty well. Maybe I'll submit it for April's newsletter. I mean, really I don't see it as negative as much as just a helpful reminder.

You may read it here. Thanks, Katie.

I will say this: Buh Bye To You, Ms Z.

Hey, remind me to stay the hell away from the PTA, okay?

Feverish Thoughts About My Sinister Right Tonsil.

Last night I struggled to sleep through the searing pain in my throat and the choking sensation of my Right Tonsil trying to kill me by squeezing my airway closed. While I did all that I had a lot of incoherent thoughts about my Sinister Right Tonsil.

I imagined my Right Tonsil became a guest author at Suburban Bliss. It wrote about all the fun it has making my life a living hell every few months. How it slowly chokes me and makes me feel like vomiting. I imagined it wrote about how I used it's unusual size to my advantage as a child, telling my mother I had a sore throat....even when I didn't. She'd take one look at my throat at my large Right Tonsil and agree to my demand for a day off school. Nevermind, it's always slightly enlarged.

My feverish and Nyquil induced thoughts then moved onto imagining my tonsil as various states. After seriously considering California, I decided Texas is more like my Right Tonsil. Large.

Then I spent a little more time imagining how hard it would be to perform a tonsilectomy in my bathroom. But then I realized the only slightly sharp implement in the bathroom really isn't very sharp. There are the knives in the kitchen, but then I'd have to sharpen them. I did take a seminar in knife sharpening when I worked at Crate and Barrel but it was a fairly complex process and not one that would be wise to undertake after 2.5 full doses of Nyquil. Well, and then if sharpening knives is too complex for a Nyquil dosed person, I'd say a tonsilectomy wouldn't be wise either.

My tonsils are going to have to go. I never want them to look like this, ever again. I've been researching the procedure and I have to say, 'Oliver's Tonsilectomy' looks pretty good to me. He had his own bed and his own tv and they even have video games.

I hope I can sleep a little better tonight because everything I have just written is scaring the shit out of me. Damn You To Hell Right Tonsil.

And then...as though I ordered it...

I boastfully mentioned how we've avoided illness so far this winter.

And I knew it was a bad idea to say it out loud, but I said it anyway.

And God Damn it if my throat isn't on fire and my kids don't have the sniffles.

Thank the Lord in Heaven Above I didn't take the kids to a Moms Group Outing on Monday.

Just imagine the dreadful germs I may have exposed someone else's child to! Imagine the pregnant women I could have infected!

No Jury Would Convict Me

If at 10:35 this morning I had removed my latex cleaning gloves and killed my darling husband with my bare hands...no one would have blamed me.

While busily scrubbing sink with Soft Scrub, after scrubbing the toilet with bleach and scrubbing the bathtub with a variety of products, my husband...the man I've chosen to spend the rest of my life with, opened the bathroom door, saw my hands covered with water and Soft Scrub and proceeded to say this:

"Uh...the cat really smells like shit, do you think you can, you know, clean his ass off?"

He let the cat into the bathroom, implying I should drop everything to perform my Cinderella-like task of wiping my cat's ass.

Because my life isn't focused around shit enough. I wipe child asses, I monitor the poop coming from my son and I clean litter boxes...and I also have to wipe my stupid cat's ass because he doesn't understand how cats are actually clean animals. He missed that news somewhere.

When I held up my rubber gloves coated with Soft Scrub and asked why, just this once, my darling husband couldn't perform the task...he actually said:

"I don't know how."

As though this is some skill I've been carefully trained to perform. As though it isn't simply that it's a disgusting task, it's that he hasn't had the proper training to perform such a specialized task.

Funny because I don't remember going to school or even a day long seminar and somehow this task and all shit related tasks in this house have fallen on my shoulders. I don't know when or how it happened, but I definitely do not like it.

A 20 Year Old German Shepherd

My 5 year old likes to play this game. It's an imagination type of game and I really suck at those types of games.

Our attempts at Barbie have gone quite horribly.

Her: You be Mermaid Barbie.

Me: Okay.

pause...

Her: Make her talk Mom!

Me: Okay. 'Hello, how are you?'

Her: 'I'm fine.'

Me: ....

Her: Mom, you have to say more!!

Me: I'm totally out of ideas here.

In this newest game, the 5 year old is a dog...however there's a very long set up and it's all said in a very rushed and excited tone as though each of these details is of extreme importance to the success of this game.

Her: Okay, pretend I'm a dog. A german shepherd. Okay?...and my name is Lisa. And I'm 20. And I wear a red collar. Okay and it has a heart on it. Okay?

Victim of Game, Pants or myself: Uhm...okay.

What happens next is the part that makes it my 'Favorite' game. The victim of this game is either forced to be the 'Mean Owner' and yell at 'Lisa, the 20 year old german shepherd with a red collar with a heart on it' for a variety of bizarre offenses I can't imagine I'd ever yell at a dog for. OR the victim is forced to be barked and whined at for the next 20 minutes, ensuring my children will never, ever have a dog while living in my home.

Sick Policy

Every year we go through this in my little mother's group. The 'friendly' reminders:

"If your child is sick, feverish, lethargic, seeping fluids-nasal or otherwise, please do not come to events. It is dangerous for our young babies and pregnant mothers to contract some of the illnesses floating around."

There seems to be 'some people' (I would call it one person in particular who is almost as anally retentive as I am) who complain about this issue fairly often since every single newsletter and meeting is punctuated by this reminder.

The last reminder included some added information...things like, 'if you suspect your child has possibly come in contact with any illness, but is not showing symptoms, please do not attend functions'.

(This is amusing since this would mean no one ever attends another event. Ever.)

I'm waiting for the next 'friendly' reminder outlining protocol for attending events: "If your child has ever been around any other child and may possibly be carrying any virus at all, please put your child in a plastic bubble, or consider liberally coating your child in Purell before attending one of our events."

Perhaps I only feel this way because my kids haven't gotten sick yet this year (knock on wood). Maybe I feel this way because I've never been able to muster up the strength to disinfect everything my children come in contact with. Maybe I just thought I'd build up my kid's immune systems so they don't catch every single virus they ever come in contact with from now until forever. Maybe I'm just one lazy half assed mother, but I know one thing for sure:

Kids Get Sick

They get sick if you put them in a bubble and spray them in the eyeballs with Lysol. They get sick if you send out notice after notice to your mother's club reminding them about keeping their germs away from your child. They get sick if you let them gnaw on the handle of the shopping cart and play in the nasty ball pit at the McDonald's Playland.

Kids get sick if you simply live your life.

It's the nature of the beast. Every single day your child comes in contact with illness, and either their little bodies fight it off, or they get another flu or cold or whatever. It happens if you attend your mother's club or Gymboree classes or you go to the grocery store. Sometimes kids are carrying germs and they don't show a single symptom and they play with other kids who pick up those same germs. Sometimes kids touch a door handle and someone has just sneezed into their hand and touched that same door handle and there is not a single fucking thing you can do about it.

No one is purposely getting your child sick...it's just that germs are around and you're around too. If you're that worried about staying healthy....stay home and never ever leave, because that is the only way you're going to avoid any and all germs.

Although, if your spouse works outside the home, you might need to ask him to move out....or at least send him a 'friendly reminder' about not bringing illness into the home.

"Dear Spouse, please help us protect the health and wellness of our young child and me, a pregnant mother. If you feel lethargic or have a fever or if there is any possibility whatsoever you have come in contact with any illness at all, please do not enter this home."

Chatter

I saw the doctor today for a little physical and a 'schmear. It's one of my favorite times of year....getting a Pap Smear is really close to the top of my short list of Things I Like To Pay A Babysitter For So I Can Have Time For Myself.

I love when the doctor says those four special words: 'Scoot Down A Bit'.

Actually, I'm being sarcastic. I don't like getting a Pap Smear and I simply endure it because cervical cancer is pretty close to the top of my short list of Things I'd Like To Avoid At All Costs.

While I'm enduring a pap smear, I really, really don't want to talk. Especially not about Janet Jackson's boob.

The nurse and the doctor just kept talking as though my vagina had become a 'water cooler' of sorts and they'd gathered around to shoot the breeze.

It was unnerving.

I didn't know exactly how to tell them their chatter was making it very hard for me to leave my body and go to my happy place.

I've decided I like my gynecology a lot like my Nicer, Funnier Sister In Law likes her religion.

Quiet, dry and impersonal.

If I Was Better At This.

It's finally snowing a lot. A Lot. When we moved into our house we thought how lucky we were to get a corner lot. When we got a $200 gift certificate to Home Depot as a housewarming gift from Pants bosses...someone suggested we buy a snow blower. We said,

"A snowblower? It hardly ever snows!'

That first winter it snowed and snowed and we shoveled a lot of snow. Generally it doesn't snow a lot but sometimes it does and I really hate to shovel all that sidewalk...it never seems to end...and then there's the driveway and the walkway to the side porch and the walkway to the front porch....so much shoveling. Miles and miles of concrete.

I watched my neighbor across the street drive up on his lunch break. He pulled out his snowblower...and in the time it took me to shovel just the walkway up to my porch, he'd done his driveway, sidewalk...and had loaded the snowblower into his car and off he went to help someone else out.

He never offered to help me.

But then I remembered I've called the police on him several times. There was the evening last winter where he drove his 'monster truck' back and forth on his sidewalk at 12:30 am....back and forth, revving his engine. It wasn't very neighborly of me and I guess I sacrificed snowblower help by calling the authorities on his insanity.

If I was better at this he would have offered to snowblow my sidewalks.

Also, if I was better at this I would have remembered that today my afternoon kindergartener was scheduled to go to school in the morning. In a state of panic I decided I would have to get the children out of the house...but I'd sent Pants to work in my truck so that I wouldn't go anywhere and spend money.

Kids like snow and I needed to shovel since I haven't been very neighborly and no one will be snowblowing my walk for me.

I swear to God I have the wimpiest children ever. I remember playing in the snow for hours and hours as a child.

After 10 minutes my daughter was standing at the back door crying to go inside....but she couldn't since it takes me about 35 hours to shovel all the God Damn Concrete surrounding our homestead.

Four different times my almost 3 year old son fell in the snow and simply could not figure out how to stand up. So there he laid in the snow screaming 'HELP!!!!!!' He was also entirely perplexed by a small step up he would have to navigate in order to get into the side yard. So he stood at the gate crying.

Sometimes there's this really mean voice in my head...it's a very non motherly voice and it makes me question God's decision to allow me to breed and it says things like:

You have GOT to be fucking kidding me!

If I was better at this that mean voice wouldn't say things like that.

And now it's naptime, only no one's napping and no one's even being very quiet....and it's only 2:20 in the afternoon and there's still 3 more hours until reinforcements (read: Pants) arrive and by that time I'm going to have to shovel more snow because it's still coming down.....

It's too bad it's the 'Year of Fiscal Responsibility' because I'd be at Sears buying this.

Is it wrong that I'm considering offering sexual favors in exchange for regular snowblowing?

Why must i do this to myself?

I am suffering through a terrible round of the 'Irish Flu' today.

I hope I didn't behave as poorly last night as I feel today.

I think I might be dying....and I did it all to myself.

Happy New Year! WTF?