Spitting in a Wishing Well

As we all know, I'm the part-time job queen. When Mike and I made the decision that I would start college, I never wished for a part time job.

I wished for a good paying job, with the standard 40 hours a week and benefits to boot. I wished for a job in which I could see the shining path of promotion. I wished for a job that gave me a cube, perhaps an office. I thought my happiness would take the form of a traditional job in a good arts organization. I prayed that research was involved, but assumed I would only find an administrative job.

What I got was two part time jobs.

I don't have an office. I don't even have my own computer or my own place to sit. I work the equivalent of three days a week at one job and only 4 hours a week at the other. I will not be promoted. I don't get benefits and there is no hope of receiving benefits. Both jobs are subject to review, and loss, each year.

And truly, I have never been happier.

You Can Thank Me With Donations

I know you all love Downy Wrinkle Releaser, yes? Yesssss. I know you all know it costs an arm and a leg, yes? Yes.

Since it graced our home (read: since our sick, twisted addiction began), we've always suspected that it worked simply because it was wet. But it dried quickly and we didn't have to iron anything. And, anything involving water or the dryer doesn't help much in a pinch.

Guess what we figured out?

Febreeze works just as well as Downy Wrinkle Releaser. It dries quickly and the wrinkles disappear. Yessssssssssssssssss.

I Am Alive and Only Slightly Drunk

The slumber party ended with one child NEVER allowed to return. The predator/kid kept punching Brett in the balls. It was a night and morning full of random acts of ball-crunching. I actually saw him do it the last time (the last time because of the screaming at the child that is not mine). Brett was just passing Predator/Kid in the hallway when an arm jumped out and slammed a fist into my baby's jewels. Chaos ensued. Fucker's lucky we fed him breakfast. Everyone else was fine, but ten a.m. never came so slowly.

In other news, I finally saw the epitome of Clutter. I won't mention what secret bedroom I saw, but those who know me know what this is. I simply ask: How can you fit four pieces of large furniture, a bed, and huge piles of paper, and brown (brown!) dust in a normal bedroom? I really enjoy clutter, but wow. Okay, I don't enjoy clutter but I do create it, that is, until that Mom (and I mean my mom) moment when I blow up and start frantically cleaning. I'm still in shock at the Clutter I saw. It was a miracle.

They're Fucking Everywhere

Daniel is having a slumber party RIGHT NOW.

If you see a dazed woman walking around your street with a nearly empty glass of wine, for the love of all that is holy, refill her glass.

Soy-flavored Joy

I'm actually losing weight. I know, what the fuck? A few weeks ago, I convinced the husband that oh yes darling, we are fat. Not only are we fat, we are way fat and we feel like dogshit about 99% of the time.

As I've said before, I wanted to go back to my previous life as a vegetarian. This time though, I'm armed with a knowledge of herbs and spices and the fact that a diet of bread, fat, and cheese, although meatless, is not, in fact, good for you. So far, the food experiments are going great. I feel better, Mike seems to feel better, and the scale told me I've lost about 3-4 pounds. I think it's coming off my belly too! Less belly, how fabulous is that?

After I finished making sweet love to the scale, I realized that it's been a few weeks and this isn't really that hard. Now, I type this eating a delicious, non-vegan, and non-vegetarian Hostess Cupcake*, but dammit, every now and again a girl needs her some chocolate from the Wonder Bread Store down the way. The point is, eating vegan isn't difficult for me at all. I thought it would take much more work but it doesn't. However, I do like to eat vegetarian because I enjoy dairy, but too much dairy makes both of us feel like ass. Mike digestive system explodes on dairy, but tofu (which was mighty yummy) turned us both inside out and back again. No straight tofu anymore. Soy-based products are nice, but tofu = oh my fucking god no.

Actually, the kids' new favorite thing is meatless brats. They love soy products: brats, hot dogs, burgers, chickeny things, etc. We are still eating some fish, shrimp, and chicken. However, after watching an episode of "Dirty Jobs with Mike Rowe," Daniel has sworn off chicken. Google how chicken is processed. He got upset by the way they throw, yes THROW, newborn chicks into buckets according to gender. I didn't have the heart to tell him the real horrors.

Tonight, we had whitefish. Both kids have always hated lighter fishes, favoring salmon. They whined, they balked, then they shut up and ate it. (It couldn't possibly be because of the banshee in the corner screaming, "Shut up and eat your damn fish!") Of course, they loved it.

And my newest favorite joy? Luna bars and Kashi Almond bars, actually filling versions of breakfast. Eat one with a 1/2 bottle of Naked juice and you're set.

Oh, but you'd like a point to all of this wouldn't you?

The point is: I lost weight. Suckas.

*Hostess snacky cakes contain whey, animal shortening, and beef fat. Yes, the label says "beef fat."

Bubby, the Baby, not the Dog

Once upon a time, I was a non-pregnant high schooler. I had non-pregnant high schooler friends, for a while. One of those was my friend, Amy. More than once we were dubed "twins," due to a somewhat similar look (brown hair and eyes, va va voom body with a little waist and good hips with big boobs, ah the days...), similar interests, and our close friendship. Yes, the twin thing got more than a little cute after a while. Fuck, we didn't dress the same. Although there was that year with the poufy bangs. I digress.

Amy's dad brought home a puppy one day. Instead of ever naming this dog, they simply called him "Puppy." That is, until the puppy was a big ass dog that took the combined strength of both Amy and me to walk. At that point, Puppy wasn't a puppy. Amy's dad couldn't exactly change the dog's name. He'd been Puppy for nearly a year. Instead, he changed it to Bubby.

Mike's brother, Jamie, recently had a son. I'm sure you've read all my posts and know all about my new nephew, Lake. Lake's daddy has taken to call him Bubby.

I can. not. call. this. child. Bubby. He's not even hairy although I'm sure he slobbers about as much.

I know you care nothing for my words here, blah blah blah. I know, you want pictures.

Sorry for the Ex

Yesterday, my ex didn't pick up the boys from school. He gets them every other weekend and instead of me picking them up, driving the 1/4 mile to my house only to transfer them from my car to his car in my driveway, we decided a while ago that he should just pick them up from school. Although I miss saying goodbye to them at 3 instead of in the morning, it allows me to work several more hours at the institution.

At 3:30 I get a call from the boys' school.

"Hiiiii, yeahhh, we have two little boys still here."

Shit. We are in the city and a good 30 minutes away from their school in the 'burbs. I tell the woman I'll call her back in a minute and call my mom. I hate calling my mom for this. I know she loves the kids and if she's able, will pick them up for me. But with mom, comes additional worry. Will she hand them over when I get a hold of Chuck or will she promise the kids they can spend the night (with her and Mr. McMolester)? Will she go get them right away or will she wait an hour and then forget? Is she drunk or will she begin drinking as soon as they get home? I love this woman more than anything, but right now she is a big question mark in reliability and child safety.

She pulled through like a champ. She left work right away, got the boys, took them back to her office where they charmed their way through the Art Department, and then fed them barbecue with the grandparents. My ex picked them up from there.

After calling my mom and asking her to get the boys, I finally got a hold of the ex. He had fallen asleep, cell phone in hand, with his baby daughter on the couch and didn't wake up in time. I woke him up with my repeated phone calls. He yelled at me until I hung up on him. I kept getting accused of screaming at him...but I was in the institution's library, there was no yelling, screaming, or even loud whispering. I was annoyed but not exactly angry.

About ten minutes later, he calls back.

"I'm sorry," he says. I say, "I know, it's okay. What's really going on?"

"I just got screwed in court, I'm losing the house, and my wife just asked for a divorce."

"Oh."

His third child's mother (yes, there are three of us in his mother's club, I'm the goddamn president) just rooked him again with child support. As a city employee, he makes decent money but he's not rich. Apparently, although there is a certain percentage of a parent's check that by law cannot be taken for child support, child care does not work into that percentage. By learning this, the girl's mother immediately put her daughter into private kindergarten and called a lawyer to get my ex for more money.

Ever since he broke up with her, she has played the part of the spurned woman and will. not. back. off. It's horrible and gives all mothers out there a bad name. Most mothers I know had to fight for anything because it was necessary to take care of their children. Child support serves a purpose. Many mothers receive nothing from dead beat dads. But this woman, affectionately known as Satan, has been on a course of revenge for 5 years. Lady, it's time to stop. You have successfully ruined this man. He can no longer afford his home. His wife is leaving in large part because you intrude in their life and future. You are remarried to a man who owns his own plane. You do not need to fuck with him any longer.

I have my own issues with my ex. I'm scarred in ways I may never speak of in this blog. We fell for each other when we were 14 and 15 and found ourselves pregnant when I was 17 and he was 18. We've been through a lot. Our marriage was a horrible joke. We function much better now. I think I'm all he has and so he talks to me a lot about his problems. He creates so many. Except for the periodical hitting on me thing ("come on, baby, let's just go have a private talk in the bathroom"), we get along well. I wish him no harm. Anymore.

To hear that this woman's work will cost him his home and his wife and baby daughter hurts.

Boys: Why?

My friend who was Dumped for God by her Man Kept for Unnatural Purposes asked me a good question earlier today:

Why do boys break up with you and then leave all their shit at your house?

So, any answers?

The Part Where I Feel Elated and Really, Really Bad

I must be a new teacher.

After today's test, I gathered up all the papers and shoved them in my fabulous bag. Tonight, I began looking at them.

Overall, the students kicked ass. But, I hate when I have to grade an essay question that was answered to such great length...in the wrong direction.

I've seen a few of them where oy! the effort! but wrong! totally wrong!

The Part Where I Feel Weird

My students look scared out of their wits. We had our review for the upcoming test and all I could see were big eyes and furrowed brows.

They know their stuff.

The test isn't that hard if you've been to class and were slightly awake.

They know their stuff.

I still feel weird about them being so worried. I feel like I should be able to comfort them in some way. I've told them that they know their stuff. I told them I'm really not worried about them. I quizzed them on the slides today and they didn't even hesitate with the answers. Still, I wonder if I always looked so worried to the teacher looking back at me.

I guess it's easy not to worry when you made the test.

Eleven

It's amazing. My tiny little peanutty baby boy, the one we couldn't name for hours, is 11. He's still the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.



Daniel Charles, wow. You are so cool and fun. In wet shorts, towel, and spiky hair galore smiling in Nana's kitchen for your birthday party...it's just another reason Mama loves you just the way you are.

No explanations for child shoveling cake in her mouth.

Dumped for GOD

Two bits of news are I'm going to share with you today. They both concern my friend, um, well, let's call her Maisy.

Friend Maisy has been dating Tall Boy for a few months now. Things were progressing nicely, except for this pesky Jehovah Witness problem. See, TB recently left the Church and their, say, interesting, weather issues.

And then it happened. The sky opened up and Maisy had her first orgasm from oral.

So what is her first reaction? She jumps up and says, "I need to call someone!!" And, she called me. Truly, amazingly proud of her, I asked her if she realized that TB has signed up for a life of servitude.

For Maisy to have this orgasm this way is momentous. It means that she is finally comfortable enough with her body. It means that something that used to freak her out is finally acceptable. It means that as she is more successful in life that she hasn't forgotten to be successful inside. It means that just when she thought she had sex figured out it threw her for loop and made her see that throughout her whole life, she's going to figure out so much more. I love that she is still blooming at 25 +4.

Unfortunately, Orgasm-Inducing Tall Boy screwed it up by going and dumping her for God. Yes, for God. He has decided to return to his Church and live life as a Jehovah Witness. She's not too crushed as this wasn't exactly surprising and as far as *I'm* concerned, he gave Maisy the gift she needed at this time in her life.

The funny part is that he called her a (gasp) SINNER. He said that she wakes up every day and plans to sin. She asked him, are you dumping me for GOD? And he said, yes, he can't be with her because she IS Sex and Sensuality. She is Sin.

And we who love her, are happily bowing down to the power that is Sin, Sex, and Sensuality this Saturday during a pseudo-game of poker at her house. Stay posted for pictures.

And now, for your Jehovah Witness pleasure, this message from Watchtower.org:
"There is only one true Source for standards of morality—the Creator of mankind, Jehovah God. Soon after creating the first man, Adam, Jehovah God laid this command upon the man: "From every tree of the garden you may eat to satisfaction. But as for the tree of the knowledge of good and bad you must not eat from it, for in the day you eat from it you will positively die." (Genesis 2:16, 17)"*

Did you hear that? Not just die from knowledge, you will POSITIVELY die. Does this mean you die with a good-natured smile on your lips? Are you holding a cup that is half full? Does Jehovah God differ from say, regular God, and is he more positively delightful?

"At 1 Corinthians 6:9, 10, we read the warning: "What! Do you not know that unrighteous persons will not inherit God's kingdom? Do not be misled. Neither fornicators, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor men kept for unnatural purposes, nor men who lie with men, nor thieves, nor greedy persons, nor drunkards, nor revilers, nor extortioners will inherit God's kingdom."

Reread this as Lil' Jon. What?? Okay!! What?? Okay, serious stop it. Lil' Jon is quite annoying when he's quoting Watchtowery Bible verses. From what I gather, Tall Boy left Maisy because either he was concerned that he had been transformed into a fornicator (for doing it and doing it and doing it again), or an idolator (for making her into SEX, the almighty goddess of lust), or a man kept for unnatural purposes (for his skill at oral loving, see above).

No matter what happens to Maisy now, she will never worry about her future boyfriends leaving her for some whore...because she's already been dumped for God. Who can top that? No one, brother. No one.

Pantry OCD

I've recently learned that my husband suffers from Pantry Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder. This is different from his CD OCD, in which all of his CDs are arranged in a particular order.

Did anyone see the madness that is the Duggar family? Mike nearly orgasmed in the lazyboy over their ridiculously ordered pantry.

He has always attempted to create pantry order out of chaos that is me and my spawn. The boys and I don't keep a horrible pantry, but it does lack neat little queues of soups and refried beans. Mike loves neat little rows, functional groupings, and lord knows, the Phoenicians influenced that special way he'd like those groupings to be ordered.

Despite living with the children and me, I hope Mike someday achieves Pantry Utopia.

Silence.

The tragedies of Katrina seem endless and my those in my household feel so helpless.

Adding to Katrina's damage to people and land, I am amazed at the damage created by our government. I shouldn't be, but I am, surprised at the race and class disparities. I shouldn't be surprised by the Christian Right's statement that "New Orleans is now abortion free." I shouldn't be surprised that rescuers pushed aside the desperate poor for the wealthy's luggage.

Although I'm not entirely surprised, I am horrified.

I could never do this topic the justice it deserves. Read BitchPhD.