It's official. Ive moved

Here is my new place . Im still unpacking and rearranging stuff but come see me!

Confidential to Ash: I am not dead but don't tell anyone!

No I kid. I kid because I care. I don't blog because I suck. I will blog soon. In fact, mostly due to Ash's sweet message, I decided I needed to move blogs. Because it is a pain in the ass to log out of gmail every time I want to blog. (It is also a pain in the ass to have a two year old slam down the laptop lid every time i want to blog but I figured Id start with something easy to change). So I have a new blog. It is called The Crseum once again allowing me to feature my complete lack of creativity when inventing a blog name. But at least it's a place now and not a pseudonym that I can't really explain to anyone and is never addressed in my actual blog. So please come visit me there. I feel good about this people. A new age is dawning..... and as Trelvix said, spring is so close!

Signs of personality deterioration or "you might be watching too much c-span if...."

I want to blame the illness but in my darkest heart, I fear and know the illness is only a mask. I think if I had more free time and television control, this could easily become my life. It's too late for me friends, but to make sure this doesn't happen to any of you, here are warning signs to look for:

- You are bummed on the weekends because you know the congress segments are all reruns.
- You watch the segments anyway in case they are showing different parts you might have missed.
- You become giddy when you see they are re-showing an oversights committee hearing involving Roger Clemens testimony on steroids.
- You plan your day around the hearing.
- You find yourself holding your bladder until the fifteen minute break so you won't have to miss anything.
- While trying to rest and listen, you are playing your own personal guessing game of trying to figure out the political leanings of each representative based on their line of questioning.
- You have stats for the game.
- You won't be able to play much longer because you are starting recognize reps by their voices without even looking at the screen.
- You become enraged with other reps and shout insults at the screen between fits of coughing. (you subsequently get an unpleasant glimpse about what being old is going to look like for you)
- You find yourself repeatedly fantasizing about how, if an oversights committee ever got shitty with you during whatever hearing you might be subpoenaed to, you would suck up all their allotted time being argumentative and chastising them for rudeness.
- You realize that maybe just maybe, your crush on Russ Feingold isn't...well...normal.


On the positive side, Ive made my decision for the primary. More later....right now I have to get back to catch Vladimir Putin....

Why I can't win friends and influence people

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

random slashes of my thursday morning

- The first is simply a corollary to my post from Tuesday. We will call it texts I never wanted to receive. "You have to get here soon. {Client x} just told me she thinks she is gay and that she and {her best friend} are in love".
- When you are in mental health, you HAVE to keep your beliefs out of your work. For example, you may want to offer a congratulatory hug and words of how happy you are for your teen-aged client when she expresses her sexual identity as mentioned above. However, the fact that she was raised in a conservative religion and that she is completely emotionally dependent upon, yet barely tolerated by her family of origin even now causes a professional to reflect upon the grave professional responsibility (e.g. exactly how many ways bad therapy could fuck up her life right now) in handling this issue appropriately.
- I am sad that I still live in a world where it is not yet safe for a teen-aged girl to explore her sexual identity (and I mean this in terms of emotional soul searching and expressing her thoughts freely, as opposed to explore in the "my license says yes but my daddy says no" way).
- We have a Big Meeting today. I am skeert. I cannot sleep. I dreamt last night that I was homeless and sleeping in fields that had cow-poop everywhere. Apparently, Gill had left me and was trying to get custody of the kids so he could raise them with the help of my mother (who made one of her many inspiring cameos in the dream) and the cow-poop field sleeping was really detracting from my position. I did have a nice stable-like things for the kids to sleep in and I thought it might strengthen my case.
- The dream could have stemmed from the Turnip pooping on the living room carpet last night and the subsequent argument that ensued immediately afterwards. (Yes our carpet is getting quite the work-out this week). I have to say though folks, even retrospectly, I still firmly hold my position that when there is a naked baby in front of you and a pile of baby-shit on your carpet, blame-placing is petty and futile.
- The nails are rapidly deteriorating. I keep looking at my hands and thinking of the Agatha Christie novel "And Then There Were None".

Conversations I didn't want to have today

(directed to me)
Every sentence involving the videogame "art of persona" or anime, or anime conventions.

A vivid description of a show involving a tribe of folks who circumcise their boys at age five and force them to live apart from their mommies until the wounds heal nine weeks later.

A detailed list of all the ways a mother could die. A list so detailed that she forgot why she even brought the topic up. (needless to say, I did not remind her)

A recap of the episode of "intervention" where a lady let her two year old play with a pack of crystal meth.

(coming from me)

A weak and sad explanation as to why I tear you from your crib as you sleep, force you to ride "stuck" for twenty minutes and then leave you at the sitters.

A weak and defeated explanation as to why it takes more energy to scream that you are too tired to make nachos than it actually would take to make the nachos.

A four hour cycle of repeating the phrases "please stop stepping on me. Please don't climb on my head. Please stop irritating your brother. Please stop screaming. Please tell me what you want. Please. Please. Please."

Actually having to defend the presence of spaghetti on the living room floor which was so not fair since my position on babies and the grossness of mixing them with red sauced foods has been clearly documented for the past five years. (everyone knows babies are best mixed with cream based sauces!)

I will end with a realization I had tonight.
It finally occurred to me tonight that sometimes, when I think people are being nice, they are actually being kind of passive aggressive and mean but I don't even realize the shittiness of the act until years later. Which is disappointing on several levels not the least of which being that for several years Ive been giving undue credit in my mind for the nicety. I realize that probably shouldn't bother me but tonight it really really does.

Every Turkey Dies But Not Every Turkey Truly Lives

I did not sleep at all last night. At all. It is 603am. I waited until 6am to get out of bed. Because of the "death hour". Last post i discussed some of the non-trivial reasons Ive been away, so let's dedicate this post to something more familiar. Things that make a crse crazy in the night. Or another installment of "what goes on in the mind of a slightly off-balance insomniac in the dead of winter"

- Ill start with "the death hour". SCAREDY CAT WARNING: IF YOU DON'T LIKE THINGS THAT SCARE YOU GO STRAIGHT TO THE NEXT SLASH. You all know I love my boss Lonnie Manko. I am not at liberty to discuss why the show "paranormal state" drew her attention (well I probably am but this am I feel mysterious) but she shared it with us one day at work a few weeks ago. Those who know me well would not for a minute, nay- for even a mili-second think that I would watch this show. (Did I ever post about the "blair crse project?" remind me friends...) Still she innocently shared a piece of alarming information with me. Apparently the hour between three am and four am is the darkest time of the night for all things spooky. I refuse to elaborate more than that. Why? because I cannot leave my room/pee in my bathroom/look at the clock/emerge from a bastardized attempt at sight and sound-proofing through blankets during this hour. As well you can imagine, this is pure insomniacal hell. I am pretty sure Lonnie M. is not happy to know this either although she is somewhat braver than me.

-"what would you do if your son was at home cryin' all alone on the bedroom floor cuz he's hungry and the only way to feed him is to sleep with a man for a little bit of money" I HAVE to remember to not start singing that around Norm. Did we handle the Jamie Lynn Spears thing correctly? Man Im so glad we got the satellite radio. It's so awesome. I need to clean my car.

-The medical cycle. This goes something like "I need to find a dentist. I wonder if I have that gum disease that eats bones away and now I won't be able to get dentures. I really don't know how I feel about my new dr. I should switch before it goes any further between us. But Moe really likes her. And she did that blood test in her office. Should I get the boys tested for lead? I hate to put them through that. I still owe co-pays on Turnip's birthing bills."

-Needless to say, this leads to The financial cycle. "I need to call the student loan people. What will I tell them. I really don't feel obligated to pay the damn mafioso dentist. Will we ever get our finances straightened out? I really need to invest in another toothbrush. Maybe I will buy the mean green machine tomorrow. We need a larger george foreman grill. We are better than this."

- I wonder if Im bi-polar. Would my therapist tell me if I was? I think Im going to ask her.

- Could I redecorate the house in a completely low impact way? Do they sell "healthy" paint at lowe's?

- I think I need to cut my losses on the lost adderall prescription. I go for a med-check next Tuesday. I am going to try to eke by on day meds, old straterra and the 60 mgs I have left. (Im saving those for this thursday. We have a special meeting.)

-Man my hands were cold today. I really want the carpal tunnel surgery but what will I do with myself if I cant play video games or write?

- I wonder why the turnip never says he loves us. Did we do something to make him so emotionally unavailable or did something happen in his past life?

- I am worried Norm is getting a kind of goth streak. He is really into the mourning aspects of death (BTW we no longer have a gerbil)

- WillyWonka WillyWonka. Man I wish Norm liked that movie.

- How the hell could I miss Rambo's birthday? I talked about it for five solid days? Why must I suck?

- (Im leaving the mind ramble format to share here for a minute folks, I didn't know how to put this in mind ramble form)Here is the thing about my hair cut. I was feeling incredibly insecure about it but lately Im feeling better about it. Why? Well you would think it was because of the millions of people that i like and trust telling me they really like it and that it looks nice. But no. It's not because of that. I'm very very ashamed to admit this but it's because an older single bloated creepy guy who Im fairly certain was arrested (although not convicted) on sex charges in the late 90s who happens to work with us (Lonnie DID NOT hire him. I feel compelled to tell people this) told me it was "cute". Now why is this significant? I will tell you why. Because he is a lewd creepy guy, if he found it to be a non-descript soccer mom cut he would have called it "nice". Calling it cute made it sound well...fashionable. And I feel ashamed of myself friends. Especially in regards to my real-time friends who have also called it "cute" and "nice" and (in a little grateful shout-out to Spike) "a lot better". It's not that I didn't believe you all but there was something to having the creepy guy accept my hair that validated me in a way that nothing else did. I don't know what that says about me but it's probably not good. Well...Im pretty sure it's not good at all.

ok I think Im going to email rambo a birthday wish and do some work now. It's kind of good to be back.

Don't freak out with the whole two posts in one day thing!

So Ive been sick. Real sick. Pukin' my brains out sick. For 36 years hours. It was gross. Exhausting. Painful. But at the same time, I did catch up on some reading. And strangely, got my brain age down to 22 (?). I also had a lot of time to think. Between the puking of course. And Ive been thinking. I think I need to change the direction of my blog. Ive always prided myself on being trivial here. But lately, my life has taken a direction that has kept me away because Im getting involved in some way not trivial things. (Did I mention I was on a list to try to "adopt" a temporarily homeless gay college student over New Year's? He worked it out thankfully and was able to go back home) But I miss you folks. And I also feel like I need an outlet for the ideas that crop up in this sharp as a tack 22 year old mind (bay-beeeee)(yes that's sarcasm). And Im starting to think I need to say things just because they need to be said. And because Im getting more and more pissed off and i don't have too many other appropriate places to put my pissed offedness. So I might be getting more political here. Or maybe I should just say more vocal about my frustration or sense of impotence about the social injustices I am looking at these days. I will still try to make it fun for you though. And in between impulsive , incoherent, possibly ill-informed and most likely not well thought out rants, I will keep you posted about all things crse, such as the drama of my broken nail (Now i UNDERSTAND why they say people cry over a broken nail!) or how thanks to Lucy, I now proudly chair the Mint subcommittee in our church. (no it was mockery, not a real subcommittee, but the mints make me feel like our church shares a little hug with every partaker of candy)(Sega? Remember the tic-tac story? Its along those lines! Remind me to tell you the dog-poop story. I missed you at group BTW)

Still here? Well friends, like a good dog who won't leave the damn bone alone, I am back on the whole identification needed to vote gnaw jaw. It happened when I was rifling through papers the other day and I found my little voting reminder with the big blatant PAY TO VOTE (photo Id required) stamp across the front and friends, I physically reacted. I am not quite sure why of all the social injustices in the world this one PISSES me off so bad.

When I reflect upon it, I think it has something to do with my (possibly naive) need to believe that despite all the yuckiness surrounding our forefathers, there are indeed certain truths that NEED to be self-evident. And if the constitution does in fact enumerate these truths as rights guaranteed to all citizens of our country (i know don't waste your breath, I already said it was naive). Up until last November, all I needed to exercise my right to vote was a signature. I never thought much about it (well I actually did but that's a whole other post dealing with my fascination with record keeping books) until I realized it was gone. Looking back, I see it as a beautiful expression of democracy that I totally took for granted. Reflective of the inherent dignity of all citizens regardless of race or class status. By signing our names, we were saying that despite the fucked up electoral process and all the partisan bull-shit, all citizens who choose to vote are equals on election day. We all matter the same amount. One person. One signature. One vote. Delusional? well of course but dammit, it was something. And they took it away. For no good reason. Despite what the mindless soundbite-hungry morons will tell you, the photo-id crap was a direct result of reports released from a supposedly "non-partisan" organization that ultimately disbanded in early 2007, after pretending to find a bunch of information supporting exactly what karl rove wanted them to support. And what do we have now? Continued exploitation of the disenfranchised is NOT the answer.

So that there is my vent.

So did I tell you guys I joined a social action group? Yeah....im hoping it helps with this sort of thing....

update

Not dead yet. Have been sick and nursing a sick turnip. Is it wrong to find it completely adorable that when he pukes he says "I choke!" Heartbreaking but adorable. He was so sick he could only utter three words "mine" "no" and "stop". I thought at least he is in his happy place. Right now he is much better. He is beating Gill with a Wii game saying "I watch this daddy".

I beat guitar hero on easy. My new goal is to play all the songs on easy till I get five stars. Im just not ready to add the blue key yet.

I'd gotten my brain age down to 26. After the turnip's illness, it is back up to 34. I guess it's good it's out of the 40s.

I think I might be battling with clinical depression. Not the gun to your head kind. The "what the hell is the point of getting out of bed ever?" kind. I lost my adderall prescription which kind of complicates things.

Depression could also be complicated by the fact that Elmo's world, which used to be a source of comfort for my baby, now sends him into a flying rage that makes me fear for my safety.

You know it's a bad week when you are getting messages like "don't call me back if you are still sick...it's that bad." and yet you are giddy to go to work anyway.

Monday Musings

Sometimes a fifty cent bag of caramels seems like a much better deal than it actually turns out to be.

If you are in a long term relationship and you love your partner, you might want to think about the implied cruelty of telling them they have a big glop of chocolate candy on their left butt-cheek pant leg when they are getting up to give an announcement in church and are completely powerless to do anything about it.

White-out. I have never had a good relationship with white-out. I have hopes that it will turn out like cream cheese and the office supply version of the secret answer to 25 years of squishing the cream cheese out of the package in a time consuming, messy and largely unproductive manner will suddenly become evident. I need the white out secret answer.

"knock knock"
who's there?
"ketchup"
ketchup who?
I dont know!

there is something unspeakably profound to be discovered in the knock knock joke of a two year old.

So guitar hero turns out to be a dark mistress. I should have seen trouble coming during the prison show when i had the rock battle with slash from guns n roses. But after spending two frustrating days trying to figure out how to get past the creepy looking unwashed plumber guy who shamed me mercilessly in the first battle, my relatively quick success with slash lulled me into a false sense of confidence. Things started to go really badly in Japan (note: the Japanese guitar hero fans are much less forgiving and mannerly than the fellows at the prison when a song falls apart. I was appalled. I thought Japanese culture was more genteel than this!) At around 1am I found myself face to face with a battle for my soul. The worst part? The battle involves a song list that could easily been constructed in a personal nightmare. (you know the one....you cant find any pants and every where you go people are serving food you don't like for dinner.) At that point I went to bed. Ill keep you posted.

For the record, as Ive alluded to several times, I am also harboring an addiction to the nintendo game "brain age". I am currently obsessed with "virus busters" which appears to be a very low tech version of atari's space invaders (there are no stars...)

ok friends thats all I got. Gill is making me battle for my soul. He is certain I will lose as "I am not quite evil enough"

Good night and godspeed friends...

NO MORE EXCUSES

That's what i said to myself on Tuesday. I will admit that now it is definitely the wii. And nintendo brain age. And a somewhat clingy and destructive turnip. This too shall pass. Gill is blogging and I am not. All my neglected feeling bloggy friends? Im not reading his blog either. My own life partner. Soul mate. Etc. And I Don't Read His Blog.

I could make this how i suck or i can come back with a long overdue tag from everyone's blog darling Maggie May . I know ive probably shared every weird thing about me in general so Ill pop some recent ones on you folks for the "seven things people might not know about you" me-me.

1. I have fake nails right now. Some of you know this but most of you don't. Im fairly certain that regular readers understand that this is indeed a very odd thing to hear about me. All I can say is....Madame Fabu is involved. Oh and it's a french manicure.

2. I also have a Really Bad Haircut. Gill hates it. He keeps threatening to withhold intimacy and forcing me to drink milk. After being dry humped and propositioned several times per our usual routine, I feel safe in saying that the threat is unfounded. However, I cannot be fully certain that the nails have not been responsible for bringing me back into good graces.

3. Our new family past-time is this game called "boogie" for the wii. It's really lame but I sing off-key kereoke (sp?) and the boys all dance with controllers. Truly a sight to behold.

4. My friend Andy just introduced me to the bathroom reader institute series of books. (She gave me one for christmas)As most of you know, I seldom get to toilet alone so I had to bring it to bed. Friends, I could not put it down! This was one of my top gifts of the season.

5. My other top gift came from Lucy. The "Our Dumb World" Atlas by the Onion. (to help me explore the "soft science" of geography.) It has features like "how much does bono care about your country?" and such.

6. I just realized that you folks don't know about my recent foray into the wonderful world of candy making. I will offer more details later but I will tell you that it is indeed the sticky nightmare/wonderland adventure you might envision it to be. I also am trying to figure out how to use this newfound "skill" to fund....

7. Dodgeball! Yes friends, it is true. My town is starting a dodgeball league and yours truly is coming in on the ground floor. Oh the tales to be told...the adventures to be had...

Ok Ill offer some half-hearted promises and catch up soon!

Snow Day!

What a better way to start out a snow day than to swallow the tip of your nintendo DS stylus! Oh wait! You can make it better! Make sure you go into a hysterical panic when this happens. It will be especially helpful if you scream in protest when your mom calmly suggests we call poison control to check on any harmful side effects we should be aware of. (Note to those who may find themselves in this position in the future: There are not.) With any luck, you will soon be joined by your chronically whiny and dissatisfied little brother. I may have more blogging today. I don't know yet.

guilt vs. avoidance? Guilt wins again!

It takes a frowny face email friends. It's my thursday small supervision groups. They know how to work me(Well hell, they are counselors and social workers, they should know!). Im sorry. I do have blog-guilt every day friends. Lately though, I fear thinking creatively will hurt my brain. But today I woke up to a frowny sad face email from my friend Drew (because she looks like a young drew barrymore. Before she went bad. I mean like when she was ten. Except if she had grown up without the hard living) saying she missed the blog. OHHH OK. What do I got though? Let's see? I can recite entire sections of Elmo in Grouchland now. (For those of you uninitiated, it's the story of one monster's journey to face the darkest part of evil in order to get his blanket bank. In doing so, he manages to break through widespread apathy and unite all of grouchanity. It really was inspiring the first seventy five times or so. Now we all want to put our eyes out and puncture our eardrums as soon as bert and ernie come on the screen.)(My favorite part being when the bad guy Huxley describes how he owns everything everything he touches. "You see this tennis racket? PING I own it. This hammer? PING I own it. This velvet painting of Elvis? I didn't really want it PING I own it. And this blanket, I didn't borrow it. I didn't rent it. I didn't even taken out a thirty six month lease on it but ohhhhh PING I own it." Thats masterful dialogue friends. Masterful dialogue. Ok, Im off to work friends. Ill try to be better and catch up soon. This time it's different....honest...

Public Service Announcements For The Panflutemaster House: Wednesday 12-5-07

There will be no ketchup in our house until Friday.

It is not appropriate to pin your brother in a corner with the broad side of a broom when you are supposed to be getting dressed for school.

It is also not appropriate to add the phrase "Jews are the Jewiest" to your extrapolation of the noggin song. Especially not in front of your father, who is of Jewish heritage. Or during the intergenerational church service discussing the blending of Christmas and Chanukah celebrations.

Addendum from earlier in the week: If you are trying to convince a life long Christian to join your church, do not absent-mindedly peruse the news letter and make remarks like "Damn, Ill be in the nursery during the "Dancing goats" service".

Bad guys do indeed have to go to the bathroom like everybody else.

It's probably not the best idea to say to the football coach on your first day of practice "I want to start with something easy."

Despite popular household belief, two year olds really don't need to wear deodorant every morning.

That is all for today. Stay tuned for further announcements.

My baby, My Terrorist Captor or Anatomy of an Ear Infection

• peed on the vanity in my bathroom
• Refused to get dressed, thus forcing me to do the “pin the cat on the hot rock” dance
• Tantrummed all the way to drop Norm off at school
• Tantrummed all the way to sitter
• Had to be pried from arms at sitter
• Was happy for a total of 37 seconds after leaving sitters.
• Stripped off all clothes and ran away giggling maniacally upon return to house
• Threw a plate of chips on the floor in abject disgust
• Played quietly for about five minutes which should have been a big red alarm siren
• Speaking of big and red, came running out of my bedroom giggling as soon as suspicion was smelled.
• Greeted me waving hands covered in bright red paint, “look look”. Look at the bright red paint covering my hands and half my body.
• Ran back into the bedroom before being snatched and thrown into the tub
• Cheerfully offered to “help” as I scrubbed the bath of already dried red paint in a futile attempt to remove trail from rug.
• Yelled “top it” when I collapsed on the floor and begged nobody in particular to just put me inpatient.
• Threw another bowl of chips on the floor in a rage.
• Would not leave my side for the rest of the evening

• Fell asleep at 10pm. Woke up at 1am
• Engaged in an hour long demand ridden play fest of peek-a-boo and pat-a-cake
• Watched Melmo til 4am. Screaming MOM every time my eyes closed
• Finally asked for dad.

I will save my detailed metaphorical description entitled “my baby, my hairshirt” until Ive polished it more.

Please insert "peed on my leg after refusing to put on diaper" right after "threw second of bowl of chips on floor"

Random Tuesday Thoughts

* Chocolate Honeycombs were a huge disappointment to me. I felt truly defiled after trying them.

* I had a small epiphany today about feeding my old bread to the wildlife in my back yard. It occurred when as I was looking for something to make a sandwich with I pulled out a loaf of bread that i love in toast form but not so much in sandwich form. (actually Im a bun girl. People might not know that about me....Which reminds me, I wonder what it means that I dreamt last night that I remembered to grab the left over buns Madame Fabu offered me from mini-fabu's birthday party on saturday. It was a really good dream.)The bread was covered in white "stuff". After my initial reaction of grossed outedness, my second thought was "now this is the kind of bread that makes a person see God. This is like Revelations inspiring bread." And my third thought was just a vision of a bunch of scared and confused stoned out of their minds birds, chipmunks and squirrels trying to negotiate the last few days of uncovered ground before the winter. I cant believe i never thought of this before. I feel like the Jim Jones of small woodland creatures.

* I think my "better with butter" strategy was not such a good idea after all. (for those who don't recall, I developed this theory around the time of the turnip's birth that since margarine is bad for you and butter is bad for you, if I just indulged in the butter, I would feel more satisfied and ultimately cut down my cream type spread usage) Two years and several previously inexplicable pounds of weight gain later, Im starting to think I may have missed a flaw in that particular logical process.

*Having said that, I just now realized that if you melt a tablespoon of margarine and drip it on top of frozen pretzels, it not only tastes delicious but offers a delightful alternative to the "wet your pretzel" method Ive been struggling with since the dawn of frozen hot pretzels. Disclaimer: Oh I can wet yer pretzel baby...just not if it comes packaged frozen with disjointed instructions for salt application.

* Needless to say, this little experiment begs the question, would the pretzels taste even better with real butter?

* Which leads me to confess to the most dramatic aspertame relapse Ive had since my initial recovery. It was safe crisis management training friends. I had to be there at 8AM. There were limited caffeinating options. I am so weak.

*Ah but yet I am not! I felt pretty ass kicking good about the "physical assist" part of the training. My friend Micky may have been completely humoring me but it worked. And Spike (who was our trainer) was positive about all the ones he evaluated except for the escape holds. (which in fairness, he was positive about. He was praising of the form but did point out that they were completely wrong. He even stopped short of the fact that the only way I could probably get away using these forms would be if my attacker peed his pants from laughing. Micky, however, went ahead and took the obvious shot)

* I will elaborate at length about the training soon but will tell you that with just a little polishing I truly believe I could totally kick ass both at christmas brunch (or linner as my brother is calling it as it's moved to later in the day) when sibling stuff arises and at social drinking occasions as well. Just wait til spring season!

* I need to figure out how to remove corrosive battery residue from my sonicare innards. Its the dark side of my happy toothbrush world and I never expected to see it.

* I miss my blog friends. Thank you so much for not giving up on me. My Christmas present to myself is to catch up on you folks.

The lens of fate

Hello loyal friends. We could make this a post about how much I suck or you can just let me lay it on the line. I suck. I truly believe its going to get better. I could try to explain where Ive been but it would really not make sense to anybody but possibly Gill and Madame Fabu because my reasons for absence would sound obscure and stupid to everyone else but I assure you they are entirely real and 100% logistical. (no crisis or illness or even lack of motivation to blog. Its there my friends. I am just having pure logistical problems) In lieu of describing them in tedious detail (too late? Im so sorry!) I will allude to them with a small tale. Let me preface the tale with disclaimer that I am here not because I have solved the problem but because I am braving these severe logistical conditions because my dearest sega continues to be a rockstar in every way and has expressed the need for updates. Ok so here is my little morality play.

Did you ever have one of those moments in time when you are involved in something and you are about to take an action and a very loud voice in your head is yelling "THIS IS A VERY BAD IDEA!"? Ok I know several of my realtime friends (Luckybuzz comes to mind in particular)can relate to this both about themselves and about me re: the late 80s and early 90s. Im not talking about THAT kind of bad idea. Im talking about the kind that happens when you are absorbed in an activity that requires you moving between several different rooms and are spontaneously approached by your two year old to take off your glasses. As you take them off and put them somewhere that is cognitively identified by you as "NOT A SAFE SPACE" (but not identified in terms of specific location of course...), you immediately stop thinking about your glasses and your two year old's sudden interest in them.

Needless to say, I had this type of moment on Friday morning. I did not think about my glasses at all until several hours later when Gill and I were in our bedroom cleaning and Gill suddenly said in a very alarmed tone of voice "Crse." I look up and he is holding one lens that clearly belong(s)(ed) to my glasses. Friends, it was like finding a human hand belonging to someone you did not even know was missing. Frantically we started tearing apart the bedroom. We dissembled the bed. We emptied drawers. Of course I flashed back to that moment in time (still believing for some ludicrous reason that the glasses were still where i left them despite the clear dismemberment that took place). Nothing. Friends, we looked as much as we could Saturday. We literally tore apart the furniture in the living room in a desperate attempt to find some sort of forensic trail of evidence. Nothing. At one point, I even tried a trick that actually worked on Norm when he was the turnips age.

"Baby? Will you help mommy find her glasses?"
"Nope".
"Do you know where mommy's glasses are?"
"Glasses."
"YOU help mommy find them?"
"Nope".

Cut to Sunday night and I am reliving the moment over and over trying to remember what the hell I was doing when it occurred. Bonsai calls me. She is somewhat stressed because she went back to school and because well...she lives with my brother which would require anyone to need sedative medication. I am telling her the story to cheer her up. (She does enjoy her nephews so). And I am stretched out on my bed and Im looking at my exercise bike which is about two feet from me. I suddenly remember Gill mentioning at some unrelated to frantic searching moment on friday that the bike sounded like something was stuck inside. Yup. Guess who's polishing his fine motor skills....

Maybe this is just a bad dream Monday

It cant possibly be Monday can it? Only Monday? I guess in terms of days it wasnt a BAD day per se. You just know that it isnt going to be the day you want when you here a little perky voice next to you at ten to six saying "guess what mommy? Daddy is gone already! Lets watch some cartoons in bed!" Especially when your viewing buddy is a wiggler, twitcher, climber and commenter. I sensed the day was not going to get better when I had to send Madame Fabu a briefing about a work situation and decided that the most fitting subject line would be "you are just going to love this (and no it's not a forward, its sarcasm)" (thanks for hanging in there with me through all of this today Madame F!) It could have seriously been much much worse. In fact, I now have a new character to introduce into the blog soon. Ive decided to call him Hemlock. He is my new arch nemesis. He is a supervisee and he is like the Lex Luthor to my Superman of passive aggressivity. I don't have the energy to begin the tale right now but I will tell you that he is truly a worthy adversary. As annoying and manipulative as his tactics may be, I often find myself thinking "Well-played sir. Touche."

Im reliving my childhood through my son. Soccer Mom shit? nope. Overfriending his friends? nooo. Apparently my Patsy Ramsey contribution to my son's education is to put off practicing his sight words until TWO days before the end of the nine weeks then try to teach him eight words (six of which he hasn't seen in at least a week) by chasing him around the house with flash cards that I FINALLY GOT AROUND TO CREATING YESTERDAY. Yes son, this is my legacy to you. You are five years old and already learning the art of procrastinating and cramming. Welcome to the amazing world of academics my child. Its all yours. In fact, go on ahead and have a beer because now that we've introduced you to the cycle of guilt, unbearable pressure and the sense of incessant dissatisfaction that emerges once you realize how well you could have done if you weren't such a self-destructive slack ass with avoidant personality disorder, a drinking problem is your next logical step. Seriously though? Next nine weeks will be better. I swear.

I write this pretending that it was only the sight words that escaped our review this past nine weeks. Sadly, you can guess the truth when I share Norm's quote of the night (offered in a tearful scream) "Will you JUST STOP asking me questions about my HANDS?" (it was a left right thing). Mother of the Year friends. Mother. Of. The. Year.

The Secret: And how it changed my family

Well friends. Two days and im off the wagon. But hey. Im gonna keep trying. So today's installment is about our life-changing evening tonight. I never suspected that when Gill came home last night with the DVD "The Secret" (thankfully he borrowed it) (From a fellow at work who was rumored to be hired in the same position Gill is doing at roughly ten thousand more dollars a year)(Needless to say, Gill thought perhaps there might be a connection between this little turn of events and "the secret"). How was that for a parenthetical cluster?

Anyway, as well you can imagine, (or maybe you cannot) I am somewhat cynical about any "life secret" that is being sold in DVD form and has been featured on Oprah. Don't get me wrong friends. I love Oprah. Who does not love Oprah? But seriously? Dr. Phil, A million little pieces (or whatever that scam was), Jenny McCarthy and most importantly lest we forget...the Tom Cruise couch jumping incident? Still, Gill asks so little of me(mostly because he prefers the naggy bitch approach to getting me to do stuff)so tonight we all sat down together and watched "The Secret".

I want to begin my review with something positive. I really do. Ok, so yes, I do believe in the Law of Attraction. It's called positive thinking. I know that term is probably foreign to most of you who haven't bought the DVD. Thats because those of us who have "The Secret" have been trying to keep it from you for two thousand years. Because nobody could expect a person to pick up a fucking religious text or study the life of someone who has made a significant difference in humanity or even see a therapist who might clue them into "The Secret". Is this woman serious? Am I some sort of emotional health elitist who just assumed people were not so idiotic as to need to pay 30 bucks to find out that negative thinking breeds negativity? Alright so its not what you'd call a fair and balanced review. Let me try again.

It was kind of funny. Funny is good. Each section would show a written title and some sort of truism in print (calligraphy or some other FANCY PRINT). Then there would be a whispered voice over reading the truism aloud. I really enjoyed that. So much so that I cant wait for an opportunity to start whispering really obvious statements loudly to Gill during conversations. And the music totally had a 700 club "mystical experience: I talked to Jesus" feel about it. I liked that a lot.

We spent a lot of time during the DVD explaining to Norm that much of what they were saying was true. You do need to trust the universe. You need to have an attitude of gratitude. And you always get what you want. These are messages we are trying to impart upon him anyway, but we needed to tease out the whole "and its some huge mystery nobody ever wanted you to know". I think Norm really appreciated this.

In sum, our family decided that the Turnip is already living "The Secret". Which is why we are constantly being forced to watch "melmo on demand" or suffer the dire consequences of a Turnip scorned. Norm then decided he is going to make "The Secret" work for him. To practice, we spent the rest of the evening placing demands and staring pointedly in silence at each other just to see what would happen. Periodically the Turnip would hit one of us, which of course is what we attracted to ourselves. I am sad to say that Norm appears to have gotten more of his sense of humor from his father as he was not even slightly amused when I noted that we want to be hit every time the little maniac philosopher hits us.

In all honesty, I could go on at length about my concerns about a society that is being bilked into believe basic mental health is a "secret that has travelled through the ages". I could also rant about my disgust on several different levels. But the bottom line is "The Secret" makes me realize that I could easily drive my family completely insane for the sake of my own amusement. How can that not be a gift worthy of 29.95 plus shipping and handling?

I bought bad pie and I cannot lie

And no Lucy they were not market day pies. They were pies of shit. If I told my blogger friends how many pies I own right now, it would shock you all. (I say own because my pies are currently being housed in three different locations. No wait four) I own eleven pies right now. I had thirteen. Thankfully, only five of the thirteen pies were bad pies. I have no good reason for owning eleven pies. In essence? The pies are physical manifestations of my boundary problems. Generally, Im ok with a physical reminder of bad boundaries as long as it's tasty. The not so tasty ones make me want to step up my therapy rotation.

The democratic debate is on. I miss Mike Gravel. Joe Biden has the most disturbing forehead Ive ever seen. Is it me or is Wolf Blitzer kind of bitchy tonight?

I want to give more to you tonight friends. You deserve it. But Im congested and sleepy. Its good to be back though...