To Whom It May Concern

Useful quote from Jesse James' press statement in response to news that he's been cheating on Sandra Bullock. Can be sprinkled liberally into almost any conversation and should be used several times a day:

"There is only one person to blame for this whole situation, and that is me. It's because of my poor judgement that I deserve everything bad that is coming my way.

This has caused my wife and kids pain and embarrassment beyond comprehension and I am extremely saddened to have brought this on them. I am truly very sorry for the grief I have caused them. I hope one day they can find it in their hearts to forgive me."

Note that Sandra Bullock became an Oscar winner last week. Jesse doesn't need to keep his wife in a basement to get it on with his new girlfriend. Though he probably does own a velvet burnout brocade pick-up-guy shirt and fancy white leather shoes. . .

Phase II

It's not so much grieving the passing of this phase of my life. It's more discovering that it was a phase. I thought it was my life. What I'm grieving is life as I know it. There was no backup plan. There was no reserve for Option B. I put it all out there.

So. . . "you can do whatever you want now" comes with 2 kids, 40 years of emotional baggage, severely outdated work experience and an expansive horizon of solitude. Deep breaths and chocolate are just not going to cut it. Something's going to come to me, right? Some notion of where to go, what to do first, next and forever?

Today, I'm going to sit in the sun and seek inspiration in a book, my iPod and the breeze.

Children will play

So it occurs to Jane that she does not want to play with Johnny and his ever-evolving exclusionary rule making. So she tells him, "I don't want to play anymore." And Johnny, knowing he cannot win if no one plays, throws a tantrum. He purposely sits too close to Jane, making her uncomfortable. He makes sure to grab the cookie with the most chips, so she can't have it. He hides the toys on a high shelf, knowing Jane can't reach.

Well, Jane really doesn't want to play. Jane knows that cookies would just make her fat anyway. Jane knows where a ladder is, and could reach the toys - if she wanted to play. Instead she just feels sorry for Johnny. When will he learn that no one wants to play with someone who's willing to stack the deck, change the rules, or lie so that they always win. He'll become a self-serving egotistical narcissist if allowed to grow up this way. And Jane needs no part of that shit again!

Jane will go read a book. Maybe later, she'll play tea party with some of the girls up the street. Good Jane. Good for you.

WTF Friday

new theme.

inspiration?:

woke up SICK, seeking replacement for tonight's sex toy party -

great,

only my 2nd one in 6 months...

65 degrees today. This was Monday:

Head hurts. So bad I took decongestant - bad idea. F u z z y

3 yr old at home with me: juice, pickles, goldfish, put in Willy Wonka, fruit leather, more juice, change channel, candy? Candy? CANDY?!!!

Mother-n-law dropped off her dogs

(dog sitting 7 days)

and gave me this:

If character can be changed in 5 days, hmmmm, with whom to begin?

WTF???

2 Things on Tuesday - wish I could rap

1.) What is it with these young, podunck town law-enforcement types that makes them say shit?
Driving the girls home from Grandma's house the other day I came to the bottom of the hill & noticed emergency lights at the intersection. After stopping at the stop sign, I edged forward to see which direction the lights were coming from (they were bouncing on the abutment of an overpass), stopped again to make sure I wouldn't be interfering with any law-enforcement type procedures if I proceeded on my planned right turn. Please bear in mind that the speed limit coming down the mountain is 25. Ah, only a routine traffic check (there's a crack house on grandma's hill in the mountains...). So I join the line of (3) cars and start digging for my license. When I roll the window down, the 25 year old 'officer' says to me, "d'y always approach stops signs that fast? You'da rolled right through that one if we hadn't been here." To which I responded, "Fuck you, has been!! Couldn't get into ITT Tech? I have NEVER rolled through a fucking stop sign, ever! Never had a speeding ticket, freaking never had a parking ticket. I've never driven drunk, always wear my seat belt, and if you think for one second that I would ever roll through a stop sign in a Southern state with my children in the car, you must be one of the dumbest ones they've raised yet! Moron!"

...in my head. Actually, I said the Moron part as he was checking my rear license plate - imagine he was checking to verify me as one of those lawless types that hasn't dusted her 'tags' this season, either - and M asked me how I knew he was a moron. I told her I'd explain it when we rolled up the window & drove away.

I seethed for a while as I drove away, waiting for the meds to kick in and settle my rattled nerves - I have authority figure issues and a evolutionary-Irish distaste for coppers of any ilk, especially smug, young, powercrazy, male ones - and then started wishing that my heritage was different. Instead of being an upper middle class stay at home mom driving a minivan, I wished for that moment to be a strong ethnic urban chica rollin in a blazin lowrider. 'Cause then, instead of stewing my temper for a few days down to a blogworthy frustration reduction, I could have amped it on some Red Bull, juiced it with a scary beat and rapped my way to fame about how the 5-0 ain't worth sh*t. Yeah, I wish I could rap about the injustices carried out on me by the POlice...


and wait....here's a good line I might have come up with and used, but actually found when looking for a satisfying slang term to use for police (I'm still not happy with the "5-0", but the dryer's about to buzz and I didn't want to waste too much time...) - "a government-funded butt-picking fucktard addicted to donuts" NICE!!!!

2.) How will we ever know when Nip/Tuck has jumped the shark?

Is that flop sweat?

I found myself, last Thursday, in the front passenger seat of a white Ford Taurus on the way to Harrah’s Casino in Cherokee, NC.

How I got there is simple and it is complicated. The simple part is that my father lied to me. The complicated part is that after 17-1/2 years of his absence from my life, I have little context for interpreting what the man says.

He goes to Cherokee at least once a week to gamble. I don’t get it, but it gives him something to do. So, he mentioned a while back that they were giving away a Cadillac that Friday and he was taking me to Cherokee. With a mixture of childlike yearning and what passes for conviction in his life (don’t go by me, what the hell do I know) he told me not to cancel on him at the last minute “with any sick kids or no babysitter or whatever the hell…”. ‘Course it turns out M’oney was on an “away” week and the in-laws only returning to town that very day after 5 days away… In addition to having the kids and the in-laws’ dogs all to myself until 30 minutes before entering the Taurus, it was move-in day for neighbors sharing our driveway, so I played a couple of games of musical driveway during my various errands and preparations. Not that I in any way want a Cadillac or can work up enthusiasm for 14 wasted hours in Harrah’s Cherokee, but maybe winning something would make all the packing & rushing around worth it. If not, at least I might numb myself with a goodly number of ‘free’ drinks at the penny slots.

Or not.


But my point is…It was the 3rd hottest day of the summer. I’d been racing around the better part of the afternoon in an effort to leave everything so a trained monkey could take over for 30 hours without wreaking irreparable harm on the children, house, plants, fish or impeding my Mommy momentum in said categories upon my return. I landed in that Taurus a sweaty, greasy (say it the Southern way to get the best visual) mess; ready for a few drinks and the cash-equivalent take-away of winning that damned Cadillac.

My father has a “respiratory affliction” (read: pansy-ass immune system from decades of meat & potatoes, combined with a neurotic fear of exercise and a healthy dose of Catholic-raised martyr drama disease) which was triggered into a ‘full-blown lung/sinus thing’ by the air conditioning on his previous trip to Cherokee. That was the reason that the air conditioning was not on and not GOING to be on in his car. I sagged a bit at that but vowed to catch each moving breath of 97-degree air that managed to slither in through the open windows – and to make up for it with several drinks immediately upon entering the casino…

Yeah, well…

I endured the ‘conversation’, enjoyed the scenery and tried to stop looking at the temperature controls.




When we arrived at the hotel, I oozed to the did-I-mention-shared room anticipating the whoosh of refrigerated air. No!! Apparently, even in this dry county in the South, they’ve joined the going green bandwagon and turn the air conditioners off unless the room is occupied. Curse!!!!! And when I leaned over to set the controls to appropriately frigid , didn’t the old man holler out another reminder of his respiratory condition and tell me not to set it up past low – and NO fan. Luckily the thing only had cool med, cool high, heat or off. I set it on cool med and splashed some tepid sink water on my shiny face.

I desperately casually mentioned the drinks as we pulled into the casino lot. The laughter that accompanied “You didn’t know this was a dry county?” was symbolically dry and more forced than a Vegas wedding smile. I’d love to see the video of my reaction. Upon entering and locating a check-in machine (unless you’re planning an extended trip to Cherokee, don’t ask!), “we” were informed that the Cadillac drawing had taken place last month. The pretend shock & disappointment on my father’s face was less believable than my 3 yr-old’s ‘remorse’ face – this is when it first hit me about the lie.

Blah, blah, blah. I won nothing. Spent about $70 of my own money. Ate 3 desserts at the buffet. Shared a hotel room with my once-estranged father – not as bad as it could be because once the hearing aid is out and the glasses off, it’s almost like having a moment to oneself…

And sweat all night on top of the covers!!!! If sweat is the word for that really unpleasant coating of oily film that never evaporates because it is too molecularly thick to be lifted by air and must be absorbed back into the skin or cleansed by fast-moving water and a loofah. Is that flop sweat?

For the record, this is how temperature controls should be set for optimum relaxation and comfort!!


This photo was taken during one of several brief stops on the drive home – gas, bathroom, one more bottle of water, during what should have been a one hour and fifteen minute drive - when I seized the precious moments to blast freezing air without getting caught!!