I knew it was only a matter of time before...I got some kind of payback for the "Seth" incident. I can't be too specific, because that's on my "fluffy" blog, but Junior gets to take a cool-ass trip. I've worked my keister off to send him, and I've made sure he knows. I am making him take some responsibility for it, though, so I made him contact all the teachers on his schedule, as he's going to miss the few days of school. IM is a wonderful, wonderful thing. I don't even have to quote. Dry humor comes across best during IMs, I have found:
Junior: alright i have a michael jackson teacher for P.E. lol
Mommavennum: Oh, that's not even funny
Mommavennum: Ick
Junior: boys team sports sounds kinda wrong
Mommavennum: SHUT UP lol
Mommavennum: Ick ick ick
Mommavennum: It's too early in the morning for such disgusting thoughts
Mommavennum: Shame on you
Junior: ROFL!!!
Mommavennum: Barf
Mommavennum: Are you serious about the Michael Jackson thing?
Mommavennum: Serious??
Junior: lol his names mxxxx brown
Mommavennum: twit
...later...
Junior: lol should i put Hola for spanish?
Mommavennum: Sure
Mommavennum: I just e-mailed Lori's mom and asked if Lori had an e-mail addy
Junior: or is that being too much of a suck up?
Mommavennum: No
Mommavennum: You need all the suckage you can get right now
Mommavennum: Dude, you're missing a whole WEEK of school
Junior: suckage?
Junior: i thought sunny had problems...
Mommavennum: Darling, Sunny just INHERITED. I invented.
Junior: is tara a girl name?
Mommavennum: yes.
Mommavennum: I'd put Ms. __
Mommavennum: You don't know if she's married or not
Mommavennum: Ms. covers it
Mommavennum: Yes, chix are picky
Junior: eh... i kinda put mrs on a couple
Mommavennum: They'll live
Mommavennum: At least you're trying the respect thing....
Mommavennum: I know it's a hard concept for you.
Junior: well... Carol sounds like she's old and plus she's an english teacher lol
Mommavennum: Hey, good skills of inference there, buddy
I got yet another job offer. Hear that, FIA? FIA stands for fistula-in-ano, my affectionate term for my best friend who legally took away the business we built together in one fell swoop. Since we went our separate ways, I have taken one job, got offered two more, asked to bid on another, and now the office manager has a side project for me, and then he already asked about taking the transcription for a new biz he's scheming on. I can do the side work, but not the biz. I launched into the cool docs I've got now, and I really wonder why he hasn't contacted FIA for this...since one of the businesses she swiped was his...hmmm...
I gotta get over that. I have so many vicious thoughts for FIA. I need to SO get past it, because I really think she did me a favor and shot herself in the foot.
Maybe this is just the way I make myself feel better. I SO need validation. I want people to fucking hear my pain, but they've got better things to do. So I stew. I don't know how to do anything else.
It would be nice if just one person stumbled upon this blog and left a comment, like, bite me or something. At least I know someone looked...
I hurt. I really, really hurt. After good sex, after getting five e-mails in five hours for best answers from Yahoo! answers and knowing I'm not an idiot, after a long, hot bath where I have been completely and properly defuzzed, after a short chat with Romanian George at the gas station (I gave him my e-mail to help him with a document he's trying to make), I still feel empty. As long as I keep going, I'm okay, but fuck her for making me miss her.
I need a new friend. Plain and simple. Nobody understands me. Sunny does more than anyone, but she's the last person I want to be like me, because I love her so much.
Friday, August 3, 2007
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
This 24-hour period can bite me.
You know, I hope Karma isn't for real. If so, I must've been a real bitch the last time around.
I was the kid in school whose dog actually ate her homework and no one believed me from the student point of view. My teachers, however, adored li'l ol' nerdy me, and I had the bite marks and pencil scratches on what remained to prove it.
Case in point. I had big opportunity to get some major moolah with work. Fine. Last night, the
kids and I had "the talk." You see, I noticed that, if they left me alone, I could type an 8-minute file in 17 minutes. However, as they pass through and steal my sodas, tell me hello, ask me to check weather.com, tell me about something on eBay, or call each other names, the next 8-minute file took me 44 minutes to complete. Okay. Let me interpret this: I could have combined the time from all those extras into a meaningful two hours. Final Fantasy hours. US time.
Tonight, that was the plan. No disruptions. Yup, everyone understood the gameplan.
Except everyone else.
Instant messages, from my husband. Fighting from my boys. There's a snake on the loose. Everyone ate dinner before my husband knew it was cooked. Dude wanted soda, and he wanted me to go get him some NOW. He tried to take my cell and walk over one-half mile to Gasmart without accompaniment. Stud got mad at me because he thought I was going to allow such a thing, but cooled off when he realized Dude was being Dude and creating as much mayhem as entirely possible. Junior insisted he was a full 6'. I told him he wasn't. He made me measure him, just to be sure. I had to convince him that 70" is 5' 10", not 6'. Sunny is now 1/2" taller than me, and I got to watch/hear her victory dance.
And, in the back of my mind, I'm screaming--WTF?
The computer crashed. I was so slow working and then, and then...
I can't sleep. I rolled around for an hour and said, fuck it, I'm not starting at the ceiling or making love circles on Stud's hand any more.
So, I went to Gasmart. To be petulant, I bought Dude some punch. I bought Stud some Pop Tarts. I asked him what kind he wanted before he went. He shrugged. I asked, "Whatever has the most calories?" He looked at me like I was evil. Go fig.
I have smokes. I have soda. I have milk and beverages for the nimrod club. I still have a snake on the loose. I'm hoping it will seek warmth and wrap itself around Junior's toes. It's a $700 fucking snake. It's heterosomething for orange ghost ball python.
Grrrrr.
And........I........Still........Have......Work......To......Do.
Rant over, bitching done. Shit, fuzzy fuck. Had to get this off my chest, though, or I'd be cussing under my breath all through oncology, which requires the last brain cell I have left at my disposal.
I was the kid in school whose dog actually ate her homework and no one believed me from the student point of view. My teachers, however, adored li'l ol' nerdy me, and I had the bite marks and pencil scratches on what remained to prove it.
Case in point. I had big opportunity to get some major moolah with work. Fine. Last night, the
kids and I had "the talk." You see, I noticed that, if they left me alone, I could type an 8-minute file in 17 minutes. However, as they pass through and steal my sodas, tell me hello, ask me to check weather.com, tell me about something on eBay, or call each other names, the next 8-minute file took me 44 minutes to complete. Okay. Let me interpret this: I could have combined the time from all those extras into a meaningful two hours. Final Fantasy hours. US time.
Tonight, that was the plan. No disruptions. Yup, everyone understood the gameplan.
Except everyone else.
Instant messages, from my husband. Fighting from my boys. There's a snake on the loose. Everyone ate dinner before my husband knew it was cooked. Dude wanted soda, and he wanted me to go get him some NOW. He tried to take my cell and walk over one-half mile to Gasmart without accompaniment. Stud got mad at me because he thought I was going to allow such a thing, but cooled off when he realized Dude was being Dude and creating as much mayhem as entirely possible. Junior insisted he was a full 6'. I told him he wasn't. He made me measure him, just to be sure. I had to convince him that 70" is 5' 10", not 6'. Sunny is now 1/2" taller than me, and I got to watch/hear her victory dance.
And, in the back of my mind, I'm screaming--WTF?
The computer crashed. I was so slow working and then, and then...
I can't sleep. I rolled around for an hour and said, fuck it, I'm not starting at the ceiling or making love circles on Stud's hand any more.
So, I went to Gasmart. To be petulant, I bought Dude some punch. I bought Stud some Pop Tarts. I asked him what kind he wanted before he went. He shrugged. I asked, "Whatever has the most calories?" He looked at me like I was evil. Go fig.
I have smokes. I have soda. I have milk and beverages for the nimrod club. I still have a snake on the loose. I'm hoping it will seek warmth and wrap itself around Junior's toes. It's a $700 fucking snake. It's heterosomething for orange ghost ball python.
Grrrrr.
And........I........Still........Have......Work......To......Do.
Rant over, bitching done. Shit, fuzzy fuck. Had to get this off my chest, though, or I'd be cussing under my breath all through oncology, which requires the last brain cell I have left at my disposal.
Sunday, July 29, 2007
I'm sunk!
Okay, once again, I'm mean. I got Junior again. Sue me.
I asked him how big 14.4 cm was. Of course, he ran to get the tape measure, willing-to-please oldest-syndrome child that he is. He showed me on the tape measure. I glanced at my work again.
"Oh, that's not too bad," I said.
"What's not?"
"Oh, that 14.4 cm is the base width of her new boob. At least she's only going with 533 cc this time. Last time, she went for the 750-cc implants. You know, that's three-quarters of a liter of Diet Dr. Pepper. Imagine strapping two nearly full bottles of Diet Dr. Pepper to your chest and walking around."
He expanded the tape measure to 28.8 cm and held it to his chest.
I didn't tell him to add 1 to 2 cm for the intermammary distance, but chiquita's going to have
some major hooterage.
***
Of course, he got me back.
He and Sunny talked about the last book she read.
"You know why it's called Eldest?" she asked him.
"Because Mom's in it?"
And that's not all. I explained that he got me back for the entire Seth incident (do a search), but he told me, "Not hardly." Apparently, he's enlisting Sunny's help, because my darling baby girl is the evil one of the family, and she's really good with the snappy comebacks.
In other words, I'm in serious trouble.
COMMENT: I couldn't put this on my other blog. Why? It's not "fluffy" enough. It's funny as all hell. I could tell two of my sisters about it, but no one else in my very big family would understand why it's so funny. God forbid I discuss fake boobs.
I asked him how big 14.4 cm was. Of course, he ran to get the tape measure, willing-to-please oldest-syndrome child that he is. He showed me on the tape measure. I glanced at my work again.
"Oh, that's not too bad," I said.
"What's not?"
"Oh, that 14.4 cm is the base width of her new boob. At least she's only going with 533 cc this time. Last time, she went for the 750-cc implants. You know, that's three-quarters of a liter of Diet Dr. Pepper. Imagine strapping two nearly full bottles of Diet Dr. Pepper to your chest and walking around."
He expanded the tape measure to 28.8 cm and held it to his chest.
I didn't tell him to add 1 to 2 cm for the intermammary distance, but chiquita's going to have
some major hooterage.
***
Of course, he got me back.
He and Sunny talked about the last book she read.
"You know why it's called Eldest?" she asked him.
"Because Mom's in it?"
And that's not all. I explained that he got me back for the entire Seth incident (do a search), but he told me, "Not hardly." Apparently, he's enlisting Sunny's help, because my darling baby girl is the evil one of the family, and she's really good with the snappy comebacks.
In other words, I'm in serious trouble.
COMMENT: I couldn't put this on my other blog. Why? It's not "fluffy" enough. It's funny as all hell. I could tell two of my sisters about it, but no one else in my very big family would understand why it's so funny. God forbid I discuss fake boobs.
I might be pathetic, but my kids aren't.
They're so much fun. This is just part of my day, and we've been doing a lot of goofing off when I should've been working.
Junior: I am merciless and cruel at times. My eldest son loves online gaming. He has a network going with kids around the world and some of his friends from high school. My daughter was helping me clean, and we found his Runescape contact notebook. There, on a page on its own, in his writing, was "I_love_Seth!!!!"
Ahem. I knew right off the bat it was one of his girl-friend contacts, but...it's me...I had to get him.
I winked at Sunshine and knew just what to do.
"Who's Seth?" I asked nonchalantly.
"Who?"
I showed him the page. "Who is this Seth person? If you love him, why haven't you told me about him?"
"It's one of my friends! She likes this guy, well, used to like this guy, named Seth! It's not me. I swear it I swear it I swear it!"
Love the 15-year-old heterosexual response. I should've let it go, right?
"Why all the exclamation points, then? Honey, if he's this special to you, I should have met him long ago."
Sunny, my erstwhile daughter, who actually *understands* her goof-ball mother, is about to wet her pants while she keeps from laughing where Junior can't see her standing to the right of the doorway.
"HE IS MY FRIEND'S BOYFRIEND. Or used to be. I HAVE NEVER EVEN SEEN THE GUY! THOSE EXCLAMATION POINTS ARE PART OF HER I.D.!"
"Okay, but if you ever have anyone special to you, please let me know." I patted his face and walked off.
Yeah, like he's ever going to tell me anything again. Except that he came up to me one-half hour later and made sure, very sure, that I knew that Seth was his girl-friend's boyfriend, or was once. I told him I knew. It was his Runescape book, and it was his contact list. I know, for a fact, he has no friend named Seth, special or otherwise. The look on his face, though, when he tried to make me completely understand that he does not love Seth...OMG. I'm just going to keep snickering every time I see it in my warped mind.
Sunny: The moon is full. My daughter, like me, likes weird books. She goes further and has a thing for dragons. Not bad. She says they're just misunderstood. I love her. And this is why:
We got in the car to go to Gasmart for some soda and skittles. It's about 9:30 p.m.
"Oh, look, sweetie. The moon is full! The shifters--we gotta watch for the shifters tonight."
The moon cast a weird light on her, and I touched her arm. "Is that fur?"
My beautiful, awesome daughter, said, "What fur?"
I look over, and she's freaking licking the back of her hand and grooming herself like a darn cat!
My Dude's in the seat back from us. He just tunes us out anymore.
We get our stuff, hop back in the car, and I tell her that the moon will now follow us, spookily knowing every which way we turn. She, of course, knows this.
"Hey, Sunny. Are you having problems with fleas this year? I'm having a terrible time."
"Yeah, Mom. I know. I had to take two showers today, one for my fur and one for my skin!"
Dude: My Dude tends to take his injuries very, very seriously. A simple cat scratch gets him out of folding laundry, because the fabric might snag on the scratch. See where I'm going with this?
Today, it was his knee. Junior came in to tell me that Dude wouldn't do his chores because he hurt his knee. This is a chronic problem. The child can come up with an instant ailment for anything. It's amazing. He no longer believes me when I tell him "I think there's a shot for that" anymore, so I have to be more original.
I went in, where he had his knee propped up with the look of profound misery on his face.
"Let me see the knee."
Pulling the leg of his jeans up seemed like an interminable chore for him. Behold, a bruise, though. I touched it.
"Hey, that's pretty big. Is that where it hurts?"
He nodded, apparently in too much pain to form words.
Now, experience talking. "Are you sure?"
I met his eyes, blue on blue. He's gorgeous, big blue eyes and red hair. But I can see the not so innocent in the back of them, and he knows it.
He shook his head. Apparently he got that bruise outside, and it's a whopper, but it didn't deter him from playing outside for another two hours. Then he showed me the new injury.
He's got a new technique, ladies and gents. He now knows how to compress the seam of his jeans against folded skin for an amazing reddening effect. Genius, this child is. Genius.
"So, you got that inside and you're crippled, but you got that outside and you healed miraculously and instantaneously, yet the big bruise isn't hurting?"
He did the dishes without further argument.
Junior: I am merciless and cruel at times. My eldest son loves online gaming. He has a network going with kids around the world and some of his friends from high school. My daughter was helping me clean, and we found his Runescape contact notebook. There, on a page on its own, in his writing, was "I_love_Seth!!!!"
Ahem. I knew right off the bat it was one of his girl-friend contacts, but...it's me...I had to get him.
I winked at Sunshine and knew just what to do.
"Who's Seth?" I asked nonchalantly.
"Who?"
I showed him the page. "Who is this Seth person? If you love him, why haven't you told me about him?"
"It's one of my friends! She likes this guy, well, used to like this guy, named Seth! It's not me. I swear it I swear it I swear it!"
Love the 15-year-old heterosexual response. I should've let it go, right?
"Why all the exclamation points, then? Honey, if he's this special to you, I should have met him long ago."
Sunny, my erstwhile daughter, who actually *understands* her goof-ball mother, is about to wet her pants while she keeps from laughing where Junior can't see her standing to the right of the doorway.
"HE IS MY FRIEND'S BOYFRIEND. Or used to be. I HAVE NEVER EVEN SEEN THE GUY! THOSE EXCLAMATION POINTS ARE PART OF HER I.D.!"
"Okay, but if you ever have anyone special to you, please let me know." I patted his face and walked off.
Yeah, like he's ever going to tell me anything again. Except that he came up to me one-half hour later and made sure, very sure, that I knew that Seth was his girl-friend's boyfriend, or was once. I told him I knew. It was his Runescape book, and it was his contact list. I know, for a fact, he has no friend named Seth, special or otherwise. The look on his face, though, when he tried to make me completely understand that he does not love Seth...OMG. I'm just going to keep snickering every time I see it in my warped mind.
Sunny: The moon is full. My daughter, like me, likes weird books. She goes further and has a thing for dragons. Not bad. She says they're just misunderstood. I love her. And this is why:
We got in the car to go to Gasmart for some soda and skittles. It's about 9:30 p.m.
"Oh, look, sweetie. The moon is full! The shifters--we gotta watch for the shifters tonight."
The moon cast a weird light on her, and I touched her arm. "Is that fur?"
My beautiful, awesome daughter, said, "What fur?"
I look over, and she's freaking licking the back of her hand and grooming herself like a darn cat!
My Dude's in the seat back from us. He just tunes us out anymore.
We get our stuff, hop back in the car, and I tell her that the moon will now follow us, spookily knowing every which way we turn. She, of course, knows this.
"Hey, Sunny. Are you having problems with fleas this year? I'm having a terrible time."
"Yeah, Mom. I know. I had to take two showers today, one for my fur and one for my skin!"
Dude: My Dude tends to take his injuries very, very seriously. A simple cat scratch gets him out of folding laundry, because the fabric might snag on the scratch. See where I'm going with this?
Today, it was his knee. Junior came in to tell me that Dude wouldn't do his chores because he hurt his knee. This is a chronic problem. The child can come up with an instant ailment for anything. It's amazing. He no longer believes me when I tell him "I think there's a shot for that" anymore, so I have to be more original.
I went in, where he had his knee propped up with the look of profound misery on his face.
"Let me see the knee."
Pulling the leg of his jeans up seemed like an interminable chore for him. Behold, a bruise, though. I touched it.
"Hey, that's pretty big. Is that where it hurts?"
He nodded, apparently in too much pain to form words.
Now, experience talking. "Are you sure?"
I met his eyes, blue on blue. He's gorgeous, big blue eyes and red hair. But I can see the not so innocent in the back of them, and he knows it.
He shook his head. Apparently he got that bruise outside, and it's a whopper, but it didn't deter him from playing outside for another two hours. Then he showed me the new injury.
He's got a new technique, ladies and gents. He now knows how to compress the seam of his jeans against folded skin for an amazing reddening effect. Genius, this child is. Genius.
"So, you got that inside and you're crippled, but you got that outside and you healed miraculously and instantaneously, yet the big bruise isn't hurting?"
He did the dishes without further argument.
Maybe I'm not as pathetic as this, though...
One of the neurologists for whom I type:
"Complaints are relayed to me by the mother that the patient has low libido on the Lamictal, and this is affecting the boyfriend. The patient herself does not seem concerned by this and does not want to switch the medication."
Ick. There is just way too much wrong for this. "Go ahead, baby. Have them seizures. Ol' Billy Bob gots to have his snatch, y'know? Seize on up. He might like it."
Bitch. I want to slap her. She's not her mother; she's a pimp.
"Complaints are relayed to me by the mother that the patient has low libido on the Lamictal, and this is affecting the boyfriend. The patient herself does not seem concerned by this and does not want to switch the medication."
Ick. There is just way too much wrong for this. "Go ahead, baby. Have them seizures. Ol' Billy Bob gots to have his snatch, y'know? Seize on up. He might like it."
Bitch. I want to slap her. She's not her mother; she's a pimp.
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