I just got back from a small weekend vacation. It was wonderful, and I'm literally burnt to a crisp.
I want to update. But the movement of my fingers is hurting my skin.
Tomorrow! Promise!
May 31, 2009
May 28, 2009
New music
It's something I love. Deeply. I can honestly say that there isn't much music I don't love. i grew up singing, and listening to the jazz and classical music of my grandparents. Then I listened to the rock and roll of my mom and got introduced to Janis Joplin by my dad. I got in to pop music through my friends and grew to have an unhealthy love for The Backstreet Boys, although NSYNC was alright too. And Hanson. Oh my god, Hanson.
In high school I got much more in to the pop punk stuff. Alkaline Trio, New Found Glory, The Ataris (before So Long, Astoria), all of that. To this day Alk3 and NFG are two of my favorite bands. Call me tasteless. Anyway. I downloaded the new Panic! CD today and have to say, I'm not very impressed. Their first CD BLEW ME AWAY with it's level of awesome. This one, well, I've only listened to it three or four times. So we'll see. Right now I have Mandy Moore on in the background (I know. You think she sucks. That's fine. I have no problem being the dork.) and it's weird. Very unlike her cover album or the pop stuff she did ten years ago.
Emily's in her room where she's supposed to be sleeping. Instead, I hear her telling her monkey off. "Monkey, you listen to me. You don't walk around doing whatever you want. You have 'sponsibilities! I'm not playing this game with you and I know you want to watch Hannah Montanna but I have to go to work and go bye-bye so you just need to deal, ok? When I tell you to do something, you just do it." Yeah. I totally don't know who she's imitating. NOT A CLUE.
I took Emily out to dinner tonight. It's something we haven't done in a very long time. After a day that for me was filled with anxiety, frustration, and endless sighing at a certain financial situation in my life, I really just didn't want to cook or clean or do anything like that. The Girlfriend is out with her best friend and I didn't want to sit at home alone. So Emily and i went out. To The Olive Garden.
Now, I know some people who HATE The Olive Garden. But me? Hell no. I LOVE it. I love the "italian" food, I love the uniformity, I love the smells, the "authentic" menus, everything about it. And the breadsticks? Come on. Even the haters need to admit that the breadsticks are pretty fantastic. Emily was amazing. She always is, surprisingly. She said hi to the waiter, ordered her food "with pepperonis please" and asked me how my day at work was. We talked about our days while the grandparents at the table next to us kept smiling at Emiyl's back and winking at me.
The kid really does surprise me sometimes. She is an incredibly well-behaved child. She has a lot of spunk, a lot of will power and when she's hurt by something she acts out like no one I've ever met. But in general, she really is very very well-behaved. I think I got lucky. But at the same time, I'll credit my parenting a little bit.
Anyway. This post is pointless. And I'm going to go puke. Because my stomach is bursting with GENUINE CHICKEN MARSALA.
In high school I got much more in to the pop punk stuff. Alkaline Trio, New Found Glory, The Ataris (before So Long, Astoria), all of that. To this day Alk3 and NFG are two of my favorite bands. Call me tasteless. Anyway. I downloaded the new Panic! CD today and have to say, I'm not very impressed. Their first CD BLEW ME AWAY with it's level of awesome. This one, well, I've only listened to it three or four times. So we'll see. Right now I have Mandy Moore on in the background (I know. You think she sucks. That's fine. I have no problem being the dork.) and it's weird. Very unlike her cover album or the pop stuff she did ten years ago.
Emily's in her room where she's supposed to be sleeping. Instead, I hear her telling her monkey off. "Monkey, you listen to me. You don't walk around doing whatever you want. You have 'sponsibilities! I'm not playing this game with you and I know you want to watch Hannah Montanna but I have to go to work and go bye-bye so you just need to deal, ok? When I tell you to do something, you just do it." Yeah. I totally don't know who she's imitating. NOT A CLUE.
I took Emily out to dinner tonight. It's something we haven't done in a very long time. After a day that for me was filled with anxiety, frustration, and endless sighing at a certain financial situation in my life, I really just didn't want to cook or clean or do anything like that. The Girlfriend is out with her best friend and I didn't want to sit at home alone. So Emily and i went out. To The Olive Garden.
Now, I know some people who HATE The Olive Garden. But me? Hell no. I LOVE it. I love the "italian" food, I love the uniformity, I love the smells, the "authentic" menus, everything about it. And the breadsticks? Come on. Even the haters need to admit that the breadsticks are pretty fantastic. Emily was amazing. She always is, surprisingly. She said hi to the waiter, ordered her food "with pepperonis please" and asked me how my day at work was. We talked about our days while the grandparents at the table next to us kept smiling at Emiyl's back and winking at me.
The kid really does surprise me sometimes. She is an incredibly well-behaved child. She has a lot of spunk, a lot of will power and when she's hurt by something she acts out like no one I've ever met. But in general, she really is very very well-behaved. I think I got lucky. But at the same time, I'll credit my parenting a little bit.
Anyway. This post is pointless. And I'm going to go puke. Because my stomach is bursting with GENUINE CHICKEN MARSALA.
May 27, 2009
Random
A List Of Things That Happened To Me Today, In No Particular Order:
- I got hit on by a trucker. Her had a mullet. This was no ordinary mullet, of ordinary proportions. Oh no. This mullet was about three inches high in the front, and in the back went down three quarters of his back. Not only was it a mullet, but it was a mullet comprised of jerry curls. Yes. A two foot long, jerry curl mullet. He kept complimenting my eyes. He was throroughly creepy.
- I won a prize from a radio station.
- I calculated that with my weight loss thus far, I have lowered my BMI by almost four points. Which is awesome!
- A man was excitedly telling me about an almost 2000 lb. bull that he used to own. This bull's neck, according to this man, was THIS BIG, so big that he couldn't even wrap his arms around the neck. Then he began to tell me that this bull had torn down his fence, so he had to sell it to another rancher. But before he sold it, he artificially inseminated it with semen from the University of Oklahoma. This was, apparently, no ordinary semen. Oh no. It was super semen, semen that was so special that he couldn't even explain. Apparently, this bull made some damn good calves.
- I went to three different stores to find a DVD that I have seen constantly in stores. Season two of Dexter. The one day I want to buy it, it's nowhere to be found.
I've told you before that I suck at conclusions, right?
- I got hit on by a trucker. Her had a mullet. This was no ordinary mullet, of ordinary proportions. Oh no. This mullet was about three inches high in the front, and in the back went down three quarters of his back. Not only was it a mullet, but it was a mullet comprised of jerry curls. Yes. A two foot long, jerry curl mullet. He kept complimenting my eyes. He was throroughly creepy.
- I won a prize from a radio station.
- I calculated that with my weight loss thus far, I have lowered my BMI by almost four points. Which is awesome!
- A man was excitedly telling me about an almost 2000 lb. bull that he used to own. This bull's neck, according to this man, was THIS BIG, so big that he couldn't even wrap his arms around the neck. Then he began to tell me that this bull had torn down his fence, so he had to sell it to another rancher. But before he sold it, he artificially inseminated it with semen from the University of Oklahoma. This was, apparently, no ordinary semen. Oh no. It was super semen, semen that was so special that he couldn't even explain. Apparently, this bull made some damn good calves.
- I went to three different stores to find a DVD that I have seen constantly in stores. Season two of Dexter. The one day I want to buy it, it's nowhere to be found.
I've told you before that I suck at conclusions, right?
May 26, 2009
More TV Commentary. You Know You Like It.
So I was watching The Freak Show a few mintues ago, and all I want to say is, how the hell does she remember all of their names? I wonder if she ever confuses them. Or if they're all named "heyyy, come here!"
amazing.
amazing.
In Which I Review TV With No Qualification Whatsoever.
I watched the season premiere of Jon and Kate Plus 8 last night. It's never been a show that I watched religiously or anything, but I definitely enjoy it. It really helps me to see other moms being moms. Sometimes I feel like the task is so big, a task so big that there is no possible way I could possibly handle it. Watching Kate makes me feel a little better. Like, if she can handle eight kids, why can't I handle one?
That's a whole other post, for a whole different day. So. I was watching this premiere last night because I wanted to see what was going to happen. I'm sure that most people have seen him in the tabloids with accusations of cheating and the like. While I was watching this episode, my heart just kept breaking. Over and over they looped him saying "I can't be Jon. I have to be Jon and Kate Plus 8, and I still haven't gotten a grip on that." Every time he said that, I could feel my throat tighten.
I saw the paparazzi at the birthday party and thought that was just ridiculous. I saw them running around when Kate took her kids to the party supply store and I felt grateful that the kids probably don't know what they're there for. I saw Kate's face when her, Mady and Cara were filling goody bags alone. I got angry when Jon showed up at the party and hadn't lifted a finger.
But while I was watching, I kept thinking: these are real people. This is a real life they're living, with real kids, and real problems. What's wrong with Jon going to a bar once in a while? I go grab one beer after work, every Tuesday. Do I deserve to have my face splashed all over the place? Am I a bad parent? Am I a bad signifigant other? I mean, granted, we go together. But what about anything I do? If I were semi-famous and two guys asked to take a picture with me, I'd probably do it. I wouldn't know how to say no, especially if the limelight wasn't somewhere I was particularly comfortable. So if that picture got taken, would I then be a cheater? Of course not! I feel for him so much. I have a hard time with my one kid, he has EIGHT of them. His whole life, his whole world has flipped upside down. He is a stay-at-home parent and that is HARD. I can't think of any other job that might require a beer after hours. Except the hours never end.
And Kate, I understand why she does this show. I'm not in her head, I'm not in her shoes. But first, the TV show must generate a lot of money. If I had eight college funds to worry about? I would be doing everything I could. And not only eight college funds, but eight mouths to feed, sixteen feet that need shoes, six preemies that have the potential for a lot of problems. I understand that this is a way of documentation, and if it were me, it would be a constant test... a way to evaluate my parenthood. Also, with eight kids, you're GOING to miss out on moments. If they're taped, you can look back at them and maybe learn more about your kids and yourself.
I'm not saying that Jon didn't do anything. I'm not. I have no idea what their marriage is about, how they feel for one another, or the dynamics between them and how they may have changed. However. I do know a little about relationships. And honestly, I admire the both of them for getting up there on TV and talkign about it. It made me so sad to watch, so sad to see these people that used to light up when they saw eachother, to see them falling apart. But. Would you have the courage to talk about it? To face the rumors? I don't know that I would. I think I might be too scared. And their kids will see this one day. They are being real for their children, and they love their children.
Some say they asked for this limelight, this life, but I don't think they did. I'm sure that even though I read tabloids sometimes, I have NO idea what it's truly like to be a celebrity. To have people outside my home, to have more to protect my children against, more to teach them about, more caution to take than I already have. I think that they began this show because they wanted to document it. They believed that their children, and their relative health, was miraculous. They wanted to let the world take a peek in. It's not their fault that the world fell in love with them. Has Jon been in the wrong place at the wrong time? Maybe. Has Kate neglected her marriage for her public image? Maybe. Who knows? Not me.
But I will stick to my admiration of their heart, their joint parenting efforts (although, come on Jon. Pick it up a little bit.), and their effort at divulging the reality of the situation. I've read that it looked like they were uncomfortable. And they did! But, wouldn't you be? Can you imagine their lives? Can you imagine haveing SIX FIVE-YEAR-OLDS? I can't. I would go crazy! If I got caught at one bar one time, or with one wrong person at one wrong time, I'd consider myself blessed.
I'm curious how the season will play out. I am. But what I hope is that they can find some middle. That maybe Jon can go back to work and Kate can tone it down a little. That the kids see their parents' effort, their pledge to do their best, and that the kids never forget that they are loved.
We'll see.
That's a whole other post, for a whole different day. So. I was watching this premiere last night because I wanted to see what was going to happen. I'm sure that most people have seen him in the tabloids with accusations of cheating and the like. While I was watching this episode, my heart just kept breaking. Over and over they looped him saying "I can't be Jon. I have to be Jon and Kate Plus 8, and I still haven't gotten a grip on that." Every time he said that, I could feel my throat tighten.
I saw the paparazzi at the birthday party and thought that was just ridiculous. I saw them running around when Kate took her kids to the party supply store and I felt grateful that the kids probably don't know what they're there for. I saw Kate's face when her, Mady and Cara were filling goody bags alone. I got angry when Jon showed up at the party and hadn't lifted a finger.
But while I was watching, I kept thinking: these are real people. This is a real life they're living, with real kids, and real problems. What's wrong with Jon going to a bar once in a while? I go grab one beer after work, every Tuesday. Do I deserve to have my face splashed all over the place? Am I a bad parent? Am I a bad signifigant other? I mean, granted, we go together. But what about anything I do? If I were semi-famous and two guys asked to take a picture with me, I'd probably do it. I wouldn't know how to say no, especially if the limelight wasn't somewhere I was particularly comfortable. So if that picture got taken, would I then be a cheater? Of course not! I feel for him so much. I have a hard time with my one kid, he has EIGHT of them. His whole life, his whole world has flipped upside down. He is a stay-at-home parent and that is HARD. I can't think of any other job that might require a beer after hours. Except the hours never end.
And Kate, I understand why she does this show. I'm not in her head, I'm not in her shoes. But first, the TV show must generate a lot of money. If I had eight college funds to worry about? I would be doing everything I could. And not only eight college funds, but eight mouths to feed, sixteen feet that need shoes, six preemies that have the potential for a lot of problems. I understand that this is a way of documentation, and if it were me, it would be a constant test... a way to evaluate my parenthood. Also, with eight kids, you're GOING to miss out on moments. If they're taped, you can look back at them and maybe learn more about your kids and yourself.
I'm not saying that Jon didn't do anything. I'm not. I have no idea what their marriage is about, how they feel for one another, or the dynamics between them and how they may have changed. However. I do know a little about relationships. And honestly, I admire the both of them for getting up there on TV and talkign about it. It made me so sad to watch, so sad to see these people that used to light up when they saw eachother, to see them falling apart. But. Would you have the courage to talk about it? To face the rumors? I don't know that I would. I think I might be too scared. And their kids will see this one day. They are being real for their children, and they love their children.
Some say they asked for this limelight, this life, but I don't think they did. I'm sure that even though I read tabloids sometimes, I have NO idea what it's truly like to be a celebrity. To have people outside my home, to have more to protect my children against, more to teach them about, more caution to take than I already have. I think that they began this show because they wanted to document it. They believed that their children, and their relative health, was miraculous. They wanted to let the world take a peek in. It's not their fault that the world fell in love with them. Has Jon been in the wrong place at the wrong time? Maybe. Has Kate neglected her marriage for her public image? Maybe. Who knows? Not me.
But I will stick to my admiration of their heart, their joint parenting efforts (although, come on Jon. Pick it up a little bit.), and their effort at divulging the reality of the situation. I've read that it looked like they were uncomfortable. And they did! But, wouldn't you be? Can you imagine their lives? Can you imagine haveing SIX FIVE-YEAR-OLDS? I can't. I would go crazy! If I got caught at one bar one time, or with one wrong person at one wrong time, I'd consider myself blessed.
I'm curious how the season will play out. I am. But what I hope is that they can find some middle. That maybe Jon can go back to work and Kate can tone it down a little. That the kids see their parents' effort, their pledge to do their best, and that the kids never forget that they are loved.
We'll see.
May 24, 2009
I'm not very PC.
On Friday The Girlfriend took me on a super secret surprise date. I got home from work and was told to pack an overnight bag. Emily spent the night at a friend's house.
We drop Emily off and get on the road. After about three hours, we end up in Laughlin, Nevada. It was awesome! I had no idea, and The Girlfriend pulled it off beautifully. She made reservations at a hotel, told me what to pack in my bag, got good prices, everything. It was, simply, awesome. I've been desperately needing time away from real life and this was the perfect thing. And, to add to it, to be able to spend that time away from real life with The Girlfriend was awesome.
Real life has a tendency of weighing down on us, as I'm sure it does on all people. Like, oh shit, we've been so busy doing all the things that need to be done that we haven't had a kiss longer than four seconds in two weeks. That kind of stuff. And frankly, it sucks. I'm thrilled that we got to go to Laughlin, because neither of us had any worries. I was so thrilled to have a night to just the two of us, so thrilled that it was a night we were just focused on each other, and in a place that was away from the small town in which we live, that I couldn't shut up about it. Because in our small town, you can't go ANYWHERE without seeing five+ people that you know. It was wonderful not to have to pretend to be interested in other conversation. It was wonderful to just be with her.
We started out walking down "the strip" just looking at the different places. I guess this place is supposed to be a mini Las Vegas. Size wise, if Las Vegas was as big as a 44 oz drink, Laughlin would be a half a shot. But it was still awesome.
We began walking to the start of the strip to a casino called The Riverside, which is where Natalie works. We stayed there for about two hours looking for Nat and playing some slots, but the amount of creepy men was a little overwhelming. So we meandered next door to The Aquarius, where I made ten dollars turn in to two hundred dollars and got carded about twelve times. From there we did the River Walk (all the casinos are on the Colorado River, and there's a walk that connects them all). It was beautiful. It was about midnight and there were ducks, and fish, and all sorts of couples standing dreamily with their arms around each other's backs. We stopped in at Edgewater, but left pretty quickly. The Girlfriend got on a blackjack table and didn't win anything, but didn't lose anything. I wanted to go to The Colorado Belle, but it was getting late and I also wanted to get back to our room. How cool does that place look though?
I would like to interrupt this timeline of events to discuss the different variety of people that can be seen at casinos. So far, it's second only to the outfits one can see on Jerry Springer. There are the old women, with huge boobs and fantastically orange tans. They walk around in very low cut dresses and shout things loudly, things like "OH MY GOD YOU SLUT! THIS PLACE IS SO FUCKING BUSY!" They shout in the hopes of getting attention from younger men, refusing to give up on their glory days when their boobs were real, perky, and their smiles were genuine and not surrounded by wrinkles. These women remind of of the Real Housewives of Orange County. Look it up.
Then there is the next group of women, the older women who don't go to surgery, but simply to "young" clothes. There was one woman who had obviously been through several pregnancies. She was probably sixty or so, and she was wearing the TIGHTEST jeans ever. The jeans had bling embellishments on the back pockets and came up to about hip level. The shirt she paired with these jeans was a midriff bearing tshirt of a baby blue color, with more bling embellishments spelling out the words "hot mama." In between the tshirt and jeans was the result of all the pregnancies, the skin that is wrinkled, leatherlike, that was hanging over the jeans. She was walking around shoving her stomach out at men and making lewd comments. (disclaimer: I obviously have a baby. But I don't subject people to the stomach that used to be lovely that was ravaged by pregnancy. It's called decency.)
The next group of women: The gold diggers. The young women who may or may not have had breast implants whose legs are still beautifully tanned and whose hair is perfect. Their eyes are dead as they drape themselves over forty-seventy years old, the ones that grimace when these men playfully grab their asses and talk about them like cattle to the card dealers. "See this one? Her ass is so high and you should see how she can make it move. Come on, baby, show the man that thing your ass does." Disgusting. And what's worse is that these girls think they're really on top of the game, but these men in Laughlin, Nevada aren't even real sugar daddies. They're disgusting men with a little more money than is normally seen. Which is why they hang out in Laughlin, instead of, say, Las Vegas or Chicago or somewhere with class.
Moving on to the old ladies, who I actually love. The ones who know they aren't hot and aren't there to be hot. They're there to play the slots and laugh with their cigarette voices, the ones that dance around when their nickel turns in to twenty dollars, with blue eyeshadow up to their eyebrows and a story for anyone with an open ear.
Moving on to the men. I saw more men with tight Wranglers, big pot bellies and unwashed wifebeaters tucked in to their wastes that I almost puked. The majority of these men were at The Riverside, and they walked around swinging their hips, thinking they were still twenty year old cowboys that were attractive. When instead, they are fifty year old men who are just plain creepy. Their unwashed mullets, slicked back with baby oil and their armpit hair covered with deodorant, their faces that lit up at the sight of the young gold diggers and their lewd, toothless words when the young gold diggers denied them, just, yuck. They were gross and were one of the main reasons I wanted to leave that casino.
The second group of men were the guys who were trying to look rich. The ones who were loud, always shoving out a lighter to girls, wearing blazers of different colors and shoes that were shined to the point that they almost looked nice, these men were trying to be high rollers, slipping off quietly when they ran out of money.
There was also a huge selection of hombres. That's what I call them. Young boys and old boys that wear tube socks to their knees, long shorts and clean wifebeaters, with gold chains and shaved heads, leering faces and the total confidence that This Look, This Look is the Way To Go. Yeah. Creepy.
I have so many more descriptions, so many more observations of Casino Wear, but I really have to pee and I fear that this post is long enough. If your eyes aren't bleeding, you're good.
Now, what are you doing for Memorial Day?
We drop Emily off and get on the road. After about three hours, we end up in Laughlin, Nevada. It was awesome! I had no idea, and The Girlfriend pulled it off beautifully. She made reservations at a hotel, told me what to pack in my bag, got good prices, everything. It was, simply, awesome. I've been desperately needing time away from real life and this was the perfect thing. And, to add to it, to be able to spend that time away from real life with The Girlfriend was awesome.
Real life has a tendency of weighing down on us, as I'm sure it does on all people. Like, oh shit, we've been so busy doing all the things that need to be done that we haven't had a kiss longer than four seconds in two weeks. That kind of stuff. And frankly, it sucks. I'm thrilled that we got to go to Laughlin, because neither of us had any worries. I was so thrilled to have a night to just the two of us, so thrilled that it was a night we were just focused on each other, and in a place that was away from the small town in which we live, that I couldn't shut up about it. Because in our small town, you can't go ANYWHERE without seeing five+ people that you know. It was wonderful not to have to pretend to be interested in other conversation. It was wonderful to just be with her.
We started out walking down "the strip" just looking at the different places. I guess this place is supposed to be a mini Las Vegas. Size wise, if Las Vegas was as big as a 44 oz drink, Laughlin would be a half a shot. But it was still awesome.
We began walking to the start of the strip to a casino called The Riverside, which is where Natalie works. We stayed there for about two hours looking for Nat and playing some slots, but the amount of creepy men was a little overwhelming. So we meandered next door to The Aquarius, where I made ten dollars turn in to two hundred dollars and got carded about twelve times. From there we did the River Walk (all the casinos are on the Colorado River, and there's a walk that connects them all). It was beautiful. It was about midnight and there were ducks, and fish, and all sorts of couples standing dreamily with their arms around each other's backs. We stopped in at Edgewater, but left pretty quickly. The Girlfriend got on a blackjack table and didn't win anything, but didn't lose anything. I wanted to go to The Colorado Belle, but it was getting late and I also wanted to get back to our room. How cool does that place look though?
I would like to interrupt this timeline of events to discuss the different variety of people that can be seen at casinos. So far, it's second only to the outfits one can see on Jerry Springer. There are the old women, with huge boobs and fantastically orange tans. They walk around in very low cut dresses and shout things loudly, things like "OH MY GOD YOU SLUT! THIS PLACE IS SO FUCKING BUSY!" They shout in the hopes of getting attention from younger men, refusing to give up on their glory days when their boobs were real, perky, and their smiles were genuine and not surrounded by wrinkles. These women remind of of the Real Housewives of Orange County. Look it up.
Then there is the next group of women, the older women who don't go to surgery, but simply to "young" clothes. There was one woman who had obviously been through several pregnancies. She was probably sixty or so, and she was wearing the TIGHTEST jeans ever. The jeans had bling embellishments on the back pockets and came up to about hip level. The shirt she paired with these jeans was a midriff bearing tshirt of a baby blue color, with more bling embellishments spelling out the words "hot mama." In between the tshirt and jeans was the result of all the pregnancies, the skin that is wrinkled, leatherlike, that was hanging over the jeans. She was walking around shoving her stomach out at men and making lewd comments. (disclaimer: I obviously have a baby. But I don't subject people to the stomach that used to be lovely that was ravaged by pregnancy. It's called decency.)
The next group of women: The gold diggers. The young women who may or may not have had breast implants whose legs are still beautifully tanned and whose hair is perfect. Their eyes are dead as they drape themselves over forty-seventy years old, the ones that grimace when these men playfully grab their asses and talk about them like cattle to the card dealers. "See this one? Her ass is so high and you should see how she can make it move. Come on, baby, show the man that thing your ass does." Disgusting. And what's worse is that these girls think they're really on top of the game, but these men in Laughlin, Nevada aren't even real sugar daddies. They're disgusting men with a little more money than is normally seen. Which is why they hang out in Laughlin, instead of, say, Las Vegas or Chicago or somewhere with class.
Moving on to the old ladies, who I actually love. The ones who know they aren't hot and aren't there to be hot. They're there to play the slots and laugh with their cigarette voices, the ones that dance around when their nickel turns in to twenty dollars, with blue eyeshadow up to their eyebrows and a story for anyone with an open ear.
Moving on to the men. I saw more men with tight Wranglers, big pot bellies and unwashed wifebeaters tucked in to their wastes that I almost puked. The majority of these men were at The Riverside, and they walked around swinging their hips, thinking they were still twenty year old cowboys that were attractive. When instead, they are fifty year old men who are just plain creepy. Their unwashed mullets, slicked back with baby oil and their armpit hair covered with deodorant, their faces that lit up at the sight of the young gold diggers and their lewd, toothless words when the young gold diggers denied them, just, yuck. They were gross and were one of the main reasons I wanted to leave that casino.
The second group of men were the guys who were trying to look rich. The ones who were loud, always shoving out a lighter to girls, wearing blazers of different colors and shoes that were shined to the point that they almost looked nice, these men were trying to be high rollers, slipping off quietly when they ran out of money.
There was also a huge selection of hombres. That's what I call them. Young boys and old boys that wear tube socks to their knees, long shorts and clean wifebeaters, with gold chains and shaved heads, leering faces and the total confidence that This Look, This Look is the Way To Go. Yeah. Creepy.
I have so many more descriptions, so many more observations of Casino Wear, but I really have to pee and I fear that this post is long enough. If your eyes aren't bleeding, you're good.
Now, what are you doing for Memorial Day?
May 22, 2009
May 18, 2009
Bipolar
The weather today is once again supposed to be in the 70s. Perfection, right? Normally, yes. But the wind here gets so out of control that it's hard to enjoy it. The sunshine feels wonderful, but sometimes the wind? Too much.
Anyway, it's supposed to be 77 today (yayyy!) and isolated thunderstorms are supposed to start around one. I hope they do. I love the rain.
Pointless!
Anyway, it's supposed to be 77 today (yayyy!) and isolated thunderstorms are supposed to start around one. I hope they do. I love the rain.
Pointless!
May 17, 2009
Simplicity
Yesterday there was a charity event hosted by my work. It involved some horse shoes and some beer with the proceeds going to benefit, I believe, a boy with a certain rare type of leukemia.
The Girlfriend and I dropped Emily off at The Girlfriend's mom's house around 8:15a and we headed out. It was at a fairground in town that was also hosting some sort of race that involved me having to drive verryyy slowly, and a gun show (that The Girlfriend wants to go to today). The Girlfriend was on a team with her boss and they won their first game and lost the second two, and were then out. I don't remember who won the final game of horse shoes, but it was all in all a good day. Good people, good cause, good fun. The weather was gorgeous and I came in a very low cut shirt to show my support. It was a promise I made to The Girlfriend's boss, haha. Sometimes there're advantages to having big boobs. Most of the time, they're a pain in the ass. But they do look good in low cut tops.
After it was over, I went to pick Emily up and we went to the park. She LOVES the park. She was incredibly tired because earlier that day she had gone to a parade and worked in a garden. But we had a good time. However, as is always the case, when she was with The Girlfriend's mom, she ate french fries with barbecue sauce, donuts, candy, and drank a lot of orange juice. While we were at the park, Emily got attacked with OMG I NEED TO GO TO THE BATHROOM NOW so we headed home, because of course there're no bathrooms at the park. We left and headed back out to the park, and then I got a call from a friend from work, and we went over to his house so Emily could play with his youngest daughter and I could hang out with him and his wife and another friend from work and his girlfriend. More good people and good times.
While we were there, I was standing in the corner having a cigarette and when I put it out, I smashed my head on some wind chimes. Being 5'10 in a world of mostly 5'6-5'7
people is definitely annoying. So the chimes are going off, the two boys are doing their best Australian accents, talking about catching wallabies and my jumblies hanging out, the girls are inside screaming because Barbie Rapunzel (puke) was on, and the radio is blasting some sort of rap song, and I just started cracking up. Cracking up to the point that my ribs were hurting and I couldn't breathe. It was awesome.
My writing isn't up to par today. It hasn't been in the last week, thus the lack of posts. I have this issue with things not being perfect, and though I would never claim my writing to be perfect even on my best day, I'm usually able to capture more humor from things. But I'm making an effort not to give up just because I'm not satisfied. How's that for dedication?
I run most of my life based on what I want to teach Emily. What kind of influence I want to be, how I want her morals shaped, and when I think about these little tiny things, it makes me get my act together. So, here I am. Posting.
Last night we got home pretty late. I think I walked in the door at ten o'clock, which is veryyy past Emily's bedtime. We walked up the stairs and Emily started doing that little kid whiny cry-ey thing that little kids do when they're tired, and I wrapped her in my arms and let her cry for a minute. Then she went to the bathroom, brushed her teeth, took her fluoride pill from the dentist, and got in her bed. I went to snuggle up with her and read her a book, and she said "Momma, I don't want a book tonight. Will you just say prayers and sing me a song? Please?" Of course I did. Then I kissed her on the head and started to get up and she shot her arm out, "NO!" I stopped and asked her what was wrong. "Momma, can you just lay with me please? I just love you and want you to lay with me."
So I got back down and nestled her head in to my neck while my heart melted out on to the floor. I love how simple her requests are, how simple it is to make her happy.
The Girlfriend and I dropped Emily off at The Girlfriend's mom's house around 8:15a and we headed out. It was at a fairground in town that was also hosting some sort of race that involved me having to drive verryyy slowly, and a gun show (that The Girlfriend wants to go to today). The Girlfriend was on a team with her boss and they won their first game and lost the second two, and were then out. I don't remember who won the final game of horse shoes, but it was all in all a good day. Good people, good cause, good fun. The weather was gorgeous and I came in a very low cut shirt to show my support. It was a promise I made to The Girlfriend's boss, haha. Sometimes there're advantages to having big boobs. Most of the time, they're a pain in the ass. But they do look good in low cut tops.
After it was over, I went to pick Emily up and we went to the park. She LOVES the park. She was incredibly tired because earlier that day she had gone to a parade and worked in a garden. But we had a good time. However, as is always the case, when she was with The Girlfriend's mom, she ate french fries with barbecue sauce, donuts, candy, and drank a lot of orange juice. While we were at the park, Emily got attacked with OMG I NEED TO GO TO THE BATHROOM NOW so we headed home, because of course there're no bathrooms at the park. We left and headed back out to the park, and then I got a call from a friend from work, and we went over to his house so Emily could play with his youngest daughter and I could hang out with him and his wife and another friend from work and his girlfriend. More good people and good times.
While we were there, I was standing in the corner having a cigarette and when I put it out, I smashed my head on some wind chimes. Being 5'10 in a world of mostly 5'6-5'7
people is definitely annoying. So the chimes are going off, the two boys are doing their best Australian accents, talking about catching wallabies and my jumblies hanging out, the girls are inside screaming because Barbie Rapunzel (puke) was on, and the radio is blasting some sort of rap song, and I just started cracking up. Cracking up to the point that my ribs were hurting and I couldn't breathe. It was awesome.
My writing isn't up to par today. It hasn't been in the last week, thus the lack of posts. I have this issue with things not being perfect, and though I would never claim my writing to be perfect even on my best day, I'm usually able to capture more humor from things. But I'm making an effort not to give up just because I'm not satisfied. How's that for dedication?
I run most of my life based on what I want to teach Emily. What kind of influence I want to be, how I want her morals shaped, and when I think about these little tiny things, it makes me get my act together. So, here I am. Posting.
Last night we got home pretty late. I think I walked in the door at ten o'clock, which is veryyy past Emily's bedtime. We walked up the stairs and Emily started doing that little kid whiny cry-ey thing that little kids do when they're tired, and I wrapped her in my arms and let her cry for a minute. Then she went to the bathroom, brushed her teeth, took her fluoride pill from the dentist, and got in her bed. I went to snuggle up with her and read her a book, and she said "Momma, I don't want a book tonight. Will you just say prayers and sing me a song? Please?" Of course I did. Then I kissed her on the head and started to get up and she shot her arm out, "NO!" I stopped and asked her what was wrong. "Momma, can you just lay with me please? I just love you and want you to lay with me."
So I got back down and nestled her head in to my neck while my heart melted out on to the floor. I love how simple her requests are, how simple it is to make her happy.
May 10, 2009
Lulz.
Emiyl was sitting at the table eating her breakfast (multigrain pancakes! Hey, internet, do I get any crunchy-granola points for that?) and I realized she didn't have any underwear on.
Me: Emmy, why aren't you wearing underwear?
Emmy: MOOOMMMMM, I'm GOING COMMANDO because it FEELS GOOD.
Me: Well, I don't want to see your privates, especially not at the table that we eat at.
Emmy: Oh. Well. I guess I could go find some.
Me: Emmy, why aren't you wearing underwear?
Emmy: MOOOMMMMM, I'm GOING COMMANDO because it FEELS GOOD.
Me: Well, I don't want to see your privates, especially not at the table that we eat at.
Emmy: Oh. Well. I guess I could go find some.
May 9, 2009
I Figured It Out,
How to get what's in my head to go down to my fingers and on to this computer screen.
On Wednesday night I met at a restaurant to attend a going away party for one of my most influential teachers. This teacher has the most approachable attitude of any teacher I've ever had and has shown me how to expand my writing, how to dig deeper, how to make my writing something that it never could have been before I met him.
I wasn't going to go. I had just worked my second eleven hour day in a row at work, I was sun burnt, tired, and in my work clothes. Plus, I had Emily with me. Normally, not a problem. But this is a big hippie town with big hippie tendencies and I didn't know if a group of students sitting around a place that has one of my favorite beers and amazing food was the place to bring her. I didn't know if this group of people who are mostly unaware of anything beyond the orbit of their own personal lives was a group that I wanted to expose my attention-whore daughter to.
But then I went anyway. And I brought Emily. I was planning on staying only long enough to drop off a card I had bought for the teacher, to say hi to the few people I knew, and then to leave. Instead, the people I knew were the first ones to show up. The unpretentious, aware people were there. Later more people showed up with obvious tattoos and perfectly placed piercings and I got a little uncomfortable because honestly, I usually do. I'm twenty-two years old. I have a three-year-old. Most people have absolutely no grasp on this situation and the looks I get are not looks I want my daughter seeing people give to me. I don't want her to ever think that she's weird, or that her mother fucked up and got pregnant too young. I try to avoid those looks.
I also have this confrontational problem. I'm not very good at letting things be. So, when I get looks like that, it usually ends incredibly uncomfortably for whoever shot the look in the first place.
Anyway. The restaurant we were waiting at was being snooty and the party had grown to twenty people. I was getting ready to leave when everyone made the joint decision to go to the pizza place instead. Emily was OHMYGODSTARVINNNNNGGGGGUUUUUH so we went with. My intention was only to grab her some pizza and go. I don't often like discussing details of my life with people who can't empathise. It's very hard for me to explain why I do what I do and why I do things the way I do them to people without responsibilities beyond their own lives. It's hard for me to explain why I had to "take a semester off" when, really, I HATE this semester off. I miss school and I feel like my brain is turning in to mush. I just couldn't afford it. At all. So I had no other option. I haven't kept in touch because I work a full time job and have to raise a three year old and have a house to keep clean-ish and a relationship that means the world to me and other interests and a lot of family issues right now. People just don't understand all of this. (I guess I could just start lying, start complying with the small talk, but I hate that. I really do.)
It's not fair to say all people. I have some wonderful friends. Like my two English Major friends who, though I'm not in regular contact with, I hope I remain friends with them forever. That they're not just "college friends" that fade with time. I have my friend Sarah F., who I have come to love. I have a teacher with a daughter around Emily's age that NEVER misunderstood my life or the challenges it comes with. I have The Girlfriend, who loves me for me, and knows I'm a package deal. Then of course, I have Natalie and Alan, the two people that I have chosen to be my family. But these other people, the people that don't understand that I will NOT take my daughter to a bar, or that I won't ditch the park with Emily to go get a cup of coffee, these people that have every right to be selfish and single-minded just do not understand my life. They don't.
I was sitting at this table though, Emily on one side, my teacher on the other and my two English Major friends that I mentioned earlier were on my side of the table as well. One of them had brought a folder full of certificates and she handed them out because a group of English people were all together. They were for Sigma Tau Delta (STD HAHAHA), a sorority/fraternity. Now, don't get me wrong. I am ABSOLUTELY NOT a sorority kind of girl. I hate the concept, the idea, and the ultimate mind-numbing conversation any random girl member tries to have when really, she just wants you to look at her vagina that is plainly visible beneath her literal two-inch skirt. But this one is an English Honors kind of thing. It's a literary kind of thing. A good GPA kind of thing. And everyone at that table that got one, that was a part of this, began talking about using it for resumes and all I could think of is all of the college I've missed out on, all of the college I will miss out on. The dorm rooms, the late night study meetings, the carefreeness to stay up until four am without worrying about your job the next day, the ability to live on ramen and condiments because there isn't another mouth to feed. All of that.
I know that some of what I've mentioned that I know I'm missing sounds tremendously idealistic, brochure-like, but I really am a nerd. Really truly. My friends and I would phonetically transcribe pages of book for practice and fun. We call each other over the summer to discuss the grammatical structure of Shakespearean phrases, we really very much enjoy the learning process.
While I was sitting there, I got really really sad. I was sad because this tremendous teacher, this man who has had more influence on my life than he can even know, is leaving this school that really benefits from his teaching. I was sad because Emily was two steps away from being that kid. I was sad because I was tired and sun burnt and while I really wanted to be part of the going away party, I also really wanted to just go home and be alone and not be required to talk to ANYONE because I had talked all day at work. But I was really really sad when I saw those certificates going around. That is a group I want to be a part of. I want to be able to just go to school, to maybe work a part time job to pay for fun things or car insurance or whatever. I want to be able to focus on my education, I want to be able to plan my life around classes and not the other way around. I want to study, go to the library, sleep past 5 am on a weekday. I want this life, and I want it so badly that I almost teared up at the table. I got angry when someone said "Oh my God! Why don't I ever see you! You miss out on so much!" Because, really? Do you think I'm fucking unaware?
I love Emily. And most of this is completely irrelevant without the presence of Emily. Before her I was very carefree and irresponsible. I didn't hurt anyone but myself, but in hindsight, I hurt myself a lot. I dropped out of a great school in Chicago to drink, to party, and then I got pregnant. Without Emily I would most likely not be alive to write in this blog, to aspire to go to school, to want to make something of myself. Before her I didn't care and genuinely didn't believe I would live past about twenty-three or twenty-four. So, Emily is the only reason I even have the wants and desires and dedication that I have. She is the reason I'm not sleeping in parks and working at a hot dog diner. She is the reason I wake up, keep a stable job, try to work on fixing my credit, have a somewhat regular diet, looked for a relationship that would actually be worthwhile instead of staying in one that wasn't. Emily is, literally, my everything.
I don't mean that in the typical "Well MY Emily is my EVERYTHING" kind of way. Not in a proud way, because I feel like I don't deserve her. Every day, every single day, I work to reach that. I want to feel like I deserve my daughter. That I deserve the smiles, the unswerving love and devotion, that I deserve the knowledge that I truly am her hero. Because I know I don't. I know there are better mothers out there and I know that I make a lot of mistakes. I know I'll likely make a lot more on this journey. But on top of all of that, I believe that Emily and I were meant to be together in one of the closest ways. I think that, without bringing religion in it, we are truly supposed to be in each other's lives. I think we're going to teach each other a lot.
I also know for a fact that I will complete my education. I know that while money is stopping me now, that it won't forever. I know that I am capable of being a big person in this world, whether it ever gets recognized or not. I know that I will make something of myself and I hope I do it in time to be a good example for Emily. I hope I do it in time for her to have very little memory of poverty. I hope that I am able to influence other people before they do the things I've done, or if not, that I can help them get started again after they thought their lives were over.
But on Wednesday, at that table, my fucking bones were aching with the desire to be in on that group. To not be the outlier with the kid, to not be the only person not in college at the moment, to not be that girl. You know, as in "I'm so happy I'm not that girl. I had to get up and leave because I couldn't handle it anymore. I couldn't handle feeling like I had nothing to contribute, like I had nothing going on that these people could understand.
And today, I thought I was detached enough to write about it. But apparently not, judging the length of this entry, and judging my swollen throat and teary eyes. I've said it before. I suck at conclusions. You'll forgive me, I'm sure.
On Wednesday night I met at a restaurant to attend a going away party for one of my most influential teachers. This teacher has the most approachable attitude of any teacher I've ever had and has shown me how to expand my writing, how to dig deeper, how to make my writing something that it never could have been before I met him.
I wasn't going to go. I had just worked my second eleven hour day in a row at work, I was sun burnt, tired, and in my work clothes. Plus, I had Emily with me. Normally, not a problem. But this is a big hippie town with big hippie tendencies and I didn't know if a group of students sitting around a place that has one of my favorite beers and amazing food was the place to bring her. I didn't know if this group of people who are mostly unaware of anything beyond the orbit of their own personal lives was a group that I wanted to expose my attention-whore daughter to.
But then I went anyway. And I brought Emily. I was planning on staying only long enough to drop off a card I had bought for the teacher, to say hi to the few people I knew, and then to leave. Instead, the people I knew were the first ones to show up. The unpretentious, aware people were there. Later more people showed up with obvious tattoos and perfectly placed piercings and I got a little uncomfortable because honestly, I usually do. I'm twenty-two years old. I have a three-year-old. Most people have absolutely no grasp on this situation and the looks I get are not looks I want my daughter seeing people give to me. I don't want her to ever think that she's weird, or that her mother fucked up and got pregnant too young. I try to avoid those looks.
I also have this confrontational problem. I'm not very good at letting things be. So, when I get looks like that, it usually ends incredibly uncomfortably for whoever shot the look in the first place.
Anyway. The restaurant we were waiting at was being snooty and the party had grown to twenty people. I was getting ready to leave when everyone made the joint decision to go to the pizza place instead. Emily was OHMYGODSTARVINNNNNGGGGGUUUUUH so we went with. My intention was only to grab her some pizza and go. I don't often like discussing details of my life with people who can't empathise. It's very hard for me to explain why I do what I do and why I do things the way I do them to people without responsibilities beyond their own lives. It's hard for me to explain why I had to "take a semester off" when, really, I HATE this semester off. I miss school and I feel like my brain is turning in to mush. I just couldn't afford it. At all. So I had no other option. I haven't kept in touch because I work a full time job and have to raise a three year old and have a house to keep clean-ish and a relationship that means the world to me and other interests and a lot of family issues right now. People just don't understand all of this. (I guess I could just start lying, start complying with the small talk, but I hate that. I really do.)
It's not fair to say all people. I have some wonderful friends. Like my two English Major friends who, though I'm not in regular contact with, I hope I remain friends with them forever. That they're not just "college friends" that fade with time. I have my friend Sarah F., who I have come to love. I have a teacher with a daughter around Emily's age that NEVER misunderstood my life or the challenges it comes with. I have The Girlfriend, who loves me for me, and knows I'm a package deal. Then of course, I have Natalie and Alan, the two people that I have chosen to be my family. But these other people, the people that don't understand that I will NOT take my daughter to a bar, or that I won't ditch the park with Emily to go get a cup of coffee, these people that have every right to be selfish and single-minded just do not understand my life. They don't.
I was sitting at this table though, Emily on one side, my teacher on the other and my two English Major friends that I mentioned earlier were on my side of the table as well. One of them had brought a folder full of certificates and she handed them out because a group of English people were all together. They were for Sigma Tau Delta (STD HAHAHA), a sorority/fraternity. Now, don't get me wrong. I am ABSOLUTELY NOT a sorority kind of girl. I hate the concept, the idea, and the ultimate mind-numbing conversation any random girl member tries to have when really, she just wants you to look at her vagina that is plainly visible beneath her literal two-inch skirt. But this one is an English Honors kind of thing. It's a literary kind of thing. A good GPA kind of thing. And everyone at that table that got one, that was a part of this, began talking about using it for resumes and all I could think of is all of the college I've missed out on, all of the college I will miss out on. The dorm rooms, the late night study meetings, the carefreeness to stay up until four am without worrying about your job the next day, the ability to live on ramen and condiments because there isn't another mouth to feed. All of that.
I know that some of what I've mentioned that I know I'm missing sounds tremendously idealistic, brochure-like, but I really am a nerd. Really truly. My friends and I would phonetically transcribe pages of book for practice and fun. We call each other over the summer to discuss the grammatical structure of Shakespearean phrases, we really very much enjoy the learning process.
While I was sitting there, I got really really sad. I was sad because this tremendous teacher, this man who has had more influence on my life than he can even know, is leaving this school that really benefits from his teaching. I was sad because Emily was two steps away from being that kid. I was sad because I was tired and sun burnt and while I really wanted to be part of the going away party, I also really wanted to just go home and be alone and not be required to talk to ANYONE because I had talked all day at work. But I was really really sad when I saw those certificates going around. That is a group I want to be a part of. I want to be able to just go to school, to maybe work a part time job to pay for fun things or car insurance or whatever. I want to be able to focus on my education, I want to be able to plan my life around classes and not the other way around. I want to study, go to the library, sleep past 5 am on a weekday. I want this life, and I want it so badly that I almost teared up at the table. I got angry when someone said "Oh my God! Why don't I ever see you! You miss out on so much!" Because, really? Do you think I'm fucking unaware?
I love Emily. And most of this is completely irrelevant without the presence of Emily. Before her I was very carefree and irresponsible. I didn't hurt anyone but myself, but in hindsight, I hurt myself a lot. I dropped out of a great school in Chicago to drink, to party, and then I got pregnant. Without Emily I would most likely not be alive to write in this blog, to aspire to go to school, to want to make something of myself. Before her I didn't care and genuinely didn't believe I would live past about twenty-three or twenty-four. So, Emily is the only reason I even have the wants and desires and dedication that I have. She is the reason I'm not sleeping in parks and working at a hot dog diner. She is the reason I wake up, keep a stable job, try to work on fixing my credit, have a somewhat regular diet, looked for a relationship that would actually be worthwhile instead of staying in one that wasn't. Emily is, literally, my everything.
I don't mean that in the typical "Well MY Emily is my EVERYTHING" kind of way. Not in a proud way, because I feel like I don't deserve her. Every day, every single day, I work to reach that. I want to feel like I deserve my daughter. That I deserve the smiles, the unswerving love and devotion, that I deserve the knowledge that I truly am her hero. Because I know I don't. I know there are better mothers out there and I know that I make a lot of mistakes. I know I'll likely make a lot more on this journey. But on top of all of that, I believe that Emily and I were meant to be together in one of the closest ways. I think that, without bringing religion in it, we are truly supposed to be in each other's lives. I think we're going to teach each other a lot.
I also know for a fact that I will complete my education. I know that while money is stopping me now, that it won't forever. I know that I am capable of being a big person in this world, whether it ever gets recognized or not. I know that I will make something of myself and I hope I do it in time to be a good example for Emily. I hope I do it in time for her to have very little memory of poverty. I hope that I am able to influence other people before they do the things I've done, or if not, that I can help them get started again after they thought their lives were over.
But on Wednesday, at that table, my fucking bones were aching with the desire to be in on that group. To not be the outlier with the kid, to not be the only person not in college at the moment, to not be that girl. You know, as in "I'm so happy I'm not that girl. I had to get up and leave because I couldn't handle it anymore. I couldn't handle feeling like I had nothing to contribute, like I had nothing going on that these people could understand.
And today, I thought I was detached enough to write about it. But apparently not, judging the length of this entry, and judging my swollen throat and teary eyes. I've said it before. I suck at conclusions. You'll forgive me, I'm sure.
So...
The entry box has been open on my computer for about six hours now. I'm trying to get the stuff in my head sorted out. Between feeding the kid, reading a book, cleaning, bathing the child and all sorts of other things, I jump to the computer when any correct phrasing of the post jumps in to my head, I type it out and then promptly get stuck again. By tonight it should be done.
In the meantime, I'm lying on my back patio enjoying the two hours that my patio gets sun. I'm trying to de-whitify a bit. Which for me means trying to not be so see-through. I have spf 30 on, an adult beverage, a napping baby and a book. Right now, life is good.
However, note to self: anytime you will be out in PUBLIC, remember to shave before wearing itty bitty swimsuit bottoms.
May 7, 2009
Food For Thought
I have a whole post that I'm trying to work out in my head. Every time I go to type it, my fingers stop.
It'll come.
It'll come.
May 2, 2009
Um, Whoa.
Emily and I have been working on letters. A lot. Because her daycare thinks that by three, learning shapes is an appropriate use of time. So. The green one is mine. The pink is hers. Squee!
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