September 2007


The other day, Magnus knocked over one of those stupid round tables that you cover with a little tablecloth so it doesn’t look like the cheap piece of shit that it actually is.  I have candles on both of my craptacular tables, and he broke a candle.  Unfortunately, I bought the candle at Target, and you know how it is there – if you see something you like, get it because they’ll never have it again.  Being an anal retentive freak, I couldn’t just replace one candle and have mismatched candles, so I bought two.  They’re awesome – red four inch pillars which have this raised leaf design.  I like stuff with leaves because it reminds me of the elves in Lord of the Rings.

I got the candles set up, and the dog went apeshit.  He went over to the table (just one – he didn’t do this at both tables, weirdo) and looked at the candle with his head cocked and his ears all forward.  Then he started barking and growling.  Yes, at the candle.  He like never barks, so you can imagine what I was thinking.  “Crazy.  My dog is insane.  He has lost his mind.”  Apparently he doesn’t so much care for change.  I’ll remember that next time I get an urge to rearrange furniture.

All of this makes me even more concerned about putting up the Christmas tree.  Yes, I know it’s only September, but this requires intense planning for me.  First I couldn’t figure out where I wanted to put it.  The place I had it last year is now occupied by a ginormous bookshelf that’s not going anywhere.  Then I thought, “Well, I’ll just put it in the formal living room.”  There’s a bay window in there and it would look nice, but the floor is wood, and if Magnus gets exuberant, I’m gonna have a pile of broken ornaments on the floor.  I finally decided on the family room like last year, but in a different spot.  I’m going to put the breakable ornaments up high.  But still, if he goes Loony Tunes on me, he could jump (and it’s well documented how he likes to jump on stuff, mainly me) and knock over the tree, or at the very least, knock off ornaments.  He’d eat any that landed on the floor.  He may eat the whole tree for all I know.  Crikey!

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I have blisters on the arches of my feet from my beautiful new skates.  You bastards!!!  *shakes fist at the heavens*  Yeah, it sucks.  A second ouchy thing is that my dog accidentally ran me into the stair post which is big and wide and solid wood.  My back hurts.  So I think that yesterday when I was skating, I was somehow compensating for my back with my ass.  Don’t ask how.  I do not know.  I do know that my butt hurts today.  It was very sore this morning, then fine during skating, and now it hurts again.  Actually, my whole lower body is pretty sore.  I would love a massage if I didn’t think that would hurt too.

Anyway … I’ve been looking for pink sheets for my bed.  Just ’cause.  Mostly I think because boys don’t really go for pink sheets so I haven’t had any since like college.  Now that it’s just me, I can have all the pink I want!  The problem was finding the exact right color of pink.  I like really pale pink, and I finally found some at Target.  The only problem with them is that the top sheet and the pillow cases have this ruffle on them.  Gaggers.  I’m not a ruffly or floral kind of girl.  Pottery Barn had some that were really cute with polka dots, but I’m not paying Pottery Barn prices for sheets.  That’s right, I’m cheap!

On the diet front, progress has been made.  I’ve lost 5.4 of the 8 pounds I gained.  My goal is to lose six more by my Cha Cha test which is November 4.  I had a bad dream about it on Friday night.  We (meaning me and my coach – I get to test with him, yay) finished the dance, and he said, “Not bad” which is like gushing praise from him.  Then the judge walked out on the ice and said, “I’m sorry, we won’t be able to pass you.  You didn’t do the Twizzles.”

I looked at D, who looked bewildered, and then I said, “What Twizzles?”  P.S., a Twizzle is like a moving pirouette.  Everyone hates them. 

She said, “We’ve added Twizzles here, and here, and here.”  She walked to each spot on the ice where the alleged Twizzles were to occur.

I’m standing there just thinking ‘what the hell?’.  There are no Twizzles in the Cha Cha!  I asked when they added them, and she said, “Oh last week.  You should’ve gotten a memo.  Too many people were passing this dance, and well, we can’t let just anyone pass the Cha Cha!”

Needless to say, I woke up in a cold sweat and ran downstairs to check my USFS rulebook just to make sure they hadn’t gone insane and added Twizzles to a low level dance.  They didn’t.  What a dork!

What sucks about this whole test is that I tried to take it last December, but when I failed the damn Dutch Waltz, I wasn’t allowed to take the Cha Cha test since it’s a level up.  I retook the Dutch Waltz in March, and probably should’ve signed up for the Cha Cha then, but I didn’t want to chance paying for it and not being allowed to take it again if I flunked.  Then this summer, I fell apart with a lack of ice, and the plan had been to take Cha Cha and Swing Dance in July I think.  So no test.  I missed the deadline anyway.  Then my Swing Dance fell apart, so here I am, taking a test that should’ve been over with almost a year ago.  Urgh!  Luckily the Swing Dance is coming back together, so maybe we’ll knock it out by February.  We’ll see though!  The good news is that I’m getting plenty of ice time now.  I want to get to where I’ve got one Bronze test out of the way by summer so I can compete at that level.  D may make me wait and have me compete at Pre-Bronze though.  Gross.  It’s a common practice, but one I don’t necessarily agree with or like.

Terms people used to find my blog yesterday:

mommy drinks my pee
poo actually cause pink eye

hey poo wee dumb dumb

“shoe stuck”

I don’t know why there’s a big space in the middle.  I just copied and pasted this from the stats page of wordpress (which is actually a pretty cool page since I get crazy info like this!).  “Hey poo wee dumb dumb” is my favorite.

We lost our softball game 24-2 last night.  We were mercy-ruled, obviously, but since they don’t mercy rule until the third inning, we still played for almost the whole hour they give us.  The first inning took forty minutes.  We suck ass!  The umpire came into our dugout after the game as we were gathering up our stuff and said, “At least you’re all still smiling.”  Well, what did he expect?  It was either laugh or cry, and none of us take it seriously enough to cry over it!  We had two big problems.  One was poor J couldn’t find the strike zone to save his life.  The other was nobody could cleanly field a ball.  Oh, and a third problem was that our three best players (meaning the only three who can actually play this game) weren’t there.  Bummer!

My dentist appointment was rather sucky.  They were able to place the implant, but the bone isn’t healed enough yet to place the abutment (it’s this space capsule shaped thing that screws into the implant that spreads your gum tissue to keep it from shrinking).  Apparently the abutment weighs too much for my healing bone to bear it.  So it’s going to be a little longer than expected before I’m all finished.  I remember a little more than normal because they only let me take half a Halcion when I got to the office.  The one I took before I got there was apparently quite enough.  Hailey had to tell me how to take the second bit.  I remember looking at the pill in my hand and the little cup of water she gave me, and I was confused because it wasn’t my water bottle.  How was I supposed to take a pill without my water bottle?  I guess I looked at her funny because she went, “You might want to put the pill in your mouth and then drink the water.”  Oh, okay.  That’s how it works.  I also remember getting the shots, but not much after that until I went to bed at home.  My mom got me up at three so she could go home, and I stayed awake for about thirty minutes.  I woke up again around seven.  I spent the rest of the evening in a stupor, watching Big Brother, Sleeping with the Enemy, and Stick It.  So I finally went to bed for real around one.  I had bizarre dreams, including one where the ex-boyfriend showed up and said he was taking the house and the dog.  Uh, I think not!

Needless to say, I didn’t sleep well, so when my phone rang at eight, I wasn’t a happy camper.  I had to answer it though, because it was Ex-Husband, and he normally only calls that early if Munchkin is sick.  Well, Munchkin isn’t sick.  No, he waited until this morning to give his progress report to his dad.  Most of it was just fine with a mix of A’s and B’s.  There was, of course, one glaring exception.  He has a 53 (a 53!!!) in Language Arts.  He had a 100 for his homework grade, and then three zeroes.  The zeroes were in projects that clearly are a large part of his grade.

Confession:  I must suck as a mother because I had no freaking idea that this kid had any projects due.  Everyday, I ask how much homework he has, and what subjects, and he goes to work.  He tells me he’s done with everything, and I sit there like the biggest sucker in the world believing him.  We put the kid on speaker phone and proceeded to tag-team him, trying to get to the bottom of this crap.

Me:  What were these projects?

Munchkin:  Book reports.

Ex:  What books did you read?

Munch:  We had forty-four to choose from.

Me:  Well, what did you choose?

Munch:  It doesn’t matter.

Me:  Yes it does.  I want to know what books you read.  And by the way, what happened to the reports?

Munch:  They disappeared.

Me:  They dis-a-peeeeered?

Ex:  How did they disappear?

Munch:  I don’t know, they just did.

Me:  Where did they disappear from?

Munch:  I don’t know.

And on and on, like that for thirty minutes.  We were finally able to ascertain that one book was of their choosing rather than on the list.  He was reading it over here.  It’s on my nightstand at the moment, and it’s about 80% finished according to the bookmark.  It turns out he never read a book off his teacher’s list for the second book report.  He finally confessed to never writing the reports either, but boy did he stick to that mysterious disappearance theory for a looooong time.  Oh, and I still don’t have a clear understanding as to what the third zero was for.

I’m shocked and appalled.  First of all, I feel like shit for not knowing he had these projects.  I also feel like shit that he didn’t think he could come to me and say he was behind and needed help.  Second of all, I’m just completely baffled as to how he could just not do the work.  I mean, I have turned in some shoddy work in my time, including a thirty page paper on the Iran-Contra Affair for a poli-sci class in college that I wrote in two nights.  I got a D+ on it.  What the hell is the plus for?  Just give me an F and be done with it.  But I turned that piece of shit in.  Anyway, thirdly, I don’t understand how he thought he was going to get away with it.  Did he think we wouldn’t notice?  Apparently.  I think that’s sad, and that just contributes to my feelings of being a self-absorbed piece of crap mother.

In the end, we have decided on the following punishments:

1.  Munchkin is grounded.  Duh.  But he’s not the kind of grounded where he goes to his room because he’ll just go to sleep in there.  Nope, he’s the kind of grounded where he gets to sit at my desk in the family room and do homework and read and study until his eyeballs bleed.

2.  Once his eyeballs have bled, he gets to either a) clean his room at his dad’s if he’s there or b) clean whatever I tell him to at my house.  We’ll start with his room, and then he can scoop dog poop.  It just goes downhill from there.  I have a father who once made me clean out the grooves of the little rubber seal that goes around the fridge door with a Q-tip.  He said, “Nobody will notice if you do it, but everyone will notice if you don’t.”  Really Dad?  To this day, I have never checked the grooves in somebody’s door seal to see if they were up to snuff.  Needless to say, thanks to my crazy parents, I can find a cleaning project where none is to be had.

3.  No soccer until his grades are back up.

4.  As he is obviously not ready to be treated like he has any sense of responsibility, we will be checking his backpack everyday.  He has to write down all assignments, homework, test dates, and projects.  And we have to check all his work.  This means we’re having to trust him to actually write down all the work, but I think he understands we’re serious.

5.  He’s writing apology notes to his soccer coach for not being able to play and for screwing up the roster, and to his Language Arts teacher for not doing the assignments.

6.  He’s doing the damn assignments whether he gets one point of credit or not.  This one was my mom’s idea.  I gotta say, way to go Mom!  That’s using your evil genius!

We also have an appointment with the school counselor tomorrow morning.  This is kind of an ongoing problem.  Not the deal with not turning stuff in – I mean more the problem of not applying himself, not pushing himself, and not expecting more out of himself.  It’s like if it’s going to take more than five minutes of effort, he won’t do it.  This kid is in all AP classes because that’s what his teacher’s recommended.  He got good grades on what he did turn in.  His homework grades were all good, but his test scores fell a bit from his homework scores.  That just tells me he’s not studying for his tests, and he’s not checking his work on his tests (that’s always been a problem).  I want to know why he’s like this.  He’s in seventh grade and he says stuff like, “I’m dropping out of school.  I don’t want to go to college.”  Maybe he needs therapy.  I don’t know.

Shit.  He’s too smart for this garbage.  Oh, I forgot to mention that in the middle of the phone call, he faked a heart attack so we’d stop talking about it.  “Oh my God, something’s very wrong!  My chest hurts!!!  An elephant is sitting on my heart!  No, really, I’m dying here!”  I’ve got my work cut out for me.  

I did the fifty things about me thing.  I would’ve done a hundred, but I was worried I would get down to stuff like “I have beige carpeting”.

My mom is coming over tomorrow to babysit me after my dental work (and drive me to and from since I’ll be googly-fucked on Halcion), so I was cleaning.  She instilled in me very early the family value of “If you don’t clean when your parents are coming over, it means you don’t care about your family.”  We’re twisted, it’s true.  She used to get diarrhea for like two weeks before her parents came to visit because they freaked her out so much.  I was in the powder room when I noticed a puddle of pee around the toilet.  At first I was going to blame the dog, but I keep that door closed all the time so he won’t eat my stupid Longaberger baskets (it’s a cult – don’t drink the purple koolaid!).  I know I didn’t pee all over the floor.  I’m a clutz, but dang, I would be really impressed with myself if I could miss like that.  So I called the only suspect left, my munchkin.

Me:  Um, I have a really weird question to ask you.  When you went to the bathroom at my house, how exactly did you go?

Munchkin:  I sat down because the dog was in there with me and I didn’t want him to drink my pee.

Me:  Okay.  Please don’t do that anymore.  Just don’t let the dog in there with you, and then you can stand like normal.

Munchkin:  Why?

 Me:  Because you missed.  I guess you were pointed sideways or something because there’s pee all over my floor.  I’m going to have to clean your pee.

Munchkin:  Oh, sorry.

“Oh, sorry.”  That’s all I get is “Oh, sorry”???  I guess it would’ve been a bit much to ask for his dad to bring him over here to clean it himself since it is a forty minute round trip, but no, “Oh, sorry” does not cut it when I’m on my hands and knees cleaning a 12-year-old boy’s pee.  Urgh!  On the bright side, it wasn’t the dog, so his housebreaking is holding up.  And on another bright side, my house is pretty clean now, so I feel good about that.  Part of the cleaning did involve shoving a pile of papers that need to be filed or shredded into a drawer, but hey, what my mom can’t see isn’t there.  Hopefully she doesn’t snoop while I’m knocked out! 

Monday my son tried to fake his way out of school with a stomach ache.  He was reminded that he had soccer practice and wouldn’t be allowed to go unless he went to school.  Ah, a miraculous recovery occured.  “Oh, laying here for a few minutes has made me feel much better.  I’ll go get dressed.”  Not even a little subtle.

Tuesday I was Anjelica’s hair model.  She was actually sick.  Her whole family was sick with barfing and diarrhea.  Ick!  But she had to go to work or else her Vegas fund was going to be lower than desired, so I went to get my haircut.  I went despite a phone call I got an hour before I was supposed to leave.  It went like this:

A:  Hey, I was watching the video for the cut I’m doing on you, and the layers are pretty short.

Me:  How short?

A:  Well, they’re shorter than I thought they were, but it’s a really cute cut.  I can modify it though, and make them less short.

Me:  Anjelica, don’t worry about it.  Just do whatever you need to do to pass the cut.  It’s just hair.  It’ll grow back.

Yep, famous last words.  I believe Jane Fonda had this same haircut when she was known as Hanoi Jane.  I can’t imagine what posessed Toni & Guy to bring it back.

fonda-gun-color-web.jpg

Okay, it’s not really that bad, and my bangs (I don’t really think of them as bangs since I don’t let them hang in my face – it’s more like shorter pieces in front that swoop to the side) certainly don’t look like I’ve been unwashed in the jungle for a month, and my color (in spite of actually being a toner, oops) is nothing like the muddled brown she had.  Did anyone have a decent hairdresser back then?  Give that poor woman some highlights!  Yesterday, I thought, well, I just won’t wear my hair down for a couple of months.  But today, it cooperated and looks pretty much like normal.  From the front anyway.  The back still looks a little motorcycle mamaish.  Well, she did say it was going to be edgier than what I was used to. 

Wednesday I went to softball practice (yay, I could wear a hat!) and watched D sit in the grass eating Chik-Fil-A (or however you spell it) while the rest of us starved and actually practiced at practice.  Hunh.  J yelled at him.  Later I yelled at D because he dropped his lid and straw in the parking lot and DIDN’T PICK IT UP.  Hello, WTF???  Does anyone actually do that?  I said, “DW!  That is not okay!  This is not biodegradeable.”  I was rather indignant as I shoved his garbage back into the sack he was trying to get it into when it fell.  That did it though – crush on coach is officially over.  He really was just going to leave it there if I hadn’t have said anything.  Eeewww, gross!

On Thursday we had our game against Team America.  I was pretty damn excited because I had seen a guy on this team before who was very cute, so I got my hair all done up and wore lipstick and everything.  I know, that’s totally ridiculous, but as my mother keeps reminding me, “You never know where you’ll run into your New Husband, so please wear make-up and fix your hair!”  I knew I would get an up close and personal view of Cute Guy since my lovely teammates decided that since I can’t catch I should be catcher.  Does that make any sense whatsoever?  Well, it turns out that Cute Guy is on a different Team America.  I knew as soon as I saw the jerseys – not the same team.  Sad.  And this Team America didn’t have one single cute guy on it.  They had cute girls for D to look at though.  I think he may have drooled a little.

The Make-the-Girl-Who-Can’t-Catch-Catcher idea actually worked.  I caught some of the balls, and the ones that went past me didn’t matter because it’s apparently in the rules that you can’t go on a passed ball.  Great!  So I was pretty happy.  The only bad part was my surgerized knee makes a really nasty grinding sound when I crouch.  It doesn’t hurt, but the sound is nauseating.  I had two hits also, so I was happy.  We still lost though.  Yeah, we’re on the schnide at 0-3.  It’s okay.  We were just so thrilled not to have been mercy-ruled out of there that we all went out and celebrated.  I drank Seabreezes, yum. 

Yesterday and today, my son did actually stay home from school with a stomach ache.  He had to go to the doctor though.  He’s got some virus and is on the BRAT diet (bananas, rice, applesauce, toast).  I hope he didn’t have it on Monday too!

I went to my parent’s house today to visit, and my mom was asking what I’m doing this weekend.  I’m not really doing anything other than getting this house cleaned since it looks like a tornado went through it.  It’s the dog’s fault.  Well, sort of.  I got up this morning and realized that I am a pig.  I have this really gross habit of putting dirty clothes in the other sink in my bathroom.  There’s two in there, and only one me, and I only need one sink.  Normally the dirty clothes go in a hamper, but the hamper was in the laundry room, and rather than moving it, I just tossed the dirties in the sink so the dog wouldn’t eat my socks and undies.  It got to overflowing though.  That’s just nasty.  The point of that whole story is that she once again mentioned that if I was looking for something to do, then why not go to church with her and my dad?  I told her, for the millionth time, that I would be sleeping in on Sunday since it’s my only day to do so.  What I didn’t tell her is I feel no need to prove anything by walking into a certain building on a certain day at a certain time.  I’m just not a big fan of going to church.  I’d rather do my own thing on my own time.  That’s probably wrong on so many levels, but I don’t know.  I don’t want to go, and I definitely don’t want to go with them.  My mom has become very religious since she had her transplant.  Like outspokenly so, and it kind of weirds me out.  I’m not even the same religion as they are!  Maybe if she’d sweeten the deal by throwing in brunch …  

Finally, this is the sickest story ever so beware, my dog has totally violated me.  I was getting ready for the game on Thursday and was butt-ass nekkid.  I bent over to take off my socks, and my dog came up behind me and licked.  Right up the middle of my bent over stuff.  I am completely traumatized.  However, I’m not completely stoopid, so now I know to keep my ass against the wall whenever I’m changing.  The smarter thing would be to have the dog away from me while changing, but he follows me like a baby duck wherever I go. 

And that’s it, my week in a rather long nutshell!

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