Red Hot Mutha'

a fiona apple song i like

2007-03-07T06:29:00.000-05:00

I let the beast in too soon, I don't know how to live
Without my hand on his throat; I fight him always and still
Oh darling, it's so sweet, you think you know how crazy
How crazy I am
You say you don't spook easy, you won't go, but I know
And I pray that you will
Fast as you can, baby runfree yourself of me
Fast as you can
I may be soft in your palm but I'll soon grow
Hungry for a fight, and I will not let you win
My pretty mouth will frame the phrases that will
Disprove your faith in man
So if you catch me trying to find my way into your
Heart from under your skin
Fast as you can, baby scratch me out, free yourself
Fast as you can
Fast as you can, baby scratch me out, free yourself
Fast as you can
Sometimes my mind don't shake and shift
But most of the time, it does
And I get to the place where I'm begging for a lift
Or I'll drown in the wonders and the was
And I'll be your girl, if you say it's a gift
And you give me some more of your drugs
Yeah, I'll be your pet, if you just tell me it's a gift
'Cause I'm tired of whys, choking on whys,
Just need a little because, because
I let the beast in and then;
I even tried forgiving him, but it's too soon
So I'll fight again, again, again, again, again.
And for a little while more, I'll soar the
Uneven wind, complain and blame
The sterile land
But if you're getting any bright ideas, quiet dear
I'm blooming within
Fast as you can, baby wait watch me, I'll be out
Fast as I can, maybe late but at least about
Fast as you can leave me, let this thing
Run its route
Fast as you can

evil night together (jill tracey)

2007-02-26T18:53:00.000-05:00

i'll hold your hand while they drag the river i'll cuddle you in the undertow i'll keep my hand on your trigger finger i'll take you down where the train tracks go
let's wile away the hours let's spend an evil night together
we'll drink a toast in the torture chamber and you'll go down on a bed of nails we'll rendevous in cold blood i'll tie you up to the third rail
let's wile away the hours let's spend an evil night together
who's gonna make you a hero who's gonna blow you away who's gonna make you a hero hold it right there
it's a multiple down in solitary and you'll uncover the evidence shanghaied by a fishnet stocking i'll hold you close while they dust for prints
let's wile away the hours let's spend an evil night together
no need for cake or flowers let's spend an evil night together

snow day

2007-02-14T09:20:00.000-05:00

they've blocked blogger, so now I can't blog at work, but no matter. Perhaps they're reading it and they want the system's shittiness kept on the D.L. They're still trying to operate the system like they did 25 years ago and they refuse to admit it isn't working. I keep trying to make it better. Every year I say this is the year that's going to make a difference, when in fact it just gets worse. Most teachers are either ready to retire, or they're so brand new they don't have a clue. Me, i got my real family to worry about, so i'm not going to waste time trying to teach parents at my school how to be parents. Shit, if you don't know enough to make sure your child is doing his homework and to show up at conferences, then there's nothing I can do for you. You're too far gone, and I'm tired of wasting my energy.

Anyway, I'm going to spend VD sitting around eating chocolate and drinking coffee, seeing as how my doctor's office is closed and it's too goddamned icy to go out. My baby boy is at his nona's house, and it feels weird without him today. Quiet.

My last message for you kids is this: Get your shit together before you have a child. There's no time for anything else, and you won't want to have it any other way.

And now for something completely different

2007-01-17T12:15:00.000-05:00

so I was saving up for a tattoo of Saraswati. But I bought the Brum pedal Car instead.

His birthday is coming up.

what's going on?

2007-01-17T08:42:00.000-05:00

Sometimes my mood goes black for no apparent reason. People ask me: What's wrong? and I know they think I'm crazy because I can never really answer them. It's not one specific thing, really. Besides, no one would really get it anyway. I guess it's sort of the sum of things going on: I feel like nothing. Sometimes, the only thing that keeps me from cutting and running is Vince. I feel so isolated; and yet I can't really open up to anyone. I think that people who tend to gloss over or make light of these moods have never really felt quite like this. Without sounding totally nuts (too late!) it's like something sorta clicks in every fiber of your being. If it's a chemical thing, then this would make some sort of sense. Perhaps my meds have finally reached the stage where they just aren't working anymore. It could be the time of year, the fact that I try to teach art in a filthy little trailer where no one really listens to me anyway and I feel like throwing in the towel. I'm not an artist; I've never shown or sold anything and my LACK OF ATTENTION TO DETAIL is probably to blame. At my heart there is a restless unfulfillment and frankly, the hippie counselor has made me realize it all the more and made me feel even more like nothing. Then the day ends, and I get into bed and do it all over again.
Hey, gotta run, my fifth grade is here and I gotta go be PERKY!

Sometimes

2006-12-21T11:01:00.000-05:00

I HATE MY JOB!
I just had to separate a girl fight. Much, much worse than any boy fight, these are. These girls still would not stop even when I was between them. Then, when I thought I had it all under control, the one picks up a friggen chair (over her head) and starts to throw it at the other. I caught it just in time. Then, the one girl ran away, out the door and across the field.

I can't take this shit. I supposed to be an art teacher!!

NO BLUE MATER!!!!!

2006-12-14T08:03:00.000-05:00

What is this?! I go to Walmart at 6:45 in the morning and they have NO Cars figures at all (I'm talking about the Turbocharged Matchbox-type ones, 'cause there seems to be like friggen tons of different versions)...I'm looking for the BLue Mater, of course, and I'm convinced everyone else is looking for it too. A couple a weeks ago, I almost had one. I shoulda just grabbed for it, but there was a woman in front of me reaching for it at that moment. I tried to use the Jedi Mind Trick, but even THAT didn't work. That's not the Mater you're looking for . Then a pure evil thought came over me: I should take it from her cart. Fuck! I've never taken anything from anyone's cart before. Fuckin'Evil shit, toys are. I did not take it from her cart. I walked away, knowing that I'd find one sooner or later. Well, Xmas is a little ways away; we have every other friggen car in the whole goddamned movie and NO BLUE MATER! (And getting the other Cars was no small feat either.)

Anyway, tonight's my last night of BellyDance until February. I'm really hooked on it, even though I think I suck. I can't for the life of me figure out how that gorgeous lil' Rachel Brice does undulations like that..it's totally not human.

I think I like bellydancing because it's the first thing that I've done that doesn't make me feel fat.

Cool.

"I don't want to start any blasphemous rumours but I think that god's got a sick sense of humour and when I die I expect to find him laughing...."
Depeche mode (again)

halo

2006-12-08T08:39:00.000-05:00

you wear guilt
like shackles on your feet
like a halo in reverse

I can feel
the discomfot in your seat
and in your head it's worse

there's a pain
a famine in your heart
an aching to be free

can't you see
all love's luxuries
are here for you and me

And when our worlds
they fall apart
when the walls come tumbling in
though we may deserve it
It will be worth it

Bring your chains
your lips of tragedy
And fall into my arms

When our worlds
they fall apart
when the walls come tumbling in
though we may deserve it
It will be worth it

depeche mode

Funny thing Heard Today:

2006-12-07T11:38:00.000-05:00

"My teeth made a mistake and bit him."
-boy in my art class, age 5

Is this weird..

2006-12-05T12:28:00.000-05:00

is it normal that i'm actually sad that the yellow wiggle, greg, is going to be leaving the group? I mean, he was like THE wiggle. the cute one. The Paul McCartney of the group.

having a kid does weird things to you.

Ketchup

2006-11-17T11:53:00.001-05:00

1. Teaching Observation-went very well
2. Teacher's Convention at Ocean City-Vincent LOVED the rides; had a great time
3. Stomach Ulcers-drinking Barium sucks
4. Doodlebops Show in Richmond-Vin tried to rush the stage
5. Emergency Room Visit-Vin's elbow was dislocated

And now, we are up-to-date. My computer in my classroom/trailer has been broken since my last post, so it's difficult to check in now. But here's a quick antedote about today, the Last Day of American Education Week:

Grade Four. Making sculptures. A student and her two parents arrive late. I rush to catch her up. Kids are behaving like they normally do: one is in another's face and the other pushes the chair down in a "you're-gonna-get-f'ed-in-the-a" sort of way. A fight is about to ensue. And through it all, I look over toward where the parents are sitting with their student, and the father is writing on my chalkboard. Not only is he doing this, but he is spelling the word QUIET wrong.

I'm so glad it's Friday.

WHAT?!

2006-10-06T08:33:00.000-05:00

I come into work early today for an "optional" faculty meeting because the Area Director is visiting our school. (This is kinda a big deal.) In the faculty meeting, she actually said, "We are doing God's work here. The angels are with us." WHAT?! Now I'm doing God's work, too? Jesus Christ. Maybe God should contribute to my salary.

what I remember

2006-10-04T12:29:00.000-05:00

This past weekend was perfect. On Sunday, we went to a farm and took a hayride, and rode on a train. You should have seen Vincent! I think I'll always remember that day because of how beautiful he looked in the sun on that grass, just running. That's why I love him. He looks at everything with these new eyes and is delighted by it all.
On Monday, I didn't have to work and we went out, and he sat with me like a little man at the table in Friendly's and I was so proud to be with him. Despite all the "huge" moments in life we are all supposed to remember, these day-to-day-happenings are the ones that will stay with me more than any other. If you don't believe me, ask me when I'm eighty what color the sky was or how the air smelled and I will tell you. You can quote me on that.

Limerick

2006-09-27T12:32:00.000-05:00

oh, I'm having a very shitty day,

It's shitty in every single way.

And try as I might,

To put up a fight,

There's nothing quite nice I can say.

what i think

2006-09-18T10:39:00.000-05:00

I was looking at the bullshit sent out by the Md. Art Teachers Assn.' today and I have to stop and think, "what's wrong here?" as I read the topics to be presented and the lists of speakers. I suppose I should be excited when I read the brochure; I even know one of the presenters. But frankly, I have no real desire to be involved. I see that next year's conference will be held in New Orleans, but deep in my mind (if I'd ever go) I'm already figuring out ways to slip out of the conference and go shopping, sightseeing...etc... I guess I'm supposed to get all hyped up about being an art teacher, but I'm not. I think a long time ago I got all excited about it, but the only things that excite me about teaching now are summers, days off and my health benefits. Yep, you could say I'm burned-out. Oh, don't get me wrong. If I teach your kid you'd never know it. I come up with creative ideas and some really awesome projects that would probably knock the socks off of anybody at that conference. Kids love my class; I get lots of hugs. I do what I'm supposed to do and teach the curriculum, despite the lack of water, a sink, and visuals that all got "thrown away" years ago. Don't worry; your kids get a good education. Like I said, you wouldn't even know I'm burned out. I'm good at hiding things; I suppose that's what us"Cancers" are best at doing. Matter of fact, I bet some of the better spies out there are Cancers. Probably with their Moon in Sagattarius. But I digress. I have a goals conference this week with my administration. So, I'm supposed to think of some goals for this school year, but I can't do it. I've racked my brain and still: nothing. I feel like going in there and saying, (like the Princess in that stupid Eddie Murphy movie that I can't think of the name right now) "I like whatever you like." I want to say, my goal is to feel like my job really means something again, to feel like I'm doing some good. I want to say, my goal is to kick out all the kids who really don't feel like being there, to give the poor kids here a chance to use paint and papier mache and oil pastels and glue and construction paper for art's own sake because it's fun. And because most of them don't have any of that stuff at home or anyone who cares to use it with them. And then, I just feel guilty. Because, I'd rather be at home doing this with my own child. All day I deal with other people's children that adults have weighed down with years of baggage (even at such young ages) and all I care to think about is my own child. Don't get me wrong; he's in the best of care. He's at home, with my own mother right now and his dad can see him whenever he wants. He probably doesn't even miss me. But it causes me to think that something must be wrong with me, because I can't really get excited about anything else unless it relates to him and his well-being. Perhaps in a way, Vincent has saved me.

What I love

2006-09-13T06:59:00.000-05:00

I love the way he dipped his hand in his cup of milk last night at dinner, and told me he was painting as he rubbed it on the table. His fingers made lines in the milk, and he said he was making a rainbow.

I love the way he tells me in the dark that the tiny light on the ceiling from the fire alarm is actually the moon.

I love the way he sounds as he walks into the bedroom at night. (Even at three o'clock in the morning after being awakened by him three times earlier.) His diaper makes soft sounds as he moves toward the bed, and I hear him no matter how deep my sleep.

Beatnik

2006-09-05T16:09:00.000-05:00

dug up and picked
scabbed and scarred again and again
the sticky dampness makes me scream loud inside my head
i keep getting my eyes pecked out
there is nothing i really do about it
i keep on going

Here's your Song of the Day

2006-08-25T07:27:00.000-05:00

See the animal in his cage that you built,
Are you sure what side you're on?
Better not look him too closely in the eye,
Are you sure what side of the glass you are on?
See the safety of the life you have built,
Everything where it belongs.
Feel the hollowness inside of your heart,
And it's all,
Right where it belongs.
What if everything around you,
Isn't quite as it seems?
What if all the world you think you know,
Is an elaborate dream?
And if you look at your reflection,
Is that all you want to be?
What if you could look right through the cracks,
Would you find yourself,
Find yourself afraid to see?
What if all the world's inside of your head,
Just creations of your own?
Your Devils and your Gods,
All the living and the dead,
And you're really all alone?
You can live in this illusion,
You can choose to believe.
You keep looking but you can't find the words,
Now you're hiding in retreat.
What if everything around you,
Isn't quite as it seems?
What if all the world you used to know,
Is an elaborate dream?
And if you look at your relection,
Is that all you want to be?
What if you could look right through the cracks,
Would you find yourself,
Find yourself afraid to see?

After a Hiatus..

2006-08-25T07:07:00.000-05:00

"Just because you tell someone to Fuck Off doesn't mean you don't love them."
-Mom-Mom "Pom-Pom" Betty F.

What is this? Year ten? I find that when you spend three hours of staff development playing "getting to know you" bingo, writing happy shit on balloons (you KNOW how I feel about balloons), and pretending I'm a mother cheetah looking for my cub, that it's going to be one heck of a year. And by "one heck of", well, if you could hear me say it you'd know I was being incredibly sarcastic. Look out, here we go.

On another note, you know you gotta be a mom when you can (a) sing 95% of all the Wiggles songs, (b) can name all of the Wiggles and state their correct shirt color and (c) start having sexual fantasies in which the Wiggles are major participants. Or maybe the last one's just me. Who the F knows.

i want you

2006-07-23T18:41:00.000-05:00

i want you so ba-a-aad
it's driving me mad
it's driving me.......

wha....wha.....what time is it?

2006-07-14T10:35:00.000-05:00

whew! okay, so this is work, but i'm enjoying every minute of it...lil'V sure has alot of energy, and this happens to be one of those rare times I'm not taking a nap when he is. Yep, it's true: I've become the sappy-I'd-do-anything-for-my-kid parent I'd always warned you about. I love it, wouldn't change a thing. *sigh* (just as long as i don't look like a soccer mom, it's all good. does anyone ever say 'it's all good' anymore? prolly just me. who gives a shit)

anyway ANYWAY, I went on like a gazillion interviews with school system "B" and I got nothing! even the one that I thought went well, didn't I guess...that always fucking sucks when you think an interview goes well, and then it turns out that that really wasn't the case. So, it appears i'll be back at good'ol school system "A" for another year. Bullocks! I like that word. Nobody uses it enough.

I had to make some revisions to my top ten list, because Angelina Jolie must have done something to her face, and I really don't think she's on it anymore. I know, how sad. so here's my new one. (There's no real order, except for Johnny Depp, who always comes first.)
-Johnny Depp
-Timothy Olyphant
-Kierra Knightly (short hair)
-BillyBob
-George Clooney
-Uma
Damn! this is more like a "top six" list...!...

2006-07-01T14:33:00.000-05:00

hello? is there anybody in there? is there anyone at home?

drank absinthe, having an okay time, where are you?

Deadwood!

2006-06-12T07:59:00.000-05:00

oooh! I'm screaming like a girl because Deadwood's back on! My favorite!

Only two days left and I'm prolly gonna get fired 'cause I'm showing The Nightmare Before Christmas (actually I have quite the legit reason for showing it: Students will be able to compare and contrast stop-motion animation by viewing "The Curse of the Wererabbit" and "The Nightmare Before Christmas" in order to determine technological advances versus stylistic differences in the works of Burton/Park.)

That's my point exactly.

let's go to bed

2006-05-17T06:54:00.000-05:00

let me take your hand
i'm shaking like milk
turning
turning blue
all over the windows and the floors
fires outside in the sky
look as perfect as cats
the two of us together again
but it's just the same
a stupid game

but i don't care if you don't
and i don't feel if you don't
and i don't want it if you don't
and i won't say it
if you don't say it first

you think you're tired now
but wait until three...
laughing at the christmas lights
you remember
from december

all of this then back again
another girl
another name
stay alive but stay the same
it's just the same
a stupid game

but i don't care if you don't
and i don't feel if you don't
and i don't want it if you don't
and i won't play it
if you don't play it first

you can't even see now
so you ask me the way
you wonder if it's real
because it couldn't be rain...
through the right doorway
and into the white room
it used to be the dust that would lay here
when i came here alone

but i don't care if you don't
and i don't feel if you don't
and i don't want it if you don't
and i won't say it
if you don't say it first

Only one life left

2006-03-28T11:59:00.000-05:00

It was so hard to see Vincent with the IV in his little hand, to see him strain to breathe, to see him pale with those dark circles under his eyes. I never want to see him like that again. I was so scared, but thanks to my meds I only "freaked out" twice: when we checked in the E.R. and I forgot his birthdate, and the night that they told us they might have to move him to the Pediatric ICU at another hospital. During the rest of it, I kinda felt like I wasn't really there all the way, like I was witnessing this whole scene and not participating. I don't want to talk about this anymore, only to say that having him has made me realize how fragile I am; that in spite of my nine lives anything that happened to him would finish me. Having him has made me feel so vulnerable, and if I think about it too much I'm scared.

You don't know him

2006-03-17T08:35:00.000-05:00

Explain to me why it is okay to send religious spam emails to everyone at work ("send this to everyone you know within one hour and Jesus will love you even more") and be the great, holier-than-thou person you think you are, and then not go to someone's baby shower at work because they're gay? And then, to talk about it to someone else in the faculty room (you whispered but I could still hear you, you asshole) and tell them how you "don't agree" with her having a partner that's a woman and how you "don't believe" that that's the right way. WWJD? Fuck you, you don't even know him.

I'm ba-aack

2006-03-15T17:23:00.000-05:00

Lots has been going on: V-man had his first birthday on March 10th, our dog Laurel died (Kidney failure), and we have had some quasi-spring weather which has made it difficult for me to concentrate. Thanks goodness its back in the 40's...not really. I slept for the longest I've ever slept today, from about nine o'clock this morning 'till about 3:30 this afternoon. No, I wasn't at work. Home sick with some kind of flu or something. My mom came and picked up the V-man and now I'm ready to go back to bed. I'm trying to make it to American Idol, 'cause I'm hopelessly addicted to that damn show. My vote is for Chris or Taylor. Did I mention we also adopted another dog? Mercy is a dalmatian and she's deaf. Steve drove all the way to a dalmatian rescue in Lynchburg, Virginia to get her. She's real floppy but she's gotta learn her manners.
At work, I've been told I'm writing too many office referrals, and I really don't feel like going into the whole story, but the bottom line is that I'm not really going to change anything that I'm doing. In faculty meetings, they tell us that we need students to learn how to work independently, yet none of the children really have the skills to do this yet. In art, they have to do this, so my way of looking at this whole this is that I'm ahead of the curve. I was told at one meeting a month ago that, "Ms. G.W. hardly writes any referrals, so when she does it's a big deal." (Direct quote from administrator) Than last week, I was pulled into some meeting which frankly was some lame cock-and-bull story that was a cover for the "real" meeting which was to tell me that "We are getting too many referrals from you.". I'm sorry, but after ten years of this, I can recognize the shit when it's offered to me. Let's see...you throw away all my visuals, put me in a trailer with no real source of running water and expect me to teach art? The sad thing is that I still love the look on a kid's face when he finally gets it, or when I teach him to use his natural creativity. I still love teaching art. I'm just not up for the bull anymore.

SHITTY WEEK

2006-02-03T08:06:00.000-05:00

A student whom I trusted and helped out when her stuff got stolen stole from me.
A student told me she was going to "pop" me if I looked at her again. Resulted in a "surprise" conference with her parent.
I forgot to record report card grades for most of 1st grade.
A child shit herself in my class.
A child threw up in my class.
Kids were REALLY bad all week, but to top it all off:
Laurel Lou had to put to sleep.

I'll miss that dog. And this loss brings them all back, if you know what I mean.

She was a good girl. I hope she wasn't in pain for too long.

I Met Jesus or Why My Lunch Was So Soggy

2006-01-30T11:09:00.000-05:00

So I open my purse today to pull out my lunch. I always put it in a blue Wegman's bag and then stick it in the fridge. Right before I walk out the door in the morning, I pull it out of the fridge and put it in my purse. No big deal. Today I reach in to pull it out, and it's cold and squishy. I consider that odd, because I packed a can of ready-made chicken salad and crackers, an orange, a fresca and a bottle of water. (I'm doing the low-carb thing during the week so I'm trying to lay off the bread. No more sammedges for a while!) I poke at it again. Did my orange get crushed in the car this morning? It begins to leak and then I notice that it's not orange juice at all. Raw chicken juice oozes out of a hole in the bag, creating a bacterial nightmare within my purse. I realize that in my haste to leave, I've grabbed the blue Wegman's bag that held the slowly defrosting chicken for tonight's dinner. It's still wrapped neatly in its white butcher paper. I bury it beneath bits of papier-mache soaked newspaper in my trashcan, after a brief pondering of the five-second-rule, and if it applies in this particular situation.I decide to spend four dollars and go out and get more chicken later this evening. (Sorry, Steve.)
I have to eat lunch because of the whole stupid low blood sugar thing, so I drive down to the Grab-n-Go to find something. I should've known that a place called Grab-n-Go wouldn't have fresh fruit. On the way to pay for my meager and marginally disgusting Breakfast Sandwich, I notice the cashier and another woman talking about Jesus. "That little bastard!", one says. "He better take what he can get this morning.", said the other. In walks Jesus, looking very much the part, only younger than I would've thought. He stares through his scraggly hair and beard, and I notice that he's staring directly at me. "Jesus, go turn the headlights off!", says the fat one, and she shakes her head at the other, as if this were some daily occurance. Jesus goes out and I follow shortly behind after I pay. (I didn't take the sweltering-in-its-wrapper cinnamon bun that I could've got free with my coffee.) Jesus looks at me and asks me how I am, and I say I'm wonderful. He's still staring at my car as I pull away, only this time he's inside the other vehicle with his large companion.
All I can say is, I'm glad they had the 20-ounce Fresca.

finally

2006-01-26T08:53:00.000-05:00

All I have to say is: go to http://truthdig.com and click on the Atheist Manefesto.

That elegantly expresses what I've been trying to reason out in my head for quite some time.

welcome to your life

2006-01-25T13:22:00.000-05:00

I wonder if everyone who has a full-time job and raising a kid (that's 2 full-time jobs, really) feels like their skull is exploding. I do sometimes. I love my family and I have everything I need, but still for some reason I feel like Is This It, am I destinied for a life in which I feel like I am not quite awake, not quite adaquate, not quite enjoying it and not hating it at all. I can't explain it...I'm not real good at putting my thoughts into words. But know this: what I certainly DON'T MEAN is that I in ANYWAY REGRET having a child. Read that sentence a gazillion times if you have to, I don't care. My family is the highlight of my life, if you don't already know. I can't really put my finger on what's going on in my head. I'd guess by definition I'd describe this as a midlife crisis, only I'm not even near 40 yet and I hate that term because it's so 80's. What do women do when they have midlife crisises? I have no desire to get a sports car or leave my family. But I feel like that dog I saw on an episode of The Dog Whisperer once: it wore a rut in its yard traveling the same path day after day. I think the poor thing lost sight of where it had to go and why and its owners didn't even realize the problem, even after the grass was all tore up and there was nothing left there but dirt.
Or maybe this is real life, only I just now arrived?

Monotony I Hate the Most

2006-01-13T09:46:00.000-05:00

Okay, so I end up getting the wrong amount of Celexa about a month ago. (I got only 20 mg. instead of the 40 mg. due to a mistake...long story...) I figured I'd try it, see what happens, if there's a noticable difference, whatever. I wasn't trying to hide it for any vile reason, just to see if I could do without. So here's a list of things that I've been noticing lately:
-I'm increasingly obsessed with the amounts of food I've been eating. (I cut my lunch down to half a sandwich and a piece of fruit and a cup of miso soup. Even though this sounds like a lot, by the time I get home at the end of the day, I'm famished.)
-I look at myself in the mirror and reflections more, and hate specific body parts.
-I'm starting to "check and re-check" stupid stuff again, like the iron and the alarm clock.
-I'm more irritable and quick to get pissed off and unable to deal with common obstacles, like traffic or being behind a slow person somewhere.
-I'm thinking about myself too much (hence this blog entry!)
-I'm getting a weird craving for alcohol. I was thinking about this, and this happened to me when I was going off paxil a long time ago. I don't know if it's just coincidence, but I know it's not like me.
-I have the worse friggin' cottonmouth ever.
-I want to sleep alot more than I would like.
-And the one that bothers me the most: I'm worried that I can't be the best mother for Vince if I've got all this stuff going on in my head.

I'm going to see the "regular" doctor on Monday. Through the past three weeks, I've been trying to be all smiles and keep it together, but if I can notice these things, then I must not be doing a good job. (And if I can notice them, why can I control them? That's the billion-dollar question!) I'm not really one-hundred-percent in love with my job, but I know there's worse out there. I just get caught up in the daily monotony of it all, and it makes me want to scream. Monotony hurts me worse of all.

dream

2005-12-14T08:39:00.000-05:00

dream: I was driving my car, when all the sudden the road ended, and the trail ahead was full of deep potholes and trees which I had to drive around. I pulled over to avoid going into a huge pothole, more like a crater, and to figure out which direction to go in. As soon as I did that, a Hummer came by me at a high speed. I watched as it fell into the crater, which I now noticed that was on the edge of a cliff. I wanted to tell the driver to stop, but I didn't, I just watched. I wanted to help, but I didn't move. The driver, a woman, got out of the car and a child follwed her out. Before I could say a thing, another child opened the door facing the cliff and fell off the cliff. I could see his small body being flung like a doll, but I didn't want to look at the end result. I kept thinking, Dial 911! Dial 911! over and over in my head as I heard the mother scream and the other little boy wail that his brother's head had swollen to twice its size. I tried to comfort him, but I couldn't. I tried to dial 911, but my fingers wouldn't work. And then I woke up.

On a lighter note, I GOT A UKULELE!!

list

2005-12-01T09:00:00.000-05:00

(1) I want to play a ukulele.
(2) You can eat the crunchy seed inside of a pomegranate's outer seed.
(3) God was not mentioned in my wedding ceremony.
(4) I want to drink red wine.
(5) Cats strongly dislike hats.
(6) It might as well snow if it's cold enough.
(7) Someone always slaps their child in Wal-Mart.
(8) The scent of a humidor is divine.
(9) Truly important things are remembered ten years later.
(10) Most people are sheep, but most sheep aren't people.
(11) A little romance doesn't quite go long enough.
(12) I want to sleep until 9:35 a.m.

Fuck No Child Left Behind or Rant Part 2

2005-11-18T08:34:00.000-05:00

I broke down on the job this morning. Someone innocently asked me if I was cold and I just went off. I started crying like a baby. I'm just tired of not having what I need to do my job. I'm tired of not having heat. Right now, I can see my breath in my classroom/trailer. I'm tired of having to go all the way to the faculty room in another building, just to change one student's grade because I'm not allowed to have File Maker Pro on my computer because it would "cost $200.00" to put it on there (?) . I'm tired of having to steal paper towels from other places so my students can dry their hands. I'm tired of having to wring out the same dingy sponges in dirty paint water so students can use them to clean up because I don't have time between classes to go to the main building to refill my water buckets in the janitor's closet, which is now locked so I can't get any anyway. I'm tired of not having pencils, erasers and of not having enough chairs. I'm tired of having desks that are broken and flip over if someone puts too much pressure in the wrong spot. I'm tired of parents not wanting to take responsibility for their childrens' actions, saying that it's always someone else's fault that their child is a terror. And while I'm at it, I'm tired of cleaning up dog shit and piss from my good rug because my dog doesn't feel like waiting the two minutes it takes for me to get out of bed and down the steps to let her out in the morning. I'm tired of cleaning up strewn cat litter from the bathroom floor. I'm tired of cleaning sinks, bathtubs and toilets. Yes, I'm even tired of vacuuming.
So Everything Came Down at Once, and I finished sobbing in my classroom like a damn baby. And while on hall duty today, everyone walked by and smiled and was extra nice, because I guess news travels fast aroound here.

Lots of reasons why I'm crazy

2005-11-17T08:46:00.000-05:00

I'm driving to work this morning, listening to a mix cd I made of some oldies..y'know, stuff from the 80's and 90's. Specifically the Lost Highway soundtrack from way bcak in '97, when Steve and I first started dating and when I was very crazy and starting my first year of teaching. I look over to the car next to me, and I wave to a teacher that is still teaching at the same school where I started. I was totally unmedicated, back then, and I think of all the shit that happened over the years- good, bad, dangerous and just plain stupid-and I nod to myself in disbelief. There are a few things that I miss. I won't get into it here; I don't even know why I brought them up, only they know what they are, and that's that. "I am the proudest monkey you'd ever seen."
So now that I've got that outta my system, I was quite pissed when I woke up this morning. Seems I had a dream that I was an employee of the bunny ranch in Las Vegas, and I was thrilled! So when I got to work this morning, no heat (as usual) , no water, paint still splattered from yesterday and no Baby V to come home to today (he's at nona's), I wanted to go back to sleep. I mean, this is FUCKING crazy. What kind of professionals with master's degrees (and then some) have to go into a workplace that has no mothafucking heat? How many stupidass dopey looking guys have to come into my trailer and say"Yep, the heat's broke." before it gets fucking fixed? (oh, by the way, if you don't like to listen to me complain, don't fucking read this blog. Go to disneyworld.com or something.) I don't complain too much about not having water, because I taught art-on-a-cart during one of the most difficult years of my life, and that was way worse. But no heat?! My hands are freezing as I type this. The kids will come in here half-dressed due to no fault of there own, but I have to listen to it from over five hundred of them and it gets old. This is American Education Week, and I've dressed up every frickin day, lugging buckets of water back and forth in high heels and a dress and nobody's even bothered to come in and watch their child make art. I hope they come in today, and watch their poor little kid's hands turn red from the cold while they try to paint. (Although I'm sure some of these families have a lot more to worry about than their kids' art, and I'm not faulting them for that.)

whatever. I'm going to go hijack the custodial cart and get me some paper towels.

Time

2005-10-31T07:54:00.000-05:00

I saw Death this morning. He was driving a Honda. He turned to me slowly as I passed, and his eyes were larger than I'd thought they'd be. He gave me that sly smile, no teeth. His sickle was propped at a jaunty angle in the backseat, blade down for safety. I lost him somewhere on Route 40. He was taking his time and I had to get to work.

letters to me

2005-10-17T09:58:00.000-05:00

Dear Mrs. G.W.,
I am sorry what I did in the fire drill and what happened I was trying to do but it was all the bugs falt they will give me burns my dad don't want me to get bugs bites I had to move out of the way they are creey lookan and those are don't misqkeydos my mom tod me not to let one touch you.

Mrs. G.W.,
I am sorry for the way my classmates and I acted during the fire drill sorry for acting like we did we all new bater and we made ourselfs look like fulls we leght kindgrade, first, second, third and fourth gard show us how to handle a fire drill and were the top grade of the school we should be showing them how to handle a fire drill but we let 5 or 10 mesctoes get our atention and we went cray over that goofun off but really was not the musctoe that made us actup.

Soap

2005-10-06T08:15:00.000-05:00

V and I went to Wegman's on my day off Tuesday. I don't usually get excited about grocery stores, but this was like Disney World! (Okay, I lied. My highlight to my trip to England several years ago was to a grocery store. They don't have peanut butter, only Nutella!) Crowded was an understatement, so if you haven't take your anti-anxiety drugs you should stay out. I heard somebody say (seriously) as he walked by cases upon cases of prepared meals, sushi and 300 different kinds of muffins that there "Wasn't anything to eat here for lunch", and prepared to walk out with his group in a huff. Didn't take his meds, I bet. Or, he didn't see the sit-down restauraunt upstairs. I had some kind of caramel latte at the coffee bar that could rival any Starbucks (and was about a buck seventy-five cheaper) and the barista affixed a cup holder to my cart to hold it. I got upsold on pork, but the butcher freezer wrapped it for me so I ended up saving money in the long run, I guess. I had to put blinders on as I went through the aisle that held the natural handmade organic soaps and body product, as I have enough patchouli sandwood vetiver stuff to open a Bath and Body works...but SOMEONE said recently that, and I quote, "Everyone needs a vice", so I'll keep that in mind next time I go. Soap is a good vice. It's clean. Vincent had a good time; he loves it whenever someone calls him beautiful and we laugh when he gets mistaken for a girl. Maybe a trend is being started, I don't know. But he is the most goddamned beautiful thing on this planet, and I've seen a lot of shit here.

the phoenix

2005-09-21T06:49:00.000-05:00

I think that if you don't evaluate your belief system every few years or so, you become stunted. Since I've had Vinnie, who is the most marvelous beautiful thing in the world, I've been thinking alot about how I want him to grow up and what I want him to learn. I've been pagan/wiccan for the longest time, but now I think I'm moving more toward the agnostic part of the spectrum. No matter what, I refuse to fill his head with lies about christianity. I've been asked if I'll tell him the "story of christmas", but which story are 'they' talking about? (There are so many good ones out there.) The Flying Spaghetti Monster is getting my vote, more and more everyday. I look around and see people still praying to something they've never stopped to think about; they just do it because someone brainwashed them that way. Where is your god when the innocents (children and animals) suffer at the hands of the humans he supposedly created? Is he up there, protecting the nazi pope while he covers up sick shit like the Catholic Abuse Scandal? Can you actually believe that the nazi pope is PROTECTED against interrigation about that whole cover-up? That, just because he is a MAN of the cloth, somehow he is above and beyond? (And just how does he take a piss every morning? With his dick. Just like every other man.) So much stupidness happens in the name of various religons...like this fucking war....and yet it just keeps going on...The scary thing is, most people believe in God, they pray to it every night, go to church for a few hours, and live their life under its numbing shroud, keeping themselves dumb and saited with the fat of irresponsibility. That's all (most) religion is about, really. Irresponsibility. And so I don't want my son to have to grow up like this; I want him to question, to learn, to be responsible to himself for his choices and make the right decision because it's the right thing to do. I don't want him to follow the crowd because everyone else is doing it, wiccan, christian, jew, what have you. So as of today, I'm considering myself agnostic. Notice how I didn't say atheist. I may re-evaluate myself every now and again, but I keep my mind open.

grrrrr!

2005-09-20T17:02:00.000-05:00

Goddamn it! It's fucking back. My eating disorder, I mean. I cna't stop thinking about how fat I look...If I could just cut my stomach off I'd look allright. Every window or mirror I passed today, I had to look at the goddamned thing. I look pregnant again. (I'm NOT, okay?!) I've been taking this xenadrine stuff fo about a week, but all it's doing is making me jittery, and frankly, i could get the same benefits with a pot of coffee. I want to fucking exercise so badly, but when I come home from work, all I want to do is see Vinnie, and then after he goes to sleep I'm so tired and disillusioned with the fact that I'm so flabby that I just want to go to bed. I'm not able to see myself clearly. I can't ever see what I really look like. It would be good to talk to Dr. Krieger again, but I can't see her because she's under a different insurance plan. AND I'm not about to go sit down with someone else after two or so years of work and "start all over again". Not going to do it. All I do is notice how disgusting my arm looks when I wave, all that flab shaking back and forth. And the way my thighs vibrate is disgusting. (Part of the reason is because I have to get a tire alignment and my car shakes around a bit much.)
Other than that, there's really nothing wrong here at all.

Stop Complainin'

2005-09-08T07:02:00.000-05:00

so I'm tired of people playing the blame game now. I'm so over it. Republicans blaming the mayor and governor of Louisiana and Democrats blaming the president. And don't even get me started on the FUCKING ASSHOLES who say "Why couldn't they JUST LEAVE?" Stop already! Michael Moore, no matter what you think of him, is helping to organize a place where you can send specific items to help those in need from the Hurricane. Along with those moms from out front of Bush's ranch. Yeah, those protesting moms you all complained about. Instead of just protesting, they've set up camp down in Louisiana and they're taking supplies, especially baby supplies, directly to the people who need them most. I know that Baby V has a bunch of diapers that he grew out of as well as some powdered infant formula that I'm going to send. And I'm going to see if the kids can make some cards today to include in the care package. I'm sick to death of seeing all this destruction to my FAvorite City, all the people starving to death in the USA while we're over helping Iraq FOR WHAT (but I won't go there now) and I can't take it. And I just changed my politcal party to "Jedi" because I'm embarassed to be a memeber of either of the two major ones. Oh yeah, if anyone actually reads my blog, here's the address where you can send stuff (check out their website to see what else they need) Send it UPS as they don't have regular mail service yet.
c/o Veterans for Peace Chapter 116
645 Kimbro Drive
Baton Rouge, LA. 70808

another kid-isim

2005-09-07T12:34:00.000-05:00

A boy walks up to me with an strangely elegant drawing of what appears to be a dodo bird. A trail of dashes follows the bird, curling and curving to the ground. "I like your bird", I say. The boy answers, "It's doin', y'know, number two." He holds up two fingers like a peace sign. " "Cuz they always do that on your car and stuff."

kid-isms

2005-09-02T07:40:00.000-05:00

A first-grade boy gets "accidently" hit in the eye with a pencil by another student. (Actually,I looked at it and it was below his eye. Thank god or I would've passed out.) He puts his had over his eye and, crying, I send him to the nurse.
He returns fifteen minutes later, no hand over his eye. He sits down at his table to his work. The boy sitting next to him asks all deadpan and totally serious, "Did they give you a new eye?"

NOLA

2005-08-31T17:06:00.000-05:00

One of my top two favorite cities on earth is destroyed! I donated some money to the disaster relief fund for the humane society so they can get down there and help out all those lost pets. If people can't have their homes and their possesions, at least save their pets so they have some assemblance of normal in their lives. My heart goes out to all the people down there who have lost their home or worse............. And what the fuck's up with all the looters? For chrissakes people! WHAT THE FUCK! It's not like they're going in for diapers, bread and baby formula. Fuck, no. What the fuck are they going to do with five fucking televisions and three stereos? They broke into a fucking walmart and stole guns! They're taking their kids in with them like it's fucking christmas! What the fuck is wrong with human nature?

true story

2005-08-31T16:55:00.000-05:00

so...I was driving to work this morning, playing a little game with myself that I always do to keep myself awake. (I swear I'm narcoleptic when I'm in the car. It doesn't matter how much coffee I've had before I drive to work, or how loud I blast my music, I have to do everything I can to force my eyes to stay open. Really.) I look at other people in their cars and make up little stories about them. Like, "Oh, he likes to be spanked" or, "She's having an affair with that guy in her car". This morning, as I was playing this game, I looked over at a nondescript middle aged man in a green Focus and thought, "Molester." Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him raise something to his face, maybe a coffee cup or something. No, wait. I looked again. A pair of pink and green polka-dotted string bikini panties. And he was sniffing them! And he didn't do it just once, oh no. He did this many, many time whilst driving on Route 40. I honestly don't think he was aware that I was cracking up; I don't think he was doing this for anybody's benefit but his own.
I guess everybody needs a way to stay awake.

(Incidently, i copied down his plate number in case he really was a molester.)

becoming the beast

2005-08-18T18:12:00.000-05:00

Vin and i went to the Sachs Fifth Avenue Company Store the other day. I can't say that I'm particularly lured by brands, but if a pair of Armani pants are ten bucks, and they look good, I'm gonna buy them. My motto is, "I Buy What I Want as Long as it looks Good and it's Cheap". I'll go anywhere: the Goodwill, Wal-mart, my grandmother's basement, anywhere I can get something that I can either re-make or use as-is. I'm pretty damned crafty when you think about it. Damn! Did I talk about sewing? I love to sew!! But I digress from the real story...

First of all, it was a madhose in the S.F.A.C.S. I should've known by the portable chairs that were stacked by the front door; these meant that people had actually waited in line to get in. (Yes, people do bring their own chairs to this place.) We went in. Everywhere there were women- and a few men- with bound and determined looks on their faces, like they had to take a good shit. A table of goods was piled high with clothes. I gingerly picked through it. Other women were literally grabbing the clothing, deftly eyeing each piece and then tossing it aside like some shucked ear of corn that had too many worms. Things were getting ripped. I decided to head past the shoes...big mistake! A woman had a shoe-alance sized pile of shoes, trying to squeeze her callused feet until a small strappy pair of Jimmy Choo's. (Mind you, I'm pushing a stroller through all this.) Ultimately, I managed to find a couple good pieces admist the ruckus, and I joined the checkout line of hyper-yet-pissed looking shoppers that wove around the back of the store. Three women at the front of the line called attention to themselves. They looked as if they were five-year olds who had picked out their outfits for the very first time. One was squeezed into a metallic pair of pants that was emblazoned with the Gucci symbol over and over; her top was way too small for her back rolls and they poured out of it, showing her bra from admist the flimsy Versace nightmare. (I could go on and on, but you get the idea.) Aparently they had a shitload of stuff "on hold". Like, I mean three large garbage bags of stuff that they were digging through. The last time I put something on hold at a store, I didn't have the money because I was sixteen and I hadn't got paid yet. Nowadays, I'm either going to buy it or not. It's quite a simple choice, really. One of the women was holding a Gucci leather strap, which appeared to be a brown dog leach, but was really a keychain. "You gonna buy that?", her friend asked. "No, I'm just gonna hold it. It still sixty bucks, on sale." Glad we got that cleared up. Meanwhile, a man decided he didn't want the Prada handbag that he was going to purchase and he held it up for anyone else in line if they wanted it. "Ooh, me!", screamed one of the women. This Prada bag was bubblegum pink and looked like something I used to take with me when I went rollerskating in 1985. It was terribly ugly, about the size of a business envelope, but I guess the Prada label made it all worthwhile. As I stood their with Vince, milling all this over, the line behind me grew, And that's when he started to cry.
He's teething, the poor thing. Thank god I can't remember what it feels like to have a tooth spontaneously erupt from my gums, but I'm sure I'd be crying too, if I could. The tall, willowy russian lady behind me said, in broken english, "Why don't you see if they will let you in the front?", and promplty took it upon herself to go to the front of the line and ask for me. "That woman has an infant. Can you let her go?" The fashion victums answered,"No! I got three kids an' no one's ever done that for me! No way. We was here first." I smiled at the russian lady. She said, rather loudly, "That's a sad way to live", and I looked at her and thanked her for trying. It turns out that the three badly-dressed women were still there after I had checked out. I happened to get an extrodinarily nice man to ring me up, and I ended paying a lot less than I thought because there were some sales that I hadn't known about.
A good buy brings out the worst in people, like an all-you-can-eat buffet, or the breakfast bar at a Big Boy's. Food and clothing sales make us primal: the more there is, the more beastly we become.

weddings, weddings everywhere

2005-08-07T11:40:00.000-05:00

For the past two weekends we have been going to out-of-state weddings. The first was my brother's in Pittsburg PA which turned out very nicely. Although Pittsburg looks alarmingly like Cleveland, Steve and Baby V and I had fun. Baby V did awesome on his first plane trip ever!

This past weekend, we had just came back from Conn. for Steve's niece's wedding. Of course, baby V did an outstanding job and everyone thought he was the cutest!!! But I have to explain the adventure that the V-man and I had together.

It was hot, like nintey-seven degrees hot and the church wasn't air-conditioned. None of the windows opened anyway; they were all stained glass. (Wouldn't have mattered because there wasn't any breeze) We sat on the wooden pews for a few moments and Vincent started getting really hot. His faced flushed red, he started throwing up and there was this awful heat rash which seemed to be covering his body more and more by the second. (It could've been me being dramatic, but he wasn't going to get brain-damaged on my account.) I took him outside and stripped his clothes off but that didn't seem to work. The limo driver must have seen me struggling so he invited me in the limo to change Vincent. We sat in the back for a while, Vince looking around comfortably as if he belonged in the limo and was quite used to it. At this point, the wedding was starting so we hurried out to see Steve's neice walk down the aisle. Very beautiful dress! I grabbed the keys to the car from Steve so V and I could go sit in the P.T. Cruiser with the A.C. on. I didn't think there would be much left to the wedding, so I figured that the V-man and I would go wait in the car for the remainder of it. It didn't happen that way. Look, I'm not stupid. I can drive a friggin Harley but I couldn't turn on the P.T. 'cause I didn't realize that you have to step on the clutch. (My Nissan is automatic.) I silently cursed American cars, and then I spied a package goods store and we hopped in the stroller and took off for it. I was thinking about A.C. for my baby and it didn't matter to me that this bar had plywood walls and no real windows. From the store's doorway, I figured I could get a good view of the church and simply walk back across the street when it was all over. Except for a few bearded and tattooed men, Vince and I were the only mother-son team in the joint. We were sitting in air-conditioned paradise, so it didn't matter. I waited and waited for the wedding to be over, but the catholics can't do anything fast, so I decided to be a good patron and order a light beer. Still we waited and there was no sign of the wedding party marrily busting out of the church. I ordered another beer. I imagined that the image of me in a sea-foam green silk dress and silver cuban heels slipping a beer with my son in a stroller might look a little odd. Then the sky suddenly grew dark, Vince was crying, and I figured that we'd better get going, as we might be bad for business at this point and it appeared it was going to rain. I pulled Vince's awning down over him to protect him as much as I could. Someone gave me a trash bag to put over the opening. I slipped off my shoes and my hose and stuffed them in the diaper bag. (I did this in the bathroom, okay?! I wasn't wearing any underwear to avoid the dreaded panty-line, but I was wearing a wonderful full-length D.K. slimmimg slip that I scored at the Sax outlet.) By this time, the sky was looking all the more omnious and the first few drops were beginning to fall. It was now or never. Vince and I shot out of the bar, like the proverbial bat. We honestly didn't have far to go. At that point, when the PT. Cruiser was only yards away, the sky opened up. Within seconds I was drenched, but thank goodness Baby V was dry. I put the V-man in his car seat as quickly as possible, struggling to put away the stroller, but gave up promptly when I realized I had cut my foot somewhere along the way. I got in the car to examine it, took off the silk dress that was now quite stuck to my body and sat in my ten-dollar slip, dripping. (It was originally sixty bucks!) Who should suddenly appear but Steve! The wedding was over! I wanted to go back to the motel to change in something-anything-but Steve wouldn't hear of it. Vince was in his seat, cooing excitedly. For the first time that day, Steve told me I looked cute. Not when I had perfected every stroke of my make-up, or when my hair hung in perfect Veronica Lake-like waves, but now, when I looked more like Marilyn Manson than anyone else at all. We were going back to his sister's house, and I could dry my clothes there. The five-minute journey hardly provided me a chance to fix myself, so when we stopped and Steve's mother handed me a plastic tablecloth to wrap myself in, I obliged. I stood with sea-hag hair and ruined mascara, clutching the blue plastic tablecloth around me, trying to get Vin out of the car so the family could meet him for the first time. I turned round and and I don't know who they were staring at more, me or Vin, but all I could say is "here's the crazy lady from Baltimore", and tried to carry on coversation as normally as possible as one could wearing a tablecloth while meeting distant relatives for the first time.
Get used to it, Vinnie. This is your mutha!

Charlie and the Chocolate Factory...and other stuff

2005-07-19T10:27:00.000-05:00

Vince and I saw CATCF on Saturday night while Steve was at my brother's bachelor party. Johnny Depp was great in the movie. Don't listen to the critics who say the movie's not good. Tim Burton really followed the original storyline very well. If you don't agree, go re-read the book. Willy Wonka was very odd, in fact, I doubt he really even liked children very much. I say, Johnny Depp got it right. I'll have to ask my brother, though, because he did a book report on CATCF every year from 3rd grade until 9th grade or so. He'd be the expert. (By the way, to the bee-atch who said "Oh my god, she's bringing a baby to the movies!": I hope you sat next to the hyper six year old who couldn't shut up and sit still during the entire movie. Had you sat next to Vinnie and I, you might have been able to actually watch the film.)

So somedays I feel great. I'm happy with my body; I like the fact that I actually have hips and a little ass for once. On these days, I decide to turn over a new leaf and enjoy myself. But the next day I'm right back where I started: I don't have a kind word to say to myself. I look and all I can see is ugly ugly ugly. So I try to analyze why I feel like this. It has nothing to do with bad moods, PMS, or meds. It has to do with the fact that I can't let go of the eating disorder because if I do, I'm afraid that I'll lose control and become some fat soccer mom that no one recognizes any more. Having these thoughts in the back of my mind keeps me from going over the edge, and just saying the hell with it all, I'll eat all godamned day if I want. Or so I think. I know it sounds absurd. In fact, I hate thinking about it (no one would believe that, now would they?It has been argued that I actually enjoy thinking like this. Perhaps these people don't know me as much as they think they do). I have so many other wonderful things to think about and so many other things to do that I really don't have time to worry about how I look. And it's not that I judge other women as I judge myself: I think most movie stars look sick nowadays with all their bones showing. Yet, day in and day out, it's always on my mind. A therapist once told me that it's up to me to get rid of this way of thinking. I want to, but I've been thinking this way since fifth grade. I'm 33 now; you do the math.

oh yeah, Steve and I saw Episode Three last week while V was at his grandparents' house. I really enjoyed it. I mean, what the hell do people expect? Episode two and four are already finished so there's very little left to the imagination. We all know what has to happen. It was really funny to see the two people in front of us turn and look quizzically to one another when they "found out" that Luke and Leia were twins! Imagine! I want to know what rock they've been hiding under for the last twenty-some years.(These people were my age, too. No excuses.)

Baby V's making this high-pitched scream right now. I like to refer to him as the Black Canary when he does this because it's enough to bring an elephant to its knees. So I'm going to go see what he wants. He'll probably just smile at me, like he always does. He's saying, "Ha! I got you mom!" You sure do, baby boy. You sure do.

2005-07-12T16:43:00.000-05:00

I feel like somebody cut my arm off! I miss Baby V!!!

I remember when Steve and I went to have a look at the ultrasound that first time. I knew I had to be having a girl: I had dreamed about a little girl with dark hair and large oval eyes named Gia skipping between us as we held her hands. I was all set to sew infant-sized leopard-print skirts and I had already made a baby blanket patterned with tiny pink kittens and balls of yarn. I was going to raise her to be the girl I had always wanted to be: independent, nonplussed by what others said and untouched by the propaganda that propelled her mother into an eating disorder. After all, I thought, I know what to do with a girl. Being a girl myself would surely give me an edge. So when the ultrasound tech smeared my belly with the gel and proceeded with the test, I happily peered at the screen, waiting to be shown the little vagina so I could call my mom with the news. "Okay, I know what it is", the tech said in her Italian accent. "Do you want to know?" she asked us. Of course we did. Who wouldn't take advantage of technology nowadays? "Well, if that's not a penis, then I don't know what it is", she said triumphantly. A penis? Gia has a penis? Then it struck me: Gia was a boy.
I literally had moments of panic after that. I had no idea what to do with a boy! How was I going to raise a boy? I did not even have a boy's name chosen yet. I didn't even like any boy's names! After I calmed down, images of my childhood played themselves out in my mind like some lost super-8 films. Age five. First day of kindergarden. I played with the big blocks and built a car with the boys. I had no interest in the wooden stove with its red-handled pots and pans. Fast-forward to age six. Played with spotted salamanders in the creek near my cousin's house. Dug up earthworms and placed them in empty cool-whip tubs to take them for rides on my big wheel. Age nine: If there were girls in the neighborhood, I didn't know them. The boy next door and I were playing with my metal Tonka trucks in the mud behind my mom-mom's house. Age ten or eleven years. Built jumps out of scrap wood and pedaled full-speed over them. I had a boy's racing bike with a yellow banana seat that was the envy of them all. Twelve or thirteen. Played flashlight tag with my brother. Ran into him as we were each coming around opposite sides of the house. He was riding a bike, I wasn't, and I still have the scars on my leg. The images continued, and I started to understand why I was being shown them: I was meant to be a boy's mother. In fact, I knew nothing at all about raising a girl. Did I really want to tell my daughter what I did with my one-and-only Barbie and my mother's old Ken doll? (okay, I stripped the Malibu Barbie nude so I could see her tan lines, and I made Ken wear all of her clothes.) As she got older, how would I shield my daughter from all the skeletal images of women on the pages of magazines, sandwiched in between the instructions for the new "diet of the month" and a recipe for death-by-chocolate brownies? When should she start birth control, and how in the hell do I talk to her about it? What if she became the girl I could never be: frilly, afraid to get dirt under her nails, student council president football-player dating...Oh god, what if she became a cheerleader?!
Everyday, I thank whomever that I was blessed with my boy. I cannot imagine it any other way. I can't wait until we can look for bugs in the woods and we can build forts in the house out of sheets on rainy days and I can share my vintage matchbox car collection with him. Hell, I would've done the same if he were a girl. (It's the only way I know.) And he doesn't even mind the baby blanket I made with the tiny kittens on it.

Tim Burton rocks!

2005-07-11T12:23:00.000-05:00

The Corpse Bride is the newest one Tim Burton's working on now..being a huge fan of his, I just can't wait..still looking forward to seeing Charlie and the Chocolate Factory so I hope it's at the Drive-In, otherwise we'll have to wait. I'm just going to get around to seeing Star Wars in the next few days or so since Lil' Vinnie's going to be at his grandparents' house for a few days while I go to work for summer planning. (See, you thought teachers had off all summer.) I have all these plans for what I'll do when Vin is away; hopefully I get some workout time and some sleep. In reality, I know I'll just sit around missing my boy.
It just occured to me that having a kid gives you the excuse to talk to yourself when you're out in public. I'll have Vin in the cart and I'll be self-narrating throughout the entire trip. "Mommy wants to look at these just for a minute" or, "Would you like me to buy bananas this week?". and, now I refer to myself as mommy to almost everyone. It's kinda creepy. I'll say shit like, "Mommy's going to go get a shower now."
Holy shit! I'm a parent!

PMS or...depression?

2005-07-06T18:41:00.000-05:00

Can't tell the difference sometimes. I was just exhausted today for some reason...I went to the mall to walk (that would depress anyone) but when I got there I was so damn tired that I could barely make it two laps. How am I supposed to rid myself of all this baby fat if I can't even get motivated to walk? I'd rather take Vincent outside to walk, but it's so humid and I don't want him to overheat. Then every single driver annoyed me in some way on the way home: cutting me off, not letting me over even though I have my signal on and I'm running out of road. Listen, it's not a personal attack if someone wants to get over, especially if their damned signal's on! For fuck's sakes, just let 'em over! Don't even get me started about driving and cell phones. I saw an episode of Mythbusters recently that demonstrated how driving while talking on the phone is worse than driving (slightly) intoxicated. So anyway, I get home, and I put Vin in his cool little saucer chair thingie that Nat and Thomas lent me (he loves it!!) and I try to alter this dress that I'm supposed to wear to my brother's wedding rehersal in god-forsaken Pittsburgh. (You read it here first: I hate Pittsburgh! Get over it!) I took about an hour last night to "dial up" my dressmaker dummy to my "new size" (don't get me started again!) and I made sure I pinned the dress, and I even tryed it on afterward to see how it fit. Perfect. Okay, so I sew it up today and I try to put it on. You'd have to see this. I'm in my living room, trying to squeeze my ass fat into a dress that somehow is now about three sizes too small! I look in the mirror and I see one of those mothers I don't like- I look dumpy...what the fuck happened to my waist?! I know I had/have an eating disorder, but for crissakes this is disgusting! And while I'm at it, my tits look like pancakes with a single blueberry on top. WHAT THE FUCK?! Look seriously, I love my Vincent more than anything in the entire world. You cannot possibly know this unless you have a child. Yep, I had a miscarriage before him and I was elated to be pregnant again. But the physical part of being pregnant I HATED IT! I STILL hate the way my body looks now, only I realize that some of it is in my head and some is truth, but this is bullshit! My entire bone structure changed! So- back to the dress- I sit down and try to rip out all the stitches, only it's real difficult with this type of fabric because it's one of those cheap chinese brocade dresses. I put the dress away for a little while so I don't have to look at it, and I take Vin out of his saucer chair and play "I'm gonna get you" which is his favorite game of the moment. I love hearing him laugh outloud; there's nothing better that that, let me tell you. Anyway, I'm just real tired. He gets into one of those crying jags there's nothing I can do about it and I feel like a failure. Here I am, at home all day and I can't even get a baby to stop crying. Geez. (Anyway, just as an aside, if one more person asks me if I'm goning to have another kid, I'm going to go crazy! Let me enjoy this one for chrissakes!!)
So, is this depression or PMS? who knows! Every single time I feel down, everyone tells me, "it must be the medication's not working". Could it be that I'm just in a bad mood? Am I allowed to get in a bad mood without having to go see a shrink every time? I haven't had PMS in so long, I forgot what it's like.

Ev'rybody's talkin' 'bout

2005-07-04T19:00:00.000-05:00

TOM CRUISE!!!!
I liked you as The Vampire Lestat, but even that cannot redeem you now, bastard!

The fact that you jump around like a sick monkey with your little girlfriend is no business of mine, even though it's annoying and I've seen Nicole Kidman in person and she's goregeous and I have no idea why you left her (only I'm willing to bet it has something to do with Scientiology and maybe she got sick of the aliens)

But, Tom, listen, Tom, you know NOTHING about postpartum depression. When's the last time you give birth, asshole? Oh I forgot...you're a man! YOU CAN'T! So you CAN'T possibly know what it's like to feel like after squeezing a seven pound human being out of your freshly-cut anus and then having to go home and be totally overwhelmed with the realization that you can't fuck this up and having all of the hormones that were building in your system for nine months suddenly come rushing out of you. You've never woken up with a brand-new body type and I doubt you've gotten up every hour on the dot and cried with your colicky newborn that you have no idea what to do with. I doubt you know the kind of love that a woman feels for her newborn, so much that it hurts and your breasts are leaking and you have to sit on a rubber ring like some geriatric deflated whale. Speaking of breasts, did yours sag? Mine sure did. My ass got wider, too. How 'bout yours? I could go on and on, but you get the idea. Or perhaps you don't. Guess you were too busy getting your medical degree or communicating with aliens to stick your own foot in your mouth. Without the medication I was prescribed, I would have not been able to get out of bed and care for myself, let alone my infant son. SO I say FUCK YOU! Go fuck yourself.

I feel so much better now.

The Necklace

2005-07-04T18:33:00.000-05:00

Baby V and my mom and I were in line at the Roses in Chestertown. Behind us was a young man, Mexican, a migrant worker who was probably bussed to the shopping center from the nearby farm. He was swarthy, short, couldn't have been more than twenty-one years old. The locals eyed him with suspicion as they often did to anything different in that town. That's when I noticed Baby V smiling. "A beautiful baby", the man said in a heavy accent. Vin continued to smile. The man's thick fingers, well-worked and rough, reached to stroke Vin's soft feet. "What's his name?", he asked. I told him. "Vincent. A nice name." I was used to people going ga-ga over my son. After all, I did every day. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the man untying a necklace from around his neck. A quartz crystal was expertly suspended in an intricate netting of hemp thread, flanked by tiny beads. Two knots supported larger glass beads on either side. He double-knotted the necklace to Vincent's car seat. "This is for- I don't know how to say- for protection." I was overcome with emotion at this gift; a stranger giving something of his own to my baby. I protested at first, but the man insisted. I thanked him, and I was so blown away but the gesture that I instantly forgot all of the spanish I knew. Vincent's tiny hand reached out to touch the crystal. I looked at the man for the last time, and there in the man's eyes was something old beyond his years; a sadness that I could not touch. But my Baby V had, somehow.

It's time

2005-06-22T10:28:00.000-05:00

It was a year ago on Father's day that I found out. I had dashed in to Happy Harry's to buy a pregnancy test for the upteenth time and it had lost all of its mystery. A bottom-of-the-line pregnancy test and a diet sprite. I had long stopped paying extra for the ones that promised early or more accurate results. Sometimes, against my intellect, I'd buy multi-packs of the piss sticks and use them one right after another just to be sure. I remember peeing on the stick and seeing the faint line appear. I could imagine myself as an old-time cartoon character with my eyes bulging out of my head at the sight of it. Only it wasn't funny, and I sobbed, head in hands and still on the toilet.
I was never maternal. I've always adored children but I never considered myself mom-material. You'd find me out, taking the long way home on my Harley, dancing in a cage at E.N. in D.C., getting a tattoo, drinking a little too much. That was me. I never wanted to be a mom because I never wanted to wait up for someone at night. I did not know how to change a diaper or what to do about colic. I had myself to worry about, and that was fine with me.
Something changed all of the sudden. Perhaps it was the combined effect of seeing so many of my friends having children of their own. I've never been one to follow the crowd, but kids really did say the darndest things! And how fricking adorable they look in their little dresses and tiny shoes! They actually make green Doc Martens in toddlers sizes! My husband and I did some soul-searching and we thought, let's give it a go. I mean we were thirty for chrisakes!
Didn't take me long that time. I got a kitten the day I took my first pregnancy test. I brought the kitten home in a copier paper box, presented it to Steve, and said, "Well, I guess you'll have to empty the cat boxes from now on." He did not get it at first, then a worried wave of understanding crossed his face and he left the room, right in the middle of petting the new kitten. Of course, I told everyone. People at work presented me with cards and tiny baby gifts. I looked at websites with cool clothes for punk babies and bought a diaper bag at Hot Topic. My family was excited and already planning visits to Disney World. I had never been so nervous in my entire life.
I remember the day we went for the ultrasound. Steve had to call to get directions, because although I had gotten directions (twice) I kept forgetting them as soon as I hung up the phone. I was so nervous I could not stop shaking the entire time in the waiting room and I almost pissed myself. When it was my turn, I got on the table and waited to see the first pictures of my baby. The placenta was there, full and perfect. I heard the tech say to herself, "But where's the baby?", and I lost it. The doctor was on the phone. Something about miscarrage. Blighted ovum. I was numb when I got into the car, Pink Floyd was on the radio and it was raining softly now. For the first time ever, I felt like a mother.
I won't go into all the details after that, like how on the very day I came back to work some well-meaning person asked me to decorate the principal's office for her newborn granddaughter, or how the news was suddenly filled with stories of mothers killing their own children. I will not talk about the other pregnant women at work, who compaired their bellies everyday, or the women I overheard in Walmart yelling at their three kids while they tiredly rubbed their swollen bellies. I can't describe the silent horror that I went through, sometimes waking at night and sitting in the dark hallway outside the bedroom trying to determine if I was just dreaming or not. I'm not going to pretend that my story is unique or uncommon. But my world, my small lingering sense of spirituality, my sanity, all of it was rocked. Changed, gone, transmutated, whatever.
So several months later, when I peed on that little stick on Father's Day, I cried. I didn't tell anyone, even after an ultrasound revealed a perfect tiny heart. I waited a long time to decorate the nursery and avoided baby websites. But when I held him, all blinking eyes and gangly legs and arms against my chest on that wonderful day, I knew I would have had it all happen over and over and over again.

I love him more than life.

And he just woke up from his nap, so I've got to go.

Gettin' By

2005-06-16T23:24:00.000-05:00

So I get Baby V all suited up, fed, diaper changed and I drive the 30 minutes or so to Costco in White Marsh. I get him out of the car, struggle to put on that damned Infantino thing so that he can ride on the front of me like some high-tech kangaroo and manuver myself to the super size carts which only seem to have three working wheels. I drop my wallet twice trying to get the membership card out of it to show to the door person who I know is just there to scare away any potential terrorists who want to purchase styrafoam cups in bulk. I go to where the baby formula and diapers are (near the pet supplies!) and discover they're out of The Jumbo Box of Pampers Cruisers Size 3, so I have to settle for Huggies, which I don't like. Trying to lift a jumbo size box of diapers while having a baby strapped to you is no small feat, but we do it anyway. I grab a box of formula, six bottles to a pack and lug them to the cart. To this I add a tub boasting gallons of baby detergent, which is way too expensive if you ask me, but I really don't want to be responsible for an infant outbreak of eczema. As I try to push the cart one-handedly, I almost topple a display of shampoo. I've got to drive the cart with one hand because baby V has recently discovered his toes and I don't trust the Infantino to hold him if I let go all the way. What's a few velcro straps going to do? He's really trying to get at his feet. I'm feeling quite smug as I've found the line with the fewest people. The guy in front of me only has a dozen fold-up tables on his pallet and it's not Saturday so there are'nt mass quantities of people here trying to feed their families off the free samples of meatballs and powerbars. I finally get my turn, hauling all the stuff onto the belt and dropping the Amex card in the process. Baby V is still going for his toes, slightly knocking me off balance, but I grab the edge of the register and manage to get the card to the woman behind it. The cashier graciously lets me know that the credit card isn't mine. I say I know, it's my husband's. I wipe the slobber from under V's chin. (Is it possible for him to be teething at four months?) I wait while a manager is shouted for from behind a counter somewhere. "You can't use the card. See, it says on the back here that it's non-transferable." Non-transferable. She says it to me like I'm three, not thirty-three. I explained that I've used it before. Three times. "That's because you just got by. It's the credit card company's rule, not ours. They might not get paid." I look at the total. It's somewhere near nintey dollars. I imagine American Express going belly-up, laying off employees by the hundreds. "It was that woman at Costco. The one who used her husband's card to buy the baby formula. She did us in." I'd be hated by thousands of hard-working Americans for forcing a credit card company to go under. Whatever. I pulled a Chief Joseph and declined to fight it, mostly because baby V was starting to get antsy.
In the future, I will go to the cashier who looks the most sleepy and the least caffienated. I guess that's how most things work: (hold your ears baby V!) if you don't get caught you just might get by.

Morning

2005-06-15T19:39:00.000-05:00

It's never any good when you get a call early in the morning, especially on thanksgiving when your several hundred miles from home. Even though he was sick and nearly eighty, I still couldn't believe it was my grandfather. I expected them to say that he was in the hospital. I mean, it was Thanksgiving. Who dies on a holiday? But I guess it was like him to get out of a holiday, after all.
I drove past the old house and saw the rubber strap he used to fasten the gate to the fence. He always thought the dogs would escape if the strap wasn't secured. Come to think of it, my old black lab might have, once or twice. I guess the new people never saw any reason to take off the strap, even though I'm sure the rubber was cracked by now and they didn't even own a dog.
He took us to the fair, the three of us grandchildren. We were young then and it didn't bother us a bit to dress alike. We got there early in the morning; the cows were still asleep and the horses were wearing blankets. He waved to a man by the stables, and by the time he had finished chatting with him, Pop had a grin and six free packs of Wonder Bread Hot Dog Rolls. They had worked at The Point together, way back when he could lay bricks straighter than nobody's business. I have some of his tools, labeled "Lee" in large yellow letters. When he worked the night shift, my grandmother would take a huge, light-blue bowl of ice cream up the steps to him every evening. He would eat it in the dark, lit by the dim glow of some television show. I never knew him to gain weight or sweat, as he had developed an uncanny ability to avoid both. We were all amazed that on a certain nintey degree day in Disney World, the man was wearing jeans and a long-sleeved shirt and that he actually shouted out loud on Space Mountain. He was having fun.
He was gruff sometimes, and was known to talk while holding a cigar in the corner of his mouth. He didn't like to go out to dinner. Most celebrities, politicians and public figures annoyed him. But when he told his stories, stories of his brother and him playing some trick, or the time he snuck out of the barracks in the army, his clear blue eyes would light up. There's one picture of him in my wedding album of such an ungaurded moment, his eyes caught in a laugh. Had he'd met my son, I would have had the chance to see him like this one more time.
I keep expecting him to show up sometime. After all, he never got to see my new house and I'm sure there's something that could be just a bit more safe with a little tweaking. When I visit my grandmother I expect to find him tinkering with some project in the backyard. I don't remember that in the end he never really got off the chair anymore. I'm no longer seeing the swollen ankles and witnessing his refusal to admit he could no longer drive.
I got my stubbornness from him.