Big Fucking Babies. It's Not Just For Breakfast Anymore.

So after being a major fucking baby and having a meltdown on Saturday morning about being so goddamn poor, I pulled myself together, focused on the positive, thanked my lucky stars that we don't have debtor's prisons, and I went to my friend's bridal shower and had a pretty good time. 

The shower favors were cookies [fine] but the gifts were makeup stuff - Clinique, Lancome, Estee Lauder, etc, which was even better in my book.  I picked a little Clinique bag full of goodies [most of which I gave away, because I have no use for eye serums and the like, because I have never used it and my anxiety will not allow me to use something new & serum-y near my eyes because I may go blind], but ended up second guessing myself.  It's a sickness, really.  I wasn't "OH! NEED THAT!" about anything, so I picked the Clinique stuff because I like Clinique stuff and then spent the ride home thinking, "I should have gotten the Kate Spade makeup bag [even though it was just a plastic makeup bag, and I have 6 of those floating around in my closet] or I should have picked up some Estee Lauder something for my sister for her birthday." Whatever.  I never let myself win.

One of the things I got was an eyeshadow set similar to this. I love eyeshadow in theory and am trying to work it into my daily routine, but I grew up in the 80s, so I have a hard time with the less is more approach.




Saturday was actually a really fun day [& a really long night - some friends were over until 2am!  We're old! I can't do that anymore!  Especially sober!].  The shower was good, barring my crazy on the way home.  I got home to find my daughter's friends assembled for the horror movie party she was having and, as a surprise, my husband's friends had assembled to watch the US lose to Ghana in spectacular fashion.  One of my husband's friends had his 2 year old daughter over and she was so fucking cute that I'd almost have another kid except for the whole not wanting another kid thing. 

Anyway, the kids watched The Blair Witch Project and The Ring, getting good and sugared up to heighten the scare, and we got them pizza after the husband's friends left in dejection.  The husband and I were settling down to a quiet evening of ignoring each other via reading and watching The Daily Show & The Colbert Report episodes we'd DVRd when my friend called and said she and her husband were coming over to hang out [their kid was one of the ones screaming periodically from fear. Or from being a 13 year old girl.  Same thing, right?].




 Seriously.  Who doesn't want to have sex with this guy?






So they came over and we hung out and the movies ended and other parents showed up and we all chatted and then . . . and then . . .

Did you ever wonder how people simply allow themselves to behave like fucking babies in front of other people?  I am constantly amazed at how people cannot manage to keep their shit together.  Save it for home, right?

Anyway, a few of the girls wanted to sleep over, and decided to make their pleas when their parents showed up to pick them up.  I was o.k. with this, because I knew that either the girl would be sleeping with them or with me, and I voted for them.

So the parents were very o.k. about it, the usual ribbing about how they could have called or planned ahead, except for this one parent.

This one parent, who already had cheesed off the husband because she was a whiny fuck about the party ending at 10pm on a Saturday ["Really? 10 o'clock? Because she's had a long day and blah blah blah" And husband, who has never met this woman [I've met her once, I think], is thinking "BITCH, THE US JUST FUCKING SCORED AND I MISSED IT BECAUSE YOU HAVE TO RECITE YOUR CHILD'S ITINERARY TO ME? PICK HER UP AT 9! HELL, TAKE HER NOW!!" But he is polite, so he told me he just smiled and nodded and said, "Yup, 10pm.  That's right."] . . .

Anyway, this parent shows up to pick up her kid and the kid is asking to sleep over and I say it's o.k. with me if it's o.k. with her, and this mother THROWS A SHIT FIT at her daughter.  In front of everyone.

Seriously.

"WHY COULDN'T YOU CALL ME?  I am SO MAD at you right now!  This is ridiculous!"

And then she STOMPED out of my house without another word and went into her car and I looked at the other 4 parents plus my husband and we were all, "Um. What the fuck just happened?"  And did I suddenly get custody?

So the girl ended up talking to her mom [& dad, I think] and stayed over.  I felt pretty bad for her.  Because even I, who can be the queen of snapping and blowing a fuse, can manage to keep my shit together while I am doing drop off and pick up IN FRONT OF PEOPLE. How mortifying, right? As if being 13 and merely having parents isn't embarrassing enough.

The girls all slept in the living room [I have no idea how we have 3 sleeping bags when the only one who goes camping is the girl] and they managed to get some sleep, even though they were FREAKED OUT.  I had a rough night because I am already a light sleeper and JUST when I was falling asleep around 3am, the girl came into my bedroom because she was freaked out, snapping me awake and giving me another 30 minutes of pleasegodletmegotosleeprightnow.  I'd love it if the husband dealt with shit like this, except he will not wake up for ANYTHING.  Seriously.  The girl and I had the lights on and were carrying on a conversation and he was snoring like the motherfucker he is.

Sunday and Monday were markedly less eventful.  Plus they included headaches.

And I keep trying not to shit myself when I wonder how we're going to pay our bills. 

Hey, world, what the fuck is your problem?

I am sitting here trying to figure out where it all went wrong and what I should do about it.  But thinking about where it all went wrong just spirals into memories of every bad choice I have ever made about everything, which doesn't help because A) I cannot psychically or emotionally handle any more bad thoughts about the misery that is my life; and B) I'm trying to focus solely on my shitty work life here.

So I wonder what the fuck is the problem with the world, and why it is shitting on me and what I'm supposed to think about it.

How about fuck you?

How about I am so sick and tired of being poor - not just I can't have that purse I want right now, but creditors calling my house and which bill don't we pay this month poor - that I cannot stand to be around people?  I really can't.  My misery and bitterness are eating me alive.

Fuck people who say that money can't buy happiness.  I'm here to tell you that it can.  Or a near enough approximation.

Because poverty?  Poverty and debt that you took out because in the long term a (MASSIVE) student loan payment would be a way to get ahead for you and your family?  POVERTY WILL KILL YOUR VERY SOUL.

I have made so many, many mistakes in my life.  They are legion.  But without fail, without a doubt, my inability to earn a living has been the biggest.  It's not for lack of trying.  It's not for lack of ability.  I don't know what I'm lacking but it's lacking so fucking much that I'm pretty sure we're going to lose our house and cars.

I have never had a job that paid me a decent wage.  I have 3 degrees - B.A., M.A., J.D.  I cannot find a job in any field.  It's like I'm repellent.  I don't know why.  But I am.  And I cannot handle a single second more.

I have honestly hit the point where I would gladly sell my eggs, except my eggs don't fucking work anymore.  Great.  Thanks, fucked up body.  Thanks, PCOS.  Thanks, fucking universe that has decided to shit all over me and make getting out of bed every day a major hurdle.

I have to go to a bridal shower today.  I spent the past week fretting and hemming and hawing over what to get this person - this person who is my friend, this person who asked me to be in her wedding, this person who I actually like very much.  Because my budget is $30, and that $30 is coming out of our food/household supplies budget, which is currently at $45 for the week.  With $0 in our checking account.  And no more credit cards to rely on.  No more nothing.  Just all bullshit.

Anyway, I have to go to a bridal shower and I finally got the gift (a picture frame) but I still don't want to go.  Because the shower is 45 minutes away and I have to pay for gas. 

When you are poor?  EVERY SINGLE THING you do is broken down into money. 

We've been in bad circumstances before.  My husband got laid off and couldn't find a job for almost a year.  I had no job and couldn't find a job for over a year - and when I did?  I, with my B.A. and M.A. and winning personality?  At 35 years old, I ended up with 2 part-time jobs - one of which paid me $7/hour, the other of which consisted of my typing up reports and correspondence all day, neither of which even remotely something I wanted to do.  But I did them.  I did them and I liked the feeling that we were paying down our debt and we finally were able to pay bills when they came due and then I realized, hey, if I get a JD, I could be a lawyer, and they make money, and why don't I try that?  I've always wanted to be a lawyer.   

So I did.  And the market crashed and this fucking city and state are the shithole unemployment stars of the universe.  And I sit here, wondering how I'm going to smile and pretend I don't hate every.single.person who is gainfully employed.  I don't know if I can.  I really don't.  But I don't want to be that hateful, sad, bitter person, either.  It hurts too much to be her. 

Fucking world.

Accidental Foodie

I have a very, very low opinion of people in general.  [And yet I am continually surprised when they get up to some kind of fuckery.  I should delve a little deeper into that, but, eh, who cares, right?  I'll just hate and be disappointed. It's like my favorite type of game because it never, ever ends.] [But not a low opinion of you, because I think you, in particular, are fucking awesome. Really. You are.  My favorite.]

Anyway, some of the people I hate the most are those who are VERY VERY serious about fill in the blank here. Whatever the topic is, there are those people who feel very strongly about it, and I just have no patience for people who are that ardent about whatever and have zero sense of humor. [I am also a person who likes to skate really really close to the edge of propriety when exercising my sense of humor.  Actually, I am that person who will say that horrible funny thing and then go, "What? You were all thinking it."  Even if you weren't, you'll still laugh.  Maybe uncomfortably, but whatever, it was funny.  What the hell was I talking about?  And don't I sound like a complete fucking tool?  LET'S BE FRIENDS!]

ANYWAY AGAIN, I was thinking this most recently about people who are super serious about food.  Who only eat organic this and locavore that and need to know who threshed the wheat that made that bread and was it fired in a brick oven and were those bricks in fact made locally by artisans who have spent their adult lives [apres working on Wall Street] learning exactly how to make the precise type of brick needed to get the perfect crust on that bread?

I think about these people dismissively, and, if I'm feeling generous, a bit pityingly.  And I do this even though I'm reading Martha Stewart or Real Simple or Organic Gardening magazine.  I think they are ridiculous to care that much about food and have WAY too much time on their hands and need to stop the incessant braying about their food and how important it is to blah blah blah.

And then, the other day when I was trying to figure out what to make for dinner and I realized it would all take forever, because I didn't start any bread dough or pizza dough or defrost any Amish chicken, I was shocked to find that holy fucking fuck I AM A FUCKING FOODIE.

I am one of these douchebag people who care about where their food is from and only cooks from scratch and is NOW GROWING HER OWN GODDAMN FUCKING GARDEN FULL OF FOOD.

Oh, my god, what is wrong with me?  I have become what I loathe.

Soon, I'll start reading Goop, and that will be the absolute end.




******

I haven't gotten anything for my husband for Father's Day.  Oh, wait.  I GAVE BIRTH TO HIS CHILD.  That's enough, right?  I'll just point to my c-section scar and say, "You're fucking welcome."

Wednesday Means Writing. But Not Coherent Writing.

I did my nails yesterday [You Ottaware Purple] but I forgot to put on top coat and they are already chipping. 

While this may not seem like such a big deal, I feel that it is typical. Typical of how bullshit things are. Typical of how I can't do anything right. Typical of how much aggravation life likes to throw at me if I am not ON TOP OF EVERY FUCKING THING EVERY FUCKING MINUTE.  If I slip, even for a second, things go down the shitter.  There is never a slip and then a slide into a giant pile of marshmallow fluff.  Nope.  It's CONSTANT VIGILANCE or it all goes to hell.

I am a control freak, but I am tired of being a control freak.  I want to be able to let some shit go, finally, for once.  I really do.  But when I do let stuff slide, even minor stuff, the aggravation is so not worth it.  Because running around after the fact trying to fix things is even more exhausting than making sure that every contingency is covered. 

***********

In other news, news that is good, the girl's last day of school is tomorrow.  FINALLY.  It seems like she's been in school for a thousand years.  She's so excited, but also a bit anxious because summer's slower pace is such a huge change from the frenetic school year, and she doesn't go to the neighborhood school, so she's worried about seeing her school friends. BUT, she's going camping with friends [because the husband and I do NOT camp] for a few days starting tomorrow afternoon, so that's helping with the "What am I going to do and when will I see my friends?" bit. 

Also, there's the sleeping in thing.

***********

I had to go through a metal detector yesterday and had to give up my tweezers.  I almost said to the woman, "Look, these are my emergency tweezers, for when I suddenly sprout chin or neck hair, and need to deal with it IMMEDIATELY.  You know what I mean, right?" But then I thought she'd think I was commenting on HER facial hair, and that she might get mad and really search me, so I let it go.

Maybe she needed the tweezers.  Maybe she forgot her emergency tweezers and saw an opportunity and took it.

I think I can respect that.  Especially since I did not have any wayward sprouting.  If I had, it would be a different story.

***********

There is a woman who goes to my gym who is fucking fabulous.  Not that tries too hard and dresses up to work out fabulous.  Just a super sense of style even while working out fabulous.

I desperately want to be her friend, but I don't know how to strike up a conversation because:

1. We are not in elementary school, so I can't just walk up to her and say, "I like you, let's be friends."
2. I usually see her in the parking lot as we're both leaving, and I don't want to make her feel like I've been watching and waiting for her.
3. She's usually talking to her friend, and I don't want to A) interrupt, because that would be rude; or B) have another person witness my humiliation.
4. I am generally NOT looking fabulous at the gym.  A lot of times my clothes don't match and last night's mascara is smeared around my eyes and my ponytail is nearer the side of my head than the back of my head.  That doesn't seem like my compliment would have a lot of weight behind it.  "Hey, I think you're fabulous.  I know you can't tell because of how I look right now, but I can be pretty stylish myself.  No.  Really.  I can.  Let me get my phone and I'll show you pictures.  Wait right there.  Wait.  Wait.  Where are you going?  Security?"

So I don't know what to do.  I almost walked up to her the last time I saw her and said, "I just wanted you to know that I think you have a great sense of style", but I thought that would be awfully weird and stalker-y, like I've been watching her for a long time, biding my time [oh, creepy, that is MY LIFE]. 

Plus, I was really sweaty because it was so humid, and nothing auspicious ever starts where only one of the parties is really sweaty.  I think that's the Golden Rule or something.

Finally. Finally over.

And this is the kind of stuff that made this past week so amazing. By amazing I mean here I am, none the worse for wear.  Or completely worn down by life.  It's 50/50.

• My mother and my sister constantly harangue me about how easy it is to make hummus. "Just put the chick peas in the blah blah blah" my ears shut down.  I'm sure it's easy; there are only a few ingredients.  You know what's easier?  OPENING A FUCKING TUB OF HUMMUS.  Except for this week, when I bought a goddamn tub of hummus and got it home and was so excited to have pita chips & hummus for lunch and then I opened the tub and the plastic seal had been broken.  FUCK.  So then I had to return that tub of hummus - which I didn't have time to do until the NEXT DAY! I HAD A HUMMUS-LESS LUNCH. SO FUCKING SAD - and get a non-potentially poisoned one.  So yes, Mom and Sister, I guess it technically would have been easier in THAT instance to make hummus.  But that doesn't make it right.
• I was watching the Daily Show [hi Jon! Love you!] and John C. Reilly was on talking about some movie he's in with Marisa Tomei.  All I kept thinking was really?  Marisa Tomei + John C. Reilly?  Really?  And then I remembered on Seinfeld where she purportedly liked George Costanza.  So Marisa Tomei + John C. Reilly / George Costanza = Retribution for winning that Oscar in 1992.  That's my theory.
• Earlier this week I almost died from yardwork.  My sister [perhaps you remember her from the first bullet point?] decided that we were planting a garden in my backyard.  HOLY FUCK, PEOPLE.  Farming is hard ass work.  I didn't even have a donkey or anything, so I was possibly even MORE Amish than the Amish.  You know what?  I WAS more Amish than the Amish, because for a while, I was working by myself - during the hard part, the digging of the grass.  It was me and the shovel, digging up a [really, very small maybe 3' x 6'] patch of grass.  IT WAS SO FUCKING HARD.  I was wiped out.  But we plopped down manure [not our own! Gross!  BAGGED manure, jeez.] and hoed the rows and spread the seeds, and those bastardly bastard animals that haunt our yard because I don't use pesticides better stay the shit out of my garden.  We planted cantaloupes, basil, green beans, cucumbers, lettuce, carrots, tomatoes, banana peppers and marigolds, because those ostensibly keep the freeloading animals away.  There are already some things sprouting up.  I'm assuming they are vegetables, but they may well be weeds.  I guess I'll find out when I try to make a salad.

Eh, that's all I have right now.  I had some more stuff to share, but I made the mistake of writing it down on a piece of paper that is now buried in my 5" high pile of things to look through.  I'm sure it was all quite fascinating, though. 

Balance is Bullshit

Positive:  Antibiotics seem to be working - ears are no longer stabby and I can swallow [hello, husband!].
Negative:  Side effects of antibiotics, including, but not limited to, bathroom issues.

Positive:  Got my roots colored, so I no longer look like Terri Nunn










Negative:  I'm so sick of getting my hair colored a boring brown.  I WANT FUNKY COLORS.  Stupid being a grown up.

Positive:  The girl got a really, really cute grown-up-ish haircut.
Negative:  She looks kind of like a grown-up.

Positive:  I cleaned out the vanity drawer full of hair stuff.
Negative:  Because the girl accidentally spilled my entire bottle of Aveda Confixor [$17 retail] in the drawer.  I spent about 45 minutes crying.  I cried while I cleaned it, I cried while I yelled at the girl for not being careful, I cried in the shower, where I cursed this stupid fucking life and stupid fucking house with its tiny stupid fucking drawers.  I hate crying.  And I hate that my life is so fucking bullshit that I ended up crying because of a $17 bottle of hair gel.  And I really, really hate that I yelled at the girl. 

Positive:  The girl is resilient.
Negative:  I feel like the world's shittiest parent, and like I have set her up for a lifetime of being afraid of people who blow their shit for not fucking reason, or for lame reasons, like spilling something.

Positive:  People in my life are supportive and care about me.
Negative:  I continue to mire myself in bad feelings.  Stupid brain chemistry.

It's like a sickness. Or it actually is one.

I woke up today not feeling so great.  Like, unable to swallow not great [poor husband, it's like he never wins].

I went to the doctor and found out I have strep throat & double ear infections.  Who loves antibiotics?  I DO!  Hooray for modern medicine.  Also hooray for delicious beverages and naptime and working from home.  Why do I want a "real" job again?  Besides the steady paycheck?  And benefits?

I stopped at Target to get my prescription filled and was looking for a lemon scented air freshener while I was waiting and ended up spilling air freshener juice all over my hand.  Which made me livid because what the fuck, air freshener manufacturers, you can't keep that shit contained? What are you, BP?

So then I spent about 10 minutes in the Target bathroom washing my hands like Lady Macbeth, knowing that the people who kept coming in and out were wondering about the crazy woman constantly washing her hands and muttering to herself, and knowing that they weren't close to wrong in thinking that I had some issues.

Also, when I go to the doctor, I wonder why some of the assistants don't tell you stuff like your temperature or your blood pressure or your heart rate when they take it.  Is it a secret?  Am I not supposed to know? Will I use this information for evil? I mean, I might, but they don't know for sure, right?  Shouldn't they give me the benefit of the doubt?  Or are they thinking that by not telling me my blood pressure, they are complying with the new HIPAA laws?

I told my husband about being sick and he suggested resting before he lambasted me for kissing him yesterday and trying to spread my germs like Typhoid Mary.  I thought I was the only one who got to yell at people for them getting me sick.  That seems unfair, like he's usurping my territory or trying to become me a la Single White Female.  I've got my eye on him.

O.k., now I have to go to a meeting that's already been rescheduled once this week.  I'm hoping it won't take long.  Maybe I'll paint dark shadows under my eyes and make myself look really washed out.  Wait, I don't have to, it's already there.

Lucky me.

Nature is testing me, and I have had enough

I was feeling a bit sleepy and thought about taking a nap - I've not been sleeping well AT ALL [thanks, stress!] - but I was also feeling virtuous, so I decided to run a load of laundry while I lay/laid [who knows? seriously? WHO KNOWS the proper usage here?] down so that I could be like one of those housewives of the future who have time to lay around fulfilling their own desires while machines do their work for them. 

I miss the future.

Anyway, I went down to the laundry room and began loading up the washer with the towels that were laying on the floor.  I dumped the last few into the machine and noticed a

GIANT MOTHERFUCKING MANY LEGGED BUT NOT A MILLIPEDE BUG 

on the floor.  Underneath the towels I had JUST TOUCHED.  With my bare hands. 

I almost barfed.

And panicked a little.

I couldn't figure out what to do.

I didn't want to step on it, because I was wearing sandals and what if I didn't get it on the first try?  What if it skittered [is there a worse word in the English language? Seriously.  Have you ever used skittered and not felt a hundred creepy crawlies all over your skin?] and I had to chase it, stomping my foot from spot to spot like I was at a hoedown? Or doing the Electric Slide?

Or worse, what if it skittered and part of it touched me?  TOUCHED ME ON MY BARE FEET through the straps of my sandals.  There aren't enough bleach wipes in the world to get rid of that disgustingness.

So I looked around quickly with one eye, the other laser locked on the INDESCRIBABLY DISGUSTING bug [because what if it skittered????? and I had to FIND IT? Because if I didn't find it, it could then come upstairs and touch me or something I love.  And my cats are beyond fucking useless; they would just watch it go by, like it was a cat hair tumbleweed.  WITH A GAJILLION LEGS.  I'm shivering in fear right now, just at the thought of that bug in my upstairs.] - anyway, my one eye searching, the other eye laser locked, and I found the giant mop with the plastic base that I SLAMMED down on that fucking bug until it was paste.  Really.  There is just goo left on the floor.

Because I have seen horror movies and I have seen nature shows and I know that things regenerate.  They come back from the dead. You have to be sure you have killed the evildoer, and killed it but good.

Now if you will excuse me, I am heading downstairs with a book of matches and some lighter fluid, because I need to cleanse the area.

When Animals* Attack**

* By animals, I mean spiders
**By attack, I mean hang on to my driver's side window until I can park the car and flick it off with my key and then stomp on it but good

~~~~~~~

Good morning!

You'd think, what with my giant to-do list of phone calls & emails to return & piles of paper to be dug through and packages to be prepped for mailing, that the last thing on my mind would be a post.  You would be wrong, because you would have underestimated my longstanding love/hate relationship with procrastination. 

Actually, it's mostly a hate relationship, but I'm trying to be more positive, so let's just say I love it, too.  The world needs more love.  Also more quality paper products, because I am a whore for paper products.

I've already been tested this morning, what with the spider on my window and the ridiculous inability of adults to follow practical drop-off procedures . . .

[a digression]
I believe I have already complained about the massive clusterfuck that is the after school pick-up at my daughter's school. People defy rules of etiquette, logic and gravity in order to create a situation that, every time I encounter it, leaves me shaking with rage.  Seriously.  I'm glad I don't pick her up very often because there would be blood.

Well, it turns out there are people who are incapable of dropping off their children in a mannerly way.  The drop off is so much easier because everyone lines up in a long, snaky line around the perimeter of the parking lot and inches forward to drop off their kid/s in an orderly progression at the designated drop off spot.

And yet. 

And yet there are still people who, because they are assholes, manage to fuck this up.  They will cut through the line and park in the lot or double park at the designated spot. Evidently there is disaster of some sort afoot and the president needs their help RIGHT NOW, but first they have to drop off their kid, so, you know.  No time to wait in line.

 Fuckers.
[back to our story]

. . . and a sudden influx of ANTS behind my microwave on the kitchen counter.

I am no fan of bugs.  I have often said that I would GLADLY rid the world of bugs and screw up the eco-food-chain, and if that means birds have to go, then they can suck it and die, too, because birds are creepy.

So to be deluged with ants is . . . I can't even explain the horror.  I've already wiped everything down with bleach wipes [humanity's greatest invention] and I've read up on home remedies to get rid of them, so there is now a nice pile of cinnamon on my counter.  I'm trying wiping with vinegar next, until I can get to Target & purchase ALL of their ant traps. 

And yes, I know that in actuality, there haven't been swarms of ants - it's not like those nature films - but one ant is too many and more than one is cause for a strike of nuclear proportions.

I loathe nature.