Good old captain crazy-pants
||[20 Oct 2027|12:19pm]
As of October 20th 2004...
I'm Ani, it's nice to meet you.
||[10 Sep 2014|11:00pm]
If I hide in the corner of the internet selling $1000.00 baby carriers oogling things I not only don't need, and can't afford but would never purchase even if I could justify it and had the money, then maybe it wont be the end of the world. Instead of studying for my credentialing exam on Tuesday or doing the housework, or trying to come up with an explanation for how someone who's reasonably intelligent and highly coordinated with a great ability to multitask could somehow manage to flunk a driving exam 5 times (this is just your regular old drivers test nothing exciting the same one you all took at age 16). And yet still pass the parallel parking EVERY SINGLE TIME with minimal effort. Due to my lack of drivers license it will likely be an extra 2-3 weeks of downtime before I can start earning money again.
Maybe if I just hide from all of these things staring at baby carriers for my toddler who's too big to really be warn anyway... maybe none of these things will matter.
And I wont have to have a panic attack every time I come across the #whyistayed hashtag, because it's too soon and I'm not ready even though it's been what now? 7 years since I've lived it? I should be over it. I should be able to talk about it. I should be righteous in my anger and validation and righty-right-rightness in my leaving.
Everything feels heavy and I'm lost again downtown in a sea of buses hiding behind a book on success; hint number one; successful people don't take the bus, because they have cars, and drivers licenses
Successful people don't wake up from nightmares of their former husband smashing through their living room windows and trying to take their babies and when in your dream you phone the police for help, they show up, and they tell you well "he's their father" and "he's entitled to see them" and "he can't be that bad, he seems calm right now, and if he were really so bad, so violent, why didn't you get a restraining order?" and you say nothing to the dream police-men, but you know it's coming when they leave, you're sure in that moment that like all the bad news articles you've ever read, he's going to murder you and your children as soon as they leave but before your new husband gets home from work.
And you wake from it, shivering and awful, knowing it wasn't real, the doors are locked, it's 3am and everyone's asleep.
You play it over in your mind until sleep reclaims you sometime around 5. Doze for an hour or two and get up, go to your drivers test and fail for the 5th time. All the while thinking about the first time you ever drove and how icy the road was in his bald-tired 1972 Ford LTD. You think about him yelling at you, the way he stripped you of any worth always breaking it down to what an embarrassment you were, the wife of a professional driver who couldn't or wouldn't learn to drive. And it became a part of your identity to take the bus, you clung to it, made excuses to have learners permit for 11 years...
And now here you sit, and you need this thing for work, and it's serendipitous, you can't avoid the issue of domestic abuse that week. And despite all those lessons over the summer, the last year of real effort made, of trying to GET OVER IT...
And here I sit, with another strip of freshly bought bus tickets, because I can't re-test for another 2 weeks.
I need a license for the new job.
I need it.
But I don't WANT it, and I'm #notready to take this all apart and get over the road block that has me reading my book on the bus.
|LJ Idol Season 9, Episode 16: A Terrible Beauty Has Been Born
||[05 Aug 2014|06:45pm]
We interrupt your regularly scheduled internets to bring you a thought about child protection. Grab your coffee spike it with some Baileys and get ready for Ani's Unpopular Opinion Time TM.
Ok kids recently in the news there have been a number of parents arrested for what can only be described as "questionable parenting practices". Things like letting your 9 year old play alone at a park, or allowing your child to walk unaccompanied. Now I don't personally care whether or not YOU think it should or shouldn't be legally allowed for children to walk, to or play in the park without another adult. I also don't care whether or not you did so yourself as a child that age.
What I wanted to talk to you about today is the idea of alerting the authorities. If I had a dollar for every self-righteous woman on a parenting forum who advocated the advice of "call child protected services" or "alert CPS" I'd be a rich, lazy, woman myself. However, the mystical powers that be don't pay me to watch other sanctimonious women berate eachother on the internet. They also don't pay me to be judge and jury while trying to decide who should and who shouldn't be allowed to parent or how or when or where or why.
The reality is parenting is a series of judgement calls. And sometimes we all get it wrong. Every single one of us. Some of us, get it really wrong. Some of us belong in jail, and our kids truly are better off raised by "the system". But before you or anyone else gets to make that judgment call we need to consider the following:
1) Is reporting this to the authorities a better option than offering to help? Is offering, your time, money or assistance or suggesting resources a possibility? If you have offered or tried to help. If this is not a first time you've witnessed whatever "bad" parenting practice from this parent then by all means continue to clutch your pearls and move on to question 2.
2) Is reporting this to child protection in the best interest of the child? What are foster homes like where you live? Are they made up of classy well educated people of similar color and class as the child you think you're going to save? Or are they more like the foster homes you read about in the news? Do you know for certain that foster-care is a better option for this child than the environment with the "bad" parenting you've witnessed? Are you aware that older children tend to end up in emergency shelters or group homes than in foster families? What are the realities of the child welfare system where you live?
Now I hear you, you're saying "well not all reports involve removing the child(ren) from the home Ani, you're being awfully quick to judge the system! And you know that's true, and I am all about educating and assisting more than I am about tearing families apart and after all you are just trying to help...
And some kids really do need help from someone more than just a concerned neighbor, which leads to this next question you need to ask before you start alerting the masses.
3) Who is the proper authority to report to? Should you call the police? Child protective services? A school counselor? What about the child's other parent or grandparent? Sometimes the police or CPS aren't needed, a kid you see often walking home alone from kindergarten may have a new baby sibling that's unwell and mom may not have a car. Sometimes what looks like neglect to you isn't really so much neglect as it is survival. Not everyone is sorrounded by caring friends and family. So that kid you see walking home from school alone who looks way too young in your opinion to be walking two whole blocks, well maybe dad or grandma can pick the kid up and drop him off? Or maybe mom doesn't know about the school's position on low income assistance for the school bus or maybe it's just none of your business. Heck maybe you can offer to help out yourself.
So now before I get off my sap box I have one last thing for you to consider before you reach for the phone and your local branch of the child protection office.
4) If the child remains in the home and you've meddled, gotten the proper authorities involved etc, are you, or is someone else going to be around for the fallout? Is the child going to be in more danger from the parent, step-parent or other siblings for the disruption?
Well all knew that kid, the one who's mom got reported to family services, and then the nothing happened, except maybe they moved and you never heard from her again, or he came to school with a black eye the next day and no one said anything because "well, we did report them". If you're going to disrupt a family, even a dysfunctional one, you have to remember that the children in that family need an advocate and a voice, if it seems wrong and you are seeing clear cut abuse and neglect one phone call isn't always going to do any good. Open your mouth and you really need to be prepared to open your heart, your mind, and maybe even your door.
We seem to have forgotten somewhere between carpools and violin lessons and keeping up with the
Kardashians Jones' that it takes a village, that we are a global village trying to raise these children to be whole happy functional adults.
Sometimes it is a clear cut case of "yes this child needs help, anywhere would be better than living with those monsters at home" but in the case of a 9 year old playing in the park while her mother works in the McDonalds's across the street, would we not have been better off handing the girl a leaflet for a local free or low income "keep kids busy in the summer program" or offering to introduce ourselves to the mother and keep an eye on the kid ourselves? At what point are we forgetting that the key piece in calling the police should be about getting help for those in need, not punishing those who have less.
Remember guys, it takes a village to raise a child.
This is my take on this weeks topic for idol. I just barely made it through last week and this week felt inspired to rant about current events who knows how that will go over, wish me luck!
||[27 Jul 2014|05:07pm]
Madelynn sucked back a bong rip like a teenager at a house party, “if Checkhov’s gun, were in the box with Schrödinger's cat, would Occam’s razor suggest that it would still have to go off?” she exhaled as she spoke spewing pot smoke into Gloria’s face.
“I have no idea Mads,” Gloria responded trying her best to imitate her friend’s smoking technique without actually inhaling much of the mind altering haze that swirled around the beautiful blown glass object that seemed to take up half of Madelynn’s coffee table.
“I know you’re not inhaling it Glorie I don’t even know why you bother coming over here anyway, it’s not like this is your poison of choice. Hell, I’m not even sure you have a poison these days. What do you do with your time now anyway?” Madelynn sucked back another hit before moving the bong off to a side table beside an ashtray shaped like a human skull and assorted other dingy gruesome treasures.
Gloria started counting off on her fingers her list of weekly accomplishments, “well I work a lot, and there’s school, Brad and I are talking about maybe getting married and moving out to the suburbs, I chair a committee at the university, you know a women’s rights type of thing, and Friday night is lady’s night at bar up the street so a few of us get together there, you know the one I keep inviting you to that you’re never available for?” she tried her best to make the question pointed but the swirling of the dope smoke was making her head swirl and as usual she was regretting coming to visit her oldest friend.
“Yeah bars aren’t really my scene, neither is that women’s lib stuff, I mean don’t we have rights and shit? Like I have the right not to shave my legs or go to lady’s night. I’d rather get high and go to guys night, watch the drunks stumble around an play darts. And I work too ya know!” Madelynn ran her hands across the skull shaped ashtray before picking it up and dumping it’s contents into the waste basket next to her chair.
“Oh I know you do,” Gloria scoffed, “it’s just, isn't working in a head-shop kind of a kids job? I mean we’re both in our 30’s aren't we supposed to outgrow this type of thing?”
Madelynn lit up a cigarette and took a long steady drag, “well first of all I’m the assistant manager of that head-shop and we sell books and clothes and stuff too, plus I get an excellent employee discount and well… I do have some side work you know,”
Gloria rolled her eyes, “yeah Mads, dealing dope to the local kids how noble”
“Hey Glorie, I feed stray cats and keep the kids off of hard drugs by selling them my product at a reasonable rate. I’m practically a pillar in the community!”
“Whatever you say Mads, I just think it’s about time you start thinking about what you want out of life I mean don’t you ever want to get married or have kids or any of the normal stuff? How about getting out of this apartment, you've been here since we graduated high school!”
“Hey listen up Barbie I don’t judge your choices, aren't you still in school? Where’s your husband, and 2.3 children? I like my apartment, I like this neighborhood, I like my crappy job and my weed, why do you even care?”
“I’m less than a year from getting my masters, Brad and I have been dating for 3 years, we’re planning to get married and have a baby or two yeah, I just… I want you to be a part of my life I always thought we’d grown up together!” Gloria raved waving the cigarette smoke out of her face, her cheeks hot with frustration.
Madelynn responded by grinding what was left of her cigarette into the eye socket of the skull tray, “Look Glor I didn't drag you down to the bad part of town you grew up in. I didn't force you to sit in that chair and pretend to smoke with me like back in the day. So why don’t we cut the crap and just tell me what you came here for.”
Gloria sighed exasperated, “I’m pregnant you idiot, and getting married and I want you to be my maid of honor and the baby’s godmother and maybe not be high the whole time you’re doing it!” Gloria blurted out tears tumbling out of the corners of her eyes.
“Aw shit,” Madelynn jumped up and opened a window, then turned on the ceiling fan before flopping down on the couch next to her friend, “Why didn't you just say so! For real? A baby? That’s so cool! I can be crazy aunt Maddy? Wow this is great!”
“You mean it?” Glorie sniffed, “like really?”
“Of course I mean it, you’re my oldest friend! I can’t let you go it alone through uncharted waters! This is going to be amazing! But Glorie I still gotta know one thing?” Madelynn asked with an impish grin breaking through the fog of her mid afternoon daze.
Gloria grinned, “If it’s about Schrödinger's cat in the box with Checkhov’s gun I’m pretty sure Occam’s razor would suggest that the cat is definitely dead Mads.”
“Excellent,” Madelynn replied with a cackle rubbing her hands together, “we’re going to have the coolest baby!”
This is my piece for week 15 of LJ Idol topic: Checkhov's Gun. Feel free to check out the other stuff that's up this week, there are some really great writers out there!
|LJ Idol Season 9, Episode 14: Confessions From The Chair
||[10 Jul 2014|06:34pm]
You see a lot of weird stuff as a barber, people tell you their secrets, they confess their sins. Like a priest or a bartender or any other type of amateur therapy job, barbers hear and see some weird stuff, after 45 years in the business Jake had figured he'd seen and heard just about everything, that is until he met the stranger from down south.
Jake's barber shop had been on the corner of 142nd Street and Morrow Ave for as long as anyone could remember, it was one of the oldest shops in town and just about everyone knew crabby old Jake Simmons who owned the place.
It was a sunny Wednesday in the fall of '98, the south wind blew through the tiny northern Ontario town bringing with it the first round of tumbling maple, elm and oak leaves in varying shades of gold, rust and chocolate. Jake was grumbling to himself sweeping the scattering debris off the steps leading up to his shop, muttering under his breath that his no-good nephew had missed some spots on the candy-apple red trim he'd repainted over the summer. Jake was so preoccupied with his busy-work he barely noticed the heavy set stranger's approach.
"Howdy," the man drawled with a glaringly American accent, "y'all open today?" He asked.
"Yes, I am, you here for a trim?" Jake replied taking stock of the man in front of him. The stranger was younger than Jake by a wide margin, probably not much over 40, he had the palest blue-grey eyes lined with large round eye-glasses, baring a striking contrast to his darker hair that looked about 2 weeks late for a trim.
"Yes sir," the younger man replied, "the name's Pete Crow, I'm a trucker from down south, just passing through but seems this little town was just to pretty to not stop by a take a look around."
"Well Mr. Crow, I'm Jake and this here's my shop" said the barber, "come on in and have a seat and we'll get you trimmed up and on your way."
"Thank you kindly sir," Pete replied.
"Mr. Crow I'll need you to take off your spectacles and we'll get started," Jake set to wiping the sterile solution off of his combs and scissors, and draping a cape around his clients neck, when he was all set he looked up at the man from down south to find his glasses still firmly perched on his face. "Your glasses, Mr. Crow, they'll need to come off," Jake repeated, trying not to sound annoyed with the stranger.
"I'm sorry sir but I can't do that, you'll have to cut around them," Pete replied.
"I beg your pardon Mr. Crow but in all my years as a barber I have never cut around a set of eye glasses, you'll need to take them off so I can give you a proper cut," the barber replied, his frustration now barely contained.
"Again Mr. Simmons I'll have to respectfully decline to take them off," Pete retorted, calm as the moment he'd walked up to the shop.
"Sir, I insist, this is bordering on absurd, I simply cannot in good faith charge you for a proper hair cut with your glasses on your face! May I ask you why you can't take them off?" The barber argued trying desperately to remain as polite as possible.
"Well Sir, I suppose I may as well just show you," replied the truck driver reaching up and pulling at the temples of his spectacles.
Well they say Jake turned an unholy shade of red that day when he saw those glasses come off the face of that stranger along with the poor mans prosthetic ear in one swift movement revealing the natural facial feature to be completely lacking.
"You see Mr. Simmons, I was born without my left ear, I hear just fine out of the right and they've given me these great glasses to even me out, but honestly Sir, you can just cut around them, I promise you it'll be easier that way."
Jake blinked wildly, trying desperately to hide his embarrassment, failing miserably of course, and quick as Mr. Crow had put his glasses back in their place, Jake was trimming and apologizing for his prior insistence.
Mr. Crow for his part, just chuckled, paid his bill and was on his way, but they say Jake was never quite the same around customers with glasses after that.
This is my entry for week 14 at LJ Idol, topic: Confessions From The Chair. This story is based on a true story I heard from a local barber when I was a very small child, whether or not any such thing ever took place however, I couldn't actually say.
|LJI Season 9, Episode 13 - Seasons
||[30 Jun 2014|09:36am]
I breathed in your poetry, your head on my chest.
Played through the curl of your hair, plucking the harp-strings one by one.
The melody, a remedy for the dull ache in my chest.
Wrapping myself around your scars, a human bandage for immeasurable pain.
There was a tragic beauty in the ether of that photograph,
entwined in the newness of spring.
The venom you spit, acrid and sallow,
shallow threats and the subtle dissolution of character, of self.
The rain falling bulbous and protruding on our flower garden,
drenching dried earth, as if to fill gaps; the cracks in our hearts.
Tigerlilies snapping their fire-wide jaws, thirsty for our longing,
poised and yearning for our next fight.
September brought it's north wind into focus,
the leaves shifting their shade inward.
Perspectives changing, wants becoming needs unsatisfied.
The pile of your laundry left stagnating in the corner,
as if to mimic the leaves that lay on the lawn,
untouched and unwanted, bracing for frost.
Not far from this place, is the land of continuous frost,
the ground never thaws and the ice seldom melts.
Our winters were long enough, our hibernation spent,
huddled against the glow of an old space heater.
Together enmeshed again, we braced ourselves,
for the separation spring would bring.
This is my entry for week 13 of the real LJ idol. We had an open topic this week so I ventured out of my comfort zone. A big thank you to my wonderful editors and proof readers who do their best to get through my word-vomit week after week despite not understanding how LJ works or why I'd want to write int his type of competition <3
|LJI Season 9, Episode 12 - Barrel of Monkeys
||[19 Jun 2014|06:30pm]
Scott-Allen flipped on the old slide projector, it was an archaic and unnecessary misuse of technology, especially in this day and age but he loved it all the same, especially for the one lecture he insisted on giving himself, a pet project lecture he called "Introduction to Hospitality Engineers Licences Limited". He pulled out his best Ben Stein-esque monotone and started on his presentation flicking painfully slowly through the old slides, "In 1939, at the beginning of what they refer to as the second global or "world war"," he began prattling, even adding the effect of miming finger quotations when he said "world war" just for that extra added non-dramatic effect.
He paused briefly glancing around the room before continuing, some wise-ass in the back row of the lecture hall was sticking a #2 pencil into his eyeball thus proving Scott-Allen was doing an excellent job with his torture by boredom lecture. The front row was sitting directly under a vent that by all rights and reason should have been blowing cold air into their climate controlled environment, the AC had been on the fritz lately and the vent chugged sticky humid warm air into the already overcrowded and poorly vented space. While Scott-Allen had fully intended to have it fixed the truth of it was he really didn't mind watching the new recruits sweat it out, especially the brown-nosers who thought somehow they would make themselves more appealing to him by sitting front and center of the dreary lecture hall.
He continued on his disquisition; "We saw internally here in the bank of S.O.U.L a minor uprising of some of our best and brightest, who thought they were perhaps ready for a full scale takeover of the mainstream culture. Now what we learned from the little adventure of one Jim Baker, who for those of you who weren't present or paying attention in history class, renamed himself to one Mr. Adolf Hitler, believing as he did that German names and identities were substantially more fear inducing than more English or American sounding names, he had also considered several Russian name choices including Vladimir Putin an unoriginal choice by one Don Brown who decided to merge top side most recently, was that conquest of the people top-side is not for the faint of heart and full scale dictatorship of a population base that large is best acquired via financial means. So we founded the Savings Our Users Love bank and trust shortly after Jim Bakers failure at absolute authority and have grown into a multinational conglomerate force in the past 60 years. Such ventures as Starbucks, McDonalds, and Disney all got their major funding from the bank of S.O.U.L and we are slowly encroaching on 3 billion members world wide. Contrary to popular belief we were in no way affiliated with George Lucas, the success of Star Wars was honestly a rare case of extreme luck."
Scott-Allen flipped through another half dozen slides that appeared to have nothing to do with what sounded like complete drivel coming out of his mouth. Just as it seemed he was losing his new recruits to day dreams of scrubbing toilets with toothbrushes or listening to insufferable aunt Martha talk about her latest colonoscopy, he paused his lecture, pushing his circular framed glasses up his pointed nose.
With a glint of flame-red flickering across his eyes he said; "Now do we have any questions?" The room remained silent, "Good now if you'll just turn to page 247 in your new recruit manual you will have 10 minutes to review all of this information after which there will be a brief quiz on material you are in no way familiar with that was not covered here today at all. No you may not leave early, yes your scores of the test will determine your placements in our organization. In all likelihood however you will end up cleaning out the cages of the flying monkeys, at least in the beginning, those of you who prove to be useful flying-monkey-feces collectors may advance in our organization, remember we are capitalists and teamwork will not be tolerated. Work smart not hard."
As he packed up his projector and began wheeling it's screeching metal case out of the lecture hall, he turned back to the room of horrified looking individuals from all walks of life, and said, "oh yes, my name is Scott-Allen Timmothy Andrew Norris, you may call me Mr. Norris, on behalf of all of us here at Hospitality Engineers Licences Limited, welcome, the air-conditioning should be fixed sometime next week."
Thanks for reading my LJ idol entry for week 12, these characters have appeared before here and here but the stories are in no way sequential or required reading. Please consider reading and voting for your favourites when the polls go up :)
|LJI Season 9 Episode 11 - The Hiring Process
||[09 Jun 2014|09:37am]
Welcome to the Department of Redundancy Department, where we specialize in cyclical redundancy cycles. An original thought has not been had in ages. Everyone is bored and no one could give even an eighth of a damn what you say or what you want. As you're new here you'll have to fill out form 57A subsection 7 paragraph Q; New or returning Employees who haven't already filled out form 57A Subsection 7 Paragraph Q, containing the exact same information as Subsections A through P. Are you done? Good, now move on to the next 18 pages of exactly the same information just phrased differently so as to confuse you.
When you've been job hunting long enough and you've filled out enough "potential new employee" forms eleventybillion times and heard "we'll check your references and then call you next week" after every single one of them you learn to expect the disappointment when the calls don't come, or your calls aren't returned. That's when you know my friend, that's when you know you've been...
So you try and get creative, you list a manager who liked you, or even Debbie in accounting, yeah she always liked you, as your "most recent employer" hoping maybe, maybe that threat your boss gave you about never working in this town again if you leave, maybe you can work around it somehow. Week after week, interview after interview, you shake hands with the guys in head office who say you are the perfect fit for the position, they'd like to hire you to start Monday, just have to dot some i's and cross some t's if ya know what I mean.
Week after week, they don't return your phone calls, you speak to some squeaky-voiced receptionist who tells you not to call again that the position has been filled.
You know it's not you, right little buddy? I mean, shit you've never had a problem getting hired before, you're amazing at what you do, heck Scott-Allan Norris head hunted you out of a fortune 500 company, swept you right up, paid you more money than you ever thought you'd be making anywhere. Your resume is top notch, you ace the interviews and then they call. They call your references and they check up on your last employer and that's when it all goes south.`
That wretched cockweasel, always getting in your way, as a side note; is cockweasel one word or two? It must only be one word, I'd hate to waste precious space on that turdmuffin your boss is. Turns out once you work for Mr. Norris there really isn't anywhere else to go, wish they'd told you that on the original form 57A Subsection 7, Paragraph something or other, maybe it was on that godforsaken form, somewhere in the fine print masked by all those zeros at the end of the paycheck.
This job you do didn't look so bad in the beginning, on the surface it looked so normal, just some papers to shuffle, some golf on a Friday afternoon, lunch with the clients, it was all fine really until, well until the unpleasantness. No man, I don't blame you for not wanting to think about it, best to just block it out. Who knew when they said top shelf Scotch is just one of the job perks, how quickly it would become a crutch.
Well buddy there's not much you can do now, grab your pitch fork and get back to the mines, Scott-Allen Timmothy Andrew Norris is waiting for you down in the layer reserved for bureaucratic lawyers and used car salesmen, time to push some pencils around a desk, maybe chase some unsuspecting coworker around with a stapler. It was nice of them to give you that corner office. I mean really man, it could be worse, you could be one of those guys out there on the floor making phone calls under those fluorescent lights, asking people if they want to Switch to AT&T, or get their very own subscription to the New York Times. Those poor little gerbils making phone calls, in their little booths, trying desperately not to stick pushpins into their eyes, wonder what they did to end up here huh buddy? Who knew they had cubicles in hell?
This is my entry for week 11 of LJ Idol, topic: Recency Bias. This piece uses some of the same characters (universe?) as a previous piece though you certainly do not need (to read) one for the other to make sense.
|LJI Season 9 Episode 10 - Don't Bring Your Work Home With You
||[29 May 2014|07:00pm]
Tip; the bartender on your way out the door.
Tip; your hat as you pass by him on the street.
Tip; the cab driver as he drops you in front of the bridge.
Tip; the bottle back and feel it's amber solace slide down your throat.
Tip; be sure to take off your jacket and boots.
Tip; as you stumble up to the platform, grab the railing.
Tip; over the edge as you fall into the dark.
Some days it feels like there is no other answer, just the bottle and the dark.
His last text message to her read: "Let love reign always, no matter the cost." When they found his body in a crack house two weeks later she wasn't surprised. Another of the drunks he'd worked with spared her from having to go down and identify the body. The two of them were really the only friends he'd had.
"You couldn't have saved him ya know," her partner offers the night of the funeral.
"I know," she replies; the tears starting again, stinging against the mascara that trails across her cheek bones, "but I could have tried harder."
Things are different after, she tries harder to keep her distance. He's not the only one, there are more, they come down daily for their liquid courage injections, don't want too much blood in their alcohol streams. One of them had a stroke a few weeks ago, came in to confess over a series of tequilas and vodka & waters.
She suggests a wager, to see who could be sober the longest. Bet a thousand dollars she didn't have on it. He's a competitive drunk and he accepts, they'll start next week, no the week after... It goes on.
In the DJ's jeep on a Thursday night ride home, she confesses to the wager and the DJ replies, "If he quits drinking we all lose. That guy spends a hundred grand a year in the bar. Your little bet could ruin us all!"
The lump rises in her throat as she counters, "We all lose if he drinks himself to death too. He's already had a stroke; he's got a fatty liver and an enlarged heart, the doc's only giving him six months if he doesn't smarten up."
"Yeah but, I mean, he can't quit drinking..."
She bites her tongue thinking loud enough that she's sure her friend can hear her. I can't have another one die on me. I'm at four since September. I can't do this anymore. Her tears are whipped away by the wind in the jeep and he kindly pretends not to notice.
The radio kicks in, breaking the silence as they bound over the potholes in the west end of town, some crass pop tune ringing in her ear drums as they turn the corner onto her street.
She jumps out of the jeep. "Thanks for the ride love, see ya tomorrow." She slams the rickety door and blows him a kiss, stumbles into her darkened house, reaches into the cabinet, mixes the vodka with some water.
Some days it feels like there is no other answer, just the bottle and the dark.
This was my week ten entry for LJ idol: topic "“If you have come here to help me, you are wasting our time” please read/comment/vote when available, there are some really talented writers out there.
|LJI Season 9, Episode 8 - Yes, and
||[07 May 2014|01:30pm]
The sign on the door read, Scott-Allen Timmothy Andrew Norris, in precise gold lettering that glimmered as it reflected the flickering firelight of the lobby. Tallulah grabbed the knocker with all the confidence of someone who'd had a three martini lunch and slammed it against the solid wooden door. Slowly the door creaked open, as a blast of cold air sucked the breath right out of her chest.
"I'm done Scotty," Tallulah gasped, quickly recovering her composure, her hair pulled back in a tight bun, she was dressed all in black as always, her ruby colored square framed glasses reflecting the fire in her eyes. She thrust form 71B of the Hospitality Engineers Licences Limited hand book at him, "here's your resignation. I am done with this place."
The meek looking banker sitting in the over-sized leather recliner couldn't have been more than 5 foot 4 his legs dangled above the marble floor and his small circular glasses hung down of the tip of his nose. No one would have expected Mr. Norris to look so... So... Puny. People had this belief he was larger than life, a muscular overlord who owned far too much and gave far too little back. He'd owned the chain of hotels as well as a series of banks under the title Savings Our Users Love inc. for what felt like eternity and yet he barely looked a day over 30.
"Well then Tallulah, what exactly are you going to do? How are you going to pay back this debt you've acquired? I believe you're still under contract to us for another 45 years? And your debt to the bank is close to immeasurable. I can't honestly fathom where you think you'll go from here," he wheezed from his chair.
"Yes Scotty and I don't care if it takes me a thousand years I can't work another day in this place, send me up there, I’ll strip to pay you off," she said still full of fire and conviction, her years of loyalty and service had only been rewarded with more and more debt and a conscience that was drowned daily in vodka. Tallulah had reached her breaking point long ago, but Mr. Norris had a reputation and she hadn't dared to leave him until now, the torture that was her job had worn her down and she just couldn't stomach one more day.
"I do believe I have some connections in Winnipeg, I could send you there..." Mr. Norris snorted with a bemused smiled, as he toyed with one of the subtle platinum chains he wore around his neck.
"Where's Winnipeg?" Tallulah asked, suddenly getting concerned, she'd been banking on Las Vegas she knew she could bail herself out of debt there.
"It's a small city in central Canada where the winters hover around -40 and last 6 months of the year, in the summers it sky rockets to a humid 90 in the shade and these small blood sucking vampire insects called mosquitoes come out in full force devouring anyone who dares to go outside, I do believe they have a few strip clubs still, I'll have you set up there for tomorrow Tallulah, but be warned, if you leave I'm not letting you come back, and you'll still be paying down your debts, you'll have very little for yourself you know, it wont be like here where I can take care of you."
"That's fine Scotty I'll go to Winnipeg, anywhere is better than here," she smiled triumphantly.
"And how exactly do you think you'll make it as a stripper, I've never seen you wear anything but a pant-suit with your hair in a bun, you can't walk in heels, and you've got all the grace of a rhinoceros after a Jack Daniels bender, I can't imagine you spinning on a pole," his whiny irritating voice drove her over the brink.
"I'll improvise Scotty, it's what I do best, you've said so yourself,” she started.
“Yes and I've also said you’d never leave me,” Scott-Allen wheezed.
“Besides we know I can wield a whip, we know I can work with some restraints and you damn well know I'm flexible, a stripper in Winnipeg has GOT to be better than a Hooker in-"
"Don't you dare say it Tall," he cut her off, "don't you dare mention this place by name aloud, or so help me, I will banish you right back to the chambers and increase you debt to the point where your great-grandchildren will still be stripping in Winnipeg to pay it off."
Tallulah stormed out, slamming the door behind her, glad to be rid of Scott-Allen Timmothy Andrew Norris. Nothing could possible get in her way now.
When she arrived at the airport in Winnipeg on a blustery Monday morning in January she'd assumed she'd have a minute or two to herself, and yet waiting for her in the lobby was a short muscular gentleman named Bruce who had quickly ushered her into a car, "you're on stage in 20 minutes, do you have costumes?" He'd asked.
"I think I have something that will work," she replied nervously pulling her torture gear from her purse.
When they got to the bar there were only two people drinking light beers in the back as they plugged bill after bill into the slot machines. She walked over to the bar and ordered a double vodka martini.
The cute blonde bartender handed her the drink grinning, "First show? Ya look new!"
"Yeah," Tallulah replied taking a sizable gulp of her drink.
"Where'd you work before this?" the blonde booze goddess asked her.
Tallulah stared into the abyss of her drink taking too long of a pause before downing the remaining contents of the plastic martini glass, “Hell”.
|LJI Season 9, Episode 6 - Step On A Crack
||[21 Apr 2014|09:33am]
Nolan fidgeted nervously rubbing the penny between his thumb and index finger. His four year old patience always wore thin by this point in the morning. It wasn't his fault really, or at least that's what Grandma always said, boys will be boys and boys like to run and play, not sit and listen to momma play piano all day. It felt like all day anyway, at least to Nolan.
Momma didn't play as much anymore, so he knew he should be a good boy, sit properly and listen nicely. He mustered up the last of his patience putting the penny carefully into his pocket and sitting up straight. Most days now Momma just slept and went to see Doctor Gallagher. Nolan didn't like the doctor, even though he always had a teddy bear in his office for him to play with and a sucker for him if he'd sat quietly when Momma had to bring him along to appointments. The office always smelled like those horrible mints Grandma liked, Nolan had tried one once and told her it tasted like burning.
His mother slowed her rendition of Moonlight Sonata, even at four Nolan could recognize the notes she missed, her focus was gone. Grandma must have noticed it too because in an instant she was at her daughters side, "Lori that's enough for today why don't you go lay down," said Grandma, her hands grasped firmly on Lori's shoulders as if she were trying to hold the younger woman together.
"I told Nolan I'd take him to the park," Momma replied flatly, Nolan knew the tone all too well, she felt bad, and he never wanted her to feel bad, he wanted her to be happy like she used to be.
"It's ok Momma, Grandma can play in the yard with me," he choked out the words trying not to cry, only babies cried and he was a big boy now, he could count to 100 and jump off of the second branch of their apple tree, he'd had lots of practice climbing that tree.
"Right," Grandma retorted guiding her daughter out of the living room and off to the room she rested in, that room smelled like the doctors office and Nolan seldom went in, even with an invitation from his mother he preferred to stay out in the hallway to talk to her, all the pills and creams and potions that sat on the side tables made him nervous, the room was always dark and somehow seemed colder than the rest of the house.
Nolan tried to shake the image of the dark resting room out of his head as he wandered out into the yard. The hot July sun beat down on the lush green grass, he listened carefully to a small flock of sparrows splashing in the neighbors bird bath chirping and fluttering into the gnarled old apple tree, curved and bent leaving lots of opportunity for climbing. He hesitated at the base of the tree, Grandma tended to worry if he got up too high, especially if he was out by himself and got caught. The path out to the back shed was an old cement walkway cracked and crumbling in places, pieces of it pushed aside by the beginning of an anthill.
The ants loved the cracks in the cement poking their funny little heads up looking for food. Nolan hated the cracks especially in that sidewalk, he used to run up and down, jumping over the cracks, singing to himself not really paying much attention, that was before Momma got sick.
He'd tried explaining it to Margo who lived next door that you couldn't step there anymore, "in fact," he'd said, "just stay off the sidewalk, walk on the grass," he'd told her.
Margo was terrible at following rules, and she'd happily pranced across the sidewalk, cracks and all, while Nolan shrieked at her to stop, "you don't understand!" he'd screamed, "you'll make her worse! It will be my fault, stop it Margo!" but Margo had just stood there right on the biggest crack of them all looking at him with a strange and confused look on her face, and so, Nolan had pushed her into the grass, he hadn't seen the small stick and of course she landed on it scraping her knee. Margo hadn't been over to play since, sometimes though she'd call through the fence in her singsong voice "don't step on a crack or you'll break your momma's back," just to taunt him.
"Are you watching the ants?" Grandma asked. Nolan wasn't sure when she'd come outside but there she stood staring at the cracks in the cement right along with him.
"Do you think it's my fault Momma keeps getting sicker?" he asked tears streaming down his face.
"Oh heavens child no, it's not your fault that your mother is sick, why would you think that?" she replied hugging his shoulders the same way she had his mothers moments before.
"I was thinking about Margo and how she stepped on the cracks and how I didn't stop her and maybe that's why Momma's back is so broken," he whimpered, as the summer sun baked the tears onto his skin.
"No sweetie, that old rhyme has nothing to do with why your mother is sick," Grandma offered reassuringly, "now come on, lets go in and get some lunch."
Nolan looked up at her, but he couldn't make out the expression on her face, he couldn't be sure she wasn't just trying to get him to stop crying, be a big boy again. He took a slow deep breath and steadied himself on his feet, grabbing grandma's hand firmly he walked the path back into the house, watching intently as they both avoided every crack in the pavement.
|The Legendary Mousekewitz Clan
||[13 Apr 2014|10:49pm]
Cheddar strained to push himself into his 26th push up just as Provolone walked into the room, as his friend waited nervously by the chewed out hole in the wall, leaning gently against a set of old, frayed copper wires,
"97..." Cheddar grunted full of bravado, "98... ugh 99..." his arms began to buckle under the his weight as he strained into his 30th push up, "well he panted, that'll do for today."
"You are remarkable," Provolone stated as Cheddar scurried up from his place on the floor.
"Oh thanks P-man I didn't see you come in," Cheddar lied.
"Are you ready for the big raid tonight? I hear everyone's coming, even Slice and Whiz from down street. I hear Mozza and Parm are even gonna bring the kids this time. I haven't seen the little Curds since back in the Bothwell days. Old man Wally isn't even gonna know what happened to his poor kitchen when we're through with it..." Provolone trailed off.
"Yeah it's bound to be a good one," Cheddar panted, still trying to regain his composure.
"I can't believe I'm going on an actual kitchen raid with the legendary Cheddar Mousekewitz. I mean you're the guy who does arm curls with those snappy traps, you don't stick to the sticky paper, and you damn well dance to that terrible whining noise thing plugged into the wall, you're a legend man!!"
"Thanks man, ya know just doing my best out there, speaking of, we probably should get on it, hunh? I mean the sun has set, the house is quiet I think it's feedin' time!".
Provolone nodded, tucking his tail back just like Cheddar had taught him and scurried across the floor towards the pantry, as Cheddar crept along silently behind. Sniffing frantically at the air, crackers, oats, seeds and something else, something that smelled like...like cheese maybe...but not exactly...some other substance... "The cheese," squeaked Cheddar, "stay away from it." The rest of the clan nodded creeping along behind them sticking close to the walls trying not to make too much noise.
Provolone grabbed for a stray piece of straw that had shed from a broom in the corner of the room, tentatively he pushed the bristle into the crevice that would lead him into the pantry, and with a slight sideways jiggle he managed to push the bait off the trap on the other side. A sickening snap rang out momentarily deafening the micey, flooding them with adrenaline as the two leaders pushed their respective ways into their feasts. They gorged themselves digging near-silently through boxes, buckets and sacks, the small seeds and grains filling their bellies till they'd nearly doubled in size, the quiet nibbling of their friends and family filling them with the warm glow of victory.
Cheddar sighed contentedly as Provolone cleaned his whiskers, "I can't believe how easy it was," mumbled Provolone into his front paws, gently cleaning his ears.
"This was a good run alright," replied Cheddar, "almost too easy."
No sooner had the over fed mouse uttered his half doubting statement of victory than a sharp yowling sound erupted from across the kitchen over by the mouse hole. In a frenzied blur the mice scattered dashing every way imaginable as the two glowing green eyes of old man Wally's least favourite barn cat, came pouncing into view slashing giant claws of terror in every direction.
The Mousekewitz clan narrowly managed to escape with their lives, darting back into crevices and crannies even a champion mouser couldn't manage, to await their next raid on old man Wally's kitchen.
Thanks for reading my week 5 entry for LJ Idol, clearly old man Wally needs to "Build A Better Mousetrap".
|How to do yoga at home
||[27 Mar 2014|03:33pm]
How to do yoga at home with a toddler in ten easy steps.
Find the mythical window that coincides between toddler nap time and big kids still at school time.
spend 45 minutes trying desperately to get toddler to nap, once toddler is actually asleep tip toe out of toddlers room, remember that your yoga pants/top/mat etc. are all in the room next to toddler room and carefully tip toe past sleeping toddler in search of these.
Step three: (if you're lucky the toddler stays asleep, if not, proceed to step 7)
Get into discount department store yoga pants and pull your hair into messy pony tail. Put on yoga DVD take deep breath, get annoyed with soothing voice on tape for not hurrying up as you only have 45 minutes until the toddler wakes up and you need to get on with this shit!!
Remember you totally promised your husband you'd get caught up on the laundry, realize this is an impossibility and decide instead to just do his laundry, toss in first load and run back to soothing work out DVD.
Attempt to hurry up and relax into some basic stretches, breaking once for water and once to pee. Succeed in making it half way through the DVD and consider spending the rest of nap time eating chocolates or taking a shower, decide instead to finish the work out.
Get into the more complex poses and begin to find some sort of relaxation, yeah this is great, I feel kinda calm and maybe even a little zen, as you attempt a handstand, toddler wakes up and demands mama! Rescue toddler from the perils of nap time.
Try and get into your inner zen place thingy you swear makes yoga better, as you attempt a back bend toddler will sneak under you and sneak a boobie-snack, do not fall on toddler. Try another pose, only to be climbed on by toddler who then smacks you in the face with the netflix remote demanding Bubble Guppies. While attempting to downward dog, point remote at the television and find Bubble Guppies, give up and stand up properly get toddler set up and resume one last attempt at a standing forward bend despite the annoying high pitched Bubble Guppies theme song making you want to gouge your ears out and ruining any attempt at relaxation you could have possibly cultivated. Toddler will then press their face directly against yours and with a gob of drool landing firmly on your chin demand "juice box". Sigh defeated and get toddler a juice box.
Passive aggressively text your husband saying you're running away with the circus, or at least you would have been if the darn toddler had napped and let you finish your yoga but now you can't because you're not flexible enough as follows:
Wife: Is chicken ok for dinner?
Husband: yeah sure.
Wife: Fine I'll make meatloaf.
Decide that whatever enlightenment/exercise/whatever you were aiming for is just not happening today and reach for the lap top and some thin mints.
As your husband pulls into the driveway remember the half finished laundry that's still sitting in the washing machine.
|LJI Season 9, Episode 2 - The Missing Stair
||[23 Mar 2014|10:17pm]
Our story begins with our heroine bravely stocking the shelves at the local Valu-Mart, on the midnight till 8am shift. Her neon purple and black dreadlocks pulled back into a bun that somewhat resembles a moldy blueberry bagel, her septum piercing wiggles as she sighs dramatically hoisting package after package of Valu-brand toilet paper over her shoulders, trying desperately not to catch her 00 gauge neon orange silicone plugs as she goes along. The distant patter of a cold March rain echoes through the mostly empty store.
"Becca," Kurt, the night shift supervisor calls from aisle two, "I can hear your frowny face from here, remember, turn that frown upside down and keep a hap-hap-happy face on in front of our loyal Valu-Mart customers."
"Got it," she replies, plastering crimson lips into a distorted grin, intentionally pale skin contrasting her jet-black eyeliner and long fake lashes obscuring eyes that glimmer an excellent tone of aquamarine.
"I mean it Becca, there's no "I" in team, and we need to make sure we're all on the same page!" Kurt carries on his usual stream of cliches, hurrying over to her aisle. "Presentation is important here Becca, we don't just stack the packages, we display them."
Our heroine rolls her eyes, sighing deeply, "I know Kurt, you can scurry along back to the office now, I can handle stocking the TP."
"Bathroom tissue, sweetie, and don't forget I'm assigning you a brand new buddy today, Ms. Lilly will be here shortly, make sure you get her in the spirit of the Valu-Mart team and remember--"
"I know, make sure she doesn't get lost on the north stairs up to the break room," Becca finishes for him.
"Right, because we all know how that works, such high turn over in this place!" Kurt says, pushing his square framed black plastic glasses back up to where they should have been sitting on his face, his hair immaculately spiked with it's frosted tips glistening under the glow of the fluorescent lights. He flutters away, returning moments later with a small blonde girl in ratty sneakers, "now you two play nice, Becca, why don't you take her to the break room and find her a nice little uniform ok? Ok then."
"Hi, I'm Lilly!" Squeaks the blonde.
"Great," Becca replies replicating her best fake smile, "this is going to be peachy keen. Come on lets get you up to the second floor."
The pair walk silently towards the forbidden north stairs, "you'll have to watch your step back here, one of the stairs isn't safe to step on, in fact it's kind of, not there, well not exactly missing so much as, well there's a kraken, it's the third one from the top, so just step over it ok? I'm not supposed to take newbies up here but the only other staircase is out the front door on the side of the building and there's no way I'm going out there in this rain," Becca states rather flatly as she climbs the stairs.
"A crack? In the stairs? Like one's missing? Or like there's a crack in one of the steps or what?" Lilly asks confused.
Becca turns around, "no, like a kraken, a giant cephalopod, that lives in another dimension who's only access point to our reality is under this missing step in this staircase and if you stand on it the sea monster will raise one terrifying tentacle drag you down into the depths of its watery dimension and sell your soul to Cthulhu, God do I have to explain everything?"
Lilly, blinks a few times, then starts laughing, "look I get it, I'm new, I'm blond what-ever, but I'm not stupid ok," she pushes past Becca in one brisk movement, jogging straight up the creaking old staircase, "so where's this crack? Cause I don't see anyth--" and like something out of a bad science fiction story, an enormous glowing tentacle wraps itself around her leg dragging her down in a shower of spurting green water. The poor girl hasn't even a chance to utter one last horrified scream.
Becca sighs, "Kurt," she yells, "we've lost another one. I swear to god I warned her but she just wouldn't listen. Do you want me to claim she didn't show up? God we've gotta do something about that thing, this one didn't even get into uniform. I'm getting sick of all this paper work."
Kurt pokes his head around the corner "Becca, I've told you, there's no "I" in team, now I'll get to the paper work if you handle mopping up the floors, darn thing brought half his ocean with him this time! Gosh golly, what a mess!"
Becca rolls her eyes again heading for the broom closet for the standard mop and pail, "whatever, Kurt, I'm taking tomorrow off, I have like, stuff I wanna do, like reading or something, you still need to hire someone else, like I can't be here all the time just cause you have trouble finding decent staff."
"Oh alrighty then," Kurt replies sounding somewhat defeated, "it's just good help is hard to find."
This was my feverdream of an entry for week 2 of The Real LJ Idol, topic: The Missing Stair. Voting this way. Thanks for reading.
|LJI Season 9, Episode 1 - Jayus
||[16 Mar 2014|08:59pm]
Earle sits in his tattered old lawn chair, you know the kind, with those maybe-plastic, maybe-cloth woven straps on a cheap metal frame, the kind that your pudgy aunt Martha fell through last summer at the family reunion? Yeah one of those pieces of shit. Every day Earle sits on that chair on the left side of his wrap around porch on the corner of Middleton Street and Sassbury Bay without fail, every day at noon, rain or shine, summer or winter Earle sits out there and sips his old mason jar of home brewed beer. In the summer months he'll strike up a conversation with lady Gwendolyn the friendly older lady next door while she pulls up the dandelions in her flower beds, making more room for her lilies and creeping violets.
Earle aint exactly friendly, sure he likes old lady Gewn alright, probably because she stays out of his way, doesn't even complain when his grass is overgrown and full of weeds making her garden ripe for their seeds to spread, nah lady Gewn's just plain nice, but Earle, he's a real bastard when he wants to be. His kids are grown now, the wife left some 20 years back took the kids and they never came around after that, left Earle with a big old basset hound and his beers, the basset hound sat out there with him every day after she left, never took his sleepy eyes off the old man sippin his brew.
That dog died some years back, I was about 11 or 12 at the time, it wasn't long after that, that my momma started sending me down to mow the lawn and shovel the snow for the old man. She said it would "build ya some character" to deal with the old coot. At first I was just plain afraid of him, the grumpy bastard drinking his beer sneering at the neighbors.
"Boy," he'd yell at me, "y'aint got the gumption in ya ta cut that grass right, kids these days are too damn lazy for push-mowers."
"Sorry Sir," I'd mumble looking at the laces in my sneakers.
"That's Captain Sir, to you kid. Aint got no respect for us vets ya damn kids don't, Imma get up off this porch and whip ya good if ya missed a spot." He shouted.
Never did get to whip me good, and I think my momma knew he wasn't really able to beat the piss out of me like he'd holler about. Old man with a cane and a bum leg, sitting on his military pension just drinking his beer and hatin the world. But my momma, being a good neighbor, a good church goin lady wasn't about to let old Earle "fall to shambles" as she called it, so over I went being the oldest and only boy in our house to help with repairs and keep up with the old shack.
As I got older, he'd tell me stories, some of em I just hoped to God he made up, gruesome stories where peoples limbs were hangin on only by the threads on their clothes, stuff like that, others he claimed were funny but I guess I was "too young and too dumb" as he called it to get em really.
He'd holler at me with his slow scrambled drawl after one too many beers, while I nailed another new board on his front porch "the enemy only attacks at two times" he'd say, "when they're ready an when you aint."
My 14 year old self never seemed to get much outta that line, but it stayed in the back of my mind anyway, every time he'd say it and then tell me I had shit for brains.
These days he's tamer, still tellin bloody combat stories and bad jokes, just the other week, he got into his fourth beer and started in.
"There was this group o new soldiers standin in line on base. The Drill Sargent shouted "All right! All ya idiots fall out."
Well all but one o dem soldiers walks off, so the Drill Sargent walks right over till he was eye-to-eye with that one remaining private, and then he raises just one eyebrow. And that soldier he says, "Sure was a lot of 'em, huh, sir?" ya get it kid?" Earle grinned, "ah Jayus Chripes kid how'd ya ever get anywhere with yer fancy pants schoolin if ya didn't even get that joke?"
"Sorry Captain Sir, guess I'da been that one poor bastard standin there after all the smart ones had gone," I replied.
Old Earle broke out in an ear to ear grin, "yer alright boy," he said, "even if I aint need no help around here. Yer momma taught ya good, you'll do alright."
"Thank you Captain Sir," I replied.
"Ah, kid, ya can just call me Earle, I think after all this time, ya done earned it."
I still go back there every Sunday after church, did all through my schooling to become a "fancy pants mechanic" as he called it, make sure old Earle's holding up alright, guess momma did teach me right. And some days, I just sit there and watch him drink his beers, talking about the war, and bitchin bout the weather, sittin on that frayed old lawn chair hatin the world.
This weeks topic was: "Jayus" Definition for those unaware: "From Indonesian, meaning a joke so poorly told and so unfunny that one cannot help but laugh.”
Thanks for reading voting is this way. :)
|Ten things not to say to a mother of 3 girls
||[25 Jan 2014|06:09pm]
Because I felt the need to respond to this: http://www.scarymommy.com/another-boy/
I given birth to 3 daughters, with the bonus kids there are 5 young women to whom I have to at least attempt to NOT be the worlds worst role model, and Lee is stuck with the potential of helping to pay for 5 weddings and college funds. Joy. That said having girls is pretty darn great and we were both thrilled to find out the baby G was female gendered when we were pregnant with her. That said, the rest of society seems to think that all people want the perfect balance of boy-girl children and can't possible fathom why we weren't utterly devastated to have won the estrogen lottery yet again.
10) Oh don't worry the next one is bound to be a boy.
Thank you for assuming we are so disappointed with the gender of this child that we obviously have to rush right into spawning a fourth/sixth minion. 5 college funds is a lot, heck 3 college funds is a lot. And whether or not we want to expand our family (spoiler alert, we don't) isn't really something that's up for public debate, thanks though.
9) Well you must have WANTED a boy.
Um, no, not really, we wanted a health baby, prior to wanting a healthy baby, we just wanted to have some adult fun, but surprise, here we go, a baby, how exciting. To be completely honest we both were hoping for a girl, we both have experience raising little girls and were much more comfortable with the idea of a baby girl. That's not to say we'd have tossed a boy out the window, but we by all means were not disappointed to learn she had girl parts not boy parts.
8) You're going to be in trouble when they get to be teenagers!
Yes, yes we are, JUST LIKE EVERY OTHER PARENT. Yes, with girls come hormones, and periods and breasts. With boys come hormones, erections, and physical energy. Teens are hard, for everyone, just because our society largely glosses over male adolescence doesn't make it easy, for the parents of penis owners comes the need to teach about respecting women, and sexuality, not to mention a thousand other things. For the parents of vagina owners comes the need to teach about menstruation, body image, and sexuality, not to mention a thousand other things. All of these are hard chats, having a house full of girls just means they also have older sisters to go to when they need advice, not just mom.
7) At least you don't have to buy all new toys/clothes/baby stuff.
Well actually we do, because there are 5 years between my youngest-turned middle daughter, and 18 years between his youngest-turned middle daughter and neither of us expected to have a new baby not to mention the rules for cribs and carseats changed at some point while we didn't have a baby in the house so buying all new stuff (whether pink and frilly or full of race cars and dinosaurs) was something we'd have to do anyway.
6) Your husband must be so disappointed!
*sigh* See #9
5) My sisters and I can't stand each other!
Well, that's a shame, I'm sorry to hear that, how that relates to me and my children I'm not too sure, if we're just shouting random personal trivia, then uh, I like pizza. If you are in some way implying that all sisters hate each other, I can assure you that's true, at some point, all siblings fight regardless of gender, hopefully you and your sisters will work it out eventually.
4) Well think of all the money you'll save on sports equipment!
Right, 1910 called and wants your archaic ideals back. Did you know women even have the right to VOTE now? Shocked I'm sure.
3) You'd better be careful to raise little ladies, you wouldn't want to be one of those mom's with a slutty pregnant teenager.
I don't even know where to start with this one. No of course I don't want my kids having babies as teenagers, I want them to get good educations, good paying jobs, settle down with someone who respects them, loves them and treats them right. That said, being a "lady" in that sense isn't on my list of concerns, teaching my children to be sexually responsible, oh yes that's right up there with basic self defense, knowing how to pump gas and change a tire, and never expecting the man to pay for dinner, whether or not they choose to be sexually promiscuous isn't something I'm too concerned with, that they are educated on how their bodies work, have access to birth control and the understanding of how to use it, those are more important parts of "being a lady" than just closing your legs.
2) You must just LOVE having little girls you can dress up like little dolls.
Yes my girls are incapable of independent thought and let me tell them how to dress and how to think.
1) Well at least you'll probably end up with grandchildren/Just think you'll be able to teach them to bake like you/At least the older ones will help with the baby.
Yes, because male children can't lean to cook or bake, men don't produce grandchildren, and the older girls must all be hyper maternal and would have refused to help with a male baby. *sigh* your children will all have their own interests regardless of their gender, my eldest loves to draw and dress up in pretty clothes. My middle child loves to bake, couldn't care less about her hair and is amazing with puzzles and math problems, and the baby just loves to dance and stomp and eat me out of house and home.
All children are precious, regardless of gender and I am not the least bit disappointed with all girls.
As a side note, I went to highschool with the woman who wrote the original piece, and uh she doesn't seem to have changed much since then.
|genocide is only funny on lj
||[25 Dec 2013|01:24pm]
This year I've been busy!
Last Tuesday I ruled Iran as a kind and benevolent dictator (700 points). In August I saved a busload of nuns in Angola (326 points). In October I had a shoot-out with rival gang lords on the 5 near LA (-76 points). Last Friday I committed genocide... Sorry about that, kat (-5000 points). In March I bought porn for _tyke (-10 points).
Overall, I've been naughty (-4060 points). For Christmas I deserve a spanking!
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