This weekend my parents are going to LA and desperately need somebody to watch their house and feed their cat for the 36 or so hours that they're gone.
*cough*
I do this occasionally, when my parents go out of town I drive the 30 minutes from my house to theirs and I spend the weekend watching TV in their impeccably clean house and petting their impeccably clean cat (just the one!). There are no kids and no alarm clocks and a bed all to myself and the hours fucking FLY by at warp 9, and I just blink once and suddenly it's time to go home, but it's totally worth it. (I'll try not to blink this time).
Lately I've been feeling like there's too much pressure from too many sources; like things are pressing in on me from all sides: too much work, too many kids, too much messy house, too many things to do. I definitely need this break, even if it's only for the nanosecond or so that it lasts.
I'm in the middle of Season 2 of Buffy the Vampire Slayer; there are 7 seasons of that shit! Have you noticed how there's absolutely no blood in that show? I've been spoiled by True Blood, the "realistic" vampire show. Every time somebody gets hurt in Buffy, I think "just drink the vamp blood, you'll be fine!" I guess it doesn't work that way. At least nobody sparkles.
I've had a cold for about a week now. I tried drinking it away and everything, but so far nothing has helped, for some reason. I'm very very tired.
So, as I sat here earlier, feeling like hell, even though I had slept all day, contemplating the three dinners that I would be making this evening, I was reminded of the saying "A woman's work is never done," which then reminded me of the "Women’s Rights Manifesto" that we used to share back in my college days of radical feminism and clinic defense. You can tell from the language that this is old, but I still think it's cool. Wish I knew the original source but I have no idea, sorry:
Because woman's work is never done
and is underpaid or unpaid or boring or
repetitious and we're the first to get fired
and what we look like is more important
than what we do and if we get raped it's
our fault and if we get beaten we must have
provoked it and if we raise our voices we're
nagging bitches and if we enjoy sex we're
nymphos and if we don't we're frigid and if
we love women it's because we can't get a
"real" man and if we ask our doctor too many
questions we're neurotic and/or pushy and
if we expect childcare we're selfish and if we
stand up for our rights we're aggressive and
"unfeminine" and if we don't we're typical
weak females and if we want to get married
we're out to trap a man and if we don't we're
unnatural and because we still can't get an
adequate safe contraceptive but men can walk
on the moon and if we can't cope or don't
want a pregnancy we're made to feel
guilty about abortion and...for lots and lots
of other reasons we are part of the
women's liberation movement.
So, then, later, I was in the kitchen making dinner #1, and I somehow managed to rip off half of the thumbnail on my right hand while opening a can. I'm honestly not entirely sure how that happened, but MAN was it ugly. And I sat there looking at my mangled finger and wondering how the hell I was going to put it back together, and I was once again reminded of the saying "A woman's work is never done," but this time it was in song form:
So, now I sit here, with my thumb all bandaged up, because luckily hubs is home (hence the three dinners, instead of the usual two) and came to my rescue with neosporin and tape (later? Crazy Glue. He might as well just start calling himself a doctor) and I'm having a terribly difficult time typing, because of the bandage. And also the pain. And I'm wondering how I'm going to work with my thumb like this, and Child 2 has noticed that Child 1 has gotten dinner but he hasn't yet, and he has some "questions," and again, I'm reminded of the saying "A woman's work is never done."
I'm strangely calm for some reason, I'm not sure why. Maybe I'm just too tired and sick to do anything else.
Drunk blogging is fun. Also? I AM VERY EMPHATIC SOMETIMES AND I USE ALL CAPS TO EXPRESS THAT.
Okay, so, I was thinking... you know what I haven't done in a while? Gotten drunk and just started typing. Why haven't I done that? Probably because... okay, I don't know. But surely there's a reason. Anyway, here we are. I'll be typing this post in stages this evening. At this point it's relatively early and I'm being very conscious about my spelling and grammar and making sure there are no extra punctuation marks in the middle of my words. But, I dig;ress....
There are a number of very interesting things I would like to share with you fine people on this fine evening. Is it really "fine," though? What does "fine" mean, anyway? What does it mean to be "fine," exactly? Also? Uh, oh what I want to know..... oh oh, is are you.... well, you know the rest. Or you don't. If you do, though, you're cool. If not... just move on.
Speaking of which, today I was wearing my Jerry Day t-shirt, and I was walking into a store on Solano Ave in Berkeley to buy a present for my Secret Santa giftee (by the way, Secret Santa? I see you here. Did you know I made this for you? That's the problem with being downvoted into oblivion, if you make a post specifically for one person they will probably never see it. So look at that post. LOOK AT IT!) and this random dude stopped me and said "hey, is that Jerry? I'm really into trivia and I was the only person at the bar the other night who got this question right: What was the original name of the Grateful Dead?" I answered it right and he was pleased and walked away. Do you know the answer? Tell me the answer and win a prize. No, really.
OH, and speaking of THAT.... OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD. Okay, almost exactly a year ago, I posted this. THIS. CLICK ON THE FUCKING THING. And now? Almost a year later? LOOK WHAT I GOT TODAY. LOOK. LOOOOOK AAAAAT IIIIIITTTT:
That's me, bitches. THAT'S FUCKING ME. Wearing a motherfucking Grateful Dead snuggie!!!! By the way, that's the closest you'll ever get to seeing what I look like. ENJOY THE BOOB, MOTHERFUCKERS.
Anyhoozle-ini, do you guys ever think about friends you used to have but don't anymore? I have this person who used to be my friend, a really good friend, actually, and we're not friends anymore, for various complicated reasons, and the other night she popped up in my dream and said to me "hey let's be friends again!" and in my dream I was really happy about that and then I woke up and knew that this would never happen, because of those complicated reasons I mentioned earlier, even though I still see her practically every day at this point I have no idea how to even make it happen again and she hates me, anyway, so even so we'll never be friends again besides there's too much baggage going on there, but still, it was nice to be friends with her again in my dream. Does that ever happen to you? No? Huh. Okay! Let's move on....
Hey you know what's a cool word? Spigot. Doesn't it kind of seem like a racial slur? You fucking spigot! I hate that fucking spigot! Yeah, but it's not. It's just a cool word. And when hubs comes here and reads this, maybe he'll explain it to you. Then again maybe he won't. When he leaves a comment, though, his name will be thesmos. LOOK FOR HIM.
And now I will end this awesome post with the following song that I think you should listen to because this song fucking kicks more ass than most songs that have ever been made into songs.
At our school, when you get your kids there late, you're required to stop by the office to sign them in while they pick up a "tardy slip" and bring it to their teacher. The Sign In Sheet of Shame, otherwise known as the Late Arrival Sign-In Sheet, asks you to put their name, the time you got there, and the reason you were late.
So, we were late one day last week, and we did what we were supposed to, and I look at the sheet and most people have written benign things like "overslept" or "doctor's appointment" or whatever, and I was thinking.... nobody ever writes the truth on this thing, do they? Because the truth really isn't necessary, when you think about it. The school doesn't really need to know why your kid was late, they just want you to admit that it happened so that you can accept responsibility for it. ($$$)
I think I just wrote the word "late" or something equally awesome, and then I walked away thinking.... if I were to actually tell the truth on that sheet, what are some things that I could say?
Here are some options:
Little asshole wouldn't put his shoes on (related)
While walking to school, both of my children suddenly and mysteriously developed Cerebral Palsy and became unable to move their legs. Somehow they managed to drag themselves here despite their newfound conditions and the palsy was miraculously cured the moment we arrived
I woke up on time but then I blinked and it was 45 minutes later
Wanderlust
My autistic student had a major anxiety attack about having to go to school (where he is being teased and made fun of) and was physically unable to leave the house
It's cold and my bed was really warm
Because school is stupid and boring and we hate stupid, boring school that's stupid.
While walking onto school grounds, student lightly brushed his arm against the gate and subsequently fell to the ground in theatrical hysterics while Mom stood by, helplessly yelling "YOU'RE FINE! GET UP! WE'RE GOING TO BE LATE!"
There was a disagreement about the appropriateness of wearing pajamas with no underpants to school. While reason eventually won, the battle was well fought.
Everybody on Twitter has been talking about Google Plus. They want to know where their invites are, and if they're on it, they want to know who else is in their timeline, or something, whatever it's called. There's so much hype! This thing is HUGE. I have no idea what it's all about, but I'll be honest... I'm a little pissed about that. Why did Google reject me? Doesn't Google think I'm good enough to be on their whatever this new thingy is? I think I'm good enough, Google. I think I'm perfect for your new whatever this thingy is. My self esteem has actually been more than a little bit affected by this rejection, I'll be honest with you all. This has been painful. Very very painful, for the entire 20 minutes now that I've been thinking about it.
Not only do I have to live with the sting of this rejection, but four different twitter buddies have now said they have sent me Google+ invitations... and nothing has actually arrived in my inbox. NOTHING. Four different people, Google! FOUR, and yes, I have a Google profile and YES it is public (I don't know why that's necessary, but I made SURE of it). I can't help but think that this is also personal, Google. Not only did you intentionally exclude from the awesome new fun thingybob dealie when it came out, but now you won't even let other people invite me to the, I guess, fun.
Well, I'm sorry, Google, but this is unacceptable. UNACCEPTABLE. Here I've been loyally using your free services for years now, and this is how you treat me?? This simply will not stand, Google. It. Will. Not. Stand. You have forced me into action because of your horrible, horrible mistreatment.
I officially announce a new project that I'm launching! I call it jillsmo equals.... and EVERYBODY is invited. (Hubs said I should call it Yeah. Good Times. Equals, but.... I like this one better). I don't care if you're uncool. I don't care if you're not "hip" or "with it." I don't care if "I don't even know who the fuck you are." I don't care!! EVERYBODY gets in! Nobody will be excluded from jillsmo equals. NOBODY.
Look! I made a logo:
Okay, so... now all I need is to figure out what the hell jillsmo equals is. Oh, and I probably need a programmer or something, you know, to actually make it happen. So I guess I'll get to work on that. And by "get to work on that" naturally I mean I'm going to make myself a drink and just wait for somebody to come and do it for me. If that doesn't happen, then, well... fuck it, I guess.
Note: Anybody who was talking to me on Twitter last night will know that I actually did get an invite to Google Plus; actually I got 5 of them. You don't get an email notification, is the thing, you just go to plus.google.com and as long as you have a Google profile and it is set to public, you should be able to get right in.
Note #2: Okay, apparently you don't even need an invite anymore, you just need a Google account. But fuck it, goddammit!! I already made the fucking logo and I wrote this whole post, so... GAH!! I'm posting it, anyway. There's no doubt that jillsmo= will be bigger and better than Google+ anyway, right? So I'm still doing it!!! See previous, though, re: I need a programmer and a clue.
I wonder if this is what our forefathers had in mind for us, 235 years later. They fled their homeland in search of religious freedom and look at us now! Millions of people living in poverty, with a very very small percentage of people doing really really well. Politicians who only care about power and making a name for themselves, at the expense of the people they supposedly "represent," while most of us struggle every day to make a living for ourselves, feed our kids, keep ourselves and our families alive and hope to some day find a little happiness for ourselves.
Is this what they meant for us, 235 years ago? Where 1% of the people have 90% of the wealth? And most of the people in the middle are, for some reason, okay with that? Where people lose their homes and everything they own, because they've lost their jobs and can't find new ones and our government (and the people who support them) prioritize penises on Twitter over people's lives? Over people's health? Over people's worth?
So, you remember last week how I talked about how the Empress wrote a post and changed my entire perspective about life? And as you read the words, fat assed cherubs started flying around your head? And as the cherubs played their whatever fucking thing it is that cherubs play, unicorns and rainbows appeared out of nowhere and swirled around you? And you guys were all "oh my god, what a great attitude you have, Jill! I WISH I COULD BE JUST LIKE YOU FOREVER AND EVER BECAUSE YOU'RE THE BEST MOM EVER."
Remember that?
Yeah, fuck that. I have a completely different perspective on my clingy kid after the weekend I've just had. Sorry, Empress; I guess my brain can't process that kind of good feeling for more than a few days or so, especially not with all these factors working against me. I've spent the weekend practically with Child 2 glued to my side. I'm sure there were actually many hours in which he was somewhere else, but it sure fucking felt like he was there 24/7.
It all started on Friday afternoon when I'm hanging around on the K yard with him and his buddies and he would cry and sit in my lap at the drop of a hat. Everything was my fault, though. I made him fall; I made the ball hit him in the head, etc. I was only there with him for about 45 minutes but by the time it was over my patience was very very thin. Luckily it was Friday, though. And Fridays are drinkin' days in my house.
Saturday was Birthday Party #1. It was at the place where his buddy takes karate (and his buddy's mom is my friend and I love hanging out with her, so that was helpful. She'll probably read this, too. Hi H's Mom!!!!!!!). At one point there was an injustice (somebody bumped him? I don't know. Does it matter?) and the tears started flowing. I was standing across the room, watching, and I knew that if I were to get myself involved it would just be another cascade of blame, so I watched as the Karate chick... (actually I think they're called "Masters" or something, except it's a woman. Do women still get called "Masters" ? I guess "Mistress" is too S&M or something, although this woman is so fucking kick ass awesome she's definitely earned the title of "Master." Okay, Master it is!) ... so, I stayed there by the food table and conspicuously stared at the cheese and salami platter and watched as the Karate Master chick completely defused his tantrumming simply by not being me.
I'm sorry but that fucking pisses me off. Okay, I know. I KNOW. The fact that he can fucking "let it all go" with me is an indication that I've done a good job or whatever and he feels safe with me and blah blah blah but fuck that! That's just fucking insulting. I'm sick of being the source of all of his problems.
Sunday was another birthday party and at this point my patience was completely gone, which I think he could sense because it was just another long line of tantrums. He snagged his fingers on the door coming in and it was my fault because I was trying to break his hand. He rubbed his arm up against something and it was my fault because I didn't make him wear a long sleeved shirt and was trying to make his arm burn.
And et cetera.
At one point I was sitting there trying to get him to put his shoes on so that he could go and have some fucking cake and I thought "hey remember how I blogged just a week ago about how my entire perspective on this has changed? One day this will end? And one day I will miss this? Remember that? One day I will miss this. One day I will miss this. One day I will miss this." It was like a mantra.
Didn't work. I have never before in my life wanted to fucking throttle a person more than I did right then. I kept my cool, though. Getting pissed at him only makes it worse. I know from experience.
Oh well; the good attitude was nice while it lasted. Maybe the Empress will write something else?
