xmlns:og='http://ogp.me/ns#' Yeah. Good Times.

Monday, July 18, 2011

Soooooo.... here's a little story I like to tell....

Note: This is long. If you'd like to not have to read it all but still want to find out the gist of the story, skip to the end for a TL;DR (Too Long; Didn't Read)

Some and/or none of you might remember that about 5 months ago I blogged that My Husband is Cool, because he had given me the world's most awesome gift. At the time I said I wasn't going to explain and ever since then I've been DYING to blog about this, but I made myself wait until the whole thing was over. If you make it through this whole long thing, you'll understand why.

Here's the background: I am a freelance Bookkeeper. I have 7 clients and I am a contractor for them all. I set my own hours and for all of them except one I have determined my own hourly rate.

I have been with one of my clients for a year and a half. I started as employee by answering a CraigsList ad and it was only after I started working there that things took off for me and I started picking up other clients. At that time I asked if she would switch me from employee to contractor but I didn't ask for a raise. She agreed.

Last year was a rough year for her (I even fucking blogged about her before) and for a while we weren't really sure how she was going to make it, but we all stuck it out and she pulled through, quite nicely, actually. She's fine now. During that time, though, I was checking my work email from home during all hours of the day and the week, and I was checking her bank balance at all hours, because I was worried about payroll going through and such. She knew all of this, because I would always email her about our bank balance whenever I checked it.

Her office was a minimum 30 minute drive from my house and she paid me the least amount of money (almost half) of what I make from everybody else. I had gotten pretty busy in the first part of this year, so much so that I was not only turning potential clients down, but I actually had to let one go because I just didn't have the time. I had thought, over the first 2-3 months of this year, that I really should drop her, because of the money and the inconvenience of getting there... but I liked her, and I was loyal to her, and I didn't want to leave her... because I liked her, and that's how I am. Loyal, to a fault. Apparently

So, I had been thinking "maybe after my 1 year anniversary she'll give me a raise; that will make it all worth it." Except, I had been working on the budget, which includes specific instructions to give "a minimum 4% COLA raise for all employees on their anniversary date" but did not include me... because I wasn't an employee. Okay, that's kind of annoying, I figure I'll just have to ask her fore more money; okay, I can do that. I'll wait until my anniversary date, which was mid-February.

In early February there's an email from her to our Office Manager, cc'ed to me (because I get cc'ed on all finance related matters, no matter what it is) saying "I'd like to give all the employees a bonus because they've been working so hard the last month. Can you please purchase 8 $100 gift cards from Amazon.com?" Now, I can add, being a Bookkeeper and all, and I know that there are 9 people on the payroll: 8 employees and 1 contractor: me. So I'm like WTF Boss Lady? (I said this to myself) and I know she's going to hand them out at the February staff meeting so I'll just hang on and see what happens.

Sure enough, at the February staff meeting, everybody got congratulated for working so hard and everybody got an envelope. She even makes a big deal to point out that the IT guy, although he doesn't work directly with the clients, still works really hard and should get a reward. Not me, though. No... I get fucking snubbed. In a very obvious way. People are looking at me and wondering what the deal was.

I. Was. Fucking. Pissed.

The meeting is over and I get up and leave the room, I go to my desk to turn off my computer and she comes up a few minutes later and says "I gave all the employees that because...." seriously.... she fucking trails off..... I say "it's cool" because the only other option there was "GO FUCK YOURSELF, BITCH" which is clearly not appropriate (damn) and she walks away. I shut down my computer and bolt the fuck out of there.

I was fuming. I go home and yell the whole story to hubs. I talk it over with a bunch of folks, and I decide not to make any rash decisions and I will calm down before I make my next move.

This was the gift I woke up to the next morning, which prompted the "my husband is awesome" post, and that I've been sitting on for the past 5 months, dying to share it with you all:


So, at that point, all of my loyalty is completely fucking gone. I felt like I'd been kicked in the ass. I was more hurt than angry, actually. I didn't want revenge, but I couldn't just let it go. I actually thought it over for a few months and I figured that I had 3 options:

1. Do nothing and carry on as I was;
2. Ask for more money and see what happens; or
3. Quit

Obviously #1 wasn't going to happen, I could never live with that. I vacillated between 2 and 3 for a while. If I asked for more money, she might say yes. Actually, she probably would have said yes, and then I would have to stay there, and did I really want to stay there? I had to figure that part out.

My answer came to me one day in a staff meeting. Oh, sorry.... they're called Company Meetings and you have to call them Company Meetings because Staff Meeting is incorrect. This is a PR firm that works with tech companies that I was working for, and I sat there listening to them talk about how to get their clients to use Twitter to increase their business and I was struck by 2 things:

1. The only purpose for this company being in business is to make money. That's all they do. I have a lot of nonprofit clients who do things like provide free counseling to kids in Juvie, or (illegally) promote Democracy in China and not only do they pay me what I'm worth, they actually do something worthwhile. I'm not interested in staying in a place that doesn't appreciate me, doesn't pay me what I'm worth AND serves no purpose other than to make money for themselves.

2. I was in this meeting Tweeting on my phone under the table about the irony of me tweeting on my phone under the table while around me people talked about how to use Twitter to maximize business profitability, and you know what? At the time I write this I have 1,727 Twitter followers. This company has 478. They could probably learn a few things from me about how to use Twitter to maximize your whateverthefuck. What the hell do they actually know about using Twitter, anyway?

So, I decided, I was going to leave. There was still the possibility that once I gave notice, she might suddenly realize how awesome I am and offer me more money? But.... no. Nothing. I quit. I trained my replacement. I left. And now that I've completely left? FINALLY I CAN BLOG ABOUT IT.

There's a slight possibility that she still might see this, especially since I'm fully intending to email this post to 2 of my former co-workers (Hi guys!! Try not to pass this on to anybody who might forward it to You Know Who) but at this point, fuck it. I didn't burn any bridges, I kept emotion out of it, I remained professional, my karma is intact, I think I handled it appropriately. At my very awkward final meeting, she gave me a hug and told me I could still use her as a reference. I won't, though.

She can go fuck herself. With hot pokers? Well. Maybe that's too much.....

TL;DR 

1. I had a client I was very loyal to
2. She did not appreciate me and told me so in a very obvious and embarrassing manner
3. I quit



Saturday, July 16, 2011

Calling all autistics

The other day, a woman at Child 1's camp told me that "there are 2 types of autistic people. 1. The kind that wants to have friends but doesn't know how and 2. The kind that doesn't care about having friends at all."

Child 1 is Autistic Type #2, according to that description. I would like to talk to an autistic adult who is also Type #2. Not (necessarily) for a guest post, just because I have questions.

You don't have to be "that type" as an adult, but if you were when you were 9? I would like to talk to you.

jillsmo@gmail.com

Thanks!



Friday, July 15, 2011

Adventures with Wii Sports

Child 2 got a Wii for his birthday (he's going to be SIX!!) and we've been having a blast playing it. We have 2 games: Mario Kart and Wii Sports.

I suck at both of them.

Now, there's 2 different ways to suck at something: 1. You're awful but it's a whole lot of fun so you keep doing it, and 2. You're awful and you HATE it. Child 2 and I are both #1 with Mario Kart and we have so much fun playing it. We do a lot of screaming (Hubs says "are you playing a game or having a knife fight?") and we can often be heard hollering at the top of our lungs "ROCKET CAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAR!!!" I love Rocket Car.

I'm #2 with most of the sports games, although I'm much better at Wii bowling than regular bowling.  He loves them all, though, and insists that I play them again and again, despite my suckery. Some are worse than others, of course.

For example, golf. We've only played it once, because I absolutely refuse to ever play it again. Did you know that when you get to +8 over par they won't even let you play anymore? Even they know you suck at it and so they just make you stop. Probably to save yourself from further embarrassment? Thanks, Wii!

I've made you a poorly drawn picture of how it went down. Enjoy!







Thursday, July 14, 2011

500 times the party (NSFW)

Over the weekend I hit 500 followers here (504 now. I waited too long to finish writing this piece of shit post. WHATEVER). 500 is a nice, round number... and I like nice, round numbers. There are no pennies, no fractions, it's just a 5 followed by two boobs. Who wouldn't like that, AmIRight?? So, I thought I'd throw a 500 Party and invite 500 of my closest friends. Because I like parties. Maybe you knew that about me. Okay, cheers! YAYYYY! DRINKING!!!!

In order to celebrate the 500ness of this occasion, I thought I'd tell you a few things related to 5plus2boobs that you might not have known before today.

Did you know...... ?

1. Each year all of the Hostess bakeries combined bake 500 million Twinkies a year.

2. The game Monopoly has been played by approximately 500 million people in the world

3. There were 500 flower vases on board the Titanic when it sank

4. 500 is an HTTP status code for Internal Server Error

5. The year 500 AD was a leap year

6. Of the 4 million children are born in the United States every year, approximately 36,500 of them will eventually be diagnosed with an Autism Spectrum Disorder (there's a 500 in there somewhere, so, close enough).

No, I'm not going to link to any of the sites where I found this interesting information. As far as you know, I made all of this shit up. That's just the way I roll, man.

Here are some other interesting facts you probably didn't know before today:

1. I was my first follower here! In fact, I have always been my biggest supporter :) (actually... if you knew me... you would know that's complete horseshit and I'm actually my own worst enemy. Y'know..... like Pink...... but shhhhhhhhh....... [whisper]just go with it[/whisper])

2. I obsessively check my site stats and I label your IP address whenever you comment, so I'm going to need you all to comment on this post, especially if you've never commented before, so that I can label you. And then watch as you come and go. And wonder. Do they think I'm funny? Are they laughing right now? Do they like me? If they like me why don't they leave a comment? Why doesn't anybody ever click on that juggling chick's boobs over there in the sidebar? Maybe they hate me? They probably hate me. I'm sure they'll never return because I'm so unfunny and they hate me ..... sniff....... So lonely. So very very lonely......

Uncanny likeness of me stolen from reddit

3. You're only actually getting 2 uninteresting facts about me. I was going to write a long rant about BlogHer and how I don't want to be part of their "publishing network," because they keep fucking rejecting me for syndication, and.... OH. I see.... BlogHer..... If that's even your real name..... is that how it works with you? I'm not good enough for you to publish my words but you'll still try to make some money off of my 504 loyal readers? Is that all you think I'm good for?? Well no way, BlogHer! No fucking way!! (OMG... I'm just kidding. Please don't be mad at me, BlogHer. Please? Will you please syndicate me? It would make me so happy!! I want one of those "I've been syndicated" graphics so much. Can I maybe wash your car? Or pick up your dry cleaning? Do you have enough weed? I can get you some of that if you want. Would that make you happy? I just want to make you happy. I don't know what to do to make you happy!!!! WHY DON'T YOU EVER CALL ME WHEN I LOVE YOU SOOOOOO MUCH?????????????)

Ahem.

Anyway... on that note..... let's actually celebrate this milestone.... with a picture. And what better celebration picture is there than a stick figure drawing of a helicopter penis? RIGHT??? Hey, I happen to have one of those!

This was drawn by my friend Brandon, who blogs at My Own Private Idaho, and can be found on Twitter at @Spud_Slinger.

Happy 500 everybody!!!




Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Wordless Wednesday




Tuesday, July 12, 2011

It's things like this, people.... THIS is why I blog.

Okay, so... this morning I'm driving Child 1 up the hill to his fancy schmancy new Social Skills Camp blah blah blah. I'm nervous about it, because I'm neurotic, and I always get nervous when I take him to a new place for the first time. (He's not nervous. I'm nervous. Whatever.) I had left early because I know that parking is a problem in the area, and yep! Sure enough, parking was a problem in that area, even though I was early. I'm nearing the camp place when suddenly.... I see a spot. And hark, the heavens did sing. And the world was glorious. And all was right in the world. So, I go to... you know... park there, when....

Actually, at this point I think some poorly drawn visuals might help you.....


So, here's me... approaching the camp place, when suddenly.... there it is



I look to see if anybody is coming in either direction (and this is kind of important... because nobody was fucking coming... in either direction) and I make this herky jerky suddenly-turn-my-car-in-the-direction-of-said-vacant-spot motion so that I can make a 3-point turn and ACTUALLY PARK THERE.




And then I pull backwards so that I can prepare to slide into the beautiful, beautiful parking spot




And then as I begin to make Step 3 of 3 Point Turn, I look ahead of me AND SUDDENLY THERE'S A FUCKING BLUE CAR PARKED IN MY SPOT. IN. MY. SPOT.





And I make eye contact with the driver and I do one of these, except with both hands





And she gives me this fucking shoulder shrug thing as if to say "Oh well. You lose." 
OH. MY. GOD.


At this point I've now got cars lined up on both sides, waiting for me to get the fuck out of the middle of the street so they can pass, and the FUCKING BITCH has parked her car, so I have no choice but to go somewhere else. I say fuck it and park in the red because I'm really pissed off and don't feel like circling around (and I didn't get a ticket!)

The red spot is about 3 cars away from where she is, and hey! We both get out of our cars at the same time. I yell "Seriously? Are you kidding me??" and she, of course, ignores me. BITCH!

We both get our kids out of our cars and then? We walk into the camp together. She's in front of me, and I'm staring fucking daggers into the back of her bitchy head, and oh my god I wanted to pull her shitty little hat off of it and shove it down her fucking throat, I was so pissed. I wanted to punch her in the back of the neck and then stomp on her back after she fell down. I wanted revenge.

However (unfortunately?) I was thinking clearly enough to know that I didn't want to make a scene in front of her kids, and my kid; I mean... I'm not a crazy person (okay. I'm not a complete crazy person). But mostly I didn't want to stress out Child 1, and seeing his mom confront a skinny (I assume; I didn't actually get a good look at her) bitchy Berkeley mom minutes before he starts at a brand new unfamiliar camp would definitely stress him out.

So I made a choice to not confront her shitty little face about how much of a bitch she is and I was forced to swallow my rage in order to provide a good example for my child. And as I walked into the camp, picturing myself squeezing her throat until it snapped, I wished that I had some kind of outlet for my frustration and anger.

When suddenly... I remembered! I know about 501 people who might find my pain and anguish amusing, especially if I include poorly drawn visuals! I'll channel my rage into a post! I'll blog about this! That will ease my pain.

Yeah, it didn't. Of course. I'm still pissed. And now whenever I go back to the camp I'm going to be looking for her, and hoping that I can run over her foot with my giant car.... or something..... Or? Maybe I can find out who she is so I can email this post to her.....

BITCH!!!!



Monday, July 11, 2011

Autism and anti-depressants

Hey, I haven't had an angry autism-related rant in a little while, I think I'm due, don't you? Yeah.

I have angrily ranted here before about how science has failed us, the parents of children with autism. I won't repeat myself except to say that science has failed us: the parents of children with autism. Nobody knows what causes autism. NOBODY. Even the people who claim that they know what causes autism... they're wrong. They don't know. Science doesn't know, parents don't know, all we can do is guess, really. Some combination of genetic and environmental factors. Or perhaps just genetic factors? Or perhaps just environmental factors? Did I mention yet that nobody knows?

There's a new study out, done by Kaiser Permanente which says "Children whose mothers take Zoloft, Prozac, or similar antidepressants during pregnancy are twice as likely as other children to have a diagnosis of autism or a related disorder" (hmmmm. a health insurance provider, I wonder if there was any self-serving motivation behind this study or these findings? No, no... that would be silly and cynical of me to even suggest such a thing... forget I said anything). It says "children who were exposed to the drugs during the first trimester were nearly four times as likely to develop an autism spectrum disorder." It does not say that antidepressants cause autism. It does stay that further research is necessary and these findings would need to be confirmed in larger studies. There has been a lot of talk on The Internets about this study, Mothers of children with autism are blaming themselves (moreso) and women are wondering if they should stop taking their meds if they want to get pregnant.

Let me tell you about my experience.

First of all, I have been depressed my entire life and I take an SSRI for it. I came to terms, long ago, with the fact that my brain chemistry is fucked up and I need this medication in order to survive. I'm not embarrassed about this, I'm not afraid to mention it, this is a fact of my life. Anybody have a problem with that? You can go fuck yourself.

Doctors will always tell you that, during pregnancy, everything is a "risk assessment." Do the potential risks that come with staying on your medication outweigh the benefit that you get from taking it? Will your life fall apart if you go off the meds? Will you make it through the next 9 months without it? Will your child definitely not have autism as a result? You don't know the answer to that last question, it's all just a toss-up, what with that whole "science has failed us" thing I mentioned earlier.

When I got pregnant with Child 1 I did my "risk assessment" and decided to stop taking the meds. "Nobody really knows," the doctor told me, so I decided to stop for the health of my baby. And I was totally miserable for 9 fucking months. I was angry and irritable all the time and I developed debilitating panic attacks while trying to commute to and from work. But that wasn't the worst of it....

The Post Partum Depression started a few weeks before he was born and continued for 6 weeks after his birth until I finally said "fuck this," stopped trying (and failing) to breastfeed and went back on the meds. Maybe some of you are now thinking "yeah, but it ended eventually and autism is forever," and that's certainly true, but those 2 months of hell were, without question, the worst thing that's ever happened to me. Worse than autism. And if I had continued on that course it's possible that one day I would have taken my baby and stepped in front of a moving car. And he ended up with autism, anyway.

With Child #2 I did the same risk assessment and when things started to fall apart, like it did the first time, I said "fuck this" much earlier and went back on the meds when I was about 6 months pregnant. No PPD. And no autism.

So, what is my point? I'm certainly not saying that my personal experience is proof that there's no connection between SSRIs and autism, I'm just reiterating my original point that nobody knows and science has failed us. But if you're thinking of going off meds to get pregnant, or facing any of those choices right now, don't let what happened to me happen to you. Do your risk assessments and if things start to fall apart? Take care of yourself. First.

It's not my fault that my kid has autism but it was my fault that I didn't take care of myself. And to any of you who did take the meds and whose kids have autism? It's not your fault your kid has autism. We're screwed, us autism moms, because no matter what happens it seems like we're going to get blamed for it, but it's not our fault

I know a lot of my friends with kids on the spectrum are reading this, and I'll ask you all this: If you knew then what you know now, would you have done anything differently?

I would. Even with knowing everything that I know today? I would have taken the meds.



Sunday, July 10, 2011

LZ Granderson hates your kids: Guest Post

So, I saw the "controversial" article on CNN.com last week, as did all the rest of us: "Permissive parents: Curb your brats." And, like all the rest of us, I was offended by this guy's chutzpah, I mean.... "If you had "the look," you wouldn't need to say "sit down" a thousand times." Seriously? Have you MET me? Have you SEEN my "look"? Oh, right... of course you haven't, but pesky things like "facts" don't often matter when you're busy judging someone. I considered writing a post about how much of an asshat this guy is, but then I thought that probably there was somebody out there who could do it better... and MAN was I right!!!

Please welcome Yvonne, who blogs at Attracted to Shiny Things. She can also be found on Twitter at yvonne9903. She did this shit RIGHT. Go Yvonne!!!



LZ Granderson hates your kids. So does everyone else. He said so.


LZ Granderson is an asshat of a CNN contributor, who has won some awards and has now decided that he's the most fucking awesome parent of anyone. Ever.

You know, because he has a kid. And "the look."

What is "the look"? I don't really know, but LZ discusses it several times in his judgmental article entitled, "Permissive parents: Curb your brats."

LZ assures us that "the look" will make any child immediately take heed of his/her parents warnings, sit down, be quiet and allow all adult conversation to pass without interruption. For hours, even.

How do you know if you possess "the look"? LZ wasn't very specific on this point, but he did say if you have "the look," you won't need to tell your child to "sit down" a bunch of times.

If you have "the look," you won't need to say much of anything at all, says LZ. You pretty much won't have to talk or interact with your child at all. They will just sit there, quietly noshing on their plate of steak and leafy greens, while you and your agent discuss your contract for the next year.

"But this nonverbal cue needs to be introduced early and reinforced diligently with consequences for transgressions, just like potty training." So if your child poops his pants, make sure to give him a diligent consequence.

LZ doesn't suggest what qualifies as "a diligent consequence," but it sounds like it might leave a mark.

"And whenever a kid throws a temper tantrum in the middle of the shopping mall it's just as bad as his soiling his pants to spite his parents, and it stinks just as much," says LZ. I don't know about you guys, but I'm definitely seeing a pattern here. A poop-centric pattern. Anal-retentive much, LZ?

Except there's this. If you are honest with yourself, you will recall times that your own child(ren) had a tantrum in a restaurant, started screaming in the grocery store or impulsively ran towards a shiny display at the Mall. And studies show that due to age-determined developmental constraints, children lack the ability to control their emotions, behaviors and responses approximately most of the time.

That's just the way kids roll. Sorry to inconvenience you LZ, but I'm willing to bet you were a brat when you were little, too. But if my kid has a tantrum, I'll tell you what. I will address it. I will give him an appropriate consequence, after I find out what his damage is. Not because you told me I should, or tried to shame me into giving him some dumbass "look," but because I am a good parent. As are most of the people you decided to take to task in your hastily-written and obnoxiously judgemental article. So fuck you for assuming otherwise.

Now.

There's another group of kiddos I want to talk about. The one's that LZ neglected to mention, probably because he didn't think of them. Because LZ sounds like he's all about himself.

The kids with disabilities.

Here are some common childhood disorders, which can affect a child's everyday functioning:

Autism/PDD-NOS/Asberger's Syndrome

OCD

ADHD

Sensory Integration Disorder

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder

Bi-Polar Disorder

Anxiety Disorder

Language Processing Disorder

Tourette's Syndrome

That's right. I'm going there. Because my awesome, wonderful, loving and sensitive 8-year-old son also carries a diagnosis of severe ADHD, along with OCD, sensory integration issues and anxiety. Add that to the fact that his dad and I divorced at the beginning of this year. Oh, let's not forget the fact that his dad just died. Totally not ok with any child, especially one who obsesses. So yeah, my kid is going to act out sometimes and OMG it might happen in public. Don't worry LZ, I'll handle it.

So here's the deal, you judgmental sack of shit.

YOU DON'T GET TO TELL ME HOW TO RAISE MY CHILD.

YOU HAVE NEVER HAD TO HOLD HIM IN A RESTRAINT, BECAUSE HE'S FREAKED OUT THAT DADDY DIED.

YOU HAVEN'T CHASED HIM DOWN A BUSY STREET, BECAUSE HE'S TOO OVERWHELMED AND ANGRY AND SCARED AND OBSESSED ABOUT THE NEXT PERSON IN HIS LIFE WHO MIGHT SUDDENLY LEAVE HIM.

YOU HAVEN'T CRIED YOURSELF TO SLEEP AT NIGHT, WORRYING THAT HIS MENTAL ILLNESS IS ONLY GOING TO WORSEN WITH AGE AND TIME.

YOU DON'T HAVE TO HEAR HIM REPEATING THE SAME PHRASE OVER AND OVER AND OVER, ALL BECAUSE A NEURON IN HIS BRAIN TELLS HIM IT NEEDS TO BE SAID.

YOU HAVE NEVER FELT YOUR BREATH CATCH IN YOUR THROAT, AS, AT THE AGE OF 6, HE PIPES UP FROM THE BACKSEAT OF THE CAR, ASKING, "MAMA? DO YOU EVER HAVE VOICES IN YOUR HEAD, TELLING YOU TO DO BAD THINGS?"

YOU DON'T SNEAK INTO HIS ROOM AT NIGHT, JUST TO BE ABLE TO SEE HIS SWEET FACE, FINALLY AT PEACE AFTER A TWO HOUR CRYING JAG.

AND YOU DON'T HAVE TO LISTEN TO HIM APOLOGIZE OVER AND OVER AND OVER AGAIN, BECAUSE HE KNOWS HE'S DONE BAD THINGS. YOU DON'T HAVE TO HEAR HIM TELL YOU HOW MUCH HE HATES HIMSELF, AND THAT HE WISHES HE WAS DEAD SO HE COULD BE WITH DADDY.


And the list goes on.

LZ, you are an utter asshole for assuming that you can lump all children under the umbrella of "poor parenting." And you are an even bigger asshole for assuming that the overworked, overstressed and emotionally burdened parents of these children even give a fuck about your opinion.

Except, deep down, your hurtful words resonate within them, amplifying the negative self-talk they've hammered themselves with.

I'm a bad parent.

Maybe he would be better off with someone else.

I never thought it would be like this.

My heart hurts so much for her, there are no words.

He is his own worst enemy.

I just wish she had ONE best friend.

Who will even WANT to take care of him if something happens to me?

I just want him to belong.

My family thinks she is a brat, I'm tired of feeling so judged.

And the hardest one for us to admit, even to ourselves?

I don't want to do this anymore.


So, yeah. I'm extremely offended by your holier-than-thou, judgmental attitude.

The world, and its children, would be much better off if you just shut your ignorant mouth and listened.

You will be amazed at what you learn.



Friday, July 8, 2011

Spotted in Berkeley: WTF???

This is stapled to a telephone pole on a busy intersection downtown. I stood on the sidewalk and stared at this thing for a good 3-4 minutes, but I still have no fucking clue what's going on here. Thoughts?




Thursday, July 7, 2011

Sorry, Google, but you brought this on yourself

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.



Wednesday, July 6, 2011

Guest Blogger: The Empress!!

I am SO thrilled and honored to be hosting one of my favorite bloggers of all time, The Empress who blogs at Good Day, Regular People (find her on Twitter at @GDRPempress). I've written about her before, about how she wrote a post that changed my whole perspective about parenting (and then a few days later, I changed my mind. Whoops!) The Empress is awesome and funny and smart and classy (don't let her tell you otherwise) and I'm so happy she's writing for me today! YAY!!


"Before becoming a mother I had a hundred theories on how to bring up children. Now I have just one child, and just one theory: love them. Love them, especially when they are at their most unlovable."
-- Kate Samperi

I began writing this post for jillsmo, and I intended it to be a funny one. You know, poking fun at all the quirky things my quirky 14 yr old boy does.

Things we call "Einsteiny" in our home, like how he forgets to take off his socks and underwear when he gets in the shower. Or how he'll get into the wrong unlocked car after church. How he stood up in church for Father's Day when they asked all the dads to stand up.

He doesn't really listen all the way. We asked him to please not stand up at the Fourth of July service, when they called upon the veterans.

Some very quirky things, like how he won't eat red food, or eat things that have no texture.

How he won't wear jeans because they're stiff, and how his socks have to be goldtoe* brand because they are the softest.

And the list goes on.

But, then, 3/4 of the way through the post, something inside me turned.

As much and as easy as it is to laugh about these things, if you stop and look at HOW many things you can list, you sort of feel like crying.

There's a lot.

The truth is, it's hard being a parent of a child who is Out of Sync.

A child who needs an industrial decibel strength headset before being able to sit for Fourth of July fireworks, because he can't take loud noise. A child that will take it upon himself to worry when the pot of pasta boils over. A child that won't wear a shirt with buttons.

It's hard.

The sort of things that will get to you are the thoughts of jealousy at how easy you think the other parents have it.

They just have typical things to deal with: all difficult in their own right, but we have those AND we have this, too.

We have the people that stare at a child who seems to not be able to make all his body parts move as fluidly as others his age. We have the people that stare at a child who appears much too old to still want to spend time doing things that others he knows have already outgrown.

The list is long. And, some days, you don't feel like laughing about it anymore.

What you do feel like doing, is throwing a pity party. You realize that your life is different from the majority out there. You realize you have a very special kid. One that leaves you ragged and jagged with all your nerves exposed and live wired some days.

You see your child, and wonder, "Am I the right person to be his mom?" You ask yourself, "Would he be doing better if it weren't me, as his parent?"

You do these things. You find yourself apologizing to him, mentally, for the out of patience, short tempered, screaming banshee of a mother he got.

Yes, you do that.

Because, how could the world be so unfair as to give a child who has a heart for every underdog in the world, a mother like you?

How could a child who can sit for hours playing with his much younger brother, with such love and nurturing, get a mother like you?

How could a child who has taught you the peacefulness of going outside to just sit, get a mother like you?

My child, who brought tears to my eyes when he took me by the hand at age three, and pulled me outside to stare at bugs with him, because "they're more beautiful than anything I could ever draw, mama."

My child, who is happy wearing one blue sock, one green sock; getting a petty, trivial, stuck on details, mother like me?

My child is more attune to what is important than I will ever be.

There are possible labels for my child: Sensory Processing Sensitivity, Profound Giftedness, Sensory Integration Disorder.

All these labels, for a child who took my breath away by pulling himself up to the train table in the playroom when he was 17 months old, and spelling his eight lettered name out with the alphabet cars on the train track. I have pictures.

Yes, he takes me to the edge of my emotions.

It's only right, since he's taken me to a level of living, and opened my eyes to a world, and to a me, that I never would have known without him.



Tuesday, July 5, 2011

An old shoe


So... the other day I posted this song that I like and I said that I really really liked the first few lines. Those lines are: "I don't have anything to write about anymore, my words have become boring" because, well... that's how I was feeling at the time.

And then my friend Karen, who blogs at Solodialogue wrote in the comments "You could write about an old shoe and it would be funny..."

Oh yeah, Karen? Well.....



I thought I'd get us started with some poetry! First, a limerick:

An old shoe sat by the door
Its grey laces sagged to the floor
It once used to run
and have oh so much fun
now feet in it happens no more.

Okay, that wasn't very funny, but I'm just getting started! Give me a break. How about a haiku?

The old shoe was white
Dr. Scholl tried very hard
Alas, it still smelled

And now, iambic pentameter

The shoe is old it sits upon the floor
He's sad because no one wears him these days
One time he rode upon the feet of kings
But now he smells and no feet will wear him


Hubs just walked by and asked me what I was doing. "I'm writing poetry about an old shoe," I said. I shit you not, he gave me this look:


Did you know that the world's oldest shoe is 5,500 years old, was created from a piece of cow hide and was a size 4? It's true. It was found in a cave by archeologists in Armenia, "with three pots, each containing a child's skull, along with containers of barley, wheat and apricot." Okay, well.... this guy here wrote about an old shoe and was funny. I don't seem to be doing a very good job.

HA HA Karen!! See? You were totally wrong! I can't write about an old shoe and be funny, after all!!! So there! AHA HA HA HA HA HA!!!!!!

Wait.


Shoe image courtesy of stockimages / FreeDigitalPhotos.net



Monday, July 4, 2011

Happy 4th of July


 Happy Independence Day!!

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?

Do you think this is what they meant?

Happy Independence Day, everybody!!

Yeah.

Good times.



Saturday, July 2, 2011

Steam Trains

Up in the mountain-ey area of Berkeley is a place called Tilden Park, which contains lots of fun stuff for kids: a mini little zoo, lots of playgrounds, lots of hiking and camping spots, a merry-go-round and steam trains.

The steam trains are these sweet little open wooden cars that are pulled by a steam engine and you ride in the cars while the engine takes you around this track in this mountain-ey area, through trees and around turns and through a tunnel, etc. There are some cool views of the city below and it goes without saying that kids love it.

We've been going to the steam trains since Child 1 was a toddler. For a while we would go every weekend; it depends on the weather, really. The trains don't run when it's raining and it gets really cold up there, but we've been to the trains in various stages of my childrens' development. Me, hugely pregnant with Child 2, clamoring in and out of these rickety wooden cars, with a very small Child 1 who needed to be picked up and put into the car. An older Child 1 trying to grab every tree branch that passed by us and a toddler Child 2, who always stood up at the worst times and had to be pulled back down into his seat. An older, again, Child 1, who could climb in and out of the car on his own while a preschool aged Child 2 narrated the entire journey through the mountains.

We went this weekend; it had been a while since we'd been there, at least a year. They could both get in and out of the car by themselves, and they both knew to sit still and keep their hands inside. As we rode through the trees I remembered how I would always be amazed at how the sweet peas came back again and again every year, growing wild on the hills, when it was always so hard for me to grow them at home. And I remembered how I used to clutch whichever child was sitting next to me, because if I didn't have at least one hand on them, I was convinced that they would magically be whisked out of their seats and down the huge mountainside; plummeting to their death.

Nobody needed clutching this time, though. They're older and they can keep themselves inside the cars; they didn't need my Magical Mom Grasp to stay alive. It was bittersweet, that feeling. My babies aren't my babies anymore; they're growing up. They still need their Mama, of course, but eventually they'll go out into their world on their own and I have to hope that we've done a good enough job so that they can make their way.

I think we're doing pretty good so far, actually; these are great little people we've got here, but... I miss my babies. I miss their fuzzy heads and their pudgy arms and thighs and how all I had to do was pick them up and they would immediately feel better about whatever it was.  It's funny that that's what parenting is: raising them well enough so that one day they will leave you. I'll miss them even more when that day comes, I'm sure.



Friday, July 1, 2011

Song of the Day: One More Song

Parachute Musical. They're so obscure even I've never heard of them. I say that because I think they're a hipster band. Then again, I don't really know what a hipster band is, but I like making fun of them, regardless.

Anyhoo.... I really like the first few lines of this song, like, a lot.