Wednesday, December 17, 2008

So Fast

It seems like it was just a week or two ago that I walked Vic into his first day of kindergarten, and here we are, already at the start of Winter break. He's terribly excited to not have school. I had thought it would take a few years before the shininess of school would wear off and break would seem like a good thing. But no, I was wrong. He's beside himself! Tomorrow is his class Christmas party. He gets to sing the dreidel song in front of his class, and then he gets to help me teach his class how to play dreidel. We went to World Market and found the cutest wooden dreidels and the chocolate gelt. He's just sad that he can't eat the gelt. I told him he could use Skittles instead, and he seemed even more excited at that prospect.
Once school lets out on Friday, there will only be a few short days to get ready for the start of Hanukkah, and then a few short days before Christmas. We've never done a big deal for Hanukkah before. I've always lit the menorah by myself, for myself, but I've never done any other celebrating. I'm a touch nervous. I'm sure it will be a touch awkward and clumsy, but it'll be fun. I got the boys a menorah of their own to light. I'll let Vic try to light it on his own. That will be an adventure in it's own right. Vic and fire should probably not make friends very often if I want the house to survive the holiday season. I've invited friends over for the first night. I'll make a big dinner and the kids can open their gifts. I bought some books for them to read and some games to play. I'm hoping it'll distract them long enough for me to get some pictures. Really, what I'm hoping, is that they'll remember the fun, the family, the light they bring to our lives.

I'm not sure how much I'll get blogged for the next few weeks while the kids are off, so if I don't get back to it, have a wonderful holiday!

Wednesday, November 26, 2008

Ruminations and Giving Thanks

Some things should stay INSIDE my head.

Thursday, November 13, 2008

Another Year Gone

It's crazy how quickly time seems to pass. I remember as a kid, marking the days between birthdays and Christmases that seemed to go on and on and on just to annoy me. Each day seemed like a lifetime, each year an eternity. Any more, it's hard to see the days, let alone the years as they fly by. I don't mark time by holidays anymore. I mark time by the size of my kids' pants and the length of their hair, the piles of laundry, and the stains in the carpet. Birthdays roll around, and where once there were parties and excitement, there's a quiet nod and a wave as another year ends and a new one begins.
I don't hate my birthday. I don't hate getting older. In fact, since I was very little, very young, I can remember being excited to get older, loving the idea that the older I got, the more I could do. I hate the idea of getting old. I hate the idea of getting out of touch, and rusty, and crusty, and just out of sync with the world. I hate the idea of becoming soft-bodied and hard-hearted. I know it doesn't have to be that way, but I've seen what happens to the women in my family as they age. There are two roads, one leads to crazy and the other to crabby. Neither appeals to me. In fact, they both frighten me immensely. So, although I've only just begun my 31st year, I've decided to lay the foundation for a new road. I don't know where it leads, but I know it isn't where the others have gone. And when I'm ready to walk down it, I'm sure I'll be rockin' my tiara, my pin-stripped pants, and heels, or chucks if I decide to pave it in cupcake shaped cobblestone just for kicks.
And to those of you who've traveled down the road that has led me through this year, thank you. You make this journey rich with love and laughter. I can only hope that you continue to travel with me, paving as we go, so that I might have a chance to repay you.

Tuesday, November 4, 2008

Dear Victor and Oscar,

When you wake up tomorrow, it will be a brand new day.
For the entirety of your lives, we have lived in a nation submerged in doubt, fear, war, and deceit. Every day of your short lives I have worried about your futures, about the paths lying before you as citizens of this country and of this world. I have lain awake nights worrying about this war we’re in, and fearing that someday your names would be called to serve, to die, like so many before you. I have lain awake nights dreading the morning light; knowing that the coming dawn will bring higher gas prices, higher food prices, higher everything prices, and knowing that each cent spent on the basic needs of daily living leaves less to provide for your education, for your future. For the entirety of your lives we have lived under the direction of a President with no moral code, with no ethics, no conscience. We have lived in the shadow of his ego and self-serving ambitions. We haven’t seen the sun for 8 years.
But tomorrow, tomorrow when you wake up, you will wake up to the sun. Tonight as you sleep, the people of this nation have spoken. The people of this nation have decided that they are tired of the darkness. They are tired of the cold, impersonal, and abusive policies we’ve struggled and failed under for the last 8 years. They are through with hate and negativity and abuse.
Tonight, the people of this great nation elected Barack Obama to be the next president of the United States of America.
Barack Obama will not be able to end the war on his own. He will not be able to lower gas prices, food prices, anything prices on his own. He will not pay the mortgage or put food on our table. He will not send you to college. He will not be able to change anything on his own or immediately. He is not the messiah. He is not a god. He is but a man. But he is change. With his election, there is hope. With his election, there is potential for greatness that has not yet existed in your lives. He is the first black man to ever hold the office of President. And it’s a beautiful thing that the color of his skin will mean nothing to you when you are old enough to understand it. With his election, he has changed the very landscape laid out before you. The good he does will only add to the beauty of that landscape. I can’t wait for us to be a part of that good, to leave our mark on that landscape.
When you wake up tomorrow, we are going to celebrate. It’s a brave new world, my little men, and it’s full of hope.
Love,
Mama

Saturday, November 1, 2008

Even Arnold Thinks You're Tarded

On Tuesday, in California, we'll be voting on more than the presidential race. As in every other state, we'll be voting on local measures and propositions. Proposition 8 asks the citizens of this state to ban gay marriage. It is asking us to openly and proudly embrace bigotry and hate, to teach our children that some people are better, more deserving of protection and respect, than others, and to generally be a huge disappointment to humanity. Fuck that shit. There is NOTHING good about Proposition 8. There is nothing good that can come from its passage. How anyone can read that tripe and see something good in it is beyond me. Even our governor, the Governator himself, who has often shown himself to be a first class pig, is opposed to this proposition.
As is Dianne Feinstein:

And Margaret Cho:

And Ellen:


and a whole host of other people who all have brains and working consciences. Look, I don't give a shit what the proponents of this proposition say. I am a teacher. I can tell you first hand that what you NEED to be worried about your kids learning is not happening in the classroom. It's happening on the playgrounds, in the cafeteria, on the walk to and from school, at home, on the Internet and anywhere there are kids who walk and talk and think for themselves. And let me tell you, what they ARE learning and learning about is FAR scarier than two people loving each other enough to want to spend eternity legally bound to each other. If you're worried about the things your kids are learning, what you need to do is talk to your kids. What you need to do is take the time to get to know your kids, get to know their friends, get to know the parents of their friends. What you need is to take responsibility for the raising of your kids, and be a responsible parent. If you want to be a bigot, that's your prerogative. If you want to raise little bigots, again, your prerogative. But your lifestyle choices are not my responsibility to maintain, nor should they be my burden to uphold. If they deny me and mine our rights, then they become my problem.
I, for one, hope that come Tuesday, the collective good of the Universe rains down upon California, and gives the Mormon Church and its cohorts a giant f-you finger with an overwhelming NO vote on Prop 8. I know I'll be waving my finger proudly as I cast my vote. I hope you'll join me.

Thursday, October 30, 2008

The only thing about this presidential race

that I will miss when it's over, is the funny.
Like this:


I love everything about this video. But I especially love the moosehead-wearing piano player guy. You sir, are hilarious and awesome!

(found here by way of my friend Kim's net surfing!)

Saturday, October 25, 2008

Cakes! I Makez Dem!

I like to make cakes. For every birthday, I make a special cake for each of my boys in whatever shape they choose. I make them for other occasions too.
I've made Spiderman: which I can't find a picture of.

A Lightening McQueen:

A green Power Ranger:

Pablo the Backyardigan:


A flaming sword:


A corset cake for my sister's bridal shower:


And the other day, I made a yarn cake:

I am so flippin' proud of this cake! It's the first time I've made a cake with any kind of 3-D element on it. And it actually looks like what it's supposed to look like, unless my friends are just humoring me :)!
There's no real reason for this post, other than that I'm all geeked out over my cakes, and kinda wondering if I should make them more than just a hobby. They are fun to make, and relatively easy, but they are time consuming and can be expensive, and I have no idea what kind of a market there is for stuff like this. I do know that the laws in Cali make it virtually impossible for me to run a legitimate cake business out of my home, because it's just not big enough and I only have on kitchen, so it would be complicated.
Anyway, that's just one of the things occupying space in my brain. No matter what I decide to do, my kids still get killer cakes for their birthdays, and I have fun making them. :)
Peace out, homies.
L

Tuesday, October 21, 2008

Doodads and Dicks

My kids are on one HELL of a roll. Let me explain and expound:

My affinity for the word douchebag is well documented. I use it aaaaaaaaaaaaaall the time. When someone cuts me off in traffic, does something completely tarded, or just generally annoys me, that's what flies out of my mouth. My love for that word is second only to my love of the f-bomb-which I don't use as frequently in real life because of the boys. I generally try to edit myself around them anyway, but in the car, sometimes things happen. So today, we're driving to the grocery store. It's just me and Oscar running down the road for a quick trip. Some troll cuts me off, and I honk. I didn't say anything, but swerved to avoid an accident. What do I hear from the back seat? My sweet little boy yelling "Nooooooooooooooooo! Doodad! Noooooooooo!" And I looked in the rearview to see him pointing his finger out the window and scrunching up his face as he shook his angry little fist at the offending 'doodad'. I will now sit quietly and await my appointment as mother of the year for teaching my kid how to say douchebag before he can say his own name.

Pt. 2 of my parenting greatness:
Victor has been having a terrible time in school with all things involving writing. He hates it. He hates any activity that requires him to hold a pencil or a crayon, because it means he can't hold a toy or a ball or run around and be his crazy self. So it's been a struggle to get him to do his homework. The only reading his teacher gives him is reading, but I know my son, and I know he needs more. So we do handwriting, math, phonics, and a couple of other kinds of homework every day. Today went pretty well. Victor was feeling SO good about himself and his homework because he got his pattern activity done quickly and without whining. Then I taught him how to draw a five-point star. He thought that was THE coolest thing ever and proceeded to draw them all over everything. And then, to show me his appreciation, he drew me a picture. Now, given that he HATES drawing and writing, this is a HUGE deal! Right? Right. So when he presented me with his lovingly crafted drawing, I HAD to make sure he knew how much I loved it and him, and that the drawing was beautiful. But, I'm a dick.
I couldn't not laugh. So I laughed, and clapped, and told him how great it was. And then, because I couldn't STOP laughing, I grabbed him and hugged him extra tight and extra long. So now, it's official. I'm a dick.

Sunday, October 19, 2008

I don't care if she WAS on SNL last night,

Sarah Palin is still a douche. I'd love to sing her this song.

Thursday, October 16, 2008

Dear Angry Teachermen,

Get over yourselves. You can't stage a revolt. You're not an oppressed people. What you are is a bunch of middle-aged, middle-class, overly privileged white guys with a sense of entitlement dwarfed only by your egos. What you are is immature. What you're doing is not a revolt. It won't bring about change. It won't improve conditions for your "people". It's a tantrum. You're toddlers. I've half a mind to bring you blankies and binkies next time we meet. If you don't want to do the job, get the fuck out and make room for someone who does. Let the young and still-hopeful take your place. Your crust is starting to ooze, and the kids can tell. They don't respond to you because you don't know them, and you don't care. Why should they? It's apparent you've decided what they're capable of (nothing), what their value is (nothing still). What reason do you give them to try? At the end of the day, you're there for the pay check, and they're there for a safe place to be. So much wasted time. So many lost opportunities. I'm a grown ass woman, and I find it difficult to refrain from punching you in the throat when we're together. I can't imagine how the kids manage to. Your arrogance and ineptitude let off a stink that wafts for miles. It pollutes the air and clouds your judgement. And I,for one, am tired of it. The kids deserve better. The school deserves better. Everyone deserves better than your toxic contributions can give them. So go. For the love of Pete, go. Stage your tantrum on the front lawns and walk off. No one will be sad to see you leave, least of all "those damn kids."

Sincerely,

That bitch who still gives a shit.

Thursday, October 9, 2008

If I could pick my grandmother

I'd pick Helen!

Voter Registration Deadlines

The deadline to register to vote in north carolina is TOMORROW!
Friday Oct 10th. It's also the deadline tomorrow and Saturday in
other states: VOTER REGISTRATION DEADLINE THIS WEEK: FRIDAY, 10
OCTOBER: NEW YORK, OKLAHOMA. SATURDAY, 11 OCTOBER IS DEADLINE FOR
DELAWARE.

Early voting, are you registered to vote, where do you vote info, and a list of all of the offices of the Secretaries of State here:
Rock the Vote


VR deadlines for all states are below. IF YOU DON'T SEE YOUR STATE,
YOUR DEADLINE HAS PASSED
State - Voter Registration Deadline

Alabama - Fri, Oct. 24
California - Mon, Oct. 20
Connecticut - Tues, Oct. 21
Delaware - Sat, Oct. 11
Idaho - Register at Polls
Iowa - Fri, Oct. 24 (or on Election Day at polling place)
Kansas - Mon, Oct. 20
Maine - Tue, Oct. 21 (or on Election Day at polling place)
Maryland - Tue, Oct. 14
Massachusetts - Wed, Oct. 15
Minnesota - Same Day Registration at polling place
Montana - Mon, Oct. 6 (or same day at elections office)
Nebraska - Fri, Oct. 24 (mail by Fri, Oct. 17)
Nevada - Tue, Oct. 4 (or in person until Oct. 14)
New Hampshire - Same Day
New Jersey - Tues, Oct. 14
New York - Fri, Oct. 10
North Carolina -Fri, Oct. 10
North Dakota - N/A (North Dakota is the only state that doesn't require voters to register in order to cast a ballot.)
Oklahoma -Fri, Oct. 10
Oregon - Tue, Oct. 14
South Dakota - Mon, Oct. 20
Utah - Mon, Oct. 6 or in person Tue, Oct. 28
Vermont - Wed, Oct. 29
Washington - Sat, Oct. 4 (or until Mon, Oct. 20 in person)
West Virginia - Wed, Oct. 15
Wisconsin - Wed, Oct. 15 (or on Election Day at polling place)
Wyoming - Can register at polls

Don't let them take YOUR vote away! Check your voter registration!

Some voter registrations have been invalidated in MICHIGAN, OHIO, INDIANA, COLORADO, NEVADA, NORTH CAROLINA by "clerical error".

Yeah. Right.



Article from NY Times: http://www. msnbc. msn. com/id/27093919/
States' purges of voter rolls appear illegal

By Ian Urbina

updated 10:06 p.m. MT, Wed., Oct.
8, 2008
Tens of thousands of eligible voters in at least six swing states have been removed from the rolls or have been blocked from registering in ways that appear to violate federal law, according to a review of state records and Social Security data by The New York Times.

The actions do not seem to be coordinated by one party or the other, nor do they appear to be the result of election officials intentionally breaking rules, but are apparently the result of mistakes in the handling of the registrations and voter files as the states tried to comply with a 2002 federal law, intended to overhaul the way elections are run.

Still, because Democrats have been more aggressive at registering new voters this year, according to state election officials, any heightened screening of new applications may affect their party’s supporters disproportionately. The screening and trimming of voter registration lists in the six states — Colorado, Indiana, Ohio, Michigan, Nevada and North Carolina — could also result in problems at the polls on Election Day: people who have been removed from the rolls are likely to show up only to be challenged by political party officials or election workers, resulting in confusion, long lines and heated tempers.


Some states allow such voters to cast provisional ballots. But they are often not counted because they require added verification.

Although much attention this year has been focused on the millions of new voters being added to the rolls by the candidacy of Senator Barack Obama, there has been far less notice given to the number of voters being dropped from those same rolls.

States have been trying to follow the Help America Vote Act of 2002 and remove the names of voters who should no longer be listed; but for every voter added to the rolls in the past two months in some states, election officials have removed two, a review of the records shows.

The six states seem to be in violation of federal law in two ways. Some are removing voters from the rolls within 90 days of a federal election, which is not allowed except when voters die, notify the authorities that they have moved out of state, or have been declared unfit to vote.

Some of the states are improperly using Social Security data to verify registration applications for new voters.

In addition to the six swing states, three more states appear to be violating federal law. Alabama and Georgia seem to be improperly using Social Security information to screen registration applications from new voters. And Louisiana appears to have removed thousands of voters after the federal deadline for taking such action. Under federal law, election officials are supposed to use the Social Security database to check a registration application only as a last resort, if no record of the applicant is found on state databases, like those for driver’s licenses or identification cards.

The requirement exists because using the federal database is less reliable than the state lists, and is more likely to incorrectly flag applications as invalid. Many state officials seem to be using the Social Security lists first.

In the year ending Sept. 30, election officials in Nevada, for example, used the Social Security database more than 740,000 times to check voter files or registration applications and found more than 715,000 nonmatches, federal records show. Election officials in Georgia ran more than 1.9 million checks on voter files or voter registration applications and found more than 260,000 nonmatches.

Officials of the Social Security Administration, presented with those numbers, said they were far too high to be cases where names were not in state databases. They said the data seem to represent a violation of federal law and the contract the states signed with the agency to use the database. Last week, after the inquiry by The Times, Michael J. Astrue, the commissioner of the Social Security Administration, alerted the Justice Department to the problem and sent letters to election officials in Alabama, Georgia, Indiana, Nevada, North Carolina and Ohio. The letters, which express concern that voters will be blocked from voting because of the inappropriate use of Social Security information, ask the officials to ensure they are complying with federal law.

In three states — Colorado, Louisiana and Michigan — the number of people purged from the election rolls since Aug. 1 far exceeds the number who may have died or relocated during that period.

States may be improperly removing voters who have moved within the state, election experts said, or who are considered inactive because they have failed to vote in two consecutive federal elections. For example, major voter registration drives have been held this year in Colorado, which has also had a significant population increase since the last presidential election, but the state has recorded a net loss of nearly 100,000 voters from its rolls since 2004.


Asked about the appearance of voter law violations, Rosemary E. Rodriguez, the chairwoman of the federal Election Assistance Commission, which oversees elections, said they could present “extremely serious problems.

“The law is pretty clear about how states can use Social Security information to screen registrations and when states can purge their rolls,” Ms. Rodriguez said.

Nevada officials said the large number of Social Security checks had resulted from county clerks entering Social Security numbers and driver’s license numbers in the wrong fields before records were sent to the state. They could not estimate how many records might have been affected by the problem, but they said it was corrected several weeks ago.


Other states described similar problems in entering data.

Under the Help America Vote Act, all states were required to build statewide electronic voter registration lists to standardize and centralize voter records that had been kept on the local level. To prevent ineligible voters from casting a ballot, states were also required to clear the electronic lists of duplicates, people who had died or moved out of state, or who had become ineligible for other reasons.

Voting rights groups and federal election officials have raised concerns that the methods used to add or remove names vary by state and are conducted with little oversight or transparency. Many states are purging their lists for the first time and appear to be unfamiliar with the 2002 federal law.

“Just as voting machines were the major issue that came out of the 2000 presidential election and provisional ballots were the big issue from 2004, voter registration and these statewide lists will be the top concern this year,” said Daniel P. Tokaji, a law professor at Ohio State University.

Voting rights groups have urged voters to check their registrations with local officials.

In Michigan, some 33,000 voters were removed from the rolls in August, a figure that is far higher than the number of deaths in the state during the same period — about 7,100 — or the number of people who moved out of the state — about 4,400, according to data from the Postal Service.

In Colorado, some 37,000 people were removed from the rolls in the three weeks after July 21. During that time, about 5,100 people moved out of the state and about 2,400 died, according to postal data and death records.

In Louisiana, at least 18,000 people were dropped from the rolls in the five weeks after July 23. Over the same period, at least 1,600 people moved out of state and at least 3,300 died.

The secretaries of state in Michigan and Colorado failed to respond to requests for comment. A spokesman for the Louisiana secretary of state said that about half of the numbers of the voters removed from the rolls were people who moved within the state or who died. The remaining 11,000 or so people seem to have been removed by local officials for other reasons that were not clear, the spokesman said.

The purge estimates were calculated using data from state election officials, who produce a snapshot every month or so of the voter rolls with details about each registered voter on record, making it possible to determine how many have been removed.

The Times’s methodology for calculating the purge estimates was reviewed by two voting experts, Kimball Brace, the director of Election Data Services, a Washington consulting firm that tracks voting trends, and R. Michael Alvarez, a political science professor at the California Institute of Technology.

By using the Social Security database so extensively, states are flagging extra registrations and creating extra work for local officials who are already struggling to process all the registration applications by Election Day.

“I simply don’t have the staff to keep up,” said Ann McFall, the supervisor of elections in Volusia County, Fla.

It takes 10 minutes to process a normal registration and up to a week to deal with a flagged one, said Ms. McFall, a Republican, adding that she was receiving 100 or so flagged registrations a week.

Usually, when state election officials check a registration and find that it does not match a database entry, they alert local election officials to contact the voter and request further proof of identification. If that is not possible, most states flag the voter file and require identification from the voter at the polling place.

In Florida, Iowa, Louisiana and South Dakota, the problem is more serious because voters are not added to the rolls until the states remove the flags.

Ms. McFall said she was angry to learn from the state recently that it was her responsibility to contact each flagged voter to clear up the discrepancies before Election Day. “This situation with voter registrations is going to land us in court,” she said.

In fact, it already has. In Michigan and Florida, rights groups are suing state officials, accusing them of being too aggressive in purging voter rolls and of preventing people from registering.

In Georgia, the Justice Department is considering legal action against officials in Cobb and Cherokee Counties who sent letters to hundreds of voters stating that their voter registrations had been flagged and telling them they cannot vote until they clear up the discrepancy.

On Monday, the Ohio Republican Party filed a motion in federal court against the secretary of state to get the list of all names that have been flagged by the Social Security database since Jan. 1. The motion seeks to require that any voter who does not clear up a discrepancy be required to vote using a provisional ballot.



Republicans said in the motion that it is central to American democracy that nonqualified voters be forbidden from voting.

The Ohio secretary of state, Jennifer Brunner, a Democrat, said in court papers that she believes the Republicans are seeking grounds to challenge voters and get them removed from the rolls.

Considering that in the past year the state received nearly 290,000 nonmatches, such a plan could have significant impact at the polls.

Wednesday, October 8, 2008

You've got to be fucking kidding me.

I'm not a Republican. I've known for most of my life that that was not the party for me. But I have to admit, that when the rumors started buzzing that the Republican Presidential Nominee was going to select a woman as his running mate, my interest was piqued. When I saw what he actually picked, my interest was no longer piqued, but my sensibilities were offended. Sarah Palin isn't a woman. She's a jack ass. She's a mockery of femininity and progress. She's a half-wit and an insult to thinking women everywhere. I've yet to hear her form a complete sentence that didn't include something scripted for her, something obviously memorized or read from a teleprompter. I've yet to hear her describe HER opinions or thoughts on the state of the world and/or this Nation today without making a gigantic ass out of herself. You can see Russia from your house, really? Really. I'm tired of it. I'm tired of the puppetry. I'm tired of the objectification of women that is so institutionalized and common place that Sarah Palin can meet with leaders from all over the world, and the ONLY comment to come out of those meetings that makes a headline is that she's gorgeous. We really haven't come that far after all if the only thing she had to contribute to those meetings was her pretty face.
Aside from her constant demonstration of her lack of political/world knowledge and her seeming approval of the way she's been used and marketed by "her" party and running mate, I find Sarah Palin's politics objectionable. She is an enemy to and hater of women everywhere. How else can you explain charging rape victims for their exams? How else can you explain her fervent anti-choice stance? How else can you explain expecting rape vicitims to carry the pregnancies resulting from their rape to term? How ELSE do you explain forcing your teenage daughter to marry a boy who doesn't want her or the child he helped create?
Sarah Palin is wasteful and negligent in her professional practices. ($20 Million deficit after her mayorship anyone?).
She's a predator (because hunting from a helicopter is totally fair and fun!)
Sarah Palin is a jackass. And McCain is a tool. If this:
is the best he could find when searching for a woman to select as his VP candidate, he obviously doesn't know that there is a difference between being female and being a woman, nor does he care.
She may have a box, but she couldn't find her way out of one if you drew her a map. Let's hope that her stupidity continues to shine through the lipstick, and that this hockey hog goes far far away once the election is over.
McCain never stood a chance of getting my vote anyway, but with this he has earned my disgust.

Tuesday, August 26, 2008

Dear Victor,

Today was your first day of school. You were so excited to get there, you woke up early and hardly touched your breakfast. I watched you running around the house, asking a hundred times if you were late for school yet, and couldn't help but think that it wasn't all that long ago that you were just learning how to crawl around this space. Now it's barely big enough to hold you. I can't believe how fast the time has gone by. It seems like just yesterday that we celebrated you entering the world, and next week we'll be celebrating your fifth birthday. Five years. Five years of sheer joy and occasional frustration. Five years of laughter, and love, and adventures I'd never have had without you. Thank you little man. You have made me a much better person. Being your mama has taught me more than any class, any book, or any school possibly could about what it means to be a decent human being and what the right way to walk in this world really is. You are the best teacher ever.
This morning, you looked like such a big boy, marching yourself onto campus.


And lining up, waiting for your teacher, just like you'd been shown and without having to be reminded.


And getting down to the serious business of playing and making friends.


You are such an amazing person, my little friend. The world has great things in store for you, and you for it. I can't wait to see what they are. Just remember that no matter how big you get, no matter how smart you are or how much you know, you will always be mama's little man. And you may look like this:


now. But in my heart, you will always and forever be my baby.



Love,
Mama

Sunday, August 17, 2008

Inconceivable.

The memorial for Russel was today. I went up early. I wanted to make sure that the physical needs of the day were taken care of by someone other than Barb. I wanted to do something, to take care of her, to let her know that there would be at least one person in the house throughout the day who did not need HER to take care of THEM. I knew that the emotional complexity of the day would be enough for her to bear. She was wearing Russel's shirt, a large, black t-shirt with Wallace Shawn from 'The Princess Bride' on it. It said, 'Inconceivable' in large print across the bottom. As I hugged her for the first time since getting her phone call, I thought of the appropriateness of the shirt, the phrase, and her wearing it on this day. The loss of her father 12 months ago, three days after her wedding? Inconceivable. Breaking her foot during volleyball practice by taking a small step? Inconceivable. The death of her mother a few months later? Inconceivable. Her house burning down? Inconceivable. Russel's death? Inconceivable. A life and a future without him in it? Inconceivable. And yet, here we were, gathering to honor him, and all she has are her memories and his things.
Throughout the day, I watched as people moved in and out of the house, mingled with each other, sometimes sharing words, other times a somber look or a gentle touch. I was not surprised by the number of people there. Russel was an awesome human being who touched the lives of just about everyone he met in a positive way. I marveled at the relative calm of all present. The grief was palpable throughout the house, but almost everyone there behaved remarkably well and respected the enormity of Barb's grief by stiffling their own. Almost.
It is inconceivable to me how some people can take any situation and make it about themselves. I don't care to name them, but several people in attendance today showed their asses, and in doing so, compounded the hurt and loss felt by Barb and those closest to her. And to them I say, get over yourselves. Not everything is about you. Not everything should be about you. And if you can't put someone else first, even at a time like this, then you deserve the misery you've wrought. And even that is more time and attention than they deserve.
And now the memorial is over. Barb is left, alone, to figure out how to make life go on from here. Every plan, every want, every hope for the future has been inconceivably altered by Russel's death. And as much as I'd like to think that I can help her find her way, I know that I can't. Phone calls, cards, and visits only go so far in helping the healing. And not that it matters one bit, but my heart is still broken for her.

Thursday, August 14, 2008

My heart is broken for her.

I was walking today. As I walked, I approached a salon. As I neared the door, with my son in his stroller, I saw the door being held open by one of the ladies that worked there. I stopped to allow the people exiting the salon to pass. It was a very old gentleman pushing his wife, in her wheel chair, out of the salon. Every Thursday, he takes her in. She gets her hair done. She gets a manicure and a pedicure, and she gets treated like a princess. Every Thursday, he pays the ladies of the salon to wait on her, and he sits and talks to her while she gets pampered. Every Thursday he tells her how beautiful she looks when they're done and how lucky he is that she is his. And Every Thursday she smiles and nods as he speaks, but never responds. She has Alzheimers, and he does it any way. As I walked behind them, listening intently to him tell her how beautiful she is, how lucky they are to be together, how he loves her, I cried. I cried at the beauty of the love that man has for his wife, how unabashedly he shows it, for the rarity of that sight any more.
And I cried for my friend, Barb. Almost exactly a year ago, I was sitting on her deck, celebrating her marriage to Russell. That celebration was tinged with sadness due to the sudden death of her father. Over the course of the last year, my friend has had nothing but sadness, heartache, loss, and grief. On Tuesday, that grief increased exponentially when her husband of little more than a year was killed in a car accident. Watching that beautiful couple this afternoon, I couldn't help but think about Barb and Russell. That is the kind of love and marriage they had. And that is what was taken from her on Tuesday. What should have been a fairy tale ending to a nightmare of a year, has become a nightmare in and of itself. And my heart is just broken for her.

Wednesday, August 13, 2008

Victor's first Kippah

A little history:
My Victor is a very curious boy. It's one of the many, many things that I adore about him. He asks many, many questions throughout the course of an average day, and they range in topic from the mundane to the bizarre. One day, while in the car on the way to the babysitter's house, Victor asked about religion. Specifically, he asked why we didn't have one. I explained, as best I could without confusing or scaring him, that I didn't have a religion because I couldn't pick one, and that honestly, there have been more times than not in my life where I have questioned and doubted the existance of a god/gods/goddess/whatever. I tried to explain to him that more often than not, I didn't think there was a god, that what I saw of the world, in the world, lead me to believe that we are on our own. I also told him that just because that's how I feel, doesn't mean he has to agree with me, that because he was a smart boy, he could look at the world and decide for himself if he believed in a god/gods/goddess/whatever, and that when/if he was ready, I would help him find a religion that best suited his needs/wants/beliefs. And then he asked me what religions there were to choose from. So I rattled off a list, giving him examples of people he knows who belong to the various religions I had named. When I got to Judaism, he stopped me. He wanted to know more. So I explained. I gave him the short version of all the reading and learning I've done since I was 13 and developed an inexplicable love for a religion not my own. I told him about Israel, about some of the holidays, about the Saturday Sabbath, and synagogues. When I paused he said "hmmmmm, that sounds pretty cool. Can you take me to a cinnagot?" And I got excited. Despite my lack of faith, and perpetual uncertainty as to the existance of a diety, I love religion. I love the idea of it. I love the ritual, the pomp, the history, and tradition of it. I left Catholocism at 12 because of the intolerant nature of it's flock and the absolute refusal of the clergy to acknowledge, let alone attempt to answer my questions. I got excited when Victor asked about religion, and specifically Judaism, because when I was little and asking the questions he asked, there wasn't a place for me to find the answers I can find for him. I made an attempt to convert to Judaism when I was 13 and failed. I couldn't do it on my own, and was not fortunate enough to have anyone in my life at the time who was able to or interested in helping me do it. And then in my late teens, I found out that my mother's family were Sephardic Jews who fled Spain to avoid persecution under Franco. Out of fear, they outwardly lived as Catholics, but never converted. So the pull I have always felt toward Judaism makes sense. So, yay Jewness!
Victor's Kippah:
So I mentioned to some friends that I wanted to take Vic to a "cinnagot" so he could speak with a rabbi, ask some questions, and just experience Judaism for himself. My friend, Sarah, suggested I take him to
Congregation Beth Shalom in Carmichael. I looked over their website and sent them an email explaining that I had a curious 4 year old who wanted to visit and ask questions. I immediately got a response from Rabbi David, inviting me to bring Victor down. For a variety of reasons it took us a few weeks to get over there. But on Monday, we finally made it. The synagogue itself is a small building with a fenced in yard and play area off to the side. We went in through the fence and were met at the door by Rabbi David. He shook Victor's hand, Oscar's hand, and mine, and welcomed us warmly. We walked through the office area and into his office. We sat around a table and chatted for a bit. He asked Victor some questions and invited him to ask his and explore the office. As Victor spun in his chair and investigated all of the things on the shelves and walls in the office, Rabbi David turned to me and asked me about our family history. I explained that I was raised Catholic, left the church, attempted conversion, and then found out about my family's history in my late teens. As I was talking, he stopped me, reached across the table to touch my hand and said "you know you're Jewish, right? You know this." And I was so struck by his sincerity, by his unwaivering and immediate acceptance of me, that I cried like a damn baby. It was embarrassing, and frustrating that I cried, but I was overwhelmed. I tried to explain why I was crying. I tried to thank him for allowing my son the opportunity to question, to investigate, to learn that I was never given. I tried to tell him that as a child, I was made to feel that because I could not blindly accept, because I could not follow, because I lacked faith, something in me was broken and I was bad. But I didn't have to. Rabbi David understood, and said as much. At that point, the boys were losing their minds. Victor was impatiently waiting to see the sanctuary, and Oscar just wanted out. So Rabbi David asked that I promise to come back to speak with him without the boys so that we could speak freely and at length without being distracted. I agreed and we headed for the sanctuary. Before entering, Rabbi David handed Victor a basket and asked him to pick a Kippah. He explained to him that Jewish men wear the Kippah as a recognition that God is above them. Surprisingly, Victor thought this was pretty cool, picked a Kippah and slapped it on his head like a pro. Inside the sanctuary, Rabbi David showed Victor everything there was to see, told him what everything was called, sat on the bemah (the altar area where the Torah is read) and answered his questions, and even pulled out one of the scrolls for him to see, showing him the beautiful writing and reading a passage for him. He even said a prayer blessing Victor, since it was the first time he'd ever been in a synagogue. Victor was fascinated by the Hebrew he heard and saw. In fact, he was fascinated by everything he heard and saw while we were there. We ended our visit with a story about honesty (which Rabbi David told to Victor as an example of what he might hear during a Shabbat service, and which was very topically appropriate since we've been having "difficulties" with the bendiness of the truth lately) and a tour of the rest of the facility, which includes a meeting room and cafeteria/gathering room where they have dinner after services. On the way out, Rabbi David told Victor he could keep his Kippah as long as he promised to take care of it, which he enthusiatically did. It was an incredible visit, and one I hope to repeat in the near future. Victor has not stopped talking about his experience, and for the rest of the day on Monday, would not remove his Kippah, as you can see here:


And for Auntie Sugarbush:
Surprise! It's Shabbat!

Wednesday, July 30, 2008

Excuse me

but Fuck you Mr. Voight. Because being a prisoner of war never "programmed" anyone to be "militant and angry". Right. Again, I say fuck you.

Thursday, July 24, 2008

It isn't perfect, but it's ours.

Pardon this interruption to my normal assholery.


April 6, 1995. On that day, I nervously walked into the Social Security office to start my first office job. I was hired as a student assistant to help with filing and general office maintainance, and translation when needed. As I walked through the office with the secretary, taking a tour so she could show me where everything was and introduce me to the people I'd be working most closely with, I passed your desk. You were busy. You didn't see me, at least not that I could tell. I noticed your puffy hair and almond shaped eyes. You had, and still have, the most amazing eye lashes I've ever seen on a man. There was something about your demeanor that day that caught my attention, and has held it ever since. You were so comfortable, sitting there, on the phone with whichever claimant needed your help at that moment, so focused on doing your job, on helping someone and getting it right, and yet relaxed enough to laugh and actually enjoy the conversation. I don't remember meeting anyone else that day, but I remember seeing you. It would be weeks before I gathered up the courage to even say hello to you. Talking to you made me so nervous. I felt like a child waiting for Christmas every time you'd walk by my desk. When we took that long walk along the river, talked for hours, and shared more than two relative strangers probably should have so soon, I fell in love with your honesty, your intelligence, and with you. I felt as if my whole life was a dream. 13 years later, you can still make me feel that way.
The day I became your wife was one of the happiest, and hardest, days of my life. Binding myself to you for forever and a day was something I wanted, but not something I was prepared for. Never have I waivered in my love or devotion to you. There have been times when I have felt that being your wife meant being someone or something other than myself. There have been times when I have lost sight of our strength, our connection. There have been times when I have wondered what would become of us. But there has never been a time when I have regretted us. There has never been a time when I wished to not be your wife. The last 9 years have been full of love, laughter, pain, frustration, sorrow and joy. And for every last second of it, you have been by my side, whether I chose to see you there or not. There is no one I would have rather shared it with than you. This life we've made, it isn't perfect, but it's ours, and I wouldn't have it any other way. Thank you for being mine, for making me yours, and for not giving up on us when I pushed you away.

Oh. Honey. No.

Dear Douche Bag Motorcycle Guy,
You're killin' me smalls. The 80's called. They want their leather pants and feathered, permed, and free-flowing locks back. They'll take that vest, too. That look wouldn't have worked on you then, Bubba, and it sure as Hell isn't working on you now. What it IS working on though, is making me revisit my breakfast. Holy. Hell. Man. How did you EVER get into those things. The phrase "painted on" doesn't even come close to describing how tight those suckers were on your rather portly ass. And who told you men should wear bright red thong underwear? They lied. It is not manly. In fact, it's frightening. While I appreciate that your 'whale tail' spared my children the site of your ass crack, I do not, whole-heartedly do not, appreciate having to listen to my four year old point, laugh, cough, gasp, and laugh some more about the fat naked ass that just cruised by his window as he sat in his car seat on the way to his sitter's house. Nor do I enjoy or appreciate having to explain to him that you were not, in fact, bleeding up your back, but instead had made a poor fashion choice in regards to your chonies. For the love of Pete, and all the is Holy and good in the world, do the world a favor and buy some new pants, man. And by pants I mean an entirely new wardrobe. Lest I be forced to knock you off that bike the next time I see you.

Best,

L

Sunday, July 20, 2008

Why do people feel the need to be complete assholes?

I need to know this. I need to know why some people just can't go a day without being giant balls of suck. It seems as if everywhere I turn, I encounter another asshole. More often than not, they are the kind of asshole you stare and wonder at, rather than the kind you can roll your eyes and make fun of because their assholish behaviour is just not funny.
I have a myspace. On that myspace, I have many current and former students. I pretty much only keep it to spy on the few kids whose lives would give me nightmares, and because they know they can contact me there and I'll help them however I can.
The other day I got a message from a former student. She was in my class maybe five years ago, and graduated two years ago. She was and is a good kid. When she was a senior, I had several long talks with her about what she wanted to do with her life. When she told me she wanted to go to cosmetology school, it gave me pause, but I supported her (in addition to begging her to consider doing something more than that.) I told her she had a huge opportunity to do whatever she wanted. I told her that cosmetology was nice, but that I saw her as a person with more than superficial beauty to add to the world. She had expressed an interest in law enforcement and criminal justice. So I made her pursue that for her senior project, and at the end of it, she loved it and had a plan. Her plan was to go to cosmetology school right out of high school, work and save money, then go to college for a degree in criminal justice or try to get on with a local law enforcement agency and get into the academy. She could still do the cosmetology thing on the side or when she wanted to make extra money. Great, right? Right. She left me with a plan.
Skip to the other day, and she's feeling like a failure. All of the adults in her life, the people who are supposed to encourage and support her, are trying to talk her out of doing anything more than cosmetology. I don't get it. Why would you deliberately try to talk your kid into a life of poverty and customer service? Why wouldn't you want more for them? Most cosmetologists don't end up in Hollywood, catering to the stars. And even those that do, don't make a huge amount of money. THe salon owners do, but the stylists? Noooooo. This kid could do something. She could contribute to the world in substantial ways. And they want her to do hair? Maybe I'm the ass hole. Maybe it's me that doesn't see. Don't get me wrong. There are people who LOVE cosmetology and cannot see themselves doing anything other than that for the rest of their lives. And for them, awesome! I love the woman who cuts my hair. I am thankful for her every time she fixes this mop on my head. But if I went in to see her tomorrow and she told me it was her last day because she'd taken an office job, or gone back to school, or decided on a new career of any kind, I'd be ecstatic for her because she's be doing more for herself. And I want more for this kid. It just kills me that I can't give it to her.

Monday, July 14, 2008

Catching up

I'm fine. The boys are growing. All's right with the world. Now on to more douchebaggery, and the real reason any of you stop by for a read. Seriously, it shouldn't be this easy to find so many ridiculous examples of retardation, but it is.
More letters to the complete trash that never ceases to entertain me:

Dear Mother of the Year:
I applaud your parenting skills, or not. Really. It's quite a talent to be able to reign in your children while sitting on your ass, smoking a fat pile of cigarettes, by doing nothing more than screeching at the top of your soot-infested lungs for that "little fucker" to get off the slide. Really, it was one of the few times I've ever felt sadness at having grown up and moved out of the ghetto. My ghettiquette is obviously, and sadly, in disrepair, as I could not get my mouth to form a coherent response to you or to the untrained monkeys you claim to be your children. I can only assume that "ass hole", "little fucker", and "dumb ass" are yours, since each of them responded with a finger or a bare-assed salute when you called upon them to leave the playground equipment. You've obviously trained them up right. You ma'am are a true, shining example of douchebaggery at it's best. As long as you continue to stumble through the world, I will sleep safe in the knowledge that my worst day as a parent pales in comparison to you. On the scale of suckdom, you are a perfect ten.

Truly,

L


Dear Douche bag Dog Walker,
Your dog is ugly, really ugly. And she's mean. And no, it's not cute when she growls and snaps at my small children. It's especially not cute when she runs up into MY yard to get at MY children. I don't care that you have her on a leash and you think she's "just playing". She's not. If you knew anything about dogs, you'd know that teeth baring isn't a smile, it's a warning, you complete douche. She wants to eat my babies like a dingo. I will snatch your nuts off like a paper towel if you let that dog on my property again. That is, provided you have any. What kind of man has a tiny dog, anyway? And don't tell me she's your wife's dog, because your wife is just as scared of that thing as my kids are. Me? I love dogs, but I'll punt that little fucker into next week before I let it eat my kid. You'll notice she doesn't run up on me. She and I have an understanding. She stays away from me, she lives.
I suggest you look to your dog for a role model.

Your friendly neighborhood ass hole,

L

Sunday, June 29, 2008

A moment of seriousness before I catch up

When I was younger, ten or eleven years old, my cousin committed suicide. He was in his early twenties, still living with his mother, in constant pain from a back injury and feeling sorry for himself. He left a note for his mother, took a bottle full of pills, and died before she got home from work. His name was Zoltan. He was the one person on my father's side of the family who was consistently nice to me. I adored him. His suicide crushed me in more ways than I can describe, and still affects me to this day, mostly because of the sheer selfishness and stupidity involved in it. His was a cry for help that went unanswered.
In my first year of teaching, one of my students, despondent over a fight with his girlfriend and angry at his father, put a gun to his head and pulled the trigger. His cry for help also went unanswered. The people who should have recognized what was going on didn't.
Every day, thousands of people make that same cry for help. Every day, their cries are answered by the crisis counselors at the Hopeline. This year they celebrate their tenth anniversary of helping people and saving lives, and the government wants to take them over.


If you can spare it, please make a donation to the Hopeline. If you can't, just pimp them out. Spread the word to others who can, so that their work can continue.
Thank you.
XOXO
L

Sunday, March 30, 2008

A Thank You to the Supreme Douches Around Here

These people aren't neighbors, per se, but they do frequent my neighborhood and the businesses surrounding it. Their douchetastic behaviour warrants a thank you, in my estimation, for helping me teach my children how NOT to behave.

Dear Douche Dad,
Hi. You might remember me from the other day, but probably not. I was the crazed woman standing on the corner screaming at you as you careened down my street with your two year old in your lap steering your giant piece of shit. Yeah, that was me. Yep. I saw you. I saw your toddler, unrestrained, steering your car. Well, I saw him trying. I also saw him clapping, jumping up and down, turning around to face you, and pulling the wheel back and forth like a toy. I saw your car zig zag down my street, spend more time on the sidewalk than the actual street, and narrowly miss several groups of children and adults walking on the sidewalk. And then I saw you laugh. Motherfucker, you better be glad you were in your car and that I'm no longer a sprinter. My child plays outside. His friends play outside. My neighbors and I take walks with our families. You could have killed someone. There's a reason two year olds don't get driver's licenses. They. Can't. Drive. Had your car had a plate on it, I'd have called the cops on your ass. But I wish to thank you. Thank you for being SUCH a dumbass. Thank you for helping me teach my son the importance of being aware of his surroundings. Thank you for helping drive home the need to look both ways before crossing the street. Thank you for making my son believe me that there are supremely STUPID people in this world who do not think about their actions before taking them. THANK YOU, Douche Dad, for being such a stellar example of bad parenting that my four year old now thinks I'm the best parent in the world because I make him wear a seat belt.
Hope to never see you again!
L

Dear Stupid Whore,
You're old. My son is four. I know it's annoying when a kid bounces on the seat behind you and moves your chair. I know. It annoys the shit out of me too. But here's the thing, I had corrected him. I had made him stop. I was about to have him apologize to you. And he's four. When you take your gigantic geriatric ass and bounce his seat, making him drop his food and spill his water, you are not teaching him a lesson. He doesn't get it. Again, he's four. He just thinks you're fat, old, and mean. Or that you have really bad gas, because your fat rubbing on the vinyl seat made fart noises, which cracked him up. If you don't want to eat around children, you should not frequent restaurants catering to children during the lunch hour. Do us all a favor and stay home! But, Stupid Whore, I wish to thank you. Thank you for being such a bitch yesterday. Thank you for showing my son how not to behave in public. Thank you for demonstrating a total lack of manners and civility. Because of you, my son gets it now! He saw what an ass you made of yourself! He heard the cussing and rude things you said about him! We all did. And he understood that to mean that you are a monumental douche whose mother didn't teach her how to behave in public! So thank you, Whore! Thank you for helping me to instill a sense of compassion, courtesy, and civility into my son! Because of you and your supreme powers of assholery, my son will be a better human being!
Should we meet again, I won't be polite either!
L


Stay tuned for further acknowledgements and testimonials from the world of asshattery I live in!

Friday, March 28, 2008

If wishes were fishes.....

I wish, for just one second, that I could make all the thin people who hate themselves and the way they look see themselves the way I do. You're not fat. You haven't lived in the same neighborhood as fat for a very long time. Get over yourselves. Please.
I wish, for one minute, that I could make anything happen. I'd tell him I love him one more time.
I wish, for one hour, that I could make them hear me. It gets better. You just have to get through the suck. You'll be better for it. The other side of high school is a much better place to be. I promise.
I wish, for a day, I could live inside my son's head, feel the world through his tiny fingers, see me through his eyes, and exist as freely as he does.
I wish, for one year, money didn't matter.

If wishes were fishes, which wish would you fish out of the fishwishing sea?

Saturday, March 22, 2008

Raymond's Scholarship

If you know me, you know about Raymond. If you don't, here's a quick re-cap. Raymond was my younger brother. He was a hilarious, high spirited, crazy-fun, and amazing human being. During his short life, he struggled with many things, but ultimately used his time to make the world a better place through his art, his work, and his contributions to the goodness that makes up humanity. He was an art therapist in the terminal ward for Stanford University Hospital, and he was set to enter the Peace Corps as part of their art therapy program where he would go into post-war zones and help refugees come to terms with their trauma through art. But he died. The details of Raymond's death are still somewhat of a mystery, and not at all the point of this post. After his death, those of us that knew and loved him decided that the best way to honor his life and memory would be to set up a scholarship in his honor at the two schools he loved. First, we established a scholarship for graduating seniors at Enterprise High School in Redding, California, where Raymond spent his high school years and received his high school diploma. The scholarship at Enterprise is open to any student graduating who wishes to attend college to pursue a degree in art. Second, we established a scholarship at San Jose State University in San Jose, CA,Ray's alma mater, for students currently attending the University with a declared art major. Ray graduated from SJSU a few months before his death.
In order to fund these scholarships, my mother has been making and selling these good luck charms she calls 'dangles'. Though the name is goofy (sorry mom!) the charms are beautiful and well constructed. She's set up a blogger page to help distribute them and raise money for the scholarships. If you love me, and I know you do, and have a few bucks to spare, please visit her page and buy a dangle, or at least make a contribution to the scholarship fund.
Rearview Dangles

Tuesday, March 18, 2008

An Open Letter to the Assholes Infecting My 'Hood of Late

Attention You: You there, living in the 5000 sq. ft. McMansion. Yes, you, the one having the garage sale to raise money for your "sick child". Yeah, you. Maybe you should put a for sale sign on the Escalade in your driveway. No? How about the BMW parked next to it? No, again? Hmmmmmmm, maybe the Audi in the garage then? Not that one either, huh? Maybe you could take the Juicy Couture purse off the arm of said "sick child" and toss it up on Ebay. You could toss in the Rolex dangling from your wrist and all that bling dripping off your trophy wife, too! No? How about you slap a for sale sign on that McMansion then? Ah, no, of course not. Well, then, sad as I might be for your "sick child" in her Apple Bottom jeans and her Baby Phat hoody, I'll have to politely decline the opportunity to buy any of the wares you're peddling. Oh, and I'll take a pass on the store bought cookies and that plastic punch you're selling, too. If I want store bought, I'll waddle up to the corner grocery store and pay for them there, and it certainly won't cost me $2 per cookie, but thanks anyway.

And you: Yes, you with the hell hound you try to pass off as a child. Yeah, you, the one who sits at the back of the karate class and laughs every time your little shit acts out and gets one of the other kids in trouble. Some day, when our kids aren't watching, I'm going to kick your ass. Your kid has obvious developmental delays. He's not just a "boy being a boy." He struggles. He hurts. He needs your fucking attention and intervention on his behalf. He needs you to stop being a mindless whore and to start being his mother. His tantrums are not cute. They're not funny. They're symptomatic of his disorder, whatever it is. My money is on something in the Autism spectrum, despite the fact that you've shared loudly that you don't "believe in Autism." In case you haven't noticed, no one is laughing with you during class. No one. At this point, we're all too sick of you to even laugh at you. Deal. With. Your. Kid.
PS- Buy some pants that fit because an exposed ass crack is never cute. Never.

Dear Geriatric Gigolo, Hi! Remember me? Probably not, but that's ok. I certainly remember you and your Depends ruffle using my machine at the gym as an arm rest while you flapped your gums at the twenty-something child on the machine next to me. Despite not being able to actually USE the machine I was on because of your presence, I have to say you made my day. I have never heard pick up lines like you were throwing down that day, and may never hear any so great again. My favorite is STILL "Baby, I'm so sad I gave up sugar for Lent, because you are SWEEEEEEEEEET!" Your yellow mullet wig, John Deere mesh cap, mom-jeans, and orthopeadic shoes made it all the better. So, thank you GG. You made returning to the gym a real treat! And don't let those young bucks discourage you. A true swinger never gives up!

Dearest Neighbour, Our children play together nearly every day. Nearly every day I feed your children a snack. For us, a snack is a piece of fruit, perhaps half a ham sandwich, or some pretzels. Nearly every day, you feed my child a pile of sugar and fat, which he happily inhales and then bounces home. Your children are pale, stick thin, and sickly. They need real food. They need real food more than once a week. Please feed your damn kids something other than the shit you've been sharing with mine! Thank you. See you at the park!

Attention Shit Head: Yeah, homie. I'm talkin' to you. No one's buying your tough guy act. You live in the 'burbs homie. You drive your mom's car Ese. Orale, huey, you have blonde hair and blue eyes. You'd probably piss yourself for a week if you saw a real Vato. Take off the khaki pants, wife beater, and flannel shirt. Put your mom's seat back up, like she likes it. Turn that radio down. Those stock speakers are just KILLIN' that beat you stole off the net. And for the love of Pete, stop trying to be someone you're not. There's nothing wrong with being a good kid. In fact, it's been known to get people pretty far in life. Acting like an asshole though, that's got a pretty short path leading directly to a life full of suck.
PS- Slow the fuck down or I'll pop your mama's tires and tell her one of your "gang buddies" did it.


Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, that's better!

Sunday, February 3, 2008

I'm lame sauce.

And totally last in posting this tagalicious blog, but here ya go.

The rules in this game of tag are simple -- once you have been tagged, you must write a blog with ten weird, random things, little known facts or habits about yourself. At the end choose 10 people to be tagged and list their names.

Thank MJ:

1. Brussel sprouts were my favorite food when I was a kid. I still love them, even though they smell like ass and give me gas.

2. I have a handful of secrets. I fantasize about making postcards for them and sending them to Postsecret, but I'm too much of a pussy to actually do it.

3. I have an uncanny ability to drive people away. I don't even realize I'm doing it until they're gone, or pretty well on their way and it's too late to change it.

4. I am amazed every.single. day. that I have friends. (see 3)

5. I need my alone time. If I don't get at least an hour by myself every day, I get very, very grumpy. I'm pretty convinced this makes me a bad mom some days.

6. I have a double jointed jaw.

7. I am an angry person.

8. I am more than slightly obsessed with the show "Ninja Warrior" on G4. The would-be ninjas are HILARIOUS!

9. If I have a day where I don't feel like going to work, I sing the Batman theme in my head while I'm getting ready for work and pretend I am Batman, preparing to battle evil. My car has been the Batmobile a lot lately.

10. I exist in a state of organized chaos. Everything goes into piles. It looks like a complete mess, but I know exactly where everything is and in which pile it's hiding. Except on my kitchen counter. That's a disaster area I have no control over.

Riveting, no? I'm not tagging anyone. If you feel compelled to do this, knock yourself out.

Tuesday, January 22, 2008

Blog for Choice

Blog for Choice Day

As a 30 year old woman, living in the United States, I am in the enviable position of never having lived in a time when I did not have the right to choose. Today is the 35th anniversary of the landmark decision by the United States Supreme Court that granted me, and the millions of other women in this country, that right. Roe v. Wade is not about abortion. It is about choice. It is about the power to control the path one’s life takes, whether that path should include a child or not. Roe v. Wade is about making personal decisions without the interference or intervention of any outside authority. It is about privacy in making those decisions. I have never been in the position of having to make the decision to terminate a pregnancy. But at 17, working as a peer crisis counselor, I listened to girls who had. I held their hands. I hugged them and stroked their hair as they sobbed about the horrible decisions they were faced with making. I can tell you that not one of them took the responsibility of making that decision lightly. Not one of them was happy to have to make it. But every last one of them was happy to have it available. And so am I. It does not matter whether you could choose abortion for yourself. It does not matter what circumstances lead any woman to that decision. All that matters is that the choice be available. Now, more than at any other time since the ruling was made, the right to choose is in danger of being revoked. Many of the conservative candidates in the current presidential race would have your rights stripped to satisfy their moral code, their vision, their version of God. In order for our daughters, our nieces, our young women of today to have the right to choose, we need to stand up. We need to fight to protect the rights our mothers fought so hard to win for us. Stand up. Add your voice to those already demanding Roe v. Wade be upheld and our right to privacy maintained. Vote for a Pro-Choice candidate.

Tuesday, January 8, 2008

Dear Oscar,

It's been a whole year since you entered our lives. It's been an amazing year of growth, and change, and getting to know the awesome little man that is you.
I don't think I'll ever be able to fully explain to you how happy I was the day I found out I was pregnant, what joy feeling you grow strong and healthy inside me brought, or just how awe-struck I was the first time I saw your handsome little face. You were not the baby I was expecting to meet, but you could not be more perfect, more beautiful, more mine. Your enthusiasm, excitement, and sheer zest for life are intoxicating. Every day is filled with fun and adventure, and a million little miracles I'd otherwise never get to see.
You light up every room and melt every heart you enter. Thank you, baby boy, for choosing me to be your mama. It's only been a year, but it feels like you've always been a part of this life and this family.
I can't wait to see what great things you have in store for the world. No matter what they are, I know they will be amazing. I'm just honored to get to go along for the ride.

Love always,

Mama

Monday, January 7, 2008

I've been demoted.

Victor used to tell me that I was the 'best mom in the whole wide world.' Today I got demoted. We were out running errands after lunch, and he hopped out of the car. He looked up at me and said "I love you mama. You're the best mom in Roseville." I said "In Roseville, huh? I thought I was the best mom in the whole wide world." He responded "You were! But then you wouldn't let me have Starbursts for lunch AND you made me take a nap. So now it's just Roseville. Sucks for you!" And with that he ran up to the sidewalk and did a little dance just to drive home his point. I swear, this kid.

Thursday, January 3, 2008

Dear Gall Bladder,

Hi. It's me. I hate you. I'm not sad you're gone. You made my intestinal life a living hell for the better part of two years and, for that, I celebrate your demise. You tried to ruin Christmas, but I held you off. I thought you were going to win there for a minute, but I am stubborn and you, well, you were just a pissy little pear shaped organ. No match for the surgeon's blade were you. Mwahahahaha. I will gleefully display your little granuals of hate now that you've been ripped out and done away with. Good bye my nemesis. I will eat pizza and enjoy it in your absence.

Sincerely,


Me


PS: Surgery and liquid stitches suck, but they are well worth it to be rid of you!