Still Whining, Louis!

Time can pass quickly for mortals when they're happy. With us, it was the same.

Not that I'm implying that we're not mortal or anything, but I do love that line from Interview With the Vampire, and it goes a ways in explaining why I haven't been blogging much.

Think I'm going to take a short hiatus, and come back with a bang. Or a promotion. Or something.

For a Good Cause

You're welcome.

He Said WHAT?!

A few minutes ago, I was on the phone with my darling older son, checking in to see how their day is going at home. In the background I hear Hubs shout, "What did you just say?"
Seems that Isaiah was taunting/teasing who-knows-what at Daimean when he threw out this lovely little insult -
"Pussy!"
When asked where he heard that word, he promptly blamed his brother.

So I had a chat with them about how to conduct yourself like a gentleman, instead of (in the words os Ricky Bobby) a retarded gang banger. (and yes, I'm still very anti R word) This was directed more at Daimean, since Isaiah dropped that word right in front of dad, I don't think he understands it's a bad word.
*sigh*
I have earned every one of these grey hairs, I tell you.

Art Imitating Life?

If the art is of a red nosed, anemic girl, then yes.
You know those days when you feel kinda like crap, but you do your hair and wear your favorite outfit and figure that will make you all better? At least, make you LOOK better?
Yeah, that was me this morning. I'm getting over a bad cold, and still feeling a little wrung out. My lips are a bit chapped, too. So I grab some tropical scented lip stuff, it's yellowish, kind of like mango colored. Then I head to the rest room and catch a look at myself.
HOLY HELL - the yellow lip balm has cast an ugly yellow pallor to my lips, so now I look like I'm suffering from a very strange ailment, or I've been huffing yellow spray paint. I actually laughed out loud when I saw myself! So rather than remove the offending color, I tried to put pink gloss over it. Ew, it turned kind of orange. So all I have left it a super deep red, which would probably make me look like a clown (or a hooker, or a hooker-clown) since I'm so pale.
Ah, I love being a girl :)

Love Letter

Dear Fall '10 Semester,
You sucked. I'm glad you're over. I'm sure you've screwed my GPA, and I'll never forgive you. And to the d-bag professor (yeah, I'm talkin to you, Grossman) who consistently gives me shit grades, go back to Nicaragua, you commie bastard.
Love, Me

So I Said to the Cabbie, "Yo Homes, Smell Ya Later!"

Note: If you are easily offended, please go read something else.

O.M.F.G.
Today I decided to pack up all my school stuff and head to my local library to get some quiet time in order to complete 4 final papers. Quiet, yes. I've got quiet. A place to plug in my lap top and free wifi, too.
But the smell! Or lord, the smell is threatening to choke me. I've already changed tables once already, too. Jesus Tapdancing Christ, this place is a haven for the unwashed.
Don't even *think* of lecturing me on the plights of the homeless. I get it. I donate clothes and food, and I sign petitions to fund food banks etc. But I'mma be honest here, I'm pissed off that I pay taxes for a broken public school system that I don't feel safe sending my children to, and a library that smells like ass. I am not here to come up with the answers for our fucked up society that allows people to fall through the cracks to the point where they have no place to shower. I'm here to complain that there is a gang of hobos here stankin' up the place.
*chirp, chirp*
That sound is the crickets that are left over when all my page advertisers run for the hills because I'm complaining about Stinky Pete over here, who smells like he hasn't bathed since Carter took office, and may possibly have rolled in a pile of dog shit as recently as the Clinton years.
One paper is done, and I'm going to attempt to write the outlines for the next two before I pass out from the stench in here.

Reverse Psychology

D went and messed up at school again, not turning in his work. Besides the usual grounding (no video games, no having friends over) when I saw his dismal progress report, I said, "And we're going tomorrow to cut your hair the way *I* want it cut" because well, it's a pretty effective punishment.
Or so I thought.
He went from this...

To this...


Now, we've been down this road once before, where he was growing his hair out, messed up at school, and I cut it off. He was pissed at me for a week. He hated me. And his hair wasn't even all that long back then. NOW his hair was longer than mine, and he fancied himself a Sampson of sorts. His hair was his pride. What set him apart. That was why I'd allowed him to keep it long. Now, what sets him apart is the fact that he doesn't do his damn work, so I figured he didn't need long hair anymore.

Then a funny thing happened. He wasn't mad, or upset. He was downright pleasant. All morning, leading up to the hair cut, I waited for the surliness, the protestations of unfairness to come out. But they didn't. I'd already explained to him that just because he was in trouble didn't mean that I didn't love him, or didn't like him, and that we could still go on to have a good weekend together, but he needs to understand what got him into trouble and the steps he must take to pull himself out of it. So, I thought, maybe it's starting to sink in, and he gets it. Maybe he's not trying to blame anyone else for his mess up, and accepts that punishment is a part of it. So off we went, he got his hair cut the hell off, and we proceeded to have a good day.

Then we dropped his brother off at a cousin's house to spend the night, and part of D's punishment is that he can't spend the night anywhere. But instead of being mad, he treated it like a score for him, because it meant he got to hang out with mom one on one all night. So we picked up a movie and some popcorn and headed home.

On the way, he got really quiet. I'd ask him a question, and he'd respond with, "Mm-hm". Then I started to worry that this had all been an elaborate, psychological coup, where he lulled me into a false sense of security, then *BAM* - hits me with resentment and anger. I thought, "Damn. This is a dangerous kid."

Turns out he'd just put his headphones on, which he's happy he can do now without his hair getting caught in them. Why was I worried that it was all some mean plan to make mom feel like shit? Well, frankly, because that's some crap I'd have done!