Tickle ME, Elmo.

This blog has been temporarily disconnected

2008-01-15T22:10:00.001-05:00

After spending three weeks in Denmark, I came back to south Florida with a lot of questions. I'm wondering how my relationship is going to progress, which direction I want it to head in, and what I'm ready for. I'm wondering if I need to move for the time being and save some money, or move just because my neighbors are crackhead psychos, or move because I want to get out of Florida, ASAP. I've been thinking about Atlanta, New York, and Maine. Why Maine? I don't know. I like Maine.

I realized that there are more people in Copenhagen that I can call and go meet for a cup of coffee than there are in south Florida. I know that I've isolated myself for three years, and I'm really ready to get out and get a social life back. I'm missing a sense of community that I've been missing for a long time. I know that I needed to put my life on hold for a while to deal with my then-boyfriend's newly diagnosed autism, and then single parenting, but now I'm REALLY starting to feel like Sandra Bullock in "The Net", and I have to get out of the house.

Since I work from home (read: no coworkers, talks to self throughout workweek), and am a single mom with no co-parent backup (HONEY, I'M GOING TO THE STORE! HONEY?) , it ain't easy to suddenly unleash yourself on a city and develop a network. I don't know how I'm going to do this, but I feel like I've reached the end of a chapter, and I desperately need to turn the page.

Single parenting has been a bigger challenge in my life than I ever could have imagined, and impacted me on more levels than I ever dreamed of. It's been tough. I know it will continue to be a challenge, but I am done bitching about it.

The purpose of this blog was to give myself a voice; a dumping ground where I could let go of whatever it was I was going through and try to make sense of it all by reading it back to myself. I feel that I've accomplished that, and am successfully raising a little girl, where I really thought things would have gone up in flames a long time ago.

So I'm going to get out of this blog for a while. I'm tentatively working on a new one, to start my new chapter with.

Because what would reality be without an accompanying blog?

NEW BLOG

:)

Hello, you must be going

2008-01-08T10:57:00.000-05:00

We're back in Florida.

It's 80 degrees out.

I just dropped the Kid off at daycare.

(Not that I don't absolutely love parenting...)

When Two Blogs Collide

2008-01-06T14:15:00.000-05:00

This morning we had brunch at Zakabona with Kristian and Karolina.

I started reading Kristian's blog and just liked the way he wrote and got in touch with him... and have been bugging him ever since. Today we got to meet in person (because who doesn't want to hang out with their stalker?), and he took the Kid and I to a fantastic brunch.

He's been dating Karolina for about 8 months, and they live in Sweden. She's from Poland, and she's currently getting her PhD in Electrochemistry. Which, as you probably already know, is a branch of chemistry that studies chemical reactions which take place at the interface of an electron conductor and an ionic conductor and which involve electron transfer between the electrode and the electrolyte.

Yeah. She tried to explain it to me, then saw the "DUH" expression on my face and gave up. I googled it. Aren't they cute?

Then Kristian took a photo of The Kid and I, and magically erased my eyebrows through the wonder of photography.

The Kid had some beautiful-looking pancakes, and the rest of us had enormous plates of food containing approximately five samples from every food group. I would have taken a picture of it, but I was way too busy eating it.

Kristian and Karolina brought The Kid a My Little Pony in her FAVORITE colors, pink and purple.

The Kid jumped on Kristian's lap and demanded his attention, and Karolina helped My Little Pony with her coiffure.

I ate.

A fun time was had by all. And I can safely say that, because Kristian stopped posting on his blog, so he won't be saying anything different.

HA HA! HA HA! I GET THE LAST WORD!!

:)

The Secret to His Success

2008-01-04T13:37:00.000-05:00

My boyfriend is independently wealthy, and I have recently unlocked the mystery behind his great success.

No, he's not Tony Robbins.

He follows everyone around the house and shuts off all the lights.

"So I'll just finish up this report and meet you at the cafe at.... ACK! GLAUCOMA!"

"Oh, sorry. Are you in here?"

He left earlier to buy firewood (since it's 15 degrees out and none of the radiators are on) and we met at the door as I was coming in and he was going out.

"Hey, can you shut off the TV?" he called over his shoulder.

"Yeah, sure", I mumbled, while reading a message on my cell phone.

He stuck his head back in the door. "That is, unless you wanted to watch it."

Thoughtful.

Scene from a bedroom window

2008-01-03T08:27:00.001-05:00

That white stuff on the ground is newly-falling snow.

Yucky, yucky.

That dark thing pictured below is the wood-burning stove. Which I could not light if my life depended on it. I can light a match. I can set fire to newspaper. I can correctly identify wood that can be burned. (It's in a giant firewood thingy next to the stove). I cannot get the whole process to work together.

I just want to go home and lay on a hot rock and bring my blood back to its normal temperature.

Send me an SMS, because I'm European now.

2008-01-02T14:22:00.000-05:00

Have you ever fallen asleep on your boy/girl/tranny friend on the sofa, and realize, as they quietly extricate from your full-body hug to go and answer the door, that you've drooled all over their shirt in such a way that it cannot possibly go unnoticed?

Yeah, me neither.

Denmark is cold. There is "sunlight" (and I say "sunlight" as one can only assume it is light from the sun, although it is lifeless and gray) from 9am - 3pm. I have stolen all of Alan's socks and permanently planted myself in front of his wood-burning stove.

The Kid is having a fantastic time, and is even tolerating the same cartoons she watches at home being dubbed over in Danish. I have no idea how much she understands, but she was hopping around the other day, exclaiming "Ved du hvad?!" ("You know what?!").

She's never worn so many layers before. I'm never on time for anything here, because we have to have dry hair, tights, two pairs of pants, shirts, sweaters, hats, gloves.... back in Florida, we step out of the shower into shorts, a tee shirt, and a pair of flip flops, and we're on our way. Your hair dries on it's own in 10 minutes. Oh, Florida. The things I've taken for granted...

Everyone keeps remarking on how polite and well-behaved The Kid is. Which I can understand, especially in comparison to The Boyfriend's two girls. (Cough, cough, cough.) When they're good, they're very, very good. And when they're bad.... I pack up my shit and threaten to stay with Thomas indefinitely.

Which Thomas is super-excited about, I'm sure.

Have you ever been on an extended trip with your significant other, and had a daily battle occurring between your regularly scheduled menstrual cycle and a tiny birth control pill that was absolutely detrimental to your sex life?

SURE, I'D LOVE TO HAVE SEX! I JUST NEED TO CRY, EAT A KILO OF DARK CHOCOLATE, AND TAKE SOME MOTRIN! DON'T START WITHOUT ME!

Yeah, me neither.

We're going home on Monday. I just read that the temperature in Florida is going down to 39 degrees.

What.

The.

Fuck.

Well, at least I have warm clothes that aren't from the late 80's, that the rest of the Floridian population will be dragging out of their closets from a box marked "Winter Clothes", which is just the clothes they moved down to Florida with, twenty years ago.

Holy Hormona, I need to go find some prescription medication.

Denmark. Day One.

2007-12-20T08:45:00.000-05:00

If I had to stay at home with a small child all day, I would be.... drunk. Like, all the time.

We arrived yesterday. We're jet lagged, and I'm having technical difficulties with my laptop, so there's really nothing for me to do during the day but parent. I've cleaned everything around me in an effort to avoid intensive Mommy & Me time, and my boyfriend will be home in a half an hour to admire his gleaming home and folded laundry. So I've unnecessarily and prematurely raised the housework bar for myself here, and am basically fucked for eternity. Good one.

Three year olds. They are their own species. I don't know which one, but I know it isn't Mine. The Kid has recently taken to "Look What I Can Do!" tricks, which basically consist of her screaming "MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM!" until she has my attention, and then I have to watch her do something not repeatable or remotely worth looking up for, like shrieking and flailing her elbow in the air simultaneously. And she does this about 300 times a day. Holy fuck. She also makes up her own songs, but doesn't get any further than the first line, which she then loudly repeats over and over and over. The last one was "EVERYBODY CLAP YOUR HANDS" sung monotonously in various keys at the top of her lungs.

It's so funny to be with her in a country where children are so doted on - she tripped on the street earlier, and five people stopped and turned around to give her a big "AWWW" in sympathy. Meanwhile, I'm still dragging her down the street by her arm, figuring she'll right herself eventually. Come on, it's cold. You're three already, pull yourself together.

I'm going to go press my face against the glass pane in the front door and wait for Alan to get home.

The Piss in Yer Pants Gang knows my secret.

2007-12-14T22:44:00.000-05:00

It's Friday night, and I'm flipping through channels. I've been stuck on psychic/medium/I see dead people tv shows lately, and I'm jonesing for a fix. I have no idea what happened to Lisa Williams, but John Edward should be on soon, thank goodness.

I somehow ended up watching Most Haunted. It's not because the show is good. The premise of the show is as follows: "Host Yvette Fielding is joined by a ghost-hunting team to investigate Europe’s spookiest sites. As experts from the paranormal field, the team attempts different methods and experiments to try and communicate with the dead."

Except every time there's a fucking noise in the building they're "investigating", every cast member jumps and shrieks like a 6-year old girl at a slumber party.

It's not like they wandered into an abandoned mental hospital because their car broke down and cell phones haven't been invented yet, THEY'RE LOOKING FOR GHOSTS.

Take right now, for example. They're in an old prison. It's night time. They're all British, and they have a film crew.

"So roight now, Oi yam walking down this corridor, and DIDJA HEAR THAT?!" Cast members cling to each other as the camera pans the room.

"Spirit, if yer there, bang on tha' window". (A muffled thump is heard as a sound man halfheartedly kicks a wall with the tip of his work boot.) "OH, FOOK! WHAT THE BLIMEY HELL WAS THAT? OH, JAYSUS CHRIST!" (OK, I may be muddling my accents, here.)

Thankfully, the crew has night vision cameras to catch the terrified, hyperventilating expressions of the cast members, I mean, experts.

"ONCE FER YES, TWO FER NO - DO YOU MEAN OOS ANY HARM?" (Thump.)

"Holy God, DIDJA HEAR THAT?!" (whispering loudly) "It means us harm!"

Eek.

By the way, I just gave birth

2007-12-12T23:57:00.000-05:00

I forgot to mention that last week, I had another baby. The Kid has a brother!

They finally got together for a weekend in Orlando. He's 15, and about a foot taller than I am, and I love him. He's the Kid's half-brother, and his mom and I have been trying to get them together for a while, and we finally had an opportunity.

We spent two days at Universal Studios. He carried the Kid around, and held her hand, and showed her the baby dinosaurs being born.

He and I spent an evening at the resort's fitness center together, and I made the mistake of going on the machines after him. I lay down on the leg press, still on his settings, and......JUSTYN! THIS MACHINE IS BROKEN! Oh, no, wait. It's just set to three times my body weight. Let me just slide this down a little to..... 10lbs. There we go! JUSTYN! WHAT DOES THIS MACHINE DO?? Your shoulders. JUSTYN, I HAVE NO SHOULDER MUSCLES!!

He had a wonderful time.

He also enjoyed sitting next to me on all the scary rides. He promptly went home and blabbed to his mother, "Mom, Mary screamed like a total girl".

Helloooooooo...........

I lost 3 pounds!

2007-12-08T16:16:00.001-05:00

Guess where?

This past Wednesday, I went in for breast reduction surgery.

It was a tough decision (made especially difficult by the recent death of Kanye West's mother). I'm not a big fan of general anesthesia.

Plus, I heard they put a catheter in your hoo-hoo during surgery. Also my least favorite thing.

But since my pregnancy three years ago, my boobs just haven't been the same. Not that they haven't been spectacular - they were often featured in an well-respected international magazine.

However, "tribal" just isn't my look.

So Wednesday morning at 5:30am, I drove myself over to the hospital, lay there in a hospital gown, and tried not to freak out. I was so nervous, I had gotten about 45 minutes of sleep. My parents took my daughter the night before, because her school first opens at 7:30. Thankfully, my girlfriend Maria showed up at 6:30am to sit with me and hold my hand until they wheeled me in. She had the surgery 6 months ago, and was a giant help. She even took me shopping last week for all the front-clipping sports bras I'd be wearing for the next month. It was really good to have her there. She always makes me laugh, and will never tell anyone what my ass looks like when my hospital gown flies open.

Around 1pm, I woke up in recovery, only mildly aware of pain in my chest area. I groggily asked the nurse for more pain medication, and got some morphine. OOOH, MY FAVORITE! I was checked out around 3pm, and my little parents carefully helped me shuffle out to the car, with my mother eyeing my boobies the entire time.

"Holy cow, you're so flat! Did he leave you anything??"

Me: "Shut up, Ma". Except I was on so many drugs it sounded more like "SSSALLGHMMFF."

For the next three days, I stayed at my parents', while they helped me fluff my pillows, reach my ginger ale, and pull my pants on and off to pee. My mom also emptied my surgical drains, which was pretty gross. I think my dad fed me a yogurt at one point. It was nice.

I came home today, and I have nothing to do but watch Intervention and eat fruit and lay around. My boobs are back where they used to be, and after a month, I won't even have to wear a bra.

The pain isn't anywhere near as bad as I thought it would be, but I still have a whole bottle of Vicodin left!

New boobs, drugs, and lots of TV. This has been the best week EVER.

2007-12-03T11:48:00.001-05:00

Eva Longoria it isn't.

2007-12-03T09:45:00.000-05:00

I dragged myself to the salon the other day. When the fantastic, talented stylist, Lisa, asked what I wanted, what I had been thinking of, what hair direction I wanted to go in, I thought for a minute and quietly said, "Please fix it". I have no hair direction. And I haven't had coffee in weeks.

She flipped and brushed and smushed and pulled and tweaked for about twenty minutes, and said," I think I'm just going to rock some layers and give you something really sexy". And then clipped a twelve inch strand of hair off the back of my head to "put some volume on the top". Whatever. I wish I had a job where I could say things like "I'm gonna rock some layers".

It looked really quite fluffy and pretty when she was done, but frightened by all the layering, I immediately contacted several people to ask if I resembled an aging rock star. "It looks nice" was the general answer. And then I went to spinning class, and the sexy rockin' layers were destroyed by my gallons of sweat.

The next morning, I woke up early, knowing that this hair would require more attention than the hat I was usually willing to invest in my morning public appearances, and wielding a blow dryer and a round brush, I went to work.

And I wound up looking like Keith Urban's long-lost separated twin. On a bad day. The only "fluffing" I know how about is related to porn film production, and won't produce waves in my flattened, 80's Jon Bon Jovi hair.

I can feather, though. Is that making a comeback?

(Sigh.)

I don't respond well to stress.

2007-11-14T19:41:00.000-05:00

I've been doing really well on my new fitness plan.

I've been doing well, that is, until my child started channeling evil spirits and stopped napping.

Yesterday she came home from daycare with a heinous cough, and we were up all night. Mostly me, though. She seemed to finally sleep through her own horriffic hacking at some point. Not me, though.

Fuck.

So I kept her home today, knowing that if I sent her in, she'd just come home with something progressively far worse.

"Your child has spina bifida".

"What? It was a cough this morning!"

"She had a cough this morning and you knowingly sent her in to daycare? Well, now it's spina bifida, and it serves you right, you neglectful, sorry excuse for a mother."

However, she was already home on Monday because of Veteran's Day. You know what? I've already spent three years supporting a veteran, aka, her no-child-support-paying-father. TAKE MY KID AND LET ME WORK!!!

My workload is now up to my neck, and Satan the Child spent the day trying to open every bleach bottle, painting the cats, exploring the medicine cabinet, and seeing how far she could turn the dials on the stovetop. I don't know what happened to her, but I will sacrifice goats and virgins to get my former, well-behaved child back immediately.

Then the phone rings, and it's my beloved boyfriend, mumbling into his cell phone. He said something like, "Hey, baby! I'm in a yacht off the coast of Malaga! You should be here... it's 22 degrees (72F), and.... " and I lose interest and start scowling at my computer screen again.

You should be here. It's 85, I'm in my underwear, and my living room is covered in maple syrup. Spain, schmain.

Needless to say, I had a frenzied large handful (ok, several handfuls) of Halloween candy for lunch. Mostly while desperately trying to have ONE PHONE CONVERSATION while my child screamed "I'M DONE NAPPING! I'M DONE NAPPING!" from behind her bedroom door, roughly seven minutes after I put her down for a nap. For dinner, we had French toast. In case you don't know the recipe, it's bread, eggs, cream, vanilla, and sugar, fried in butter and topped with butter and sugar, because the rest of the maple syrup is stuck in the grout of my living room floor tile.

Yeahp.

For my midnight snack, I'm having a large handful of laxatives and three gallons of water, 'cause I ain't going out like that. If you'd like to lodge a complaint, please feel free to post one. My response will sound something like hissing and spitting, and it will be on your phone, about two hours after you fall asleep.

Love ya.

Mean it.

Come pick up my kid.

Terrible threes??

2007-11-12T23:32:00.000-05:00

My Kid has been on a downturn lately, and I can't figure out if it's because I'm working longer hours, or I'm working longer hours because I'm constantly cleaning up after her.

The other morning I woke up to find my child and the bathroom vanity covered in the contents of my makeup bag (the worst part turned out to be on the side that you can't see!). It was like lipstick cave paintings. She also hauled off and bit a kid at school, and she cut her hand on a glass votive holder that she wasn't supposed to be playing anywhere near. Then she complained because she dripped blood on her new stickers, and I found myself yelling "WELL IF YOU DON'T WANT BLOOD ON YOUR TOYS, STOP PLAYING WITH BROKEN GLASS!!".

Watch out Britney. There's a new Mother of the Year in town.

Today her school was closed for Veteran's Day, and she spent the day at home with me, while I desperately tried to work. I just finished, about 15 minutes ago. I started roughly 16 hours ago. Chicken, egg, egg, chicken.

All's I know is, I'm tired. And she'll be in to wake me up again any minute now.

I cried because I had no shoes until I saw a man who had no feet.

2007-11-06T19:54:00.000-05:00

Today at daycare, I met another mother in the hall, and recognized The Look.

I asked her how she was, an outpouring flowed from her and didn't stop for twenty minutes. She's the Other Single Mother at the Kid's school.

She seemed stressed, tired, and a little harried. The usual. But there was a look in her eye that I recognized immediately as someone who spent every hour of their day when not at work with a three-year old attached to them. She looked like someone who hadn't had a morning or evening to herself in a long, long time. I felt her pain.

I suggested that we meet up at a park this weekend, and she jumped at the idea - which was so nice. I thought I could pack some snacks and let the kids run in circles and give her some time to unwind. Then I asked her if I could have her kid over one night for a sleepover. She was a little wary, as he's been having some issues lately, and is currently seeing a behavioral therapist, but I'm feeling so healthy and relaxed lately, that some screaming toddler antics are nothing I can't handle right now. Plus, I know that a night off would restore her ten times over. At the very least, I could load both kids up with my leftover Halloween candy until they were completely wound up, and then collapsed into a deep sleep wherever they fell over.

I think it would also be nice to have more than one kid in the house. :)

I'm the relaxed one.

HA!

A (sober!) recap

2007-11-05T12:04:00.000-05:00

I did something last week that I probably shouldn't have done sober (but I haven't had a drink in months and I'm not about to start). I read this blog from start to finish. And I've come to a few conclusions about my past year as a single parent.

Most of my frustration comes from outside influences, such as work, and the Kid's father's lack of responsibility and financial support.

My job at the airport was really, really horrible. Avoid working for the government at all costs.

It's essential to have backup. I don't know what I would have done when the Kid & I got sick, if my parents weren't there to help. And sometimes, I just really, really need a day off.

I should have been taking better care of myself, but I'm glad I know better now. Eight hours of sleep, regular exercise, and healthy, whole foods are absolutely essential for anyone who wants to be the ideal Them. If you don't get at least the minimum (which are the things I just listed), you can go through your life like a frikkin' zombie. I have emptied my house of processed foods and frankenmeats.

I also realize that I've reached my max load of outside interference. The thing about single parenting with a toddler is that you're still at that age of their childhood where they require routine and sameness. My kid needs to go to bed with a specific amount of blankets, toys, and water every night, according to the agreement as detailed in her backstage rider. Should I stray from the agreement, screaming and crying will commence, and my eye will twitch.

There are days that I just need to switch off the phone, and not answer any email. Since I hate all my neighbors, all my curtains are usually closed, until I am ready to deal with their music/screaming/7am construction. I kept the Kid home with me one day last week, because I had spent the previous evening stuck in traffic on the turnpike for three hours, and worked very late to make up for the lost time. I decided to sleep in the next morning, and avoid the turnpike altogether. I realize that the daily drive to her daycare is not a slow drive in the country, and I now listen to classical music to try and keep my blood pressure down. I've also gotten better at saying "no" to preserve my tranquility.

I am not great at returning phone calls, but I now understand that this is so I can stay focused on providing a safe, healthy, and relaxed environment for my kid, and so I can spend more time taking care of myself. Every phone call I avoid could be a half-hour walk for myself, and every two phone calls are an hour at the gym. I am not happy that I've isolated myself, but I don't know how else to keep my sanity. I have one friend in the area with a kid the same age, and we rarely get together. The Kid gets enough socialization during the week at daycare, and weekends are mommy time. Is that healthy? I don't know.

I feel better now than I have in years.

That photo isn't me, by the way. It's my friend Zoe, who has the healthiest body and spirit I've ever seen!

Live and learn.... :)

Little Flower's Halloweenie

2007-11-01T16:52:00.000-04:00

With Liberty and Liquid Soap for All

2007-10-30T21:01:00.000-04:00

This evening, my child and I were trapped in a clusterfuck of a traffic jam. For 2 1/2 hours.

Luckily, three-year olds are very entertaining, and no one had to pee or had taken any laxatives.

She knows "I Know an Old Lady Who Swallowed a Fly" is a long song. Unfortunately, she can't remember anything past the first verse, so I listened to "I know an old lady who swallowed a fly, I don't know why she swallowed the fly - perhaps she'll die" repeated approximately twenty-five times in a row.

And for her next trick, ladies and gentlemen, my child recited The Pledge of Allegiance. I had no idea she knew the Pledge. I was quite impressed with her diction, and amazed (and feeling slightly hoodwinked) that she got past the first line, since the old lady kept eating that fly again and again.

However, there was something a little funny with the last line. I asked her to say the Pledge again. She said it again, perfectly, but with that funny last line again.

With my hand over my mouth to muffle my guffaws, I called Kara and quietly held the cell phone over my shoulder. The child repeated the Pledge exactly as she heard it every day. When Kara realized what she was saying, she too burst out laughing.

"Do they say that before they go eat lunch?" she asked.

Apparently, I said.

Here 'tis:

I pledge allegiance to the flag
Of the United Stace of Amurika
And to the apublic for which it stands
One nation, under God, innabisible
With Liberty and Justice for all.
Go wash your hands.

The Road Less Traveled, and There's a Good Reason for It

2007-10-22T12:10:00.000-04:00

I have never been to Orlando. I have never been to a Disney property. I have never been to Graceland.

You know why?

Because I don't want to.

Like breasts, the flavor of chocolate, and diamonds, I greatly prefer Things That are Real.

There is nothing about Orlando that tells me that there are hidden gems to find. There are no historically valuable locations. There are no breathtaking natural views. There is no fresh air and vast expanse of meadow.

There are, however, a thousand motels. Busloads of corn-fed tourists. A barrage of Mickey ears. The Waffle House. Bedazzled flip flops. The arrogant and the ignorant, and they all want to be first, and loudest, and looked at, and I want no part of them.

Although the Kid's paternal grandparents have been promising to visit since her birth, and I schlepped an 8-month old premature child to Oregon so they could initially meet, they've never been here. Couldn't make it. Never call, because that would be awkward. And yet, in December, they are deigning to swing our way, on their way to a cruise that leaves from Orlando, three hours north of us. They wanted to take my child on the cruise, but didn't invite me. I respectfully responded that my child would not be leaving dry land without me, but thank you for the invitation.

So now we're going to Orlando for the weekend, and they've extended me an invitation to stay in their three-bedroom condo. With them, the Kid's Dad who hasn't sent any money since he lost another job three months ago and has never asked if she has enough to eat, and his 16-year old son, who is the only real reason we're going.

WHAT

THE

FUCK.

First of all, to invite a three-year old on a cruise with you for a week when she has no idea who you are is insane. Secondly, to never call, never visit, and then expect her and her mother to stay in the same hotel room with the rest of the disconnected family is beyond belief. Thirdly, we had planned to get together on Sunday. Now they're asking me to come on Thursday. On Thursday, I am meant to be on the island of Tortola with my delicious boyfriend, covered in suntan lotion and erasing any memory of my everyday life. Her dad knew this. He knew my boyfriend was coming to Orlando with me, because we're flying back in Friday night to be able to get to this satanic reunion. Did he mention it to his parents? No. A greater lack of communication has not been witnessed since someone tried to teach English grammar to George W. Bush.

Orlando. Disconnected grandparents. An irresponsible and selfish biological father. One hotel room.

There is not enough liquor on the planet.

My Underground Massage

2007-10-13T15:19:00.000-04:00

Yesterday, while I was having my eyebrows waxed, I remarked how wonderfully comfortable the table was.

"You come back tomorrow" said the Thai waxer, "I give you massage. I got hot rocks for you".

Ooh, baby. I got hot rocks for you, too!

Everything's been hurting lately, especially since that one hour with a personal trainer on Tuesday. Hitler had me stepping on and off a weight bench, and my thighs just ain't been right since.

At my nail salon, there are no massage prices on the sign. I know they're not licensed. I know Jackie's reading this right now and furrowing her hairy brows into a disturbed "V". I could give a rat's ass. I just wanted a small Asian woman to beat the crap out of me, quadraplegia be dammed.

This morning I went to spinning class. This week's theme was "Disco Spinning". I span and sang to pass the time. "It's like thunder, lightening, the way you touch me is frightening...." I didn't care who heard me. I took a shower at the gym, and realized I forgot to pack another pair of underwear. I wasn't putting the same sweaty pair back on again, thank you, or showing up for a massage commando. My internal human GPS system rapidly calculated that the mall was on the way to my massage, and if I hustled (da da da da da da da da....), I could make it.

I ran into Macy's like my hair was on fire and picked out the biggest pair of black underpants I could find and ran to the register, underpants flailing behind me. The girl at the register asked if I had any coupons. No. Did I want to apply for a Macy's card- No. Did you find everything you were - Yes. Then she pulled out the tissue paper and slowly began to nest and caress Gigantipants in some crinkly paper. For fuck's sake. Just gimme my damn drawers, lady.

Then I realized I had no purse, and either had to figure out a way to put on some panties in the car while driving (no), or somehow, smuggle them in to the salon. I folded them up like origami and stuck them in my wallet. When I got there, I asked to use the ladies' room, and ta-frikkin'-da, I was underpanted.

Good thing.

I got into the room, and was told "You take off pants". 'Kay. "Shirt". Allrighty. "Bra, too". And she stood there and waited. Thaaaaat coulda been awkward. Clean underpants in case of an emergency, CHECK!

She beat the crap out of me, and I feel wonderful.

All in all, a perfectly delightful morning.

Next week, we're Swedish

2007-10-12T11:17:00.000-04:00

It's not that I'm not proud of being half-Danish.

I'm not even half-Danish. I just lived there and rubbed their scent on me, and they just assume I'm one of them -- much in the same way the boyfriend is convinced he's half-Brazilian. (He isn't. But it makes him happy.)

We both think we're black. Which is odd. But makes us perfectly matched, don'tcha think? He's the only Dane I know that can smoothly translate "You feelin' me?" into Danish and pull it off nicely. He thinks he's the Danish-Brazilian answer to Timbaland.

But I digress.

Ikea is finally opening in south Florida next weekend. People can start lining up on Monday, and tents and lawn chairs are permitted.

The single mom's arch enemy - The Time Monster

2007-10-07T14:49:00.000-04:00

It's so bad, I don't even have time to write about it.

I realize that I can do approximately two things well at once. I can be a good parent, and I can hold down a job.

Or, I can be a good parent, and I can take care of myself. Taking care of myself involves going to the gym, getting to the dentist when my tooth cracks, having time to cook healthily, and/or getting enough rest.

Or, I can do three things on a mediocre level. I can sort of parent, kind of take care of myself, and make a half-hearted attempt at being a good employee. I alternate this with practically cleaning my house, and almost getting my car fixed. Let's say I've had two solid weeks of getting six half-baked activities practically accomplished. Mind you, I'm not really sleeping. Then, one of my friends breaks an arm, loses a parent, or has a kid's birthday.

Oh, fuck.

OK, so I can make an attempt at being a good friend, feed my kid microwaved and processed food, go the the gym twice, and get through the work I need to be doing by skipping two nights of sleep. (Not in a row. In order to balance everything else, I can't abuse drugs or Starbucks. It doesn't count if it was unintentional, like that time my doctor gave me Wellbutrin for PMS and I was up for 41 hours, but got a whoooole lotta of work done.)

But then I realize I have books that needed to go back to the library two weeks ago. And DVD's. So now I owe the library $50, and my car still isn't fixed, and I can't remember shit, because I haven't had a good night's sleep since 2003. And I still haven't mailed those get-well cards. Now my own kid has a birthday. And she gets several lovely gifts, most of which require assembly. With tools. OK, we cut out the gym one day. We put off going to the dentist. I can stick wheels on until 2am, but I'm definitely not doing laundry. The car will have to wait. Rewriting some web content will definitely have to go on the back burner until the weekend.

Oh, the weekend. Thank goodness for the weekend.

Except it's Sunday afternoon, and I have a week's worth of "oh craps" sitting in front of me...

Where's that Wellbutrin?

I'm sorry if I haven't sent you that get-well card yet, or a thank you card for all the support you've given me, or the fantastic gift you sent The Kid. I'm sorry if I haven't returned a phone call. Or two. I'm sorry if we haven't gotten together, or I keep rescheduling lunch because we've been sick, or suddenly it's Friday, and well past your lunch break.

I'm sorry. I don't mean it. I love you. I hope that we can still be friends, even if I'm having trouble keeping my head above water right now. It doesn't mean you're not incredibly important to me.

I'm really very tired.

My Kid Turned Three

2007-10-07T14:14:00.000-04:00

I have a three-year old.

I took her to the zoo. Most of my photos are of slow-moving birds. Mostly, because the monkeys were a bitch to catch on film. And that tortoise? The tortoise was like a boulder with legs. Very camera-friendly.

She loved the carousel. She also loved the ice cream cake I made her. She doesn't know it took four hours to make. (Melted ice cream is slidy. Remember that piece of culinary wisdom.)

She spent a big chunk of her day covering paper (and my living room) in (washable) paint.

Not so tough NOW, are ya??

2007-09-28T00:54:00.001-04:00

You know what's better than walking outside with the garbage and seeing your neighbor, who you can't stand, sitting on the curb in handcuffs surrounded by police cars?

Yeaaaaaah........

Nothin'!

S'me!

2007-09-26T11:08:00.000-04:00

Once, when I was moving, I decided to finally delete all the old messages on my answering machine. There were about 90. About 45 of them were from Jackie, and as I was hitting "FORWARD", "DELETE", I realized that she said "Hey, it's me" at the start of every message. So I deleted every message but hers, and was then entertained for 3 minutes by:

Hey, it's me BEEP!
He-ey, it's... me-eeBEEP!
Hey it's me (muffled due to a lot of cheese in her mouth).... BEEP!
Hey, (cough, cough), s'me BEEP!
Hey, it's MEEE! BEEP.
Hey, it's me. BEEP!

Since then, she's tried to vary her voicemail messages - Hello, this is Jackie, Greetings, Good morning, Top o' the morning to you!, Hi Mary, etc.

But this weekend, I had a crappy weekend. I didn't pick up the phone. When I finally did, I had about 9 personal messages, all from different people.

And they all started "Hey, it's me".

And I realized how lucky I am to have people in my life that can leave a "Hey, it's me" on my voicemail - who know I'll recognize their voice, and smile.

Lucky.

:)

Fucked up in Florida

2007-09-25T23:57:00.000-04:00

Yesterday I went to sleep for the first time in two days. Apparently, the Wellbutrin I just started taking for Mad Cow Disease (otherwise known as raging PMS) can lead to insomnia, possibly maybe.

FORTY-ONE HOURS LATER, I went to sleep for seven hours, until I was gently awakened by "I HAVE TO GO PEE ON THE POTTY!" and had several confused flashbacks to my college years until I realized it was the newly potty-trained Pee Pee The Kid.

During the worst of it ("Captain's Log, Stardate 42477.2 - I am talking into my right hand... at ...5am".) I decided to watch a film or two. The boyfriend had recently given me a stack of DVD's, because my favorite mental-break-me-time is losing myself in a two hour movie. Sadly, the movie I pulled out was Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, and I spent the next two hours enjoying my insomnia while feeling like I was on a combination of acid, cocaine, and mescaline, surrounded by my own hallucinations. I can only recommend you watch this film while well-rested. ("Captain's Log, Supplemental - We had ..no idea ...that Mary found Star Trek jokes so ...entertaining.")

Apart from a bad turn with the Night Crazies, I am feeling so much better. I took my rage out on my bathroom floor on Sunday, armed with a small brush and a bucket of diluted Mr. Clean. Why is Mr. Clean a man? Why isn't it Miss Clean? How many men have ever actually thought about cleaning and proactively gone out and purchased Mr. Clean? If pressed to clean, I'm sure a man would make do with shampoo on an old stinky sponge.

"What? It's good enough for your hair, but not good enough for our floor? Come on, its purpose is to clean. I did what you asked me to do. Lemme go watch the game."

Tune in next week when you'll hear Dr. Bob say....

2007-09-23T10:40:00.001-04:00

Last week, the Kid and I were at the library, and I found a DVD set of the Muppet Show.

I haven't seen the Muppet Show in years, but it was the one show that my parents let me watch each week. The rest of the stuff I had to throw myself on the ground and cry for.

I put the DVD in, and it was like I was five years old again. I don't even think we had a color TV back then, so it was even better than when I was five. I realized that the reason my parents didn't mind me watching this was because the show had adult jokes that went right over my head - but most importantly, because it's really FUNNY! I must admit, that after I put the Kid to bed, I stayed up and watched the rest of it and laughed hysterically.

My parents acted like they were doing me some big favor. Now I know why they were really "letting" me watch.

They totally owe me a pony.

Just call me Ruth Marx

2007-09-22T23:06:00.000-04:00

Today I made an appointment, refilled a prescription, purchased a birthday gift, chatted with friends, checked my bank account (always good for some comic relief) paid an electric bill, and watched a movie. On my computer screen.

If I didn't have a child, I might never leave the house.

I work from home. We've had bronchitis for three weeks, that got especially bad in the last week. I am rapidly becoming an agoraphobic.

Yesterday whats-his-name wanted me to look at a car he was thinking of buying while we were talking on the phone. He said, "Are you online?" Then mumbled "What am I saying, of course you're online".

Ruh row.

Why do I feel like he's caught me in my curlers?

Note to self: Get a tan.

Feverishly sexy, no?

2007-09-12T09:34:00.000-04:00

I wouldn't say that bronchitis is all that bad. For instance, I can do a really great Tom Waits impersonation.

My First Spinning Class (Confessions of a Whiner)

2007-09-10T20:20:00.000-04:00

As part of switching out my cardio, I went to my first Spinning class the other day.

Hoo, boy.

I instantly knew that I was the only one who had never been to the class previously, as everyone else attending looked like Anatomically Correct Man and Anatomically Correct Woman. They were wearing bicycle shorts, and stretchy tanks, and heart monitors on their wrists. And spinning shoes.

I felt like George Costanza in a terrycloth headband. But I was determined.

The instructor came over and introduced herself, and asked if I had been to a Spinning class before. As if that wasn't painfully obvious. She then helped me adjust my bike, and showed me the three positions they would be using. Then she clipped me into the pedals. (Shit!) The people on the bikes around me were already pedaling. I guess they were warming up. I wasn't warming up. It was a 50-minute class. If I started warming up, I could be finished before class even started.

She turned on the music and shut off the lights, and we started to pedal under a black light. I looked around, admiring how nice and crisp everyone's towel looked under the light. Then I noticed all the lint on my shirt. Oh, for fuck's sake. Well, now I'm distracted.

I tried to see if I could notice lint on anyone else's clothes. Either they were too far away and therefore, couldn't see mine, or I really am a mess. I really need to reorganize my entire life. I have closets I need to clean, I don't have Spinning shoes, my sleep hours are erratic, I should probably mend some fences in my family before everyone drops dead, I need a new couch, and now I have lint on my shirt.

"Turn up your resistance, and get into second position!" Miss 3% Body Fat shouted into her headset.

Everyone grabbed their handlebars and stood up. There was no way I was standing up. It had been like, eight minutes. I still have 42 to go. Pedal, pedal, pedal.

She walked around the room, checking everyone's heart rate monitors with a small flashlight. "If you don't have a heart rate monitor" she bellowed daintily, "check your breathing. You should be able to talk".

Girl, I could sing an entire frikkin' opera right now. You know why? It's been 9 minutes, and I'm imagining myself out for a nice ride out in the country.

She passed by me and gave me an emphatic thumbs-up.

Then my ass started to hurt. I haven't been on a bike in a long time. When the class stood up, I stood up. And it was difficult. Apparently, I have the world's biggest ass. I sat down again. Aaah. That felt temporarily better. But I think I have to pee. Yes, I have to pee. Should I go pee? No, they'll all smile smugly to themselves and think "Wow, newbie, eleven whole minutes?" I'm not peeing.

I have to pee I have to pee I have to pee I have to pee.

Now I think I have a urinary tract infection. I try standing up again. Ohhhh... better. I sit down. I should have peed before we started. If I didn't have a UTI before, I have one now. Screw this. I'm human. I'm going to the bathroom.

And then I realize I can't get my foot out of the pedal strap. Since the instructor did it, I have no idea what she did. It's like, sailing knots. And it's dark. And if I bend over, it puts pressure on my bladder. I try to gently slide my foot out, but it gets caught on my shoelaces. And suddenly, Spinning shoes make a whooole lotta sense.

I'm not sure, but I think I have a hemorrhoid. I can't tell, because my ass's gone numb, except for two points of bone that are jamming right into the rock hard seat. I have to pee I have to pee I have to pee. I wish I had one of those inflatable donut ass pillow things. And we're standing.

OK, fuck this.

I sit, I stand. I increase resistance. This is not so tough. I'm sweating. I'm drinking water. Hey, the water looks cool under the black light! Good thing I'm the Elliptical Queen. La la la la I love Aerosmith.

I made it. I'm breathing normally. I don't have a UTI or a hemorrhoid, but I will pee before the next class. I'm going back on Thursday.

:)

You should catch him when he stage dives, he might break a hip

2007-08-30T13:23:00.000-04:00

I just got off the phone with my buddy Dan, who is four months older than me. We're 36.

Dan told me that last night, he went to an Incubus concert. It was great. However, at some point, he looked around, and suddenly realized he was old enough to be the father of many of the people around him.

And so, he officially became Old Guy. And through guilt of association, has dragged me with him.

We don't understand this. We were just 20 yesterday. And I realized, when you say things like "but I was just 20 yesterday...", you're done for.

But he continued to tell me that at the concert, when he mentioned to his beloved that he wanted a beer, his spouse's reply was "but it's a work night".

To which my immediate and unedited response was "EWWWWWWW!!!!", contentedly confirming my belief that my mental age rests somewhere around 12 1/2.

Which makes things seem stranger yet, when thinking about the boyfriend, who, next year, will be 40. Forty? Forty. I called Jackie.

"I can't get over the fact that I have a boyfriend who's going to be 40", I mumbled, still shell-shocked.

"And he's YOUR age", Jackie offered helpfully, with a mouth stuffed full of cheese, as usual.

Ah, shit.

Is 40 the new 20? Is black the new black? Does it matter that we work out all the time, curse more than our kids, listen to the same music they do, and his favorite thing to do is jump out of planes?

Sure, my pitching arm's still good enough that I could toss my panties up on stage at a Calle 13 show. Does it matter that they'd be gigantic leftover maternity panties?

No shit, Sherlock.

2007-08-28T15:01:00.001-04:00

I hate these emails.

You're just adding to the problem, Mr. System Administrator.

Just adding to the problem.

Today's plan

2007-08-28T09:46:00.000-04:00

~~gym~~
~~newsletter~~
~~promo training for property in Jamaica~~
~~SUBMIT EXPENSES!~~
~~follow up on contract emails~~
~~call tech team re: log-in issue~~
~~landing page content~~

Stay home and take care of sick monkey.

Relocating the office!

2007-08-26T23:26:00.001-04:00

My neighbors have been fighting lately.

Knock-down, drag out fights where someone is usually outside my living room window, calling the other one an asshole.

It gets a little disconcerting, with my home office being in my living room, and most of my conference calls occurring over my fancy new speaker phone.

So this weekend, I relocated my office into my bedroom. I overestimated how much space my office was going to require, and joyfully got rid of a lot of useless crap in anticipation. My bedroom is now an open, airy, sparklingly fresh room, and I can watch my Danish DVD's on my flat screen monitor from my relocated, now feng shuically-correct bed. And I don't have to look guiltily at the dishes piling up in the kitchen sink.

And I can still hear the "ding" of incoming mail from the boss from the comfort of my pillow.

You can't beat that with a stick.

Now, if I can just get the neighbors to stop leaving love letters for each other with their fingers on the side of their own dirty car...

La la la la la la

2007-08-23T21:08:00.000-04:00

Have you ever been so happy that even the darkest rages of PMS flitted past you like a tiny pink kite in the summer's ocean breeze? Of course, the 72lbs. of chocolate that I've consumed over the past couple of days have been of great assistance, but it just seems like everything has fallen into place.

I'm so happy I could pull on my sequined blue pantsuit and dance around.

(The Kid loves this song.) :)

My blissfully empty nest

2007-08-20T09:59:00.000-04:00

Today, after two months of summer camp and two weeks off (aaaugggh), The Kid returned to daycare.

I had registered late, and she was put in a class with a teacher that I didn't know. I was afraid that I was being PMS'y, but after attending open house yesterday morning, and seeing that a majority of the kids in her new class were younger than her, and that the teacher seemed to pay more attention to the more mumbly boys (they understandably needed more attention, because they were less verbal), I spoke with the director and moved her to the class I originally requested. The teacher is Israeli, and very attentive. She listened to my request that the Kid's sugar intake be limited throughout the day due to my own hereditary adult issues with Insulin Resistance (last year, one of the teachers was handing out chocolate chip cookies for breakfast), and said she would do whatever she could to support me. And, better yet, her teaching assistant is the art teacher that stopped me last year to tell me the Kid was her favorite. :)

So the Kid couldn't be in a better class, and I'm deliriously happy I requested the switch.

This morning was magical. (Apart from the fact that I was carrying her backpack, her lunch bag, a banana, my purse, a pack of pull-ups, and the camera - but not the keys, and locked myself out of the house. I had to crawl back in through the living room window). It was magical because prior to this summer, I used to have to fling my kid out of the car window at 7:30, speed to work, work, and then speed back to pick her up, at which point she'd be starving, because it was 5:30pm. And all this in heels. I would glare at the other mommies standing around, sipping their lattes in their yoga pants, holding the keys to their Hummers, making plans to go get manicures after coffee.

"Am I the only one with a JOB?" I would wonder.

This morning, I rolled out of bed, pulled my hair into a ponytail, threw on my gym clothes, and took my kid to school. At 9am.

I may still very well be the only one with a job. But I am oh, so cool with that. I've realized that I have to work. I don't know what I would do with myself otherwise. While many of my girlfriends are Stay at Home Moms, and I love them and they love me, I have no idea how they do what they do. I can't imagine being at home with the Kid all day.

As Count Olaf says in Lemony Snicket's A Series of Unfortunate Events, I'm sorry, I don't speak... monkey.

My child likes to spin in circles until she falls over. She thinks snoring is fun. She eats things off the floor. She likes to tell everyone that she pooped. She dances to commercials. She does not like roasted fennel, or contemporary art, or fresh olives, or movies with subtitles. Everyone tells me that she speaks so well, and so clearly, but what they don't understand is that she has to. I'm a single mother, and I don't speak monkey. When she asks why she can't leave her toys strewn all over the grass in front of our apartment or throw garbage on the ground, I ask her if she can say "socially responsible".

"Socially asponsible" she peeps back at me.

When we're out together, I speak to her as if she was another adult. "What kind of lettuce should we get?" She points. "I don't like that one" I tell her. The red lettuce seems to spoil quickly. What about spinach?" "Yes, spinach." she says. "I like spinach". People passing by look at us strangely. She points at the other toddlers sitting in 7-foot long shopping carts shaped like small cars. "That's difficult to steer", she tells their parents. Meanwhile, their kids are muttering incoherently and trying to eat their own hands.

Don't get me wrong, I completely encourage the spinning in circles until you throw up thing, I just don't know what I would do with myself if I had to monitor that all day. I don't have the ability to be a SAHM. I used to feel bad about being a mom who enjoyed working and utilized daycare. Now I just feel like it really is the right choice for us.

Here's some photos of yesterday's walk in the park on a 1.5 mile nature loop, complete with runaway fiddler crabs and a sunning iguana:

Tor-tola, here I come...

2007-08-12T21:31:00.000-04:00

Ya da da da da da....

Today, He Who Shall Not Be Named (no, not Voldemort. The [cough]... the [cough]... boyfriend) and I planned a little vacation.

We'll be in the (where else) Caribbean for five days - three days at my favorite hotel in Old San Juan, Puerto Rico, and two days at some delicious-looking resort in Tortola.

That's right, I said Tortola.

Not tortilla.

Not Tommy Mottola.

Not Toyota Corolla.

Tor-tola.

Here's a photo:

YEAH, BABY!

RUNDETAARN! AAAHH!

2007-08-11T16:25:00.000-04:00

I love it when my kid naps.

Mostly because I can watch old Dolph episodes on the internet.

But the beginning of this episode reminded me of Kara.

Of course, if you don't speak Danish and are mystified by the giant fascist hippo, it may not seem as funny. But he's walking through the Rundetaarn, a Round Tower in Copenhagen.

Here's my quick translation:
"Dolph is in the Rundetaarn.
Dolph never gets tired or exhausted – he never does.
Rundetaarn, you cannot be tougher than Dolph, with your many labyrinthical halls.
AAAAHHHH!
Dolph can walk many thousands of kilometers without a drop of water.
RUUUUUNDETAARN!
ARGHH!"

Kara went to the Rundetaarn.

It sounded like this:
Kara: There's an elevator, right?
Me: Sure!
Kara: Where's the elevator?
Me: Umm... I think it's right around the corner.
Kara: Come on, where's the elevator?
Me: It's right around the corner!
Kara: I'm not frikkin' kidding. Where's the elevator.
Me: I seriously think it's right around the corner. I saw it on the sign in front.
Kara: There's no elevator, is there.
Me: No.
Kara: I fucking hate you.

How much do I love Thomas?

2007-08-11T12:58:00.001-04:00

I can't even tell you.

Today I got a large, flat package in the mail, which turned out to be a large cutout of a mole from my favorite Danish children's book "Muldvarpen, der ville vide, hvem der havde lavet lort på dens hoved", or The Mole Who Wanted to Know Who Shit on His Head".

I know I'm supposed to hang it up for the Kid in her room, but leaving it in the living room makes me giggle.

This week has been really crazy with work and finding time every day to work out. School is closed for two weeks, and my parents have been watching the Kid for 6 hours a day. Don't get me wrong, I'd be lost without them, but those 6 hours leave me five hours to work, exercise, get my own stuff done, have lunch, blah, blah, blah.

I wind up working about 3 - 3 1/2 hours during the day, and another 5 at night after she goes to bed.

I can't wait until school starts again.

It has been nice, though, to have a little extra time with her, even at the cost of my beloved sleep. We're both tan, and have been getting to the beach and swimming at the pool. We do more errands together, and she helps me clean. However, since I've been trying to get at least 45 minutes of exercise in, seven days a week, the apartment has gone to the shitter. Today will be a BIG clean up day. She likes to follow me around with her little toy vacuum, which is always fun.

We came home the other day and Betty had taken a turn on the pavement - Betty being the newest addition to her toy collection. My child, who has a WEIRD aversion to dirt (ok, it's from me) immediately ran to me with Betty, yelling "Betty's DIRTY!!" I was juggling seven grocery bags and fishing through my keys with my teeth and two fingers trying to pull out the one for the front door, and I think I mumbled something like, "Ok, baby, we'll put her in the wash..."

Hours later, I was putting the Kid to bed, and couldn't find Betty anywhere. I didn't even mention her name, lest my 2 1/2 year old fixate on finding her, and put the Kid to bed with a kiss and perfunctory pat on the head.

I went into the kitchen to wash any leftover dishes, and there was Betty, in the "wash". The sink that my child can't reach without standing on her absolute tip toes, and definately can't see over. She just knows that's where mommy goes to wash stuff. And in went Betty.

God, I love little kids.

And Thomas.

:)

When you drink as much as I do, they eventually name one after you

2007-08-06T11:52:00.001-04:00

Today, a package arrived in the mail from Thomas.

Isn't that great???

I also received a beautiful Viking bracelet and a surprise for the Kid, which she'll open later.

He's the best gift-giver on the planet...

Thanks, TØ, wherever you are!

It's my party, and I'll tear this place apart if I want to

2007-08-05T20:02:00.001-04:00

Yesterday, I turned 36.

Which is amazing, because it was just yesterday that I was 16. I'm confused.

I went to the gym, and tried out my new sneakers. There was a lovely dinner on the ocean. For the first time ever, there was no birthday cake, because one week ago, I thought Atkins would be a fantastic idea.

What's wrong with me?

Jackie sent a beautiful bouquet, wishing me a "Beary Happy Birthday". WHAT A GOOB!!! Isn't it pretty? Hey, Jackie, did you know there was Mountain Laurel in the bouquet??

Thomas called from a ferry between Stockholm and ... I have no idea. Estonia, I guess. He's doing a 5-week motorcycle trip through eastern Europe.

Must be nice.

Today the Kid and I floated in the ocean. She clung to me and we watched little fish with yellow fins swim around my feet. They probably thought I was their mother. Note to self - let legs see the sun.

And then I decided it was time to throw out everything in my line of vision that doesn't have an immediate purpose. I'm not messing around. I went to the store and bought the biggest box of garbage bags I could find. I even found the ex's extra cell phone and put it in a padded mailer with a remaining shirt, and will send it off tomorrow.

I'm starting this year on a cleansing note.

:)

WOOSH!

"Miss Jackson" if you're nasty

2007-08-02T00:29:00.000-04:00

The one thing that has been bothering me a wee bit about motherhood lately is my complete and sudden loss of identity.

The Kid is currently going to summer camp at her daycare, which means a hundred new "counselors" who have enough trouble remembering their own names. They remember my kid's name, and that's a good sign.

My name, however, has been updated to "Mommy".

"Mommy, I can take that towel".

"Oh, mommy, someone dropped her hair clip!"

Today I took the Kid to My Gym for an hour of free play. During the 10-minute drive there, she dumped a bottle of water in her car seat. I was stopped on the way in.

"Mommy, her shorts are wet".

Lady, guess who I didn't give birth to. You. Don't call me Mommy if you don't want a giant kick in the ass.

It's all a gift

2007-08-01T22:51:00.000-04:00

Flexibility is the reason I love working from home the most. I get the bulk of my work done during the day, but if I need to pick the Kid up early, or head out to a park, and then come home and work again after she goes to bed, I can.

The weekends are almost my own again. I still have to figure out the best balance between spending time with the grandparents and the Kid's dad and doing absolutely nothing at all, but we're getting there.

Last weekend, we were even able to go to Miami Museum of Art. I really wanted to see the Tamayo exhibit. The Kid did not. I bribed her with a new toy, an Uglydoll.

My mother promptly named her Betty. After Ugly Betty, she explained.

(I'm sure it has nothing to do with the fact that my mother has a sister named Betty that she can't stand.)

I also took the Kid to a small park, so she could run around in circles for an hour or so. She complied easily.

And then, after telling the bmmphmmph (cough) that I've really been enjoying tearing up the elliptical at the gym every day but that I hated my sneakers, a package arrived in the mail today.

Cute pink sneakers.

From the bmmphmmph.

(tee hee hee)

Little fish, little fish

2007-07-30T23:51:00.000-04:00

The Kid goes swimming every day at school, but by the time I get her home, I have just enough time to stuff some dinner in her, hose her down, and put her to bed.

Tonight I decided we would go swimming.

We were going to go to the beach, but the sky was pretty gray by the time we got there, so I called my mom on my cell and told her we were on our way over.

"Why?" she asked.

"Because you love us and would like to see us", I calmly responded. "And we're going in the pool".

"Oh, I just meant, ... I was just wondering if you would want dinner... I just..."

Yeah.

It was raining lightly when we got there, and the sun was going down over the Intracoastal. The Kid, a ball of wiggling energy in her tankini, was so excited to be in the water. I remember never wanting to get out of the pool as a kid. I joined the swim team when I was seven, and I remember doing fund raising marathons, where we collected money per lap. My mother used to follow me down the side of the pool with a towel, yelling "You've been in there for two hours!", and I would just keep swimming, joyful with the knowledge that she was pissed off and I was enjoying myself, and there was no way she was jumping in and pulling me out.

The Kid loves to put her head under water. She loved it when I put my head under water. She would say, "Under water! One - two- (deep breath) - THREE!" and she dives under the water, blowing bubbles and laughing and pulling me with her. I got bored just flailing around in the short end, and I told her to hold on, and I swam to the deep end.

"Go under with me!" she screamed, holding on to my hair. I'd give her a second to take a breath, and then slide under the water with her clinging to my neck. A few feet away, my geriatric parents had repeated heart attacks.

She is absolutely fearless.

She is everything I could ever want.

:)

This week's movie reviews

2007-07-29T22:07:00.000-04:00

Hello.

Welcome to "Slit Your Wrists July".

This week, I watched "Kolya", a movie about a little Russian boy whose mother leaves him with a senior citizen Czech cellist that she just married for Czech papers, so she can run off to her boyfriend in Germany. "Water", a beautiful film about a girl in India who is married and widowed at the age of 7 and forced to live in an ashram for widows for the rest of her life, never to marry, go to school, or have a life again. "Lilja 4-Ever", about a young girl in Estonia whose mother abandons her and she chooses to leave a life of horrifically depressing abject poverty where she's forced to sell herself to survive, for a possible future in Sweden. And "Efter Bryllupet", starring my boyfriend, Mads Mikkelsen, a Dane in India trying to save orphans whose puppet strings are pulled by a crazy Swede.

Here's what I've learned:

The world is a horrible, insanely depressing place. If you ever think your life is bad, rent any one of these movies. I'm not saying you'll feel better afterwards. You'll probably go to bed with a cheap bottle of gin and a stale pack of generic cigarettes and lose all hope. My point still is, the world is a horrible, insanely depressing place.

I'm not so sure what my Netflix profile says about me, and I'm very tempted to shut down my current account and start an entirely new one. Where I give DVD's like "Ron White - They Call Me Tater Salad" and "The Gilmore Girls - Season Five" five stars. If I look at my Netflix account right now, under "Movies You'll Love!", the page is filled with foreign films where everyone dies at the end after a prolonged suffering. What the hell kind of drugs have I been on?

Thank you.

See you again at the end of "Shoot Yourself in the Face" August.

Jesus.

How did I get to be so lucky?

2007-07-27T21:41:00.001-04:00

Today when I went to pick up the Kid from school, the new art teacher stopped me.

The new art teacher is blonde and adorable and looks like she should be playing tennis at a country club, apart from the tattoo of giant blue gorgeous wings on her right arm.

"Are you her mom?" she asked, brightly.

I nodded, and she beamed.

"She's my favorite" she gushed. "She's just so bright! And her personality... I just love her! When they told me I was coming back in the fall, she was the first one I thought of!".

:)

Proud mommy.

Child in Red

Sometimes she walks through the village in her
little red dress
all absorbed in restraining herself,
and yet, despite herself, she seems to move
according to the rhythm of her life to come.

She runs a bit, hesitates, stops,
half-turns around...
and, all while dreaming, shakes her head
for or against.

Then she dances a few steps
that she invents and forgets,
no doubt finding out that life
moves on too fast.

It's not so much that she steps out
of the small body enclosing her,
but that all she carries in herself
frolics and ferments.

It's this dress that she'll remember
later in a sweet surrender;
when her whole life is full of risks,
the little red dress will always seem right.

Rainer Maria Rilke

he's just big boned, is all

2007-07-26T20:52:00.001-04:00

Just a little shout-out to Mommy's Angel Boy, who somehow believes it is beneath him to pose with Mommy for a photo... that's ok, Big Boy.

Fat Fatty.

Meatiemeatie.

Mommy loves you, Meatball.

(Yeah, you too, Lily.)

Who's delicious. WHO'S DELICIOUS!?

mumble, mumble... (cough).... (looks at shoes)...

2007-07-25T12:08:00.001-04:00

I just tried posting about someone I met recently, but I had to delete it.

I have the hardest time talking about him.

Does it mean something when you blab endlessly about everything else, but there's one subject you have a really difficult time talking about?

Sheesh.

Pregnant friends = sitting target

2007-07-23T20:46:00.000-04:00

My life isn't all glamor and excitement.

Sometimes I need to pick on those less fortunate to keep things a little exciting.

A little edgy.

Last week, I was offered a travel blog on the website of the online travel company I work for (and immediately had to hit my travel blog with Windex and a paper towel, desperately trying to tidy up a bit before any of the big wigs took a peek). I called 80 of my closest girlfriends to get opinions, edits, and suggestions.

Somehow, pregnant Mandy let it slip that she had been watching "She's Having a Baby" and crying her eyes out. What a ball of hormones she is. But still, that scene where they wheeled Elizabeth McGovern into the OR, and Kate Bush starts singing, and you just see that drop of blood hit the floor is enough to make anyone cry. And so Mandy and I are talking about this, and her husband is standing behind her and laughing and sniveling his favorite quotes from Sleepless in Seattle in a girly voice:

"Sam Baldwin: Although I cried at the end of "the Dirty Dozen."
Greg: Who didn't?
Sam Baldwin: Jim Brown was throwing these hand grenades down these airshafts. And Richard Jaeckel and Lee Marvin
[Begins to cry]
Sam Baldwin: were sitting on top of this armored personnel carrier, dressed up like Nazis...
Greg: [Crying too] Stop, stop!
Sam Baldwin: And Trini Lopez...
Greg: Yes, Trini Lopez!
Sam Baldwin: He busted his neck while they were parachuting down behind the Nazi lines...
Greg: Stop.
Sam Baldwin: And Richard Jaeckel - at the beginning he had on this shiny helmet...
Greg: [Crying harder] Please no more. Oh God! I loved that movie. "

And I was like, "wow, Mandy, your husband is really mean. Hang on a second, listen to this":

Oh-hooo!

And Mandy's totally crying because it's the song from the blood drop scene.

Wow, that was totally easy.

(Mary leaves the house to search for a three-legged dog).

Love thy neighbor's lumps

2007-07-22T18:16:00.002-04:00

It occurred to me today that on the rare occasions I run into my next-door neighbor, he smiles at me with a mixture of "don't come any closer" and "pity".

I wonder if he knew that when he moved in here, he would spend a large amount of time listening to me sing about my lovely lady lumps through a ridiculously thin wall.

HOME!

2007-07-21T20:07:00.000-04:00

Looooooong week in Chicago.

The schedule was stressful, and I got sick, quickly.

However, there were two positive takeaways (and I can comfortably say "takeaways" after a week of listening to marketingspeak).

1. I'm going to be doing some writing as a part of my job.

I can't elaborate, as it was all just plans hashed out at a late meeting, but I could have kissed my boss. Which would have made the meeting awkward. But still.

2. I love gay boys.

After a crappy, crappy week, I spent Friday night in Boystown getting shitfaced. There were three of us - me, my favorite team member, and my new best friend from Acapulco (pictured at left). We decided to have a contest to see who could pick up the hottest guy. We sat on bar stools, and I yelled "WAIT A MINUTE! WAIT A MINUTE!", pulled my lipstick out of my purse, and started to apply. Because if anything's going to attract a gay man in a gay bar, it's a girl. In lipstick.

Needless to say, I lost. But I did win the "who can drink the most cosmos" contest. Because halfway through, I changed the contest to "who can drink the most cosmos and have a vagina" contest.

YAAAY!

But holy cow, I had a rockin' hangover this morning.

The good thing about gay bars is that you can (well, I can) at least count on waking up ALONE and hungover...

I bought the new Harry Potter at O'Hare airport. Harry and I are going to go curl up in my bed.

So good to be home!

today's surprise

2007-07-14T22:09:00.001-04:00

And just when I start to settle in....

2007-07-13T23:42:00.000-04:00

It's back to Chicago for a week.

The agenda was sent out yesterday, and leaves very little time to get to know the city. Or breathe, for that matter.

It'll be cool to get together with the team and get out of south Florida for a few days, but I'm going to miss my kid, and I still feel like I need more time to get into a better routine. My days have been haphazard. I get up early, go through email, get the Kid up, take her to school, come back, start laundry, start a project, think about getting to the gym, put out a few fires, start a new task list, scribble... scribble...

I try to balance out my day by getting up from the computer and going for walks, but because I'm not settled in yet, the structure of my day is shaky at best. Which is why it's midnight on a Friday and I'm about to get into the network again and clean up the remains of the day.

I think I need a better office chair.

I've been using one of the back machines at the gym, but it focuses on lower back, and my upper back is killing me after a few hours in front of the computer. It helps to be able to get up and roll around the living room on a pilates ball, but I'd really prefer to be doing that out of lack of anything better to do, as opposed to back pain.

Ok, network. Cleaning up task list.

Ignoring yawning.

Note to self: start writing down notes to self, instead of just saying "note to self" in my head.

Note to self: Buy coffee. So very, very tired. Keep forgetting to buy coffee...

Ellipticalicious

2007-07-10T23:32:00.000-04:00

Until today, the elliptical machine at the gym and I have not been friends. We haven't even been acquaintances. The elliptical was something I just glared at from afar.

Last week, I believe my highest record on the elliptical was a full 6 minutes.

A friend mentioned she had gotten up to a decent rate after working with a personal trainer...

And thus, war was waged.

Because of the new job, I haven't been sleeping much lately. Since I work from home, there's always something to work on, and I love just being ahead for the upcoming day. I've been going to bed at 2-3am and waking up at 6am. Friday, after sleeping 4 hours, I dragged myself to the gym, and did a full 3 minutes and 23 seconds of elliptication before pulling myself off and crawling home to cry. I think it was ... Monday? that I missed a night of sleep completely and was up for a full 48 hours before slithering into bed.. yesterday. I think. And after 10 hours of beautiful, uninterrupted rest, I skipped into the gym today and did ONE HOUR. The elliptical and I were one.

A friend has been helping me develop a training program, and so I've been hitting the gym, for at least an hour, six days a week. It's been very motivational.

Llllaaahhhhllllhhhhhhhh.....

Come on. I know you want to lick that arm.

Wait, here's the other one...

OK, I'm done. :)

I love working from home and getting to the gym every day. It's the existence I always wanted, and never thought possible. I can get up from the desk and go for a walk, or shop, or get a haircut, and come back and work again, or take my laptop downtown and get some sun and use the city wireless.

Happy, happy, happy....

And just for good measure....

2007-07-04T00:23:00.000-04:00

Yeah. You just try pulling the Crazy card with me.... and PREPARE TO BE OUT-CRAZIED!!!

Mwah-ha-ha-ha.....

So many crazy men, so little time

2007-07-03T12:50:00.000-04:00

I decided to get back in the internet dating scene. Mostly because my "office" is my "living room", and the only other place I get to mingle is "my daughter's daycare" with "my friends' husbands".

Yeah. No.

Some guys are great, and I'm making some really fantastic friends, and travel plans. (Why is it, when you work in the Caribbean, everyone wants to come and visit?!) :)

And then, there are some guys who are JUST PLAIN KOO-KOO.

This morning I had an email, and the subject just said "Oh my god". Oookay...

The guy's profile was in German, and I wrote something back like hey, I don't speak German, but lots of luck out there...

And then the koo-koo bell starts to go off. Although, with all due respect, I am like the taste of dark honey.

(Shit, I almost fell out of the chair, there.)

It's like, 2 o'clock in the morning, and my mailbox is slowly filling up with stuff from this guy. I'm sleeping, and he's still typing away...

His note says "Hey, need to sleep :(" like we've been having a conversation or something.

You remind me of something inside myself. Hi, sweetie, it's me. Your pancreas.

Just sit down and listen to the wind teling you the secrets.

The wind is telling me that you're a card-carrying NUTJOB, buddy.

"Be aware - sharks can see the blood???"

And now we're done.

Thanks, Hannah, for the content! I was going to write back and ask him for money to come and visit, but this fantastic letter from Barrister Zibby Zatak seemed to do the trick.

Oddly, I haven't heard from him.

I miss him so. We could have been beautiful together.

And cra-a-a-a-aaazy.....

Nothing to do now but work, dammit.

2007-07-02T02:41:00.000-04:00

The Kid and I have been rained in for most of the weekend, and I managed to finish setting up my home office. I filled the house with fresh flowers, and have been getting a lot of reading done after a big trip to the bookstore, when our park plans were washed out.

Our local bookstore is having a costume party in July to celebrate the release of the next Harry Potter book.

Could you imagine being the only costumed adult to show up at that thing?

I may just have to go down and film it.

Colores de Viejo San Juan

2007-06-30T17:08:00.001-04:00

There are just so many colors to look at in Old San Juan. The buildings, the streets, the flowers, the people, the sea, all the colors in my drink... It was gorgeous. Below is a sample from my photos of the amazing palette that paints Viejo San Juan, and a link to my travel blog.

I didn't hit La Perla this trip, the crazy neighborhood tucked beneath El Morro - but Nelly Furtado did! Mala!

Nelly Furtado & Calle 13, La Perla:

A Visit to the NuYorican Cafe

A salad, please, with a side of "Nasty Old Man". WARNING - SKIP THIS POST!!

2007-06-27T21:22:00.000-04:00

I took a break from meetings today to have lunch with a co-worker. We're currently working in the executive club of a large hotel in San Juan, Puerto Rico.

The rooms are comfortable, and I have a balcony overlooking a waterfall pool. At night, I fall asleep to the sweet sound of chirping coqui.

So Maga and I are sitting at lunch, when I look up and notice her staring over my shoulder and off into the distance, horrified.

"Is that... a coconut and a s-string?" she sputters.

"Wha - WHAT?" I stuttered as delicately as I could, with a face full of lettuce leaves and goat cheese.

I peered over my shoulder to see an old guy in a g-string, walking along the beach in the middle of the day.

My chewing slowed. We were sitting at the hotel's beach restaurant, which opened out onto the sand, and the beach was full of people tanning, and swimming, and playing frisbee.

Other people sitting on the restaurant deck were also staring, and I put down my fork in protest and mumbled "I'm eating!" to no one in particular.

He must have noticed the glare of my camera lens in the sun, or a crowd of us gawking at him like rednecks on bleachers at a NASCAR race, because he began to sway in our direction, shaking his... bom bom.

And then the show began.

Apparently, not only was he extremely self-confident, which was ... highly optimistic and encouraging, given the sparse dimensions of his grape-smuggling attire, but he was also... happy to see us, a photo of which I refuse to post here on this family-oriented blog.

Although, you've probably already gone blind.

I didn't eat for the rest of the day.

I may not eat tomorrow.

I'd like to introduce you to-o-o-ooo... this person,....

2007-06-25T12:22:00.000-04:00

Yesterday at the mall, I was in Sigrid Olsen, and noticed a woman that I used to work with at DHL.

I said hello, and watched her face run through a flash of her life, all of her friends, co-workers, old neighbors, childhood playmates, and extended family members.

Me, I can't forget anything if I tried. I remember every phone number that Jackie of the Swollen Eyebrows has ever had. I remember the names of my elementary school friends' siblings. I remember 30-year old conversations, and the sweater the person was wearing two tables over. Jackie of the Swollen Eyebrows and her husband, Jim of the White Jeans the First Day of Eighth Grade, often roll their eyes, sigh, and wish I had the ability to forget some of their life experiences. They certainly have.

So "DC" is standing in Sigrid Olsen, $75 wooden necklace entwined in her fingers as she stands, frozen, trying to de-frag her brain in less time than it would take for me to realize she can't remember who I am, and two little voices in my head are singing "Jenny" by Flight of the Conchords.

Jenny.
Pardon.
Jenny.
No, I'm sorry, I think you've mistaken me for somebody else.
No, it's me, I'm Jenny, my name is Jenny.
Oh, you are - oh, I... ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.

Nothing is uncomfortable when your brain has a good soundtrack.

hot wax and baby wings

2007-06-25T00:01:00.001-04:00

I'm leaving for San Juan tomorrow (today, really), and just had an hour and a half of gut-wrenching panic when I couldn't find my camera.

I mean, what's the point of even going to Puerto Rico if I don't have a camera with me??

OK, maybe I could find something to do, but jeez. Well, anyway, camera located.

Since I can now afford the finer things in life, like Starbucks, and pedicures, I stopped off at Starbucks this morning on my way to a pedicure. My mom met me at the nail salon, but she was late. I had way too much time to kill reading the menu of services and draining my caramel macchiato, and spontaneously decided to get my eyebrows waxed.

I've never had my eyebrows waxed before. A) I have naturally gorgeous eyebrows, and B) approximately seven years ago, I was visiting my friend Jackie, and she went to get her eyebrows waxed, and she came out looking like Groucho Marx, with 3rd degree burns for eyebrows. Eventually, her forehead blistered and peeled and only left her with some minor bruising, but she seemed to think that painful pink patches of skin were the norm. I never saw the benefit, and have since avoided hot wax completely.

Then the 40-year Old Virgin came out, and only reinforced my fears.

But with a new income and a free week at a 4-star hotel ahead of me, I'm feeling up for adventure.

Hot wax was spread on my eyebrow area, and it sort of felt like warm honey. Cloth was pressed into the wax and then quickly pulled off and... OHH-H KELLY CLARKSON! nothing. She repeated this three times, then went in with a tweezer and pulled a couple of strays. No blister, no pink skin, no gallon bottle of aloe. Eight bucks. I am never lifting a finger to my own eyebrow again. Jackie, you need to start going someplace else.

I also picked up a ring today. Silver, with a small design of tiny angel wings.

Now, whenever I travel, I can look at my hand, and my baby is with me.

Plus, my nails look really nice. :)

I bet you do, you freaky old bastard, you

2007-06-21T22:30:00.000-04:00

I can't get enough of Flight of the Conchords lately. The first clip, "Jenny", just makes me love Jermaine even more. Hang around for the "binary solo" in the second clip. And if you're tired of listening to me sing James Blunt songs, you might enjoy them singing the Bowie song in three... :)

Chicago: It Doesn't Smell Like Urine

2007-06-21T09:19:00.000-04:00

I just got back from a short trip to the Windy City. It was my first time visiting the midwest. Although I've been to both coasts, and Canada and Mexico, I've somehow never felt a need to stop off in the middle.

I was excited about visiting Chicago. TGLETSITCAFM, who no longer sits across from me and can now just be referred to by his new, secret agent name, "Jamie", loves it there, and kept telling me how nice everyone was.

Well, nice is nice.

Unfortunately, I had a raging cold the first day, and went through twelve meetings with a balled-up tissue in my hand, and alternated between sneezing my head off, and running off to wash my hands to avoid spreading my plague further. The headquarters of my new job are modern (especially in comparision to the airport, where office furniture went to die). The atmosphere is incredibly laid-back, and the talent seems to be more focused on production than keeping up professional appearances. There were a lot of people in flip flops. Except for my team, as we're sort of the "sales" aspect of the supply side, so I was business-y, with my new "take me seriously and be a little frightened of me" heels. One person from revenue management that I met with actually apologized for not wearing a jacket to our meeting. I had an inclination to say "hey, it's just me", but I didn't.

I'm happy to be taken seriously again, even if it's just via a message from my wardrobe.

After my first workday, I went back to the hotel, ordered up room service, and after a fantastic Cobb salad, knocked myself out with a few shots of Nyquil. I figured that sleep would be the best thing for my cold. It was.

I woke up at 5am without a sniffle, and walked/ran/shuffled down to Millenium Park.

Chicago is CLEAN. New York smells like pee, everywhere. I always took it for granted that this was just a part of life in the city, but apparently, it isn't. Don't tell the New Yorkers.

By the time I got down to the park (cup of coffee in hand), I had to pee like a pregnant woman awaiting an ultrasound. I saw a restroom sign leading to an underground bathroom. Of course, I kept sipping my coffee.

Underground bathroom.... bladder exploding... it was a tough choice. In New York, you just don't go into public bathrooms. More than likely, it's someone's home. And they're not happy about it. But it was 6am and the park was empty (also not good), so I decided to go. I made eye contact with a passing park worker, and sent him desperate telepathic messages to call 911 if I wasn't out in 20 minutes.

I walked downstairs - into a maze. Christ. Bad, bad, bad. I will undoubtedly interrupt someone's covert drug deal, and die.

I turned a corner. I turned another corner. The instincts in my body that are telling me to run are floating in a sea of pee, and I can't hear them screaming.

I see a sign for the ladies' room, and I walk into......

The cleanest public bathroom I have ever seen in my life.

I would have cheerfully given birth in there.

I bet this is where Oprah goes to pee.

I then walked around downtown Chicago for another hour or so. At 6am, I passed six Starbucks that were not yet open for business. Don't you need coffee most at 6am? There weren't that many people walking around. I stopped to watch the ABC news broadcast, as did a few construction workers. I tried not to wonder how much weight was hanging off of the cranes behind me as they tried to get glimpses of the newscasters.

Satisfied that I had ventured past the two-block radius between my hotel, and my job, I headed back for a shower.

Thankfully, Leann drove in that night, and we went out for beers & dinner and then spent approximately 12 hours looking for the Sears tower.

"What?!" you wonder to yourself. "Downtown Chicago is not that big. And the Sears Tower is one of the tallest buildings in the United States!" Well, shut up, asshole. You could also add that it has the words "Sears Tower" in giant letters across the side, but you're not being particularly helpful, and the point of the story is, we couldn't find it.

Granted, Leann just buried her fiance over the weekend and therefore wasn't really able to put together a whirlwind sightseeing tour, but her new situation as a widow is surprisingly hysterical. She practically has a whole new repetoire of dead boyfriend knock-knock jokes.

Knock knock.

No, I can't do it. I'll totally wet my pants.

Home again. :)

Goodbye, airport!! Hel-looooooo..... AIRPORT!!

2007-06-14T21:20:00.000-04:00

Tomorrow is the last day of my time with the County. I feel like I'm leaving lock-up. I've been blasting music all week and taking two hour lunches and doing very little to "ease the transition" as I referred to in my resignation letter.

Everyone really appreciated the 6,000 times I played "Born Free" and did pirouettes in my cubicle. Especially TGLETSITCAFM. Who muttered incoherently to himself the entire time.

I'll still be seeing everyone... I'll just be a screaming, irate passenger on my way to the Caribbean. :)

Pasta like a rock star

2007-06-14T20:45:00.000-04:00

The Kid picked up a pair of sunglasses over the weekend, and every time she put them on and looked at me, I sang "Lemon" by U2.

Here's some photos from her Sunday dinner. Hit "Play" on the video below for the full effect.

OK, she didn't really eat that entire thing. I took most of it home in a small box. But she did eat a lot of it.

At least a third of her body weight, I believe.

I love Gomez.

2007-06-13T10:12:00.000-04:00

The Kid has been sick since last week, with a variety of ailments. Yesterday she came home and promptly threw up everything she's ever eaten. I have slept approximately 2 - 3 hours a night over the past few days, just listening for the "Mooooooommy....". I am exhausted and nonsensical.

But holy cow, I love Gomez. They're opening for the Fray in Atlanta in July, and since I couldn't get up to the big ATL last week like I wanted to, it would be great to fly up for Gomez. And when all else fails, at least I have YouTube.

I just have to get this out. Then I'm going to the park and forgetting it.

2007-06-09T13:13:00.000-04:00

Every once in a while, I lose it. I'm not proud. Single parenting is hard, and I'm no superhero.

I haven't paid my rent yet. Summer camp for the Kid was more money than I have laying around (thirty-six cents is the amount of money I have laying around, in case you were wondering). I pay for daycare, rent, gas, the electric bill, phone bills, car insurance, food. It all comes out to slightly more than I make in a month. Somehow, we manage.

The Kid's dad makes more money than I do, but never has any money. I discovered it's because he's paying off his debt. Which is admirable, and he'll be a better position in the future to provide for his daughter, but I am scraping by, with minimal help from him. I am scraping so bad, you can hear it. It sounds like a ton of rusty metal on rusty metal. Scraping.

I don't mind not being wealthy. I would prefer to be wealthy, but I'm not suffering. I'm not sleeping in a bathroom in a subway station or living in a homeless shelter. I have a car, a job, a roof over my head. My kid is happy. But for my kid to be happy, her mother has to juggle bills, plead for extensions, take the hit of an interest payment, beg, and borrow. And beg. And borrow.

I called her dad yesterday to tell him that summer camp was a bigger hit than I expected to take, and I would appreciate it if he could throw anything he could my way. Which is when I found out that things are tight for him because he's paying off his past debt.

Which brings me to the only point I'm going to make on this subject today. I get that there's things that you're trying to take care of. I get that your week is busy, and that you don't always "remember" to send that weekly amount. Your weekly amount is a FRACTION of the cost of providing for your child. And when you "forget" to send that amount that I HATE picking up the phone and asking you for, YOUR CHILD GOES WITHOUT. Your child will never go without food. There is nothing that I wouldn't do to provide for her, and I am surrounded by people that would never let this happen. But if I don't get it from you, it still has to be gotten. I have to juggle, and calculate, and distract, and entertain, and go without. So it's great that you're repaying your debt. But when do you repay your debt to me, the woman raising this happy, well-adjusted, funny, caring, intelligent child with the fantastic manners that you have come to love and cherish so much? These years aren't the greatest for me. I'm doing everything I can to not be stressed out around my child. It isn't easy, and I'm not always successful. How much does that come to, and when do you repay that?

Don't worry, you don't have to think about it. I already have the answer for you.

You don't.

Rightie, tightie, leftie, loosie...

2007-06-09T10:45:00.000-04:00

Every hurricane season, my car's tires turn into nail magnets. It's incredible. If you don't believe me, you can ask my mechanic, Georgie. Who's in the process of buying his third home. Now, that's a lot of flat tires. You're welcome, Georgie.

Three days ago, I noticed my tire was getting a little flat. I put some air in it. The next day, flat. Nail. I know the symptoms. I could swing by and see Georgie on Saturday, so I decided to just keep putting air in it.

Saturday morning. The Kid and I head outside for a quick lesson on how to change a car tire. My dad wouldn't let me start driving until he was sure I could change a tire by myself. An excellent lesson. No reason the Kid can't start ahead of the game.

I jack up the car, pull off the tire, and pull the spare out of the trunk. I press it with a finger. Nice and tight. Hooray for preparation! I pull it out of the trunk, wheel it over to the wheel well, and .... what the hell is that noise? I hear a faint hiss. I roll the spare over. The hiss gets louder. A giant nail is sticking out of my spare tire. I pull out the nail and the tire sounds like an untied balloon that someone just let go.

Are. you. kidding. me.

Saturday. Shot.

At least the Kid is learning the important stuff.

Somewhere in Asia, there's a voodoo doll with my name on it

2007-06-08T21:34:00.000-04:00

I'm calling India.

YAAAAAYYYY!!!!!

Please wait for a site operator to respond.

You are now chatting with 'Rick'

Rick: Hi Mary,

Rick: Welcome to Snapfish Live Help. How may I help you please?

Mary: I just placed an order to be picked up at a local Walgreen's. I ordered 3 4x6 prints, and the preview showed the 6-inch side on the top and bottom, with a white border. These were not the photos I picked up. I need these for a birthday gift. Why is the preview different from the end product?

Rick: Please give me a moment.

Rick: I suggest you to write an email to service@snapfish.com so that our representatives will handle this issue and provide with the solution.

Mary: I did. However, I need this by tomorrow morning, and I received a message that I would get a response in 1 - 2 business days.

Rick: I am sorry, i can not provide you instant help on this matter, as this is related to technical section.

Rick: As this is concerned to technical department, we request you to write an email to service@snapfish.com

Mary: What can you help with?

Rick: Ok then.

Rick: I will forward this to our superior level representatives and they will take this in to consideration.

Mary: That doesn't make sense. If I'm trying to place an order, and live help is offered, I'd like to know what you can help with.

(no response)

Mary: Hello?

Rick: I certainly regret any inconvenience on this matter.

Mary: There is a button on the webpage. It says "Got questions? live help". What do you do?

(no response)

Mary: You don't really do anything, do you.

(no response)

Mary: Thank you, Rick. I'll be sure to send another letter to Snapfish to let them know why I took my business elsewhere.

Rick: The True Digital size, 4x5.3 option will pop up after you check out from the shopping cart and select the shipping method.

Rick: If any of the 4x6 photos in the cart are already edited, the True Digital option will not pop up.

Rick: Also if you select the pick up option, the True Digital option will not be available.

Mary: Suddenly, you have answers.

Take that, Snapfish.

FINALLY, a day off

2007-06-07T10:49:00.000-04:00

I've had this song in my head all morning.

I have a five-day weekend this week. The Kid hasn't been feeling well, and I had some sick days I needed to use up before my last day with the County. We're both getting some much needed rest and "me time".

I'm off for a long, long walk in the woods.

I've got mail

2007-06-06T21:36:00.000-04:00

I got a postcard in the mail today from a girl I love, containing a single-line message intended to encourage, support, and kick my ass a little.

My life is filled with amazing people. I have an amazing group of girlfriends. Some near, some far. Some who have woken up to the sight of my butt sticking out of their fridge and a muffled, "Got any beer?", and some who have not yet had the pleasure. Most of them have held my hand through my darkest hours. None of them ask for anything in return. All of them have touched my heart and made me laugh out loud.

I am a rich woman.

I think it's time to up my meds.

2007-06-05T19:40:00.000-04:00

I have come to the realization (somewhere out there, a small faction of my more sarcastic friends are smacking themselves in the forehead. Thanks.) that I rent a lot of movies and read a lot of books about relationships because I don't have time for therapy, and I have no idea what I'm doing.

Imagine Me and You. Just watched it yesterday. About a perfectly lovely couple; warm, intelligent, sweet, caring, who really seem to be best friends. They get married, and at their wedding, she meets her future lesbian life partner, having absolutely no inkling prior to that moment that she had any sort of a latent homosexual tendency. Marriage - fucked. Husband - crushed. Big gigantic theatrical wedding - down the tubes for all involved.

Next.

Volver. Watched it a few days ago. The man is married to Penelope Cruz, and decides to sleep with his step-daughter. Which leaves me with an overwhelming sense of doom and hopelessness, because if someone married to Penelope Cruz doesn't devote his entire existence to just staying married to Penelope Cruz, then it's merely a drunken crapshoot for the rest of us, isn't it.

The Lake House. Love is entirely possible, especially if a rip in the fabric of time, Keanu Reeves, and a glass house are involved. Whatever possessed me to rent that movie, I just don't know.

The Holiday. Holy menstrual cycle, Batman, this is getting embarrassing. OK, Cameron Diaz is a successful, capable (snigger, guffaw) movie producer... oh, fuck it. This one just makes no sense from the get-go. Moving right along. PS, it sucked.

And after a rapid glance through my Netflix queue in a desperate search for something not starring Matt Damon,... Born into Brothels. An Oscar-winning documentary. Gorgeous. And which has very little to do with relationships, other than while you're sitting there reading the paper and drinking your coffee and twiddling your wedding ring, there are still people out there who will pay to have sex with children.

The world is a horrible place.

I will die alone.

I'll be curled up in a fetal position under my blanket if anyone needs me.

Hey, the TV really does tell the truth

2007-06-04T09:52:00.000-04:00

I’ve been living without TV for a couple of months now. PBS is one of four channels I can see on my cable-less television, and it’s reception is the clearest. So this weekend, I found myself watching a PBS show on skincare.

The show featured a “medical doctor from Cornell University”, who talked about skin and what you could do to reverse the aging process. There were a few easy steps, she said, and you just needed to give yourself five minutes a day to see improvement.

- You needed to clean your skin with a serum that the skin could absorb.

I have no idea what that means.

- You also had to use a toner.

Whenever I buy toner, I’m convinced for about three days that this is the missing link to my next Vogue cover. Then it sits in the back of my cabinet, unused, for approximately three years. Feh. I decide to skip the toner.

- Then there was something about a cream.... or a moisturizer, or a lipid-based serum, ...and then "sealing your skin with a water-based serum" ...or cream.

Again, I have no idea where we’re going with this serum stuff.

Pass.

She then discussed the merits of exfoliation. With a brush. Ow. She talked about the damage your skin can amass; liver spots, lines, wrinkles, enormous pores, thin skin, sagging skin, sallow skin…. Jeez. I get up and peer into my bathroom mirror. My skin is fine.

The medical doctor from Cornell was wearing a nicely tailored suit, a string of pearls, and she had long, curled, blonde hair pulled off her face. She spoke softly and gently and used a lot of small, sweeping hand gestures in which I could picture countless, toner-laden cotton balls.

“How old do you think I am?” she asked the camera and her studio audience.

I looked at her long, curling, blonde hair that was a blatant attempt to look like a six-year old.

“Fifty-five”, I thought to myself. She’s in a panic about her age, obviously. And who wears pearls? And that hair! Get an age-appropriate haircut! What are you, Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman?

“I am fifty-two years old”, she announced, proudly. I mentally shaved her head.

Later that night, I’m getting ready for bed, and I decide to devote five minutes of my day to reversing the aging process of my skin. I skim through the doctor’s list in my mind. Cleansing… blah, blah, blah… exfoliation…. serum, lipid, pass, pass. I pick up a washcloth and some soap and I decide to wash the makeup off my face before I go to bed.

The next day, I get up, stumble into the bathroom, flick on the switch… and I am aglow. My pores are refined, my cheeks are rosy, and I don’t have eyeliner and smeared mascara all over my face.

Thank you, television.

Tropical Depression Day Two -- Electric Boogaloo

2007-06-03T00:31:00.000-04:00

I was enjoying the rain.

I was enjoying it until I reset my clocks for the third time. They've been blinking "12:00" for about eight hours now.

It's a tropical depression, not an actual storm.

It's also hurricane season.

In F-l-o-r-i-d-a.

So why is it, in the land of the hurricane, do I need to reset every clock in the house every time it drizzles? Are the wires running into the house made out of sugar? You would think things would be a little rain-resistant.

This hurricane season is going to be a SUCKFEST.

I'm just sayin'.

I'm not as think as you drunk I am

2007-06-01T22:11:00.000-04:00

Friday.

I left work this afternoon with a sense of euphoria.

The euphoria could be due to several factors:

1. It's fucking Friday, mate.

2. I'm two weeks away from my last day at my job.

3. I have money in the bank. This is due to my not paying rent, but I'll cross that bridge later. Woo hoo!

4. Friday.

5. After three days of weirdy, almost-raining, just-hot-and-sticky-and-gray weather, it's finally raining. I love rain.

6. God, I feel like David Letterman. OK, six. My neighbor with the apartment identical to mine, moved out. I immediately stole the screens out of her windows, and am now enjoying a mosquito-free, cats-indoors, listening-to-the-rain evening. I just stole the last one while chatting on my cell phone and padding around the apartment complex in my pajamas, wielding a butter knife in the rain. I may have scared the new neighbor who was standing outside smoking a cigarette.

7. After being angry for two years for having no time to read, I made time. I go to the library each week, and even took out a book on CD. In the beginning, I didn't think I was going to like it, because the book I chose was British, and they use funny words, like "surgery" for "doctor's office", and "pudding" for "dessert" and "marquee" for "tent", but I got over it, because the story is fantastic. I've been listening in the car, and I love it. It's "A Spot of Bother", by Mark Haddon. It's so great, that I've considered writing a letter to the author, but since each paragraph would probably have to contain some form of the sentence "I swear, I'm not crazy", I've decided that it's just not worth it. Mark Haddon is my new secret gay boyfriend. About an hour ago, my secret boyfriend was the lead singer from Level 42. I'm thinking about going to see him at Ringsted Festival for my last chance to fling myself at him as an aging groupie.

I called Kara, and when she picked up, I asked her if she thought the lead singer of Level 42 ever thought about me. She immediately said, "Yes. Because there's something about you". (It's fantastic when your two best friends have both known you since you were 12). Kara said she wanted to come to Ringsted Festival too. Since she was the third wheel on my first honeymoon, I don't see this as at all inappropriate. Plus we've both been drinking, which brings me to number 8.

8. I've been drinking. I can usually drink almost one full beer, usually leaving about two centimeters in the bottom of the bottle. And then I fall asleep.

Tonight, I came home, opened a beer, and started to make dinner. The beer was gone. I sat down at the table with the kid, and opened a second beer. Gone. I then went for the wine in the fridge. Due to the afore-mentioned euphoria, I had a strong desire to buy a German Riesling in a blue bottle, like I used to get in Germany on beer runs when I lived in Denmark.

I finished the bottle.

I even called people to ask if I sounded drunk, because I've never finished a bottle of wine before, and I felt as sober as a ... sober person. And the answer was "not at all".

Granted, the people I called was Kara, and her explanation was "but I've been drinking, so what the hell do I know...", but still, I don't feel affected. Which is strange.

Who says a top ten list has to have ten things on it?

So I've been chatting with Kara and listening to music from the 80's. And I'm happy. And it's raining, and there's a nice breeze. I can hear all of my neighbors through the open windows, but because of the drinking, I don't care.

I watched the Pursuit of Happyness tonight and cried my eyes out.

Denmark - photos

2007-06-01T09:51:00.001-04:00

Here's a handful of our photos from a recent trip to Denmark:

Feculent maggots at the drive-in

2007-05-29T09:20:00.000-04:00

I rarely get to the movies.

I don't like to take the Kid, because she likes to hop and scream, and I would feel bad for the people who made an effort to get out and hired themselves a babysitter.

So tonight we went to see Pirates of the Caribbean at the local drive-in. Yes. I just hyperlinked to a Disney website. I don't want to talk about it.

It was cheap. We sat in the car with blankets and snacks. The people next to us were funny and friendly. The breeze was warm, and soft, and some kids kicked around a ball under the screen before the movie started. I discovered that my child likes Sour Patch Kids. We sat together under a blanket and chewed off their heads. When she got whiny, I closed the windows.

If you're headed off to see this fine film, please do me a big favor and write down the quote about the yeasty codpiece. Leave it on my voicemail. Call me at 3am and sing it to me. All you'll get is roaring laughter, I promise.

Thanks.

How not to fill a kiddie pool with water on Memorial Day

2007-05-28T12:27:00.000-04:00

Don't fill garbage bags with water from the bathtub on the advice of the 11-year old neighbor, and pull them out to the pool in your child's little red wagon, just because no one has a hose.

The bag will eventually break and fill your bathroom with three inches of water. Thank goodness the Ikea shelf holding up your towels came off the wall last week, leaving you with a stack of large, clean towels on the bathroom counter.

And of course, you won't be able to get the remaining, now dripping, giant bag of water in the little red wagon out the bathroom door while you're hopping up and down and laughing and screaming. All you need is a helmet and a big clock on the wall, and this would be just like an MTV game show. Damn enormous wheels and big ol' handle.

Count on the neighbors to suddenly all gather outside while you're running back and forth, throwing out sopping wet towels and screaming "ABANDON SHIP!".

At least it's Memorial Day. You still have a pool. And beer.

I quit, I quit, I quit quittie quit quit

2007-05-25T14:01:00.000-04:00

It is with a song in my heart and a skip in my step that I am pleased to announce that I quit my County job today.

Pictured here is my resignation letter, complete with large bow, on the boss's desk, and the boss opening aforementioned letter (right after I screamed "WAIT! LET ME GET THE CAMERA!!"

The bow was returned to me by someone from HR, with the explanation that it was "too large to fit into my personnel file".

Whatev.

A little music for a little travelin'

2007-05-22T21:23:00.000-04:00

I haven't yet handed in my resignation letter, so I'm just going to mumble a little when I talk about this. I got a new job.

Since I haven't yet handed in that letter, it still seems a little... nebulous. I need to do some traveling in the very beginning, and tonight I ordered my plane tickets (thanks to Kara's credit card and my excellent ability to type and spend other peoples' money). When my new boss outlined my upcoming travel, I was practically giddy with the thought of a new credit card, until he explained that all my travel would be reimbursed within a few days. Whothewhattheheh?

Seriously. What part of "single mother" is the rest of the world not getting? The Kid's camp bill is due any second now, and as soon as I pay it, our carriage will turn back into a pumpkin and we'll be on a streetcorner, selling matchsticks for a shilling and speaking with Cockney accents. Toasted cat for breakfast, toasted cat for lunch, toasted cat for dinner.

Although the small circle of people that I've whispered to about the new job (well, them, ...and the Internet) have been truly excited for me, everyone immediately recoils, gasps, and asks what I'm going to do with the Kid while I'm traveling.

I'm going to tie a feedbag around her neck and teach her how to drink out of the toilet. Or, I'll send her to my parents, where they will carry her around on a velvet pillow and spit her food into her mouth like a baby bird. It's a toss-up. Will I miss her? Yes. Have I had a day off since October, 2004? No. I will bring a photo. I will call her. I will also float in the pool endlessly, and sleep until 9.

And I will enjoy it.

When your child has a developmental arch-nemesis

2007-05-22T09:37:00.000-04:00

City Hall (Rådhuset) in Stockholm really is a lovely building. I remember walking past it one autumn evening, and there being a fantastic ice sculpture outside that everyone was trying to photograph as it melted.

It was in 1901 that Wilhelm Conrad Röntgen was awarded the Nobel Prize in Physics for his discovery of x-rays (or Röntgen rays). Sexy bastard, isn't he?

I imagine that I will be back at City Hall again, in the not too distant future, when a small boy whom I will only refer to as "Egon" (for the sake of anonymity) receives an award for his work on quantum nanoparticle polarization. Which I should get partial credit for, as I just invented it.

He's two weeks older than the Kid, and yet, wiser than most people I work with at the County. He was recognizing letters when they were... not yet a year old, I believe. My kid was focusing her efforts on shoving peas up her nose. His mother said he loved these small foam letters that came in a plastic tub. I ran out and bought them; my cats ate them. The Kid also thought they were fun to chew on after watching the cats. I had to eventually collect them all and throw them away due to rampant germs and lack of interest.

Then we got into shapes. Egon already knew his colors from his earlier work with the alphabet -- I doubled up shapes and colors to try and catch up. I'd point to a triangle. "Baby, what's this?"

"Twiangle", she would gurgle. I was estatic. "And what color is it, baby?"

"GRANDMA!" she would shout, quite pleased with herself.

"No, it's red, baby, red. Can you show me the red triangle?" I would speak to her like she was a small Japanese tourist. She would point to a square. Egon, however, was quite fascinated with concentric circles. We were rapidly losing ground.

My child enjoys dancing. She dances to the radio, to cell phone ringers, to AT&T TV commercials... anything. Egon is researching two-digit numbers. He walks around with his little plastic numbers and announces "One seven. Seventeen. Seven one. Seventy one!" I asked the Kid what the first letter of her name was. She laughed and walked away. I am slowly acclimating myself to the realization that I have given birth to Boo Radley.

I fantasize about sending her to Egon's house for a few weeks, and having her come home, making math jokes and reciting poetry in Latin, like Little Man Tate.

We're going to go visit The Boy (and his new sister!!) in a couple of weeks. I hope the Kid takes notes.

You know, he would really be a much better arch-nemesis if he wasn't so delicious.

The resource that really isn't

2007-05-22T05:29:00.000-04:00

Yesterday, I had to drop the Kid off at daycare a little late. Which I love, because it's relaxing not to be there at 7:15am, slowing down to toss her out of the car, and speeding off to my job. But I also hate getting there late.

At 7:15am, my car is usually one of two. Three, max. The other parents and I sort of half-wave at each other, and rush back into our cars. However, at 9am, the parking lot is PACKED with mini-vans and SUV's. And a Hummer or two, because you really need those here in suburban Florida, this war-torn Sahara.

The women pulling up or standing around chatting are wearing shorts. They're in no rush. They know all the teachers by name, and have playdates with each other's children. They send home notes in my kid's backpack, reminding me to stop by at 9:30am on a weekday to talk about some upcoming event over coffee. As if.

The school is closed Wednesday through Friday this week, partly because of some Jewish holiday I've never heard of, and partly because it's Memorial Day weekend. They were originally open on Friday, but since "most people" were going away, they decided just to stay closed.

I don't remember anyone asking me. Me, the girl who can't get alternative childcare three days in a row. Me, the one who wasn't there to ask because I HAVE A JOB.

Daycare is supposed to be a resource, isn't it? The Kid has been sick this year so many times because other kids come in sick. Then there's holidays. Then there's days the school is just closed, because, apparently, everyone else is packing up their minivan and heading out of town.

What kind of resource is it if it caters to the two-parent, one-income, free to come in during the weekday and voice your opinion-home, instead of the single-parent families that are dependant on the school being open?

I'm just askin'.

The sky is falling. Out my nose.

2007-05-21T21:31:00.000-04:00

Since I reached my home pregnancy test quota for the week, I needed something else to focus on.

Luckily, clear fluid is streaming out my nose.

"Oh, you have a cold", you may be thinking.

Oh, no. I have a cerebrospinal fluid leak. I have no cold symptoms. Therefore, I must be leaking spinal fluid out my nose, because everything I know, I learned on Grey's Anatomy.

Was your first thought really "you have a cold"? Because my first thought really was "OH MY GOD, THERE GOES MY SPINAL FLUID!!!"

That's not normal, is it. Come on, you can tell me.

After three phone calls and way too much internet research and two old episodes of Grey's Anatomy (thank you, abc.com) and some champagne to dull my pain, my next thought was, "This is crazy. I must be some kind of hypochondriac".

"OH MY GOD, I'M A HYPOCHONDRIAC!!!"

When your biggest battles are with yourself, you just can't win.

A Mother's Wish

2007-05-18T09:11:00.000-04:00

Having grown up on PBS, I am usually inclined to think that any PBS program would be safe for the Kid. I wasn't too sure about Caillou (you never know what those Canadians are up to), but she seemed to like him, so I let him slip under the radar.

She's 2 1/2, and just recently began having tantrums, screaming "NO!", throwing herself down on the ground, etc. I usually just grab her firmly, tell her to cut it out, and then ignore her. Sometimes I give her a hug, but she usually doesn't want one. She just wants to yell. Well, sometimes I just want to yell, so I can sympathize.

We took home a couple of Caillou DVD's from the library this week, and his whininess was really starting to grate on my nerves. He's frightened of everything, and constantly whines, "But I don't WANT to...(fill in the blank)". His parents never tell him to pull himself together or stuff a sock in it, they just entertain his creepiness, and I have realized that he is the most indulged and irritating 4-year old on television.

Then, the other day, I told the Kid she needed a bath, and she looked at me with a furrowed brow and whined "I don't WANT to take a bath".

Oh, hell no.

The weekend is coming, otherwise known as Mommy's Boot Camp, where I will re-educate my daughter, and Caillou goes back to the library, never to darken our doorstep again.

The bitch is back.

Jet slug

2007-05-17T13:57:00.000-04:00

The Acting Director of the Division just walked past my cubicle as I was laying on the ground, making industrial carpet angels.

The real trick is to not be too embarrassed to explain what you're doing when someone asks if you're ok while they're frantically trying to remember where we keep the defibrillator.

"I'm making carpet angels", I said. Luckily, he has children.

The Kid and I have had jet lag since we got back on Sunday. I've been going to bed at 8 - 8:30 at night, and waking up at 5am. Everything seems kind of trippy, and I'm not too excited about eating. Both work for me. I'm actually dreading when things return to normal.

Yet another reason to hate it here

2007-05-17T09:25:00.000-04:00

On Sunday night, the owner of my parent's favorite restaurant was shot and killed in front of his customers. The guy came in looking for cash, and after getting the cash, shot and killed Ray.

Ray was 28.

My parents were there Friday night, and they said everyone was teasing him and trying to get him to sit down. He was ever-friendly, always smiling, super-sweet to the Kid. The food is great.

His death was absolutely senseless.

http://www.sun-sentinel.com/news/local/broward/sfl-cbbq15may15,0,6719390.story

http://www.sun-sentinel.com/news/columnists/sfl-mayocol17may17,0,7413936.column

So much to share! Which requires effort.

2007-04-17T20:48:00.000-04:00

Here's the week's movie review:

De Grønne Slagtere/The Green Butchers - Danish film about two outcasts that open their own butcher shop. Nikolaj Lie Kaas plays twins, and is absolutely fantastic as Eigil ("Nej." "JOO-OOO-OO!!!!"). Thought it was going to be gross and I even shut it off at one part, but I went back, and it was like a daunting-looking rollercoaster that leaves you with a giant smile on your face at the end.

Greenfingers - (I was in the "G" section at the library, ok?) Men in prison grow flowers. Total chick flick. Starring Clive Owens, who I also just saw in Beyond Borders with Angelina Jolie. Very nice with an '04 Pinot Grigio, a Darvocet, and a Lean Cuisine pizza.

Shortbus - thank you, Netflix. By far one of my favorite movies. Definitely the most sexually explicit movie I've ever seen, aside from porn, but the opposite end of the spectrum. This is from the Wiki entry:

According to Mitchell, the sex in Shortbus is often purposefully "de-eroticized" in order to "remove the cloud of arousal to reveal emotions and ideas that might have been obscured by it".

Completely true. The fact that the movie's first scenes are of a guy trying to suck his own cock are startling, but is paced so well that you find yourself looking at the characters instead of the sexuality of the act. Loved it.

There were some other rentals this week that aren't even worthy of a blurb. Moving right along.

I've had a boring week at work. After whining for approximately four straight months to TGLETSITCAFM about why he never made me breakfast, I made my own. Which took about 30 minutes, but still didn't make enough of a dent in my workday. The entire time I shoveled Quaker old fashioned oatmeal into my mouth, I glared at T and muttered "I hate you".

He said, "I know this is just some kind of psychological experiment where you just complain to me so much about why I never make you breakfast that I'm going to start making it for you just to make you stop".

I said, "Is it working?"

Then I showed him my new engagement ring.

He said, "Who are you engaged to, the guy that stocks the vending machine?"

I took the Kid to the Cradle of Christianity exhibit at the museum this weekend. I enjoyed the Chicano art exhibit upstairs much more. Then I went a little crazy in the gift shop. At especially dull moments during my work day, I turn on my ring and some techno music and have a rave break.

Speaking of dull moments that needed to be filled, the Kid got her first mani/pedi.

A fun time was had by all.

Beauty of the Day

2007-04-09T22:28:00.000-04:00

I made this!

She never lets me film the fiddler crabs

2007-04-08T14:56:00.000-04:00

Today we headed to one of our favorite parks - the one that doesn't cost four dollars to get into and wouldn't be overrun with sixty-year old rollerblading French Canadians today.

It's not that I think sixty year olds shouldn't be rollerblading. More power to 'em. But the orange tans, the lithe old bodies stuffed into nylon short shorts, and the idle chatter in Canadian French whizzing by at 15mph while I'm trying to be one with nature is mildly disconcerting.

There's a riverbed at the park that is filled with Fiddler Crabs - they dart in and out of holes, but will all hide at the slightest sound. As you near them, they sound like dry leaves, blowing across the ground. The Kid is usually in full-blown song by the time we reach them, so I never actually get to see them. The sun was blazing today, so I parked the stroller, walked a little, then sent the Kid back for it... and I crept up on a bunch of crabs, who were being fiddly and enjoying the sun. Finally.

The good thing about being a single mother is

2007-04-08T14:46:00.000-04:00

Never thought you'd see this post, didja?

Well, there are a few things. But if I were to list them, you'd all be clamoring to be me, and we can't have that. I'm a loner, Dottie. A rebel.

Today's good thing is: You don't have to do CRAP on the holidays. You just have to hang out with your kid and be dorky.

Easter egg, shmeaster egg.

Manners, by My Kid

2007-04-05T12:38:00.000-04:00

To get to the Kid's school in the mornings, we have to pass through a tollbooth.

Since my SunPass is out of funds and so am I, I've been digging out loose change each morning. This morning, I took out a dollar, and handed it to the attendant, with a "Good morning" and a "thank you". I got a "Mmmh." in return.

As we were driving away, the Kid yelled from the backseat, "What you giving, Mommy? What that?"

I said, "I gave her fifty cents. I gave her money."

The Kid yells back towards the rapidly disappearing tollbooth, "SAY THANK YOU, LADY!"

We've been on a "mine" kick lately. I knew it was coming.

When my father would play with the Kid, he would pretend to pull an object away from her and cradle it to him, and say "mine!", at which point I would whack him in the back of the head and tell him between clenched teeth to cut that out.

But lately, her favorite sentence is "Oh that's not yours, that's mine". Always with the "Oh". I thought maybe it was from the playground, when the teachers were teaching sharing. It applies to everything in our house, regardless whether or not someone is touching it.

"Oh that's not your shoe, that's my shoe". Nope, mine.

"Oh that's not your curtains, that's my curtains". Nope, they're staying right there on the window.

This morning, I take her in to school. She's sitting at a table, finishing her breakfast, while I'm putting her lunch away. It's Passover week, and she goes to a Jewish daycare, so I had to avoid anything with rising flour in it for her lunch. Her teacher, the beloved Miss Barbara looks over at her at the table and says, playfully, "Is that your yogurt? Or is that my yogurt?"

I whip around and give Miss Barbara the scary mommy look with one raised eyebrow. "Is that where that comes from? All day long I'm listening to 'oh that's not your car, that's my car, oh that's not your bed, that's my bed'".

The beloved Miss Barbara looks away, sheepishly, and quietly says, "Could be".

I'm pulling the Kid's lunch out of her bag. I spend a lot of time making the Kid's lunch - she eats a lot of soy, and grains, and cheeses, and organic snacks. Maybe I'm obsessed, but most of the other kids start off the day with a bright pink, sugary fat Dunkin' Donut, and have Lunchables for lunch, which have so many chemicals in them that I'm sure they'll still be edible (and I use this term loosely) in thirty years. I show Miss Barbara a container. "This isn't pasta, it's a quinoa and rice blend".

Miss Barbara stares at it skeptically and says, "That's not mine. That's hers."

We Love Guests

2007-04-03T13:28:00.000-04:00

As real as non-fiction

2007-03-31T22:25:00.000-04:00

"Harold frantically grabbed his lamp. Harold, incensed, shook the hell out of it for no apparent reason, dashed it on the ground, kicking it repeatedly. He took the Kleenex box, threw it across the room, then STORMED THE CLOSET!"

I've decided to begin narrating my own life, out loud.

"Mary reached for the coffee pot, silently wondering how long the coffee had been sitting there, and who had made it. She hoped it wasn't Debbie. Out of all the talents Debbie could have possessed and didn't, making coffee was surely on the list, along with applying makeup symmetrically and penning a non-rambling e-mail. Mary became increasingly aware of her co-workers who stood in the kitchen staring at her, while she poured herself a cup of coffee and voiced a running commentary. Ignoring them, she replaced the cap on the milk, closed the refrigerator door, and left the room."

The television has been dead for approximately forever. I paid the library the $50 I owed them, and took out two bushels of books, carrying them from the library in a wheelbarrow. I can also borrow 10 DVD's at a time, and have been watching foreign films and pretending it's TV. I also watch Gray's Anatomy on the laptop and pretend that's TV as well. Fish tanks, washing machines, I don't care. I'll sit and stare at any box with motion in it and eat popcorn, and I don't care who's watching. Today's movies were "The Tree of Wooden Clogs", about a bunch of Italian peasants at the turn of the 19th century, and "Stranger Than Fiction", in which Will Ferrell plays an IRS agent who starts hearing a voice narrate his life. The Tree of Wooden Clogs made me want to take out my eye with a wooden clog, and Stranger Than Fiction made me walk around the house talking to myself. (Both normal for a Saturday.) Last night I fell asleep watching "Comme une Image", filled with baroque chorale singing and French people smoking, frowning, and drinking coffee out of bowls.

As they say in France, "Pffff".

St. Augustine

2007-03-29T21:09:00.000-04:00

I’m posting some photos from last weekend’s trip to St. Augustine, with our friend Thomas the Archeologist, who was visiting from Copenhagen. We decided to go to St. Augustine, because he’s always looking for something historical, and something more exciting than the 107-year old drivers here in Ft. Lauderdale.

St. Augustine is the oldest city in the US, since Ponce de Leon pounced on it in 1513. Many of the houses have been restored, and if you walk down the cobblestoned streets at 7am slightly drunk and squinting, it’s like going back in time, sort of.

We had a really great time, and stayed at the St. George Inn, which was AMAZING. The room was beautiful, and you could roll right out of bed and land smack dab in the center of history. If you pulled back the curtains next to my bed, there was the Castillo de San Marcos, a fort built in 1672. I’m not kidding.
Where it says “You”, you’re standing there, probably in your pajamas, holding a bowl of cereal with one hand and a spoon with the other, hair standing at odd ends. You’re peering out the window in a rumpled shirt, and you’re mumbling to yourself, “Hey, look at that.”

Brokeback Snooze

2007-03-22T12:25:00.000-04:00

I finally watched Brokeback Mountain last night, thanks to an unattended Netflix queue.

I fell asleep, saddened by the fact that two hot gay cowboys were gittin' some. And I wasn't.

That's my movie review, and I'm stickin' to it.

(hic)

2007-03-16T20:26:00.000-04:00

An Irishman was drinking at the pub all night. The bartender came up to him and told him that the bar was closing. So the Irishman stood up to leave and fell flat on his face. He tried to stand up one more time with the same result. So he figured he'd just crawl outside, hang out for a while, get some fresh air and hopefully that would sober him up.

Once outside he stood up and fell again - right on his face. He decided to crawl the four blocks to his home and when he arrived at the door he tried one more time with the same results. Exhausted, he then gave up and started crawling to the bedroom.

When he reached his bed he tried one more time to stand up. This time he managed to pull himself upright but he quickly fell right into the bed and fell sound asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

The next morning, he woke up with his wife standing over him shouting at him, "'So, you've been out drinking again!!" 'What makes you say that?' he asked as he put on an innocent look. "The pub called, you left your flaming wheelchair there!"

(A drinking joke, compliments of TGLETSITCAFM).

The Day the Music Died

2007-03-15T20:19:00.000-04:00

Today a man from the cable company showed up at my house and cut our cable.

Literally.

With wire cutters.

I've had free cable since October, and I thought it was my complimentary gift for having a very difficult life. I had a very disorganized next door neighbor, who probably forgot to disconnect his cable service when he moved, so we've had six months of free cable. Thanks, Keith. Sorry you got evicted.

But it's Thursday. The mean, mean man cut our cable on a Thursday. No Gray's Anatomy. No Earl. No Men in Trees. No nothin'.

And so, out of spite, I am going to drag myself to the library tomorrow, pay them the $50 in late fees that I owe them, and I am going to

read

a

book.

HA!

An extra hour of sunlight

2007-03-13T20:08:00.000-04:00

Daylight savings time kicked my butt this morning. I couldn't fall asleep last night, and couldn't get out of bed in the pitch dark.

I borrowed an Ambien from my mom tonight, so please don't be frightened of random keystrokes in case my head hits the keyboard.

The good thing about the extra hour is that I was able to go to the gym, where I parked myself on the treadmill in front of a TV tuned to the Food Network. It was good to look at pizza and brownies while I walked on a 6.0 incline, instead of looking at them while they fell into my mouth. But the best thing was that I picked the Kid up afterwards, and it was still light out. We had to go food shopping, but managed to get to a small playground around the corner for 10 minutes before the sun went down. It was so nice to have the place to ourselves. She loves the slide.

We went on the swings together and sang and floated back and forth, and it was just great.

Yay for the extra hour of sunlight and some time with my baby!

A weekend without work

2007-03-10T18:52:00.000-05:00

I ran into the head of airside operations yesterday, and he smiled at me like someone who wanted something.

"You left me", he said.

I haven't worked weekends in the terminal in weeks, and it's been FANTASTIC. I took off because Allan was coming in for a visit, but also because The Kid was getting tired of me not being around. The money helped, but I felt really guilty.

"I need help Sunday", he said, and smiled sweetly. (He actually is very nice.)

"One of the Spirit passengers hit me because she was annoyed. And I have a two year old who misses me", I explained.

He was shocked that he hadn't heard about the crazy passenger, but told me that family comes first, especially for a single mom, and that he'd find someone else. Nice guy.

The Kid and I went to the playground this morning with her dad, after he, completely of his own volition, took us out for breakfast. I get the feeling he's a little lonely. This afternoon, we spent about an hour and a half at Secret Woods park (known to Hannah's dad as "Hidden Valley"). The actual walk around the park's boardwalked trail takes about twenty minutes, but I felt like I just needed to walk. There's nowhere in the neighborhood we can go without quickly hitting traffic or road construction, so I just walked in circles around the park. By the third or fourth trip around, it was kind of like walking around a meditation path. I think I needed that.

It was sort of strange to think that my Hannah, all the way over in England, came to this park while her dad lived in the area. It was a very "Lake House" moment. That is, if Hannah was Keanu Reeves, and there was a tear in the fabric of time, instead of her just being Hannah and getting out of Florida before I got here.

Yes, I know. Another excellent analogy.

Chihuly at Fairchild

2007-03-06T23:52:00.000-05:00

I went to Fairchild Tropical Garden in Coral Gables to see the Dale Chihuly exhibit. They have an event on Thursday nights called "Tropical Chihuly Nights", where you walk through the gardens at night, and the pieces are illuminated. I was glad I got there right at the opening time, because I got to see the trumpet lilies and the catcus before it was too dark. The rain forest was absolutely amazing. The whole thing was just magical.