"My job consists of basically masking my contempt for the assholes in charge, and, at least once a day, retiring to the men's room so I can jerk off while I fantasize about a life that doesn't so closely resemble Hell."
It�s Tuesday. Day four of fucking rain. I woke up in a shit-ass mood that has been lurking with me all morning. I got a lot of shit done for the business this morning and ran some errands to keep my mind off of how pissy I was.
And the whole time, with this stupid fucking depressed mood, I�m trying to remind myself how fortunate I am. I don�t live in Pakistan. I don�t live in New Orleans. Fuck it, I don�t live in western New Hampshire (and I just LURVE that area) where a couple of towns got washed the fuck out by flood waters this weekend, and it still wasn�t working.
(Oh. Yeah. And to echo the sentiments of The Divine Ms. Pea , I�d have to say this natural disaster shit is borderline biblical. And that�s all I have to say about that).
And then I was upset about something and bitching about it to Hub, and all I get from him is, �END IT!�. Oh my God, do I hate it when he says that to me. I just stop speaking to him altogether. You know, cuz it�s raining he can�t work and he was stuck up my ass. Sometimes I need to bitch at him to get him the hell away from me.
Anyway, that worked. Then I went to the store and got the prescription for making Jackie snap the fuck out of it: shrimp and beer. Yes. So for lunch I had 10 glorious ounces of shrimp with cocktail sauce, some baby carrots with salsa (sounds crazy but it�s really yummy. My kids like cukes and salsa, and green peppers with salsa, but I can�t dig that), and two beers. So I�m on number three. On a Tuesday afternoon. Which, it�s 12:47 pm so it�s just barely afternoon. And Jackie is a drunky.
And you�re jealous! Admit it! Most of you read from work! HA!
I know, I�m a bitch.
Anyway. Yeah. So rain means lame weekend. But, lame in a good way. I actually enjoyed it for the most part.
Saturday morning we slept late and I didn�t even shower until after 11:00 am. Very unlike me. I got up and made the kids eggs, and then Smokey showed up. Well, I showed him my CD that I made Friday that I was all excited about (song list on last entry, if you missed it) and he said he only liked Steely Dan and Stevie Wonder from it. Well. Cut the shit. Nothing else? Bear in mind, Smokey and I have been close friends since 19 frickin� 89. Now, I know his musical tastes run more to jazz, hip hop and so-called �black� music (you know, being that he�s half black and half Polish), but I know he likes rock, too.
So, he dissed my CD. I returned the diss and said, �You don�t like �Carry On My Wayward Son�? How can you not like that? And here I thought you were cool�. Hee hee hee. I love raggin� on him. So, he slipped me four clonipins just to show me that he IS cool. Well, yes indeedio, you ARE cool, my friend.
THAT made for a fun Saturday afternoon. (Hee hee, a brief digression. Nina�s old man Jay had some pretty bad back problems in the last few weeks. They put him on mad painkillers. So, one afternoon last week, he came home and was all out of it. He said he took four percocets and two valiums at work. I laughed my ass off, �That�s not a day at work! That�s a fun Saturday afternoon!�. Yeah. I have issues). A few beers, a couple of �pins and some smoke. Makes Mommy a happy girl. The Stones could totally re-write the song �Mother�s Little Helper� for me.
Sunday was Dick Day and that wasn�t so bad. He wanted to take the kids out to eat after Sunday School/Church and it was raining so I gave them a ride and had lunch with them. Yeah. My ex bought me lunch. And then, since I had to get groceries and the store was right across the street, he came with. OMG. Weird shit that happens. He was busy with the kids, though, so it actually helped. Dick is doing well right now. Staying at the shelter is working for him because he can�t drink and he needs to set aside a certain amount of cash every week to stay there. He can do okay as long as someone is holding his hand, which is why he is, in the words of my pal Smokey, �as good as the woman he�s with�. Oh. And child support started coming out of his check but best of all, he�s been sober three weeks. He�s trying. That�s all I can say. He�s trying. Maybe it�ll stick this time.
Yesterday we went out to my dad�s, mainly to see the trebuchet down the street from him. This is the coolest thing. The guy that runs it is a dentist in Boston. On the side, he runs a farm stand called the Yankee Farmer. He also built this trebuchet that he uses to fling pumpkins in the fall. It�s a fucking blast and we�ve gone every year since my dad moved there in 2002. It�s a two minute walk from Dad�s house. I was all ready with the camera, but it fucking rained, and there was no pumpkin flinging. Oh and, AND, my dad had it all set for my kids to pull the rope and set it off, too.
It is so cool, though. I think his record is like 1400 feet or something. Most times the pumpkins fly, sometimes they disintegrate mid-air. I love it. And I SO wanted pics of it. So that was disappointing, but I�m taking the kids the weekend after next, so hopefully the weather will cooperate and I can provide you with pretty pictures.
The reason I can�t go this weekend is that the Buddhist Monks from the Drepung Gomang Monastery in Northern India are in town. I�m so excited, I could shit. They are beginning to construct a sand mandala (at the top of my layout is a mandala cut in half) at a local college tomorrow, and then Saturday and Sunday they have lots of fun shit planned. Overtone chanting, dismantling of the mandala, etc. LOTS of photo opps, my Flickr is going to go NUTS. I hope this will energize my interest in Buddhism again, as I�ve been slacking.
The other most exciting thing toi happen to me this weekend? Aside from really naughty sex with Hub, is that I put up a bird feeder on my front window. I�d had a hummingbird feeder up but they�re gone. Now, I put up one with seed in it and my front window is a hotbed of activity. I love it. Fuckers are hard to get pics of, though.
Anyway. If I had more to write about, it�s gonna hafta wait. Beer number four is saying it�s time to go next door for a Mello Mango blunt.
Ciao!
Listening to: "Carry On My Wayward Son" Kansas. Not really. But can you believe Smokey doesn't like that???? Currently reading: "Guilty As Sin" Tami Hoag. My reading is bad lately. I'm on page 25. Thinking about: Mari-mari-juana! Mari-mari-juana! Like marijuana, you like marijuana, don't touch my marijuana!!!