Are you reeling in the years, stowing away the time?
Really, aside from plow money, that is the top reason why I tolerate snow. It keeps the beer at the perfect temperature. Even better than a cooler full of ice.
Although, this morning, we�re getting a winter storm of rain. Yay for making a mess out of the roads. The good side is that once this shit freezes, the sledding Is going to be fucking fantastic. The bad side? No fucking school AGAIN. These kids have it way too easy.
I�m feeling a little better, thanks. You people all rule. Like I said, ten minutes on dland makes me feel better than half an hour with Hub. It finally occurred to me yesterday that he hears only what he wants to. So, he doesn�t want to hear that I�m stressed and depressed. Whatever. I�m not going to push it, or fight it. It�s too much added stress. I�ve got enough, thanks.
Like Eddie Murphy said, be afraid when they don�t get mad. �Oh, that�s okay, honey. Why don�t you just�go to sleep?�.
Last night he pissed me off so much, that I just couldn�t be pissed. He didn�t get out of work (he�s doing construction under the table with a buddy of his) until late and ya know, how hard is it to make a phone call? But then, instead of coming home, he goes to Robert�s. Like, oh a single guy would. Who gives a fuck about what�s going on at home! Not Hub! He rolled in at like 8:15. I was next door, so he strolls in expecting kisses and shit. Yah.
We came home cuz it was the kids� bedtime and then he�s telling me the story of why he went to Robert�s. �I was heading home and Robert called and asked if I�d come over and he�d burn one with me, so I said sure!�. Which I very calmly and quite sarcastically said, �Call my wife and let her know? Fuck that!�. That was my only little jab at him. Because, fuck it. I�m through with fucking fighting, especially over petty crap. There will come a day that I will be able to come and go as I please and that I will do, and hopefully with little or no concern for him.
This is the same guy who s constantly asking me when I�m going Christmas shopping. Hey, maybe if you would be here at a reasonable hour, I might do it soon, but as long as I�m stuck home with the kids, no shopping gets done. Duh!
I had to head out in this fucking mess this morning to take Beavis to the ball doctor. Okay, the urologist. The swelling is normal and he�ll be fine. The kid was expecting it to all look normal right away after surgery and things just don�t heal up that quickly. Now, though, he isn�t walking as funny as a day or two ago. He�s going to be fine. Father children, the whole nine yards.
The fathering children thing is very important to me. Not because I�m dying to be a grandma. I just want him to have kids just like him. He�s a good kid, but some of the shit he pulls needs some payback. Like the disgusting room. And the ADHD shit. And the nastified funkorama that grows in the dishes he leaves in his room. And, most of all, his fucking hypochondria. He needs to ease up with that shit.
OMG, his glasses broke. So, instead of new glasses, he�d like contacts. HA! Him taking care of contacts, yah right! He�s not quite at that level of maturity to take care of contacts. I told him we�d get new glasses and in a year if I feel he�s ready, then he can have contacts. That shut him up a little. For now.
The rain is coming down out there alright. The hill out front is going to be Ice! Ice Ice baby! It is going to be so fun to fly down.
My cousins grew up in the projects. When I was a kid, I loved going there. I wanted to live there, imagine that. They had the best neighborhood. It was full of kids. Plus they had a cool little park of their own. Anyway, one February vacation (1980 to be exact), I spent a few days there. Up the road a bit, there was a grocery store called Soucy�s Market, which had some railroad tracks next to it. On the other side of the tracks was this little hill. Little, but steep. These two kids that lived in the projects took us sledding there one day. No sleds, cuz, well, they were poor. Instead, they grabbed some cardboard from the dumpster and that was the sled. The hill was icy as all hell and the cardboard flew right down it. It was the best time I ever had sledding as a kid. What a blast.
Oh! And that same store, Soucy�s Market, reminds me of another story, this one about Ned.
When we were really little, until I was 6, we lived in the same area of Soucy�s, roughly. I�d say it was like five or six blocks from our house. It wasn�t right next door, nor within sight of our house. But it was definitely the store that my parents did most of their shopping at.
So, one day, we�re at the house. Me, Ned and my dad. My parents always worked opposite shifts and we never had to go to a sitter. Except one summer, we had to go to a sitter and I hated it. But that�s another story for another time. Anyway, so we were home with Dad. I was always mother hen with Ned when he was little. He was three and I was five, btw. I kept an eye on him and would tell if he tried to leave the yard or whatever. Mother Hen.
So, this one day, we were playing in the yard and I don�t know what happened, but we lost Ned. I went running for my dad when I realized he was gone and we searched high and low for him. All over the house, the yard, the neighborhood. No Ned. My dad was at the point where he was ready to call the police when a cruiser pulled up. There was Ned, in the front seat, holding two balloons and grinning from ear to ear.
It seems as though he�d walked all the way to Soucy�s by himself. He was three, people! This was 1976, when a three year old walking by himself down the road was no cause for concern, I guess. Once he walked in, the employees recognized him and called the police to bring him home.
Three years old and having his first ride in a police car. What a sign of things to come.
Anyway, my dad was PISSED. He sent me outside, which I knew that meant that Ned was in for some shit. My dad yelled and yelled. I heard one balloon pop, then the next. He popped his balloons! I�ll never forget that. And also worrying about my brother. My dad rarely yelled, so when he did, he meant business.
My step son is a dweeb. A neo-maxi-zoon-dweebie, rather. A veritable nut sack of a person. Hee hee. I�m trying to make myself laugh as he cooks in my kitchen which would be fine, except now he thinks it�s his fucking kitchen. You know, cuz he lives here and acts like he owns the fucking place. Oh, and he knows everything. Can�t forget that. Little fucking shithead. I hope he leaves soon.
They sent home this letter from guidance for him. All about how the junior year in high school is the time to decide what you want to do with your life and to get prepared for it. I remember the pressure of that. I had no Idea what I wanted to do with my life at that age (I�m still working on it). I think I was planning on a lot of partying and marrying a rich guy. The partying certainly happened, the rich guy did not. I�m sure there are plenty of kids who know exactly what they want to be at 16, 17 years old, but I�m just as sure that most kids that age don�t know. Why the pressure to start so early? I don�t get it, and I don�t think it fits with the real world nowadays.
Who the fuck says �nowadays�?
OH NO! �Love Hurts� is on the radio. Where�s the knife? I�m ready to slit my wrists now.
Anyway, this should certainly make up for my lack of an update yesterday. Now, I must go.
Sayonara!