We all have our moments

You know how Oprah has her "light bulb" moments?
I have, what I like to call, "fork in the eye" moments.

Here's a bit of pre-marriage counseling for ya'll (If you are already married -- you already know, or will soon enough). Anyway, the deal is that everyone is a broken record -- every last one of us.

When you are dating, if your heart's desire says something that annoys you --multiply that annoyance using a very high exponential number.

If the object of your affection says something witty, ask yourself if it will still be funny after it's been said in similar situations for years on end. The more yeses you wrack up the happier you will be, and don't kid yourself here -- there's no "maybe", no "kinda", no "it won't be that bad" or "I'll just ignore it," -- it's yes, or no --ANY hesitation in answering, put it on the "no" side.

And if ever you think to yourself, "Wow, that was really an asshole way to act toward that person." And then further think, "I know that will be coming my way one day" --

IT DOES YOU KNOW GOOD TO KNOW A THING IF YOU ARE JUST GOING TO IGNORE IT! THIS IS NOT THE TIME TO THROW SOMETHING OUT OF THE EQUATION BECAUSE IT DOES NOT GO ALONG WITH YOUR DESIRE TO MARRY THE ASSHOLE. WHEN IN THE PAST HAVE YOU EVER IGNORED SOMEONE'S BAD PERSONALITY TRAIT OUT OF EXISTENCE? WHAT? WHAT?! NEVER? THAT'S RIGHT. THAT IS EXACTLY FUCKING RIGHT, NEVER. EVER.

It's a big deal now-- isn't it, smarty pants.

Okay, glad to get that off my chest. And, by the way, honey? Your ass is not a windshield wiper, you can stop saying that it is.

You could make up new numbers forever -- plus infinity

Last night after story time it was dark and quiet and I was laying between the girls, Winnie whispered, "Mom."
"Yeah?"
"What's the last number?"
"There isn't one."
She got this happy surprised look on her face and took a breath of wonder -- I said, "I know, pretty great, hey?"
"One million?"
"Not a million,billion, trillion, gillion, quadzillion or a bunch I don't even know. They just say infinity when they run out of numbers."

I'm all talk

I was thinking about husband's friend being all upset about something small and how I suggested things like that don't get to me...

That was really funny of me. Of the handful of poems I mentioned writing, I think one was about being petty. I'm breaking into song, "I feel petty, oh so petty and fretty and, and..." and that's all I got -- I feel petty.

I was thinking about it because once when I was really tired and slap happy I wrote a "funny" comment and hit send. It was on the blog of a public figure whom I knew way back, but no longer really. When I woke up the next day -- it hit me -- what I wrote was not only humorless -- it sounded like something my mother would say and thus has haunted and held the power of shame over my head for months.

Not a poet

I have this part of me that, once in a great while, needs to write a poem -- or my version of one.
I have been journaling for years and this poem writing need has happened like ten times or so (mostly when I was single and ovulating). Of those times, I have one or two that I don't hate.

I never regret the attempt because it is fufilling to get it out. Plus, if I don't get it out my inner narrator gets hung up on spitting it out and I can only think in poorly formed poems.

It's funny that I get urges because I have no desire to be a poet and I never liked poetry readings (I liked the freedom of expression and the passion of the people -- it's just not my thing).

This time around I think it's a cry from the part of me that remembers what it was like to be able to write in solitude. To actually be in touch with what is going onto the page -- whether tripe, limerick, or deep thoughts on life's wonders -- writing without having to stop to go wipe a butt -- it's a different deal.

Where she lays her hat is home

My brother-in-law set up a circular train track for his kids today (the Christmas train). Their two year old got on the track, she started walking and said, "I not comin back."

Best of luck little vagabond.

She called

"...going to pick you up tomorrow. I have to clean the house today and you don't want to be a part of that, do you?"

Once again, so thoughfully considering others -- she's amazing, truly.

No humbuggin here

Along with the thoroughly depressing situations going on this week, there is also "the sunny side of life".

Today is the day that I allow the playing of Christmas music to begin. As much as I would like to start celebrating when the stores do, I have my own rules to follow.

Before kids I used to wait to shop until the last week because I couldn't take the waiting for people to open their presents. It's a different game with the kids because the popular toys sell out, so you kind of have to shop early for some items.

I feel like a kid -- I'm all excited, can't wait to "haul out the holly!"

I'm sure by law we could cut her out of his life -- if only it were that simple for the boy

I had a dream about Frankie's mom last night -- her and her boyfriend drove a truck through my back yard and started dumping a load of junk and trash into the edge of the woods. I opened a window and began yelling at her for dumping her trash and then I really layed into her about how she had been treating Frankie over the last seven weeks.

She was just how she is in real life -- she went into true fake perplextion, "why you making such a big deal out of the trash?" and what a selfish snob I am to not let her dump her trash when I have the room. And how dare I question her parenting when she is going through so much -- how heartless and judgmental of me.

Frankie is as sensitive as can be these days. He held out pretty long this time, but this is getting ridiculous even by her standards. She blew him off last weekend for the sixth one in a row with promises of the entire Thanksgiving vacation. Even though what she does next is quite predictable, he can't help being set up (with hope springing eternal and all). She would serve him better to break contact for weeks on end rather than her word over and over. Both ways suck out loud.

Wednesday she doesn't answer the phone and will fill in some bullshit with a laugh like, "The dogs must have shut the ringer off, Cricket went crazy at the doorbell and knocked the phone over, it must have happened then...ha, ha, ha, love that crazy dog even though she's so naughty." Thursday she calls and says she, "can't make it today" because she is sick and it wouldn't be any fun for Frankie to watch her be sick, he can come on Friday.

If we go by patterns, today could be the day -- it could just as easily be a late phone call describing how the day got away from her or how she is still sick and since it's so late,"let's just do it tomorrow -- it wouldn't make any sense to come out so late and disrupt everybody's night. Tomorrow will be better."

Do you see how she is always thinking of others? You should try pointing out the holes in her logic, it only took me like four years to stop trying. When one person uses the rules of logic and the other defies them...well, who's the idiot that thought she would get somewhere in that game for four years? Her main technique when called out on anything is to deny the words or action being called into judgment -- even if she just spoke them. She doesn't try to say you heard her wrong, she will say it was never spoken -- straight face, till the end of time, the end. "IiIiIiIiIiI", shaking head in a wild cartoon fashion.

I think she is going to go her whole life like this, a junkie till the end. There truly is a sense of "there but for the grace of God." We have a ton of background similarities. Even a lot of the same values -- she just has never figured out how to live by hers even a little. She feeds the self loathing enough to keep shitting all over people and never having to take a good look at how she hurts people -- she knows she does, she doesn't need details... Yes, you do Karen -- it's all about the details.

Why do people think it's so noble to hate themselves -- "I know I'm bad, it's okay to hate me" type of crap underlying it all. That is the most -- perpetuate the bullshit that is me -- line of thinking that I have ever known. What really pisses me off is that she knows it. It's not like opportunity has never knocked for her. She is so unwilling to consider an alternative.

Addiction is a nightmare and having escaped it I suppose I should just be grateful and understanding. Right now I need to be angry about everything she has squandered and the pain and chaos she continues to wreak. Suck it up and face yourself already.

A circle of death

We own one. I didn't know it was a circle of death until it snowed -- that's when it became clear that if you step on it, you could slip fast, fall hard, possibly even die.

It is a circle of mosaic tiles that was too beautiful to pass up for the price --which wasn't exactly chump change, but it was doable. My husband has a friend who gets these and other wonderful things direct so they are more affordable. First it was going to be for the kitchen, then the bathroom, and then, "hey baby, this would make a great table top!"

Or how about a door matt? Because that is where it is now -- it is actually next to the door matt on a diagonal course, so that when you walk out the door your second confident step could be your last.

Secrets (aka -- Why isn't everyone like me and just not give a crap who knows what about you)

I can't give too many direct details because posting them on the internet would compound the betrayal that has already taken place.

What I can say is that it involves a friend of the spouse and the husband/wife secret sharing privilege. It was already too late by the time the request was put it for "don't even tell your wife" --those of you who follow my blog know what a quick dialer my husband is -- he had called me on the way to the secret havers house (again, before he knew it was a secret).

The cat cannot go back in the bag -- is what I'm sayin.

My problem with the whole thing is how the person says they realized that I knew. I noticed something and made a comment -- it was something you would notice and it was acknowledged in a conversation where it was totally appropriate context to notice! (And I wasn't looking at you like that because of that -- I was looking at your teeth, your teeth looked different, I thought you did something with your teeth. )

Not to mention (but I will), I am an observer -- small details don't get by me. I may not be able to remember your name, but if I was at your house and returned again three years later and you had moved a nic nac from the left side of a shelf to the right -- I would comment on the new placement. Secondly, the person tricked my husband into admitting he told by saying that I confessed to knowing the secret and then sucker punched him when he didn't say, "that's impossible! I never told her".

The obvious other issues of right and wrong here are moot points because this person has some major trust issues -- from an understanding friend point of view -- it wasn't completely out of line for this person to request the keeping something from me. It also doesn't matter that I think the content of the secret is no big deal -- it is to the person, so that part is a big bummer. I do feel horrible that this person feels horrible and a friendship is now in crisis mode. It's really hard for me not to pick up the phone and make a joke and plead to sanity, "If your significant other did not notice -- you need to poke them in the eye." And, "are you kidding me?" and further more, "give me a break -- he may be an asshole, but he's a stand up guy too. You can't wholesale slash someone's character over something like this.

But that is between those two, I think they have a lot they can learn from each other and I hope they do. Their friendship has been very beneficial to our marriage -- so for that reason and more (I really like this person)-- I hope it survives.

And with a big KOW -- I'll say, I'm so glad most of my emotionally needy friends have grown up or moved on. Don't be afraid, you don't have to be so afraid, feelings get hurt, friends fuck up, it's not an all or nothing deal.

Take it from a former and sometimes, emotional ingnoramous -- don't let your emotions boss you around like that, because no matter how much effort you put into arranging things, someone is going to blow the rules and you will be hurt. Your time will be better spent on learning to deal with your feelings rather than trying to outfox them.

And no, you don't already know that or you wouldn't be so friggin let down all the time -- you know who you are. Besides, it is always them anyway, they are all just stupid --you're all good!

Chicago's Magnificent Mile Lights Festival & Procession

The city's Christmas lighting parade. Bird's eye view from the 13th floor of some building looking directly over the street and the firework barge -- firework display right in face -- coolest way to see fireworks ever.

Get the babies!

The girls and I were playing a game where they had to run past me without getting caught or else they would have to "pay the price" of being tickled.

There is nothing quite like the look of anticipation on their faces -- I'm smiling into some cheek pain just thinking about it. Lizzie can't always take the intensity or lack of control. She loves the thrill of being chased but gets overwhelmed and kind of embarrassed when caught. She does this smiling/upset thing and the game has to stop before it goes all the way into full on tears.

She is that way on a lot of things, say - if she dresses up all fancy like a princess -- part of her wants to be noticed and appreciated and part of her doesn't know how to handle the adoration. My own little Johnny Depp or one of the reclusive stars of old.

Winnie comes in eyes wide -- she circles close enough to guarantee capture -- her only stipulation, "NOT THE ARMPITS! NOT THE ARMPITS!".

I also threatened to eat an arm, an ear, or a flower off their shirt. From across the room, standing on the couch with palms together and tapping her fingers with nervous delight, Lizzie asks (hollers out), "What's next on the menu?! Am I on the menu?!" --big, big anticipating eyes.

I friggin love my kids -- I got the very best ones.

The side of my teen that feeds my homicidal tendencies

Responding to a simple request:
"Why do I have to?"

Not going for the "it's not worth explaining, just do it" response, insisting on details as to why he should fulfill the request:
"So? If you explain everything then there will be no misunderstandings and there will be more peace in the world."

Different situation fifteen minutes later, being made to participate in clearing up a misunderstanding (completely unrelated to the earlier request):

"WHY DO YOU HAVE TO EXPLAIN EVERYTHING?! No! NO! I'm not going to listen to this...JUST STOP MAKING A BIG DEAL OUT OF EVERYTHING!"

Can't put a stat counter on my blog and not talk about it

Mention the breakdown of genital parts or say the word boobs and a perv-o-meter goes off somewhere and I get twenty two hits at once -- most of whom hang around long enough to read what it's all about ("Where is it? Where is it? She said vagina, I know it's here somewhere." No porn, sorry).

Mention the word "dad" in a post and people strolling by can't get away from the page fast enough.

So many blogs, so little time -- I know, but people are even hastier than I suspected.

I do get a lot of people coming in off of foreign language blogs -- of course you are not going to hang around if you can't read English...

I'm one of those compulsive surfers -- if I get a minute, I sit down and check if my favorite bloggers have posted anything new, or surf around new blogs. I walk away in the middle of reading and come back hours later, I wonder how many people think they have a stalker in Wisconsin.

It's kind of creepy watching people look at my blog. I like that world map thing though -- hello person in Peru! And my peeps -- I like looking at the dots and knowing who it is -- corny, but people don't seem so far away when viewed as a dot on a tiny world map.

And that's how I feel about the stat counter today.

My dad has esp or he reads my blog

I got a real e-mail from my dad today.

It's easy if you try

I have a close family member who has never been any good at showing up. God bless him, his heart is good -- there's a lot of love in there, he's just never been able to tap it for any kind of action other than saying how much he wishes he could do.

Along comes the internet bearing gifts for keeping in touch with those so far away. Can I get a couple of words on the pictures of your grandchildren? Yes, about one tenth of the time you can and just a couple of words -- gotta save those words for talking about me, but I'll tell you what I can do -- I can forward chain letters to you.

The internet has these really profound, life changing thoughts on God and degrading humor about woman and funny videos of running cars (okay, the running car was pretty cute) -- I'll make sure you don't miss any, in fact, I get a bonus for forwarding it to you and you can too!
Suprises await and God will love you for taking time for him.

Dad, for the love of Pete, everyone knows e-mail chain letters suck, and frankly, it would be nice to be more than just one of the ten people you don't feel guilty about forwarding crappy e-mail to.

And let's talk about the message of those crappy e-mails for a minute. Do you really think having things, doing things, watching TV and being on the internet is the work of the devil?

How about -- trying to make me feel guilty for everything I do is the oldest trick in the book. Don't you think keeping everybody in a state of self-loathing, fear, hatred toward one another is the real work of evil?

Turn off the Harry Chapin dad, and take a minute to sit down and be thoughtful -- I know you can do it.

Should I be worried?

Given her gene pool, we already know she's wired for some sound...don't be OCD.

Winnie loves school -- she writes all of the time and plays school with her sister and reads and it's all good. So why should I be worried about the math?

The adding, the subtracting, the configuring of different numbers, same sum -- the counting. Counting of steps, counting of bites, counting items, counting of sips -- lots and lots of counting going on.

Be a natural stage of development -- don't be a need to count. Just don't.

Bad Movie Notes -- a rant

Blockbuster has that "no late fees" thing, which really means -- if you keep it out long enough, you own it. If I wind up owning Lords of Dogtown, I'm going to hate myself. We rented it because we had seen a documentary on the boys -- the movie sucked. It doesn't matter if Heath Ledger nailed his character when most people don't know the actual person -- so it's all, "why is Heath Ledger talking like an idiot with those teeth?"

The Weatherman -- The tone was --"is that all there is?" -- deadpan. They did a nice job of conveying an immature guy who is half blind to most of his problems and what really matters and is a big fat hairy cry baby about responsibility, but is trying to buy a clue. The movie had a couple of shining moments, but mostly it was, who cares? I already know this guy and he's annoying.

And really annoying was Michael Canes description of what creates the "camel toe" effect: pants being hiked up so you can see the folds in the vagina -- and then Cage's character later confirms the definition.

Vagina..vulva... labia...one of those things down there, hey guys? And we ladies are pretty sure that the bulge in your pants has something to do your alimentary canal.

Then there's Prime. What can say about this movie? Slack jaw bad. Walk out of the movie, bad.

Meryl Streep!

Did she owe someone a favor? Is this a testament to ageism in Hollywood? What made her agree to be in this movie?

This movie let us know it had the correct social grasp on things. Black people? They got along with them. Gay people? Best friends. Mixed religion relationships? Mix. Older woman dating a boy? Of course. Poor people? They are not forgotten -- the boy painted pictures of them. One of the voices in my head kept whispering, "I see poor people."

Self amusement couldn't even carry me through. Usually, I get sort of mesmerized by bad movies, but this movie didn't even have the --"is this movie really this bad?" -- fascination going for it -- it was just one insult to wit after another.

They let us know the hero of the movie was a funny guy. In one scene the hero shows up where Uma was working with high fashion models. A guy model on the set sarcastically says to the hero, "You must be a model." To which the hero says, "and you must be a hairdresser."
OOOooohh, feel the burn. But in case you missed it -- later in the scene a female model walks up behind the hero and says, "hey hairdresser," (they exchange an -- "I totally get you" -- glance) and she says, "nice one, you're funny".

That boring exchange was one of several scenes where the hot guy said something stupid, that was supposed to be funny -- so funny that another character later confirmed his humor by talking about what a funny guy he was.

The final obnoxious straw was when Uma's character was at the boy's place for the first time (he lived with his grandparents), they were in his room with all of his paintings. Uma says, "Your paintings, they're all facing backward -- it's like you're ashamed of them." Awwww, our boring humorist is an artist at heart, but his high end Jewish family has different expectations of him, ("I see poor people").

And even if your thinking, "well, at least I could ogle Uma" --think again. Even Uma ogeling gets ruined by the scenes where her nipple it pointing the wrong way (Honey, reach in there and adjust -- it's pointing at your arm). Was everyone afraid to tell Uma about her directional problem? So let her go on film like that why don't you. I couldn't get past it -- I almost did, but it happened again.

Do they stay together? Does the Jewish mother ease up and realize happiness is what counts?
However it ended, I bet it was one big fat hairy party of maturity.

Stupid movie, don't go, don't rent, don't bother at all.

Oh, and Pritz...

I didn't get a chance to comment back to you on my old blog. I don't want to comment over there, lest I leave a trail for unwanted eyes.

I agree it's good to follow the ideal part of my heart -- it's the part that thinks Trainspotting is a romance movie that I need to override.

Why?

Why am I such a freak show?

How do you get to school?

There are stories by 1st graders posted outside of the classroom at Winnie's school. They are about how you get to school -- "On a bus, a big yellow bus...On a dinosaur, a big green dinosaur...On a dragon, a fire breathing dragon..." My favorite? "On my brother, my little crying brother..."

They drew pictures too -- tears flying out of that brother's face.

Excellent blogger feature

Did you know you can delete your blog from someone else's comment section?

When it asked, "DELETE FOREVER?", I hit that bar -- I assumed it was referring to the comment, but it was referring to my blog.

Future Homeless Thoughts will never be, but you can still access the existing posts.

Welcome to the new face of the same old scene.