DAMN!

Got a summons for jury duty today in the mail. Ordered the wrong ink for my printer. C.'s got a fever. My hairdresser resigned. Broke my diet regimen. DAMN DAMN DAMN!

New Shoes and the Past Catches Up

I love new shoes. That is until I put them on. I bought some new dress shoes and some new casual shoes over the past couple of months and have recently worn them. I learned from my past that my feet are sensitive to harsh conditions and end up with blisters. I wrapped my feet like a geisha with band aids and I still got blisters. There were two exposed areas on my feet and they both have blisters. I got new flip flops and THOSE gave me blisters, so at this point I have blisters between my big and middle toes on BOTH feet, blisters on both of my heels and blisters on my pinkie toes. I feel like I just need to glue rubber to the bottom of my feet.

So anyhoo, I am wearing my new shoes and going with C. up to the university to check out some books for my class. C. is doing really well. I am hobbling, wincing but trying to maintain some professionalism because you never know who you may see. As I am walking towards the check out desk I see this guy who worked at the library with me 13 years ago. He's still there. I feel sad for him. I remember his name and that he introduced me to a guy that I dated in college that turned out to be gay. I just felt really awkward. I knew he recognized me because he just kept staring at me. I avoided eye contact in that very obvious way. Finally he spoke to me. DAMN! How can I play off being rude? I pretended that I didn't remember his name and reintroduced myself. I asked how he was doing and what he was up to. What a fake!

Well we played the who do you still know game and he mentioned the guy I was mean to who wished ill will upon me. Just talking about him. Weird, huh? Neither of us knows what happened to him. That's probably for the best. I tried very hard not to limp as I walked out.

His Wish

When I was in college I had a boyfriend that I did not treat very well. As a parting gift he left me a mixed tape. On this mixed tape were various versions on the same theme," I hate you bitch". I lost that tape many years ago, but can remember the first song on the first side. The name of the song is "Fat" by the Violent Femmes. It goes a little something like this:

I hope you get fat
I hope you get really fat
I hope you get fat

His wish has come true.( He also put on the tape the Bob Dylan song, Idiot Wind, you know the one that says something about everytime you open your mouth I realize what an idiot you are...NICE!) I can't fit into any of my pants. I started a diet today and that totally sucks. I think that in order to be thin you have to either exercise like a crazy person or eat a healthy diet. Unfortunately, I do neither. Which now at 35 leads me to dieting. I have never been a fan of published diets. I usually just go on the diets that have worked for me over the years:
1. Cigarette, coffee and Jell-O diet --College and post baby diets
2. Shit your brains out diet-- Unfortunately the stomach flu comes with that one
or finally my favorite,
3. Stop eating when you're full, fat ass diet.

Although I am trying the #3 I am having to add to it (revolutionary new ideas):
4. Stop eating when you're full, fat ass with the new and improved: GET AWAY FROM THE VENDING MACHINE,THAT'S HOW YOU GOT FAT TO BEGIN WITH Diet

We'll see how it goes. I am seeing an old friend in a couple of weeks and need to get back to my fighting weight. I don't know why it matters, but when seeing women from my past I need to be thinner than I was the last time I saw them. I just never want anyone to say,"Wow, she's put on weight" when someone asks how I am doing.

I get really happy when people I like lose weight. It motivates me. I HATE it when people I don't like lose weight. It doesn't motivate me, it makes me want to have them killed.

So here goes nothing. I got two weeks...

Healer, Heal Thyself

It's the day after book club and I am pooped. I had to go to a workshop today to keep my social worker license current. I have to get 30 hours every two years and for the first time I am not waiting until two weeks before my license expires to get started.

The name of the workshop was "Trauma, Intimacy and Addictions". Interesting enough. It was close by and cheap. Three good reasons to attend. Anyhoo, the morning comes (my morning to sleep in, so you know that this workshop had better be good) and I'm running late. I don't have time to make coffee or stop on the way because I was working under the assumption that coffee and bagels would be provided at the workshop. I think this because for the past eight years of going to these things there are ALWAYS coffee and bagels. Not today. DAMN!!!

I swallow my disappointment and irritation and realize that we get a break in an hour and then I can go locate some coffee somewhere. I sign in, turn and stop dead in my tracks. She's here. She's seen me. I cannot hide. I cannot run. The only thing I could do is feign a seizure or acknowledge Her. She is Consuela. In all her Latina glory. Consuela is a woman I used to work with seven years ago who DROVE ME TO THE BRINK OF INSANITY!! She was the most useless social worker I had ever met (and I have met some). Besides that she talks incessantly and ends every sentence with "no?". As in "You're coming to lunch with me, no?" I never know how to answer. (I digress) I had not seen Consuela since I left that job and never thought about her again until we moved back to St. Louis and I started attending these workshops. She has been at EVERY SINGLE FRIGGIN ONE!!! She always darts over to me and says,"You are coming to sit with me, no?" She talks through the whole workshop and I begin to feel homicidal, no?

Anyhoo, I make nice and have a seat next to her. I keep thinking about the coffee that I need to have. Unfortunately I am interrupted by the overenthusiastic workshopper sitting in front of me. She is unaware that there is anyone but herself and the speaker in the audience. She also does not realize that he cannot hear her. At first it is the simple head nodding. Then it turns into the out loud "Yes" and "I agree". No one is speaking to her. By the end of the day we did finally get the "Amen". A woman in front of her did tell her she was being annoying but it did not phase her. (This goes on all day. I will speak no more of her as this is my blog).

Finally we are allowed out. I hustle across the street to the coffee shop to order a drink. I have limited time, so let's get a move on. The elderly woman behind the counter was only able to complete one drink order at a time and apparently sitting around talking to the other workers was more important to the staff at this place then helping me. I was the first in line and it took me 25 minutes to get my Mocha. Our break was only 15 minutes. Oh, well. As I was hurrying across the street and back to the auditorium I took a huge gulp of the coffee. Unfortunately for me, the coffee was very hot. It was so hot that once I registered that my mouth was burning, I realized that there was no way I could swallow. I spit the coffee across the sidewalk and all over my new shoes and pants. There was a group of prospective students with their parents visiting the university walking directly behind me. There is no way to play that off. I feel like I had a shot of Novocaine on my tongue. I still can't taste anything. How long does it take to get the skin on your tongue to grow back?

By then end of the day I was wearing a little bit of everything I had eaten all day. The conference itself was fine. There was a lot of sex talk and instructions for sex therapy (not doing that) and the overuse of the phrase "making love". I cringed every time. I also learned that the reason I am so screwed up is because of my mother and that hopefully I will screw my kids up too.

"Could you" mom

As I was driving home yesterday the "could you" mom stopped me in the street. I have named her the "could you" mom because every time I see or talk to her she is asking me,"Could you pick up my daughter from school and keep her for 12 hours?" During soccer season she would offer to switch off watching the little ones, so that we would each get a chance to see the game. Unfortunately my turn would last for 45 minutes and hers would last five. At one soccer practice, she asked that I watch her son because her baby was sleeping in the car. Sure. All of a sudden the skies opened up and it began pouring. There I was with four kids, in the rain trying to get every one's stuff together and get to the cars. She was asleep in the van. Warm and dry.

She has stopped me driving down the street, called me 15 minutes before the end of school and while I'm on the way home to ask me "could you." Anyhoo, yesterday she asked if we could have a play date. Because her home is under construction it means, "Could you watch my kids for a couple of hours?" Sure. Well, she just dropped them off and her son who is C's age wasn't at the door. She said that she wasn't sure if he could play because he has been using a bad word. She whispered the word to me. I was expecting it to be truly offensive. The kid said poopy. And she let me know that her neighbor's kid taught him that word. This kid needs an education on words to really freak her out and maybe the "could you" mom would find another sucker.

I told her that I would walk the kids home at 3:30, since I have my class tonight. She let me know that she was going to be out and she'd be back to get them. "Don't worry Shannon, I'll pick them up. You don't need to put yourself out. I'll try to be here by 3:30ish." I could feel the blood boiling. In my nicest smiling high octave voice I said,"No, no. I will bring them home at 3:30. It's no problem." I will bring them home at 3:30 and leave them on the doorstep at 3:30. I'll also say poopy all the way home....

Spring Break and Poop

My kids are on Spring Break. Since A. was sick half of last week, our spring break has been extended for a week and a half. I am afraid of summer. She is making me crazy. Every fifteen minutes I get one of three things: 1) I'm hungry, 2) when can we go somewhere?or 3) COOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOPER!!!!!!!!! The second child is so much easier. He is used to no one paying any attention to him. He would be content sitting in his underwear, watching TV all day. She however needs to be entertained, interacted with, shown attention to. GET OUT OF MY BUTT!!!!! The sheer sound of her voice is making me nuts. Only four days left.

C. is making great strides with his potty training. He has figured out that he gets a new train if he poops on the toilet. It's only taken about three weeks to get that through to him. Now, like his grandfather (see previous post), C. gives a running commentary on his bowel movements. He strips down to the buff (with the exception of his socks) and announces his intention,"I'm going to get a train now. I'm gonna poop." He heads into the bathroom and climbs on to the toilet. He clasps his hands together as if in prayer and bears down. You can hear his grunts in the other room. He then says to himself to keep him from giving up," I gotta get the train, I gotta get the train, I gotta get the train." If he is having difficulty he will call an adult member of the family in to press on his belly,"You gotta push on my belly so that poop will come out. I gotta get the train." I am so proud. Now these trains are like $10-25 a piece, so I don't know what he's going to do once the trains are gone.

Snapped

My parents were in town this week. It was a nice week. They are planning to move here in two years when my mom retires. My dad makes me crazy. He has a commentary about everything from the fat lady walking down the street to the ugly kid living down the street to the President to the lunch special at Church's chicken. He talks while we're driving, he talks while we're eating, he talks while we're watching TV. The best part is that he has no censor, is losing his hearing and believes that no thought should go unexpressed. After four days of constant chatter and inappropriate outbursts I want to run away. Sometimes I wonder if he has a mild form of Tourette's Syndrome.

Oddly enough, my mother who is a nonviolent person was very interested in watching shows about women killing their husbands....

Mother's Little Helper

C. just "helped" me with the laundry. He dumped all the laundry detergent on the floor. Will this day NEVER end? Where's my Valium?

The Clean Up Begins

I knew it was too good to be true. A. was sick but quietly resting on the couch. The cleaning ladies come and we gotta go. Something about watching someone else clean up after me makes me feel guilty, kinda like when you get your nails done by an immigrant of Asian or Russian descent. Just guilty.

So we ran some errands. I continuously asked A. how she was feeling. "Are you going to throw up?" "Do you have to poop?" The answer was always no. By the end of our errands, she began getting some color in her cheeks and lips. She finally wanted to eat. We go through the drive thru, cuz I need some grease. I am not getting her anything. She should have bread and sprite. Well apparently this was not a good choice. As I am paying the lady, A. just starts puking and puking and puking. All over the car, the car seat and herself. We pull over to the parking lot and I pull her out. She's not puking anymore. I try to clean her up but I have no towels or wipes or wet ones. I take off her clothes and throw them in the trunk. She says,"I'm feeling better!" My kids never puke in the house, in the toilet or even on the carpet. JUST THE CAR!!!!

We pull up at the house and the ladies are still there. We sneak in the back and as I round the corner of the backyard I see that they have let the dog out, who has in turn dumped over the trash can, full of trash. He is ravaging it like a raccoon. I just know that he is going to be the next one to puke. So, now I have to clean my daughter, my car, my yard and the clothes. So much for saving time with a cleaning crew. Did I mention that I just want to go to bed?

My Tummy Hurts

I have got it. The nasty stomach bug that is running rampant. A's got it too. Luckily this was my week off, when I was going to get all my errands run and midterms graded. My folks arrive tomorrow. Great timing. J. is at a conference. I still haven't lost any weight.

C. is not sick. (yet) It is really hard to keep up with him when all is well. He didn't want to go to school today because A and I are staying home. Here were his list of ailments:
1. a bad cough
2. a broken leg
3. being hungry

I gotta give him points for trying. He went to school. He was up late last night. He couldn't sleep because Elmo and Grover were fighting him. All I wanted to do was watch TV and pass out, instead I became the Muppet referee:

Elmo in this corner, weighing in at 20 oz wearing red fur and a maniacal smile vs. C. weighing in at 30lbs wearing Lighting McQueen trunks. Elmo was getting tired as C. spun him over his head and body slammed him. It was time for the tag--Super Grover wearing a pointy helmet and cape jumped into the ring. Could C. compete with a superhero? Tension mounted as they eyed each other. C. grabs Super Grover in a half nelson and pins him. C. is victorious. NOW GO TO BED!!!

The cleaning ladies are coming today. I need to clean up. I just want to go to bed.

The Dentist

I had my appointment this AM to get my two cavities filled. I HATE NOVOCAINE! It's now 12:15, my appointment was at 9:15 and I have no feeling in my lower jaw. Because I feel this way I bravely decided that I could get my teeth filled without Novocaine. I had been through childbirth, I can take anything. Apparently not. The dentist said he would have to numb one side because the cavity was too deep but he was willing to let me try on the other side. The shot goes in and I start to feel numb.

He starts attempting to fix the other side. I can handle this, I think to myself. It doesn't hurt. It doesn't hurt. Hell, the shot on the other side of my mouth hurt worse than this. Look at me, big bad brave Momma (Theme song: She's a Bad Mama Jama). FUCK!!!!!! I was suddenly in an enormous amount of pain. "Guess we need some Novocaine." the Dentist observes. What was the first clue, my eyes POPPING out of my head or was it that my legs shot straight up in the air?

Eventually both sides of my lower jaw are numb. My hygienist is nice enough but was not on the ball. At one point I thought I was drowning in my own spit. All my life I have been terrified of drowning in the ocean and really I should have focused on drowning in the dentist's chair, choked by my own saliva. I got her attention. I was trying to grab her arm, but I grabbed her boob instead. Oops! While they were doing the filling they were discussing the right shade of yellow to color my back teeth. It was then I thought about getting some White Stips.

After all was said and done I went to the counter to pay. Unbeknownst to me I was drooling all over the counter. There I was smiling like a idiot, with a line of spit hanging from my bottom lip. The hygenist, not the one I fondled, handed me a tissue.

I left the office trying to figure out what to do with myself. I couldn't eat, drink or smoke so there was no point in going home. So I went shopping. At each store I entered the very perky sales wanted to help me. I realize now that I was walking around looking like Magilla Gorilla, but no thanks I didn't need any help. I held up the hand and shook my head. Eventually at each store they left me alone.

I went to pick up C. after school. He's a funny kid (peculiar, not necessarily ha-ha). As we were walking up the stairs to leave, one of the older boys said in that know it all four year old way,
"YOU"VE GOT A GIRL'S SUITCASE." (He's still carrying the rainbow striped Hello Kitty suitcase) C. turned and looked the kid square in the eye and said, "I am going to eat you." And then walked away. Once we got home, he started practicing his walking with his eyes closed. He slammed into the wall.

People I hate for no reason

This is the third post of the day, so you know I got some bitching to do. I heard on the radio a very interesting question. Who do you hate for no reason? Like the words I hate, this is a work in progress. Feel free to join in:

1. Sandra Bullock
2. The entire Republican party.
3. Kevin Costner
4. Russell Crowe (he's sweaty)
5. Nancy Grace
6. Rush Limbaugh
7. Bill O'Reilly
8. Michael Moore
9. Most of the women at A's school
10. The old ladies who work on Mondays at the hospital. (They take up parking spots and stink up the STAFF bathroom (you ain't staff old lady) with old lady poop.
11. My hairdresser
12. Sales people
13. My cleaning people (they aren't very friendly)
14. C's foot MD
15. Some relatives of mine (and J's)
16. Some neighbors who let their dog poop in front of our house.

That's all I got right now, but I know there are more. Who do you hate?

I hate Mondays

I am going to complain, so if you are not interested I suggest you skip this post. It all started yesterday after Jazzercise. I was in a foul mood. No endorphin rush for me. I pulled up to the house to find J. (KOUP) hanging out the third floor window with the leaf blower, cleaning the gutters. Where were the children? I was gone for about 90 minutes and all I could see was anarchy. Now if you ask J. everything was under control. I really wanted to push him out the window. But I didn't.

J. was going to the boat that day and asked "What time to do I have to be home so I don't get in trouble?" EEEEWWWW! That was ugly. I turned to him and said," I don't care what time you get home, just tell me a round about time so I know when to eat." (Only 11:00 and I was already thinking about dinner) He left. I took the kids to a friend's house to play. It was fine. I yelled a lot at my kids and I didn't get anything done around the house. The kids wouldn't go to bed. I slept on the couch. I just needed to be alone. (enter theme song: ALL BY MYSELF, I WANNA BE...) Anyhoo, at about 4:00 AM a heard the stomp, stomp, stomp of little feet. It was C. Before I understood what was happening he flipped on the light, turned on the TV and asked for breakfast. I didn't realize it was 4:00 am, so I got up. Popeye was on. I hate Popeye. Once I realized what time it was, I turned off the TV and put him back to sleep on the couch. I didn't know that J. had turned off the heat. It was a little chilly.

At 7:15, J. comes downstairs in a rush. We're late, again. We hurry and scamper to get out the door. I have to work today so I had to get dressed. Because I had not done any laundry all weekend, I had nothing clean, so I had to go digging. Three ironed pairs of pants later, I'm out the door. ( I have to keep going to Jazzercise because two of the pairs of pants were so tight that you could see the seams of my seamless underwear. Not good).

I get to work and all but three of my appointments cancelled. Of course, they were spread out so I couldn't come in late or go home too early. The silver lining is that someone brought Thin Mints. No wonder I can't fit into my pants. I get home and the kids are brawling. I just put them in the basement and closed the door. There's a lock, but so far I haven't had to use it. I'm drinking wine and am ready for bed. I know it's only 6:30.

Shake your money maker

Sunday AM bright and early I donned my pirate bandanna, running shoes and the unnecessary sports bra and headed to my first Jazzercise session in over a year. I have realized over the past three months that I have put on weight and skipping a few meals here and there ain't fixin it. The best way to put it, I got junk in the trunk. So, anyway, my lovely fitness conscious friend and I have been trying to get to Jazzercise for about six weeks. Yesterday it happened.

Water bottle, yoga mat and towel in hand I re-entered the building I left in shame a year ago. (I was called out of class because C. had hit some kid with a truck and bloodied his lip. I never went back) I walked up to the counter and said that I wanted to buy a 10 class pass. Great. They don't take credit cards. I have no money or checks. It appeared to me that Jesus was talking to me through the over forty women in spandex. I should have listened. The owner saw that I was about to bolt and offered me a free class. Here I was all dressed up and no place to shimmey. She took pity.

Once class started I remembered the other reason why I quit. I have no coordination. I imagined myself as a cartoon character doing the Charleston while everyone else was doing the rumba. The only saving grace is that Amy is as uncoordinated as I am. However, she is thinner and cuter, so she can get away with it. At one point I was just flapping my arms and kicking my legs randomly in the air. My theme song for that moment was," I'm beautiful, no matter what they say..." I made it through the session, when it dawned on me that a lot of the faces were familiar. A year later they were no skinnier or more athletic than I remember. Not a ringing endorsement for the Jazzercise program. I did however learn some new moves for the next time I go clubbin'.

Luckily it was time to go. I climbed into the car, lit a cigarette and headed for a much needed Big Mac.

Anatomy of a good day

I realize that most of my posts are about the irritating things that happen to me. I didn't have a bad day today. I had a good day. Nothing exciting happened. I just little to no bad things happen today. However good days don't give much blogworthy material, so I decided to write about the little things that make me think days are good.

1. Good parking spaces.
2. My children sleeping past 6:00.
3. No toilet accidents.
4. Being on time without the rush.
5. Cherry pies in the vending machine.
6. A new outfit.
7. Not having to yell at my kids.
8. A clean house.
9. No red lights.
10. Switching stations on the radio and only hearing good songs. (Rasberry Beret, Magic Carpet Ride, Son of a Preacher Man--music you don't have on CD)
11. Sonic Cherry Limeades and tater tots with cheese.
12. A new pack of cigarettes.
13. Clean and ironed clothes when you need them and where you need them.
14. Emails from friends that are not just forwards.
15. Change for the parking meter.
16. My car lights going off when I turn the car off.
17. Time alone.
18. A nap.
19 No cavities.
20. Unexpected play dates at someone else's house.
21. Magazines with time to read them.
22. Client's cancelling when they are the last appointment of the day.
23. General Hospital on Tivo.
24. A good Oprah that I haven't seen yet.
25. Sleeping in on Saturdays and waking up to find J. has taken the kids out.
26. Having Amy call and cancel going to Jazzercise.
27. A new book (preferably hardback).
28. Clean sheets.
29. A quiet house.
30. Book club.

What is wrong with me?

I am mean. I don't know why, I just am. It's uncontrollable. Here's what happened. A. had her dentist appointment this morning. I did not tell her what to expect because I know that she would ruminate about it and pitch a huge fit. So I let her go in blindly thinking this was going to be like any other dentist visit. Once we got there I BEGGED the dentist to fill both her teeth at the same time because I KNOW she won't come back without a huge ordeal. I don't have the energy for that. Finally he agreed.

After the appointment she started freaking out. She was crying and carrying on like a crazy person and I know crazy people. I told her we could go to McDonald's for lunch and she could get a Happy Meal. She stopped for a minute. After we pulled through the drive thru and started heading home, SHE FLIPPED! I was still trying to be nice. "Honey, what do you want to do? Are you okay?" "I (sob, sob, sob) want to sit in the (sob, sob, sob) parking lot and EAAATT." "Why?" "Because my mouth feeeeels funny." "Okay, I guess."

So I pull into the parking lot of the Home Depot with all the construction guys and I start to eat. She's not eating. "Why aren't you eating?" "My mouth feels funny." "Okay, so let's go home." You would have thought I said "I am now going to sell you for crack to this man and you will have to live in a box." She was wailing. Now, I start to lose my temper. I need things and people to make sense or I get mad. Don't know why, just do.

A: (still crying) I want to go back to school.
Me: No. The dentist said you shouldn't go back right now. We need to wait til your mouth feels better.
A: (Crying louder) I HAVE TO GO BACK TO SCHOOL!!!
Me: (pissed off at the fact she's a pain in the ass) NO! YOU NEED TO STAY WITH ME UNTIL YOU FEEL BETTER!
A: (Hyperventilating) I HAVE TO GO BACK TO SCHOOL!!
Me: FINE. BUT IF YOUR MOUTH STARTS TO HURT I AM NOT COMING TO GET YOU!!! YOU WILL HAVE TO SUCK IT UP! (I really told my six year old to suck it up)
A: (sniffle, sniffle) Can I bring my McDonald's to school?
Me: (I just figured out why she wanted to go back to school. If you bring McDonalds to school you are totally a rock star) Fine.
A.: (victorious) Can you go get my library book from home so I can check out a new book?
Me: NO!!!

I drop her off at school and explain that if she needs to be picked up to call me. I then go to pick up C. He's excited about his lunch. As he is eating, he pees in his pants. I know that you are not supposed to get mad at your kid about accidents, but FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!!

He's in his room now.

There are no secrets

There are no secrets at our home. We had a lovely evening with some people from J.'s work. They just moved here from Canada. They are very nice people. At about 7:30 I was ready for them to leave, so I mentioned that we needed to get the kids in the tub. They took the hint. J. is another story. He takes FOREVER to say good bye to someone. He thinks of all the things he could have said for the past three hours in those minutes. It drives me CRAZY. When it is time to go it is time to go. MOVE ON!

Anyhoo, as we are saying our good byes and nice to have met yous and thank you for coming, I hear a scream from upstairs. I excuse myself and run up the stairs. I am immediately punched in the face by the smell of crap. Not poop. CRAP! C. has had diarrhea. He's wearing underwear, so it is leaking all down his leg and onto the carpet. (he did this earlier in the day when he pooped, took his pants off and scooched down the stairs, wiping his butt on the carpet)

I call to A. to come upstairs. I tell her in quiet voice so that our guests cannot hear," Please go and tell your father that I need his help with C. and please be quiet about it." She scampers down the stairs and in her best outside voice she bellows," DADDY! DADDY! C. DIARRHEAED!C. DIARRHEAED! C. DIARRHEAED! MOM SAYS TO HURRY UP AND COME HELP!"

So much for quiet.

Can I get an AMEN!?!

A. had a Girl Scout Mass this morning. Luckily just she and I went. The place was a madhouse. Kids screaming, no seats and me wishing I was anywhere else. I was sitting close to the front, not my usual space, when a mother that I know came in with her baby and sat down next to me. We exchanged pleasantries and then she mentioned that her husband and three year old were also coming. "We'll just scoot together." There was no room for two more people in the row, so I graciously said, "No, no. I'll move and go sit in the back." She went NUTS! She gets a death grip on my arm and says in a loud voice," NO! WE WILL ALL SIT TOGETHER!" At this point I'm a little freaked. So in my best social worker voice I say," I will fight you here in the middle of church. I will go sit in the back, it's really not a big deal." We struggled and I finally was able to get out of her grasp. Now mind you the priest has just walked down the aisle and Mass is starting when all of this is transpiring.

I found my seat in the back and settled in for an hour of daydreaming. However, the priest was new and I think he thought he was at a Southern Baptist church. At the end of one of the prayers the congregation says "Amen". There's nothing to get excited about. We all just go through the motions. Well Father Jump Back, calls out,"Let me here you say AMEN!" We all just kind of look at each other. Again we say Amen. "That's not enough. GIVE ME AN AMEN!" With all the excitement a bunch of Catholics in a packed church with a bunch of screaming kids could muster, we tried to feel it. Amen. He gave up for now.

As the Mass went on he gave a really LONG homily about nothing in particular. I spent the twenty minutes watching this father try to quietly yet forcefully discipline his three year old. IT was exactly why my three year old was at home with his dad. During the communion hymn, the organist caught Father Jump Back's spirit and did a little Jerry Lee Lewis. Where the hell am I? Father Jump Back gave it one more shot. At the end of the mass, at his farewell blessing, he asked for another Amen and then another and then he just gave up. We're just not that kind of people.

After the revival we went to the cafeteria for coffee and donuts. DAMN!!! I just wanted to go home. But I put on my BIG smile and fake laugh. We fought through the crowd to get A. her donut. She sat with her friends and laughed and smiled. I stood in the corner smiling like an idiot. I talked to a few people and said hello. You would have all been proud. I guess the spirit moved me.

Two Cavities

I went to the dentist this week. I have two cavities. DAMN!! I hate to get my teeth filled. It's been almost year since I've had a cavity. I got cocky. The hygienist gave me some instruction on how to effectively brush my teeth. THANKS!

Hairstyle is not a lifestyle

I have finally realized that I hate going to the hair salon. It's an anxiety provoking situation. For as long as I can remember I always leave the salon wishing my hair looked different. Yesterday was no different. I had to cancel my appointment on Wednesday because my son was sick. Luckily I was able to reschedule for the next day. My regular stylist changed her hours, so I had to go back to girl I had before. All in all, she did a good job last time, a little short but it was fine. So instead of trying someone new I went back to her.

As previously posted, I don't get my hair washed or put on a smock or take anything to drink. I think I may wear a sign next time. I must have been asked about those three things about 5 times by five different people. When I respond, no thank you, I get that "I smell poop" look and the cheerleader, "OKAY". Yesterday, I thought ahead and decided to go in with a wet head and that way maybe they would skip the questions. Nope. My hair is soaking wet and I am sitting in the waiting area (nice look by the way) and this extremely gay man, he's the owner, says," Hon, do you want someone to wet your hair down?" I put my hand on my sopping wet hair and look at him. "No thank you." "OKAY." ( there was pity in his voice)

Finally the girl who cuts my hair brings me back. "Do you want me to wet your hair?" ARE THEY BLIND? Anyhoo, she starts cutting my hair and I decide I like her. She doesn't talk to me. The other stylist talked to me. Then the inquisition started:
HER: So, were you sick yesterday?
ME: No. My son was.
HER: What was wrong with him?
ME: He had a bad cold. I'm really sorry that I had to cancel on such short notice. Thank you for seeing me today.
HER: Sure. ( kinda short)

I start to think, she doesn't believe me. Why would I lie to a hair stylist? It's not like she's my boss or therapist or even the cable guy. I begin to wonder if they keep tabs on how many times I cancel and maybe they won't see me after three cancellations.

She doesn't say much except to ask me if I am going for an "Edgy" look. I am a 35 year old woman. I am wearing brown. I am the antithesis of edgy. I, of course, start laughing. I show her the hairstyle I'm working towards. It's under the caption, LOOKING GOOD IN YOUR THIRTIES AND FORTIES. It might as well have said, LOOKING GOOD IN YOUR MOM JEANS AND PULLOVER. Edgy, I am not. "No, I say. I'm going for a softer look." "Do you want it to be chunky?" "NO AND DON'T EVER SAY THAT WORD IN REGARDS TO HAIR!!" "No thank you." She sighs. As she's cutting she suggests that I go to bed with a wet head and with product to maximize the curl in my hair. I have no curl. I have cowlicks. When I wake up in the morning I look like the Heat Miser. She's really young, so I keep this to myself. Then she says," Your bangs are just SCREAMING to be lightened!!" Hmm. You must be mistaken. I think, if they are screaming, it's to get the hell out of here before you talk me into wrapping foil around my head and keeping me captive under a hair dryer where I will be certain to have a full blown anxiety attack. "No, thank you." She sighs again.

As I go to check out, the owner asks me," So, were you sick yesterday?" I really think they were trying to catch me in a lie or something. WHY WOULD I LIE TO MY HAIR STYLIST!!! YOU DON'T MATTER TO ME!!! Why is it that people in the fashion industry have the ability to make you feel so insecure? I have a Masters degree and I am feeling insecure about dark bangs. I am a professional person and I am being looked at like a moron by a 21 year old with a beauty school degree!

Anyhoo, I left and I will go back because I don't want to have to suffer bad haircuts to find another stylist.