Smudgebaby

2008-03-24T17:58:00.000-07:00

I've moved! Visit me at: Sassy Uterus

Everybody's Free lyrics

2008-01-04T13:53:00.000-08:00

Heard this song on the radio today as I drove around, looking for a parking space near work, dealing with this crazy storm in the Bay Area and the fact that I couldn't use the parking garage at work due to a building-wide power outage. I have probably heard it before....but it is perfect.

Baz Luhrmann Lyrics - Everybody's Free (To Wear Sunscreen)

Ladies and Gentlemen of the class of ’99....

If I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be it. The long term benefits of sunscreen have been proved by scientists whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable than my own meandering experience…

I will dispense this advice now. Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth; oh nevermind; you will not understand the power and beauty of your youth until they have faded. But trust me, in 20 years you’ll look back at photos of yourself and recall in a way you can’t grasp now how much possibility lay before you and how fabulous you really looked….

You’re not as fat as you imagine. Don’t worry about the future; or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubblegum. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind; the kind that blindside you at 4pm on some idle Tuesday.

Do one thing everyday that scares you

Sing

Don’t be reckless with other people’s hearts, don’t put up with people who are reckless with yours.

Floss

Don’t waste your time on jealousy; sometimes you’re ahead, sometimes you’re behind…the race is long, and in the end, it’s only with yourself.

Remember the compliments you receive, forget the insults; if you succeed in doing this, tell me how. Keep your old love letters, throw away your old bank statements.

Stretch

Don’t feel guilty if you don’t know what you want to do with your life…the most interesting people I know didn’t know at 22 what they wanted to do with their lives, some of the most interesting 40 year olds I know still don’t.

Get plenty of calcium. Be kind to your knees, you’ll miss them when they’re gone.

Maybe you’ll marry, maybe you won’t, maybe you’ll have children,maybe you won’t, maybe you’ll divorce at 40, maybe you’ll dance the funky chicken on your 75th wedding anniversary…what ever you do, don’t congratulate yourself too much or berate yourself either – your choices are half chance, so are everybody else’s.

Enjoy your body, use it every way you can…don’t be afraid of it, or what other people think of it, it’s the greatest instrument you’ll ever own..

Dance…even if you have nowhere to do it but in your own living room.

Read the directions, even if you don’t follow them. Do NOT read beauty magazines, they will only make you feel ugly.

Get to know your parents, you never know when they’ll be gone for good. Be nice to your siblings; they are the best link to your past and the people most likely to stick with you in the future. Understand that friends come and go,but for the precious few you should hold on. Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography and lifestyle because the older you get, the more you need the people you knew when you were young.

Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard; live in Northern California once, but leave before it makes you soft. Travel.

Accept certain inalienable truths, prices will rise, politicians will philander, you too will get old, and when you do you’ll fantasize that when you were young prices were reasonable, politicians were noble and children respected their elders. Respect your elders.

Don’t expect anyone else to support you. Maybe you have a trust fund, maybe you have a wealthy spouse; but you never know when either one might run out.

Don’t mess too much with your hair, or by the time you're 40, it will look 85. Be careful whose advice you buy, but, be patient with those who supply it. Advice is a form of nostalgia, dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts and recycling it for more than it’s worth. But trust me on the sunscreen…

New outlook, sorta

2008-01-01T18:11:00.000-08:00

It's the pregnancy I'm sure, but I am turning into a domestic maven. Yesterday, 12/31, I decided that the best way to start the New Year was with a clean house. Like, completely clean. I knew to pace myself and started in the living room. Following Wabi-Sabi principles I kept only those things I consider beautiful and give me joy at looking at it. So the cleaning become a process of cleaning/clearing. Every corner. Every piece of furniture. Every flat surface. After three hours in the living room (I uncovered and simplified the structures on my computer desk as well in this time), I moved to the dining room.

At one point I could be found prying the keys out of Phil's keyboard and cleaning each key individually. For a moment in time I became worried that I was nesting and I am far too early in this pregnancy to have pre-labor nesting. But I think it is more likely the one cup of coffee I indulged in that a.m. that got my butt going.

After my bedroom, and the day going quickly into evening, I petered out. Phil worked on the kitchen today whereas the boys took care of the hallway bath yesterday.

It was like spring cleaning in one day. And then today I awoke (early, Phil snoring, my spine hurting, I just decided to get up) to a nice, calm, house that had decorative elements (for the most part) that flowed into one another to provide a sense of "haven."

I ventured into the land of web and decided I'd solve my computer issues today as well. And that I did. I will send that out in another post for those of us dealing with Dell Laptop video/screen issues.

But now that my 'puter isn't crashing every hour, I had time to surf. And this is the result: I like A Gracious Home. It is right up my alley right now. Raised Catholic I appreciate the Christian lean to her blog as well as her simple joy in the stuff that truly matters. Her outlook is clear and uplifting.

And based on one of her links, I eventually found this idea of 101 things in 1001 days. It is a goal-planning thing. I'm not posting my list because some of the stuff is of a personal nature that I don't wish to broadcast on the 'net but I will give everyone the link to original site: Day Zero

I hope to make some template changes to this blog as well.

Happy New Year's everybody!

Finally!

2007-12-02T11:55:00.000-08:00

So they are a bit pale. It was late at night and they were against a dark background. At any rate, I finished a project and that is exciting stuff. The pink one looks angry. I just think she doesn't like having her picture taken. I'll name her "Abigail" but since she is Bella Boo's, that name is subject to change. She really isn't angry. I'm looking at her right now and she has a big smile on her face.

The blue one is mine. I made him first. He doesn't have a name as of yet.

These are true-blue Waldorf dolls...everything all-natural. That is: Stuffed with wool, made with all cotton fabric. Aside from their ribbons, which are removable.

I'm just pleased as punch to have made something. I feel whole again.

Getting back on the creative edge....

2007-11-24T21:53:00.000-08:00

Except, my skill level is in the dumps. Of course, I'm nearly five months pregnant with #5 and have spent the whole day shopping and then organizing patterns and my sewing area before I tried to sew. This pregnancy has left me so tired.

I scored some good fabrics at JoAnn's today. I also decided to try my hand at making a cigar box purse. We'll see how that turns out.

Still gathering baby clothes. I'm never getting rid of anything else again.

I became an auntie again on 11/22 when my new little niece, Laura, was born in Texas to my eldest sister Denise. Here's her cutie pic:

Doll face! Too darned cute. I wish I could hold her. As I type this, my little guy is kicking me hard.

I hope to be able to post some half-way decent stuffies in the next couple days. I'm just glad to be out of that depressive slump that had me vegging on the couch, doing nothing but watching TV. I wasn't even reading...I'm still not really reading.

Procrastination

2007-09-01T17:08:00.000-07:00

What I *should* be doing right now is forming my final project for a class that I am pulling a 69% in. Nausea and family upset distracted me. I would think that it distracted me equally from both of the classes I am taking, yet I have a 96% in the other class, Fundamentals of Grammar and Editing. As it turns out, I love editing. To be more precise, I love editing OTHER'S writing. I personally don't believe in editing myself. Ever. Which is probably why I currently have a 69% in Ethics.

Don't let that fool you. I can be quite ethical. But it is hard, excruciatingly hard, for me to remain unbiased. I have my opinions and I believe them to be right. Otherwise, they wouldn't be (duh) my opinions. This type of attitude didn't bode well for me in a class where we had to come up with a group consensus weekly. I don't really like working with others because most people bug me. It's nothing personal. They are just idiots. And it bugs me further that I am in school with others who really need a refresher course in high school and don't have any business trying to form an essay at the college level. Again, not the attitude that my professor was looking for in his students. To his credit, though, he did a lot of fun class videos where he got people to act out the ethical dilemmas and he also made up crosswords and other word games to use in learning the current week's terminology. Great guy.

So, last I left off about my pregnancy is that I was nauseated 24/7. This remained to be true for a couple weeks, in which each day got progressively worse until I finally had to carry a bucket or bag with me everywhere I went because I was continually vomiting. I whined to my doctor at my first prenatal appointment, telling her that with each pregnancy I get worse nausea. She gave me suppositories. Groan if you must, but if sticking a waxy bullet where the sun doesn't shine (until now, of course) keeps me from hyperemesis (spelling?), I'll take it. I mean, you can see my dilemma: Continually barf out the mouth or stick a plug in the butt...which would you take?

So I can eat now. Which is good. I'm much less likely to kill people if my blood sugar levels are normal. I was beginning to think that I was going to be alright, until this damn heat wave came along. I can't handle the heat.

There is one huge reason I left Sacramento and that is the heat. And the fact that we lived in the ghetto. But I could have hung in the ghetto far longer if it was snowing or raining all the time. It was truly the 100+ degree heat that sent me whining far from South Sac. So I can't be for sure that I am no longer homicidal. Sure, I can eat, but it is so damned hot I still feel like running pedestrians over. Rude of them to make me slow down when I am trying to keep the wind tunnel effect going in the van. Plus, the wind noise drowns out the kids arguing with each other about the Nintendo DS, Nintendo Game Boy, the Playstation Portable and the current presidential candidates. All nonsense if you ask me.

I find it funny that anytime I am sick I play this game with myself. I always say, "Jennifer, if you can ever eat again without feeling sick to your stomach, be grateful. Never take it for granted ever again." This game started during my strep throat years (circa 1987-1992) in which I would replace "eat again" with "swallow without pain." I swore that for each day I could swallow without it feeling like I was swizzeling razor blades I would be eternally grateful. Down on my knees praising God and Jesus and all the healing saints in the world for the ability to...ahhh...swallow. Everyday. I think the gratitude lasted five minutes after the antibiotics kicked in.

So I keep saying to myself now, "Jennifer, when you are no longer pregnant, feel grateful for having a somewhat normal body with somewhat normal body functions." Wait...who am I kidding? I'm always pregnant.

Thera-blog, hormonal rage directed straight at my sisters...

2007-08-30T10:33:00.000-07:00

I hate to come off as a vindictive bitch, but when you can not say what you want to say to the people in your life, such as your sisters, because doing so will put your beloved parents in the middle, yet you still need to get it off your chest---blogging is very therapeutic.

I'm done with my sisters and here's why:
1-Oldest sister has a secret. Didn't want anyone told. So of course, naturally, who'd she confide in? The Town Crier-Middle Sister.

2-Middle sister, who told your's truly about oldest sister's secret and then ASKED me to tell parents now using me as a scapegoat to oldest sister. "Jenny KNEW that you didn't want that secret told to anyone." P.S. I'm not "Jenny" anymore. The only people able to call me Jenny are Mom, Dad and Grandma. Maybe Aunt Donna. But that's it.

3-As a nice little zinger, oldest and middle sisters both have not inquired about my pregnancy. No, "How you feeling? What's up?"

Both of them have these LIFE DRAMAS that they think are not only so important, but also highly top secret. Listen, who the eff cares?

And since they are so wrapped up in their b.s. they do not read this blog. Works for me. Although I wouldn't have cared if they did.

Knocked up and unemployed

2007-08-21T12:51:00.000-07:00

Yup. That's right. Because I can't *not* get pregnant. And apparently hubby's vas deferens can't help but re-connect or whatever they did to open up the sperm expressway.

At any rate, I am not working, mostly because it isn't the healthiest atmosphere to work in while pregnant.

I'm so nauseated it is unbelievable and I am seriously considering getting my tubes tied after this one is born.

I ate chinese food the other night and it was an exercise in mind-over-stomach. I had to force myself to eat chow mein. In fact, last night I had to force myself to eat chicken noodle soup. That's bad. My gag reflex is at attention and the only thing that sounds somewhat okay is beef rice. From Happi House. Except they closed their Fremont location and I'm in no mood to drive to Milpitas. It's just toooooo faaarrrr.

I have today, and only today, to get a week's worth of schoolwork in. I slacked off. See, it's kinda hard to read about grammar and editing when half of your waking moments are spent hunched over a toilet or a bucket, and the other half is spent sitting very, very still as to keep from having to visit the toilet or bucket.

You'd think that by the fifth child you wouldn't be so nauseated. You'd think....that your body would have this process down pat. That you'd wake up pregnant and glide right through the nine months to have an easy and fast childbirth. You'd think. I mean, there should be some sort of "Birth four, get the fifth one free" plan. But there is no such plan and my body makes that painfully known each minute of each hour of each day.

And....trying to find a job is really hard right now too. I can't imagine sitting through an interview and not gagging.

So, as to be expected, if I'm not working, I'm now a stay-at-home mom again. I forgot had much this occupation can drive someone to the brink of insanity each and every day. They.don't.leave.you.alone. Ever. It isn't that they don't occupy themselves with playing, but that they feel you must be briefed on each and every development as it occurs.

It's like CNN, except more annoying: Dylan was bending a spoon. Dylan was bending a spoon using his mind like Criss Angel Mindfreak. Dylan was so amazed that the spoon bent the other way than he was intending. Dylan needed mommy to validate that the spoon had bent an 1/8-inch. Oh wait...breaking news! Skyler just stole the spoon from Dylan and bent it in half using his.....hands! Dylan has been foiled! Dylan must seek revenge on his smart ass brother. Meanwhile Lucas needs mom to see how his Spiderman toy has magnets and can stick to the file cabinet. And look, Lucas has trained Spiderman how to do forward flips. And wait, don't stop looking now, he can do *back* flips as well. And Cassidy is prancing around like a ballerina and swooping in for a kiss and hug approximately.....hold on....every five seconds.

School starts tomorrow. It's me and the ballerina girl for the bulk of the day.

Not a teacher...more like a zookeeper.

2007-07-31T21:20:00.000-07:00

So in last night's post that I had to publish tonight, we've established that I'm not a kid person and that, in general, any kid story you might tell me that you think is cute or funny or whatever...I'm going to think is lame. In a way, it isn't so much kids that bug me but the adults who interpret the kids actions or condone them that really gets on my nerves.

And therein lies the kicker: I would like kids if I liked their parents. But when the kids are the offspring of stupidity incarnate and act like even more immature versions of their parents, I'm driven to the brink. And it's anything but funny or cute.

There are a few kids that I don't mind hearing stories about:
-My own, but I'm biased because I am usually the one telling the stories
-My older sister's Sherry's kids
-My bestest friend Audrey's daughter
-My old supervisor's grandson

And that's about it. I would like to hear more stories about my older sister Denise's kids but at this time that isn't feasible.

And I don't like Supernanny. Sure, she's freakin' perfect and the kids will listen to her marginally while she's there. Ever notice that there is never a follow-up a year later with any of these families to showcase how their life has changed for the positive since the Supernanny experience?

Shows like Supernanny and Nanny 911 always show the overwhelmed, often irritable parents and their fruitless attempts at discipline by spanking, yelling, etc while the "Nanny" looks at the camera in disgust. What we need, folks, what-we-the parents-that-are-overwhelmed-and-at-our-breaking-point-need most is a Nanny for *us.* Not someone who is going to come in and cluck her tongue in disapproval. Most of all, we need good prescription sedatives. But alas, that's a another post.

I'm obviously on a PMS tirade right now. I'm trying to insert humor. But for years now I've watched the commercials that show the parents having tea parties with their kids, or the mom playing dress-up with her kids, etc. And the thing is, they look THRILLED to death to be doing it. I've had to reconcile a lot a guilt over the fact that I would rather sever my own limb, in a desert, alone, with a spork- than play dress-up or tea party with my kids. I've tried playing with them and they've asked me to leave because my monster truck isn't supposed to fire back witty retorts at their monster truck. Or my Barbie was too sarcastic.

I still do stuff with them, mostly under the clever guise of chores. But I can't hang in the Mattel/Sega/Tonka club.

And that leads me to the next subject: Disneyland. That is the least happiest place in the world. The only thing about Disneyland that I actually enjoyed was watching Dylan, then 1-year-old, ohh and coo over the night parade and fireworks. But we can do that at home with some gun powder. It was in Disneyland that I learned how many circuits I had in my brain and at what rapid speed they can blow. I'm surprised I wasn't wheeled out of that place, drooling on myself and rocking back and forth.

Left to my own devices, the happiest place on earth for me is the left corner of my couch with me firmly planted on it, coffee within arm's reach and good book in hand.

The only problem? My children view me on the leftside of the couch like I view Disneyland: They don't want to go there, they want it over with as soon as possible, and they will go nuts if I persist.

Power Out

2007-07-31T19:33:00.000-07:00

It is 11:11 p.m. at night. I have waited patiently for the power to be restored for nearly two hours now. I am not a happy camper. I was knee-deep in the show, “Sixteen Kids and Moving” on TLC about Jim Bob and Michelle Duggar when the power cut-out abruptly. I was disappointed. Because I do so love Jim Bob and Michelle. If anyone should have 16 kids it’s these folks. I am so sick of the trash-talking I’ve heard about them. Everyone wants to talk about how they are crazy or too religious. I say, “Who the eff cares?” They have this big-family stuff down to an art form and those of us who only have a ¼ of the kids they do (me), can learn a lot from them. And that’s just what Phil-Richard and Jen-Dawn (us) were trying to do. But PG&E screwed our gig all up.

The thing I love best about Michelle is that she is real. She’s Christian but not preachy. She never makes a mention (that I’ve heard) about why the girls only wear dresses and skirts. I just noticed that tonight and wouldn’t have if not for an informative viewing of Wife Swap in which the conservative Christian parents wouldn’t let their daughters wear pants and made sure all of America (or those who were watching) knew why.

Michelle is a real kid-oriented type of person (well, duh, she has 16 of them). I always wanted to be a kid-oriented person. But frankly, most days I am not even sure I like my own kids, and I sure as shit am not interested in anyone else’s. I’m sorry. I’m more of a cat-dog-koala bear-alpaca-monkey person. But little kids do annoying shit and then their adults say, “Oh isn’t that cute?” Well, now that you ask, NO it isn’t cute. Being a shithead isn’t cute. Being a brat is 180 from cute. Which is why my children have a huge burden to carry.

Skyler, who has the good taste to follow in the steps of mom’s dry wit, is honestly critiqued if his joke is lame. I will tell him, “Um, that wasn’t as funny as you thought. Try again.” And damn if that boy can’t reduce me to tears of laughter on his next try.

So really, the only kids I want to know anything about are my own. And I kinda have to listen to that crap. It’s, like, a job requirement.

Wake-up call...

2007-07-18T21:08:00.000-07:00

Wow. I so need to pull my head out of my ass. In fact, I AM pulling my head out of my ass. It never fails, Dad Gone Mad makes me want to be a better blogger. I have like, 18 months worth of reading to do to catch up, but that's a good thing.

I have to mention that Kaiser, to whom I owe many happy days spent high on prescription drugs, gave me three pills yesterday as a refill for one of my other miracle pills.* Three. That's all they had. I thought the pharmacy clerk/chick with the register was screwing with me. Like I was getting prescription punk'd. But no, she was all, "Uh, we only had three, so you'll have to come back on Thursday for the other....ummm....ohhhhhh, 147 pills." Ya think? Good Lord, it's good I keep a stockpile at home or I would fallen into a Jenny-heap on the floor. And seriously, I mean, sigh, three? I mean, they owe me 150 pills. 150. One-fifty. One-fiddy. And I have three. Eins, zwei, drei. Do I have to even say that they should have like, held the three they had and just given me the 150 in full on Thursday? Sorta stupid huh? They totally should comp me some Vicodin for being so patient. Like awesome prescription drug rewards for good behavior. I totally get why us laypeople are referred to as "Patients" now.

*Miracle Pill-Any pill that alters my mind from it's normally shinky** state and puts me back into my rightful place as happy-go-lucky driver of my life.

**Shinky-Refer to A Handbook for Constructive Living by David K. Reynolds, Ph.D, pg. 6

Addictions, Update, Life, Et Al.

2007-07-18T18:41:00.000-07:00

I am not ashamed to admit that my most recent addiction is Eve Magazine. What I love most? The free stuff. The magazine is good, but the adverts are of course, all for British companies and stuff. Good magazine, but their free crap is probably what keeps me coming back. I got a Billy Bag I've been using as my to-and-from work tote awhile ago. And this month I got a Principles tote bag which is too cute.

Onto other news, I am pretty sure that I am completely looped. I've said it a few times today, but again, because I am clearly losing my mind, I am repeating myself:

I think I'm approximately one step behind those women who runaway and drop off the face of the planet.

You know the type...the women who stop their car on some rural road and start walking and are never found again. Or they are found but are now part of the reservation unto which they stumbled.

Yeah, I'm, like, one crisis away from being that type of woman. The thing is, there's no rural Indian Reservations close to me. I mean, I could go to the Casino Reservations, but how is that running away?

In all seriousness, I do think a weekend getaway is strongly in order. I really...really...really need to getaway from all of this drama. My inner urge, my instinct right now is to drop off the radar. To just go away. To think about what I've done, why, and the now-whats and to see if this type of living...this automatic stuff of everyday life needs some tweaking. I know the answer to that, it does need tweaking, I just need to figure out exactly how and to what extent.

But otherwise I will be just another busy figure....get up, get coffee, go to work, come home, have coffee, go to sleep. The monotomy is driving me insane! And yet, on the other end of the spectrum I have drama thrown in at each stopping point, that is, at home and at work. And I'm getting to that point where I am feeling like, "Man...I don't know if I like you people anymore." And that is probably a normal enough emotion...but to feel it at both home and at work, that's some strong stuff right there.

The song for the past few days is: Rearranged by Limp Bizkit.

Weak and starving for mercy....

2007-07-14T17:38:00.000-07:00

Yeah, so I bit my title from the Sarah McLachlan song I included as a link in the post before this one.

Another line that keeps coming to mind today is: Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they aren't really after you.

Okay, now, before you think I am fully immersing myself into the land of delusion, let me state that after receiving hang-up calls earlier this week, my driveway was egg'd last night. So I'm investing in a night watch dog. A mean one. That lives in my front yard and will attack at the sight of any mean, unsavory types.

And really, once again, it brings to mind a song, as usual: Break Stuff by Limp Bizkit.

And you know what....that broken egg in my driveway...it's kinda nice, like modern art.

This time next year....

2007-07-10T19:20:00.000-07:00

I'm hanging out in bed all month long. It is not a good month

for me professionally. Well, not exactly, I did get my job two

years ago in July. But last July? Not so good. This July? Not

much better. I don't know what my deal is with boundaries. I

think they should come with warning lights and a siren so as

you near one you know immediately and can back off. I guess

the warning is my gut instinct, but at any rate, I ignored it

and thusly, find myself proclaiming just how stupid I am once

again.

In fact, as with most times during my life, I have a song that

fits this mood near perfectly. The stong is "Stupid" by Sarah McLachlan. It was on repeat play on the way home from work

today, as was "My Immortal" by Evanescence. I was depressed.

I still am. And if you'd like to be depressed too, or are just

curious, feel free to click the links to read the lyrics.

But I'll pop out the other end. I always do. My Dad likens me

to that Rubbertree Plant song. I think it has something to do

with ants. I don't know if this is the right version or if this

one is. Dad....um, if you are out there in cyberland can you

confirm this for me?

The thing is, I don't know if I'll pop out the other end and still

be in the same place I am now. I may find that through the

process, it will lead me somewhere else. And that, although

it might be very well what I need, sends a bit of anxiety

through me.

I half-jokingly, half-quite seriously said recently that I am

going to go find Jesus. It isn't that I'm going to go run off to

the convent and become a nun (ummmm....you do know

what "nun" really stands for right? No? Well it sounds a lot

like, "NONE" and that is NONE FUN for me) or that I am going

to sign up for the 700 club, because I'm pretty sure one won't

find Jesus with conservative Christians. Shocking? No.

I think I need to find Jesus my own little way. A lot of sitting

on a rock starring at the ocean (Mom, I so get this now. I'm

sorry I was such a whiny bitch to you on all those trips to

Monterey when all you wanted to do was stare at the ocean

and all I wanted to do was, like, duh, SHOP!). A lot of

writing, of which I've neglected. Perhaps I'll go visit my kin

outta state (Sherry, count this as your advance warning and

Denise, you gotta a spare bedroom right?).

I'm going to remember how dark and dreary and heartbroken I

was last night over my naivete and stupidity and that I cried

out for help (don't worry, I cried out mentally, otherwise I

would have gotten help, just of the medicated

variety....damn....why didn't I cry out loud? Totally missed

the boat on that one....) and eventually through all my heart

thrashing I came to a place of utter calmness. I would have

liked an angel. Preferably dressed in shades of calming green

and a little glittery. But there was no angel. Jesus didn't sit

at the foot of my bed. I don't blame him, I don't.

The calmness segued into sleep. And when I awoke, I didn't

have Jesus sitting on my bed but I had my father standing in

the doorway asking me if I was planning on going to work. I

got ready. I felt the heaviness in my heart. And then Dad

said, "Is today the day?" And I said, "Yup, today's the day I

meet my maker."

And then he coached me calmly....act this way, say it this

way, don't say this, don't say too much, make sure there are

two people there so there is one as a witness, keep calm,

don't offer too much, try to keep your answers to "yes" or

"no." I stopped doing everything....stopped gathering the

work stuff, the cellphones and like in a trance said, "Yes" and

"Okay" to everything he was saying.

At one point I said, "Wow....I asked for help from Jesus. I

asked for help from God. I was a bit sad that an angel didn't

appear speaking calm words to me. But I still felt calm, and

then I fell asleep. And I woke up to what I had been praying

for. It's like, Jesus is answering my prayer through you." And

in his calm demeanor he said, "Maybe that's why He told me

to talk to you."

Now, groan if you must. I don't expect anyone to understand

this. And people misunderstanding the above will not

diminish it in anyway. I was in a dark, dark place last night. I

think it is one step before you decide that razors and pills are

your bestest friends and you are going to go on a special

outing with both of them. That bad.

And whereas the event that I went through was still painful

and shameful, I am still breathing. Yes, I am still breathing,

and a little deeper at that. It is over. It is done with.

Now comes the slow rebuilding, one day at a time. The

introspection onto what causes what in me. Why I do the

things I do. A lot of writing. I know the reasons why. It isn't

about knowing the reasons anymore. It's about healing the

reasons.

And I'm going to find Jesus. And I am going to be glad. And I'm

going to feel so blessed, so grateful.

And I'm going to find a way to mend the outgoing, blabbering,

sassy, witty, bold me with the calm, slow to act and slow to

speak, thinking, caring and loving me. The second side that

most people don't see because I found ways to protect my

sensitivity with sarcasm and humor. I'll find a way to mend

both sides.

Really, I'm just a torn quilt right now. All my patches coming

apart, some divided. But it's nothing that a steady hand

holding a needle and thread can't heal with a little time and

patience.

And most of all, I'm going to remember that God oftens acts

through people. And perhaps, just maybe, my calling is to be

one of those people God can work through to help others.

Well yes, I know this for sure. I need to help people who can't

help themselves, it has been a driving desire for a few years

now, since the time I needed people to help me because I

had reached my own limits of resourcefulness and life had me

up against a brick wall. And I swore that if ever I could help

people who were slammed against that brick wall of life, I

would.

Stay tuned......

On the fence about opting-out....

2007-03-13T22:49:00.000-07:00

Technology: Great.
New Technology Every Six Months that Makes your current version of Technology Obsolete in 18 Months to a Year?: Frustrating.

First there was Blue Tooth (which my phone-a great phone by its own right-is not capable of handling) now there is Blue Ray. What's next? Blue Chin? Blue Aura? Blue Laser? Blue Beam?

Or...how about Blue Toe? That one is *so* mine. Listen technology big-wigs, I hereby decree that Blue Toe is mine. I am trademarking/copyrighting/patenting/whatever else "Blue Toe" in the public domain. It's mine. I don't know what I'm going to do with it yet but it does seem reasonably cute. BLUE TOE = Smudgebaby's Creative Baby. Hold on, what about "Blue Baby?" Eeek, bad visual....somehow I don't think that one is marketable.

I am a little bit frustrated 'cause hubby and I had a rockin' collection of movies. On VHS. Now we are used to DVDs which makes us techie snobs. This VHS collection is now a collection of dust. That's my excuse for haven't yet watching (and participating in) the Windsor Pilates VHS tapes that are stuffed in a drawer somewhere. It's because they are VHS and not DVD and hubby hasn't hooked up the VHS since...well, in quite awhile. And like technology, my body is *advancing* as well.

The VHS collection is awfully embarrasing, much like my parent's 8-track collection. Sure we've got First Knight, Disney Movies, Chick Flicks....errr, wait they are all on VHS. That won't work. So we look to see what we have on DVD.

And now there is Blue Ray. Seriously, it is mind-boggling. I haven't personally met Blue Ray but I'm sure it's smaller, faster, and because of these two qualities, inherently BETTER than DVD.

And it probably costs more. What's with that? No coincidence I'm sure. In fact, I don't think you could even find VHS movies at Target anymore. How long before I can only get stuff on Blue Ray? Does it require a new player? How long until we need a video camera to capture all those sweet home movies on Blue Ray? And how will that work for us when we are 80? Casting into the future, I'm sure this statement: "Honey, get the Blue Ray Player out and show the old home movies," will meet with the same apprehension from the younger generations as old-school slideshows do with my generation now.

Hold on....do I even care? Not really. But I do in a way--a way that says, "SLOOOOWWW DOWN...I haven't even figured out the workings of the DVD player yet." Ask hubby, he'll vouch for me since he's the one who gets a phone call each time I have to switch from the cable box to the receiver to signal that I want to use the DVD player. I may even have to change a channel too. And they call this technology? I remember when all I had to do was put the TV on Ch. 3, pop a tape in the VCR (make sure it is turned on) and ba-bam, I'm movie-watching.

But Blue Toe...that one is *so* mine.

Some new ideas....

2007-03-04T18:52:00.000-08:00

They say that the secret to happiness is finding what makes you happy on a small scale and then cramming as many of those things into your week as possible. They also say the daily practice of gratitude is key as well.

With those two things in mind, I have started a somewhat new tradition (for me). The first is themed days. And it's so new that I only have two themed days so far. The first one is Nail Polish Saturday. As a mom of four, I hardly ever get time to pamper myself. I'm happy with a shower and the daily slap-dash of make-up as I commute to work. But yesterday I went to Ulta and found some cool nailpolishes. The first one from Rimmel is Shocker (see below):

It's pretty and it dries fast. Fantastic. I also got O.P.I in Azure for Sure, a pretty blue one:

So yesterday was Nail Polish Saturdays for me. It doesn't have to be for you. What's important is that you find that one little treat that you love and make a special day for it. Do you like gourmet coffee or imported tea? Make a day for it. What about cross-stitching or quilting? Make a day for that too.

Of course, make it do-able. You can't expect to squeeze a whole quilt into one day, especially if you have young kids or work full-time outside the home (or full-time inside the home for that matter!).

Today was New Hairstyle Sunday as well as Ban All Errands Sunday. I do like to multi-task (even if it is Sunday). I didn't do so well on the Errands front...as I did have to run to Staples to buy a new printer, but I fault Canon Multipass for that. While at Ulta yesterday I purchased a headband that has little "jaws" clips on top of the band part. It is so you can do those twisty things with your hair. Okay, this written description doesn't do it justice so here is a pic:

It's fun, it's fast, it looks great. Which is better than I can say about the past two days I tried putting platinum blonde streaks in my dark brown hair.

The second part of the Happiness Prescription (as I see it) is Daily Gratitude. I had a gratitude journal once and it worked....for awhile. So I changed formats. I bought an index card box and decorated it with metallic permanent markers. I like to think of gratitude as a one-word description of, "Happiness is...." This means I can say, "Buying cute pants at TJ Maxx" or "eating yummy pudding" as well as, "raising my four beautiful children and experiencing their zest for life." Each night I write the date on the top of one pretty-colored index card and then list those things that mean happiness to me and for which, by default I am grateful for.

It's a fun process and a bit more creative than a stuffy 'ol journal. I believe there is a time and place for journals but sometimes you need to get a bit more creative. Of course, you could always have a vivid, visual gratitude journal done in pictures. But I think that most of us would plotz at the thought of a creative project right before bed.

:o)

Take the Good With the Bad....

2007-02-21T00:00:00.000-08:00

I got this *cute* little number from TJ Maxx tonight when I decided to visit on a whim. And there it be. My very first Dooney and Bourke. Yum!

And then hubby Phil, brought this home from our mailbox:

So getting stuck behind an undecisive driver in the City of Fremont when the light turns red equals $361. Yikes. No problem. Anyway, I love how the top of the letter that came with my pictures (damn red light cameras took the worst picture of me) says, "Red Means Stop." Actually red means, "Oh fuck." If you are in Fremont.

I don't know what you do on Sundays....

2007-01-28T16:43:00.000-08:00

But I make weird art. Mostly based on my life. This came about because I was organizing my receipts and I noticed just how many Starbucks receipts I have from 11/15 to present. A lot. And then I thought, "I could totally wallpaper my bathroom with these." And then I remembered the unused foam posterboard I was just about to recycle, and the rest was history.

So it's 46 receipts, bearing in mind that for some time periods I had gift cards so I didn't hold onto the receipts. I only keep the receipts that I use my debit card on. Which I blacked out on each receipt. Okay, so added to the total I spent for that month out of my checking account is the $65 I received in gift cards over the holidays. The whooping grand total is $336.56!

It's titled, "Make It At Home" and should probably be hung by my side of the bed, in direct line of sight so that I see it as soon as I open my eyes.

Here's a close-up of the center:

And here's one of the total:

Dear Doctor(s) at Kaiser,

2006-12-20T16:46:00.000-08:00

Diagnosis: Bilateral Ankle Tendonitis

So I was told I would be receiving:
1-A visit to Podiatry
2-Treatment at Physical Therapy
3-Ankle braces

Now...when I thought about ankle braces I thought of something black, spandex-y and trim, yet strong. I was somewhat okay about this:

But then you went and got me this, notice how it extends WAY past the ankle:

Can we talk about this? Especially the part in which you mentioned I had to wear *both* of these at the same time. Not easy.

I'm definitely okay with the Motrin and Vicodin you prescribed earlier. And really I just wanted some time off work. Instead you gave me these hideous shoes. I can't even bring myself to include the photo of the post-operative shoe you put me in to use with the splint because my "cute" shoes were unable to accommodate it(the white appartus). I left your facility last night in tears--I came for help and you put me in ugly shoes. That's cruelty.

It's enough to make me want to take more Vicodin. How else am I going to cope?

Be Happy. Now. 12/15/06

2006-12-15T22:12:00.000-08:00

Be Happy. Now.

Tuesday-12/12/06:
1-Dinner out at Red Lobster for the Phil's birthday.
2-Bella Boo pointing at the cartoon lobster on her kid's menu and whispering to me, "I want that!"
3-Meds from the doctor. Good meds.
4-Coffee. More Coffee.
5-Phil sharing the birthday money love.

Wednesday-12/13/06:
1-Taking good meds.
2-Sleep.
3-Sympathy from others.
4-Seeing kids and Phil at lunch.
5-Smoking with Dave at break time.

Thursday-12/14/06:
1-Coffee
2-Short day at work
3-Sleep.
4-Starting my newest project: http://authenticwealthexperiment.blogspot.com
5- Solid sleep. Good dinner.

Friday-12/15/06
1-Coffee.
2-A Slow Day At Work = Time to Catch Up on School Work
3-Seeing the kiddos and Phil at lunch.
4-Ankle tendonitis getting a bit better.
5-Napping on couch and kids not bothering me.

My Project: Be Happy. Now. 12/11/06

2006-12-11T23:50:00.000-08:00

Be Happy. Now.
1-Bella Boo singing "Dinkle, dinkle wittle star."
2-Funny morning show
3-Rockin' parking spots at Starbucks (both times today) and at Barnes and Noble
4-New coffee drink. Yum. Made special upon request.
5-New York Times---need I say more?

Today is my birthday!

2006-12-05T13:39:00.000-08:00

Nearly every year I forget to check the horoscope that says, "If today is your birthday..." Well, this year I checked it online. I got a handful printed out and I figured this would be a good experiment to see who is a genius in astrology and could stand for a bit more practice.

Here they are:

1) From Holiday Mathis at Delaware Online:
If today is your birthday: It's a year of revelations. You're trusted with information and taught skills that will allow you to excel. A transportation upgrade comes this month. Stop resisting love, and let yourself be take care of in January. Cancer and Libra people adore you.

2) From Kim Allen Daily at LovePsychic.Com
Happy Birthday Sagittarius: You couldn't receive a better birthday gift than having Jupiter, the planet of wealth, prosperity and luck enter your sign on Thanksgiving Day! Take this as an indication of massive good fortune! With Saturn already acting as a helper with your career issues and getting you job rewards. Now, comes Jupiter bearing all sorts of wonderful surprises and the biggest will be the urge to expand! [ed. note: define "expand" please] Jupiter is the icing on the cake! Oh boy! Expect to expand your mind and spirit! [ed. note: Oh..much better...I can handle my mind and spirit expanding.] The need to better yourself through education is strong. You will also seek a closer relationship with your inner self and the One Most High [ed. note: I'm guessing she means God, as I've got a lot of friendships with those who could be deemed "most high."] Pluto the planet of transformation is there to make sure you remember the things you've learned about yourself over the past nine years. [ed. note: how weird is is that she just picked "9 years" out of the air like that? I didn't put in my birth year. I'm 29 today and I've learned *a lot* in the last 9 years!] Any blessings you obtain now will be met with maturity and appreciation! [ed. note: That's an affirmative!] Love is a given! You'll meet so many new people you won't know what to do! Pace yourself and have a great time!

3) From Courant.com, Sydney Omarr Horoscope:
If today is your birthday: The excitement of testing out new ideas and learning to be resourceful could be a major theme. Many cherished goals and ideas that were once paramount to your happiness get tossed between now and February. But in February, as well as June and September, you can successfully launch new plans or find ways to make huge improvements in the direction of your life. This might mean an exciting opportunity is offered out of the blue or a new addition to the family becomes a focal point [ed. note: He's talking about a dog or cat right?!] One thing is sure - whatever turns up in your life during those times will benefit you in some way.

4) From PsychicChat.Com:
Your Birthday Forecast - December 5 - Your spirit guide is the Eagle, which will lend yhou the authentic power to take a leap of faith and soar towards a long held dream this year. If you practice the art of moving with your intuition, a whole new level of psychic ability will emerge. To heal emotional wounds from the past, you'll have to reexamine some heavy events and get honest about your personal motives. Wear blue and indigo to enhance your intellectual understanding and gain an edge in all communications. When others make you uneasy, simply focus on what you can do to change the situation instead of avoiding or confronting them. Make your family and other loved ones your top priority to cultivate the emotional stability so essential to your sense of well-being. You'll visit a wonderful new place, and may even be tempted to move there! Your lucky months are December and September. Your lucky numbers are 6, 8, 19, 21 and 37.

5) From DailyHoroscopes.Com:
If today is your birthday: Melodramas are not necessary around you because you just let them fly right over your head. You know how to weed through the important matters and that puts you in a position of power. Lecturing and teaching may be something you might consider for future employment--full or part time. You are resourceful and can guide others as well as yourself. You are fond of wealth and tend to find ways to add to your estate. Today is one of those days of planning and searching for ways to help other as well as yourself. Allow yourself some time of relaxation. Perhaps a bookstore or library this afternoon will add to your enjoyment. You may be happily involved with friends this afternoon. Good surprises happen--HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

So there I have it. I'll see which ones were the most accurate in the days to follow and post back with the results.

Lifefull

2006-12-04T22:28:00.000-08:00

I had really believed that I coined that term...that beautiful phrase, "Lifefull." Until I Googled it and had my reality checked. How about, "Lifeful." Awww....no, probably not. Well, maybe.

I am writing a persuasive essay for my Effective Writing class and the topic I chose was Science and Happiness. In researching it, I came across two poetically useful and well, lifefull blogs.

The first one is The Happiness Project. In particular I find her Gretchen Commandments so very good. I don't hold the same commandments for myself. But I will be adding my own version to the right-hand side of the screen soon. I also like the column in which she lists the theories on happiness that she rejects. Refreshing and it helps that I hold the same opinion of those theories.

The second one is 37 Days. If it is your first visit, click on the link in the upper left hand corner, "First Time Here?" as it will explain the idea behind it.

Now, I don't choke up easily as I take two very good medications that keep me from getting down with emotions and anxiety and such. But reading--the background of her blog, the idea behind it, her process with it--made my eyes well up and my nose start to sting in anticipation of a mucus onslaught. In addition, she is a writer. A dreamweaver of words. The type of writing that takes you so fast that you don't even realize that you left reading a few exits ago and are now feeling the words. Musical. Vibrant. And as I said, lifefull.

Enjoy.
Lifefully,
Jen

Nuigurumi Kitty Craze

2006-11-24T13:10:00.000-08:00

I found this one pattern at Craftster. It's in Japanese, so along with my novice-almost-practiced knowledge of sewing softies and my nonexistent education in Japanese, I did the best I could. Thank God the illustrations were very well done.

This is the second kitten I made from that pattern. I enlarged the pattern pieces 170% so I could make "Minnie" for Pebbles/Bella Boo. She wanted this kitty so badly and she decided to name it Minnie.

But the first one I made (below) was quite the challenge. So small. Which is why I decided to enlarge the pattern on the next go around. Anyway, I've give these kitties necks, which the orignal pattern didn't call for. And they are a bit elongated, so my third kitty will be decidely more pudgey and round, with no neck.
Practice, practice.

Wabi Sabi---The Stuffed Kitty Version

2006-11-20T23:53:00.000-08:00

This is the kitty I've made, Wabi-Sabi

Here's a side-long view:

He is pink, and he is still a "he." He is neither perfect, nor finished, nor permanent. I'm well aware that he isn't as good looking as the other kitties that have been made from his pattern. I'm trying to be okay with that.

The pattern can be found at Wee Wonderfuls. Just go to the Freebies link on the left-hand side and you'll see a pattern for "Pointy Kitty."

Wabi Sabi

2006-11-05T13:34:00.000-08:00

I've been, for lack of a better term, "called" to Wabi-Sabi lately. And as I've researched it more and more I find that myself saying, "YES! YES!" Although....because I am of extremes,(i.e. I love it or I hate it because I simply don't have room in my life for lukewarm feelings) I have to say that there is a time and a place to strive for perfection, as long as we know that it is unattainable. Yes, I'm sorry to break the news to those who still think perfect is possible.

See, that's the deal with being human...perfection is not possible. Just not. Not, I tell you. But it is possible to practice something into near perfection. I don't believe in practice makes perfect. I do believe in practice makes better and better. But when is "better" good enough? At what point do we put down the novel we are writing, the picture we are painting or the room we are decorating and say, "Close enough?" And how can we accept "close enough?"

I know that being drawn to Wabi-Sabi is an action of my own creative core who is sick of being stifled by my inner perfectionist. Reading about Wabi-Sabi makes me want to write (well, at least I'm blogging), paint, draw, stitch and well, CREATE something and stop giving such a monolithic shit about how it turns out.

As I study it more and more I can almost hear my more creative side saying, "See, so shut up inner critic, shut up inner critic, shut up inner Martha." <--Oops...did I type that out loud?

At what point though, can we be satisfied by our efforts? I guess it is when we say, "This is the best I can do. Later I will be able to do better. But for right now, right this second, this is my own brand of perfect." And then being okay with that. As hard as this sounds, it does feel freeing.

Sass-Thoughts....Or Not

2006-09-17T19:28:00.000-07:00

Dog and Croc:
Poor, poor Dog the Bounty Hunter. Arrested. They were having a marathon of his episodes last night and it was sad to hear Beth (Dog's wife) and his younguns singing (in a previous episode), "Daddy caught the bad guy. Now the bad guy is arrested and going to jail." I think he'll come out on top though.

And this coupled with the Crocodile Hunter passing away makes it seem like it is just a bad time for people with the last name "Hunter."

Next up: Cell phones
I'm discovering that I know the equivalent of nothing in the way of cell phones. I was enamored with the BlackBerry. I couldn't believe that I could have a phone that would do the work of two of my trusty items (cell phone and Palm Zire). Then I saw the Palm Treo phones and I was really ready to jump the budget ship.

I then discover that my own 'lil cell phone can do what I need already. And I feel like an idiot. But I push my own embarrassment aside and go look for the magic data sync cord that will allow me to sync my phone with my computer. This cord is all but extinct.

My family and I have coined the experience of attacking a subject or interest with zeal, "a hair up the ass." And I had a hair up my ass to find this cord. And I tried so many, many places no luck. And I say to myself, "Alright, I'm just going to upgrade my phone." I go to TMobile and they are showing me all the phones I can upgrade to. I settle on the Razr which can also sync up. And the TMobile guy (who knows my story) says, "Yes, yes, this one can sync up with your computer and there is a cord for it. But we don't carry that cord here." Okay...so how is this going to help me?

On to: Signage
I always love, love, love a stupid sign. Nothing is better to break up the boredom of street driving than a stupid sign. Now, we are all aware of the many different real estate signs. There's all kinds: For Sale, For Sale/Sale Pending, For Sale/Price Reduced!, and For Sale by Owner. Presumably, the owner or the owner's next of kin, are always involved in the selling of their home. But yesterday when I was in hot-cord-pursuit I passed a sign that struck me, at first as being worded odd, then secondly as hilarious.

The sign said, "For Sale With Owner." Um, duh. Who else would be selling it with the real estate broker? Or wait...maybe it is a niche market I know nothing about. Maybe it is sincerely, "For Sale With Owner." Maybe the owner comes with the house. What an interesting concept! Maybe some homeowner said, "Forget this mortgage crap, I'm selling my house and myself. " Can you imagine? "Here's the deal, you buy the house and *me* and I'll continue to live there and care for the place!"

Due to this litigious society, I suggest they change the wording. Otherwise someone who is in the market for both a house and a owner might sue for false advertising.

Lastly: The Meds Must be Working
Because I took not only my four children (aged 10 and under) but my eldest son's friend to Newark Days today. It's basically the city's yearly celebration with crafts and vendor stands, food, rides and games. I did this by myself. I have no idea why I felt compelled to make the parent to child ratio 1:5, but I did it. And it actually went off well.

My children who aren't used to me wanting to do anything that requires too much effort, and especially if I'm by myself were in awe. Perhaps that's why it went off without too much chaos.

This may work. Keep their standards low by saying "no" to 99.9% of recreation requests(Incidentally, this will also eliminate alot of the guilt I feel when I say no as well). When I do finally say "yes" to one of their demands they will be dumbstruck.

I'll name my new plan: Operation Disappoint, Shock and Amaze.

5 years later....

2006-09-11T06:57:00.000-07:00

{Ed. Note: In my haste to write this post, I ignored simple math and originally titled this, "6 years later." 2006-2001=5 years. Ugh, mornings and math simply don't mix.}

I can't pay a tribute that does justice to horrific events of 9/11. I just can't. I was 3 months pregnant with Lucas (aka "Clyde") at the time and I watched entirely too much of CNN. I was overcome with grief as was most of America and I was scared for my then 5-year-old and 2-year-old sons and the baby I was going to be welcoming in six months. I remember calling my 5-year-old son's school and asking if I was still supposed to bring him to school. They told me "yes" and I felt that doing so was crazy. But I did it. And all day long I worried and worried. Shoot, "worry" doesn't even begin to touch on what I felt.

It's six years later and I would have thought we would have found the man behind all this by now. But we haven't. Threats are still coming in and our security is heightened. As well as our anxiety level. This new life of increasing security measures almost feels normal to us now. And we still have troops in Iraq.

So while we grieve for our collective loss and remember 9/11/01 today, let's also say a prayer, a real, heartfelt one, for the troops in Iraq and the ones who have returned. We may not agree with the politics behind it, but we can agree that we all want them to come home safe and sound.

Because I can't do a tribute justice, as much as I would love to be able to, I refer you to my favorite blogger, Trent. His tribute is thorough and endearing and includes all the names of the people who were victims of the events that day.

Writing: RAQ's

2006-09-10T19:36:00.000-07:00

Rarely Asked Questions that Promote Shameless Self-Plugging-Ques. 1

What was Smudge doing back in 2000-2002?

Once upon a time (i.e. 2000-2002) I wrote...and when I wrote, I was paid for it. Not a lot of money, but I could claim the title I always coveted---Paid Writer.

It was little how-to craft pieces and some deep, inspirational pieces (Shut up, I thought so!). Some were in print (YIPPEEEE!!!!) and some were for websites (yippee!). And then I had Clyde and two years later I had Bonnie (aka "Pebbles," "Bella Boo" and various other nicknames). That's kept me busy. And I started blogging mainly to just start writing again.

However, I decided to take a walk down memory lane and see if I could find some of my online articles in some dusty, forgotten corner of the WWW's attic. And I did! It took me about two or three pages into each respective Google search, but find them I did.

If you're having a boring moment and would love to read my stuff (okay, "barely like" to read my stuff) I invite you to take a gander at the following links:

~ How-To Craft Pieces~
Making Self-Care Boxes
Decoupage Keepsake Box
Flower Power-Pressing Flowers

~One Surviving Article that Isn't About Crafts~
Perfect Mother Syndrome-The Other PMS

Okay...so I'm not sure but I totally think I coined the above title. Doing a Google search for it tells me others have caught on. There's even bumper stickers that say it now. I so could have had some dough from that. Chances are though, that I wasn't the person who coined the term. But from here on out, I'm copyrighting everything because I'm both egocentric and obsessive-compulsive.

I had some other articles that I just purely loved but alas, they are in print and I can't find a link to them, try as I might (and boy I tried, read "egocentric" above).

Ta-ta

Sass: The Bitching Hour

2006-09-10T13:15:00.000-07:00

My neighbors in the townhouses across from us, specifically the second one down (or third one down, depending on where you are standing) are blaring....of all things....Michael Bolton. Old school dental office music. I can't even go smoke on my balcony without my ears taking it in and relaying the message to my oversensitive brain that it is time for Captain Hook to work her magic on my gums.

Not okay.

I used to feel bad smoking on my porch. Polluting other people's air makes me feel bad and guilty. Feeling bad and guilty, ironically, triggers a nicotine attack.

But if I have to listen to their crap music, which I feel pollutes my ears, they can smell my smoke and I'd say it's about even.

Speaking of neighbors, there is a big blond chick in the townhouses as well. Not at the Michael Bolton one, the one next door to them. She's way loud. Incredibly loud. Especially when she yells at her man. Which happens at least three times a week, if not more.

She really, really hates him. Really. And she decides that she hates them about the same time every night, which I've termed the "The Bitching Hour." Somewhere between 11:00 p.m. and midnight she decides it's time for him to feel her pain. She screams at him telling him just how bad of an asshole he is. And all I can think is, "Then kick his sorry ass out then." Really now, how hard can that be? If he truly sucks that bad I'd think the solution would be simple--kick his ass out.

It couldn't be that she's afraid of hurting his feelings because her near-nightly monologues tell us all that she has no trouble being blunt.

So whatever her glitch is, I'm willing to help. I'll kick him out for her.

All she has to do is ask and I'll show him to the door, tell him to beat feet and not look back. Just 'cause I'm a good neighbor like that.

And if she chooses to not kick his ass out, I've got to say to her Bitchiness, "Get thyself to the psych posthaste!" Because her screaming and hollering has actually woke me up. And that's some hard shit to do.

Either she kicks his ass out, has me kick his ass out, or gets herself meds or I'm calling the cops because I'm completely fine with domestic disharmony--until it wakes me up.

Sassy Wifey: World of Widowhood

2006-09-08T22:59:00.000-07:00

....was what my dear Phil was almost playing an active role in tonight. Seriously, this shit has got to stop. As you may or may not know, depending on if I actually have conversed with you in real life (and if I have for at least two minutes you know one thing about me and that one thing everyone must know is that my, ahem, "man" is addicted to a online virtual game. Yes...for real.) Phil is off on Fridays. So fine, right. He plays his game all day while I work. He watches the kids too. But mostly he plays his game. Priorities.

We have this new deal. I make us lunch in the mornings and he makes dinner at night because he gets home earlier. And he so especially makes dinner on Friday nights because he's been home all day. And I get that raiding and virtual play is so hard but I'm pretty sure he can muster the energy to make some food. I mean, didn't he just earn some on his game?

So tonight I say, "What's for dinner?" And he, not hearing me, but realizing from my angry inquisitive glare that I must be addressing him, removes one headphone from the side of his head so he can hear me. (Again, for real. I couldn't make this lameness up.) So I repeat my question and he said, "Uh, don't know." Then a monster must of jumped in front of him or he was getting summoned back from the dead or, like, WHATEVER, and he put the headphone back on his ear.

Right.

Fast forward to nearly 8:00 and I'm seriously jonesing for food. I plead. I whine. In an attempt to relate to him, I morph into my favorite charachter, Queen Bitch asking, "You can't even leave that game for a minute??????" And he says the words that make me want to slap the sanity back into him, "I can't. I can't. I'm in a raid."

I thought he was going to try and feed us manna from his game or something just to silence our IRL voices.

See the thing is, well shit, there are MANY things, but the main thing is this whole confusion of priorities between REAL LIFE and well, UNREAL LIFE. I thought that I would break it down for him in this blog (which he doesn't read because I don't hand out virtual weapons or magic skills as a reward):

REAL LIFE:
People eat food.
People work.
People eat food again.
People watch their children.
Wives get divorced from their husbands due to their online gaming addictions. Just sayin.

UNREAL LIFE:
People aren't people.
People are characters.
Characters eat play food made up of pixels.
Characters don't work. They raid, pillage, cast spells, etc.
Characters don't usually have offspring because they'd probably eat them.
Characters are usually single. (Whoah....now it's starting to mirror real life.)

Epiphanies: Day Two

2006-08-28T07:16:00.000-07:00

Alright, so today is Day Two. Day Two of what? Of peeling my ass out of bed at the first alarm that goes off.

Now, those that don't know me irl might think this is no big deal. Well, I hear you out there, but I say to you....THIS IS MOST DEFINITELY A HUGE DEAL.

Now my morning wake-up plan is not for wimps. Because the first step is very hard. Here is what needs to happen to get yourself out of bed if you are sleepyhead-challenged:

1) Show up late to work (2 hours + is a good time) after you've already received verbal warning. Feel like complete shit all day. Worthless, unable to survive as a competent adult.

Have long talk with Mom on phone bemoaning every ill that has ever come your way and question the very meaning of your existence. She knows your morning routine well, knows how positively sleepdrunk you are in the morning. Wax dramatic, telling her, "Mom, I don't even want to go to sleep anymore! I'll never know if I'm going to wake up on time!" And realize sadly that this is actually very true. She advises you to find a way to pull yourself out of the sleepdrunk state each a.m. and everything else will work itself out: Kids will behave and listen to me, I'll be super-productive and get more writing done (See Mom, you were right! Blogging counts right? Right?), we'll all eat better and possibly the kids will stop wetting the bed. But that last one is doubtful.

2) Research sleep disorders. Discover hypersomnia and self-diagnose it as your issue. Because one can never, ever have too many issues. Unfortunately, there is no time in your life to complete the required sleep study.

3) Research alarm clocks. Fall in love with the drill sargeant one (no, this has *nothing* to do with my attraction to military men, no, really....well, I think it doesn't). Although the one shaped like a bowling pin (Nobby) that you have to throttle to make the alarm stop is appealing. But according to husband you can throttle someone in your sleep without even partially opening your eyes so that won't work. Momentarily consider the puzzle piece alarm clock that throws puzzle pieces in the air and you have to find them and put them back into the top of the alarm clock to get the alarm clock to stop. This won't fare well as I live in a house of juvenile kleptomaniacs and one missing piece is exactly what will send me over the edge that I take two medications to avoid going over.

4) Call Psych nurse to see if Remeron can be taken in the morning. Nope, have to take it night. He suggests taking it at dinner time. I excitedly anticipate passing out right after dinner, something I thought I'd only be able to do at age 75+.

5) Look at Spencer's Gifts, Sharper Image, Wal-Mart, Target and any other store you can think to find said Drill Sargeant clock.

6) End up going back to www.thingsyouneverknew.com to put Drill Sargeant in your shopping cart, click on 1-2 business day shipping. Realize that it is Saturday and it clearly says 1-2 BUSINESS days which jets you ahead to Tuesday. No, that won't work, you need something posthaste, and definitely by Monday a.m.

7) Go to Linens & Things. Almost purchase $45 in wall art, but no alarm clock. Put wall art back on rack, demonstrating strength of will (note to self: this asset is most needed in the a.m. as well).

8) Wander in to Circuit City, get ink cartridges. Peruse whole store. Find alarm clocks but they are decidely more bland then the ones found on the web. Although they have one thing going for them. They, unlike the others that will arrive at the earliest on Tuesday a.m., are right in front of me. This is a big factor. Walk away. Get accosted by uber-friendly sales associate, "HicanIhelpyoufindanything?!"
"Ummm...yeah...alarm clocks?"
Get escorted back to alarm clocks and say, "Oh, okay, I was right here but I overlooked these ones."
Sales Associate feels like staying. He likes the one that projects the time on the ceiling. He thinks it's cool. Um, okay. "Thank you," I tell him. He gets the hint and beats feet.

Find PRODUCTS&cm_ite=1%20PRODUCT&cm_keycode=92">IT....an old-school alarm clock with the bell-and-hammer alarm that you jokingly told husband you were going to get. He didn't want you to get it. Said the tick-tock would drive him batty. Figure it's high time you did something to drive him nuts instead of the usual situation where he does something annoying to drive you nuts.

Call Mom excitedly repeating over and over, "I found it. I found it!" Tell her it might send your husband packing and subside into virtual awe as she says the words that you need to here, "Well, the way I see it, if he isn't going to help you in the mornings he shouldn't hinder you either." Wow....so profound. Consider it for your next tattoo.

9) Wake up at 6 a.m. on Sunday. Go to Starbucks and get coffee for yourself and husband. Once again fall into a state of awe of just how quiet it is at 6 a.m. on a Sunday. Quiet. You need quiet. Go to church with kids and parents.

10) Fall asleep shortly after 10:00 p.m.

11) Repeat process.

Writing: TNT in the Kitchen

2006-08-05T16:38:00.000-07:00

Daily, I reported to the kitchen
Sometimes late,
And stressed out

I do not deny this
To you
To him
To the Head Chefs

I never claimed perfection
To you
To him
To the Head Chefs
To anyone
To myself

Each day he threw in more ingredients
The normal ones, I handled
The abnormal ones, I figured out
The flammable ones, though, sent me spinning…

Explosives in the kitchen?
And then he came towards me with a match
He said he would light it,
Getting a kick out of my fear,
This is not right….

And the scents
Were so strong
Of fear
Of hatred
Of anger

I tried to make you understand
But you never
Recognized the scents

I called a Head Chef
What do I do?
How do I sort these?
I just need help.
I just need help.
I just need help.

She did what she thought was right.
She called in an expert.

I do not blame her.

The expert,
Yes, she was eager
She had experience with him, with his explosives and she could help me

I grew uneasy,
Racing thoughts,
“This is going to blow
I know,
I do not want it to blow.”

I was told that blowing it up was the best
Way to dispose of it

Panic and fear
held my hands each day

These hands, they were idle now,
Now that the situation was taken out of them
So panic and fear filled in.

Then this expert,
She brought in more.

So many Chefs in the kitchen,
All handling the TNT
Asking me questions I did not know

They threw some of it back at me
They threw a good portion at him,
Then they threw it at you.

And then lit a match,
And questioned us while we burned.

Yes, you may never believe me,
And I am coming to accept that,
Hour by hour

You asked me if I got what I wanted,
You hoped I was happy now

I wanted help,
I got my soul ripped out.
Does it sound like I got what I wanted?

You trusted me
I trusted them

You said I was oversensitive,
That my TNT was merely
Nutmeg,
Possibly Cinnamon,
Jeez, at the very most red pepper

But you do not know,
You do not know,
Because you only got questioned on the red pepper,
Not the TNT

You told me I was the one who should have left,
And I never wanted any of this
Not his TNT, not his abuse
But again, you only know of red pepper

And when you said that,
I wanted to leave this world.

You trusted me
but
I trusted you
To know who I was,
To know I would not throw a lit bomb,
And stroll away
With a wicked grin upon my face

You may never trust me again,
Don’t worry, I am not there anymore.

It is a day later now,
Since our screaming and sobbing
At each other

And I am still not over it,
But I will be,
You put him on a pedestal.

You blamed me for the TNT.

You insinuated that I was too much,
I expected too much,
I wanted too much.

Yes, well, this is both a curse and a blessing
Of which I do not expect you to understand

But most of all,
You did not stand by me.
You assumed the worse of me
And goddammit you KNOW better
YOU KNOW ME BETTER THAN THAT

You assumed the worse of me,
In a panic to protect yourself.

I told you I was sorry
And I am
I am sorry that I stayed and fought for what was right
I am sorry that you were incapable of believing me
I am sorry that he was Class A Asshole,
To which you had undying loyalty
I am sorry I trusted you to trust me.

So now we are all burnt,
Charred,
I go back to the kitchen day in, day out
On time,
But still stressed out.

He has been kicked out
And you hate me.

And you think this is what I wanted?

You don’t know me at all.

Sass: Things that make me go "WTF?"

2006-07-09T20:41:00.000-07:00

I'm not sure if I just coined that heading or if I totally subconsciously took it from some other wise and savvy individual. Since delusion is a mostly happy place for me, I'll consider it *mine* and *mine alone.* (Shit, I'm so stealing from Colbert Report or the David Spade thing huh?)

So back to the point---things that make me go, "WTF?"

---The spiel where the flight attendant is all into her (or his---see I'm all about equality) pre-flight instructions about the oxygen mask and the seat cushion that doubles as a floatation device---does she/he not realize that she/he is attending the commuter flight...the one in which you are flying from Silicon Valley to Southern California and also the one which flies only above land? Unless we are really lucky upon our crash (and again, do we really think luck is our strong point that day, considering after all, that we are crashing?) and fall into a huge, deep lake I don't think the floatation seat cushion is a selling point for me. How about the airline springing for individual parachutes? Hmmm? That would be nice and I know it would put me at ease. 'Cause really, when I'm free-falling towards earth at an alarming rate the last thing I'm going to find helpful is the fact that the seat cushion can float.

---People who feel the need to advertise their sexual orientation on their vehicle. When I'm stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic with all of the Bay Area the last thing I need to know about my fellow commuters is what they prefer in the bedroom. Honestly, I have no bias or prejudice against others, except in the case of TMI. I am TMI-phobic. Yes, those that know me (and consequently *love* me) will be laughing as I find each and every detail of my own life not only interesting but am so generously willing to share the entertainment with anyone I deem worthy of listening--I just don't extend this courtesy to others. Mostly people I don't know. And that means random people at the mall, folks in the grocery store line and fellow commuters. Now, before you think I'm aiming this at the population who love to slather rainbow stickers all over their cars, let me just broaden your mind for a moment. I'm also looking at you Mr. 18-Wheeler-With-The-Silver-Silhouettes-of-36-24-36-Chicks. Yes....you. I'm just sayin' that one look at your lack of hygiene and own personal measurements of 38-46-38 says enough. The only 36-24-36 you are going to find is at the strip club and you're gonna be paying her quite a sum in exchange for her company. She sure as shit ain't coming to you willingly.

---Personal fountains....mostly the desktop ones. Here's why: As a mother of four, three of which are boys, the sound of running fluids is never good because one of the two scenarios are at play (if not both):
1-Someone is flooding the bathroom-or-
2-Someone is peeing in the corner.
Either way I'm screwed and fit to be tied as I don my protective gear and prepare myself to enter into the young-testerone-zone and perform hazmat-esque clean-up. So anytime I hear running water I panic, and with no surprise. Running water is not soothing, it is bad. Bad. And people who sneak those damn little water fountains indoors prey on my adrenalin system. They are causing me kidney damage....adrenal fatigue. I just don't need that kinda stress in my life. So deep breathe or something. Chant...I'm used to idle self-chatter both from my children and myself. Do something...get one of those squeeze-em stress balls. Just please....don't do the running water thing.

---People who love songs that urge you to "live like you were dying." Hmmm...listen, I get the deeper message...I do. And how could I not? Every home decor store worth their salt has decorative signs with such platitudes. I get it...savor each day, live life to the most, yada. And I agree. However, let's really look at the sentence, "Live like you were dying." Now....wouldn't that be awful? Consider all the ways you might be dying. I just don't think we should all be living in hospital beds, hooked up to IVs, breathing machines, etc. Why not say "Live life fully." Much more to the point.

---Voicemail messages that say, "I'm either on the other line or away from my desk."
Um...duh-much? Are they worried that without that disclosure everyone that calls will take it personal, thinking that in the callee's psychic-ways (or Caller ID wisdom) is deliberately shunning them? I think it's fairly obvious to less paranoid folk that Voicemail=Person Busy Right Now. All we really need is a name so we know we got the right number, a brief assurance that the callee has some plan to return calls soon and then be on your way.

---Knee shorts...or whatever those awful fashion tragedies are. They are everywhere. Like a bad, bad rash or virus. They are baggy "shorts" that are really just Capris (which, on the other hand are CUTE, CUTE, CUTE!) that the seamstress cut-off too soon. Like right after the knee. Awful.
Listen, NO ONE looks good in these things. I know Plum has her own personal hatred of skorts, which I whole-heartedly support, but I have to say that a more urgent fashion virus that needs to be erradicated is the knee shorts epidemic. And as I was telling my bestest friend Audrey tonight on the phone...the thing that gets me is they are often paired with high-heels. Really now....I mean....r.e.a.l.l.y.n.o.w. It's like, "Gee...I can't seem to really get that I-C-K look down with just the knee-shorts. Oh! I know just the thing to really make folks gag.....high heels!"

That's all for now....I'm sure tomorrow will bring more things for you and I cackle about. Until then, keep on...keeping on.....or you know, living like you were dying. :oP

Sass: Um, yeah, a few things I can do without....

2006-05-25T20:18:00.000-07:00

People who drive their cars to the very, very end of the damn merging lane just so they can get ahead, like, one car length. Does that not drive you nuts? And if you are one of these people, stop that shit! It's annoying and I can promise you that the time you save is only about 1/3 of a second. Worse than those drivers (whose licenses should be immediately revoked upon completion of sucking the merging lane completely dry) are those who will get out from their lane (perhaps behind you, three cars back--completely hypothetical) and use the merging lane as a way to get ahead...about four car lengths. Why? Why do this shit?!

I've been driving in the bay area far too long....I know.

Also, if you let your sunglases hang from your ears so that the lenses are under your chin and you do this for an extended period of time, why? It doesn't look cool. No one thinks, "Man, that guy/girl must be superfly, they use their sunglasses as a chin sling." No one thinks this. I promise. I wouldn't be against this shit if perhaps, it was done by loving, sweet individuals, but it seems that those who do this shit are generally asshats. It is like a key behavior of an asshat.

Lastly, those who don't realize that when they receive the, "Yeah, yeah, right, I see what you mean, okay, right, right," response to them when they are talking (profusely) that it is time to shut up. What the person really wants to say but can't, due to company or family hierarchy, is, "Shut the fuck up."

Okay...more cheerful post another day.

Sassy Mama: Smudgemama is sick, sick, sick

2006-05-12T21:24:00.000-07:00

Okay, so I'm like, really, really sick. Thought it was just a womanly-bladder-infection type issue but apparently now that my kidneys are making themselves known, I think we can say that it is at least a UTI (urinary tract infection). Already went to the doctor...got the meds...just not a clear diagnosis yet. And my head hurts and I'm dizzy. I mean really, really dizzy. Driving on over to my local HMO I was already panicking. That happens when the road in front of you reminds you of ocean waves, or at least that is what your head is interpreting them as. Anyway....I kept remembering my German teacher in high school saying, "Fritz ist kaputt." See, this was a question and answer session with our teacher in which we had to ask him questions in German. Someone must have queried if he had a dog (sorry, I'd write that in German but all I can come up with is "haben hund" and I'm not even sure that part is right.) Anyway, he had answered that no, they didn't have a dog, but they used to and his name was Fritz, but Fritz had died. So Fritz was kaputt. Alright. So this is going through my head on the drive over there and around the same time I notice that my "check engine" light is on and right at about that time my cell phone made it's last plaintive bleep-bleeps to let me know that it had, indeed, had it and it was giving it all up and shutting itself off. And I started to realize that these were all metaphors for my life.....check engine, low battery, Fritz is kaputt.

But before I posted about Fritz being kaputt and all, I wanted to make sure that "kaputt" was the word for "dead" in German. I wasn't very thorough and only consulted one online dictionary but it didn't list dead. It listed many other words that might as well mean dead, so I'll take Mr. Pittner's word for it and assume that dead is another of the many meanings "kaputt" lays claim too. However, I have to say one defintion in particular stands out as a clear description of my life at the most present time. Click the link above and I'll just about bet it all that you will guess the correct definition.

Sass: Rambling Tumble Thoughts

2006-05-10T20:15:00.000-07:00

Psychology Today magazine has an article that made me laugh out loud. It's in the most current issue, titled, "When You're Smarter Than Your Boss" by Judith Sills, Ph.D. Hmmm...not going to come right out and say that I am but when your superior asks you how to spell "multi" (as such happened today) you have to wonder....but not long.

Watched a George Carlin special late last night and I think he should run for president. I'm sure that's been said before. In fact, I'm willing to bet I've seen a bumper sticker or email forward along those lines sometime in the past.

Fellow co-worker, a truck driver, has come up with many nicknames for me: Little Mommy, Beautiful Butterfly and Miss Muffet. I totally don't get it. But the Butterfly one had a nice ring to it....I can handle that.

I'm clearly rambling....I fell off my blog habit. Hey Sean-baby, if you're reading this, my timecard totally misses your timecard in our row.

Sassy Mama: Reasons I Hate Chuck E. Cheese

2006-02-07T23:39:00.000-08:00

We recently went to Chuck E. Cheese for our eldest child's birthday. We already have a family rule that states, "Thou shalt not eat any foods served from Sir Chuck E. Cheese," so we were there for the games only. I don't know if we don't have enough Chuck E. Cheese restaurants (and I use that title loosely) in this area, but that place was jam packed. As I sat crammed into a tiny table in the toddler zone, working up the motivation to get me and Cassidy into the mix I started to realize all the reasons I hate Chuck E. Cheese. Here they are:

1-On any given day I'm not even sure I like my own children.

2-Therefore, I most likely don't like other people's children. And there were many, many "OPC" at this place.

3-Kids, not known for their domestication abilities in the first place, go back to their feral roots once deposited into the Mouse's House of Cheese.

4-They are rude and try weird acrobatics...around my child...whom I like and want to protect.

5-I'm pretty sure at least 50% of that crowd had germs...kid germs....like long-lasting cold viruses and fevers and general crud. Of which I wanted none.

6-My husband morphs into a big kid, which he does anyway, but it is really bad when I spot him at the easiest game just slamming away to get the most tickets possible. I mean, does he want the huge, life-like Chuck E. Cheese stuffed animal or what?

7-Parents, on average, do not pay ANY attention whatsoever to their children in Chuck E. Cheese.

8-Because they stamp your hand and your child's hand (also annoying) with a unique code thus no one can take off with your child---who by the way, probably has no worries, after all, he/she is acting like a neanderthal on meth.

9-When a parent has to actually talk to their child and say, "No Alyssa, you CAN'T climb onto the back of that ride while that little girl is on it," they are staring at you who has been telling "Alyssa" to be careful, be careful, BE CAREFUL as she tried to slide in the back window of the van ride your own daughter is trying to "drive." By the way, parents who frequent Chuck E. Cheese please tell your children that when another parent tells them, "Be careful" that really equals, "Get the f--k away."

10-Because Chuck E. Cheese and its' people chaos and crappy food is basically my Kryptonite. I leave that place drained, spastic and stupid.

I freakin' hate that place.

Sassy Fun: It's good to break the rules....

2006-01-14T23:23:00.001-08:00

Can't have a real pet here in this nearly-ghetto apartment, so I have to settle for this:

Writing: In order to not go stark raving mad......

2005-12-20T23:58:00.000-08:00

I write this open letter to all utility providers, mortgage holders, landlords, and bill collectors:

Dear All,

I speak for thousands upon thousands in this letter. As you are very well aware of, this is the month of December. The month of cold weather (higher electric and gas bills), getting together with family (higher phone bills and gasoline bills) and gift-giving (larger credit card bills).

We know that we have entered into a contract with you to pay you monthly for the service you provide for us day in and day out, i.e. the roof over our heads, the car we drive, the heat we use to warm our homes, the phone service to contact others and the dish or cable tv we use to unwind after a long day.

Unfortunately, many companies don't raise their employee's (your consumers) hourly wage to match this month's expenses. Some give bonuses, other companies do not. Or some companies, like mine, only give bonuses to their full-time employees, of which I am not. And some families, such as our's make it through an ordinary month by the skin of our teeth so saving year-long, a bit of money each month towards our "holiday budget" is a bit of a lofty goal. Therefore December is a trying month for us and many others. One in which we are strapped, stressed and scared. Not to mention worried, fretful and depressed.

Yes, we are late in our payment to you and yes, we are sorry. Although we are grateful for your continued service to us, we couldn't bare to show up to Christmas empty-handed. Because, you see, the very reason we aren't homeless right now is because of family. Family that has buoyed us through the tough times and rejoiced with us during our joyful celebrations. They may say, "No, no you musn't feel you need to give me a present." But how can we not? And those of us with young children, it is too much to even contemplate having an empty Christmas. Many of us aren't big spenders, our children receive moderately priced gifts (nothing of $30 a piece) like many others. But still it's enough to take a bare bones budget and break it's brittle construction.

Please accept our sincere apologies, dear collector, we know your job must suck. The bills will get paid in due time....errr...overdue time, but paid all the same. If you feel the need to revoke whatever service you provide us, we recognize that, that is your option. If such takes place, we'll cope with it and we'll deal with it. Lord, but we have been through worse before.

After all, our true treasures in life: each other, our children, laughter, smiles, hugs and kisses, and many other simple joys aren't on an installment loan or a monthly billing cycle, except that which we call "life."

Sassy Mama: Supernanny wouldn't approve

2005-12-08T22:36:00.000-08:00

I'm prone to doing that---falling off the radar. In fact, you have to be lucky enough to live with me or to have fathered/mothered me to hear from me daily. Life has been life...work, work and more work. And Christmas is killing our budget. Just ripping it into tiny, teeny, shreds.

Every morning for the past week, the phrase, "Good morning, let the chaos begin!" has pranced through my brain. It's been that bad.

On the funny news front, today Lovemelots, my second-oldest man-child (6 years old) told me he was making "drivels" in class in the next day or two. I said, "Huh?" He said, "Drivels Mooommmm....you knowwwww." (Did I mention that LML loooovvveeeesss to whhhhhiiiiinnnnneeeee?) No, I don't know. And since he has a certain humilating habit of wetting his pants at school, I was afraid to know what he was talking about. Turns it out it was harmless "Dreidels" he was referring to. Good to know.

Ornery Tiger Cub has taken to talking back to me in the worst way. Ornery Tiger Cub is the third born man-child in our family. Today he poured milk on the dining room area rug and proceeded to do a little jig on it, ala "Lord of the Dance." The only reason I turned around is because I could hear his little feet tapping away and it was about to drive me over the edge...ordinarily dancing isn't prohibited in our household but with the trolls that live downstairs it is strictly a no-no. Our downstairs neighbors have NO tolerance for joy. There shall be no joy as long as we live OVER their roof.

Anyway, I turn around and there's OTC (ironically enough, OTC is also the abbreviation for "Over the Counter" as in "meds" as in "what I've needed ever since OTC was born---I'm not shitting you") doing his jig and I see what's he done and I send him to the corner telling him about how making messes is not good and wasting milk, thus money, is also not good. As I leave him in the corner he turns around to me, all attitude, and says, "Excuse me, what did you say to me?!" Okay, so he probably learned that from me. Still not good. Sorry Nanny 911 but I veered right off their prescribed naughty chair/corner with that remark. Afterwards I looked him sternly in his eyes and said, "You don't talk to your mommy that way." And as I'm walking away he said, "Wh-at-ev-errrrr." Dear Lord in heaven, I just about lost it again. Breathe mama lion, breathe.

But sometimes OTC can be quite funny. An evening about a month ago he marched right to our bedroom door in a fit of frustration. Behind that closed bedroom door was his sleeping father (who at the time was still employed at the pharmaceutical company in the security department and worked graveyard shift hours). As he turned the door knob I yelled, "WAIT OTC, before you march into the lair of the sleeping papa lion, perhaps you should come tell mama what the problem is first."

All he heard was "stop." And that was just too much. He slumped himself over one of the dining room chairs, which in this tiny apartment, is only like, five inches from my bedroom door, and lays his head down. I think, "gee...something has got my boy down." I say to him, "Really OTC, it's alright...tell mama what is wrong." He lifts his exasperated and exhausted face to look at me and sighs, "It's just....it's just, my brothers are acting like apples." Okay....are you saying your brothers are fruits? Geez, now I'm glad I stopped you from telling your father that. But wait, you are only three-years-old, what do you know about males who act like fruits? So to clarify I asked the question I ask nearly hourly, day in and day out of my life----"What?" He says, "Apples! They're acting like apples!" And then I got it....and I started laughing and couldn't stop myself for quite awhile, eventhough I knew I should discipline him for attempting to call his brothers assholes.

That's my life....a sassy three-year-old son who calls his brothers the names of fruit in fits of frustration (which opens up a whole other way of code speak...does Banana=bastard?) and a six year old that can't pronounce dreidel correctly and makes me think he is planning his next few "accidents."

And I haven't even started on Astroboy (the oldest man-child) and Pebbles (the youngest child and only girl) and their antics for the last month or so. Because I'm tired and the bed is calling and frankly, internet, you're not. You're just a white screen right now.

Good nite.

Sassy Mama: Absense makes the heart grow fonder--but I'll take quotes for a hundred in the mean time...

2005-10-19T00:42:00.000-07:00

Or something like that. In which case, hubs needs to take a trip somewhere. OR, better yet I need to.
I'm sure I have blog-worthy things to blog about. For instance, a week or so ago we were all seated around the living room watching TV when I glanced at Astro Boy who was fiddling around with his nose. My mother-brain worked the equation at lightening speed...for those who are not in the know it goes like this: boy child fiddling with nose=boy child picking his nose=boy child eating byproduct of nose=mother going berserk, flailing about and screaming, "EWWWW!!! Stop that shit right this second!"

I did my equation as I said above, in lightening speed, and decided I simply did not have the energy to flail about and my mouth went into gear before my brain could form a simple sentence and this is what was yelled across my living room, "DON'T YOU DARE EAT YOUR NOSE!!!" Hmmmm....I distracted him alright, unfortunately it was with the hilarity of his nutso mother.

During the same night I heard the best quote ever in regards to how I feel about the male species. It was on Everwood and the older nurse/mom was drinking with Andy's best friend/neighbor and they were talking about how Andy kissed this woman and didn't take into regard the fact that she is in a happy relationship and wouldn't just drop it all because he finally decided to show her he loved her. The older nurse/mom says, "Men are weak. They're all weak. Except soldiers...they're sexy." Amen to that.

Another quote that had me in stitches (and this would be in regards to our past and present socio-economic status) was from Chris's Dad in Everybody Hates Chris. Chris's younger brother was failing math..or science...or something and they had Chris mentoring him, only to have the brother fail worse on the following test. The family is sitting at the table astonished that the boy is doing even worse and Chris's mom says that they are going to have to get him a tutor. Chris's dad says, "We can barely afford kids. We certainly can't afford stupid kids."

And on that note, I need to do some virtual job-hunting for the hubby because we all know that if it ain't connected to his computer game or a TV, it ain't getting done by him.

Epiphanies: What I want to NOT be when I grow up....

2005-10-07T23:28:00.000-07:00

I've been pondering a few different career choices and before I set out to become a part-time college student(and by this I mean VERY part-time) I want to know exactly what my major course study should be. The top three are usually: RN, Social Worker or Counseling Psychologist.

The reason I wanted to become an RN is because I wanted to eventually work in the Labor and Delivery ward and help bring babies into the world everyday. But as I observe my behavior, I see that I am ill-suited for a career that requires me to be sympathetic to physical pain.

CLUE #1---I have a high pain threshold. I only started to scream at 8 cm when giving birth to Ornery Tiger Cub and Pebbles, naturally. I kept pretty mellow before then. One of the reasons I cope so well with pain is that I actually shut down and go inside myself and deal with it there. I use my mind alot in overcoming discomfort, whether it be mental, emotional or physical. And those who don't, or care not to try...well, to put it frankly, get on my last damn nerve. And kinda make me want to call them babies. Loudly.

Take for instance the day Phil and I got our tattoos. It hurt like a bitch. It just did. And I had two impulses: a) yank my ankle away, and b) kick the tattoo artist in the face. I couldn't follow through on either impulse so I just sat there, gritted my teeth and tried to tell myself that it was just a vicious papercut. We had a very detailed tattoo artist. Oh yes...very, very detailed. A perfectionist if you will. Which is good in the long run for tattoo longevity but at the time, in the chair, it not only just hurt, it pulsated and sliced and diced.

I got mine first and then it was Phil's turn. He was so excited. This being his third tattoo he was packing a very superior attitude to my tattoo virginity. He chose a tribal band for his bicep. A beautiful one....lots of thin dark outlining and woo-eee a bunch of shading too. Just beautiful.

He was coping well until it was time to do the thin outlining on the underside of his arm. WOW....who knew Phil could turn that red, grit his teeth and close his eyes that hard? I sat there confused. I mean, didn't he know that it would be like this? Afterall, isn't he, like, *experienced* in the tattoo arts? And then it started to bug me....because I knew I could be sitting there with a severed leg and it won't matter when we get home. I realized it was going to be all about how he can't hold the baby or do the dishes or basically do *anything* because his arm was hurting from the new tattoo. My dawning realization with it's accompanying rising anger opened the gate that usually seperates (at times) what I'm thinking from actually becoming what I'm saying.

I look at my sweet husband, in all his agony, and say, "Well you chose this tattoo." Sweet. That was CLUE #2 that maybe, just maybe I shouldn't be a nurse.

CLUE #3 came last night as Phil sat at his computer chair playing his game and coughing his head off. Hack, hack, hack. Cough, cough, cough. Phlegm, phlegm, phlegm. Hack again.

I couldn't stand it. I wanted to kick him. "For the love of pete," I wanted to scream, "Shove a sock in it!!!"

My un-sensitivity isn't related to just Phil (he's just the lucky one to bear the brunt of it since he lives with me, and you know, chose to marry me), it's to anyone who coughs, whines or whatever.

Which almost makes me wonder why the hell I'm also interested in psychology and social work.

Sassy Mama: How bad is it....

2005-09-25T21:02:00.000-07:00

that my two older sons sing along to, "Ain't No Hollaback Girl" at the top of their lungs while I'm driving?

Sassy Fun: Yay! And now I will return to normal blogging....

2005-09-24T20:19:00.000-07:00

My sister, her husband and their kids are safe and if that wasn't sweet enough, their home withstood everything and they even still have their electricity. Thank you to all who said prayers. We are all so happy and grateful.

Now on to what has been rattling around in my head....

Regarding names again, I've been getting chuckles out of the nicknames that stars get. For instance there's J.Lo for Jennifer Lopez (duh! I know....) and then I heard of LiLo for Lindsay Lohan. The latest I've heard is JenGar for Jennifer Garner. And that got me to thinking....if I was a star (I think of this often....one of many things that probably makes me delusional) what would my nickname be? If I was a tech geek I'd be inspired to make a "Star Nickname Generator." But I'm not. I'll leave that to the ones in the know.

My first thought was, "JenMar." Jenmar. Jennnnnmmmmaaarrrrrr. Lemarr. Mallowmar. Jenmar....sounds odd. Not that JenGar is better. But JenMar....I just don't know. So I moved on to my maiden name and came up with, "Jenspe." Other than being a little hard to manipulate linguistically, once said orally it sounds very close to "Penske" which leads to a mental flow of consciousness to yellow trucks. And I am decidely not yellow nor a truck, thank you very much. If I was a rapper I could use my middle name and be called, "JDawn." That's right...whose your mama.....JDAWN!

But I think Jenspemar would be it. JenSpeMar. Or not.

Sassy Mama: I've been far too stressed as a mother....

2005-09-23T23:18:00.000-07:00

when I see someone's email address as "Misty Nites" and all I can think of is bedwetting.

Serious Post

2005-09-23T19:48:00.000-07:00

My thoughts and prayers are with those that are preparing to face Hurricane Rita, both the local people and their extended families in other states.

My big sister and her husband and children live approximately 30 miles southeast of Houston and have had to evacuate. She is someplace somewhat safe. I humbly ask that you please remember her and her family in your prayers also.

I won't be blogging much at all until after Hurricane Rita passes.

Sass: 867-5309 or So Much for Anonymity

2005-09-20T16:27:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking alot lately about my name. Since my name is Jennifer I share it with half of the planet, or so it seems. I know this wasn't my parents' intention for me. They didn't know that what they thought was a nice, somewhat unique name for their newborn daughter would become so popular. I was born in the era of "Jennifer and Michael." Although, now that I think about it, maybe it was "Jennifer and Jason." I went by "Jenny" until 8th grade when I adopted "Jennie" because I was a dork of 90210 proportions.

Anyway.....

I've also read some stories lately of people changing their first names. Jacob in the Bible became "Israel." Sarai became "Sarah" and Abram became "Abraham" when God promised to bless them with a child in the future. There are other, non-Biblical people who have changed their names after life-changing events. After living 27 (nearly 28) years of being just another "Jennifer" and after having faced many challenges and a couple of crises, I can understand why. You are just not the same person that started this journey and if you like the person you've become a lot better than who you were, changing your name becomes very appealing.

Just yesterday I was trying to tell my co-worker about how there were five girls with the name "Jennifer" in my sixth grade class. Seriously, we had to go by our last name initial. So we had: Jennifer A., Jennifer B., Jennifer C., Jennifer Sk., and Jennifer Sp. Yeah, that last one was me. Because once you are not only sharing a first name with a classmate but your surname starts with the same letter you have go to the next letter and soon you feel like a bent index card in the old-school card catalog at the library.

So I was telling this co-worker about all that when he burst out laughing and singing, "867-5309!!!" Hilarious. Especially because I've never heard that one before. Hum.

However the joke is on him because, eventhough I didn't have the heart to tell him, I was only in the lower grades of grammer school (think Preschool and Kindergarten) when that song, 867-5309 hit the airwaves whereas he was what? Oh yeah, older---much, much older.

But....I'm Jennifer and that's that. I couldn't go against the name my parents chose for me. It'd break their hearts. Although I might become known as "Jennifer-Rama-Lama-Ding-Dong." Just to be different.

Blog Link: Plum is back!

2005-09-18T10:53:00.000-07:00

The Plum was the very firstest blog I ever did read (on more than one occasion) and she is back. So if you haven't hopped on over there, get to it. Her latest post will make all the Medical Admin's in the world say, "Amen" and "Hallujah" (of course that may be misspelled, I'm only halfway through my coffee).

Epiphanies: Things 1-10 that make me say, "Mmmmmm"

2005-09-16T23:30:00.000-07:00

Technically this could be a "100 Things About Me List" but I don't feel like sharing all my sordid and sketchy life details. It's best that if this is you first encounter with me (my blog) that you do not become overwhelmed and possibly frightened by the wackiness and wildness (dare I even mention the sinfulness?) that is I. So although I like reading others' 100 lists, this one is going to be about the things I love in life from the mundane to the (somewhat) exotic. These things can range from books to music to food to the nonmaterial. So it isn't always "mmmm" in a tasting/eating sort of way, in fact, most of the time it is a "mmmm" of contentment. Here goes:

1. Hostess Cupcakes....because they are just that damned good.
2. Dutch Brothers' Mocha Coffee (oh Oregon, I miss you so)
3. Gerber Lavender Baby Lotion
4. Daisies
5. Body massages from my scalp and hair follicles to the tips of my teeny, tiny toes.
6. Ashland, Oregon ****the only place where my heart and soul felt at home****
7. My handmade quilts from my Great-Grandma.
8. Books by Connie May Fowler (Thanks for the introduction Dragonfly!)
9. Warm sunshine shining on me.....
10. Hot baths scented with vanilla.

Sassy Wifey: Crazy weather and the post in which Phil gets the nickname "Martian."

2005-09-14T01:15:00.000-07:00

This weather is killin' me. I get all geared for warm weather and dressing for work in cooler clothes, just to arrive at work (which has somehow been transformed into a virtual wind tunnel) and be blasted by chilly air. Or I think that I'm on my game because just two days ago I went to work and it was very cold, so today I'll dress more warmly. Suddenly the wind tunnel at work shuts down and I arrive to a smelly, sweltering armpit of a warehouse. Nice. And I'm bundled up, which would be fine if I had my nose bundled too. I just can't win with this weather. Dressing for work is like going on daytrips now; dress in layers.

My $400 espresso machine has taken a crap. A big crap. A big coffee-smelling crap. This is aggravating for a couple reasons: my need for coffee-induced speed in the morning and also because it is only like the bazillionth thing to break in this household as of late. But the most absolutely aggravating part has to do with the reasoning behind the purchase of it:

One day back in April I asked Phil to go into Starbucks and get me a tall, iced mocha with whip. This wasn't an unusual request, something we did nearly everyday lest I spend the whole morning, afternoon and evening complaining about having to drink weenie, sucky, pissy wee-wee, home-brewed coffee. On this trip Phil was taking forever...and ever...and ever. I figured our caffeine-craving planet happened to align with everyone else's caffeine-craving planets and we all collectively arrived at the same exact Starbucks, thus the baristas were frazzled and understaffed for this event and poor Phil was standing in a line so long that it eventually became concentric circles. Boy...I felt bad for him.

Then something odd happened. He came out of Starbucks with my tall, iced mocha with whip and walked to the trunk of our car. Huh? He opened the trunk. Now, I'm not only confused but a little angry. I couldn't figure out if he was playing games with me, like "You want your coffee? Haha, come get your coffee!" or if he was just plain mental from standing in that imagined horrendous line. But then a chipper-looking barista bounced out the door with a big box in her hands and brought it to our trunk. And honestly, everything faded to silence in my head...there were no traffic sounds, no people talking outside, no birds chirping---the only sound reverberating through my head was one loud, thunderous thought, "OH HELL NO."

I think the desired reaction he wanted from me was uninhibited joy and gleefulness but all I could think is, "I sent him into Starbucks to buy ONE FREAKIN' CUP OF COFFEE and he buys a FREAKIN' COFFEE MACHINE?! IS THIS A MARS/VENUS THING?!"

As soon as he got into the car he was all about telling me how this was a cost efficiency thing because after all, we'd be saving at least $3 a day plus gas (which now, come September and $3.00/gallon gas prices, is definitely a selling point). Alright...so I say, "That's all well and good my Martian husband but how much was our initial investment?" And you know...it's always so bad when the Martian can't tell you the actual price of something and instead hands you the receipt. This is never, ever a good thing and it is because the Martian knows that when I hear whatever the amount is, my eyes will bulge out and shoot redhot flames at whatever (or as the case maybe WHOMEVER) I'm looking at and he'd rather I incinerate a receipt instead of his head. So yeah, it was $400, more accurately it was in the "late $300s." And before you get all, "Well Smudge he was trying to do something special for you. I wish my Martian would buy me something like that," please know that my Martian only did it because he was sick of going the coffee shop daily and spending all of those visits actually fetching the coffee for me himself. That's all. It was no "Hey baby it's your special day because I got you a special espresso brewing machine because you're my super hot lover" type of gift.

It was more like a "I am sick of doing this. If I have to see the Starbucks green sign and their sickly coffee-colored decor for another day I may fold myself into a kite and fly away. I don't like going to Starbucks daily. I don't like YOU going to Starbucks daily. And I really hate standing in line at Starbucks on a near daily basis. So I'm spending $400 so I can sit on my ass and you can make your own damned mocha." Sweet, huh?

But here is the deal: I don't know HOW TO MAKE A MOCHA AT HOME. I END UP ASKING MARTIAN TO MAKE THE HOMEMADE MOCHA BECAUSE HE DOES IT BETTER. I get how to brew espresso, it's the part where you make the espresso into a mocha that confuses me. Hmmm....guess you could say that plan backfired on him.

And now it has taken a crap. Just about the time that it would start "saving" us money (and please don't get me started on the cost of espresso grounds, extra milk and cocoa mix I needed to purchase) it died. All I wanted (and still want) is a good espresso-laden cup of mocha...with whip.

Sassy Mama: Middle of the Road

2005-09-12T23:15:00.000-07:00

I used to really get a bug up my butt about those who had "middle of the road" tendencies. I was opinionated (okay, I *am* opinionated) and those who sat on the fence seemed to have none. That bugged me. Badly. I wanted to scream, "Pick a side already!"

However, life has a way of teaching you how many shades of grey there really are and I have softened a lot in what I believe is right and wrong...knowing that there are things that I just don't understand because I haven't been there.

Which is why tonight's Wife Swap was so interesting to me. (Reader beware: Boring Synopsis Begins Here) In a nutshell, one wife had three young sons and a very lax attitude towards manners, discipline and housework. Her own childhood consisted of strict regimens that eventually made her feel almost like a failure if she couldn't always be perfect. She decided that it would be better for her kids to enjoy childhood and to above all, have fun. But unfortunately her best intentions backfired and she ended up with unruly boys that were nearly out of control. Enter the etiquette-teaching mother from Mississippi. She, too, has three children. Her family eats off of china plates and silver ware every night and dress formally for dinner. They have strict rules and regimens. You can imagine what mayhem took place in each household when a ettiquette-loving lady takes on a bunch of little wild cowboys and a relaxed "Roseanne-esque" woman tries to get the uptight family to have some fun.
But in the end it was awesome. The fun-loving mother taught the regimented family how to lighten up a bit and the ultra-conserative mother gave the boys the boundaries and rules they were craving. And then each mother continued to implement those things that added to their family life that the other one had started. Happy ending. (End Boring Synopsis)

That got me to thinking about how we run this household. We take a moderate approach which means that somedays my dining room table will have stacks of stuff I'm sorting through, items that are in transit to another room (much like people waiting at a bus-stop), stacks of folded laundry and somedays, even some dirty dishes from the previous dinner (gross, I know, especially since I'm usually the one who gets to handle those dishes). Other days it might actually be scrubbed down and cleared off. As far as conduct, it is hard because our boys have SO much energy. So it usually goes as follows:
1-If you must burp outloud, say excuse me. They know that it isn't polite and should they ever have a girlfriend from a conservative family, they better learn to burp quietly.
2-Put your used dish in the sink and rinse it off. This is a recent accomplishment for us with the two older ones.
3-Bring your dirty laundry to the laundry room. Do this often, hopefully daily, but I'll settle for a few times a week.
4-Put your toys away in the evening. I can't handle toys on the living room carpet after 5:30 p.m. This doesn't always work as visitors to our home can tell you, but at some point, they pick them up or risk having their toys meet the garbage can.
5-Quote Eminem, Kid Rock or any other possibly "objectionable lyrics" and watch mom come unglued. This becomes a game for them, which is bad and sends me into fits. So...we are working on this.

The truth of the matter is that we are, like most other parents I believe, just trying to stay on top of the crap. So yeah...you're going find socks (both clean and dirty) stashed in odd places that we haven't yet gotten to. You will most definitely meet our most persistent and present pets, aka crumbs.

The vacuum cleaner? Well, it never gets put away so get used to seeing it as a constant decor item in the living room.

Jackets are on the backs of chairs and there are probably a few glasses on computer desks or windowsills that we have used within the last 24 hours and just like our dining room table "bus-stop" clutter, they are just waiting for either Phil or I to come around on our twice daily "dirty dish round-up."

The linoleum, most assuredly, will be sticky.....somewhere.

It basically boils down to us living haphazardly but functionally. We don't have our kids polishing silver but we also don't let them scoot by doing absolutely nothing. The best we can hope for is that we are training them on how to take care of themselves but not sliding too far towards laziness or ultra-strict regimens.

It's a constant adjusting of our "parental steering wheels" to stay on the road and somewhat in between the lines. And sometimes we like to pull right on over at a vista point and enjoy the view.

Sassy Fun: Smudgemama is the youngest...

2005-09-11T20:15:00.000-07:00

Just wondering....is this something I should be happy about? Especially because I am the youngest of three.

You Are Likely an Only Child

At your darkest moments, you feel frustrated.
At work and school, you do best when you're organizing.
When you love someone, you tend to worry about them.

In friendship, you are emotional and sympathetic.
Your ideal careers are: radio announcer, finance, teaching, ministry, and management.
You will leave your mark on the world with organizational leadership, maybe as the author of self-help books.

The Birth Order Predictor

Writing: Writer's Block

2005-09-09T20:51:00.000-07:00

WTF? Seriously, I can't believe I'm having writer's block with blogging. I think (which I try not to do too much) that it is because I share my life on this blog and I have one rule: I won't blog about my marriage unless it is good. And so when things aren't so good (no worries....just another hurtle in the marriage marathon) and it is consuming my life (still no worries...it's all good.....I think), I don't want to blog about it...'cause really who wants to know? And if you do want to know...well that's a bit freaky right?

I read in my most recent US Weekly magazine (to which I'm unreasonably addicted) that Ashley Judd starts each morning writing down all the things that bug her so as to not take it out on others. This makes so much sense to me. When I've read about Morning Pages (ala' Julia Cameron "The Artist's Way") and other similar things I've always worried that venting in the a.m. would color my day all gray and puce and peagreen. And some yucky burnt orange thrown in there too if the vents were serious enough. I am Crayola-oriented.

I'm going to give this a try to see if it does help "cleanse" rather than "dye" and if it improves my ability to get along with idiots...er...other people.

Sassy Fun: Smudgemama doesn't get to travel too much.

2005-09-06T02:25:00.000-07:00

Thanks Susie!!!

As you can see....I've led a very sheltered life....those states in red are the ones I've visited (or in Oregon's case, lived in!)

create your own personalized map of the USA

Smudgemama's Horrible No Good Very Bad Day

2005-08-29T23:18:00.000-07:00

Way back in the tenth grade I had one of the hardest days of my life. Without going into too many details it basically consisted of had my boyfriend, intimacy and him not being solely intimate with me. I cried and cried. I felt like a moron. And I cried and cried some more. My German teacher, Mr. Pittner, gave me a photocopy of "Alexander's Horrible No Good Very Bad Day" because he could see I was thisclosetotheledge. His kind gesture talked me down off the ledge (proverbially). It didn't make things all better, but it did start the healing because I knew someone cared about my pain---that I wasn't alone. And listen, ask Harold Kushner, author of "When Bad Things Happen to Good People" and he'll tell you too, shitty things just happen. (Being a Rabbi he'll probably not use that exact phrase, but the sentiment is the same.) They just do. You don't deserve them or maybe you do, but that isn't why they happened. Shitty things just happen.

And I've had a shitty-things-happen-kinda-day. I could feel it coming. I knew I was the bug and I knew the windshield was approaching but I just forged ahead because I had no choice. We all have choices, so that is a lie. But my other choices would be more like hitting a cinderblock wall instead of a mere glass windshield. So the lesser of two evils was to keep on, keepin' on.

Of course, this being a public blog and having too many personal contacts know of it, I can't divulge details. Which sucks because I really just want to spew my day's details forth and say, "Okay, yes, I've made mistakes but none of them warranted this." And what sucks more is that, that last statement applies to both my professional and social life. I was sandwiched in between two hard, stale pieces of crap bread where I had two different "superiors" from two different areas of my life telling me the same thing. I could see where one was coming from...but the other person was full of crap and I am growing weary of being treated like a 12-year-old girl who doesn't know her ass from her elbow.

So I'm hanging in there, by a thread, but hanging in there. People have responded to my SOS calls and cared about the pain I was in and that is a blessing in itself and I am grateful for that.

Tomorrow I hope to find the humor again. But today I feel attacked from both sides.

Sassy Fun: Hah...in your face!

2005-08-27T19:30:00.000-07:00

I'm still reeling from the fact that I wasn't anywhere near them when this event took place but I had to share this photo from the same event.

The story is, having seen Kid Rock up close and personal, I swear up and down that he has blue eyes and others tell me that I was just lust-struck because he has brown eyes. Whatever....here's my proof.

Photo also by Barry King

Sassy Fun: Smudgemama's Dream Come True

2005-08-27T19:27:00.000-07:00

AVCO Cinema
Originally uploaded by smudgebaby.

So this was taken on 4/1/01 for the Joe Dirt movie premiere. Where the hell was I?! Dream come true...all three of them in the same area.

All pics were done by Barry King.

Writing: Motherf--ker Stole My Lunch!

2005-08-25T21:59:00.000-07:00

NOTE: Listen, first and foremost I have to give Susie all the credit for introducing the blogging community to the phrase "Motherf--ker stole my lunch!" If you don't understand what it really means, perhaps you haven't read Susie's blog enough. I'd give you the direct link to the exact post but I've got four kids, a job, a husband, a house and all sorts of other fun shit to contend with. But take my word for it, you will be highly rewarded by gobs and gobs of funny stuff that makes you giggle if you take the time to read through her posts to find the meaning of "Motherf--ker stole my lunch!"

Here's my story:

So...what is it now....about four or five months that I've been blogging? So I'm still new and learning and trying to get html, css, meta tags, search engines and all the blogging tools into my brain and in a good order. Little by little, I've made my way. But I've found search engines (especially Google) very discouraging. So as lame as I know it is, I like to double-check every so often and do a "Smudgebaby" search to see if I ever, ever, ever show up.

Recently I bought www.smudgebaby.com Don't go there, it's pathetic right now. Fine go there, but keep your laughter to a dull roar because if you wake up Pebbles it won't be pretty. Basically we've got a strict "You break her, you buy her" policy here.

So after trying to move my blog to my new website (not easy...at least not easy with my limited knowledge) I gave up. And then I felt stupid, because now what am I going to do with this other website? I thought, "Geez, buying the domain name could have waited....because really, how popular is the name 'Smudgebaby' after all?" After a day of bashing myself, I figured, oh what the hell, better safe than sorry and I'm sure I'll learn more someday and be able to post there or do something with it.

And then guess what? A Motherf--ker stole my lunch! Oh yes, he did.

I was doing one of my innocent random searches the other night to see if Google's bot (which seems to operate ALOT like DMV personnel) had finally found me and this comes up:

http://smudgebaby.tripod.com

What? How? Why? When?

Smudgebaby is me and I am Smudgebaby. What. Is. This. Other. Thing. Also. Called. Smudgebaby?!

Did I have a twin at birth and mother only kept me? How can this be....another Smudgebaby?

So as any flabbergasted Smudgebaby would do, I went to visit this site. It turns out to be a website for an actor, writer or something. And it is only one page with links that don't work and is under construction.

But being the fair Smudge that I am, I decided to read the page and see, maybe, by some weird possibility that the word "Smudgebaby" was in there, aside from just being in the web address.

Nope. I am willing to venture that I might have missed it in my identity crisis frenzy but really, I saw no "smudgebaby" around. I was looking for anything, possibly a sentence along the lines of, "The other day I was walking and I saw an peculiar looking bird on the sidewalk. (*Ed. Note: See this could very well have been me!) Once I arrived home and looked it up in my Bird Encyclopedia, I found it's name to be 'Smudgebaby.'" See...I could have handled that.

But no mention of Smudgebaby except in the web address....I don't know Scooby...something seems wrong to me.

So I am left with the feeling of "Motherf--ker stole my lunch." And thank you Susie, because before I read your posts I wouldn't be able to express myself so eloquently. I might have resulted to, "Dirty freakin' assholes, what the f--k?!" "Motherf--ker stole my lunch" is so much more appropriate for this situation.

Sassy Fun: Cool Link Wednesday....er....Thursday

2005-08-25T00:04:00.000-07:00

I was so proud of myself....I was introducing blogging themes to my days. For instance, Wednesday would become "Cool Link Wednesday" and Thursday would be "Sassy Mommy Tip Thursday" and such. Sort of like those old school home-making traditions: Monday is Wash Day, Tuesday is Ironing Day, Wednesday is Fix Yourself a Martini Day, Thursday is Shoot Yourself In the Head Day.

Well anyway.....so I finally find something I feel is worthy of linkage and it's after midnight, thus I'm now on Thursday and not Wednesday. I will press on though.

So today (pretend with me that is Wednesday) the link I find share-able is from The Imperfect Parent and, specifically it is the WTF? Toy Round-Up page. It makes me laugh. 'Nuff said.

Sassy Mama: Regarding the magazine cover below

2005-08-23T20:20:00.000-07:00

I got the link from Kristine who made a cool cover. You can make one here also. Enjoy!

Sassy Mama: How could I resist?

2005-08-23T16:51:00.000-07:00

magazine
Originally uploaded by smudgebaby.

Writing: Uh...yeah...sure

2005-08-22T19:40:00.000-07:00

(I will not blog about work, I will not blog about work, I will not blog about work.)

Which really sucks when such blog-worthy things are happening.

But I'm not going to blog about work. Because I need the paycheck, however piddily it may be.

But if I could blog about work, you would laugh so hard at the actual conversations that take place, and not only take place but are done so seriously. Times like this I really do wish I could earn money taking online surveys or stuffing envelopes.

It sucks when you like your job and you like the people you work with but there is always that ONE challenging person that, because the fates have conspired against you, you have to work closely with. And this person is your button-pusher. The one that says things that are so out there...so completely irrevelant and you, because of some sort of power force, are unable to say anything to defend yourself and/or clear up a situation. You may try to do so, politely, respectfully, hell even lovingly but they just don't get it.

Which is bad and trying to me. I mean if these things were actually happening at my job, which of course, since I don't blog about my job, they are not.

The other website is a slow-go for right now. Apparently, I have to learn some sort of new language, comparative to Latin, to get it to work like a blog, i.e. if I don't want to use someone else's template. Which I don't. There just ain't too many Smudgebaby-esque templates around, know what I mean?

Creating: Smudgebaby is Moving!!!

2005-08-12T19:46:00.000-07:00

I haven't posted that much due to the fact that I just purchased webspace for my own website blog. I feel like I can do alot more, alot faster if I own my space on the net. So I've been busy transferring files and building my new blognest at the other space.

So for now...get crafty with old t-shirts and clothing:

She Made This
Oh My Stars
T-shirt Surgery

Get busy....!

Sassy Fun: This cheered me up considerably.....

2005-08-07T00:52:00.000-07:00

You're Bettie Page!

What Classic Pin-Up Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

Sassy Mama: The Big Questions

2005-08-06T16:25:00.000-07:00

I'm pondering the big questions today. No, not about the meaning of life, or if there is really a God or even whether it's true or not that each person has a soulmate out there somewhere. For all my disjointedness, I think that I actually have my own personal answers to those questions.

No, the one question that is on my mind today is: Why do we have children? Why? I think we are lured into the cuteness, especially us woman-folk. Babies are everything we love: soft, good-smelling, sweet, pleasingly round (appeals to the eye), and just so innocent. It's like you can smell, hear and feel God when you are holding a baby. Heaven on earth. And who doesn't want a bit of heaven on earth?

But then they walk. And then they talk. And then they say, "no" or some sound that clearly resembles a "negative" answer to whatever you are telling them.

And later they wet their beds. Every night. And don't put their dirty, soiled p.j.'s in the laundry room. They let you find them with your bare feet. And they fight, oy they fight. They disobey at every turn.

You continue to love them because you know, they're family and your offspring, but there can be whole weeks when you don't like them.

Did I mention they are messy? So messy.

And loud. So ear-splitting, brain-draining, temper-gauge-rising LOUD.

When a good day comes along, probably after the first week of school, I'll be able to recite all the joys of having children. But not today. Not when I am up to my ears in pee-pee clothes, hyper children that are confined to a tiny apartment (don't you dare suggest I take them to the park, I hate the freakin' park... have you ever tried to keep track of four tiny children in a big park complete with a weird man overlooking the whole playground, making you so sure he is going to grab one of your AWOL children and hurt them)---an apartment that is starting to resemble both the sight and sound of the primate house at the zoo, and heat. Heat sucks.

I have more big questions, but that's enough bitchin' for now.

Sassy Mama: Pebbles

2005-08-04T21:14:00.000-07:00

Pebbles
Originally uploaded by smudgebaby.

This is Pebbles....I suggest you don't piss her off.

Sassy Wifey: Quickly, grab Phil's baby book...

2005-08-03T15:36:00.000-07:00

I'm so proud...I may cry. It's like watching a baby take his first steps. Phil (sniffle, sniffle) has actually performed a chore without having to be told. Yes, it's just *one* chore but it is a start.

And he didn't even brag about it afterwards. I got to find out on my own which wasn't exactly pleasant. Let me paint the picture for you: I walk into our bathroom late at night. Our room is dark, the bathroom is dark. I'm lucky thus far to have made it without breaking a limb. I open the bathroom door and flip the lightswitch on. Holy crap! It was like turning on the lights for a stadium. I think I even heard the buzzing sound. And suddenly everything was illuminated, brightly illuminated. More than usual. My pupils shrunk in fear. My head throbbed.

I had grown accustomed to the light of two bulbs working, but Phil had put two additional ones in, for a total of four lightbulbs brightly shining into my small, teeny, tiny pupils. Now, I don't exactly know what we need to see that clearly in the bathroom...I surely don't want to see every nook and cranny that I missed with the Lysol Wipes but it is nice that he had the initiative (not a word you'll commonly see linked with Phil's name, especially when he's at home) to change the lightbulbs without being told to do so. Seriously, my butt hasn't shined that brightly since the last time I was giving birth. Awesome...like I wanted that illuminated.

On to other news: While the blog-round-table discussion was being held at my house last night to decide on a proper alias for my older sister (Bisquick), my father pointed out that he wanted to know what his alias was. I said it was "Dad." He didn't like it. I don't blame him, I'm not entirely fond of being known as "Mom" either. So I've decided on Jiminy Cricket. Because he is, I'm not shitting you. He is like that freakin' cricket in Pinocchio. He sits on my shoulder or in my brain and constantly dictates his opinion on how I should handle business. I swear I hear my dad's voice in my head during times of crisis or depression. It's really cool because he was/is a good father so the advice is usually sound and doesn't require me to use any anti-psychotics to silence him.

He knows he's Jiminy Cricket. I've told him this before. He even has a stuffed Jiminy as well as a little plastic figurine. He's proud of his cricket status. So that's Pop's alias. When I'm hurried or when Pebbles is furiously trying to rip the keyboard from my hands, I'll just refer to him as "JC" as in "Jesus Christ" as in "Our personal Lord and Savior" which I think Dad would prefer anyway.

As for last night's post:
I'm feeling a little bad about the reference to Bisquick's children as "hollering drunks at last call." Er.....shoot, I don't have aliases for them. We'll call them Waffle, Flapjack, Muffin and Dumpling. Anyway, Waffle, Flapjack, Muffin and Dumpling are sweet kids and don't abuse alcohol at all. They are loving, albeit LOUD, children.

Ta-ta!

Sassy Mama: Saturation Point

2005-08-02T23:16:00.000-07:00

I found mine today, i.e. my saturation point. It happened while we were parked outside the pediatric dentist office while the older boys were getting their teeth worked on. Phil was on dentist duty while I sat in the minivan with Ornery Tiger Cub and Pebbles. Everything was going as good as can be expected, considering I had confined a 3-year-old and a 1-year-old to a small space. I had them unbuckled so they could roam and pillage--the absolute bare minimum prerequisite to ensure the happiness toddlers. So things started out fairly well.

Soon though, the pillaging and thrashing grew tiresome and the wee ones became restless...and LOUD. Out of nowhere, Ornery Tiger Cub started a chant that almost killed me: "Mama-wait-mama-wait-mama-wait-mama-wait." It was chanted at a rapid fire speed with a high-pitched helium-induced-like tone. My head actually started to buzz. As my brain cells and synapse processes paused in horror, I experienced a complete absence of thought. Which, of course, was nice....but soon the buzzing came back and my brain clearly shouted, "MAKE THAT SOUND STOP NOW!" So I did what I do best. I yelled, "Stop that yelling right now!" I'm a good example, aren't I?

I've been having these brain freezes more frequently lately. Amidst the noise and chaos of the children fighting or playing (and sometimes you can't even tell which they are doing, all you know is that it is too damn noisy!) I freeze up. For a split second there is nothing...no thoughts. And although that sounds heavenly, it isn't. It's more like a major traffic jam on the brain-thought-idea highway. All thoughts freeze and I'm left (not for a long time, so don't grow concerned) with my mouth agape and murmuring, "Ahhh......." shortly followed by, "Shut up now. Shut up now!" And then I just want to flip out, start yelling and hollering and scaring the little human ballistics factories into submission.

It's horrible I know. And I do feel guilty. So I talked to my sister about this since she has four kids and I desperately needed to know if these are *normal* feelings for a mom of four or if I needed to seek Anger Management classes. My sister prefers not to be named by her real name. In fact, I'd be willing to bet that she'd be happier if she never, ever gets mentioned in this blog. But she ain't that lucky. After much thought as to what her alias should be (Horsey, Mouse, Hamburger Helper, Horatio) I think I've decided on "Bisquick." Why? Because I like the way it sounds. There's no funny story to go along with it. I just want to call my older sister "Bisquick" and since this is my blog, damn skippy, I'm gonna do it.

So I called Bisquick up and asked her if this was normal. But she wasn't listening. Because her kids were hollering and hooting in the background like a bunch of drunks during last call. I understand this scenario so I patiently repeat my question,

"Bisquick," I say, "is it normal for us mothers of four kids to want to flip out? I mean, of course it's normal. But is it normal for our heads to buzz and to have the urge just to slap their heads together? I wouldn't ever do it. On purpose. But is it normal?"

And Bisquick's answer was, I think, more to herself than to me. She replied, "Well, Jen (she doesn't have a spiffy nickname for me...yet...but I'm thinking it's going to start with "b" and end with "h") kids are just like that."

What? Okay, rewind. I know kids are "just like that." What I want to know is if I'm on the fast track to loony, anger-filled Momville. So I repeat the above question and she basically repeats her answer, "Jen, I don't know why. Kids are just weird."

I think Bisquick had been hitting the bottle prior to my call to her and I don't blame her. I did eventually get both a coherent and applicable answer from her but it was lame and I forgot it already.

This I know.....I'd be a freak if I didn't have the urge to take whatever measures necessary to stop the crazy primate-house-like noises that bounce my eardrums are hither-skither. That wouldn't be normal. It'd be like watching a bee land on your arm and prepare to sting you and you do absolutely nothing about it. That's just not natural.

But I also know this, I must be an outstanding mommy because the worst I've done is yelled, "Quiet" or "Shut up" real loud, oh alright, and added some pretty colorful cuss words. BUT.....I've never boxed their ears or hung them upside down or followed through on any of the other loony thoughts that flash through my head when they drive me to that point. And that, ladies and gents, takes mad mommy skills.

Sassy Mama: Look to the Light...

2005-08-01T21:12:00.000-07:00

There is a light at the end of my tunnel and the date is set for the end of this month-the day my older two children go back to school. How beautiful is that? Less than a month away and they have to take their child energy someplace else. I'm so excited.

We recently got a school newsletter in the mail and there was a sheet of school supplies that are needed for each grade. Holy crap! Since when do fourth graders need Post-it notes? And since when did schools become brand-conscious? At the top of the paper it said, "Please buy exact brand whenever indicated." So that totally ruled out my planned Dollar Tree excursion. Thank God Wal-Mart is cheap. But shopping at Wally World for school supplies is a little like jumping in a free-for-all stationary volcano. But hey, I've got the 5 cent folders and the reams of binder paper for 33 cents a piece as my badges of honor. Coool.

Phil is still milking this vasectomy thing and I'm supposed to be supportive of it all. No puns intended. Seriously.

I had the worst headache today....absolutely horrid. Phil in his martyr-saint-like status pitied me and sent me to bed. I slept WAAAAYYY too long (I view this as his fault...I'm asleep and don't know any better. He has a clock....wake me up!) and woke up at 8:30 p.m., just in time to watch Hogan Knows Best. Love that show. Anyway, my house is thrashed, the kids are hungry, laundry is still dirty and the table still needs to cleared....but hey, at least I'm rested. Ugh.

Sassy Wifey: V-Day

2005-07-30T03:48:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was Cervix/Uterus Independence Day at the Martin Household. Phil went and got his vasectomy and is now enjoying his status of "poor baby." Whatever....how about you squeeze out four babies...then tell me about the pain afterwards (we won't even touch on the hellish pain that necessitates the process of bringing a new life into this world).

The hardest part, for me, that is, was getting him a cup to wear afterwards. The following tale epitomizes exactly why we needed to get a vasectomy (I say "we" since it's so trendy to say "We're pregnant" nowadays. So "We" got a vasectomy), a method that requires no further planning. Phil and I plan.....hold on....I'm still laughing because I just typed, "Phil and I plan" and eventhough I was going to add "not one bit" just typing those first four words together have me in spasms. There you go...we suck at planning. Now, if you want us to fly by the seat of our pants and squeeze out the last $40 from the pay period for a week and a half, we're the people for the job. But plan? Well, we try....it just seems that our planning method never pans out better than our flying method, and wouldn't you rather fly?

Based on that approach to living you'll better understand our tale of the Hard-To-Find-Athletic-Supporter. The Urology department originally told Phil that he could get one at any Kaiser pharmacy. They said if he showed up without a cup, they'd send him down to the pharmacy to get one. We get to the appointment early (Score! +5 points for us) and head straight to the pharmacy (another 5 points for staying on track). They don't have any. Huh....? They tell us to head over to the hospital pharmacy....across the street. So Phil, already milking his "poor baby" status asks (you are going to love this...remind me to ask him to buy me pads in the future), "Do you want to go to the hospital pharmacy so I can register upstairs?" Of course I do honey! I just can't wait to jaunt my ass out of this building, through the parking lot into the parking garage, where I'll take the elevator up to the third floor and from there take the walkway bridge across the street to the hospital. Once at the hospital, I'll go down a flight of stairs, walk the length of the hospital to find the darn pharmacy and then walk around trolling all of their shelves for a cup. When not found, I'll stand in a long-ass line with old people bitching about anything and everything just to finally make it up to the counter to ask for a cup....which, SURPRISE, they don't have either! Yes, I can't wait to do this. And it's all for you baby, the love of my life.

I ask pharmacy #2 if it is possible to call urology from there and tell them I'm looking for a cup still (I was told to head to the other end of the city to the medical supply place and based on my calculations, I would just be purchasing it at the same time they finished on Phil) and the pharmacy cashier says, "Ohhhh....do you have their number?" Well, since I'm the planning genius that I am, of course I have the number, right here in my planner. No, of course I don't have it. And he can't take the five extra minutes to look it up in the Kaiser directory so I am forced to run back (this time I just took the outside route, flying up the sidewalk, crossing the crosswalk and walking through the parking lot) and tell Phil, who, when he spotted me in the waiting room looked as if he had found the Lord, that the other pharmacy was a failure also. We need two cell phones bad!

So there we are....him sitting and me standing and breathing heavily (and usually this would be a turn on for him) and he says, "Well...go to Wal-Mart." Are you telling me to go to hell?

Then I'm back in the car fighting off fellow car warriors on the highway to get to the nearest Wal-Mart five miles away. I took the wrong exit. I ended up at Target....whatever...it'll work. But I don't have my checkcard. But I do have the checkbook....whew....almost lost my marbles on that one.

And where exactly do you find a jockstrap/cup/athletic supporter in Target? Well, I can tell you where not to look....don't look in the Health section eventhough they have ace bandages and other supportive-type braces. Don't look in the men's underwear section eventhough they clearly have stuff that is worn in that area. No, just go straight to the pharmacist clerk and she will tell you that (insert gospel "Ohhhhh" singing and bright lights) they are in the Sporting Goods area. You know, where the bikes are? Oh yes....because right after Phil gets his vasectomy and straps on his jockstrap cup thingy, he's going for a nice long bike ride. Listen, I understand the logic of why they were there, but coming from a medical standpoint, it made no sense.

I bought it, jetted back to the medical building, went upstairs, stood in line (a-freaking-gain) and then handed it to the receptionist while whispering, "My husband is back there getting a vasectomy and he needs this." To which she said, "Oh, they were just asking if you were here yet." Whatever lady. I almost flipped her off. Because clearly, I was absorbed in getting a manicure and pedicure or some other girly thing and I left poor Phil hanging...literally.

I told him as we were leaving, "You knew two months ago that you were going to need a cup...why didn't you buy one then?" He looked at me with a facial expression that clearly said, "why?" and then we both laughed.

Sassy Mama: Glories of family life....AGAIN

2005-07-28T22:18:00.000-07:00

It must be a federally mandated law that while the making of dinner at least one child needs to approach my tiny kitchen workstation and tell me, "Ewwww....I don't like that." I don't understand this because the following conversation always takes place:
One of Them: EWWWW....I don't like that. -OR- EWWWW....I don't like it cooked that way.
Me: So?

I know that kids need repetition and consistent enforcement of rules and routines, so I guess this evening ritual must fall under that umbrella too.

In a family of six, there are no short-orders. I always laugh and laugh when I see that mom description...you know the one....where it talks about how much moms should be paid because they are nurses, counselors, taxi drivers, yada, yada? When I get to "short order cook" I laugh my ever-expanding ass to a teeny-tiny daisy duke behind because that just never happens here. No way. I've got four kids who are like night and day. Well there's four of them so they are like dawn, day, sunset and night. So following that analogy, one is jone-sing for a strong cup of coffee, another is starving for an IHOP-style breakfast, another has a blood sugar drop that warrants a big meat and potatoes meal and yet another wants a nice nightcap. I can't even compete with that. So I make whatever floats my boat. Generally I try to keep the meals to a 50% approval rating, which in my world means at least two kids will eat it. Other than that, I don't care. My job is to prepare tasty meals for you. If for some anal retentive reason you don't like hamburgers or stove top stuffing or carrots that are cooked, that is YOUR problem. And by not eating the tasty fare placed before you, you are not doing your job and that makes mommy very angry (or at the very least annoyed if I'm already exhausted).

Let me point out I have no guilt in this. Perhaps if I had less children I'd feel more apt to perform an outstanding job of catering to my kids' culinary diversities. Perhaps I'd decorate their plates with garnish. Perhaps I'd even sport a cute little apron ala Mrs. Cleaver. Perhaps......I'd end up raising self-centered little humans.

I'm not knocking families with less than four children...I may actually be envying you...but that's another post for another day. I'm just realizing my tendency would be to over-indulge if I had less children to rear. And that would be no good.

On my more ambitious days I like to think my Roseanne-esque attitude of "take it or leave it" actually benefits the little angels. It's important to know that you can't always get your way and be able to adjust to things as they are presented.

Since I love my children I like to prepare them to real life. As I told AstroBoy tonight, "You better get yourself a good job." (I mean when he's an adult.) "Why mom?" he asked with innocent eyes peering across at me. "Because you only like expensive things: crab, steak, chicken and salmon." "Okay" he said.

To which I know he thought , but had the foresight to not say, "Oh so we have to eat shitty hamburger because you and dad have crappy jobs?"

Sassy Mama: The longer I.....

2005-07-23T20:28:00.000-07:00

I've noticed that the longer I've been a parent, the smaller the stack of parenting books on my bookshelf becomes.

When I had my first child, I bought every book for each new milestone. From teething to temper tantrums, I had the experts at my fingertips. And with each additional child I birthed, the less I referred to these books. Were the books so well written that I had it memorized and no longer needed to go back? Well, possibly. But the main reason I never went back was they didn't work the first time. I'm sure those average, "normal" couples (what is that again? Last time I checked it was: 2.3 kids, live in the suburbs, own a two-story with a pool, own a couple dogs...a cat possibly, two incomes and a combined daily commute of four hours) have children that adhere to the advice these books spout but I ain't never met a book that could figure my kids out. Never, ever.

Case in point or rather "A Day in the Life of Smudgebaby":

Exhibit A:
Child (pick any of the four): throws a tantrum and starts yelling.
Book says: Tell the child calmly and firmly, "I don't like being yelled at that way. You may talk to me when you are ready to be respectful.
My REAL-LIFE results of saying the above: I get chased around the apartment by a child yelling, "But I am beinnnnnngggg we-spect-full! MOMMMMMYYYYYYYY!!!!!! MOMMMMYYYYY!!!!!"

Somewhere, my child did not hear nor heed the part about, "You may talk to me when________." When I try to remind them by repeating my statement, they give me a "who me?" expression as to say, "Oh....you were saying all of that for my benefit." No sweet child, I was talking to the cat. And then they start screaming AGAIN.

Exhibit B:
Children are fighting/wrestling/manhandling/beating the utter crap out of each other.
Me (following chapter from parenting book): "Stop. Stop! STOP! STOP!!!! We. do. not. hit. in. this. house. We are respectful of each other in this house."
Eldest child: "Mom, we don't live in a house we live in an apartment. And besides, he hit me first and I was just trying to defend myself. I explained to him. He didn't stop. (second eldest child starts to pinch eldest child while talking) Mom! Mom...DO. YOU. SEE. WHAT. HE......"
and before he finishes his sentence he starts pummeling second eldest child and I am left screaming, "Stop. Stop! STOP!!!!" Sound familiar?!

Now repeat this above scenario several times a day, interchanging the three older boys in a do-si-do fashion. When finished, slide Mom a cold one.

I have many other examples: For instance, how the baby daughter's dolls are all (hmmm...a mystery) missing their tops, the eldest child's insistence (he's only 9 for crying out loud!) that he isn't going to prom because he isn't going to part with his money (what money?!) to rent a tuxedo, and the 3-year-old son's penance for yelling, "I'm a punk, I'm a punk!" and giggling (no, thankyouverymuch, he hasn't heard that from me) or chanting Eminem lyrics (oh...alright...he probably heard the lyrics from me).

See....I live in an odd world.

Sassy Mama: Oops...I've fallen asleep at the blogger-wheel

2005-07-23T00:17:00.000-07:00

And judging from my counter, millions (insert sarcasm here) are wondering where I'm at. Okay...more like, maybe, 30 people are wondering where I'm at.

But I think I like it that way. I'm a regular reader of some of the more popular blogs and I've noticed that if the blogger actually tries to have a life (lest he or she will run out of blogging material) and leaves the blog for, say, three or four days, their inbox lights up with tons of fans wanting the next installment. And whereas I'm sure that is flattering (I'm guessing here....) I can also see how that is smothering. Personally, I'd freak out.

In other news:
I haven't run away yet...from any of my "jobs": mother, wife, maid, lackluster cook, and most recently an actual part-time paying job. In fact, I'm enjoying my outside employment more than I thought I would. Which is nice...but strange. I usually start jobs and about two weeks into it I start asking myself, "What was I thinking? This is awful." So far, so good....which is GOOD.

Now, I'm aware that I live under a rock (actually, my rock is my four kids) so I'm not hip to pop culture as much as others are. So keep this in mind while I spout off at how great I think this "new" (meaning: new to me) website, www.43things.com is. It is so neat to participate in. If you are a fellow under-rock dweller, you might not know what this is. 43 Things is a website where you can list your goals in life. You either type your goal in or click on one that interests it and then click a button to add it to your list. I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE it. Maybe too much so because, although I'm only at 29 things, I have a feeling that I'm going to go over 43 things. In fact, what does happen if I go over 43 things? Hmmmmm.....gotta find that out. Anyway, you can also list places you want to go. When you add a goal, it shows you others (if there are others) with the same goal and their comments (if they left any). And quite possibly there will be others who have accomplished this goal that leave comments on whether it's worth doing or not. Which is another neat perk for YOU. Say you've quit smoking (guess you can tell what's on my mind), you type in "quit smoking" and it will take you to the page where others have left comments. If you want to, you can click on the "I've Done This!" button and a new page opens and it says, "Congratulations, you've done__________!" and it gives you the option of whether to rate it (Worth Doing or Not Worth Doing) and/or comments.

Tired now and am finding that I ramble-type when tired.
More later...sleep soon.

Sass: And what did you do over the weekend?!

2005-06-27T20:37:00.000-07:00

I'm an active participant in Freecycle and this weekend, someone offered some very fashionable clothing and I happened to be the chosen one to receive them. All it took was a simple jaunt up to Richmond (approximately 30-something miles). Nooooo problem!

Except....as 880 became I-80 I seriously had doubts that I was going the right direction, especially because I had saw an exit for the same street I needed on a different off-ramp on another highway. We were quickly making tracks to San Francisco and I was fretting...because well, if you know San Francisco at all, you know that it is a bloody nightmare to navigate through.

Okay...so we double-back and take the offramp to this other highway and take that exit of the same name. Man...I was SO sure we were going the right way and I was cursing out Mapquest.

But then we were there.....the ghetto. In Oakland. I have NO problems with Oakland. Both my grandmothers live there. I was born in Oakland! I loooovvvee Oakland. I even have no problems with the ghetto. As stated in previous posts I am intrigued by all races, persuasions, economic levels....all of it But....they had a problem with me. There I was....driving through, trying to navigate and I'm sure radiating "lost" to these folks and they weren't feeling exactly compassionate towards me. The way they dogged me and were in no hurry to move out of the middle of the street despite my car slowly, and POLITELY, trying to edge by, told me so.

I eventually got myself back onto I-80 east and in the proper direction but not before I called the lady I was getting the clothes from, frantically shouting, "I'm so freakin' lost. Oh shithouse, this sucks. Oops...excuse my language. Fuck! Where am I going? Oh sorry about that. I usually don't talk this way." Yeah....right.

Sassy Mama: Sick

2005-06-13T23:22:00.000-07:00

I know I haven't posted in eons but that cold virus hit us like a ton of bricks. First it was Ornery Tiger Cub with a double ear infection. Then a couple days later I came down with it....around the same time Ornery Tiger Cub had an allergic reaction to the meds they gave him and I had to run back to pharmacy for another type of antibiotic. Then Pebbles got sick along with me. Took her to the doc but she was all clear. Then LoveMeLots came home sick as a dog with an astounding temperature in each ear and vomiting alot. Went back to the doc for the third time, still feeling like horseshit myself. He had the beginnings of pneumonia and an ear infection. Puked up his first dosage twice and they only gave me enough for the five days. And it was the weekend. So after maaannnyyy phone calls, I finally just went to the pharmacy and they looked it up, saw where it was noted for another refill because of the puking and then magically produced it. Done? Nope. Phil caught the bug. And then, AstroBoy came down with it over the last couple days and we took him to the doctor today because of ear pain. Fourth time at the doctor's office for kids. He came out all clear. So I've been busy. And sick. I promise to be more witty and fun-loving in the next post.

Sass: Diagnosis-Operator Error

2005-05-26T21:46:00.000-07:00

So for all my bitching and moaning about money flying out the windows I do a major faux pas. I got gas early this a.m. and decided to get a car wash too. Now, before I go any further, it should be noted that I *know* I am not smart or particularly sharp in the a.m. I know this...but the world does not and therefore I need to operate at a time when I shouldn't operate.

We are in the carwash and the car is shaking and moving and Ornery Tiger Cub is getting scared so I pull up on the e-brake. Okay....light turns green....I go and I can't get the car to budge. I have to really push on the gas. Those who do not suffer from mommy-brain probably can already diagnose what was wrong. I, for the life of me, could not. So I finally get it to go and I'm cruising down the street wondering why my car is so unresponsive but think not much of it because it has 221,000 miles on it and is a 1991 year van. Fast forward three or so hours and I have offered to go pick up LoveMeLots so Phil doesn't have to stop his game in exchange for extreme ass-kissing when I come back home.

Again, my car is unresponsive. It'll go but it takes a lot of convincing. Then it starts to shudder...right about the time I hit 30 mph. And I'm shuddering and shaking and freaking out all the way to LoveMeLot's school. Plus it was making a "rough-running" sound. So then I pick up LoveMeLots and on the way back it is just worse and worse until it starts smoking. I get home and freak out. "Phil you've got to look at my car...it stinks...it's unresponsive and is shuddering." (Hindsight grants me the ability to see an uncanny resemblence here to Phil when he plays computer games, which ironically, he was still playing when I told him this.) He says alright and then does nothing....and then...nothing....and then....nothing. This is status quo for him lately and I nearly throttled his precious little ass. I call my Dad:
Me: Dad...my car is shaking and smoking and doesn't want to go. What is wrong with it?
Dad: What?
Me: (Realizing I should get to the most important part) My car is smoking.
Dad: Well, so do you.
Me: Thanks.

He thinks it is either the oil or the transmission. He says, "Where's Phil?" I say, "Playing the computer." They know all about my peev-ability with this as they have heard my venting oh-so-much about it lately. He says, "Do I need to have a talk with Phil?" "No Dad, " I say.

So I wait some more....tell Phil that he has a real-life drama as opposed to a computer game drama that he needs to attend to RIGHT NOW. "Okay" he says. Good....he still has control over his vocal cords. And I wait and wait some more. Now, I grab the eff-ing keys and go to the van myself all the while contemplating running away...if I can get my van to work.

I start checking the oil and surprise, surprise it's fine despite the "check oil" light I've neglected for the past week. By now Phil has come out of his virtual fog and is down there helping me. He takes it for a test drive...oh please, do note that HE TOOK IT FOR A TEST DRIVE. And comes back saying, "It's the transmission." He says he'll check the transmission fluid. It's full. So he says, "Where's the papers?" So we start researching buying another, more recent but still used, van.

I end up picking up AstroBoy too and I take the Jeep. As I am pulling away from the curb after I've picked up AstroBoy, I do this mental, "Turn on engine, put into drive, check e-brake." And then I hear "E-BRAKE" rattle in my head and start laughing my freakin' ass off. AstroBoy, used to me being completely insane, just keeps talking about school and Pokemon cards as I yell, through uncontrollable laughter, "DADDY IS GONNA BITCH-SLAP ME!!!! I'm so dead." He stops long enough to say, "No he won't," and goes back to Pokemon and blah-blah-blah.

But guess what, Phil already made an appointment to see a 2000 Dodge Grand Caravan and we are OBLIGATED and then we start rationalizing, "Well, this car is old...and it has SO many miles on it. Plus, it's heating core is eff-ed up and there is no AC and the windows don't work." Oh, and most of all, THE EFFING E-BRAKE LIGHT DOESN'T LIGHT UP ON THE CONSOLE. So we went and saw it and they just got it in as a trade in so they want to put new tires on it, detail it out, check the smog and title, yada, yada and then it may very well be ours.

The bottom line good news is that we need something that is newer and more than that we need to rebuild our credit from the bankruptcy/near-foreclosure mess we've been in and I couldn't have asked for a better salesman/loan guy. He kept saying, "Don't be embarrased. I have worked with all types of cases for the past five years." Then he pulled our credit reports while Phil and I kept snickering were snickering in his office like two kids who know just how messed up a situation is but the adult hasn't figured it out yet. And he comes back in, shows them to us and says, "This isn't as bad as you think. I can find a bank to finance you." What?! I nearly kissed him and bore four children for him too. We are only going to finance half or a little more than the sale price but I told the guy, "If I only came here today to sit down with you and hear you say that our credit, although hurting, isn't a disaster it was well worth the trip!"

Sassy Fun: POPPA

2005-05-22T01:30:00.000-07:00

POPPA
Originally uploaded by smudgebaby.

This is "Pissed-Off-Piper-Post-Advantage." I gave him his Advantage flea treatment and now he is mad and squinty-eyed at me. Cracks me up. Won't even let me close to him now.

Sassy Me: 3 Things Quiz

2005-05-21T16:45:00.000-07:00

Acquired from Susie who didn't officially tag anyone but gave all readers free reign.....so I tagged myself. :o)

Three names you go by:
Jen, Baby, Mommy

Three screen names you have had:
Peach654, fireblossom22, philjenmartin

Three physical things you like about yourself:
My eyes, my feet, my smile

Three parts of your heritage:
Portuguese, German, Greek

Three things that scare you:
Thinking about harm that might come to my children, the cost of real estate, the way people treat each other

Three things you're wearing now:
Jeans, undereye bags, messy hair (don't I sound like the picture of beauty?!)

Three of your favorite bands or musical artist:
Gretchen Wilson ('cause she not only understands girls like me, but she sings for us), Sheryl Crow, Kid Rock (sorry, but I love the dude)

Three of your favorite songs:
Sittin' By the Dock of the Bay-Otis Redding, Amazing Grace, Angel-Sarah McLaughlin

Three things you want in a relationship:
Loyalty, humor, great sex

Two truths and a lie (which one is a lie?)
I'm a published writer, I'm the third child in a family of all girls, I want two more kids to add to my four (LIE...BIG LIE!!!!)

Three physical things about the preferred sex that appeal to you:
Eyes (they have to twinkle when they smile), Smile (needs to be sexy and playful), legs (muscularly defined).

Three of your favorite hobbies:
Writing (that includes journaling, essays and fiction), reading (which includes for entertainment and for learning),mixed media collages

Three things you want to do badly right now:
Hire a babysitter, hire a maid, take a daytrip

Three careers you're considering:
These are three careers I dream about--Ballerina, Actress, Artist (a girl can dream can't she?)

Three places you want to go on vacation:
A pilgrimage to all the Virgin Mary shrines in Europe(namely Portugal and France), Ashland, Oregon (bet it'd be neat to visit there as a tourist instead of finding a way to pay the mortgage while living there), New York

Three kids' names you like:
Sasha, Tucker, Ariel

Three things you want to do before you die:
See my children become parents and spend time with the grandkids, travel with Phil, get my degree so I can help others

Three ways that you are stereotypically a girl:
I'm with Susie on this one...love the purses and shoes, love getting made-up, get mushy over nearly everything.

Three celebrity crushes:
My newest is Patrick Dempsey....he is somethin' else on Grey's Anatomy, Josh Lucas (he was Reese Witherspoon's Alabama husband in Sweet Home Alabama) and Owen Wilson.

Sassy Fun: Demeter

2005-05-21T01:38:00.000-07:00

How happy was I to find this quiz and have this be the result? VERY. Are we sensing a Demeter-trend going on for me lately?

Demeter... clever and beautiful, you're the beau of
Munkustrap and best friend to Bombalurina.
You're movements are fluid and jazzy as well as
your voice and you can tell you'll be beautiful
for a long time after you can't dance anymore.
You're compassionate to others troubles but no
one seems to want to listen to your opinions
when they're not popular, maybe it's because
you're always right.

Which Female Character from CATS the musical are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

Sassy Fun: Bizy, bizy

2005-05-21T00:47:00.000-07:00

Ever since Phil got me that espresso machine I've been zooming around doing entirely too many things at once and interestingly enough, not answering email or posting to my blog. The house is clean though. Well, sort of...but I feel productive anyway.

We went and saw a performance of the musical CATS here last Wednesday and that was awesome. It felt good to get out and doing something artsy together. My personal favorite was John Boy as Rum Tum Tugger. The program said he had just released his first CD and yet, Amazon doesn't have it. Since I have learned that things do exist outside of the Amazon and Ebay realm, I'll continue to search for it. However....if you know where I can find it, drop me a line.

Sassy Mama: John Cena and My Boys

2005-05-14T19:25:00.000-07:00

JohnCenaandBoys
Originally uploaded by smudgebaby.

Awww...priceless....today Astro Boy and LoveMeLots Boy got to meet John Cena (WWE Champ). Whom, by the way, is so nice and quite a gentleman. ;o) I made sure the boys thanked John for his time and for posing in a picture with them. Astro Boy is still recovering from meeting his idol and really pissed at LoveMeLots for squeezing in closest.

John's arms are huge! Notice his shoulder/arm area is bigger than Astro Boy's head!

Sassy Wifey: Never Complain

2005-05-11T17:17:00.000-07:00

Never complain that hubby doesn't listen. Never. Because when you say, "oh my gosh," as you are passing the fire station and the firemen are hanging out outside and then, still not thinking correctly you continue with, "yay...firemen...they are fine," you'll be glad he doesn't always listen. I keep forgetting that hubby doesn't want to hear about how hot some guys are...luckily....he doesn't always listen to my passenger babble.

Sassy Mama: Follow-up Note to Self

2005-05-10T19:06:00.000-07:00

Don't bitch and moan about Mother's Day because future might hold nice diamond ring. I feel like an assface.

Writing: Haikus for Local Homesellers

2005-05-10T18:59:00.000-07:00

Haiku #1
There it stands, your home
Bought for two hundred thousand
Sold for one million

Haiku #2
Quickly sell, fast cash
Gosh, you're so smart and clever
But screwed your neighbor

Haiku #3
Blue collar, too bad
White collar, fast cash for you
Blue collar, pay rent

No hostility here.... :o/

Sassy Mama: Note to Self

2005-05-08T09:59:00.000-07:00

I musn't build up Mother's Day in the days prior to actual event because it never, ever pans out.
AstroBoy is not talking to me because he's pissed that he had to leave Grandma's house. Ornery Tiger Cub ripped up my teenage journals this early a.m. Pebbles...well she's alright except she did slam her forehead on my nose...on purpose. LoveMeLots boy is half asleep. And hubby bs'd at work and just now got home. Nice. At least I have a box of See's Candy. I'll just eat into oblivion.

Sass: My village is too expensive....

2005-05-07T11:18:00.000-07:00

I'm trying hard to ignore and not stress out on the mondo-mess that is my apartment right now. I can't believe how badly 1,000 +/- square feet can get thrashed under the creative and capable hands of four children.

So I approach life and housecleaning this morning like a 12-stepper, one room at a time. But first, I need coffee. I make the coffee and grab a cig and head outside with the paper. The San Jose Mercury New's Real Estate section. Why do I do this to myself? Why do I even look? Well, because I thrive on the thought that someday I'll have a home of my own again. But I should just look at the pictures....but I haven't mastered the control to keep from looking at the listing price. This is what followed, "799,000 oh shit...1.2 million...oh shit.....oh wait, this one is only 569,000 but wait...I can't afford anything above 100,000." Ugh.

So move...start over someplace else right? Wrong. We did that in Ashland. Apparently any place that has even remotely low prices has a job market to match.

And more importantly, this is where our village is...you know...our parents and some of our siblings. They aren't in Ashland, unfortunately, because Lord knows I'd rather scrape by in Ashland than in California.

I feel like writing an angry letter to the newspaper. Maybe I should write subscription services and tell them I don't want the real estate section included in my paper, instruct paperboy to take it out.

And the shitty thing is our only chance to own a home out here is by inheriting it. So that comes down to this equation: own home=not having as many family members OR not owning home=having lots of family.

Obviously, we'd rather have our family.

Sassy Me: My alter ego

2005-05-05T20:38:00.000-07:00

Every so often I get mail for "Genevieve Martin." Clearly, a misprint as my name is Jennifer Martin. But I always get a kick out of it. I like to think of Genevieve as my alter ego and this is what I'd expect her to be like:
-nicely styled hair..definitely uses hot curlers daily
-made up cosmetically but not overdone
-oozes sex appeal (well, duh...she's an alter ego)
-she has the means and the ability to drop everything and travel to exotic or not-so-extoic locations at a moment's notice
-She does not do one-night-stands (well, shit, neither do I)
-She isn't "into" designer names but will spot something and snatch it up if it makes her feel beautiful and is quality, if a designer name comes with it, so be it
-She's confident and independent
-She has moxie...but she also has very good judgement so her moxie always is directed correctly (unlike me who moxies all over the place)

That's Genevieve...my alter ego.

As soon as I find those raggedy holed jeans that forced me to do the horrid jean shopping mentioned prior, I am going to do this with them. I can't wait!

Sassy Fun: Piggies!

2005-05-04T21:51:00.000-07:00

I love this stuff. I got this from Bobopuppyhead. It is a Draw A Pig Personality Test. My pig looks like this. Go to Bobo's site above and the link is under the most recent cartoon (as of today).

Reading: Book Frenzy

2005-05-04T18:42:00.000-07:00

Another day of reading frenzy. I stop for little breaks to tend to the children when they make it absolutely necessary for me to avert my eyes from the page. I have entirely too many books to read. The book I just finished was awesome! It is 100 Strokes of the Brush Before Bed and was on my "Books To Check Out" list for quite some time.

I usually look for it when I go on book outings with my parents, fellow bookworms and lovers of the written and bound word. Being that it was always listed in Psychology/Self-Help/Recovery and yet was never present in that exact location left me confuzzled. My status quo is to start to look for it in erotica. HOWEVER, it never ceases to amaze me how my father would walk up, lost in his own book-drugged world and ask me the most asinine question. Once it was, "Where's your mother at?" Hello...do you not realize you've come up to your daughter while she is in the SEX section? And worse, have you realized and then not cared and still proceeded with your question?! The good news is he didn't notice, didn't care and really, he just couldn't find my mom who I had stationed in the children's book section with Pebbles and Ornery Tiger Cub so I didn't have to bring them to that section. See, I had started a theme there, "NO FAMILY MEMBERS NEED ACCOMPANY ME TO THE SEX SECTION." Pops didn't notice. I quickly showed him to my mother.

Last night he came up to me and said, "Hey, did you know that you can get an ISSN for your blog?" Huh? No, actually the only thing I've recently learned is that if I read this book I can learn how to drive my husband wild all night long (although that always sparks my mental debate: hot sex vs. sleep)...but gee, you're right ISSNs are so much more interesting. Ugh. It's probably better for him that he doesn't realize. Or...maybe, as I suspect, he just doesn't give a damn. Anyway, I got a blog computer lesson that was pretty interesting.

Sassy Mama: Montag, Montag...

2005-05-02T16:01:00.000-07:00

For goodness sakes....what a day it has been....just like a Montag.

Astroboy is stressed out with homework and Catehism (spelling?) catch-up work only to tell me that he missed five sessions so he'll have to start over again next year. Huh? Then why's he doing all the catch-up work. I'm confused. LoveMeBoy is taking a nap, thank the heavens above. He's crashed out over the ottoman now. OrneryTigerCub is chewing on a marker (did you expect anything else...at least it's capped...this time). Pebbles is nie-nie with Daddy. Which leaves me here, blogging. I'm pretty sure my attention would be better served toward Mt. Laundry or Swamp Dirty Dishes...put I'm chilling in Blog Island so they can just kiss it.

You know...I've been wanting to sort of make up a list of what I've learned but I can't. Not that I haven't learned anything...just I can't think of it all. It's stuff I recall when I'm faced with a trial or a decision but not stuff that randomly flits through my brain or is friendly to recall-on-demand.

Dinner may easily be pizza tonight. But between the hours of 3 p.m. to 5 p.m. I always say it's pizza. 3 p.m. to 5 p.m. is THE worst time of day for me. I hate it...I wouldn't miss it if they took it off the clock and went straight to 6:25...dinner magically appearing on the table. Sort of like:

Sassy Fun: You Are Demeter!

2005-05-01T14:01:00.000-07:00

You are Demeter, goddess of the earth and abundant
harvests. You are very giving and generous to
those around you.

What Kind Of Goddess Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

Sassy Mama: It's Supposed to Be Sunday!

2005-05-01T12:18:00.000-07:00

Which means I refrain from cooking, cleaning and basically doing anything that requires me to move my ass. But Ornery Tiger Cub made such a mess in the living room that just walking through it required more energy than it would to clean it. And Hubby decided to have his old rims put on my minivan so I don't "click-click-click" around town. So that required me to clean (long story but he needs a ride which means we could very well have someone over here to watch the kids since we don't all fit in the Jeep). Personally I like the "click-click-click" of my car...reminds me of the old school days of putting stuff (like playing cards or whatever) in your bicycle spokes specifically so you could make that clicking sound while you rolled in your 'hood.

I was flipping through the Sunday paper today and in Parade they had an ad for this: http://ashtondrake.collectiblestoday.com/ct/product/prdid-327665001.jsp
Now, even if I wasn't Catholic, this would highly disturb me. How weird do you gotta be to buy this? Pictures-OK, Little Statues-OK, Pins or Fliers-Also OK.....Doll-A little weird.....
Watch Mom-ma is going to get pissed at me because she was actually contemplating buying it.

Stupid Ass Downstairs Neighbor voiced his complaint again today, via pounding on the ceiling/floor. I'm sooo ready to go Crazy White Girl on him. I am. Just walk up the stairs motha-fucker and I'm going to be all over your shit like white on rice. I mean, get the fuck over yourself.....my three-year-old doesn't stop running for his dear sweet mama, no way in hell is he going to do it for a Stupid Ass Downstairs Neighbor. And so I tell Hubby, get down there and tell him off. Tell him we have four kids and that we are doing our best to not have them be loud but noise happens. Tell him!!!! And Hubby doesn't. I say, "You want me to go down there? 'Cause I'll go down there. I'm super pissed...you know what will happen right?" He does.

We have a history of him not saying what needs to be said and instead I say it and the receiver of such a talking-to gets all up and pissed because they don't like a little white woman telling them how it is and they talk shit back to me and BAM Hubby suddenly steps in and handles it. I'm just trying to expedite the process. Eliminate the middle-woman from the scenario. So damn it Hubby, handle our biz-ness.

Hubby just ain't up to such exertions right now. How do I know this? Because today, right after the neighbor banged on the ceiling/floor, we went out for a smoke and I was egging Hubby on....go handle it. And he says, "Are they even home?" What?! No, Hubby we just angered the spirits that dwell in the downstairs unit. Reminded me of Bill Engvall's skit....Here's Your Sign.

Sassy Fun: I'm a rare-type of geekiness...

2005-04-30T19:32:00.000-07:00

Sassy Me: Jean-Shopping

2005-04-30T15:53:00.000-07:00

That I am actually not interested in "normal" people. "Normal" equals "boring and fake" to me. So that last answer on my evaluation/quizzie thing below isn't at all true. NOPE.

So I went jeans shopping today because the knees on one of my three pairs decided to run in different directions and it is such a bitch to get my foot down a pant leg when it keeps getting hijacked by the knee hole. Plus I'm -5 on the Grace Scale so dressing in itself is always interesting. Ballet lessons starting in June should help that or I'll end up looking like that damn hippo in a tutu on the cartoons.

Oh..in regards to Hippos....back to the jean shopping. I used to be size 2. I was 2 and tiny. Then I was size 3 after having Skyler and Dylan. After Lucas I hovered at 5. After Cassidy I was 5 also....but now Cassidy is a year old and I'm a 9!!! From size 2 to size 9 in 10 years.

I have some sort of dysmorphic disorder opposite of that which anorexics suffer from. See I assume I'm small. I assume my ass hasn't spread. I see size 5 jeans and I worry (oh geez...how embarrasing) that they will be too big. So I take a pair of size 5 jeans to the dressing room and get one leg in. That's it. Because the other pant leg was collapsed and drawn taut. It had no plans of stretching out. And considering my -5 Grace Factor I wasn't even going to try. It was obvious....THESE JEANS WERE NOT WOMAN ENOUGH FOR MY HIPS AND ASS. So I deemed the size 5 jeans the "evil, wimpy and immature wastes of denim" jeans. That's alright because just in case, I brought a size 7 pair with me. I slip those puppies on and they glide right up my legs until the hips, which requires tugging and coercing. I finally get them past my hips and over my ass and the freakin' waist can't meet. Won't meet. REFUSES TO MOTHER-FUCKING MEET! It's not me, it's the jeans. They are not cooperative. They are the 6 year old in the grocery store whining about candy that they NEVER EVER get because YOU DON'T LOVE THEM. Size 7 jeans are deemed the "I'm Okay, You're A Brat" jeans and left with "evil, wimpy, immature wastes of denim" at the fitting room desk.

I sought out a pair of size 9 jeans that seemed entirely too big and didn't even try them on.

Now, perhaps, you think I'm whining. Perhaps you think size 9 isn't something to complain about. Well let me leave you with this closing thought...size 9 ass/hips IS really that bad with a dress-size 3 torso/chest. Thank you very much. Now you see my problem.

Sassy Fun: Fun, Fun!

2005-04-30T13:40:00.000-07:00

How I find these fun-ass things online, I don't know. Well, in this case, I do...it is by surfing other's blogs. I'm a copycat. There you have it, I admitted it. Anyway, here's my newest steal, 'cept the answers are mine:

Writing: Write about going away???

2005-04-30T00:31:00.000-07:00

Write about going away?! To where? What kind of journaling prompt is that? Just not an option for me. Four kids keeps me firmly planted in either my living room, the minivan or the grocery store. The truth is I'm tiiiii-rrreeedddd. I nap at the drop of a hat. Each moment is evaluated on the sleep spectrum, 1 being a "no way in hell can I sleep without having the apartment coming down around my ears" and a 10 being, "yup, it is midnight and most of the children are finally asleep."
I usually find my napping to happen at a 5 on the spectrum-- "if I sleep real light hubby might not notice and start spouting the inequalities of my napping when he works graveyard and only gets 6 1/2 hours sleep--OR--if I sleep real light I'll notice if Lucas is going to try and make toast again."
Oh, damn, the toast incident. Lucas, just a wee little boy with the capabilities of an ornery tiger cub, decided he was gonna make his mama toast. He told me he was going to do this so I had proper forewarning. He's seen us do this a thousand freakin' times so I figured he could handle it. But I still remained on high alert. He put two pieces of bread into one freakin' slot. Which required squishing. Which prompted burning. And smoke.
Now, even on high alert, I'm distracted because I'm not just on Lucas High Alert but also Medium Alerts for Cassidy, Dylan and Skyler. But the smoke got my attention.
All in all, it just required unplugging the toaster and performing a toast-ectomy to remove the burnt crisp bread. Yum. Boy, he was pissed though. Mama can't even leave his toast alone. I'm so hard to please.
The other thing, along with tiredness is that I have been bored on my ass lately. Bored...boooorrrreeeddd. I have no motivation to create and my writing is still tormenting me. It torments me and I choose not to visit it. I have been reading compulsively and even the authors are starting to bug me. Hmmm...possibly it is all information overload.
However, my neighbors continue to both intrigue and annoy me at the same time. Had a morbid dream last night that Downstairs Neighbor committed homicide and suicide. Nice. I felt so bad for the family yet actually heard myself say in the dream, "Wow, I don't have to worry about the noise anymore." I felt awful as soon as I said it...in my dream. Reminder to self to take meds in a.m. not p.m.
But the vah-tos (listen, I don't know the damn spelling of Vatos which will probably require an accent on a vowel that I can not conjure up without looking at a reference guide and none of that is going to happen while I'm nursing Cassidy at the keyboard) entertained me tonight. Head Shit Homeboy who is sketchy beyond all belief (he interrogated Mike the day he was setting up our phone lines when we moved in--for those who don't know, Mike works for the phone company. For said interrogation, Head Shit Homeboy leaves his property and comes to where Mike is playing with wires at phonebox and says to Mike, "What, are you tappin' my lines or somethin'?" Mike told him he was just setting up the lines for the new occupants.) Do I sense some paranoia?
Anyway, Head Shit Homeboy had his friends all over tonight and I went outside for a smoke. I had Mom-ma on the phone so I wouldn't be lonely. I look up and two cops cars come rolling down the street and pull in beside where his friends parked. Being that we are on a street that is shaped like a court, people sometimes pull in nose first rather than parallel park. So it kinda resembles a parking lot. Anyway, cops pulled in, pulled out their flashlights and even though the gate was visible, they were shining the light on the frontyard grass. I'm sure there was more but I got the shit back in my apartment, because truly the last thing I need is for HSH to see Suspicious White Girl (that would be me) on the PHONE WHEN COPS SUDDENLY SHOW UP. Not good.

Sass: Neighbors

2005-02-06T00:22:00.000-08:00

We have moved into our new apartment and I find apartment living so sketchy. I never know what the "unspoken rules" are practiced in each new neighborhood, yet get the feeling that I am supposed to know these secrets rules and abide by them. Friday night I made the mistake of trying to unpack after the three youngest ones were in bed. I committed the worst sin in apartment living. I dropped a heavy glass jar on the kitchen floor. Big no-no. It didn't break...but oh the thud it made. As soon as it happened I wanted to hide. I wanted to knock on the floor and yell, "I'm sooo sorry!" Turns out, I didn't need to knock because I got my chance to apologize face-to-face. My downstairs neighbor bounded up the stairs (and I say bounded because he must have taken two stairs at a time from the sound and speed of his arrivial) and rapped on my door.
"That noise...what was it?!" he asked. I said, "I'm so sorry. I dropped a jar. It was an accident." He stood for a moment, in his boxer shorts, t-shirt and socks, blinking like mad at the room behind me. I could tell he had been asleep. I'm not a blinker when I wake up. Not even if I go from very dark to very bright...I may squint or even shut my eyes, but I don't blink rapidly. And for some reason it REALLY gets on my nerves when people do. You can fly up my stairs to interrogate me but you can't control your eyelids? WTF?
He said, "I have to go to work tomorrow and I sleep right under there." Again, I said, "I'm am truly very sorry. I'll try to be more quiet. It was an accident." Still, he stands there, blinking and finally says, "okay" and goes down the stairs. I don't understand, as we have the same floorplan, how he could be sleeping right under my kitchen...thus, he was sleeping in his kitchen?
I close the door and feel like shit. Skyler says to me (Skyler's 9), "Mom, was that guy in his underwear?" You'd have to understand that with four rambunctious children, everywhere I go I encounter people who aren't tolerant of children or my children's spiritedness. Believe you me, they are disciplined and they know their manners even if they don't always remember to practice them....they just also have ALOT of energy. So I constantly feel like Dennis the Menance...getting on people's nerves....too damn noisy.
On the flip side I am very tolerant of others who are noisy. I don't mind dogs barking. I just don't. I don't mind the shouts of kids playing even roughl, as long as nobody's getting hurt I'm cool. I don't mind our new neighbors (not in the apartment but in the house next door) who cuss out people who are "disrespecting me as a person" on the phone and then squeal out in their trucks. Don't care....nope....live and let live. Unless they are physically or verbally threatening me....I don't give a f--k.
Which leads me to this, my own unspoken rule for apartment living: We will be as quiet and as respectful of our neighbor's right to quiet-ness as possible with four children. This means I will go out of my way to take my kids to the park frequently to run off their energy as well as CONSTANT reminders to them that people live under us or as I tell Lukie, "People live under our floor." Lukie, who's 3, thinks mom has gone and lost her damn mind when I say that to him as he's a child who has always lived in homes where the only thing that was under us was dirt.
Part two of my unspoken rule is that in exchange for our respect to them, they have to try and be as tolerant of us as possible. They chose a downstairs unit fully knowing that an upstairs unit was above them that contained THREE bedrooms. Chances are real good that a family would be the tenants of the upstairs unit. And families often have young children.
Now I say that these are my unspoken rules because thus far they have been. They are my mantra when I get too stressed or as I tell my husband Phil, "too butt-clenched" about my kids and their noise level. I mean, I have flipped out because Skyler was walking too heavily on the floor. That's nonsense and I need to chill. He wasn't thumping, running or stomping. I'm just really too tense about all of this.
However, should an incident happen again or possibly, God forbid, a complaint to our landlords, my rules will be respectfully suggested to the powers-that-be or to our neighbors.
That all said, I miss having my own home dearly.

What Kind of Geek are You?
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DOB
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What Kind of Geek are You?
Name
DOB
Favourite Color
Your IQ is	frighteningly high
You are a	word nerd
Your strength is	you actually have social skills
Your weakness is	caffine
You think normal people are	interesting
Normal people think that you are	deranged

This quiz by owlsamantha - Taken 219335 Times.