Blondecisions
Thursday, April 29, 2004
This book is KILLING me!
I am dying here! Sunset and Sawdust by Joe R. Lansdale. I tried, I really really tried to read this book.
I am an open-minded chick with thick skin and a settled tummy. But this book
is just raunchy and humorless, wandering and twisted.
I am sure someone, somewhere might like it?
The cover says he's a hilarious writer, refreshing and a terrifically gifted storyteller. I think that must be why his editor let him fly with this trash? Who can tell him no when he's sold books?
It's more like potty humor from disturbed men than real humor. The wording is pretty sick, and everyone is sickening altogether. The jokes, if they can be called that are just disgusting anecdotes about bodily function and bodily dysfunction. Constant rape, violence, disrespect. None of the storytelling I expected and nothing is forgivable because the plot stinks. Actually, the plot COULD be good, but he doesn't pull it off.
Some scattered thoughts:
By page 20, there had been a unbelievable opening sequence of a storm that
just happens to blow her house apart as she's just killed her husband who
has fiercely beat her and was trying to rape her. That's not to say it was
unbelievably good, it was NOT believable.
After that, some odd twists when she told the family of the deceased. Next a
hobo on a train was almost raped by two men and he killed them. This is by
page 20. Think Deliverance here.
Then there was the body removal of the dead husband, also not believable.
They lay him on a board in their house - a sweltering heat, and don't put
him on ice until 48 hours or so postmortem.
The mother of the dead man who sewed her husband (who beats and rapes her)
into his bed, beating him with a rake and forcing him off at gunpoint. The
14 year old daughter who learns of her father's death and acts just as
bizarre.
I thought my head was going to explode by page 41. So I skipped ahead. To
the end, no less.
The protagonist who had killed her constable husband was made constable by
her mother -in -law. Her 14 year old had an abortion after being treated
poorly, not sure if she was raped too or what. More people had died.
The hobo had "been with" the protagonist and had messed up, and escaped from
jail. She's blamed for a murder. The murder victim she investigates is her
dead husband's girlfriend, whom the mother in law found dead in a pool of
oil. The MIL delivered the baby by cesarean, and then burried it. No one
knows in the end if the MIL killed her and the baby, or if the dead husband
did.
This was all done over a "few weeks" after getting away with her husband's
murder, that everyone knew about.
Oh brother.
Friday, April 23, 2004
It's My Birthday and I'll Take a Gift Back if I Want To...
I've always hated my birthday! Since I was 16 I've hated it, and since I was about 22 I've cried for weeks in advance. It hit me this week that I wasn't crying, and I didn't try to hide my date from anyone. I was actually enjoying this b-day. That's odd!
That doesn't mean my kids and dh did well with the birthday gifts :) Though I did get the one inexpensive thing I wanted - the movie, Singles (Matt Dillion, Kyra Sedgwick, Bridget Fonda). Whoo hoo! Loved this movie for years, and have the soundtrack that I still listen to.
The boys bought me Brother Bear. Hmm.. I think I will take it back. Dh urged me to do so as he tried to teach them about giving me what I want, not what they want. Of course Taylor wasn't so happy with that! He was quite bitter and rude about it. Lil Alex was fine with it.
I feel like a mean mama, yet justified in trying to teach them about the nuances of gift giving. Next year I will tackle the whole getting mom 4 movies for her b-day issue.
My dh loves me and he's so supportive, but MAN does he STINK at birthdays
and romantic notions.. and getting the kids to give me a birthday. He always
tells them on THEIR birthday that they should give ME gifts for having them.
It's sweet :)
We have a joke around here - Nothing says lovin' like a zip drive. That's
what Dh got me for my first birthday with him. Yah.. He's a romantic,
alright :) He really actually put THOUGHT into that one. He really tried - I
guess he can't help it that he's genetically unromantic.
I'm already grooming my kids, knowing their dads are worthless in romance.
They need mommy intervention!
Tuesday, April 20, 2004
My Kid's a Klutzy Numbskull.
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I love this child. No I REALLY do! I swear! I spent months holding him, singing to him, pacing the floor while he was a sick baby. He beat the odds just getting here through the pregnancy. But he's now beating the odds staying here, 'cause there are times I want to beat him senseless.
It's not hereditary as far as I can tell, but I'll be advising him against having any children. Actually the klutz part isn't in the genes, but I would venture (not far) to say the numbskull part is. You just need to know my family.
Then again, you better not.
He's my middle son, full of (un?)promise, and 5.5 years old. He's book smart but extremely stoopid when it comes to social graces, manners and common sense.
His body just sort of flails around and we have to tell him to pull his limbs back in before walking. He's no clue why he keeps running into things. When he was a baby, if there was a sharp corner, he'd hit it with his head. Could be 12 foot of space all around him, but his head would find and smash any hard object.
He jumped on my bed how many times? I told him not to. Reminded him of the carnage. But every time I turned around, he'd jump again .. and systematically catapult himself off the bed and into the bed frame or heater. I had ice packs and gauze in my top drawer for such occasions because he's a bleeder - tired of having to run to the bathroom to get them every day.
Someday if he loses his hair, or shaves his head, he'll have about 50 tiny scars all over patterned like Morse code.
Now at 5 he has early onset alzheimers. He forgets everything in mere moments after being told. There are times when I feel like grabbing the Snausages 'cause I swear it's like training a perky puppy, minus the pee puddles on the floor.
I'll say, "These are for the living room"
In 2 seconds he'll say, "Mom, are those for the livingroom?"
He falls UP the stairs a lot. No, more like every day.
Sometimes 4 times a day.
He can't seem to learn to slow down when taking the 4 steps out of the livingroom. His shins are so black and blue, I wonder if they'll ever pink up again. Then he has the nerve to stare at me as if I knocked him over. He gets a hurt look in his eyes like he can't understand why he just fell. Again. For the third time today. The third time in two hours.
How many times can ONE kid fall up the same stairs before he learns to stop?
He was playing basketball and ran into a car the other day. How do you run your face into the bumper of a car? How do you not notice a CAR is there, and how do you then bend at the waste and run full force into the bumper?
His face blew up to this horrid size with a grotesque color and 4 hours of Emergency Room smell later, it was, "Use ice. Are you sure the car wasn't moving?"
We were asked that three times. It looked that bad.
He had enough wherewithall to dicker with the doc over an x-ray. He wanted radiation dammit! He felt he deserved it after what he'd been through.
My little boy is gullible. They named the word after him. My husband has spent many years now playing jokes on Alex that he just never "gets".
But man do I love this kid. He wasn't supposed to be here. He wasn't supposed to make it to birth alive or intact. He was oh so sick. And now? He's all mine. I can do what I want with him. Like hold him, hug him and nurse his wounds.
And tell him Daddy's just kidding. We don't use poop flavored swizzle sticks in the hot chocolate.
Googlism... all the rage
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I got this bit o' wisdom from Marcia's Blog: Mixed Messages and thought I would try it out, right. After all, hers was funny, right?
I went to Googlism and typed in Gina for "Who". Apparently Googlism tells you what google thinks of you.
Here are my results:
gina is (pretty benign, right? Gina is nothing)
gina is pregnant (WHOA! WTF? Game is over!)
Alright.. alright. I shall go on and pluck out the best for you. Perhaps there were better, but I had no clue what some were referring to.
So the next group were all about porn. I was shocked (How did they find out?!)
gina is trying to **** her way into america
gina is being f***** by ben
gina is sucking (an annoying crowing bird) of her boyfriend
gina is rubbing the .... of her sister (I don't have a sister, I swear!)
gina is laying on the back and demonstrating her opened shaved (legs)
Ok, ENOUGH!!!! This was supposed to be fun, right?
gina is my bridesmaid (fat chance)
gina is hot (yeah baby!)
gina is the greatest (Heck yeah!)
gina is gorgeous (Getting even better!)
gina is fucking for a better life (Say WHAT?!)
gina is incredibly cute (Ok, Google, you're forgiven)
gina is the biggest fucking bitch ever (Says my mama, but she doesn't count)
gina is a silly dog (Um, ok)
gina is a miracle (correction NEEDS a miracle)
gina is responsible for recognizing a secure attention sequence (I'm sorry, what did you say? I wasn't paying attention)
gina is the barmaid at the aidensfield arms (it was a college gig)
gina is developing a clear sense of who she is and how to use her creative powers with the greatest efficiency (Hey, yah, I'll have to remember this one for my dad)
gina is brazilian (I wish! I do have a jungle on my legs though)
gina is gagged and the tickling continues (Who sold the video?!)
gina is not my lover (she's just a girl who thinks that I am the one.. but the kid is not my son)
gina is a naughty average girl (always a contradiction)
gina is the female version of the gino (I had my first operation at 18)
gina thinks she's destined for greatness (only in her sleep)
gina is an office manager for a church (but on the side she's naughty and average)
gina is a flexible (I'd have to be with everything I am doing)
Monday, April 19, 2004
Is it a bad sign...
When your two-year-old steals food from the kitchen and hides under the table to scarf it like he hasn't eaten in weeks?
Someday I'll describe the peanut butter finger painting he did under the table.
Inky Wisdom from a MomWriter
Little Rock Cutie says: If inkjet printer ink were gasoline, it would cost you approximately $175,000 to fill your gas tank, depending on the tank size.
Say what? Wow. No wonder so many writers are so poor. All of our earnings are put back into the ink and paper. Thank goodness so many pubs now allow e-mail.
I know what she's saying though - I just got a new printer and have barely used it, yet it's out of black ink so I have to go pay something like $50 (??) to buy new cartridges.
Yippee for me.
Sunday, April 18, 2004
Burn Baby Burn
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I have no faith in the local fire department.
Mind you, this is not an easy feat, being a devout volunteer EMT side by side with the FD before we moved and working in my last career as the EMS Youth Corps Director with all the volunteer fire/EMS squads in a NY county the size of Rhode Island.
I remember as an EMT I was clueless with directions and relied on my partner to find our way. But we were just one rig answering a call. And he always knew where to go. (Well ok, except for a few times when we buzzed up and down roads with our sirens on like a dog chasing a rabbit)
But what about 5 fire trucks and one ambulance answering a call next door and it took them a looong time to get there. Does no one know where a popular RV park and beach (that used to be public) are located? There are SIGNS people!
We live on a small lake - as in, you can clearly see little people standing on the other side - and there was a small fire yesterday just around the curve from us. We could boat there in 2 minutes on our lil poor man's boat.
I heard the sirens from a long ways away.
I heard them go past the park.
I heard them turn the corner about 5 few miles past the park.
I saw them round the opposite side of the lake and slow down to see the smoke. Heh. I can just imagine what they were saying then.
I heard their sirens continue around the next corner.
I heard them continue down the road and then around another corner - they're now several miles away again - where they started from.
I heard them finally come around by the park and enter.
The fire chasers (media) found the fire first and sat waiting for the trucks.
I have no faith. None. If our house catches fire, we live on a private road, and we will all surely burn and die.
Saturday, April 17, 2004
Shall I properly introduce myself?
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I posted this on a group today and thought it might be a nice filler here:
I'm mama to three little boys (Taylor 8, Alex 5 and Jack 2). They'll all have birthdays in a few months and yes, I cry when my dh mentions how soon my oldest will be driving. 8 years from now is traumatic for me!
I live 1.5 hrs North of NYC and when I am in the country, I long for the city and vice versa. My hubster is wonderful and is my second. I was divorced a few years ago from someone I'd known my entire life and had foolishly married before I knew he would grow up. He didn't. I had to do it over to get it right I guess.
My EMT certification has sadly ended in March, and I always dreamt of going back to become a Paramedic "for fun". I know! I am sadistic. But when the air settles around here, I will recertify to volunteer. I tried various things in health care and it wasn't for me, so I moved on.
I was a rape crisis counselor, a mediator and an EMS Youth Corps Director. I built programs for disadvantaged kids, built and coordinated a countywide program for schools and emergency service corps, worked from 7am to 9pm and never saw my own kids.
I hope to go back to school to get my psych degrees someday, since I had started that years ago, but decided to pause and raise my kids first. I was saving the world, but not my own family. (What mommy? I have a mommy?! What does she look like?)
I never wanted to stay home for over a year after my first two were born, but with maturity and the advent of work at home mommies I realized my calling was to be at home so I could properly torture my children. Seeing them for 2 hours a day or less isn't nearly enough time to mess with their heads properly!
I am currently a freelance writer and business owner. I started in 2002 as a personal coach and expanded from there to reach more parents and families on a larger scale. The Busy Family Network www.busyfamilynetwork.com began with my purchase of www.busyparentsonline.com and grew over the past year to include the new www.naturalfamilyonline.com, www.busyhomeschool.com, www.busyparentsuniversity.com, and the soon to come, www.busypets.com.
I write for my own websites as well as regional parenting publications like Hudson Valley Parent and Capital District Parent, Westchester Parent and even a spot in the Big Apple Parent. I also started recently writing for www.internetbasedmoms.com. Someday I suppose I should try for bigger print pubs! I do hope to write a book or three someday and I have a 99% accepted anthology with a small publisher. I just need to do some hoop jumping for the final acceptance. My hope is to write a chic lit novel though. I love the stuff!
Oh, I also sell Mary Kay (just started in January) and Gabby Goodies (started in March?) because I am addicted.
Thursday, April 15, 2004
Would you buy him?
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Should I slap a warning label on this? Sure! Some sexually suggestive and delusional content to follow:
.
My husband jokingly asked me where I could rent him out so he could make a few bucks. Something about my grandmother handing over a down payment on a house and telling me he's the best thing to happen to this family. *granny giggle*
He was joking, but am I?
I could be the new age of Heidi Fleiss! (Minus the jail time). I think there's something seriously lacking in the prostitute niche.
There are female prostitutes from the gold diggers, to the legals at the Mustang Ranch and in pornos, to the sneaky call girl types, to those poor souls on the streets. Then there are males, whom we also see on the streets and in porn (think Mark Walberg in Boogie Nights who was both), to the escort servants and the gold diggers sleeping with older women for gifts. I don't see a legal Mustang Ranch filled with men though.
What's missing? The man (and woman?) who gets called upon to fix things, clean things and take care of other 'needs' - and you wouldn't have to get all gussied up! Hire one of the Studbands and you can stay in your jogging pants with no make-up on, day #22 of bad hair and he wouldn't care. In fact, he may just tell you how good you look while cleaning your pipes.
I could start a rent a husband service that does more than carpentry. I could begin with the hub, but recruit others looking for a quick buck from a lonely wifey. They could perform all the husbandly duties and then some. He could clean the pipes, carry the load, swab the deck, lick the spoon.
He could be the surrogate hubster. Take out the trash, clean your pipes and happily kiss you good night. No whining included, no snoring, no bathroom stench, and not one finger touches the remote unless you ask for your buttons pushed.
Whatta ya say, girls?
Tuesday, April 13, 2004
The Kumquat is Hired!
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I am not all that sure how I feel about sharing my evenings with him again (I was liking the remote all to myself). But hey, won't it be nice to have some help around again?! Especially since Taylor gets particularly punky around 4pm-8pm.
If he is off to work again next week, he can stop sabotaging my writing and work. I know he's not trying to do so, but he does. The filthy little urchin can't keep his cretan hands off me. If he leaves me alone, it's to turn up the TV and invite the kids in for play time. Aaarrgghh...
Oh and the, "Honey, were you going to work today? I didn't know."
"Well gee, Dear, it's MONDAY I thought I might. But I guess I'm wrong. Now that I've been ripped from a beautiful thought process and can't remember what I was about to lay down in Word that was pure genius, what can I help you with?"
"Oh nothing."
(Me:) "No, no. Really. What is it that you wanted?"
"Nothing! I was just chatting with you. Sorrrry."
(Me:) "Yes you are."
"I am what?"
(Me:) "Nevermind."
"No, go ahead, Honey."
(Me:) "I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry."
(Me:) "You don't know how sorry I am."
Ahh but I do love the slug. He's so good to me! Who else would take the kids for three hours so I could vegetate? Then bring them home and feed them lunch, and send them to bed for a nap.
He's laying on the floor, kids sprawled out around him, watching dinosaurs on DVD. The noise is loud and I am distracted, but aint life grand? This man is a keeper, he is.
Betcha can't guess who's getting a thank you tonight.
Monday, April 12, 2004
Can Ya'll Come Over? Now GO Home!
My weekend mantra:
I love my parents. I want them to visit. I enjoy their presence.
I love my parents. I want them to visit. I enjoy their presence.
I love my parents. I want them to visit. I enjoy their presence.
I love my parents. I want them to visit. I enjoy their presence.
What I am thinking:
I love my parents (when they're 5 hours away).
I want them to visit (for thirty minutes).
I enjoy their presence (for ten minutes).
That wicked wicked rodent bunny brought my parents with it. Despite my father's attempts to make my kids cry by telling them he'd run over the Easter Bunny on his way here, the first day wasn't so bad.
He kept most of his fat, lazy and stupid comments for when he had me cornered at the dinner table. Literally. No way out with the huge table, the small dining area and lots of people. Unless I sprouted a Spider Man web and slung my way over the top.
Chew chew chew, smile, rebuttal, wicked smile, frown, chew chew chew, rebuttal, protests from dh, chew chew, smile, rebuttal, mutual protests from dh and mom, chew chew, sip my soda, smile, rebuttal, chew chew, look around the room for chewing kids with heads down, flip dad the bird, smile and refuse to engage anymore.
I love my parents, I really really do.
I would say I am a horrifying mutant mix of the two of them - bitchy and blonde like my mama, stubborn ass like my papa. I was blessed with the worst possible traits of both. What you have is a concoction that should never have been available for any human. That is me. Ain't they proud!
Thursday, April 08, 2004
Meeses
Moodstruck has a mousey story, so shall I?
I shall.
I once had a mouse in my old house (oh whatta louse) when I didn't have a spouse (who was also a louse).
*ahem*
I heard scratching above my head and looked up to find a mouse clinging to the wood framing around the ceiling, staring down at me with those black eyes like I was today's lunch!
Yes, I fear being chewed by a wee mouse. I don't know, perhaps he could be trained to remove some of this and some of that. A true nip and tuck. His reward? A Cheese puff.
I grabbed a wooden bat and proceeded to beat it to death.
Ok, ok. I missed the body and hit the tail, propelling the mouse to the floor and he scurried into my kitchen.
Next time we saw him, or one of his army, he was running across the livingroom floor so I threw my cat "Fatty" on him. She freaked out and seemed to say, "Ewww... What IS this thing?!"
She'd never moved so fast in her lumpy life.
And I thought cats were bred for catching mice, not running from them. My bad.
Mommyhood is all Perception
Isn't it funny how one expert can make you feel like an incompetent moron with a few simple words or questions, and others can be uplifting?
Case in point: My son's therapist at the hospital had a way of nullifying everything I ever felt about myself as a parent and reducing me to a stay at home ninny with rarely a thought in my head who obviously cannot handle three children. She was all about what I must have done in his past to make him this way... Never a question or care about our awesome family now, my wonderful husband, or my two other well-adjusted kids.
The second therapist who performed the intake last evening was more interested in how we are today, what support we have and what we view as our best gifts. She made it ok to have a child with troubles and seemed genuinely impressed with my mothering and business. She never alluded to my being incapable of helping my child and seemed more interested in where to go from here, not where we had been.
It's been a roller coaster of mommy emotions to say the least. While I am grateful for the second therapist's attitudes, the first has also spurred me to take actions that will hopefully end doubts towards my parenting and abilities in the future.
Parenting perceptions depend greatly on training, therapeutic tendencies, personality and judgment. I don't think it's just therapists that suffer from short-sightedness when it comes to parenting. We all do at times!
Monday, April 05, 2004
Don't Label Yourself
I couldn't figure out why everyone was looking at us. Were we not welcome here? I thought public rest stops saw all kinds, and yet everyone seemed to be trying to read us. It was very strange.
I just ushered my son in and out of there quickly, nodding at all the curious pedestrians with forced politeness. I never realized what their problem was until I returned to the car and my hubby pointed out the chest tag I was wearing.
Seems I'd forgotten to remove my sticker, and people were indeed trying to read me.
This was quite a different experience than the time my hubster had jokingly put a sticker on the crotch of my jeans that said something like, "Good Lovin'". I forgot that it was there and went to my son's Tae Kwon Do tournament.
My dearest hubby swears the sticker was folded over and no one could have seen what it said, but I have no choice but to not believe him... I couldn't get anyone to look right at me all day.
What's worse? No one told me I had a sticker on my coochie.
Friday, April 02, 2004
I can't get this kid to poop in the potty
What's wrong with the potty? He knows how to go there.
If I catch him in the act, I tell him, "If you're pooping, go to the potty!" and he says, "No, I not *grunt* poopin'!!" Then proceeds to sing:
You know the muff man?
*grunt* the muff man,
The muff man
You *grunt* know the muff man?
Who leaves on hew-eee ayyn...
Well, if you've seen the "muff man", ask him if his kid is potty trained.
Thursday, April 01, 2004
So, um, when does this thing get funny?
I should have waited to start a blog.
You know, like after I've had all my female organs purposely ripped out so I can try to conceive an alien baby; My kids have grown up, moved away and forgotten to tell me; My dog's been put to sleep for squirrel abuse and I am high on Prozac (or crack).
By then I should be rich, having made my first $100 selling my story to America's Blandest Home Memoirs, gumming my squashed vegetables and scratching my diaper. I've been retired from the Streetwalkers Union for two-years at that point, so I spend my days walking the halls, looking for fresh peas.
Peas Out
Fools Day, My Day
I am a fool, and always have been.
And now I am a fool who's given up her child to some hospital 50 minutes away. I don't think admitting him was foolish, mind you. No, no, that's just reserved for me.
What's worse? I am too depressed to talk about what a fool I am.
*** Update *** After 8pm
I was foolish enough to think that my going to see him tonight would be a necessary thing for him.
I was foolish enough to think I could talk him into visiting for a few minutes.
I was foolish enough to think this wouldn't shake me to the core.
I was also foolish enough to be lulled into the original diagnosis of severe anxiety.
I wouldn't have missed it for the world, afraid he was strung out waiting for me. I really thought he'd be so happy to see me.
Where's my baby? The one that I had 8.5 years ago? The one who was still my little stick-tight, loving boy just a year ago? Just months ago even? Where did he go?
I've been on the go all day long, preparing the things he needed tonight, getting his brother to and from school. I even crabbed at a clerk this afternoon because I was tense and anxious about getting to him this evening.
When I finally arrived and dragged his stuff and his brothers in, he said hello, smiled, looked at what I brought with me, said hello to his brothers and then promptly said goodbye. He wanted to go to the gym with the others even though he'd been there once already.
I tried to get him to stay but he just tried to manipulate me, then punish me by pulling away and having a tantrum. I was shocked he was tantruming so easily in front of everyone. I am SO scared he's picking up the "this is acceptable" vibe from the other kids.
He's never been free to just freak out in public. But then again, he feels safe there, and he feels normal. It's stressful to see the other kids freaking out I guess, but safe and normal is where he'll let loose the most. I can only just wonder and guess.
He's driven by what you might call his id. Whatever he wants, that's all that's on his mind. Pleasure. I don't equal pleasure, no matter what I do - I know this. I understand this. I give him the space he needs and the support and love when it's convenient for him and he feels he can accept it. But I wasn't prepared for tonight.
The Doctor believes he does what he does because he's afraid I'm going to die and she felt he may have severe anxiety and OCD.
I think she's very wrong and I think he's trying to tell us what he thinks we want and what will get him where he wants to go. I think those are comorbid symptoms, but there's something deeper.
But in a glimmer of hope, it's just a matter of time before she gets it right, I think. I have faith, I think.
And on that note, I will end this and go off to bed.
