The Pants Fairy's arch-nemesis

You know how after you wash jeans and hang them up to dry when they're still half wet because you're too impatient to wait for the dryer to finish and you have ten million other things you need to get done and how your jeans are all stiff after they dry hanging on the treadmill in your bedroom? The first few moments you squeeze back into them are extremely uncomfortable until they stretch back out and soften.
Well, I've spent the last week stretching out all of my clean jeans and putting them back in the drawer so that when HE gets here I can just slide into them like they fit perfectly instead of all the usual heavy breathing and swearing. I realize in writing this just how insane I am.
Well, this morning I opened the drawer to see if there were any I hadn't softened up yet and a pair was missing. So I went into Haley's room and there they were. She'd been wearing them. She stole the jeans I worked so hard to make comfortable and wore them! All that hard work gone to waste!
I know WHY. She isn't allowed to wear jeans with rips and holes to school. And she ruins her clothing. She also buys skin tight ones and I'll bet mine are just so much more comfortable, BECAUSE I DID ALL THE WORK!
So I'm going out to buy myself new jeans now and she can just keep stealing my old ones!
She's like the anti-pants FAIRY, taking away my best pants so that I can't wear them. I hope the two of them meet and have a huge BLOODY battle and she learns that you can't just give pants and have someone else take them away. Not without the wrath of a mom who likes her pants to have some breathing room. Next time maybe I'll make her do all the work--as PUNISHMENT.

First Day of Drama and the Pants Fairy

Well, I did it. I got up. I threw on some pants and shoes. I made her scrape the windshield off. And I drove her to school at 6:15. It felt really good for about an hour--Yay, I can be a morning person! I have lots of energy! I have tons of extra time!
Now I realize those were just the schizophrenic thoughts of a tired mind. It was all true until the other kids went to school and I sat down to write an email. Then I saw the disconnect between my head and my hands. As soon as I started to type I lost the ability to think of words. Crash and burn. Coffee is not helping.
But I do have to say that I found a new pair of pants hanging in my closet with the tags still on that I must have forgotten about. I was a little afraid to try them on because sometimes I buy things without trying them first and then later I realize that I'd have to lose my pudge or let it hang over the top. I stuff those pants in the back of my closet and try to pawn them off on people. Or plan on finding my abs by spring and put them in a box marked "summer pants" along with all the other pants I've never worn but take out once in a while to admire.
These pants fit so well. They must have come from the Pants Fairy. As much as I ABHORE shopping, especially for pants--there is NO WAY I would have had the patience to find these myself. My ass looks good. My pudge is under control. Ahhhhhhhhhh.
Yes, I do believe in the Pants Fairy now. And I'm sure he's a gay guy with slender transparent wings and rosy cheeks who sneaks pants into the closet of people who willingly drive their kids to school at 6:15 in the morning. I'll be waiting for him tomorrow morning.

A Revision

I have to post this because it's a masterpiece and it's never too late to laugh about the stupid relationships I've had ever since leaving Wyoming.


Runaway James (to the tune of Runaround Sue)

Here's my story, its sad but true
It's about a boy that I once knew
He took his stick then ran around
To every pool hall in town
Ah, I should have known it from the very start
This boy will leave me with a broken heart
Now listen people what I'm telling you
A-keep away from-a Runaway james
I miss his books and his pajama pants
His voice as he asks for just one more chance
So if you don't wanna cry like I do
A-keep away from-a Runaway James
Ah, he likes to travel around
He'll love you but he'll put himself down
Now people let me put you wise
He goes out with other guys
Here's the moral and the story from the one who knows
He'll leave so fast that he'll forget his clothes
Ask any fool that he ever knew, they'll say
A-Keep away from-a Runaway James
He likes to travel around
He'll love you but he'll put himself down
Now people let me put you wise
James goes out with other guys
Here's the moral and the story from the one who knows
He'll run so fast that he'll forget his clothes
Ask any fool that he ever knew, they'll say
A-Keep away from-a Runaway James

So besides rewriting songs and laughing about them I also have decided that I do in fact have hobbies. I may not hunt or fish or make anything right now (unless this song counts) but I do like vampires. Vampires are a hobby. And I like wine. And I do like to bitch sometimes. That's a hobby. I wear sweatpants too, which is this new hobby I just picked up a couple of month ago when I stopped caring about what I look like when I'm at home. And I am really good at loud sighing. I'm just full of hobbies!
How did Haley get to school if one of her new shoes is under the coffee table??? I'll bet she forgot to put shoes on. I'd better go find her.

Many Random but Important Events That must be connected Somehow

Today I got the birthday present I bought myself through the mail. I am now feeling supported and separated, lifted and somehow thinner. Is this really where the boobs are supposed to be? I keep hitting my chin on them and I can definitely see the six pack of small rolls where my abs should be but aren't. When not dragging against my knees they look really HUGE. I am so amazed that I keep looking down and then feeling them, cause I can't quite believe they're mine.

I took Haley to Dartmouth yesterday where her doctor (who I LOVE) thought there's a good chance most of her issues are caused by a sleep disorder. So she filled out the paperwork (one piece of paper) for a referral to the sleep clinic to at least rule this out before we go the ADHD route. She said that when she faxes these down to the sleep people they somehow lose them and so she wanted us to walk it down (2 buildings over and 3 floors down) and hand it to them in person. When we found the sleep clinic all the doors were shut and because it's a small city I finally decided to enter the business office.

The three women who were sitting there chatting were AGHAST that I would walk in. They spoke ANGRY INTEROFFICE language at me that sounded something like "You can't hand this to us! You have to send it by interoffice doctor transportalator facsimile machination" and each one looked up at the sky (or ceiling) like whatever it was lived above us. So maybe they meant I had to talk to God first, and when I refused and said "The doctor said to walk it down here and hand it to you" they were even more AGHAST that I would refuse to bow down and worship this thing they so feared and revered. "The doctors keep doing this to us, instead of using the interoffice doctor transportalator facsimile machination," they said to me so that I would be on their side of the interoffice schism. And maybe I was or maybe I wasn't, I didn't really care as long as the paper got to where it was going.

Then they just looked at me like I should apologize for bring this nasty piece of paper to them. I turned to the one nearest me and asked politely "I have no idea what you are talking about, but can you please get this to where it's supposed to be."

She took it from me and said that she would fax it upstairs so that it would be faxed back down to her, the way things are supposed to work in the hospital. If this order was not kept apparently the whole system would fall apart. I don't doubt that she made a paper airplane out of it and threw it down the elevator shaft after I left. And I now realize that she may have been merely following the Pathetics on the Way to Gof, in which case I commend her attempt at trying to make me feel like she was doing me a huge favor and as long as the paper made it up to God and back I'm okay with it.

The third thing that happened was what I found when looking back through the history on my laptop to find a walkthrough for LOTR for Emily that she looked at on Thursday. I haven't seen so many bizarre sites since the days of Joe and Jim in my basement. No, no, no! I wish I'd never seen those pictures. When I was a kid you had no access to these things and now all you have to do is find the five minutes when MOM has locked herself into the bathroom and type Animal Porn into google and there it is!

Can you tell that they've been home sick all week and I haven't had a break since a week ago Friday?

It would be funny if it wasn't so accurate.

Well, I've finally discovered the solution to sibling rivalry. Only the word rivalry is too NICE. It's more like sibling bickering over absolutely nothing until mother goes downstairs and raids the wine box. For a while I was trying to interrupt their arguments and give them something even more absurd to argue about, but they can go at it just as easily when the topic is whose shorts are shorter and what color the sky is at night.

So today the youngest was in my bed, reading a book, when I yelled "time for bed."
"Not yet, Mom. I have ten more minutes," she demanded.
"By the time I get you in there and you're done the whole bedtime routine, IT WILL be bedtime," I said.
Then I did a fifteen minute skit playing myself, her, and the sister she shares a room with, mockingly showing her what bedtime looks like in my house. Nothing at all like the Walton's Goodnight JohnBoy, Goodnight Grandpa.

No, this was more like:

Me: Goodnight Gina.
Gina: But Mom, I just thought of something. Then I forgot. No, don't leave. It was important . . . while gripping my hand.
Mom, I feel like something is watching me all the time. Do you believe in ghosts? Why are some people bad? What happens to stars when they die? One hundred and fourteen days ago someone took my hair tie and I can't find it. Emily took it!
Me: It's late Gina, go to sleep.
But Emily took it! I hate her. She's a retard!
Emily from the bottom bunk (in a squeaky high voice): I'm not a retard. Mom, punish her. Why don't you ever punish her? She hit me forty-two times today and you didn't do anything. I swear I'm going to hit her if she says one more word.
Me: No, you're not. Go to sleep. You can fight tomorrow.
Gina: But I had a really bad day at school. What are they going to do at the Doctor's tomorrow? Hmmmmmmmhmmmmhmmmm
Emily: Mom, she's humming. Make her STOP.
Gina: Hmmmmmmhmmmhmmmm, I am not humming. You retard. You never should have been born.
Emily: I am not a retard. You're an IDIOT. I'm going to hit you.
Gina: Mom, mom . . . she's calling me names. I'm uncomfortable. Can I switch pillows with you? I know this was yours. I want mine back. Fill up my water bottle. No, don't go. I remember what that was I wanted to tell you. No, wait. I forgot again. Will you come check on me in fifteen minutes?
Emily: Wasn't it easier with just two children?

I thought this was a pretty accurate representation of what goes on in their room when I shut out the light and say goodnight. Especially when I walked in there with Gina to really say goodnight, after she laughed hysterically at my version, and the first thing Emily said was "Mom, I hate you. Now go heat up my rice bag, turn the fan on low, and tell that little idiot to shut up."

We're not the Waltons. That's for sure.

Formal Dressup Day at the High School?

Dress up day is hard enough. Twice now on early Monday mornings she has called me because she forgot to dress up and she needs clothes. Now she's being told that Formal Dressup means she has to wear a GOWN. Not a dress, a GOWN.

Yes, my closet is full of GOWNS. I wear them to many events: Balls, the Opera, and around the house cleaning. I wear them to therapy appointments, the dentist, and in my mom-taxi. I wear them when I take the trash out to the dumpster and while carrying in a fresh box of wine. I wear them to the bus stop to do my happy dance when the kids leave for school. I have a closet full of GOWNS.

So while I'm thinking about my gown collection, she's on my cellphone talking to a friend and I hear "I have a black dress that's kind of like my mom's hooker dress only without the sequins."

Sigh.

Halloween is not for PORN

I'm off work today! Can you tell? For the first day in forever all I have to do is write a letter and make a couple of phone calls and be a traitor. That's a day off!

My oldest daughter wants to have a Halloween movie night with her friends. Her choice of movies: The Unborn and Last House on the Left.

I don't want to be here when they're watching these movies. I don't even want to think about anything Unborn. Or something crawling down a hall with its head on backwards. Ick. And how am I supposed to watch her and her friends if they're watching this movie and I've got gum in my ears and a paper bag over my head? She has 4 boys and 1 girl on her list of friends. One boy being the boyfriend she really hasn't broken up with anyway. Hmmmm. No.

So I suggested renting sappy love movies. The theory being that if I start far to the left the compromise ends up in the middle. "Love movies are for Valentine's Day," she told me. I thought Valentine's Day was for uncomfortable dinner dates with people I should have dumped back on Election Day. One of the other girls yelled out "How about some porn then?" And then all three giggled and said "Mother's Day is for Porn!"

Children never forget anything you want them to, and they only remember anything important long enough to repeat it back to you and run out the door.

Benedict Me

I am a traitor.

How come it seems to always work out that the right thing feels so terrible and heart-wrenching? Shouldn't the right thing be easy and floofy, and thank you kindly when you're done.

My oldest daughter is not going to thank me today when she gets home from school. I'm going to throw her weekend bag in my car, have a huge fight with her that'll end with her threatening to leave, and drop her off at the one place she might dread more than her father's. Ouch.

It's nice to have other people freely offer their services as the bad parent. But it's so hard for the good parent (me) to do something she'll never forgive me for. If I could send myself for the weekend I would. I would LOVE it there.

Instead I'm going to spend the evening house-sitting at Dad's with a bottle of whisky and my arthritic dog and my blind cat, and a golden retriever I have to carry up and down the stairs. I'll fit right in!

And when Haley comes back hopefully I'll be able to whistle and she'll come right over so that I can throw a saddle on her.

I cannot take her to Wyoming with me while she's being all defiant. She blames her attitude on how hard teenagers have it now. I can't say I blame her. Every other generation of teenagers had it so easy, so much respect and freedom and opportunity. I feel sorry for all her friends with their cell-phones and their playstations and 175 channels to choose from every night.

I think the feeling of being a traitor just passed and now I'm pretty pissed off that she looks at me and says "what are you going to do about it?"

Now I'd love a live web cam at Kath's. I owe that woman alot.

Peruvian Onions and Sanity go Together

I have two things to say today and one is about Peruvian Onions and the other is about Sanity.

Let's take the easy one first. I bought a sweet onion and I was peeling it for lunch (No, not like I was gonna take a sweet onion to work and just gnaw on it!) and it is already moldy on the inside and I just bought it last night at the local grocery store. And I just happened to look at the sticker on it and it's from Peru. Is this the closest place on earth that makes onions? How long did it take this onion to get here? What kind of hardship did this onion go through before it arrived all moldy on my doorstep?
Maybe it took a trip like Dave on the Early Show's No Way Home, except I'll bet my onion didn't have 50 bucks and a Blackberry. I think it's cheating to be dropped off in the middle of nowhere and have 50 bucks and a way to connect to the internet! I think he should be dropped off with no money, a six-day beard and in his blue striped pajamas, like the rest of us were in the nineties or was that a flashback from the sixties in my head? Except I didn't have a beard, cause I'm a girl. No offense to all the girls with facial hair of course (just to cover my ass incase my pagan friend Pink also sports a soul patch). Laugh girl!!!
You shouldn't be able to connect with people on twitter who want to pick you up for their 15 minutes of fame. Instead you should have to beg and plead total strangers on the road who have never even heard of you. You should have to ride with large creepy men who ask you for a kiss before they let you out of the car. You should sleep on the floor of bus stations without a pillow. You should be thankful just to wash your face with soap once a day.
But I was talking about this ONION of mine. Don't they grow onions somewhere closer than Peru? What ever happened to onions from Washington state? The poor thing has been on quite a trip.
Can you see how bored I am, spending a couple of days a week at home alone. Worrying about the trials of being an onion?
Sorry, I'm not sane enough right now to talk about Sanity, which was the other thing this post was supposed to be about. I was going to talk about signs that you might be on the verge of a psychic break, and I don't mean lottery numbers appear in your head. There are signs that a person is going to crack completely. And I swear this has nothing to do with Peruvian Onions. But it might have something to do with the Early Show, which I swear I don't watch. I just don't like to feel all alone in the morning and it's nice to have someone talking to me who doesn't live in my head.

Have I talked about Virtual Villagers before?

There's this really stupid downloadable game called Virtual Villagers and I guess we have the 3rd one.
My youngest wanted me to buy it for her and she and I worked on it until we got to the end. There were some things I was a little iffy on, but she seemed to enjoy it.

NOW THE PROBLEM: Haley has rediscovered the game on this computer because she is so bored by not having any life at all. And those things that I ignored for Gina are SO OBVIOUS for Haley.

Like the sounds the characters make when you pick them up. OOH, AAH. It's like an Herbal Essence commercial and not in a good clean way!

And I pointed out that she could name her characters and it would be funny to name them what they are. So then she named one "Retard" and one "Whore" which wasn't quite what I meant. But "Retard" keeps running away from the tasks he's supposed to learn. And "Whore" keeps ignoring her duties and running off to breed.

Somehow I find it amusing that Haley spends her time virtually chasing after these people and saying things that sound a little like what I keep saying to her.
"Get back to work!"
"Why don't you learn after I tell you twenty times?"
"Kissing again and again makes you want to breed more."

Okay, not that last one. Not quite like that. But why have a game in which one of the skills you have to teach them is how to embrace each other and head off to the Love Shack to have babies?

Haley was mad when her doctor got pregnant. Well, not really pregnant. They go into the Shack and come out with a baby that they breast feed for two years (Two years!) and during this time they can't work for the village at all.

And I'm all like "SEE, Haley! That's what I'm talking about."
And she ignores me.

She should pay more attention to the game. Then she'll understand why she is to have NO CONTACT with any boys until she's 35.

New Age Parenting Has Created Teenage Idiocy

Teenagers are entirely different in this generation. I know every . . . ahem . . . older generation says that. But I really think a major shift has occured after the new-agey bullshit crap of the nineties. We were told to never yell, never spank, never take control and instead just have conversations with our children and let them make their own choices and learn from the "natural consequences" of their actions. If your kids hate you, then you're a BAD PARENT. Be their friend or they won't come back for Christmas when they're older.

So we have created our own NATURAL CONSEQUENCE which can be seen everyday in small interactions with the new set of fledgling teenagers.

For example:

A barely 13 year old boy thinks he can debate with me about whether or not he should be allowed to date my daughter. Which he's not. In my generation, no child would have ever imagined calling, texting, or emailing an adult to argue anything EVER!

Part of me wants to give him my reasons for not allowing continued communication with my daughter, but I find that debating with a 13 year old little boy to be, well, RIDICULOUS. At 13 he does not have the capacity or ability or language or life experience to understand what I would have to say, even IF I cared to tell him. It seems that children now think they are equals to us and have the right to share their opinions. Humph. His opinion seems to be that It's Not Fair!

Maybe I'm just not SCARY enough. I have yelled at him in front of a crowd of teenagers at the movie theater. I have thrown my daughter into my car when I find her walking down the road with him. I have given him the STINK EYE. I have talked about placentas and played country music in my car. How much scarier can I get? In my day (here I am sounding old again) adults were scary because they were ADULTS. That's all it took for them to maintain authority. There's no authority now.

And no grasp of the English language either.

All of this texting and email and chatting online is turning proper English into some kind of shorthand gibberish that everyone makes up differently. Did the tower of Babel story in the Old Testament say anything about computers or cellphones? Fledgling teenagers in middleschool have gone past the boundaries of anything decipherable and are now making up words.

For Example:

"do you think im a pesation or somthing cus every time she gets in troble you take me away and thats not fair to me cus i didnt do anything."

Now seeing as I spend some time on the internet and I can now text fairly well without spelling errors that turn boxes into boxers when I'm sending a text to my daughter's therapist, I can decode most of that sentence into something that makes sense, EXCEPT for the word PESATION.
Is it short for Compensation?
Is he a Superstar Sensation? With an ego so big that he dares email me?
Does it have to do with PEZ, as he's 13 and should be into PEZ right now?
Pest?
Truthfully, I appreciate that he's given me this new word to play with. I LOVE new words.

But if you're going to try to argue with an adult by hiding behind an email, cause you know that if you try to argue to my face I will SMACK YOU DOWN like the little punk you are, then at least show me that you're smart enough to not be a pesation.

It's not his fault really. It's the fault of parents who give a kid a cell phone without teaching them social rules. It's the fault of a parent who will tell another parent that they don't understand how not letting the kids keep seeing each other is going to help the situation. It's the fault of a parent who says things like "If we don't let them see each other they are only going to do something worse."

Sounds like you're a hostage to your teenager, and not a parent.

Which would be why your son thinks he can argue with me. To take me hostage as well.

Perhaps pesation means CHILD. I think he's a child and that's why he has to follow my rules concerning my daughter or not be allowed to speak with her.

Imagine that!

I can hear all those NEW AGE people coming after me with their robes flying and their crystals and their electronic music playing the Age of Aquarius.

I'm just going to yell out "Pesation" and shut the door now.

Apparently I'm in Adrenal Failure

Stupid Stupid me. I took a women's adrenal health quiz that was delivered to my mailbox from a newletter I get (that sometimes has useful information on things like masturbation), because it hinted that my lack of energy might be due to the adrenal gland. I thought I was doing well--I eat well, I exercise almost every day, I recently cut way back on my use of alcohol.
And here were my results:

Your profile results:
Your symptoms rank in the moderate to severe category.
The demands you place on your body are severe.
By comparison, the support you give yourself is substantial.

SEVERE demands mean that your body is experiencing an even greater burden than most women’s. This burden can easily overwhelm your adrenal glands’ ability to balance the hormones they produce, like cortisol and DHEA. Some of these demands are not within your control, but it’s important to minimize those that are. In addition, you need to give yourself extra support to counter your demands. Remember, the greater the demands, the greater the need for support!

So this dumb little quiz says that I'm experiencing alot of environmental stress and that I need to cut back on it and take care of myself. Absolute Brilliance!!!

It should have had just one question: Are you alone in the house with three teenage girls?

And the result for answering YES would have been RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!

AND I wouldn't be so stressed if I drank more. But wait, I wasn't feeling any stress at all until I took this quiz and realized how SCREWED I am!

How to Clean a Teenager's Closet

Rules of Toss IT or Keep IT

1. Sit at least 5 feet away from your teenager. This way she can't reach out to grab whatever you're holding, but should be able to identify it if it's important to her.
2. If it's a picture of you that she drew when she was 4 and you go "awwwww," Keep IT.
3. If it's a pile of 25 notes from a boy three boyfriends back, Toss IT.
4. If it's a school picture of someone she can't identify in 5 seconds, Toss IT.
5. If it's a giant pink sparkly ring and her eyes light up and she looks really sweet like she did before she became a teenager, Keep IT. This ring is one of the last connecting threads to the humanity she lost when she became a fledgling.
6. If it's an opened package of food from some science experiment creature she was supposed to grow in a plastic dish under a lamp, say ewwwww for reinforcement, and Toss IT.
7. If she has saved every notebook she has ever written in, find the one with her algebra homework, open it, and hold it up so that she can react badly to the sight of equations and beg you to toss it. She won't even care to look in the rest of the notebooks before you toss them too.
8. Unless you keep a barrel full of beads for that magical day when the bead fairy comes down and fixes all the broken jewelry in your house so that the Bead King will be pleased when he visits and won't eat your youngest child as a sacrifice, TOSS THEM ALL.
9. This is a good time to pull out her baby footprints, first hair cut, and most importantly her bellybutton--just to show her what is worth saving and what is just useless trash.
10. All batteries can go. Who saves dead batteries? For that matter, who saves unidentifiable plastic pieces, bread crusts, and soda cans?
11. Don't give her TOO MUCH shit because you KNOW what's lurking in your own closet.
12. This is supposed to be a cosmic freeing joyful experience so hum cheerfully while you sort through piles of art, stickers, and pieces of cloth. You might feel an obsessive need to untangle the yarn remnants, but think about how much your time is really worth and how cheap yarn is. Toss IT.
13. You might find some things from your own childhood amongst her treasures, as she has searched through your closet when you're at work and scarfed anything of interest. She wants to feel connected to your childhood as well because you were once a geeky little packrat too and it gives her hope to see how mature and organized you are now.
14. Try your best to fit all her treasures into one big box that you can store outside her room. Give her empty containers to start filling again. This way you never have to resort the stuff you've already sorted through 28 times since she was born.
15. This gives you time to do the same thing with her younger sister, who saw what you were doing and asked that you help her sort through her stuff too. Maybe it was the maddening cheerful humming that hypnotized her into thinking all this cleaning was fun. Or maybe it really is. Cleaning out the old crap leaves space for the new. And look, her room is already messy again!

Teenage Girls are Fledgling Vampires

It all became very clear to me this morning
as I watched an episode of True Blood with my Pahaska coffee cup in my hand while in my blue plaid pajamas alone in the living room before the girls get up on a Sunday morning and take over all my space and time.
Sookie is so right. She is my new guru. Fledgling vampires are just like teenage girls: "They have no humanity, they are in the grip of overwhelming transformation, and they can't control their impulses."
It's all connecting with me now. My love of vampires and my fear of teenage girls. No wonder I'm tired. I'm playing vampiresitter without all the old vampire energy and strength. They are sucking the life out of me.
I'm running away now, for real this time.

Teenage Girls and the Terrible Twos

Girls between the ages of 13 and 14 are more exhausting than they were in the terrible twos, with many of the same issues: tantrums, mood swings, saying no to everything you ask, tantrums, brattiness, and tantrums.
They just discover the outside world where they can walk to the post office or the grocery store. Where there are new people and things to do and see. They test the boundaries over and over to see if by constant bashing they can widen those walls of protective parenting. They can drive a parent right over the edge into whining and crying and wine drinking.
I have two now. I'm really hoping that by the time the third one gets there in 1 year and 10 months that the oldest will be over it. Just like the flu, one at a time comes down with it and I run in circles until I fall down from exhaustion and declare myself to be ON STRIKE.
There's no one here to take over though so I can't lay on the floor for more than a few minutes before someone shouts "I'm going out to meet someone in the dark alley!" And I look up to see their boobs hanging out over their low slung tank tops and it's below zero outside and I can't see their eyes under all that makeup and they smile at me, just to see if I'm still alive.
I think they should give free medications and alcohol and full day trips to the spa to single mothers. With free childcare. And playpens to take home to put the teenagers in until they're at least 15. I hope it goes away by then. Or a vaccination to prevent the whole thing.
Are you listening Obama? I voted for you.

ox wine kils brayne cells ded

If you can read that, you have a serious drinking problem and you should seek help immediately. Or you're in my kitchen. Either way, you still need immediate attention.

Today at work I was asked what the letters after my name are. I was like "What?" and then "Wait a second" and then I realized that I do indeed have letters after my name. I KNOW I'm supposed to be all high and mighty and use those letters when I sign my name on birthday cards and credit card slips in restaurants and on toilet paper in peoples' houses when I visit. They are supposed to be important to me and set me aside and above everyone who doesn't own letters.
They are so important to me that I had to go look them up! The MS I remembered. Master of Science. I'm a master of science!!!! That actually sounds pretty cool. But it's too close to PMS for comfort. Hello, I'm Kristi Z., PMS. Nope.
The other one I had to look up and I hope I got it right. ASAC. Apprenticed Substance Abuse Counselor. Being an apprentice makes me feel like a magician's apprentice, like Mickey with all his walking brooms, which is pretty close to what an ASAC does-- the neverending things to sweep up.
So now I have letters on an official college brochure. I feel smarter already. All powerful. All ready to go vacuum the cheese nips crumbs off the living room carpet. Yay!
I made up a new description for myself too, which should be included in any profile: winer. A combination of winner, whiner, and whino.
There should be letters after my name for making up cool new words. CNWM.
And Haley called me at work to tell me that they painted the lines in the parking lot at our place in the ghettos and that I should park straight this time. She knows me too well. I am a not straight parker. NSP
So I think that if a few letters makes me all powerful, then more letters means that I am on my way to being the MASTER OF THE UNIVERSE.
Kristi Z. PMS, MS, ASAC, CNWM, NSP
That's me!

What Every Mother Wants

• I would like to not find toothpaste on my earrings when I put them on in the morning. They are 20 feet from the nearest toothpaste, in a box, in my room. I just don't want to know.
• I want someone else to throw away the uneaten leftovers in the fridge and then take the trash out. I don't know why I bother putting them in the fridge in the first place. Guilt. It must be guilt about all those starving Ethiopians who are somehow going to be saved by my sticking 3 peas, a piece of potato and a chicken bone in a plastic container and saving it for 2 weeks.
• I would like someone to unplug a toilet after they plug it. And for the next person who wants to use that bathroom to say something, instead of heading upstairs to the other toilet too and plugging that one. And still not doing anything and keeping the Code of Silence, so that eventually I have to run to find the plunger before I can pee out the 6 cups of coffee that are making me dance.
• I would like to NOT have to complain about being bloated 26 days out of every month. Someone is going to catch on eventually.
• I would like to be able to find the phone the first time it rings, or the second, and not after whoever leaves a message and I spend 15 precious minutes searching for it and eventually find it in Haley's hamper hidden under her suspiciously damp clothing.
• I want to lay on the living room floor and poke my hip muscles and groan without someone asking me if I'm having a good time.
• I really want to be able to text fast enough to stop all the teenagers from laughing at me.

Well, I guess I can't have everything. I CAN have this box of wine. It makes everything seem better.

The Traveling Pants Continued

I thought they were gone, but they keep coming back like stray boyfriends. BEGONE CURSED pajama pants!

I thought I would introduce my oldest daughter to the ex-boyfriend cleanup ritual on Saturday, which involved traveling to John's to get back a wine glass and the cover to my AA Big Book. I don't really care about either of those things. They were worth the price of my freedom. But I thought it might be humorous to show up and not leave, the way he did to me the night Abrah was here and I had to try to convince him we shouldn't see each other for the second time.

It didn't happen as well as I'd hoped. He handed me a brown paper bag. I think he was mad that I never responded to his email after breakup #3 in which he asked if he could visit me in Wyoming and have me show him around. Hmmmmm. NO.

So in the car, Haley opened the bag and found the CURSED pajama pants. (You have to say that word in two syllables to get the full effect: curse--ED.) She knew what they were immediately and was horrified. I considered driving back to his place and throwing them on the lawn after setting them on fire, or giving them to the old guys at the coin drop as we passed by a second time, or just throwing them out the window. Anything to get the CURSED pajama pants away from me.

Then after dragging Haley to see the Time Traveler's Wife with me and Abrah, I realized that James needed his pants back. Because our whole relationship could be explained in terms of time-travel. During his good times he was younger, clean-shaven, and happy. Then suddenly, in the middle of the night, he must have time traveled and come back older and freaked out and run off. Then he would show up again later all clean-shaven and happy again.

But the only reason I can think of to run away from me if he traveled back as an older James is IF I DIED! And he suddenly appeared in my room! And panicked because I was there alive and I should be dead!!!!! I just realized this now!

I made a BIG MISTAKE on Saturday. On our way home I pinned a little pink note to the pants saying "I got these back for you because you might need them next time you time travel." Then I had Haley jump out of our getaway car and run up and leave them outside his door. Why would I give him the time traveling borderline pajama pants back???!!!! I just caused my own death in the future or in the past. I don't know.

I'm going out right now to get those pajama pants back and burn them. He'll have to give them back to me if I show up at his door and tell him that I need the pants back because he's going to time travel and cause my death. Or maybe it's already too late. I'm going to sleep with a softball bat beside me in case he appears in my room in the middle of the night. Then we'll see who time travels and lives and who dies. I knew I should have kept those pants to wear. I would go back in time and . . . hmmm, there's always the question of what one time could change EVERYTHING. I think I would go back and . . . no, I wouldn't. I like where I am now. I'd just sell them on EBAY.

Avoiding Hannah Montana

I was in Payless yesterday looking for sneakers that didn't have Hannah Montana's face on the side, or were pink, or were "MOM" shoes, whatever THAT means. It was an impossible mission as Hannah Montana has taken over the World, the only color all the OTHER girls wear is PINK, and anything else is more than ugly which somehow equates to being MOM-LIKE.
Then in the shoe-store-silence, a muffled ringing sound. I looked at Gina. She looked at me. The cashier looked at me. And then I realized that I'd accidently left my new cell phone in my bag after the Fair. This new cell phone experience is overwhelming. I like to be UNAVAILABLE. I like for people to think that I'm doing something so super important that I can't talk to them right now. I like to hide when my child visits the school nurse for the 20th time this week and it's easier for the school to call me and ask me what to do about the paper cut on their tongue.
I answered it ONLY because everyone was looking at me.
Haley's voice sounded far away, another cell phone feature I hate.

"Mom, can I jump off the footbridge on my way home?" she asked.

"Aren't you wearing your green plaid pajama pants?" She'd already lost one pair of pants in the river this week. That I had to stick my hand inside of to turn right side out before washing them. The thought of it makes me cringe.

"Yes," she said.

"Then no, you can't jump in the river," I said and hung up.

Now, was that conversation important enough to call me when I really just want to hide out in the mall and avoid Hannah Montana? That's difficult enough without being distracted by the ringing in my bag.
And would Haley have jumped off a bridge if she hadn't been able to reach me?

Probably.

Was it Worth $100 to go to the County Fair?

Here's what I got for my money:

• 2 Jumbo bags of Cotton Candy
• A short ride on the Merry-Go-Round with 10 noisy teenagers who got in trouble for facing the WRONG WAY (nope, I don't know them).
• Fifteen minutes on the Ferris Wheel which included at least 2 minutes of terror at the very top as the people under me laughed. They knew me.
• A nice long talk with Haley's boyfriend who had Candy Apple dripping off his nose, while she stood in line for one of the rides without him.
• The look on her face when she saw me talking to him.
• Two dozen sneezes after visiting the chickens.
• Being used as a towel three times by children with wet, sticky hands.
• The guilt on the face of an old roommate who screwed me financially by running out on our lease. I love guilt.
• This paper bracelet that says "Dreamland Amusement, Inc." that I won't take off until it falls off.
• A stomach ache from all the cotton candy.
• 3 happy children