family photos

Now, I'm not going to go all ape-shit and gush over him... awww, fuck it - I am.

This is Concussion in our kitchen, helping me clean the floor. It's amazing, having him around... I mean, I don't have to sweep or mop or anything!

He's already experienced sibling rivalry: The Girl does not like it when he jumps on her while she's laying on the couch. Especially if it entails him jumping onto her face, and then sitting on said body part.

Personally, I don't mind. I mean, it gets her off her ass, anyway.

Right?

A post wouldn't be complete without a pic of The Boy, either. Unfortunately, the one of him riding Concussion/his new brother like a horse didn't come out, so this one will have to suffice.

For now, anyway.


For those who're wondering... no, this wasn't a planned shot. In fact, I didn't even pose him for the pic.

Let's leave it at the old phrase, "A picture says a thousand words."

Sometimes motherhood rules.

herman has a new friend: meet concussion

He was sitting there, looking up at me with those deep, soulful, huge eyes... beckoning me to come to him, and only him... that he would love me, regardless - and I would be the only one for him. I bent down to hug him close, as the sound of his breathing got heavier and heavier - and placed a collar around his neck.

Geez, that sounds like some sort of really bad BDSM love story, doesn't it?

I've got a confession to make, and it's bad.

I fell in love with a dog. And his name is... Concussion.

Concussion is a rescue dog from the local pound. I came across his ID while searching for a fucking Paris Hilton knockoff (Chihuaha) that the kids have been begging for - what got my attention was under the dog's picture, is a name: and under his was simply, "Concussion". Was this a medical condition? Was this some sort of joke? Clicking on the link, it turned out that it wasn't a joke... the dog's name is simply Concussion. The poor guy has had about as much good luck in his life as I've had; maybe more. He got hit by a car - TWICE - in as many days, and during the second "rescue", one of the animal control officers got hit in the head... and got a concussion.

I've been up there to play/visit with the dog, and have decided to adopt him - the kids like him, he likes the kids, and Sparky's warming up to the idea as well. I'm seriously toying with the idea of going to get him today... while walking him around the grounds up there this afternoon - well, it was more along the lines of him taking me for a drag - one of the officers up there flat out asked when I was taking "my" dog home.

Gee, I guess here in a little bit?

I'll keep you posted.

wallpaper inspired by acid trips, along with mileage updates and, well... startlegrams

Allow me to start off with this: for those of you that have been patiently awaiting a single glimpse of The Wallpaper, your wait is over.

Here it is, in all it's glory.

Yes, I live with this... by choice. I mean, it's up there with my ideals of being pro-choice (and I mean, BEYOND pro-choice... up there with Anti-Life at this point) and being a card carrying Liberal.

As far as my pet car, Miffy, goes, she's now up to over 212K miles. I'm attaching proof, for you unbelievers out there...

Yes, that is over 212,000 miles you are reading. And she needs an oil change. Perhaps a tune up... fuck it, the lil' bitch needs a new engine. (Hello, Rent?)

Also, this evening while walking around aimlessly during my lunch hour, I discovered this particular piece regarding one of my favorite subjects - dicks.

Needless to say, having the word DICK up in the same space as the STARTLEGRAM is simply perfect.

I'm gonna say something else here. George (aka, my period) showed up today. I've been in a fucked up mood for the past few days... in fact, it inspired me to write something in ode to Valentine's Day. I published, then temporarily removed it, due to my hubby's insistence... honestly, I'm okay with it. I mean, it's how I felt at the time... so, it's not like I'm being a bitch on purpose, right? Anyway, it's published, and... Sparky, I love you as much as my kids. Get over it. We talked. Just don't read it, okay? A note to the MIL: Your son's fine... he's alive, and I'm not plotting his death - plus, I love him, okay? We all get "those" days, so if this is an issue, please let me know.

'kay, bye.

marriage, wallpaper, and deep thoughts (plus bonus Vday Haiku!)

fuck
you won't stop whining
close your mouth
please stop
now?

Well, it's officially VDay, and it's 2am... and I'm still married.

No, this isn't a slam against my spouse... really. I mean, it's more of a rant along the lines of how much I can't stand whining, guilt trips, and overall... clinginess. I can't 'splain it, it's just there.

This is our first VDay. I work nights, he works days. The only time we see eachother is pretty much during the morning hours, the early afternoon hours, and when I get home from work hours... in other words, we see eachother quite regularly.

And quite honestly, it's fucking exhausting.

Unfortunately, we don't see eachother enough - according to him. I mean, it's all about perspective... I look at the glass half full, he looks at it as a chance to jump my bones.

I'm a firm believer in "quality versus quantity", whereas he's a quantity kinda guy. Where I look at it as, "hey, I'm a little overwhelmed and need some time to myself/need some sleep/want to catch up on The Golden Girls, but once I'm refreshed I'll give you the attention you deserve", he looks at it as, "oh lets go do everything together now's our chance for alone time". It comes off as clingy, and it's driving me insane.

I thought it was the girl who wanted to stay up til all hours of the night talking about their relationship. Isn't that how it's supposed to be, anyway?

I don't know. All I know is that though I do love the guy quite a bit, he's passed out on the sofa, having had (presumed here) attempted to wait up for me. Again. And the sad thing?

I'm torn between waking him up to get him in bed, or leaving him there so I can get a good night's sleep.

On the upside, though... I've given it a lot of thought and I've decided to keep the horrid wallpaper.

pap smears, star wars, and lots of adderal

So, this morning I had to take The Girl to the doc again for the usual stuff... she's gotta go back tomorrow, too, so it's gonna be an early morning. Again.

Afterwards, I went to work. No biggie. (Trust me on this one.) One of the "floor walkers", whom I've dubbed one of the "ACD's" (that's people who call it Alt-Ctrl-Del), has been riding my ass all week, telling me what to say, in verbatum, when I have a customer on hold. Apparently, her previous experience in training has basically been with drooling retarded people, so she feels it's necessary to remind me each time that I must say, "Thank you so very much for holding" when I pick the phone up. (Gee, good thing she was there or I'd have said, "Yo, waddup?!")

Tonight, I almost cracked. Almost.

ACD2 (because she's shaped like R2D2) came up to me to ask me to email her a form. And I started to, then stopped. Why? Because she felt it necessary to walk me through this process... and my big, fucking mouth said something before I could stop it:

"I'm sorry, but I really don't need your assistance on this... I really don't. Look, I used to support Outlook... in fact, would you like for me to show you a shortcut on how to attach a file?"

"Why do you have an attitude with me?"

"I don't... but come to think of it, whenever you speak to me, you are rather condescending. Is there a reason for this, *R2*?" (Name changed, of course...)

Needless to say, she kinda huffed off, and I really didn't hear from her again for the rest of the evening. Now, honestly, I don't know if that's a good thing or not, but... 'til I can find somethin' else, I'm keeping a rather low profile here.

Carol, if you're readin' this... you owe me a beer.

those silly brits

The Girl's normal again. I think. I hope, anyway.

She took this picture, which happens to be our last name... well, my maiden name and her name since birth. Except it's spelled wrong. Which leads me to this question:

When the fuck is that country gonna spell Britain correctly? It's BRITTAIN... you know, "just like Britain, but greater, with an extra T".

The Girl suggests that we go there immediately, conquer this itty bitty nation, and proclaim it "Plaid Land" instead.

And maybe get 'em a dental plan, too.

ranch hands (contributed by future ensign elise braxton)

A successful rancher died and left everything to his devoted wife. She was a very good-looking woman and determined to keep the ranch, but knew very little about ranching, so she decided to place an ad in the newspaper for a ranch hand. Two cowboys applied for the job. One was gay and the other a drunk.

She thought long and hard about it, and when no one else applied she decided to hire the gay guy, figuring it would be safer to have him around the house than the drunk. He proved to be a hard worker who put in long hours every day and knew a lot about ranching. For weeks, the two of them worked, and the ranch was doing very well.

Then one day, the rancher's widow said to the hired hand, "You have done a really good job, and the ranch looks great. You should go into town and kick up your heels."

The hired hand readily agreed and went into town one Saturday night.

One o'clock came, however, and he didn't return. Two o'clock, and no hired hand. He returned around two-thirty, and upon entering the room, he found the rancher's widow sitting by the fireplace with a glass of wine, waiting for him. She quietly called him over to her.

"Unbutton my blouse and take it off," she said. Trembling, he did as she directed.

"Now take off my boots." He did as she asked, ever so slowly.

"Now take off my socks." He removed each gently and placed them neatly by her boots.

"Now take off my skirt." He slowly unbuttoned it, constantly watching her eyes in the fire light.

"Now take off my bra." Again, with trembling hands, he did as he was told and dropped it to the floor.

"Now," she said, "take off my panties." By the light of the fire, he slowly pulled them down and off.

Then she looked at him and said, "If you ever wear my clothes into town again, you're fired."

uh oh, i think i'm being assimilated

Yesterday was the day we got to "plug in" to other agents and listen in on calls... and I've never in my life seen so much fear in a group of employees than I did yesterday.

No, it wasn't the group of new hires that are expected to hit the floor next week - it was the group of experienced, tenured employees that were terrified. In fact, in the three hours that I was sitting in that room, someone got walked (fired). No, I don't know why they got fired, but to my understanding, it's such a common occurrence there that no one really gets attached to their jobs.

You're only allowed to read company related reading material (much like when you're at boot camp), even on your breaks - I found this out the hard way, when I'd whipped out a People magazine during my 15 minute break and was told by some supervisor that I didn't even know to put it away as it was against company policy. It is a violation of company policy to recieve an email from an external source - even if it's your daycare center or child's school trying to reach you, since you can't recieve personal calls - and will warrant an automatic write up.

The breakroom has computers you can use at your leisure, but only if you wanna surf the intranet... no Yahoo or Hotmail allowed here. Rent is the Borg, and your ass is gonna be assimilated. In order to work there (or at least in this division, anyway), one must be a mindless drone who eats, drinks, and speaks fluent Rent.

I'm really regretting my decision to take this job. Apparently, Corporate AmeriKa and I do not get along after all. (The money ain't bad, but I'd like to keep my soul intact, nonetheless.)

bathroom update - shoes once again save the day

Well, I've given it some thought... and I've decided what to do to the god forsaken bathrooms. (No, it doesn't involve kerosene and a zippo, but I'm saving that as a last resort.)

The pink tile HAS to stay due to the fact that it's a rental, so my options are a wee bit limited here... but fortunately, she's given me a somewhat limited free reign on design - as long as I can "put it back", in other words - so my schemes may just work.

I'm going with a medium tan to offset the pink... but I'm keeping the wallpaper for sentimental value. Now, you're probably asking yourself, "Why tan?", or "Why the fuck is she talking about her bathroom?", and I'll answer you in this order: My daughter's shoes inspired me, and because you're bored.

You see, I was walking in the door just about a half hour ago, in the dark - because that's what you do when you get off work at midnight and get home to sleeping folk - and tripped on a shoe. HER shoe... and instead of getting mad, I looked at it, and was inspired.

Needless to say, there wasn't a repeat Lego incident, and I don't think anything's broken... but at least I got my idea for the bathroom.

See? You read it. And you're not bored anymore. Good job!

sexy beasts on every level

I needed to find something that would make me smile, so I stole a couple of pics off the 'net... the little one in the middle? That's me. Yeah, I'm a sexy, GI beast.

Enjoy!

motherhood: wtf? (another jerry springer moment)

Allow me this one rant, and for those faithful readers, I'm sure you're used to hearing this one... it's kinda like watching a car wreck happen; you wanna look away, but you're too engrossed on what may happen next.

The past few months have been nothin' but fuckin' drama for me & The Girl. She finally got kicked out of not only school, but her own father's house a little over a week ago. Thanks to her habitual skipping, I'm owing the State quite a bit of money in fines... and she literally doesn't care. She's both verbally and physically abusive towards me, and she tells me on a regular basis how much she hates me. Several police officers know me on a first name basis, simply from the number of calls I've put in to file assault charges on my own kid over the past few months.

Yeah, life's been a bed of roses lately.

This morning, while taking her to school, she tried to pick another fight. While I was driving, no less. Unfortunately for her, I decided to experiment a little bit with her. While she called me not only a "fucking liar" - she doesn't believe that she got kicked out of school for truancy, because she's convinced that one cannot be expelled before the age of 17 - she also told me that she "wished I would die", I decided to not add fuel to the fire and simply call her on her shit. First, I called the school from which she was kicked out of and was able to get the secretary to explain to The Girl that she in fact WAS kicked out, that I did not withdraw her like she assumed, and that 17 is NOT the "magic number" for being kicked out of school. She also informed her of the fines that she caused me to assess due to her skipping school would most likely pay for a late model used car, and that she should be ashamed of herself... but I digress.

I've accepted the fact that my daughter is not here because she wants to be... it's because she has nowhere else to go. I was fooled into believing that she could actually love me for once, but I know differently now. Everything she's done and said to me over the past nine days has proved that fact.

So, hating to say it this way, but... at least I've got two other kids who actually like me. 787 more days of dealing with The Girl, then I don't have to legally be responsible for her.

Yeah, I'm a great mom today... huh?

drowning my sorrows in carbs

You know it's bad when you put on your sweat pants and they're a little... tight.

I weighed myself this evening - 150. My ass is officially the size of Rhode Island. I haven't been this big since I was 7 months pregnant with my youngest... and to think that only 8 months ago, I was 130 pounds.

FUCK!

I hate this. I really, really do. Instead of turning to alcohol or drugs like normal people do, I'm literally turning to carbs like a little kid clinging to his momma's leg.

Goodbye, Waffle House... hello, Dexatrim. Which leads me to this final thought: Home liposuction... I could make a killing on that. I mean, remember Flow-Bee? (Haircutting thingie that you could attach to your vaccuum cleaner.) Same concept, but it'd have to be a wet-vac. Whaddya say? Interested?

well, dammit - yet another rant to be filed under "the pms diaries"

Okay, I admit it. I'm a consumer and I'm pissed off at my cellphone carrier... and I work for 'em, too, so what's a girl to do? Alright, I won't name the place specifically, but let's call the place "Rent", 'cuz that's what it is. Good enough, right?

For the past four months that I've been a customer of this company (I transferred from the one company I've dealt with for over three years - regret is not the word I'm looking for), I've paid more money for some of the crappiest service I've ever experienced in my life. My favorite answer so far has been, "Well, we don't guarantee service indoors."

I'm sorry, what?

You mean to tell me that I pay you $110 per month for service that isn't necessarily guaranteed to work? You're one of the most expensive carriers out there, and you won't guarantee my service? For two years, thanks to a contract? And THEN you have the audacity to ask me if I want to upgrade my account?!

Maybe I'm burned out from training. That's probably it... that, and the fact that I burn up half of my minutes on dropped calls... and have to go through five reps before I get someone who "gets" what I'm trying to explain... or perhaps I'm pissed off that I'm about to be charged a second deposit fee when I transfer my account to a "free" employee account. I dunno. I'm just in a rotten mood tonight.

Thank god for Midol and Chardonnay.