um, sorry

Well, hi, kids.

I, um, well, er...

I got nothin'. Nothing at all. Life is , calm? Yep, life is certainly calm. B has this Holocaust project due next week, so we're working on that. Cub Scouts on Thursday is featuring the Raingutter Regatta, which the boys' god-father and god-something-or-the-other, we'll say god-grandfather for reasons of simplicity, were so kind as to help them with this past week. I am betting there will be good pictures on Friday of that. L went to the doctor today for the first time in, oh, 11 months and she is indeed the smartest child on the planet and the fattest. She's petite. It's cute. And that's about it. So don't go freaking out if I don't post anything for a bit; I'm just boring right now.

Hey, two people did offer to make out with me, but they both live in far-off, distant lands and so that just makes them big fat teases. But at least they offered. That's a start, right?

Oh, I almost forgot. Naughty stories!

Hot Gay Russell once asked me to take some, um, grown-up pictures of him for a boy he was crushing on. It killed him to ask; he blushed and shuffled his feet alot and it was terribly cute and I had no choice but to help him out. Well, turns out he has this hat. This Burberry hat. This hat I am sure cost him more than I paid for my furniture. It is a handsome hat and he wanted photos in it. ONLY in it. Tee Hee. He held the hat over the good parts and we took some pictures and I was on my way.

Did I get a copy of these pictures? Nope. Jerk. I did, however, just last week, get the hat. And where did I stick it? Right on my sweet, clean, innocent baby's head. File THAT under bad momma #4, 926.

self-fulfilling prophecies

This post could go 15 different ways, so let me see if I can't hone in one one of them.


Ok, let's try this one...

I remember one day, when I was about 8 and my mother thought me old enough, she sat me down and put on the Simon & Garfunkel albums. We sat there, listening through the scratches and skips that you can only get on a good, old, well-loved vinyl and listened to music I had heard a bazillion times before but never really listened to. We got through The Boxer, which still stops me dead in my tracks no matter where it comes on. I will spend a whole lotta time in the tampon section of Safeway if it means I get to hear The Boxer all the way through. We listened to Old Friends, still a favorite, she played me the first Christmas song I had ever heard, Silent Night/The Seven O'Clock news. It made me cry a little. I understood why people loved Christmas so much after I heard that song. Then she played me The Dangling Conversation. All she said was, "This is marriage. This is what you have to look forward to."

I never forgot it. Over the years I wore out several needles and made some serious grooves in that record. And I somehow managed to find that marriage and dive head-first into it. I also ended up being a weird sort of music junkie.

Thanks, Pat. Thanks for jinxing me. But thanks also for playing me Simon & Garfunkel, and Joni Mitchell, and Janis Ian, and all those great records. The shitty marriage; I'll get over it and I'll fair better in my next match. But seriously, how does one live without Simon & Garfunkel? It should be illegal.

And this is where I splinter off a bit. When I left Canada, I left behind a rather enormous CD collection, carefully compiled over 14 years. I did bring both Paul and Art with me, and Joni came, too. So did Carly Simon and Radiohead and Jill Scott and Trout Fishing in America. But I am sadly lacking in, well, too much music.

Since many of you have been so kind as to offer your services to me, and not one of you has offered to make out with me which is kinda all I want lately, maybe instead you all wouldn't mind doing the next best thing and making me a mixtape? Just take your favorite 15-22 songs a throw them on a CD for me. I'll give you an address to mail it to.

My ears would be very, very grateful.

black Friday, indeed

Well, I feel like I should say something here, but I don't really know what to say, so bear with me for a minute...

My dad has never been so nice to me, but he's my dad and he's kind of all I had left and so I tolerated his crap in the spirit of holding on with a death grip to a parental figure of any kind. Last year, my brother and I went to see his band play and he, well, he crossed the line he had been jumping on for a few years. He was, in a word, atrocious. I left the bar and that was that.

365 days later, not one phone call, not one email, nothing. Not a word before I moved away, not a word after I came back, not a note on the baby's first birthday, nothing. His wife did call on B's birthday, but that call came 30 days after she completely ignored T's birthday, and his wife is a trampy bitch whore anyway, so I never felt the need to return the call.

Most days I don't even think about him. Today I did, all day long I did. Funny how much I can miss him, knowing that he is just an awful person and that I am sooo very much better off without him. It just gets hard sometimes to have both parents gone, when both parents are actually quite alive and well, just choosing to stay gone. It makes a girl feel small sometimes.

I did things to distract myself today. There was in-law Thanksgiving, which ended up going much more smoothly than I could have hoped, even though I got a lot of "poor her" looks and "anything we can do" comments that just make me feel pathetic. I went to a movie, a good movie. But I think I feel worse now. I think maybe I should have just skipped all that and headed to the bar down the street, the bar with the really good jukebox, and had some shots and giggled with strangers instead.

Giggling sometimes makes everything all better. It sure does make it easier for a girl to miss her daddy.

on genes, and why they don't so much matter

Best. Thanksgiving. Ever.

And not one person genetically tied to me was there (except my little spawn, of course). There was cub scout boat making, a lot of cooking, tea brewing, inappropriate jokes about pussy, really, truly, awful pictures, the world's smartest dog, and my favorite people in the galaxy. There was china and silver and linen napkins candles and happiness.

You kids? You five, you know who you are, I love you. Each and every one of you. I love you even with boogie noses and pink eye and and even though T now wants his nipples pierced. I love you so much it hurts and don't think I don't know how motherfucking lucky I am for all of you.

I have a lot to be thankful for this year.

The Broncos? Not so much to be thankful for. Jake, honey, you're a quarterback. In case you forgot. Someone is paying you A LOT to play football. Maybe you should start.

I hope yours was as great as mine.

I think I should mention that today marks one whole year since I've talked to my dad. Hmmm. Maybe I'll have more to say about that later. Maybe not.

I guess it's time to start shopping now.