quick story

Shut the barn door!

when you add up the direct costs, i didn't really lose all that much--$1000 cash money, one pair diamond earrings, one diamond engagement ring, one gold wedding band, and one white gold amethyst ring. The bad guy can keep it all. Wedding band? boo fucking hoo. Diamond engagement ring? Well, it was a symbol of sorts--a symbol of how deeply fucked my marriage was from day 1. I hated that ring. Diamond earrings? Diamond crumbs, maybe half a sneeze between the two.

The amethyst ring, however, was important. My Great Aunt Sarah and i share the same birth stone, amethyst. She gave me the ring when i graduated from high school, and she in turn had received it from her grandmother (i think it was grandmother--i need to check this, also want to see if it goes back again) when she graduated from high school.  At any rate this goes well back in the em family matriarchy.

Trenton police dept advised me to check all the local pawn shops, and i've made the rounds twice. Every time i see a purple stone my heart jumps, but no luck yet. plan on another swing through tomorrow. i want my ring back you bastards, and i won't rest till i get it. be forewarned.

i've jolted awake in the middle of the night only 19 time since the robbery
. . . "huh? wha . . . wha was tha?"
instantly listening with all my might, heart thumping away at late-night's amplification of things ambient. And i've moved with all em haste to shore up the security gaps in em manor. shortly, those guys in the armored trucks will arrive and install motion detectors and sirens and secure all the doors and windows. 

now would someone help me corral all those horses? 

   

people are rude

i scraped myself off the ceiling for like the 5th time today. it's becoming a regular thing--me, quietly going about my business. Rude person, obliviously buzzsawing through my tranquility.

i wanted to pay the man and get my car, freshly lubed and oiled in record time, and get on the road. but the man was nowhere to be seen. so i stood at the cashier's window, alone in the waiting area except for the ghettoized lumberjack who sat in one of the chairs and heaped vulgarities into his cell phone.

i waited for the man to see me through the window and come collect my money, but he was jiffily lubing away, so finally, i stepped away from the cashier's window and opened the door leading to the car bays get his attention. Two feet. I stepped two feet away from the cashier's window, and as i turned back to the window with the cashier in tow, i bumped my back into my lumberjack friend, who had bellied up to the counter in a jiffy, while i got the cashier. He rewarded my effort with a glare and blared loudly into his phone about "how f%^$#ing slow is Jiffy Lube" anyway?

i think i suffer from line rage. whereas i know i suffer from road rage.

This just in--my shift key won't work on any letters in the top row--the qwerty guys, and the iou's. so annoying.   

What i did on my summer vacation

Whoa, it's been  a long time since i blogged. So long that i have forgotten my typepad password. eesh. ok, just got that mystery solved via an email from the lovely people at typepad.  So where've  i been? What've i been up to? Well, lots and not much...  i accomplished some fairly major (for me) stuff, while at the same time cleaving solidly to my routinized rut. and now, for those who are interested, here's what i did:
1. i bought a second house, an investment property, with a neighbor.
2. i went to Fort Lauderdale on business.
3. i prepped primed and painted the living room.
4. i went to San Diego on business and took katie and naomi along. never again.
5. i prepped primed and painted the woodwork in the living room.
6. i lost the memory stick that held the only recording of our big-deal drug-industry honcho roundtable panel discussion that we were to also publish.
7. i was deposed by the corporate lawyers. again.
8. i prepped primed and painted the dining room.
9. i went out on some dates. again. to no avail. again.
10. i went to North Carolina on business.
11. i prepped primed and painted 2 bedrooms.
12. i was burglarized. again.
13. i found a tenant.
14. i prepped primed and painted the kitchen.
15. i went to Boston on business.
16. i had a civil moment with the malignancy who is my ex-husband.
17. i prepped primed and painted the back room.
18. i went to Washington DC on business.
19. i got a security system installed on my home.
20. i went to Chicago on business.

Long story short, i got pretty good at painting in between the day job travails but now that the house is done, i never want to do another home-renovation project again. ever.

So. Dipping my toe back in...

Snarl

I had to chain myself to my cage. I'm in danger of tearing into someone. Unleash me and I will do some serious harm. Rivers of blood will flow down my street. Step away from the cage. 

You are a first degree moron. A loud-mouthed vulgar infantile hillbilly who lacks self control common sense common decency and a simple knowledge of right and wrong. 

Never again, under any circumstances, show my 11-year-old daughter the centerfold in your Hustler magazine.

Never again, UNDER. ANY. CIRCUMSTANCES. explain blow jobs to my 11-year-old daughter.

Don't you DARE try to tell me that you were simply "bein' honest and answerin' her questions" when my 11-year-old daughter asked her silly 11-year-old-girl questions about sex while you got on your Friday night drunk. She's 11, but she knows a drunken senseless imbecile when she sees one.

And you foul motherfucking 42-year-old scumbag piece of shit, don't you EVER try to insinuate that my 11-year-old daughter was trying to seduce you with her provocative talk.   

What in the world is the matter with you?? Get THE FUCK away from me before I tear you limb from limb. You stupid sick fuck.  

Ivy League

I did it. I withdrew all 3 kids from that Catholic Institution that wanted to hoover up all my money and bend the malleable minds of my children to its strange ways. But mostly it wanted all my money. Three children, one school, and no financial aid? B'bye.

Kate and Joe will attend school in the suburb just north of Trenton. I finally was able to get a live human being on the phone there and determined in 2 minutes flat that my kids are eligible to attend school in the district because they spend half the school week there at their father's apartment. The grammar and middle schools are ok, no more. But I think Kate and Joe will do fine. Kate will insinuate herself into the cool-chick clique and join clubs and extracurricular activities and get good grades, and Joe will rumble through his world, oblivious to everything that isn't animated.

The high school, the other hand, is on par with the zoo that is Trenton Central High, ie, sex and drugs and rock n roll, and overt academic apathy, teasing, bullying, shunning, and gang violence. Sam will not attend this school. She is smart, smart, and creative. She's unusual in ways that don't add up to that Hollywood high school "outsider hence cool kid" package. My Sam is unique. She has her own style of dress and sense of humor, and it is not mainstream American teen culture. She has numerous friends and they gab all day and late into the night, but they're far-flung across cyberspace. Other than this sort of socializing, she hasn't actually lived much life. She's not used to the hectic, heated, hustling, harsh ways of the world. They would eat her alive at Suburban NJ High School and spit her out, a husk of her sweet funny exuberant charming unique creative self. 

What to do then? You might find my solution to be counter-intuitive. I have enrolled her in Trenton's Daylight Twilight Program. Believed by many Trenton residents to be the dumping ground for the little girls with babies at home, drug dealers, drop-outs, and miscellaneous disciplinary nightmares, the program is indeed "alternative." But it is buttoned down. The school year might begin with classrooms full of little girls with babies at home, drug dealers, drop-outs, and miscellaneous disciplinary nightmares, but by Sept 15, only the girls with babies at home and soem other kids who want to learn remain. This group of kids are subject to varied educational opportunities, including classes at the highly esteemed Princeton University. And better still, Princeton University will award college scholarships to a few able kids every year. How fucking cool would that be?

Lame-o em

I'm gonna be that cranky old grouch who yells at you "Don't you walk on my grass! Get offa my property!!" I'll be permanently stationed at a window, and I'll peer at you from behind the curtains and yank them back in place when you look over.

I will never leave the house--a few brave delivery men will pile household necessities on my steps. I will wear the same sweat-suit every day, except when I'm "cleaning" it. Laundering it consists of step-step-steping on it, like I'm squishing grapes, in a few inches of grey bath water that I keep. I keep forgetting that I don't like the taste of that water. I will accumulate too many pets and name them all "You!" The wild cats out back will be named "You Get!" and they will pick at the garbage that I leave outside the back door. It will smell in the general vicinity of my house.   

I will watch TV at top volume. In the blue glow of the TV I will wander from room to room, looking out each window, vigilant. You don't want to come ring my bell. You will give my place a wide berth.

And then, maybe Neighbor 1 won't sit on my porch on a hot and humid Saturday morning for an hour and a half and talk at me while I hold my unread newspaper in my lap. Talk at me until he and the heat and humidity have sucked what remains of the oxygen from the air and running becomes dangerous. And maybe Neighbor 2 will stop walking right into my house without ringing the bell and wandering around until she finds me in some remote room. And maybe I won't have to hide for 30 minutes in the kitchen because Neighbor 3 thinks I must be in there somewhere and rings, and rings, and rings the doorbell. And calls, and calls, and calls me on my phone. And yells, and yells, and yells for me through the open living room window. 

I love my neighborhood. It's a friendly neighborhood--there's almost always someone sitting on a porch somewhere to stop and say hello to. I'm a sociable neighbor, but I usually don't stay to chat long--I operate according to a simple rule of thumb--it's time to push on when I've finished the coffee/water/beer in my hand. Over-staying is more than just impolite, it's cruel. Especially to those of us who for some unknown reason are incapable of making any lame excuse in the book to extricate. 

Strictly look but don't touch

I bought a bike on Friday--

Pertty cool, eh? I love bikes, but I haven’t ridden much lately because I can’t tolerate leaning down with all my weight on my wrists, as you do with most bikes. But with this bike, the saddle is low slung and the pedals are shifted forward, so you’re almost in a reclining position when you ride--very comfortable.

As .rz and I rolled along the canal path on Saturday afternoon near Trenton Psychiatric Hospital, a swirling in the water caught our attention--a big sea otter was lollygagging around in the Delaware and Raritan Canal square in the center of Trenton, NJ! It twirled gracefully just below the surface of the water, and every once in a while a great big paddle of a clawed hand would emerge and then submerge as it twirled some more. But then we noticed long jagged ridges along its back—no, definitely not a sea otter. Its gigantic triangle-shaped head broke the surface and was about the size of a Rotweiller’s head. Then in slow succession: head, hand, tail, long jagged back ridges, head, hand, tail, long jagged back ridges. Two big, bad Jurassic Park-looking love-struck snapping turtles were making the beast with two backs. We watched for quite some time while they performed their incredible dance together in the murky water of the DnR canal. Very cool.

em the athlete

I was merciless.

I was the pitcher, and I threw windmill style. Like a whirling dervish, but keenly focused, I mowed 'em down with hard strikes on the corners. One of the opposing team's players had the impertinence to smack a line drive up the center, but the finely-tuned em reflexes snagged the ball before it got past the mound. On my at-bat, I blasted a long ball to center field—a standing triple. We won't mention that I booted an easy grounder at third base with the bases loaded. Nevertheless, file Monday night's mother-daughter softball game in the Ws column.

Tuesday morning, my right arm fell off at the shoulder. This would not normally be a problem, but I'm also dragging my left leg behind me because a previously undiscovered leg muscle tore free of its mooring and rolled high up into the left em buttock, like a cheap window shade.

Did I say we won?

Happy Graduation Batboy

Kindergarten graduation was last week, so he's a full-fledged crime-fighter now. We went straight from graduation to the toy store for the obligatory graduation present. It’s easy to make this boy happy, although it can be a challenge to find a Halloween costume in June.

Ick girl

It's a stark parenting moment when you realize that the compassionate, nurturing words of advice to a sick child were wrong. Dead wrong. (Oh calm down, I didn't kill her.)   

It started as a headache--*dramatic sickly voice* "Mom, I think I've got a migraine."
Mom: "Did you take some aspirin?"
Katie: "Noo-o."
Mom: "Well do it."

A couple of days went by and she still complained of the headache, and I still prescribed aspirin. On day 4, with the headache now entrenched and encompassing her eyes, jaw, and ears, I determined that she was suffering from a sinus headache. Prescription: sinus headache tablets.

Day 5 brought skin lesions. Spotty, red and raised, they showed up on her forehead. Well that's no sinus headache, so off to the doctor's we went. Diagnosis: shingles. Therapy: an antiviral and a pain killer.

It continued to progress with increasingly painful headaches and eye and jaw pain. And the lesions grew to monstrous proportions. Covering the whole right side of her head, her face became inflamed and blistered. The lesions around the eye and the angry red of the eyeball freaked out our general practitioner, so off to an ophthalmologist we went. The ophthalmologist peered into her eyeball with a very bright beam of light. Diagnosis: shingles inside the eyeball. Therapy: 2 types of eye drops 3 times a day each. 

She awoke 5 days later, with greasy hair and an enlarged egg-shaped iris. Trying to seem casual after peering into that weird, bottomless eyeball, I popped into the kitchen to call the ophthalmologist again. "Oh that's ok, her iris will dilate and become misshapen." Oh. "I also told her that she won't be contagious once the lesions crust over, and once the scabs fall off wah wah wah wah." I didn't hear a word he said after that, and apparently concluded the phone call.

Immediately, "Katie, what'd you doctor tell you about once the scabs fall off?"
Katie: "I have NO idea. As soon as he said the scabs will fall off all I could think was they were gonna fall off into my mashed potatoes at dinner, or pop off when I was talking to someone, or fall down my shirt or something."

"Ick, gross. Don't get any on me."