Monthly Archives: August 2012

Aug27

Being Alone is Kinda Lonely

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Being Alone is Kinda Lonely

I’ve been counting down the days until school starts again. This summer has been insane; between my kids, the bonus kids, no camps, traveling, that stupid storm, and trying to keep my head above water for work, I really was just waiting for today to come.

We had a few hiccups this morning, but everyone got to school on time. I’ve spent the last few weeks preparing Enigma for middle school, with a considerable lack of cooperation from the IEP gods who seemed to think it was somehow okay to not produce paperwork on time. But, we prevailed. Enigma pretty much told me to stop bothering him and went into the school alone.

Alone.

The Twitches went to their classes with little fuss, except Sunshine who was sad and was going to miss me all day. Dozer… well, she didn’t give a damn. Bye, Mom.

Boy Wonder (THAT’S his new blog name!) started high school today, complete with two trips back home because he forgot his schedule and then forgot his lunch money. He wasn’t a bit nervous ;)

So, after all was said and done, I came home to an empty house and smiled. I survived the summer. Hell. Yes.

The first 30 minutes were great.

Then… I realized that nobody was bugging me for a snack, or for something to do. The crushing realization that Enigma was just thrust into Middle School without his Mommy Parachute has had me zoned out all morning. Boy Wonder freaking started HIGH SCHOOL. What if he’s shoved in a locker somewhere? What if The Twitches are scared to be by themselves at school?

WHY DON’T I HAVE CRUSHING DEADLINES TO KEEP MY MIND OFF MY KIDS THIS WEEK?

Obviously, this conundrum can only be solved by one thing.

That’s right.

A nap.

 

 

Aug20

Legitimate Rape

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Legitimate Rape

Due to being up my own ass for the last two years, I’ve neglected a lot of topics that are near and dear to me on this blog. While I’m not sure if being up my own ass is technically a “legitimate rape” or not, with the election coming up and my own need to vent on some asshole who can’t seem to keep his fingers out of my proverbial snatch, its just time to let it all out.

Republican Senate Nominee: Victims Of ‘Legitimate Rape’ Don’t Get Pregnant

So, ok, now, I’m not a politician. I’m just a voter. A female voter. A female voter who has experienced my fair share of unwanted sexual contact. A female voter with two daughters, a sister, a grandmother and quite a few female friends, male friends, gay, straight, young and old friends.

Rape is rape, and babies absolutely happen if a woman is raped. There is no magic fortress that prevents the “bad” sperm from finding an egg. There is no physical way a woman’s body stands up to unwanted sperm and defeats it. This simply does not happen… and it is disgusting that someone would even perpetuate those types of thoughts. That’s the same as saying that if there is a baby, the woman obviously wanted sex, thus, there is no rape involved.

So, I have some questions…

Mr. Akin, does that mean that anyone who was ever raped anally or orally was more legitimately raped because pregnancy did not occur… or a rape with a condom, or when a woman isn’t fertile is somehow MORE rape than rape itself? If a child is raped and not physically mature enough to become pregnant, is that rape even more of a rape than a rape? Is a raped man more legitimate than a raped and impregnated woman? How exactly does this work out, because suddenly, you’re more of a dumbass than I first thought.

Do you realize your ignorance somehow makes it OKAY for some man to rape a woman, becuase IF she gets pregnant, he is “off the hook” because OBVIOUSLY she LIKED IT!

Your honor, I clearly did not rape that woman, because she is pregnant. Case closed.

Oh, and obviously that rapist will do the right thing and marry the woman who is not eligible for an abortion due to her more legitimate rape (see section 3.5 of the new laws on rape, abortion, social services and asshattery)…

Wait, Mr. Akin,  doesn’t her MORE legitimate rape allow her the super-secret, right-wing “I don’t believe in abortion even though I had one after I was knocked up at a frat party, which could be considered date rape, but somehow falls in the huge gray area of “legitimate rape” you have now created” abortion loophole that your type of person seems to be against?

Can we get a Venn diagram to show us where the legitimate rape and the ability to have an abortion overlap? Will you put that on your campaign posters?

While I’ve made some sketchy choices in the past surrounding access to my girly bits, I’ve learned from those experiences. Idiots and assholes aren’t allowed in my pants. That includes you, Mr. Akin, and all others who follow, support and promote your ignorance.

You see, my problem is not only with this idiot’s take on rape, but with the whole “right” movement against women’s rights. From the stupid requirement about an ultrasound before abortion (which, by the way, I had an ultrasound before an abortion, and it only made me feel more guilty about my choice) to the attack on birth control and healthcare choices for women, this country is pretty fucked. I’ve had to sit back and not say much about these causes that are so near and dear to my heart, and I’m sure I’ve missed a ton of soapbox moments in the interim. As I sit here and struggle against society’s perceptions and demands of my role in life, the bigger picture continues to become clear. I’ve said it a million times, that there is magic and possibility when we all come together. I’m back in the game, folks, legitimately and for the long run.

Be afraid, my friends.

 

Aug13

I Met the Parents

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I Met the Parents

Well, kinda. Nothing is ever quite that black and white in Melialand.

Months ago, I was invited to a family picnic with Superman’s family, most of which are from New York. I said yes, of course, because I’m always up for a good family gathering and all that entails, and months ago, things seemed like they were heading steady on a course toward sharing toothbrushes (ewww) and alarm clocks.

That, my friends, didn’t happen.

I haven’t blogged much about, well, anything in a long time, at least any of the details of my life I used to kind of blatantly flaunt. I’m busy, yo. So, a month ago, almost to the day, I neglected to mention that Superman broke up with me.

Yep.

I know.

No idea.

Uh huh.

It went something like this – GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! *Break up*

*insert relationship woes, triumphs and now-permanent “concentration” line in my forehead*

But, regardless, we remained exactly as we were before the breakup friends.

That included me meeting his parents… well, his mom and stepfather, sisters and their kids. Don’t ask.

I did question exactly what I was going to say if/when they asked how things were, what “our” plans were in the future, etc., given our new FWB status. But, I figured I’d just roll with it, and at the very least, make Superman feel like crap about being a dickbag.

The funny thing was… nobody asked. Nobody knew we had “broken up” and not a single person cornered me (like I would have cornered any noob in my family circle) and asked my intentions. I was going to either mention his huge cock hands as my reason for sticking around (there’s truth in everything, ok?) or that he made a fantastic burger (yes, I still don’t eat meat). But, instead, I sat around a lake beach area with his family…

not speaking.

They don’t speak. Suddenly, my family issues seemed a little less weird. We order pizza at funerals and laugh at the dementia-affected escapee Uncle, running from the law. That wasn’t Superman’s family, at least not in group form.

Not that I’m being bitchy, because I had a good time… cooking over the grill, handling hot dogs cased in intestines (OMG kill me)  like I knew what the fuck I was doing. Watching the kids all play together. Dreaming of that flask of vodka I forgot at home. Then, there was the baseball game where it was evident that I was going to spend a lot of cash on really shitty farm team stadium food, and hide my beer habit from Superman’s mom. But, it was all for a good cause.

Oh, then there was the cute 30  minutes after Superman came to his senses and declared his desire to return to some sort of non-legal, committed relationship, during which I had the chance to change my mind from my hesitant yes, to a bitchy “hell no.” I didn’t back out. I’m fucking crazy about the guy, weirdness and all… and, well, huge hands ;)

So, I met the parents, was re-committed (hahahaha) and now I’m blissfully able to remain as single as possible, for as long as possible. No more talk of marriage, of co-habitation, of the future! I get to keep my rules, my side of the bed and maybe a shred of sanity in the face of blending seven kids together. Also, I know what I’m up against… his kids, his ex, his family… and him.

 

Aug7

Alone, Day One

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Alone, Day One

blatantly stolen from nintendoofarmenia.blogspot.com

Through some miracle act of a deity, I have around 48 hours to myself. Well, no, let me rephrase that. I have 48 hours without any kids. This event doesn’t happen often, and I’m usually busy throughout the “kidless time” trying to make up for what I can never get done when they’re around.

This time, it’s kind of the same, only it was sprung on me about a week ago, so it somehow seems like a special surprise in my cereal box.

I got back from The Pilgrimage  last Sunday evening, with roofers busily working on fixing my roof from damage that happened at the end of June. (Oh, The Pilgrimage was great, horrible, tiring, invigorating, and I am ready to go again, and not ever again, thanks for asking!) On Monday, the contractor called to say that the drywall/paint portion of restoring my house would begin that Friday, and reminded me that I am allergic to paint, so I better get the hell outta dodge.

Shit. I forgot all about that little allergy that makes me want to die a thousand deaths. Luckily, it was a semi-kidless weekend, so I only had to flee the coop with ComicBoy (still trying on blog names, damn teenagers), landing safely at Superman’s house. I spent the weekend helping him straighten up for his mom’s visit the next weekend, and occasionally checking on my own home that was full of poisonous fumes.

There’s nothing like walking up to one’s door and feeling one’s tongue swell even before entering one’s home. Fun stuff.

Sunday came along and I was determined to get my house back together, paint allergy be damned. I was (and am) on a mission to do as much as possible this week in order to a) prepare for new carpet in my basement (soft copper!) b) spend money on a “deep clean” in a few weeks and c) not cringe when I wake up and realize how much shit I need to do while working and kid-wrangling. I spent most of Sunday not at home, because I wasn’t quite ready to die. But, I mustered up my courage, flipped off the paint fumes, and put on my game face. This paint will not be the death of me, and I will use my time wisely, by damn. I WILL CLEAN LIKE I’VE NEVER CLEANED BEFORE.

As my friends know, I’m a stickler for a tidy home. Heh.

So, when Martian agreed to take ComicBoy with him to a waterpark a few hours away, for 2 nights, I, again, jumped. Two whole days alone. Ohhhh, the messes I could get OUT of! Ohhh, the irony! I packed up the basement on Sunday night, that was trashed from the painters who said it was in the contract they were going to paint the basement, even if nobody bothered to tell me.

I scrubbed my kitchen yesterday, drank a bunch of  Arkansas’ finest wine and went to hang a print on my walls to replace those that remind me of the stupid couch that holds all my decade-long marital anger (that is still sitting in my living room, ffs), and it came crashing down, shattering glass, and putting a frown on my face that only sushi could fix.

It did. Deliciously.

Now, I’m ignoring the huge elephant of a problem in my proverbial room that woke me up at 4am (thanks, Mercury), and looking forward to an overnight visit with friends. With at least 24 more hours of “alone” time to go, the world is my oyster. I’m putting on my Scarlett O’Hara face and thinking about the rest of the drama tomorrow. Or Friday. Or never.