I’m taking a moment from my weekly scramble to proclaim, once and for all, that cleaning is bullshit.
Now you know.
My muscles are sore, I haven’t showered, I have a killer headache from cleaning products and with four kids (plus some strays) a dog, a visiting dog and a cat, it is bullshit.
But, as always, that’s not the whole story. In cleaning up my house that has not really been cleaned HARD since Martian left (don’t judge me), there’s been that bit of emotional purge. Buh-bye Martian. GTFO, Freedom. This house is mine. From the basement to the attic, which I now know does not house squirrels or birds. Its mine.
Well, unofficially. I’m still waiting on that pesky financial paperwork to come through, and totally not sweating that a bit. Argh.
So, now, with only my room to clean, I’m at the point, again, where I’m wondering what I’m going to do if the financing doesn’t work. Staying here, where the carpet is new, and the paint still glows, where my kids are going to (or went to) the elementary school a block away, where my rhododendron is about to bloom and what has somehow become “home” is the most practical decision I could make.
The other option has a gleaming future, as well, and I already feel a plan forming there, despite my reluctance to leave a pretty decent “center” of business activity for a slower, more country life where gigs may be less accessible, but I am still drawn to.
Plus, things are radically changing in my day-to-day life that, if I actually believed half the shit I tell others, are just the Universe breaking ties for me so I can more easily step into the next adventure, with kids in tow.
But, I digress. This is about cleaning, about purging. Its about breaking through the muck and grime and seeing a shiny new surface that maybe was forgotten for a time. Its about owning my future, whatever that is… no, its about scrubbing toilets and lugging a carpet cleaner up and down 2 flights of stairs. Its about my shag carpet smelling fresh again, not about the gleaming hardwood floors that could be mine.
Cleaning. Is. Bullshit.
…that I entirely believe in, until it comes to me… well… I have a confession:
I really didn’t so much put 100% faith into myself. Shocking, I know. Totally human, I am (that was said in my best Yoda voice).
Long story short, I’m buying my house. Or, another house. Or something to hold onto. I told my sister that I need something in my life to provide me with a measure of security, or my little Virgo mind goes bananas. Obviously, that wasn’t in any marriages, nor in any other relationships I’ve been party to.
While I am 100% secure in myself, in my career/business (mostly) and my parenting, one thing that has eluded me all of my life is stability. Stability that I pretty much kept looking for in other people. But, now, I am buying a house. This has taught me a few silly things that I have to share, because, I’m just silly like that
1. Buying a house is a really hard decision that will cause a gal to second-guess herself every 2.6 seconds.
2. Realizing that the house you want to buy (in one of those 2.6 second moments) is the same house you have major angst over. After living with/in this house for the last six years, I know all of its “smelly socks on the floor” habits, so to speak. Am I really willing to commit to that for another 30 years?
3. Understanding that this house has become my life partner, especially after its plastic surgery brought about by Hurricane Sandy and that other weird NoVA storm last year, I’m a little creeped out about how much I want to just put my arms around it and snuggle. On the other hand, there are a dozen other houses that are hot, too. What’s a girl to do?
4. The stunning revelation that has recently overtaken me is that if I can buy my own house, on my own, then I really don’t have much of a need to put up with anybody else’s bullshit. This is huge. HUGE.
5. I’m living the American dream, only, I have to be satisfied with humping my house. Which, maybe, I could do. Don’t judge me.
As I sit here, listening to a storm blow in, wondering just how well the last contractor fixed my house from the hurricane and whether I’m about to deal with no carpet or walls again, there is a tiny bit of me that’s really fucking proud of just how far I’ve come in the last few years. My kids are amazing. Work is paying off, and I’m about to give myself a gift that I’ve been struggling for, forever. A home. Somewhere… in Stepford.
Bring on the housewarming party!
I’m lucky. Rarely does a person get to have such great fodder to vindicate one’s life, one’s choices, one’s being… even if that chapter closed a long, long time ago.
I’ve written about Comic Boy’s father a few times. He was… well, I felt lucky to escape alive. Seriously. But, there were always two things I gave the man credit for, aside from his sperm donation that created one of my favorite people on the planet… he was incredibly musically talented (even if I never saw him actually hold a guitar), and, he was smart. Super, crazy, manipulatively, deviously smart.
Well… maybe not so much.
This man, upon Comic Boy’s insistence that he, himself, was a man, and had his own opinions, ditched Comic Boy last winter. There was no trip to Arkansas to see his father, no Christmas presents, no speaking for a month or more. For Spring Break, his father chose to travel to a far away country, allegedly to propose to a Russian girlfriend… in Thailand.
I happened to have intercepted a text message between Comic Boy and his Father that showed a photo of “Olga,” a totally hot Russian girl, across a restaurant table: red hair, pouty lips. Just hot. Congrats to him! But, wait, how did hot, red head Russian Chick end up with Comic Boy’s father? My first thought was that he bought her. Then, I pretty much forgot, except when Comic Boy would mention how his dad was always bragging about his Russian girlfriend. Heh.
When the window of Spring Break airline tickets opened, I asked if Comic Boy’s father had mentioned Spring Break, as he had not contacted me to fulfill his visitation. Comic Boy said he was unsure. With the recent history/breakup between the two, I didn’t really press for details. Then, suddenly, Comic Boy’s dad was heading to Thailand over Spring Break because he was going to propose to his Russian girlfriend. Propose? Thailand? Over Spring Break? WTH?
I asked if Comic Boy had ever spoken to his future stepmother.
“She’s eight years older than me, Mom,” he said.
I gulped. Said that the age difference between Martian and I was similar, but, that if Martian had a teenage child at that point, I would never have considered it. Age is just a number and all that. Being on the other side of that now, I’m kinda skeeved out again by my former marriage. WTF? Ahem.
I asked if he had ever seen photos of them together.
So, in a nutshell, Comic Boy’s dad has been bragging about his hot, Russian girlfriend for months and bailed on his kid to go propose to her in Thailand over Spring Break. Comic Boy handled it well. He spent Spring Break bonding with his electronics and not doing chores. About halfway through Spring Break, watching his father’s activities on Facebook, he says, “Mom, I think they broke up.”
His father’s Facebook page is full of photos of Thailand. Full of the scenery, the animals, one disinterested girl in a bikini who looks nothing like the photo I saw on his phone. The thing that is missing from this “bail on my kid” vacation is photos of his dad WITH the Russian girl. Or, actual photos of a woman who doesn’t look like she allowed some random American to take her photo.
His father’s Facebook page (as Comic Boy showed me) has a few vague posts about “it being fun” but that was all there was, regarding Olga.
He went to Thailand to propose to his hot, Russian girlfriend.
It was fun, but that was all there would be. Hmm.
Wheels spinning, ideas churning, Superman on board, we do a little Googlizing for “Russian Olga Scam.” We both had an idea in mind of what was going on. I had already asked if Olga actually lived near his dad, several times, and he said he thought she did. I asked if he’d ever seen pictures of them together there.
Then, I saw Olga’s Facebook page.
You stupid, stupid American man.
As far as I can tell, since the man is back in the States and was not lured to Thailand for a fun round of organ harvesting, one of three things happened:
A) Comic Boy’s father dumped his kid to go to Thailand to propose to his Russian girlfriend, who he may or may not have ever met in person, only to never set eyes on the beautiful Olga, and spend his vacation photographing monkeys, elephants and random strangers on a beach. Oh, and playing board games with prostitutes, until flying back home with his head hung in shame.
B) Comic Boy’s father dumped his kid to go to Thailand to propose to his Russian girlfriend who somehow got stuck at an airport needed a few thousand dollars to be wired to her account in order to straighten out paperwork so she could be ALLLL HIS. Then, she was never heard from again.
C) Comic Boy’s father dumped his kid to go to Thailand to propose to his Russian girlfriend who showed up, but was a hairy man with a keyboard who pointed and laughed at him for being a complete tool.
As far as Olga is concerned, I’d like to wire her some money for her time and trouble, and for her role in my giddy laughter over the weekend. Thank you, whoever you are, hot-maybe-Russian-but-who-cares lady. You made a dream come true.
So, um, despite a previous post, I guess I’m not “done” done. Ahem.
Spring break has been madness. There is this whole “Monster Moon” thing, where everyone’s lives suddenly have gone into upheaval. I discovered what happens when your daughter breaks the glass front of your TV stand with a rollerskate, shattering it into a zillion pieces onto your new, beautiful, shag-esque carpet. You continue to find more tiny bits of glass, despite vacuuming a million times, shredding a portion of the carpet in the process because your vacuum sucks… or doesn’t suck.
But, in world news. there’s that pesky Supreme Court hearing on marriage equality. I support marriage equality 100%. I did the Equality March, I batted for the other team, I love boobs, etc.
Superman asked me what the deal was with all of the Equality stuff on Facebook. He said I must be having a Gay Day.
Be gay, be straight, bi, TG, queer, be married, be divorced, be single, be separated, be poly, be happy, be miserable. Nobody has a right to say your love, your life, your hopes and dreams are any less than anybody else’s. Ever.