So far today I've mostly cleaned a bathroom and partly cleaned a kitchen. I've gone through the stuff I've been pulling out of my pockets for most of 2011 and throwing on the floor of my bedroom as well.
I've pulled this house in around me like moldering blanket that I can't seem to replace with a fresh new blanket. I've lived here since shortly before The Boy was born, and that's the longest I've lived any one place since I hightailed it out of Georgia so many years ago.
Momma came over today to look at some of the repair work we have to do. We looked at the holes in the drywall and didn't get past the one I kicked when we fought shortly after telling her that I had to come out. That was the same night she broke the French press, though to be honest she's broken more than one, though only one in anger. I also kicked a dent in the oven that night, but we aren't keeping score anyway. A good relationship is not a competition, even when it is.
I've sat on the back porch of this house in that same white chair and read so many books late at night, smoking too many cigarettes, always of course drinking just enough beer. The blogging I miss so much all happened in the exact same five square feet of space that will soon see an end to such.
We've eaten so many meals at the table directly to my left, the table is never clean for very long. I have pictures of that table full of Momma, Big Brother, and The Boy all engrossed in their own lunch and their own book.
I don't approach new very well. I always seem to get in in my own way and find a place for myself, but getting to that point is hard for me. Starting the ball rolling has always been one of those talents I lack.
And this house is not the place I need to be. The deal we've had here is unbeatable in a monetary sense, but I can't continue to accept that deal. I have to move on, and I really should have done this a long time ago, much like the cleaning. It's hard to cast off comfort, or maybe it's just hard for me.
It's time, and I'm making ready. It's time for me to grow up a little bit more and to cast off this place. It offers a kind of comfort, but it's leaden with problem. I can imagine how that sounds, but if you were privy to all my own info, and if I really went into the issues inherent in living here and the situation and family, and if you don't get the point . . .
And so begins my journey out of the suburbs finally.
Showing posts with label randomosity. Show all posts
Showing posts with label randomosity. Show all posts
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
round back
Alleys are suddenly THE cool place to have someone take pictures of your. They're so gritty and urban, and people I imagine come from the palatial and seriously suburban west side of town have been showing up in my alley lately. I kind of don't like all of them.
The particular alley I claim as my own is behind where I work. There is another alley we walk to daily to retrieve the rolling trash cans into which we put our trash. We then return them to their alley, and the trucks come by whenever and dump all the cans. Sometimes you show up between trucks and find all the cans full. Sometimes you can empty one or two less full cans into others and get what you need.
Our alley is very narrow. Toward one end is a bar that has bands most nights, so at some point most days there is some sort of vehicle disgorging the various equipment a band needs. Toward the other end of the alley are more restaurants. Counting my own place of employment there are two ice cream places and four restaurants with servers and sitting down with a menu.
Because of all the restaurants you'll often find people smoking in the alley. I don't know if the percentage of smokers among restaurant staff members is higher than the average for other businesses, but I can see it being entirely possible. A cigarette provides an occasional small break in a job not know for too horribly many breaks of any length.
Any number of homeless people sometimes use the alley as their bathroom, and during large enough events on the square I've seen not homeless people pee in the alley. I've also seen what I'm mostly sure was dog shit one day in the alley, and one day it smelled remarkably zoo like. It wasn't even that horrid a smell because it had more an animal sort of odor than just gross shit stink. Fairly recently someone changed a bandage in the alley and were nice enough to leave their potentially hazardous bio waste for us.
And one day a family or two was down there taking pictures. The large and lumpy dad was dutifully hauling strollers and bags of props and trying to keep the kids not in the current photo busy. And they had bags of props, clothes, hats, big letters. I'm sure there were favorite stuffed animals as well.
And of course you have the happy smiling couples. They all look so stupid being lined up against the graffiti just so. And of course they don't think to confirm outfits and color schemes till they get there.
Then there are the random single people. You can't ever really know what they're doing or why. They're digging the gritty, urban landscape and standing in front of a door of course, but what's their motivation.
I missed the day that a bunch of girls were having pictures made. They had bags of clothes and were blocking doors and being in the way, and they were changing right there in the alley. OMG, ya'll. Again, I didn't witness this, so . . .
And when you do drive west through the land of stripmalls to the homes of these people, you can see those pictures on the mantelpiece. It's so gritty and urban tucked away here in a several acre subdivision named after an English sounding word that doesn't in any way describe the actual place.
I wonder if the ironic hipster kids are going to start taking couples photos in front of big box retail stores?
The particular alley I claim as my own is behind where I work. There is another alley we walk to daily to retrieve the rolling trash cans into which we put our trash. We then return them to their alley, and the trucks come by whenever and dump all the cans. Sometimes you show up between trucks and find all the cans full. Sometimes you can empty one or two less full cans into others and get what you need.
Our alley is very narrow. Toward one end is a bar that has bands most nights, so at some point most days there is some sort of vehicle disgorging the various equipment a band needs. Toward the other end of the alley are more restaurants. Counting my own place of employment there are two ice cream places and four restaurants with servers and sitting down with a menu.
Because of all the restaurants you'll often find people smoking in the alley. I don't know if the percentage of smokers among restaurant staff members is higher than the average for other businesses, but I can see it being entirely possible. A cigarette provides an occasional small break in a job not know for too horribly many breaks of any length.
Any number of homeless people sometimes use the alley as their bathroom, and during large enough events on the square I've seen not homeless people pee in the alley. I've also seen what I'm mostly sure was dog shit one day in the alley, and one day it smelled remarkably zoo like. It wasn't even that horrid a smell because it had more an animal sort of odor than just gross shit stink. Fairly recently someone changed a bandage in the alley and were nice enough to leave their potentially hazardous bio waste for us.
And one day a family or two was down there taking pictures. The large and lumpy dad was dutifully hauling strollers and bags of props and trying to keep the kids not in the current photo busy. And they had bags of props, clothes, hats, big letters. I'm sure there were favorite stuffed animals as well.
And of course you have the happy smiling couples. They all look so stupid being lined up against the graffiti just so. And of course they don't think to confirm outfits and color schemes till they get there.
Then there are the random single people. You can't ever really know what they're doing or why. They're digging the gritty, urban landscape and standing in front of a door of course, but what's their motivation.
I missed the day that a bunch of girls were having pictures made. They had bags of clothes and were blocking doors and being in the way, and they were changing right there in the alley. OMG, ya'll. Again, I didn't witness this, so . . .
And when you do drive west through the land of stripmalls to the homes of these people, you can see those pictures on the mantelpiece. It's so gritty and urban tucked away here in a several acre subdivision named after an English sounding word that doesn't in any way describe the actual place.
I wonder if the ironic hipster kids are going to start taking couples photos in front of big box retail stores?
Tuesday, August 09, 2011
phoning it in
After far to much time and money I've finally paid off the library and returned the books that kept getting misplaced only to turn up randomly to haunt me with my misdeed. I admire the grace of the three librarians I dealt with today in our return to being respectable users of the library.
I do feel like an ass, and have, for letting this thing get so bad, but at some point fines piled up to a point, and the two books were misplaced, and the fines got worse, and feeling at the time as if I just couldn't afford it. With school about to start again I know that the library will come in handy soon enough, and I'm just tired of not having a book to read.
Between the books at Momma's and those I still have left I've read nearly all of what we have that I want to read. There are a few of the boys' books I may or may not read, and most of what I have I've definitely read. I've even reread. I even almost read the Whoopie Goldberg book that I think might have come from Momma's grandmother. I got stuck on the fart chapter.
Box Turtle Bulletin has been posting a Daily Agenda featuring current news as well as bits of LGBT history. For instance, I learned a few days ago that James Baldwin was born on August 2, 1924. I should mention that I also learned then of James Baldwin, and though he isn't the reason I so suddenly decided to finally take care of my library tab his first book, Go Tell It on the Mountain, is my own welcome back gift from them.
So far Big Brother has read two of his three books. He too has been rereading books, so I can only imagine how much he's wanted something new. I'm sometimes jealous of his ability to find time to read until I realize that's sometimes all I see him doing, and still I don't mind. He's now taken to having at least two books going, one at Momma's house and one here.
The Boy has long had two books going, but these have always been the books that Momma or I are reading as his bedtime book. There it's Farmer Boy, while here we're on to A Horse and his Boy at mine. Having begun to slowly start reading more on his own The Boy has a couple of books with bookmarks sticking out of them between here and Momma's, and he got two more books today, both of which he's read some of. They're also both about dogs. He also got a library card. Yay him!
I also depopsited my check, bought stamps, failed to find a wallet at the one store I bothered to visit, and did not even think about bicycle tires till too late to do anything. I definitely need to get into action about the tire. I've got a spot on my front tire that's ripped down to the bead, and though I think I'm okay for the most part, in reality I know that it won't take much to get through that.
I also took the boys for Mexican. We went to a local favorite and filled ourselves with all sorts of beef and tortillas and beans and cheese and salsa, and Big Brother even got a ceviche tostada but didn't eat the tortilla. I don't know what's wrong with that kid sometimes. Also I don't care for ceviche.
Then we came home and were lazy, and I've suddenly remembered that I was supposed to go to the store for cereal. It's now too late to bother with that, so I'll just have to get up in the morning and do something about it.
That's been my day so far. The boys have been quiet enough for long enough that I have to assume they're asleep. They should be, though they didn't do anything more today than ride around and wish I'd buy them something.
I do feel like an ass, and have, for letting this thing get so bad, but at some point fines piled up to a point, and the two books were misplaced, and the fines got worse, and feeling at the time as if I just couldn't afford it. With school about to start again I know that the library will come in handy soon enough, and I'm just tired of not having a book to read.
Between the books at Momma's and those I still have left I've read nearly all of what we have that I want to read. There are a few of the boys' books I may or may not read, and most of what I have I've definitely read. I've even reread. I even almost read the Whoopie Goldberg book that I think might have come from Momma's grandmother. I got stuck on the fart chapter.
Box Turtle Bulletin has been posting a Daily Agenda featuring current news as well as bits of LGBT history. For instance, I learned a few days ago that James Baldwin was born on August 2, 1924. I should mention that I also learned then of James Baldwin, and though he isn't the reason I so suddenly decided to finally take care of my library tab his first book, Go Tell It on the Mountain, is my own welcome back gift from them.
So far Big Brother has read two of his three books. He too has been rereading books, so I can only imagine how much he's wanted something new. I'm sometimes jealous of his ability to find time to read until I realize that's sometimes all I see him doing, and still I don't mind. He's now taken to having at least two books going, one at Momma's house and one here.
The Boy has long had two books going, but these have always been the books that Momma or I are reading as his bedtime book. There it's Farmer Boy, while here we're on to A Horse and his Boy at mine. Having begun to slowly start reading more on his own The Boy has a couple of books with bookmarks sticking out of them between here and Momma's, and he got two more books today, both of which he's read some of. They're also both about dogs. He also got a library card. Yay him!
I also depopsited my check, bought stamps, failed to find a wallet at the one store I bothered to visit, and did not even think about bicycle tires till too late to do anything. I definitely need to get into action about the tire. I've got a spot on my front tire that's ripped down to the bead, and though I think I'm okay for the most part, in reality I know that it won't take much to get through that.
I also took the boys for Mexican. We went to a local favorite and filled ourselves with all sorts of beef and tortillas and beans and cheese and salsa, and Big Brother even got a ceviche tostada but didn't eat the tortilla. I don't know what's wrong with that kid sometimes. Also I don't care for ceviche.
Then we came home and were lazy, and I've suddenly remembered that I was supposed to go to the store for cereal. It's now too late to bother with that, so I'll just have to get up in the morning and do something about it.
That's been my day so far. The boys have been quiet enough for long enough that I have to assume they're asleep. They should be, though they didn't do anything more today than ride around and wish I'd buy them something.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
fights in fridges
Yes, it's noon here in beautiful (if humid) east TN, and yes, I've been up for about an hour. I have made coffee, pooped, smoked, checked my phone, cleaned the two refrigerator shelves I've been ignoring for far too long, wiped out inside same refrigerator, and found a small sword stuck into part of the vent system.
Relax, it's a Playmobile sword, so the danger is minimal, but still . . .
I asked the boys about it, but neither of them remembers playing with Playmobile toys in there, and certainly neither remembers leaving a sword. It may well remain a mystery for the ages, but I would like to know who's been fighting in the fridge.
Relax, it's a Playmobile sword, so the danger is minimal, but still . . .
I asked the boys about it, but neither of them remembers playing with Playmobile toys in there, and certainly neither remembers leaving a sword. It may well remain a mystery for the ages, but I would like to know who's been fighting in the fridge.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
wouldn't it be nice
The following was posted on Facebook as a friend's status. I started to make my own points about each of these fond memories, but I don't have it in me to be that guy to this particular person. So I'm calling blog fodder and bitching it out here. Also, it's not about bikes for the most part.
Yes, I rode a bike with no helmet, and though I've begun to wear one there was some small amount of wanting to fight it on my part. I hate bike helmets that look like some sort of alien's skull on top of your own. I feel like I look like a douche in them, and I put off buying a helmet for some time. Big Brother had a helmet in time to start riding his bike to school, and I'm glad he wears it. I'm not sure how I feel about the law, but where we live the helmets-on-bicycles law applies to those sixteen and under.
But I do wear a helmet. I finally visited the skateboard shop and bought a helmet I don't loathe. I even put one of the stickers the shop guy gave me on the side to attempt to get back some coolness points. I can heal from a broken arm or leg, but impact induced loss of what little mental accuity I still have because I chose not to wear a helmet is likely a slightly worse blow, no pun intended.
As well as I remember the house I grew up in was not especially child proof, but sensible precautions were taken to care for any children and to guard against the likelihood of dangerous items reaching their hands. And my own house has been the same way. I don't have any intention to leave harm lying around in the path of my children, but I also understand that some lessons will be learned the hard way, so I make sure those lessons aren't the truly threatening ones.
You got a whippin? How do people still glorify this sort of behavior? I certainly got plenty of them myself, but I've worked really hard not to bring that into my present. That I've turned out as well as I have in spite of being struck as a child as punishment for misdeeds does not make it okay to continue the tradition of striking kids.
We had more than three channels, and for a few years we did have to get up to change channels. It involved turning a knob, and sometimes you had to adjust the rabbit ear antenna while barely turning the UHF knob to try to find the kung fu movies. I appreciate technology and am more than happy to change channels by pushing a button while staying comfortably on the sofa.
Most people I know don't have a problem with the pledge of allegiance, but I do know people who have a problem with the phrase "under god" being a part of it. I have a problem with that phrase. It's a way of excluding people, and I think that it's unAmerican. I don't like it, and I don't think it should be there.
Stores can close on Sunday or any other day. The place I work at closes early on Sunday, and a restaurant down the square closes early on Monday. No one should have to not open on Sunday, and I'll go so far as to say that blue laws should not exist that require certain businesses to not open on Sundays. The only reason this exists is as a vague nod to religious traditions that many people don't necessarily follow, and it feeds into the system that allows exclusion of people based on religion.
I would probably still drink out of the water hose unless it tasted like water hose, and if I were thirsty enough even that wouldn't matter.
Other things that I like about progress is that there aren't colored water fountains and white water fountains, and you sit on the bus wherever you damn well please. I like multiple television channels as well as the internet and smart phones and off buttons. I like that I don't pretend I'm not gay any more. I also like bobbers, decidedly low tech, as well as vintage bicycles, even older tech. I like Sriracha a whole lot, which I haven't talked about lately, but I could easily do a blog post on that lovely little bottle of chili sauce.
There's nothing new there really for anyone that actually knows me or has read here for a while. It's all standard stuff, and I do get why that misty eyed view of the past is so powerful. I also get that progress for the sake of progress isn't always worth shit. Maybe it's just me, because this little paragraph shows up periodically, and I hate every time, probably a little more each time than the last. Hell, why don't we just go back to when we were banging rocks together, when our only real fear was getting gored by the wooly mammoth we planned to hunt as soon as we found one. That's the life, no traffic, no screaming kids in restaurants, no tail winds from the Mexican we had for lunch, nothing but banging these here rocks and wondering whether I'd ever see the sun again every time a cloud covered it for a moment.
If you grew up on home cooked meals, you rode a bike with no helmet, your parents house was not "child-proof" , you got a whippin' when you misbehaved, had 3 TV channels you got up to change or went outside to turn the antenna, school started with the Pledge of Allegiance, stores were closed on Sunday, you drank water out of a water hose and still turned out okay, re-post this and show that you survived.I grew up on home cooked meals for the most part. My mother's repertoire was varied somewhat, and for the most part I'd say it was basically basic American (USA edition) with a strong southern bent. I may well know how to cook a lot more things than she ever needed, but what she cooked was always good. Her own mother apparently was never much of a cook, so my own mother was essentially self taught. Other than liver night I have no complaints about her cooking.
Yes, I rode a bike with no helmet, and though I've begun to wear one there was some small amount of wanting to fight it on my part. I hate bike helmets that look like some sort of alien's skull on top of your own. I feel like I look like a douche in them, and I put off buying a helmet for some time. Big Brother had a helmet in time to start riding his bike to school, and I'm glad he wears it. I'm not sure how I feel about the law, but where we live the helmets-on-bicycles law applies to those sixteen and under.
But I do wear a helmet. I finally visited the skateboard shop and bought a helmet I don't loathe. I even put one of the stickers the shop guy gave me on the side to attempt to get back some coolness points. I can heal from a broken arm or leg, but impact induced loss of what little mental accuity I still have because I chose not to wear a helmet is likely a slightly worse blow, no pun intended.
As well as I remember the house I grew up in was not especially child proof, but sensible precautions were taken to care for any children and to guard against the likelihood of dangerous items reaching their hands. And my own house has been the same way. I don't have any intention to leave harm lying around in the path of my children, but I also understand that some lessons will be learned the hard way, so I make sure those lessons aren't the truly threatening ones.
You got a whippin? How do people still glorify this sort of behavior? I certainly got plenty of them myself, but I've worked really hard not to bring that into my present. That I've turned out as well as I have in spite of being struck as a child as punishment for misdeeds does not make it okay to continue the tradition of striking kids.
We had more than three channels, and for a few years we did have to get up to change channels. It involved turning a knob, and sometimes you had to adjust the rabbit ear antenna while barely turning the UHF knob to try to find the kung fu movies. I appreciate technology and am more than happy to change channels by pushing a button while staying comfortably on the sofa.
Most people I know don't have a problem with the pledge of allegiance, but I do know people who have a problem with the phrase "under god" being a part of it. I have a problem with that phrase. It's a way of excluding people, and I think that it's unAmerican. I don't like it, and I don't think it should be there.
Stores can close on Sunday or any other day. The place I work at closes early on Sunday, and a restaurant down the square closes early on Monday. No one should have to not open on Sunday, and I'll go so far as to say that blue laws should not exist that require certain businesses to not open on Sundays. The only reason this exists is as a vague nod to religious traditions that many people don't necessarily follow, and it feeds into the system that allows exclusion of people based on religion.
I would probably still drink out of the water hose unless it tasted like water hose, and if I were thirsty enough even that wouldn't matter.
Other things that I like about progress is that there aren't colored water fountains and white water fountains, and you sit on the bus wherever you damn well please. I like multiple television channels as well as the internet and smart phones and off buttons. I like that I don't pretend I'm not gay any more. I also like bobbers, decidedly low tech, as well as vintage bicycles, even older tech. I like Sriracha a whole lot, which I haven't talked about lately, but I could easily do a blog post on that lovely little bottle of chili sauce.
There's nothing new there really for anyone that actually knows me or has read here for a while. It's all standard stuff, and I do get why that misty eyed view of the past is so powerful. I also get that progress for the sake of progress isn't always worth shit. Maybe it's just me, because this little paragraph shows up periodically, and I hate every time, probably a little more each time than the last. Hell, why don't we just go back to when we were banging rocks together, when our only real fear was getting gored by the wooly mammoth we planned to hunt as soon as we found one. That's the life, no traffic, no screaming kids in restaurants, no tail winds from the Mexican we had for lunch, nothing but banging these here rocks and wondering whether I'd ever see the sun again every time a cloud covered it for a moment.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
don't never mind the bollards, srsly
Alas the rain again could also be a title for this post. As promised, the rain has once again moved into my stormy little slice of heaven.
To be honest a weather forecast isn't the same as a promise, but lately, if it involves rain, it kinda seems like it is.
I find excuses not to ride in the rain. With a few adjustments I could take most of the issues out of the problem, and I know that at some point I'm going to have to just do it. I've done it before, and other than a wet butt for a while it wasn't so bad.
My newest fixation is bike tires. One day, when I can actually have a nice day off, while the kids are in school and I have the time, I'm going to look into a new pair of tires for my bike. It would be a great joy to me to take the bike out and ride to the bike shop and ride away with tires made for asphalt.
Have I mentioned that it's a mountain bike? It's older, but it's a great bike and it rides well, but I can't deal with these tires anymore. I have knobby mountain bike tires, and that makes perfect sense for a mountain bike. But right now, it isn't really a mountain bike. It sees the ridges that make this town so much fun to bike through, but that ain't the same.
What I need is a tire built for the asphalt, and companies are apparently making tires specifically for people turning mountain bikes into commuter bikes. That's what I'm doing. Apparently I'm not starting something new.
I just love the way this bike works, and I love how he and I work together. I also decorated him tonight. That's right, I just called the bike he. Whatcha gonna do about it? The only other thing I've done to the bike was to add lights and adjust the seat. I did also put a reflective sticker on the front before riding home from work one night at the insistence of a coworker, but that thing is gonna have to come off. It's probably a not bad idea, but it's ugly, and I need to have a real light up there anyway if I'm riding at night.
I also mentioned a decoration. Two days ago, preparing for an all out grocery procuring blitz, I was sorting through the shopping bags to see if they were all there when I discovered the skull. It's a small metal skull that was part of a skeleton that has hung from the rear view mirrors of the last three cars that Momma and I shared. It stayed with me in the Honda when Momma moved on in her own car world.
I found parts of it when I cleaned the Honda out after the "accident" and didn't remember finding the skull. I seem to remember some other random parts, but I'm not sure now what I would have done with them since. I grabbed the shopping bags when I went to the impound lot that night and apparently didn't completely empty them out when I finally sorted through the bags later.
I'm kinda excited about the tires idea. I can feel the knobbies working against me I think. Also I want the rain to quickly fall and then move along. I get that it's spring in east TN, but seriously, I've kinda had enough this year. I'm ready to move along.
To be honest a weather forecast isn't the same as a promise, but lately, if it involves rain, it kinda seems like it is.
I find excuses not to ride in the rain. With a few adjustments I could take most of the issues out of the problem, and I know that at some point I'm going to have to just do it. I've done it before, and other than a wet butt for a while it wasn't so bad.
My newest fixation is bike tires. One day, when I can actually have a nice day off, while the kids are in school and I have the time, I'm going to look into a new pair of tires for my bike. It would be a great joy to me to take the bike out and ride to the bike shop and ride away with tires made for asphalt.
Have I mentioned that it's a mountain bike? It's older, but it's a great bike and it rides well, but I can't deal with these tires anymore. I have knobby mountain bike tires, and that makes perfect sense for a mountain bike. But right now, it isn't really a mountain bike. It sees the ridges that make this town so much fun to bike through, but that ain't the same.
What I need is a tire built for the asphalt, and companies are apparently making tires specifically for people turning mountain bikes into commuter bikes. That's what I'm doing. Apparently I'm not starting something new.
I just love the way this bike works, and I love how he and I work together. I also decorated him tonight. That's right, I just called the bike he. Whatcha gonna do about it? The only other thing I've done to the bike was to add lights and adjust the seat. I did also put a reflective sticker on the front before riding home from work one night at the insistence of a coworker, but that thing is gonna have to come off. It's probably a not bad idea, but it's ugly, and I need to have a real light up there anyway if I'm riding at night.
I also mentioned a decoration. Two days ago, preparing for an all out grocery procuring blitz, I was sorting through the shopping bags to see if they were all there when I discovered the skull. It's a small metal skull that was part of a skeleton that has hung from the rear view mirrors of the last three cars that Momma and I shared. It stayed with me in the Honda when Momma moved on in her own car world.
I found parts of it when I cleaned the Honda out after the "accident" and didn't remember finding the skull. I seem to remember some other random parts, but I'm not sure now what I would have done with them since. I grabbed the shopping bags when I went to the impound lot that night and apparently didn't completely empty them out when I finally sorted through the bags later.
I'm kinda excited about the tires idea. I can feel the knobbies working against me I think. Also I want the rain to quickly fall and then move along. I get that it's spring in east TN, but seriously, I've kinda had enough this year. I'm ready to move along.
Tuesday, March 08, 2011
and doggone it . . .
One of those things happened tonight on the ol' Fb as I was reminded why I deleted so many friends so long ago. A teacher from my high school years made a comment that was slightly politically charged, and I said something to disagree.
He said something about Obama being our first black president and being half white, and I corrected him that Clinton was actually our first black president.
He of course then pointed out that both were bad people and wrong, so I commented that I was rolling up my pants.
I took myself away from the debate, but I made sure to do so in a slightly passive aggressive way. Now maybe I'm prejudiced when it comes to me, but I think that shows a touch of class.
He said something about Obama being our first black president and being half white, and I corrected him that Clinton was actually our first black president.
He of course then pointed out that both were bad people and wrong, so I commented that I was rolling up my pants.
I took myself away from the debate, but I made sure to do so in a slightly passive aggressive way. Now maybe I'm prejudiced when it comes to me, but I think that shows a touch of class.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
again with
The blog This is Fag City has only been in my reader for a short time. I forget where I found him originally, which doesn't really matter, but I always like knowing these things. Or maybe I don't really care until I realize I can't remember.
And like I said, it doesn't really matter. What does matter is my bummer house. It's a little woo for me, but I love the quote near the end of the post Fantasy Castle. He is discussing mental attitudes and says, Trying not to make myself a bummer house cuz I do not want to live in a bummer house. I want to live in a Fantasy Castle.
It ties in perfectly with my not resolutions, because this idea fits nicely at the core of my goal. I'm not in a good place because the universe has always been out to get me, so I've always lived with that in mind. But if the universe isn't really out to get me, and if it's okay to maybe imagine I might could live in my own fantasy castle, then maybe I can start to do something about it. And maybe I'll just make enough of a fantasy castle out of where I am to get me started
I know, kinda woo, and it kinda grosses me out that I'm talking like that. It seems so trite, but there again it ties right into my thing that isn't resolutions, because it's new. Plus, fantasy castle! Fuck yeah!
p.s. trying to edit and reread that first paragraph is giving me a headache, so with all apologies I've opted to leave it alone for now. Just ignore it as best you can.
And like I said, it doesn't really matter. What does matter is my bummer house. It's a little woo for me, but I love the quote near the end of the post Fantasy Castle. He is discussing mental attitudes and says, Trying not to make myself a bummer house cuz I do not want to live in a bummer house. I want to live in a Fantasy Castle.
It ties in perfectly with my not resolutions, because this idea fits nicely at the core of my goal. I'm not in a good place because the universe has always been out to get me, so I've always lived with that in mind. But if the universe isn't really out to get me, and if it's okay to maybe imagine I might could live in my own fantasy castle, then maybe I can start to do something about it. And maybe I'll just make enough of a fantasy castle out of where I am to get me started
I know, kinda woo, and it kinda grosses me out that I'm talking like that. It seems so trite, but there again it ties right into my thing that isn't resolutions, because it's new. Plus, fantasy castle! Fuck yeah!
p.s. trying to edit and reread that first paragraph is giving me a headache, so with all apologies I've opted to leave it alone for now. Just ignore it as best you can.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
yellow pen
Do you ever reach a point where you realize that you may in fact be doing absolutely, everything wrong? Do you wonder what things you should stop doing and which you should start doing the opposite of how you've always done them?
Maybe I exaggerate a tiny bit with the everything and the completely, but so often lately life seems to feel as if I really must be doing at least nearly everything wrong, and perhaps that's why things seem like they always seem to seem.
And sadly that's just a knee jerk reaction to my real issue which is that I never really do much of anything. I convince myself that I'm making great strides and trying and pushing/pulling my share.
But more often I'm actually busy watching the ass end of opportunity fade in the distance. I'm really good at thinking about things, and that ought to be good for something.
Maybe I exaggerate a tiny bit with the everything and the completely, but so often lately life seems to feel as if I really must be doing at least nearly everything wrong, and perhaps that's why things seem like they always seem to seem.
And sadly that's just a knee jerk reaction to my real issue which is that I never really do much of anything. I convince myself that I'm making great strides and trying and pushing/pulling my share.
But more often I'm actually busy watching the ass end of opportunity fade in the distance. I'm really good at thinking about things, and that ought to be good for something.
Saturday, October 09, 2010
accepting the fact of who exactly you won against
The pizzas are in the oven, and the kids are putting together Big Brother's newest Star Wars Lego toys. Soon enough we'll turn on a movie that should get all the kids to relax enough to fall asleep so that I can then go to bed.
Not so long ago, however, we were at Laser Quest, and in the two games we played before and after the cake and present opening I came in second and then first.
I have to admit that by win I mean I took my own amount of experience and age and ruthlessness into a maze filled with a few friends and kids of friends and a bunch of rowdy kids I do not at all know. I kept my back to the wall and kept my eyes moving for those red lights.
I shot withering barrages of laser blasts into small masses of children, many of whom were not only wearing the lights but also white shirts that glowed beckoning in the blacklights.
I posted up at windows as I heard the squeals of terror approaching in the dark sending red burning death into the group trying to slink past, heads low.
I ran reaching over walls to blast blindly at sounds that may well have been solely products of my over active senses.
Everyone was an enemy unless I needed a friend for a moment. Everyone was a target for my blinding rage.
And I beat them all.
Not so long ago, however, we were at Laser Quest, and in the two games we played before and after the cake and present opening I came in second and then first.
I have to admit that by win I mean I took my own amount of experience and age and ruthlessness into a maze filled with a few friends and kids of friends and a bunch of rowdy kids I do not at all know. I kept my back to the wall and kept my eyes moving for those red lights.
I shot withering barrages of laser blasts into small masses of children, many of whom were not only wearing the lights but also white shirts that glowed beckoning in the blacklights.
I posted up at windows as I heard the squeals of terror approaching in the dark sending red burning death into the group trying to slink past, heads low.
I ran reaching over walls to blast blindly at sounds that may well have been solely products of my over active senses.
Everyone was an enemy unless I needed a friend for a moment. Everyone was a target for my blinding rage.
And I beat them all.
Saturday, October 02, 2010
not a huge step
I'm sure you'll all be happy to learn what I just did. I'm not the most rapid person in the world when it comes to checking my email, and after a couple of spam comments made their way to the blog a few years back I changed my comment acceptance so that I would moderate and publish all comments
I should say I set moderation to happen at my leisure, because that's what ended up happening. Because I don't check my email as often as I might I have had comments languish in moderation for days without me realizing.
So I've changed that, and now you need only fill in the little word and send the comment on its merry way. And now that I'm making an actual effort to make myself write more perhaps we can stir some shit up and get some conversation going.
I should say I set moderation to happen at my leisure, because that's what ended up happening. Because I don't check my email as often as I might I have had comments languish in moderation for days without me realizing.
So I've changed that, and now you need only fill in the little word and send the comment on its merry way. And now that I'm making an actual effort to make myself write more perhaps we can stir some shit up and get some conversation going.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
here kitty
There's a smallish black cat behind the sofa, and two boys are sitting on the sofa discussing possible names.
Late last night Momma and I were sitting on her back porch. She'd worked late, and I just didn't (yet again) go to bed at a reasonable time. We were not drinking too much, for what it's worth.
The dogs had been out and in and out and were back in as the older one was off her lead and kept wanting to sneakily dissappear around the house and into the darkness. Had any of the dogs been out it's likely the cat wouldn't have stopped by or would have gotten chased off before we realized.
But the dogs were inside, and the cat showed up. It's all black, and his/her (don't know yet) tail seems extra long. The poor thing had obviously not eaten recently but didn't seem in too bad a shape. Of course we didn't have any cat good, but I brought out a little dog food which was very quickly gobbled up. I worried that the cat would eat too quickly and end up throwing the food back up, but that didn't happen.
The dogs still don't quite know what to think of the cat. The older dog might remember her old cat friend who we all miss, but the two smaller dogs don't likely have a clue about the new person in their midst. Of the two small dogs only one is ours. The other is a friend's and will hopefully soon be leaving us. The friend needed her two dogs watched for the last month as she worked to find a new living situation.
So we may have a cat now. If we get a reason to believe someone has lost this cat and wants it back we'll do the right thing. But for now the right thing seems to be to give the cat a safe place and to feed it and get some meat on it's bones. And we also have to think of a name.
Late last night Momma and I were sitting on her back porch. She'd worked late, and I just didn't (yet again) go to bed at a reasonable time. We were not drinking too much, for what it's worth.
The dogs had been out and in and out and were back in as the older one was off her lead and kept wanting to sneakily dissappear around the house and into the darkness. Had any of the dogs been out it's likely the cat wouldn't have stopped by or would have gotten chased off before we realized.
But the dogs were inside, and the cat showed up. It's all black, and his/her (don't know yet) tail seems extra long. The poor thing had obviously not eaten recently but didn't seem in too bad a shape. Of course we didn't have any cat good, but I brought out a little dog food which was very quickly gobbled up. I worried that the cat would eat too quickly and end up throwing the food back up, but that didn't happen.
The dogs still don't quite know what to think of the cat. The older dog might remember her old cat friend who we all miss, but the two smaller dogs don't likely have a clue about the new person in their midst. Of the two small dogs only one is ours. The other is a friend's and will hopefully soon be leaving us. The friend needed her two dogs watched for the last month as she worked to find a new living situation.
So we may have a cat now. If we get a reason to believe someone has lost this cat and wants it back we'll do the right thing. But for now the right thing seems to be to give the cat a safe place and to feed it and get some meat on it's bones. And we also have to think of a name.
shouldn't oughta ate it
Liverwurst! Let's just get that out of the way. I hate it.
Maybe I've shared my childhood trauma with you, and maybe not. Either way, I'm not going into the long version right now. The quick version involves household rules requiring us to eat whatever our mouther cooked. She and I were the only two people out of the nine that did not like liver. Dinners that involved liver for us involved her eating something else and me getting the shaft.
Have you ever eaten something that so disgusted you that you would gag the entire time it was even in your mouth? Did you continue to eat it? Okay, I once voluntarily did, the first time I tried octopus. Momma makes sushi, though this particular time was the first either she or I had tried it, and she now realizes that the octopus we had that time was not prepared well and was cut too thick. The flavor wasn't the worst thing then but the fact that no amount of chewing seemed to effect the composition of the piece of octopus.
Liver has the effect on me that I gag while my body tries to relieve itself of this infernal organ and expell it far, far away. It's a memory that still sort of pisses me off, and too much dwelling on the subject can actually make me nauseous even today, and before today I haven't eaten liver in nearly twenty years.
I came home from work a bit later than usual today and immediately needed to visit the bathroom to take care of some business I'd been unable to transact throughout the day. I wouldn't mention this, but it did give a later start than I'd have liked to the taking-care-of-kids half of my day. Following the waste removal operation I fixed the cup of coffee that I also needed.
Somewhat off topic, I really can't stand the coffee at work. I've been drinking water in the morning lately, waiting for ten when the servers start coming in and someone finally makes tea. The coffee there sucks and comes from a machine that makes coffee from packs of some sort of coffee concentrate. It's a big red machine that I like to claim was stolen from the big local politician/business family's local chain store. After choosing your coffee you press the appropriate button while holding your cup under the appropriate nozzle.
And then I needed to relax with my coffee, check Facebook and my email. I needed also to keep the idea of supper in the back of my mind so that I could decide what to get at the store that I needed to soon visit. Eventually I realized the time and the fact that I needed to just move. I hustled the boys into shoes and found some myself.
There are four grocery stores within reasonable driving distance, though it's really a question of two stores represented twice each with a regular version close to the house and the slightly nicer versions being slightly farther away. I chose the nicest of the four because they have a better produce section, and my idea was to just grab some vegetables that the boys would eat while formulating a protein plan.
Though it hadn't occurred to me till we got there, another advantage of the nicer store is the number of samples strewn throughout the deli area. I'm not sure what all the boys ate, but I do know there was muenster cheese, cold cuts that looked like turkey and some sort of ham and that damn liverwurst.
I thought Big Brother would probably like the liverwurst because he likes a lot of stuff. I had no idea how The Boy would enjoy it or whether he would have a meltdown over this ghastly thing that was in contact with his person. They both enjoyed it, and knowing how time can effect our tastes I took a tiny nibble.
And this is where my entire being went into a whirlpool of despair. I suggested to the boys that they share a single piece thinking that they might not like it, and I ate a tiny piece, a piece roughly the size of my pinky fingernail. At first it wasn't bad, and then I suddenly, actually tasted it. And again within another short second I most certainly did taste it and was revolted. I forced it down as quickly as possible.
And then I almost had to wipe my tongue. I might have whined a little, and I certainly did almost reach for my shirt to wipe the gruesome off my tongue, and then I saw myself being the guy in the store licking his shirt, and that didn't seem like it could possibly make the situation better. I finally did what I do, sucked it up, shivered up my spine, felt my head do that thing where it cocks a little to the side.
We were finally moving away from the produce/deli area. The taste of the liverwurst was still in my mouth but hopefully fading, and as I walked that same old feeling started coming over me. Even as the taste of it grew weaker I felt I could still taste it on my breath. That horrid deep in the throat feeling, that rough stomach feeling was slipping up, and I was afraid that I was going to cough and throw up a little. And still I could taste that damn liverwurst on my breath.
I finally stopped and explained to the boys that I needed them to be extra cool, to move quickly with me. I quickly explained about my liver issues, that I shouldn't have eaten it and told them how I felt. We needed to continue the shopping, and thankfully I was forming more ideas for supper as we walked, but more than anything I wanted to figure out where the hell the damn water fountain was.
The taste slowly seemed to go away, and eventually, mercifully, I did find the water fountain. We were mostly done by this point, and though the taste seemed to have completely been taken care of I still had that same feeling, that same worry that I'd start gagging and coughing and lose control.
Fuck I hate liver!
Maybe I've shared my childhood trauma with you, and maybe not. Either way, I'm not going into the long version right now. The quick version involves household rules requiring us to eat whatever our mouther cooked. She and I were the only two people out of the nine that did not like liver. Dinners that involved liver for us involved her eating something else and me getting the shaft.
Have you ever eaten something that so disgusted you that you would gag the entire time it was even in your mouth? Did you continue to eat it? Okay, I once voluntarily did, the first time I tried octopus. Momma makes sushi, though this particular time was the first either she or I had tried it, and she now realizes that the octopus we had that time was not prepared well and was cut too thick. The flavor wasn't the worst thing then but the fact that no amount of chewing seemed to effect the composition of the piece of octopus.
Liver has the effect on me that I gag while my body tries to relieve itself of this infernal organ and expell it far, far away. It's a memory that still sort of pisses me off, and too much dwelling on the subject can actually make me nauseous even today, and before today I haven't eaten liver in nearly twenty years.
I came home from work a bit later than usual today and immediately needed to visit the bathroom to take care of some business I'd been unable to transact throughout the day. I wouldn't mention this, but it did give a later start than I'd have liked to the taking-care-of-kids half of my day. Following the waste removal operation I fixed the cup of coffee that I also needed.
Somewhat off topic, I really can't stand the coffee at work. I've been drinking water in the morning lately, waiting for ten when the servers start coming in and someone finally makes tea. The coffee there sucks and comes from a machine that makes coffee from packs of some sort of coffee concentrate. It's a big red machine that I like to claim was stolen from the big local politician/business family's local chain store. After choosing your coffee you press the appropriate button while holding your cup under the appropriate nozzle.
And then I needed to relax with my coffee, check Facebook and my email. I needed also to keep the idea of supper in the back of my mind so that I could decide what to get at the store that I needed to soon visit. Eventually I realized the time and the fact that I needed to just move. I hustled the boys into shoes and found some myself.
There are four grocery stores within reasonable driving distance, though it's really a question of two stores represented twice each with a regular version close to the house and the slightly nicer versions being slightly farther away. I chose the nicest of the four because they have a better produce section, and my idea was to just grab some vegetables that the boys would eat while formulating a protein plan.
Though it hadn't occurred to me till we got there, another advantage of the nicer store is the number of samples strewn throughout the deli area. I'm not sure what all the boys ate, but I do know there was muenster cheese, cold cuts that looked like turkey and some sort of ham and that damn liverwurst.
I thought Big Brother would probably like the liverwurst because he likes a lot of stuff. I had no idea how The Boy would enjoy it or whether he would have a meltdown over this ghastly thing that was in contact with his person. They both enjoyed it, and knowing how time can effect our tastes I took a tiny nibble.
And this is where my entire being went into a whirlpool of despair. I suggested to the boys that they share a single piece thinking that they might not like it, and I ate a tiny piece, a piece roughly the size of my pinky fingernail. At first it wasn't bad, and then I suddenly, actually tasted it. And again within another short second I most certainly did taste it and was revolted. I forced it down as quickly as possible.
And then I almost had to wipe my tongue. I might have whined a little, and I certainly did almost reach for my shirt to wipe the gruesome off my tongue, and then I saw myself being the guy in the store licking his shirt, and that didn't seem like it could possibly make the situation better. I finally did what I do, sucked it up, shivered up my spine, felt my head do that thing where it cocks a little to the side.
We were finally moving away from the produce/deli area. The taste of the liverwurst was still in my mouth but hopefully fading, and as I walked that same old feeling started coming over me. Even as the taste of it grew weaker I felt I could still taste it on my breath. That horrid deep in the throat feeling, that rough stomach feeling was slipping up, and I was afraid that I was going to cough and throw up a little. And still I could taste that damn liverwurst on my breath.
I finally stopped and explained to the boys that I needed them to be extra cool, to move quickly with me. I quickly explained about my liver issues, that I shouldn't have eaten it and told them how I felt. We needed to continue the shopping, and thankfully I was forming more ideas for supper as we walked, but more than anything I wanted to figure out where the hell the damn water fountain was.
The taste slowly seemed to go away, and eventually, mercifully, I did find the water fountain. We were mostly done by this point, and though the taste seemed to have completely been taken care of I still had that same feeling, that same worry that I'd start gagging and coughing and lose control.
Fuck I hate liver!
Saturday, July 17, 2010
he's talking about his . . .
It's time for one of my self concious in/out of the closet moments. It's not new to me, but I don't think I've quite shared with anyone else. Momma's probably seen and noticed it, but I haven't actually discussed it with her, so I can't be sure. But she is somewhat astute. She catches stuff sometimes.
And it has to do with my hair. I'm going to tell you about it.
You may not know, but not so many years ago I was the guy with the shaved head. I even have my own clippers. I was really good at buzzing it all off myself, though I did always ask nicely and would get Momma to run around the edges, because I always missed something.
The worst was around my ears. I always missed a nice long strand, and I would never notice it till a couple of weeks had passed and it was noticeable as it and the hair around it grew. And I don't know how I always missed that bit. Early on I noticed a pattern and paid extra special attention to that area.
Hair is damn fine insulator. It holds in much more heat than you might realize unless you're going bald or have been or are the shaved head guy. Depending on when I last shaved the noggin and depending on what time of the year it was I might reach needing-a-nother-swipe time in the colder months. Sometimes I'd let it go longer because I knew that I'd be that much colder for the next little bit after removing it, but I hated my hair and would also just want it gone.
If I didn't shave it it was unmanageable and sucked and was wispy and mousy and sucked, and I hated it.
And then somewhere around the time I came out and unrelated to my coming out I just didn't cut it one winter. I actually didn't cut it at the time because of the winter. I kept the insulation intending to shave it in early spring, and then I didn't do that either.
And then it was all kinds of looking like shit because it hadn't been cut into a style and was pretty much growing in as a horrible mullet like thing. I had a friend trim the sides and back enough to fix that situation, and eventually I went to a local chain salon and paid someone. For the first time in years someone else cut my hair with some concern as to making the cut something that added something of a style.
But by that point I was sorta on a mission to just let it grow. I was never allowed that luxury as a child. My haircuts were provided free of charge by my father when he decided that it was hair cut night. Each of my brothers and I took our turn in line to get a get little missionary style haircut. He did a great job, as far as I know, and only nicked me a couple of times over the years, but I never really had any option but the one cut we all got.
And though I'd never really thought that I wanted long hair I let it grow, and in the process I changed my attitude about my hair and stopped forcing the curl out.
I actually never realized my hair would curl the way it does. I'd always hated what my hair did and, when I actually had hair, I forced it to not curl. When I let go and let grow however I saw what it was actually capable of, though I'll admit that I have to control the curl to be sure that it doesn't go the wrong way.
And now I just hate the sides. I don't really hate them in general, but I do hate them now. My hair needs to be shortened, and when it gets as long as it is the sides go all sorts of stupid.
Am I in a better place with my hair? When I had none to concern myself with I was never really concerned with it. I buzzed the clippers around my head for a while, swept the floor after dusting myself and took a shower. There was a lot of craning my neck and trying to align a hand held mirror with the one on the medicine cabinet as well, but that's a given.
I should point out now that I've re-resorted to cutting my own hair, but this time I use scissors. I seem to at least be able to get my hair to a uniform not bad where it's all roughly the same length, but I still have to get Momma to come behind and fix what I can't see.
But I don't wanna. I want to pay someone who actually makes their living making hair look nice in a way that me, the bathroom, a wet comb and those damned scissors can't. There's a whole other part of this dream where boys run into things accidentally because they can't take their eyes off me as I walk by, but that's not part of this post. I'll write about that another day.
And it has to do with my hair. I'm going to tell you about it.
You may not know, but not so many years ago I was the guy with the shaved head. I even have my own clippers. I was really good at buzzing it all off myself, though I did always ask nicely and would get Momma to run around the edges, because I always missed something.
The worst was around my ears. I always missed a nice long strand, and I would never notice it till a couple of weeks had passed and it was noticeable as it and the hair around it grew. And I don't know how I always missed that bit. Early on I noticed a pattern and paid extra special attention to that area.
Hair is damn fine insulator. It holds in much more heat than you might realize unless you're going bald or have been or are the shaved head guy. Depending on when I last shaved the noggin and depending on what time of the year it was I might reach needing-a-nother-swipe time in the colder months. Sometimes I'd let it go longer because I knew that I'd be that much colder for the next little bit after removing it, but I hated my hair and would also just want it gone.
If I didn't shave it it was unmanageable and sucked and was wispy and mousy and sucked, and I hated it.
And then somewhere around the time I came out and unrelated to my coming out I just didn't cut it one winter. I actually didn't cut it at the time because of the winter. I kept the insulation intending to shave it in early spring, and then I didn't do that either.
And then it was all kinds of looking like shit because it hadn't been cut into a style and was pretty much growing in as a horrible mullet like thing. I had a friend trim the sides and back enough to fix that situation, and eventually I went to a local chain salon and paid someone. For the first time in years someone else cut my hair with some concern as to making the cut something that added something of a style.
But by that point I was sorta on a mission to just let it grow. I was never allowed that luxury as a child. My haircuts were provided free of charge by my father when he decided that it was hair cut night. Each of my brothers and I took our turn in line to get a get little missionary style haircut. He did a great job, as far as I know, and only nicked me a couple of times over the years, but I never really had any option but the one cut we all got.
And though I'd never really thought that I wanted long hair I let it grow, and in the process I changed my attitude about my hair and stopped forcing the curl out.
I actually never realized my hair would curl the way it does. I'd always hated what my hair did and, when I actually had hair, I forced it to not curl. When I let go and let grow however I saw what it was actually capable of, though I'll admit that I have to control the curl to be sure that it doesn't go the wrong way.
And now I just hate the sides. I don't really hate them in general, but I do hate them now. My hair needs to be shortened, and when it gets as long as it is the sides go all sorts of stupid.
Am I in a better place with my hair? When I had none to concern myself with I was never really concerned with it. I buzzed the clippers around my head for a while, swept the floor after dusting myself and took a shower. There was a lot of craning my neck and trying to align a hand held mirror with the one on the medicine cabinet as well, but that's a given.
I should point out now that I've re-resorted to cutting my own hair, but this time I use scissors. I seem to at least be able to get my hair to a uniform not bad where it's all roughly the same length, but I still have to get Momma to come behind and fix what I can't see.
But I don't wanna. I want to pay someone who actually makes their living making hair look nice in a way that me, the bathroom, a wet comb and those damned scissors can't. There's a whole other part of this dream where boys run into things accidentally because they can't take their eyes off me as I walk by, but that's not part of this post. I'll write about that another day.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
it's that time in where I live
Tomorrow is my turn to get up early for the testing. Big Brother has reached that point of homeschool life when we take him to be tested.
We printed up a copy of the test, though I must admit we could have paid more attention to what we were looking at. We did want the test on paper to better simulate the testing environment, though I can't say we sanitized the place and put in buzzing lights to truly get the feel.
As mentioned we copied the test, and we could have thought more about, maybe looked at the totality of options available when printing a multi page document. One might ask themselves if they really need those several mostly gray pages with only the words, "DO NOT MARK ON THIS PAGE." We certainly didn't, but apparently The Boy needed drawing paper, so he got some, and he certainly marked on those pages. Hope the law don't get after us.
We didn't print the answer pages, so that was paper saved . . . oh, wait. We got lucky and ran out of paper just as the last actual test page was printed. I actually had to find a random still blank sheet to feed into the printer at the last moment.
After this week we'll certainly have plenty of scrap paper. I imagine it will be perfect for drawing on the back of, and Momma has used some amount of paper in her ongoing home search, so she can now print the information about her possible soon to be dream home on the backs of the testing pages, though that may at times not leave her with a lot of room on the back to write any notes, though there are plenty of test pages with a single question occupying about one quarter of the paper to go along with the red stripe at the bottom holding both the page number and either the arrow or the stop sign.
They didn't offer the answer sheet that the kids get with the little bubbles to fill in, so he just circled his answers.
And that's that. Now I get to wake much too early and take the boys and go . . .
And if anyone reading this knows what local phrase I've parodied sorta to get the title of this post they will win a prize. It's a line I often tweak, but that likely won't help most anyone, so I can't say it's a clue, but it's something.
We printed up a copy of the test, though I must admit we could have paid more attention to what we were looking at. We did want the test on paper to better simulate the testing environment, though I can't say we sanitized the place and put in buzzing lights to truly get the feel.
As mentioned we copied the test, and we could have thought more about, maybe looked at the totality of options available when printing a multi page document. One might ask themselves if they really need those several mostly gray pages with only the words, "DO NOT MARK ON THIS PAGE." We certainly didn't, but apparently The Boy needed drawing paper, so he got some, and he certainly marked on those pages. Hope the law don't get after us.
We didn't print the answer pages, so that was paper saved . . . oh, wait. We got lucky and ran out of paper just as the last actual test page was printed. I actually had to find a random still blank sheet to feed into the printer at the last moment.
After this week we'll certainly have plenty of scrap paper. I imagine it will be perfect for drawing on the back of, and Momma has used some amount of paper in her ongoing home search, so she can now print the information about her possible soon to be dream home on the backs of the testing pages, though that may at times not leave her with a lot of room on the back to write any notes, though there are plenty of test pages with a single question occupying about one quarter of the paper to go along with the red stripe at the bottom holding both the page number and either the arrow or the stop sign.
They didn't offer the answer sheet that the kids get with the little bubbles to fill in, so he just circled his answers.
And that's that. Now I get to wake much too early and take the boys and go . . .
And if anyone reading this knows what local phrase I've parodied sorta to get the title of this post they will win a prize. It's a line I often tweak, but that likely won't help most anyone, so I can't say it's a clue, but it's something.
Monday, February 08, 2010
taxing fun with taxation
That time is once again drawing near, that particular day halfway through April when the US, in one big group, rushes out late at night to the post office to get a bunch of paperwork and documentation in the mail. It's tax season.
Momma and I, though not together, have continued to file our taxes as married, filing jointly. We are still legally married as we haven't really felt a pressing need to actually finalize the dissolution of our marriage with divorce. We both know it's coming, but the need to truly end the thing isn't a huge concern. We haven't really even looked into, so neither of us are really sure what exactly it's going to take.
We both have our W2's, and I'm not even going to mention how sadly pathetic the number in box 1 is on my own. Momma has three, having worked at three different places over the course of oh nine, and I'm not going to mention her collection of boxes 1.
We haven't really discussed filing our taxes this year other than my suggestion that, while she's at work tonight, I'd be willing to begin the e-file process. She asked that I wait in order to actually discuss how we'll go about it this year.
We may choose to file as we have, but we've discussed that their exists the option of married, filing separately.
I don't want to mess with the IRS, nor do I want to do anything illegal. What I do want, and I'm sure what we all want, is to get the largest possible sum of money in the form of a refund. I'd love to get enough money to buy myself a bed, and I have a couple other ideas for spending money I don't even have yet. I'm sure Momma has ideas of her own.
So I won't work on the taxes just yet. I will feed the boys, and I've got a couple of errands to run, and later tonight those same boys get their shower/bath night, and I could stand to wash a couple of dishes, and there's already plenty of laundry piling up needing to be washed, and there's still clothes needing to be folded from the last time that I did laundry. I was nice enough to throw them on the sofa where the dogs were nice enough to sleep on them several times over the last week, so they might not even be clean anymore.
Errands and chores and taxes do not necessarily a fun night make, but they aint gonna do themselves.
Momma and I, though not together, have continued to file our taxes as married, filing jointly. We are still legally married as we haven't really felt a pressing need to actually finalize the dissolution of our marriage with divorce. We both know it's coming, but the need to truly end the thing isn't a huge concern. We haven't really even looked into, so neither of us are really sure what exactly it's going to take.
We both have our W2's, and I'm not even going to mention how sadly pathetic the number in box 1 is on my own. Momma has three, having worked at three different places over the course of oh nine, and I'm not going to mention her collection of boxes 1.
We haven't really discussed filing our taxes this year other than my suggestion that, while she's at work tonight, I'd be willing to begin the e-file process. She asked that I wait in order to actually discuss how we'll go about it this year.
We may choose to file as we have, but we've discussed that their exists the option of married, filing separately.
I don't want to mess with the IRS, nor do I want to do anything illegal. What I do want, and I'm sure what we all want, is to get the largest possible sum of money in the form of a refund. I'd love to get enough money to buy myself a bed, and I have a couple other ideas for spending money I don't even have yet. I'm sure Momma has ideas of her own.
So I won't work on the taxes just yet. I will feed the boys, and I've got a couple of errands to run, and later tonight those same boys get their shower/bath night, and I could stand to wash a couple of dishes, and there's already plenty of laundry piling up needing to be washed, and there's still clothes needing to be folded from the last time that I did laundry. I was nice enough to throw them on the sofa where the dogs were nice enough to sleep on them several times over the last week, so they might not even be clean anymore.
Errands and chores and taxes do not necessarily a fun night make, but they aint gonna do themselves.
Monday, November 09, 2009
not surprised but still
Some of tonight was spent watching the film Jesus Camp, a film many people are aware of. I remember when it came out, when it seemed to blow up the little corner of the blogosphere that I'm marginally a part of.
I'm certainly not afraid of a film, but I am somewhat worried about the mentality of the sort of people portrayed in the film. I'm not surprised that people are like that, and I come from a not too dissimilar background, so I'm well aware of the indoctrination that happens to kids born into such religiously zealous backgrounds.
I'm nearly ready to call what I saw in the film brainwashing. I'll admit to raising my own kids in a way that mirrors my beliefs, and to some extent that's what is portrayed in the movie, but then it must be admitted that these people take it to a whole other level.
Big Brother didn't watch the whole movie with me. He and The Boy were too busy playing with some new toys they bought today with their own money. But they were both in the room playing, and he did see some amount of the movie. He was aware of some of it and watched some of it with me.
I want my kids to know they can ask questions when they have questions. They don't as much as I'd like, but when they do I want to be honest. This movie and the few question Big Brother did have because of it opened up some interesting conversation, but more than that it made me think.
I was able, because of this movie, to discuss with him the dangers of taking too seriously everything you hear. I was able to discuss the need to approach things objectively, to at least try to view all sides of a discussion. I was able to discuss the fact that repitition, music, chanting, etc. can put people in a state of mind that is almost trancelike, that it opens people up to suggestion. I even got to discuss abortion and my views.
I want to think that my most important point throughout the discussion was the point of having an objective approach. I want him to understand that my views are my own, that other people are welcome and within their rights to hold differing views. Most important is getting information that will allow him to make an intelligent decision about what he believes.
More than anything what I personally took away from all this is my own need to interact more with my children. It's so easy to just let them go about their business, to give them quick answers to their questions, to allow myself to become so absorbed in my own things that we don't live together and communicate together so much as exist within the same realm.
And as for the kids in the movie, I really felt sorry for them. They are taught a certain dogma, they are taught the "right" answers. They weren't taught to look at things from any sort of distance, to judge things on merits that aren't completely tied up in their faith based world view. I worry for the ones that are fed this singular view, the ones who know better, who look into themselves and see that it isn't right or isn't right for them.
And finally I'll share one bit that stood out to me. The kids at the end passing out religious pamphlets approached the black family to ask that age old question, "If you were to die where would you spend eternity." They got the answer of heaven, but as the kids turned away one of them mentioned to the others her belief that they were probably muslims. It's much more likely that the people were christian somewhere within the typically accepted protestantism of the U.S., but I assume based on their skin color, the kids made the leap to muslim. Just wow!
I'm certainly not afraid of a film, but I am somewhat worried about the mentality of the sort of people portrayed in the film. I'm not surprised that people are like that, and I come from a not too dissimilar background, so I'm well aware of the indoctrination that happens to kids born into such religiously zealous backgrounds.
I'm nearly ready to call what I saw in the film brainwashing. I'll admit to raising my own kids in a way that mirrors my beliefs, and to some extent that's what is portrayed in the movie, but then it must be admitted that these people take it to a whole other level.
Big Brother didn't watch the whole movie with me. He and The Boy were too busy playing with some new toys they bought today with their own money. But they were both in the room playing, and he did see some amount of the movie. He was aware of some of it and watched some of it with me.
I want my kids to know they can ask questions when they have questions. They don't as much as I'd like, but when they do I want to be honest. This movie and the few question Big Brother did have because of it opened up some interesting conversation, but more than that it made me think.
I was able, because of this movie, to discuss with him the dangers of taking too seriously everything you hear. I was able to discuss the need to approach things objectively, to at least try to view all sides of a discussion. I was able to discuss the fact that repitition, music, chanting, etc. can put people in a state of mind that is almost trancelike, that it opens people up to suggestion. I even got to discuss abortion and my views.
I want to think that my most important point throughout the discussion was the point of having an objective approach. I want him to understand that my views are my own, that other people are welcome and within their rights to hold differing views. Most important is getting information that will allow him to make an intelligent decision about what he believes.
More than anything what I personally took away from all this is my own need to interact more with my children. It's so easy to just let them go about their business, to give them quick answers to their questions, to allow myself to become so absorbed in my own things that we don't live together and communicate together so much as exist within the same realm.
And as for the kids in the movie, I really felt sorry for them. They are taught a certain dogma, they are taught the "right" answers. They weren't taught to look at things from any sort of distance, to judge things on merits that aren't completely tied up in their faith based world view. I worry for the ones that are fed this singular view, the ones who know better, who look into themselves and see that it isn't right or isn't right for them.
And finally I'll share one bit that stood out to me. The kids at the end passing out religious pamphlets approached the black family to ask that age old question, "If you were to die where would you spend eternity." They got the answer of heaven, but as the kids turned away one of them mentioned to the others her belief that they were probably muslims. It's much more likely that the people were christian somewhere within the typically accepted protestantism of the U.S., but I assume based on their skin color, the kids made the leap to muslim. Just wow!
Sunday, November 01, 2009
post halloween party
One of my workmates is throwing his Halloween party tonight. In part this has to do with those of us who had to work not getting to party. He's cool that way I suppose, and he's really, really easy on the eyes, though that has nothing to do with any of this.
Being a Halloween party, he insists on us all wearing costumes. I have no problem with that as it's part of the fun, but I seriously have no idea what to wear as a costume.
I could run to the thrift store for female clothes that fit and go in drag. I could wear the pants and vest of a three piece suit and be zombie fundy. I can dig the boys' black cape out and be a vampire. I could . . . I could . . .
None of these really appeal to me. None of them sound especially fun or inventive. So I'm stuck here racking my brain for something I actually want to be. I really just have no idea.
Being a Halloween party, he insists on us all wearing costumes. I have no problem with that as it's part of the fun, but I seriously have no idea what to wear as a costume.
I could run to the thrift store for female clothes that fit and go in drag. I could wear the pants and vest of a three piece suit and be zombie fundy. I can dig the boys' black cape out and be a vampire. I could . . . I could . . .
None of these really appeal to me. None of them sound especially fun or inventive. So I'm stuck here racking my brain for something I actually want to be. I really just have no idea.
Friday, October 16, 2009
contact
There's a closeness that I miss, a closeness that Momma and I shared even though I was so deeply in the closet throughout our relationship, a closeness that I miss, and I think sometimes that missing leads me to make decisions I wouldn't otherwise make. I think perhaps she has the same problem, but either I'm wrong or she's just unwilling to accept my view.
This is not meant to discount pure, animal horniness in any way, because that's there on some level. Like most humans I do indeed love sex. I can look at it from a distance, however, and wish for something more committed than just random hook ups. Hook ups I can get, but I've done well to avoid those situations and places that make it too easy, because it isn't really what I want.
But that idea of closeness also makes it difficult. It's so easy to confuse that closeness with sex sometimes. It's too easy to let sex stand in for the closeness I miss having.
Momma and I still have a great friendship and are closer than many people. I love her very much and am concerned for her and want great things for her. I'll hurt myself to help her. I'll fight for her. But there's a whole other level of whatever that we won't ever share again, an unexplainable thing I can only think of and describe as closeness.
I'm not sure that I really have a point in all this blathering. I sort of do, and it's between Momma and me, and you won't really get the point of this, and that's fine.
I guess what I'm trying to say is that sometimes fucking isn't the same as touching, though sometimes it is.
Also, don't read anything into this, because you're most likely wrong, because none of this is actually about me and Momma. It's about me and it's about Momma, she and I as individuals and not us as an us. We have our own issues separate from each other with randomly occurring Venn overlap.
p.s. no we didn't do it
p.p.s. it's also not about anything in particular as much as about attempting to do better for myself over a period of time
This is not meant to discount pure, animal horniness in any way, because that's there on some level. Like most humans I do indeed love sex. I can look at it from a distance, however, and wish for something more committed than just random hook ups. Hook ups I can get, but I've done well to avoid those situations and places that make it too easy, because it isn't really what I want.
But that idea of closeness also makes it difficult. It's so easy to confuse that closeness with sex sometimes. It's too easy to let sex stand in for the closeness I miss having.
Momma and I still have a great friendship and are closer than many people. I love her very much and am concerned for her and want great things for her. I'll hurt myself to help her. I'll fight for her. But there's a whole other level of whatever that we won't ever share again, an unexplainable thing I can only think of and describe as closeness.
I'm not sure that I really have a point in all this blathering. I sort of do, and it's between Momma and me, and you won't really get the point of this, and that's fine.
I guess what I'm trying to say is that sometimes fucking isn't the same as touching, though sometimes it is.
Also, don't read anything into this, because you're most likely wrong, because none of this is actually about me and Momma. It's about me and it's about Momma, she and I as individuals and not us as an us. We have our own issues separate from each other with randomly occurring Venn overlap.
p.s. no we didn't do it
p.p.s. it's also not about anything in particular as much as about attempting to do better for myself over a period of time
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
hadn't seen that one yet
The culprit: our fairly small long hair chihuahua
The others: a full grown husky and other dog of uncertain breed (to me at least) of equal size to husky
The two dogs listed under other were being walked on the street in front of my house, both on leash, both really sweet and friendly dogs that I and the boys have met and petted.
Our dog was outside, not on leash as he doesn't tend to run too far even when he does leave the yard. I was finishing a smoke and getting the dog inside when he noticed the others and felt the need to run, barking, to within at least fifty feet at which point he turned, ran a couple steps toward me, then turned back to bark again.
He was feeling it, seriously, and as proof the line of hair down his neck and spine to his tail was all standing up in his tiny dog rage. I hadn't seen him pull that one before, that rough and ready to fight hair, that angry little mohawk of aggression.
Our dog really is a little sweety mostly. Of course there are also those times when he jumps on the sofa and finds my lower abdomen to be the perfect pivot point as he charges toward me then jumps onto my abdomen with enough force that I suddenly have to pee, only to leap back off on his way past. It's like someone bounced about five pounds of adorable little claws off me.
And of course as soon as those other dogs did notice his little ass he turned and ran right back to cower under me where I was squatting in the yard waiting for his machismo to run out. He's such a little badass.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)