I love the library.
I mean, I loooooooooove the library.
I love the stories, and the smell, and the visions I have of curling up on the sofa and spending some quality time with myself, sipping hot chocolate and cuddling with my Snuggie.
Except my "quality time" is spent with two kids yelling and two dogs shoving their noses up my crotch. And I don't own a Snuggie. And it's hot as shit right now.
Meh. Whatever.
The other day, I got a call that five of the ten books I have on hold were available. Yes, five. I'm aiming high.
This was the conversation between me and my friendly library employee:
M: Hello?
FLE: Mrs. Huttner?
M: Is my mother-in-law here?
FLE: What?
M: Never mind. Who's this?
FLE: This is the Orange Public Library. We're calling because the books you had on hold are available fo pickup.
M: Sweet! Which ones are they?
FLE: Let's see...Duma Key, Odd Hours, The Lovely Bones...ummm...Corpse and uh, Dead Men Do Tell Tales.
M: OK, I'll be by today to get them.
*pause*
M: Hello?
FLE: Ummm, Mrs. Huttner? That's an interesting choice of reading material.
M: I know, right? I'm going to have so much fun tonight!
*pause*
FLE: Uh, ok then. Have a good night.
*click*
The Orange Public Library thinks I'm a serial killer.
Reading material
A shower surprise
This is what I found getting in the shower the other day.
Should I be worried?
Maybe I'll start sleeping with a knife under my pillow.
You know...just in case.
Most of the time
Most of the time, I'm laughing.
Most of the time, I'm strong.
Most of the time, I'm capable.
Most of the time, I'm sane.
Most of the time, I'm shiny and clever.
But sometimes...sometimes...I'm just me. The real me.
Sometimes I get sick of the show.
Sometimes the sadness takes over.
Sometimes I wish I was as shiny inside as I am outside.
Silly? Maybe. I'm not crying for help, or being dramatic...just honest.
Sometimes I need help.
I value control, probably more than I should. When I feel it slipping through my fingers, I panic.
I'm panicking.
But when you see me next, I won't be. I'll be clever and strong and shiny once again. Because it's just so much easier to pretend that everything's going to be okay than to face the reality that it might not be.
The show must go on, no?
A little kindness makes everything nicer
The other day, I took The Dictator and The Hormone King to Red Robin for dinner with my dear friend (Goob's mom) and her son (Goob). Goob's mom was able to hook me up with free kids' meal coupons...with Hubs planning some sort of strategic warfare on the opposing baseball team at Lamppost Pizza, I figured, what the hell? All I'd have to pay for was myself. Sweet!
The Dictator was in fine form that night. He was singing. He was sliding. He was yelling. He was touching. He was dancing. He was leaning. He was picking his nose...and eating it.
He was doing this all IN THE BOOTH AT RED ROBIN.
I threatened. Icounted. I gave The Look of Death. None of it was working.
Finally I realized I was going to have to get my stupid fat ass out of the booth, drag his little whiny ass outside and beat the hell out of him.
*sigh*
I hate it when they call my bluff.
I rolled out of the booth, grabbed his wrist and started walking...all with him yelling, "I don't want to go outside! Are you going to smack me? Are you going to smack me?"
So, I'm dragging him by his wrist. He's whining and I'm fuming. I'm plotting in my head the consequences I'm going to dole out on this insolent little creature. Talking? Spanking? Squeezing? Pinching? There are so many options.
As I'm perusing my mental rolodex of punishments, a sweet Red Robin employee jogs ahead of me to open the door for me.
Now, this is normal procedure. But in this particular instance, all I could think was, "Huh. He just opened the door for me to go beat my son. That was awfully considerate of him."
Kindness, kids. I'm all about kindness.
Smell my face
I was on the computer tonight when The Hormone King came up to me and boldly stated:
"Hey mom, smell my face."
I did, believe it or not. It reeked of Right Guard Extreme.
The village idiot put deodorant on his face. Why, I asked him?
"Why not?"
He amuses me like no other.
Football is BIG
The Hormone King is playing football, all four feet and 62 pounds of him.
Huh.
It should be interesting, if nothing else.
So, we went to his first team meeting on Tuesday and it went a little something like this:
Big hair. Big boobies. Big jewelry. Big makeup. Big wallets.
And me. The boobies, I got covered. Everything else...not so much.
*sigh*
This season is going to KICK ASS.
Do you think they'll have an open bar at the games? Cause I'm gonna need it.
The battle for pus
Tonight, The Hormone King and I had a knock down, drag out. About what, you ask?
A zit. A freaking zit.
The little shithead wouldn't let me pick it.
I LOVE to pick. Nothing makes me happier than to spend a good 40 minutes of my life picking somebody. Anybody. On those uber rare occasions when my face is blackhead-free, I chase my husband around the house looking for an imperfection to squeeze. If he's not around, I scrutinize my kids...usually unsuccessfully. When they're hiding in the closet, I gravitate towards the dogs.
Seriously. It's that bad.
The Hormone King is just that...a hormone king. Hormones = oil. Oil = grease. Grease = zits.
SWEEEEET!
*Sidenote: THK has armpit hair. It's very fine and babyish, but it's there and it makes me want to vomit. This puberty thing is kicking my ass.
Anyway, he was getting ready for bed tonight when I noticed he had a great, pointy, juicy blackhead on the side of his face. I immediately sprang into action.
M: You have a zit on the side of your head. Lemme get it.
HK: No. You don't stop when I ask you to.
M: I will, I promise. Come here.
HK: No! I'll do it myself.
M: (getting desperate) If you let me pick it, I'll give you $2.00.
(I swear, you guys, this is what I'm resorting to).
HK: No! Go away!
M: (more desperate) See your nails? They're long. I was going to cut them tonight, but if you let me pick that zit, I'll put it off for three days.
HK: Seriously, mom. You're scary.
M: Dammit! Did you hear me? I said I'll let you grow freaking talons, dude! That's insane! I'm desperate!
HK: (running away) I'll do it! I'll do it! Dad! She's out of her mind!
I chased him, but he got away. I even held his hands behind his head, but turns out you can't pop a freaking zit when you're holding someone else's hands. And it's absolutely gross when your kid licks your arm to force you to let go.
He won this battle, but the war is just beginning. He's 11, for God's sake. The hormones are just starting to do their work on him.
I will be victorious.
31 Reasons
It's Mother's Day. It's time to celebrate your mom, to pamper her and indulge her and let her know how much she means to you, and how blessed you are to have been raised by her.
Except I don't have a mom anymore. At least, not in physical form.
I hate this freaking holiday. It takes on a totally different meaning when your mom is gone. Instead of shopping for that perfect gift, I watch commercials telling me what to get the woman who raised me, the woman who was my best friend in the world...and I cry. Instead of planning brunch or dinner or figuring out who's going to be where, I stare at her picture and wish she was still here.
Yep, Mother's Day without a mother simply blows.
*Sidenote: FTD, I hope you die. I'm pretty sure my mother doesn't want flowers today, and I'm VERY sure that she's not sending me emails letting me know that...so enough with the emails from "mom" detailing "Here's what I want for Mother's Day!" Seriously. I hate you.
I'm in a funk and I'm not so good at hiding it. My friend Erin realized this (because I posted it on facebook) and suggested I write 31 reasons why I love(d) my mom. 31, because that's how old I am, and reasons because it might heal my heart a bit. It's been a year and it still hurts every bit as much as it did the day I found out, so hey, it can't hurt, right?
31 REASONS I LOVE(D) MY MOM:
1. She was the funniest person I've ever met in my life.
2. She would spend hours preparing a meal because she loved to cook. Totally didn't rub off on me.
3. She had little chicken legs, just like me.
4. When I was older and married and would get migraines, she would drive from Long Beach to Orange to bring me medicine, at the drop of a hat.
5. She was there when both my boys were born.
6. She loved my kids more than she loved me, and appreciated each of them for their (very different) spirits.
7. She sacrificed so her children would be taken care of.
8. She worked her whole life, from 15 years old to when she died at 54, even when she was so sick she couldn't keep her eyes open.
9. She managed to take care of me and my brother even after she was gone.
10. She survived things most people can't and shouldn't.
11. She left my dad when she realized he was bad for us. I was only 2 years old.
12. She was the Medicine Queen. Seriously. Need some Vicodin, Xanax or Midrin? Give her a ring.
13. She was strict. And I was scared of her, until the day she died.
14. She was an old school parent. She wasn't my friend, she was my mother. I didn't argue, I didn't say no, and when I was grounded, my ass was in my room for two weeks.
15. I look very much like her. And so does The Dictator.
16. She made me be a parent when I had The Hormone King at 20 years old, instead of raising him while I went off and partied. I hated her for it then, but loved her for it later.
17. She was the most sarcastic person I've ever known.
18. She wanted to be a better parent than her mother had been. And she was.
19. She loved to watch TLC.
20. She talked to me recently in a dream. She still cares. :)
21. She was one of the most intelligent people I've ever met.
22. She told me she was proud of me before she died.
23. She was very generous, and would give anything she had to someone she loved.
24. She used to say "Happy Natal Day" instead of "Happy Birthday".
25. She taught me to smile instead of cry.
26. I could forge her signature perfectly. She found out and didn't care.
27. She kept every single lame, ugly "thing" her grandchildren gave her. And trust me, some of them were very lame and very ugly.
28. She used to play music throughout the house on the weekends. I grew up listening to The Steve Miller Band, The Beatles and Fleetwood Mac blaring at full volume.
29. She never let me off the hook. She made me own my shit.
30. She was the mentally strongest woman I've ever known.
31. She was my best friend.
Happy Mother's Day, mom. I miss you.
Today sucks big donkey balls
Today sucks big donkey balls.
Hubs called me this morning to tell me that he got laid off. No notice, no warning...just take your check and hit the road. Oh, and we'll be by on Saturday to get the piece of shit work truck that's been monopolizing your driveway for three years.
We're broke with him working. Can you imagine what it's going to be like with no work? Uggs. And to make this super sunshiney day even grander, there are 270 people on the books before him at the union hall. The economy kicks ass.
Pray for me, folks. Or cross your fingers for me. Hell, I don't care what you do. Light some incense, rub a Buddha belly, chant in tongues...just do it. Quickly.
We're dog paddling now...drowning soon.
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