Book Review - Pride and Prejudice (Sans Zombies)

Pride and Prejudice
Published in 1813

Written by: Jane Austen

Elizabeth (Lizzy) is one of five daughters born to Mr. and Mrs. Bennet--the latter of which is in a mad rush to marry off her daughters to make sure they are well attended to before her husband's death. Let me add here that Mr. Bennet isn't ill or very old from what I gather, but his estate is entailed. Since he and his wife didn't have a son, this means that by law his estate will go to his cousin--his next male heir, leaving his wife and daughters homeless after his death.

I haven't read many classic novels, so I was nervous when I started this book--mostly due to the 19th century language and whether or not I was going to "get it". I decided it would be helpful to pick up a supplemental guide and followed up my reading with a chapter by chapter break-down. Yes, this is a bit nerdy, but it really explained things that I would never have understood, like period etiquette which is a big part of this novel, as well as laws and specific vocabulary.

I really enjoyed this book. I laughed out-loud many times--it's not like I should be surprised. I mean, humor is not a new thing, but I was surprised by the cleverness and wit of some of Austen's characters--Lizzy especially.

I'm also rather fond of Mr. Bennet. Some may claim him to be lazy and apathetic, but I enjoyed his interactions with Lizzy. It's obvious she's his favorite, and he states this at the beginning of the novel when Mrs. Bennet is forcing him to go meet the new, rich and handsome neighbor, Mr. Bingley, by saying, "I must throw in a good word for my little Lizzy." He then takes Lizzy's side when Mrs. Bennet thinks Jane or Lydia would be a better match for Bingley. "They are all silly and ignorant like other girls; but Lizzy has something more of quickness than her sisters," he says.

Lizzy meets the rich (and handsome) Mr. Darcy through Bingley, and let's just say that she's not impressed. It only gets worse as she lets the thoughts and feelings of others further deepen her disgust with him. Now, there are revelations and surprises along the way, including marriage (whose?), but I'm not going to spoil that for you.

I feel this book is very much about overcoming first impressions and how easily it is to be influenced or mislead by other people. It also shows that once we have that initial impression in our minds, how hard it is for us to swallow our pride and admit we were wrong. When I decided to read this book for The Back to the Classics Challenge, I wasn't really looking forward to it. I thought it was filled with romantic fluff--fluttering eyelashes and passionate kisses. Now that I think about it, I don't think there's a single kiss in the book. I'm embarrassed that I let my pride and prejudice keep me from reading it (like what I did there?)

10 Things I've Learned About the 19th Century by Reading This Book:

1. It's cool to marry your first cousin (WTF?)
2. You can't talk to a man, unless you've been introduced by someone you know first (another man.)
3. Marriage is FOREVER. Whether for love or security--there's no escaping it!
4. If your mom is a loud-mouth, rude gossip, it will shame your whole family.
5. If your spend a week shacked-up with some guy, you have to marry him or none of your sisters will be able to get married--It will bring great shame to the family and NO ONE will want to marry into that.
6. If you work hard and earn your wealth, you're just not that great.
7. There are so many card games, you will lose count.
8. Your home has a fancy name, and you don't want to mow that lawn.
9. Catty women and gold-diggers are not a new thing.
10. Careers with the church are not only popular, they're desirable.

During the course of reading Pride and Prejudice, I recalled a YouTube series called The Lizzy Bennet Diaries--put together by Hank Green and Bernie Su. It's a modern adaptation of the novel organized as a vlog (video blog). After I started reading the book, I started watching the series. I wanted to avoid spoilers, so I wouldn't watch anything further than I had read. I just finished the entire series on Friday--all 100 videos. For Literature!



Keep in mind, a lot has changed since this book was written--we don't hop into marriage as easily these days, and we just don't stay married. I'm not saying either period is better than the other, but these videos are definitely a fun way to bring a classic story to modern day. Check them out if you've read the book or haven't--either way, I'm sure you'll enjoy them :).

Have you read Pride and Prejudice? What did you think?


This book can be downloaded for free on Amazon Kindle

Kid-Sized Problems Vs. Teacher-Sized Problems

My seven year-old, Brynn, brought some papers home from school yesterday--I didn't see them until after I got home from dropping her at school this morning. One page outlines issues/problems that a child might have at school and helps them determine if they should approach their teacher or just "work it out."

Kids get so many mixed signals in the classroom, often encouraged to "tattle" on other students for misbehavior, or required to ask permission for every single thing. I'm not surprised that they go to their teacher with everything because they're so used to seeking his/her approval on everything. I can see how this can become quite the problem as today's class sizes aren't getting any smaller, so I'm pleasantly surprised by a worksheet to help them determine what really needs to be brought to the teacher's attention.

Notice the title "Don't Squeal Unless It's a Big Deal" and my daughter's messy handwriting.

The paper defines Kid-Sized Problems as problems that kids can handle on their own by talking, listening, and helping others. Teacher-Sized Problems are problems that involve people or things getting hurt and it's an emergency.

Brynn was then asked to write down examples of kid-sized problems. I like that the child has to put some thought into it, but obviously they need guided answers. Brynn's answers are a bit confused:

1. Getting a splinter. Brynn is nothing if not overly dramatic--a splinter is a big deal and almost always accompanied by tears. I don't think she can work this out by talking, listening, or with help from others.
2. Pencil isn't sharpened. If she can pass her pencil to the kid next to the sharpener, then problem solved, but I'm pretty sure she can handle this one on her own.
3. Picture isn't pretty. Good grief. I really hope this means that she's unsatisfied with her own pictures, but I'm almost certain she's willing to help the kid sitting next to her by "talking and helping" that kid with "constructive" criticism and color-palette recommendations.

The Teacher-Sized Problems scare the crap out of me, and I don't think they need an explanation:

1. Bleeding to their death
2. Weapons
3. Alligators running around school

These sound more like they need Emergency Workers and/or SWAT team--I'm not sure a teacher is going to be much help there. 

I'm glad Brynn understands the possibilities of people "getting hurt" and the "emergency" in her listed Teacher-Sized Problem scenarios, but I'm not sure she really grasps the reasoning for this little exercise. That's one of the bad things about looking through her homework--I'm not really sure what was discussed--if this was just a random handout or if scenarios were gone over in detail (esp in light of all of the crazy school shootings across the US). I'll go over this with her when she gets home from school today. Not that I don't think alligators running around the school is an emergency situation, but there are sometimes scarier things than alligators... things with familiar names and faces--sometimes disguised as friends. 

Happy Wednesday!
~2

Apoc-Zen Project: Nidifugous

Apocryphal Zenzizenzizenzic is an old Latin phrase referring to someone who has the uncanny ability to define obscure words with pinpoint accuracy.

NOT!
(read about the project and accompanying contest)

Day 14: Nidifugous: A word to describe an overly finicky person who nit-picks EVERYTHING you do. AKA: your (MY) mother.

We'll you've got my definition. What's yours? (leave it in the comments for your chance to win)

~2

War Wounded... Heart Broken

September of 2006, I posted a little something about a person very near and dear to me. This was a time when my blog was mainly rambling thoughts and half-assed poetry attempts. I hope those of you who occasionally read my fiction, will forgive me for the ramble and repost.

Want to See My War Wound?

When I think of veterans, my ex-step dad comes to mind. Ex, yes, now removed. My poor mother will never be happy – she takes OCD to a whole other level. My ex-step dad was this incredibly awesome person. He always did things for me and my sister, like help coach our softball teams, take us fishing, and was active in our school. He did, however, have a way of freaking all my friends out by showing off his war wound.

He was honorably discharged from service after being shot in the Vietnam War. The bullet had pierced his abdomen and exited out of his back, leaving him with this hole that looked like someone just dug out flesh with a spoon. Unlike most draft dodgers during that time, he willingly went off to war; he wasn’t even of age – had his folks sign the necessary paperwork to ship him off, because he couldn’t wait to protect and serve.

I can only imagine what it’s like from his stories and the many movies I have seen. War changes you. I don’t think he was diagnosed, but I am sure he had post traumatic stress. You couldn’t touch him while he was sleeping or try to tap him to wake him up--you would likely lose your head. He would wake up swinging, ready for the fight… very sad, but humorous to a young teenager. I think I perfected the art of tap and run just to catch a glimpse of the man in the act of self defense.

Yeah, I am probably going to go to hell for that--one of the many things on my list of BAD things.

Even though he had been to Vietnam, he was still more laid back than my mom. He caught me ditching school at the lake one nice April afternoon. He was conveniently fishing close to where we were semi-naked cliff diving.  

We, my friends and I, weren’t too smart--all stoned out of our gourds and drinking wine. I saw his truck on the horizon and made a mad dash to my friend’s car--dove into the front seat and laid there, eyes closed—like I was invisible. I heard him stop--questioning all of my friends. I laid in the seat; eyes closed, holding my breath. I heard footsteps and then the tapping of glass.

When I finally glanced up, he stood there with a very irritated look on his face, giving me the finger. Not the one you’re thinking. It was the “come here, I’m not EVEN going to say anything” finger.

GULP.

I got out of the car and followed him over to the truck where he said few words — told me he was disappointed in me, but he didn’t make me leave.

I’ll be damned if I went back to school--no way. I think we spent the rest of the day off-roading in a friend’s beat up car.

The awesome thing... he never told my mom.

I did end up in trouble though. My mother found a check I wrote to Pizza Hut for eighty bucks that day. Yeah, I know, I already told you “we weren't too smart.” She ratted me out to the principal of my school, and I got in-house suspension.

Even though my mother and he divorced right after I graduated high school, I still see him. He takes Gabe golfing, and even lets him drive the cart; he brings gifts at Christmas and birthdays for the kids; he calls from time to time to see how everyone is; and I even talked him into coaching our Co-ed softball team a couple of years. 

War may make men tough, but I think it gave him an appreciation for things that we tend to take for granted. I love my mother dearly, but she never took an interest in what we did as kids, he seemed to genuinely appreciate the time he spent with us, making the most of it. My mother may have removed him from our family, but my sister and I... we kept him.
~2

Today, the world lost a great man. Not only was Dawson Ogletree an awesome dad, but he was one of the most genuine people I have ever met. It sucks not to be able to tell him how much he meant to me... I guess I will settle with telling you. 

Political Discouragement (featuring Awesome Ideas)

I am feeling really discouraged by our political system lately. After just coming off an election (I voted), and living day to day with the political campaign bombardment, I know you are ready to read/hear about something else.

I am honestly sick of it all, too. All of the “Republicans did this,” “Democrats did that,” bullshit. Stop pointing fingers and get something done. Everyone is so quick to blame someone else for why things are in the state they are in, but no one wants to try to work together and figure shit out. It’s ridiculous… an embarrassment.

We are sitting here watching this empire crumble.

I’ve been thinking. I have some really awesome ideas to cut spending, and what a better place and time to share them with you, than on my little bloggy-blog.

2mara’s Awesome Ideas:

1. Congress/House shall be ran like student government
1. The job is done on a voluntary basis
2. This job does not pay
3. Only those with a real desire and drive to do something GOOD will apply
4. You do not quit your REGULAR job to take on this responsibility
2. Meetings are held online
1. No reason to travel to Washington (airfare, rentals, gas, mileage)
2. No reason to LIVE in Washington (rental/2nd(or 3rd) Mortgage, utilities)
3. No reason to pay expenses other than highspeed internet and cell phone usage
4. No reason to pay expensive upkeep on buildings/offices in Washington
3. Campaigning
1. Should be illegal to accept contributions from big business
2. No calls, mailers, TV ads
3. Online ads only--collected in a general repository, so that voters can find them. Ads cannot list other running mates in them, the bare essentials. Videos can be available for viewing at the polls if online access if not available to the voter.

What I would also like to see:

• During a campaign, I don’t care about your family orientation or religious beliefs—actions speak louder than words. (I’m Agnostic—doesn’t mean I’m immoral. I have a wonderful family—but that doesn’t mean everything’s perfect.)
• I think we should get rid of parties altogether. It’s a discriminator that holds us back from accomplishing greatness.

I am sorry for ranting. I am just really disappointed with how things are going… and scared.

ANYway…

I think we should pool our ideas and share them. We are a brilliant collection of minds, and that resource has yet to be tapped. We have to do something because it’s just not getting done…

Let’s hear your awesome ideas.

Homesickness: The Ghosts of Oklahoma

I was just thinking about this post this morning. I wrote it about this time last year. Three years in Phoenix, AZ, and I was missing everything about home. We've since moved back.

Now I am freezing my ass off... I am still happy to be home :-)

Homesickness: The Ghosts of Oklahoma

Winded, I plop myself onto the ground, leaning back to enjoy the warm sun on my face. Bittersweet... I would happily trade a dozen of these moments to hover over the old floor furnace in my childhood home. For just a little while, and absorb the sensory overload that IS my family and friends; just a minute... maybe two.

Homesickness weighs on my shoulders and sours in my stomach. Choking on the warm air, I can feel my heart, burdened by my heavy tears, sinking down through me into the hard ground below. Anchoring me on the spot and stopping time to draw out a single, torturous moment.

It's a warm January birthing a hot February, hotter March, and a baking April; a scattered litter of hot and sunny days bleeding into one another. In Oklahoma, the children are bundled in their cozy layers while ice frosts my hometown. Kids out of school; enjoying snow days with soaked mittens and pink noses.

Life goes on...

A fog of secrets and complaints will fall on other deserving ears, but my head hums with a loud silence. Ghosts of stories that will reach me too late lose their significance and fall sleepily to my feet. I shove them aside. Kicking up the dust and dirt that Arizona gifts me.

Oklahoma hasn't even noticed, and I am forgotten in Arizona.

Moving Sucks!

I am not saying that I am not looking forward to being back in my hometown; I am saying that everything else involved with this move has been UBERshitty.

I am so ready for it to be done and over with I cannot begin to express it here. It has been one headache after another, and I surprised I have made it this far without medicinal help. WOOT!

ANYway...

I have stories to post and many more to read, so please be patient. We are turning off our cable and internet in a few hours, so I will see you after we make it to the new place.
*cross your fingers that we make it there*

Talk to you soon!
~2

Killing Time: 2 Goobers and 1 Camera Phone

Sometimes it's hard to imagine what it's like to be normal. Is there even such a thing?

The other day, waiting for Stormy to get her hair cut, Gabe, Brynn, and I killed some time... the only way we know how... being strange:

or

They practiced some method acting:

Gabe and Brynn - Happy

Gabe and Brynn - Sad

Gabe and Brynn - Monsters

Gabe and Brynn - Mad

Gabe and Brynn - Getting a Puppy

and

Gabe and Brynn - Being Their Parents

I'm not sure what the finger pointing is all about

Gabe and Brynn - Movie Stars

We're easily amused
~2

Rotten Child #3

After posting my week 1 spar in the Roller Girl diaries, I have received various messages from family members about Brynn. She is getting so big and so incredibly rotten.

SO…

I took a few pictures this evening and thought I would post them for those family members who are missing out on LOTS of amazing, incredibly rotten moments.





We miss you all and love you TONS!!

Photo Update and More

Here is a photo update from the other day’s post. I suggest if you have a heart condition or asthma, you refrain from looking. I will not be held responsible for the effects of the photos posted below.

At first glance the bathroom is a bit of a shock. Upclose it doesn’t get any better

Really if you notice the patterns in Brynn’s art, you will see she is quite brilliant… I would feel better about above mentioned art if I weren’t renting.

Too Young to Exorcise?

Lately I have been promoting ritualistic behavior, as if something dark has been my driving force. I’ve noticed a parade of days with similar patterns, and a eerie fog lingers in my little world.

It is something dreaded and fierce has entered my perfect family portrait; something that makes most “sane” men and women scream out in the middle of the night… the terrible twos!

At the crack of dawn, my sweet angel, Brynn wakes (that’s about 5am here in Arizona). She doesn’t wake happy and smiling. She wakes screaming for me and requesting that not only I carry her into the other room, but I should gather everything that is precious to her in the first trip. With multiple blankets and pillows, as well, as my beloved two year old, we trek into the living room to settle on the couch and begin our morning ritual.

Starting out with chocolate milk, which she insists screaming at me for… if we so happen to be out of chocolate, she will scream juice and stomp her feet. We have made some progress in this area; she has begun to ask me instead of yelling at me… well unless we are out of chocolate, which just pisses her off.

Most days I am fairly alert, but in the last week or so I have been feeling like I am getting sick; congested. Fearing the worst the last couple of days, I have taken a bit of benedryl before bed to ward of this ever creeping allergy/cold. Benedryl helps me sleep, but it lingers in the morning making it difficult to really wake up when needed.

Brynn takes full advantage of these groggy opportune moments. Her favorite has to be the cereal dump and crunch, which covers the living room rug with bits of whatever she was screaming for half an hour earlier. What started as a small amount of nutritious goodness, easily transformed into a substance quite like shards of glass to the bottoms of my bare feet.

The other day as I was arousing from a somewhat sleep-like state on my comfy couch, I noticed Brynn wasn’t close by. I immediately sat up and looked around… nothing.

“Brynn,” I said, not shouting for the other two were still asleep, “Brynn.” I heard a noise in the kids’ bathroom and carefully walked the long hall, and peered inside. There she was by the toilet, smiling at me. In her hands were several colorful sticks, which looked a lot like crayons. Oh they were crayons, thankfully they were bathtub crayons which she retrieved from her cabinet under the sink.

Now don’t make the mistake of thinking that bathtub crayons make this alright. She hadn’t only colored the bathtub. She colored the toilet, the cabinet, the floor AND the bathtub. I believe she even managed to scribble some on that MOST heinous toilet plunger.

ANYway, I managed to clean up most of the mess. Bathtub crayons are meant to be used IN a bathtub full of water, so there is a lingering stain on the outside of the tub, which will require bleach…. keep your fingers crossed that it will take care of it, otherwise when we move out of this apartment the end of the month…. well… I don’t want to talk about it.

(I managed to snap a few photos of the above stated incident…. I will post them later. )

I know my mother will read this, and I hope she feels bad for wishing this on me :-P.

~2

The Beauty of Age

I remember being a child and wishing for nothing more than to be grown up. I am sure we all did this when we were younger, and now wish we could take it back. Maybe spend a little more time being a kid.

I wanted to drive so badly. I remember just aching at fourteen to get behind the wheel of a car. If I was lucky, on the trip back from Grandmother’s house, my mom would let me drive some… what a feeling. Driving 25 mph on a 55 mph highway… trying my damnedest to keep from swerving all over the place; that woman had nerves of steel.

My son talks about driving now, he’s eight. Like that is EVER going to happen. I am never letting that kid have the wheel of my car, and just sit in the passenger seat and watch. That is crazy…
NO WAY!

He wants to grow up and drive. He’s even talking about getting married. He’s EIGHT!!! What are they teaching these kids in school? He’s a super smart kid, but we have the same dumb conversations I had with my mother…”Why can’t I just be grown up now?”

“Gabe, it’s not that great being a grown up,” I have to say.

“You get to drive and stay up late… you even get to eat ice cream for breakfast.” He is upset with me because I do occasionally eat ice cream for breakfast. That is one of the many perks of this grown up bit that I am happy to say I actually dig.

“Well, it’s not all that great. Besides you spend your whole life wishing for more. I wished I was sixteen too, so I could drive. Then I wished I was eighteen so I could smoke…”

“But you don’t smoke…” he interrupts.

“I know I don’t smoke… but I could if I wanted to, and that is the beauty of it.”

“I still don’t get it.”

“Well you are eight, y’know? After eighteen you have twenty-one. Oh man twenty-one… good times. You can drink..”

“I can drink…” he says.

“No… alcohol,” he is looking at me very puzzled, “Like beer…”

“That’s a drug! Why would you want to drink that?”

“Man… I don’t know why you would want to; you just do. ANYway, at twenty-five your insurance drops, and I think you can rent a car.”

“Insurance? What is that?” I really didn’t think I was going to have to go into premiums and plan choices with my son, but you’d be amazed at the questions he asks, and if I can’t answer them… I fake it. Surely he will forget before he hits therapy in a few years, right? Skip ahead several minutes later, “Well…”

“After that it’s pretty much down hill… I think maybe all you have to look forward to after that is AARP.”

“What’s that?” again with the questions. Damn it, kid… can you give me a moment of peace so I can think clearly for a moment? Can you stop talking long enough for me to remember why I wanted kids in the first place? Yeah I can’t wait till you’re grown up too… so you will know everything; or at least THINK you do.

“Well,” I look into his eyes and see that unconditional love he has for me. I see the spark… curiosity that makes up his brilliant mind. For a moment I grasp a hold of that childhood that quickly raced past me, and I remember exactly how he feels… that ache to be like my parents, because they were my world; I am his world. I smile and feel the spirit of my youth dancing in my head… answering the best I can, “you get free coffee at the gas station when you fill up…”

“But you don’t drink coffee,” he interrupts.

“I know I don’t drink coffee… but I could if I wanted to.”

~2

Some Baby's Daddy

**OK, so this is a repost… I doubt anyone will remember it because it was WAAAAY back when… so read it and pretend it’s new.**

I remember 6th grade like it was yesterday. Sitting in science class watching The Miracle of Life, a very UNSEXY rendition of baby making, thinking there is no way in HELL I am ever popping a kid out of THERE. I am sure that was the whole point of making us watch the 2 1/2 hour flick… of course our parents had to sign a slip saying it was ok, and the girls watched it in one room and the boys in another. ANYway, I held pretty tight to this no kid thing all through highschool.

To understand more about making us watch this film, you need to understand a little more about the city in which I resided. I think it was on the high side of the states numbers for teen pregnancy. There were more than 10 girls in my graduating class (maybe almost 100) that had or were expecting kids. One girl was on number three when we walked off the stage with diploma in hand… so the flick didn’t deter everyone, and it sure didn’t deter the rest of us from having sex.

I actually started thinking about it after graduation, but only after witnessing the birth of my best friends daughter… which she conveniently named after me… poor girl. After that moment, I started to obsess. I know.. that is so unlike me (bleah). I was going to have a kid someday, not anytime in the near future. I still didn’t have the other half of my baby’s gene pool decided at that time, so I wasn’t in a real rush or anything. There was a plan too. I wanted to be married… maybe for a year then a kid. Like my mom, I figured I turned out ok (who am I kidding), so why mess up a good thing. I know better than anyone else, life doesn’t always go according to plan.

So, anyway, I meet this guy… a real weirdo, just the way I like ‘em. He’s 6′4″ 230 lb … long dark hair with the bluest eyes I have ever seen. Never wore pants, always these weird homemade shorts with cartoon characters on them…. a rainbow of converse all-stars and doc martins… Nose pierced - neck pierced… awesome drummer. I was weird too, don’t get me wrong here. I was not the normal, law-abiding citizen I am today. OK, maybe I am not normal… but I am law-abiding. Thus began the second longest relationship of my life… Let’s call this guy Ricardo, just for fun, and it sounds kind of foreign, exotic.

Ricardo didn’t want kids, and I told him that I wasn’t planning on pursuing a long drawn out relationship with someone who didn’t share the same goals in life…. so I don’t know why we stuck it out so long. So to make a long weird story as short as I can … when we finally started talking about having kids, we were able to come up with a set of “ideas” (if you will) on how to raise our child. I want to share these with you because I feel that they might be of use when or if you decide to have children of your own:

1. We were not going to let our child’s feet ever touch the ground. He would be carried whenever possible, and led to believe that it would be unholy for his feet to touch anything other than the finest cloth or flower petals.

2. Ok this one is really bad. We were going to tell him over and over that he was the new messiah and leader of all people.

3. The child shall be homeschooled, because you don’t learn anything in public school other than how to have (really bad) sex and do drugs.

4. He shall learn many foreign languages and be well cultured in the arts.

5. We would try a new form of discipline. This is hard to explain, but it entails when he does something wrong to punish the parent.. ie “If you do that again.. I am going to beat your mother”. Instilling a great amount of guilt for his actions.

I know there are more, but I really can’t remember, it’s been a long time. I know you are all curious…. did they have a kid together?

HA! Wouldn’t you like to know! I am not telling, SUKKA! I’ll leave that to the imagination, or those who know the WHOLE story.

ANYway, use those child rearing ideas if you like… or feel free to add to or embellish if you will. Let me know how your kids turn out… I am curious too.

~2

A Little Bummed

******This morning my new neice entered the world. A whole whopping 7 lbs 1.5 oz and 20 inches long. My good friend/cousin went by and took a few pictures for me… and was nice enough to email them to me this evening… I couldn’t wait to share them with you.******

WELCOME ELLA ELIZABETH






Tonight my heart is heavy… I am sure it’s a combination of many things, but one in particular:

Tomorrow my sister has her baby.

I am totally going to miss it, and it just breaks my heart. This is her third child, the first almost 10 years ago this week was miscarried about a week before her due date. The second, my beautiful Danni, is almost a year older than my precious Brynn.

When Danni got here I was so excited, my sister’s pregnancy was full of stress, and we were really fearing the worst. We were all so relieved when she arrived here absolutely perfect.

ANYway… I was able to see her almost everyday.. it is totally killing me that I won’t be able to see this baby. I have to be with my job for like 6 months before I can even request time off… she isn’t going to know me.

Is it stupid that I would consider moving back to Oklahom JUST for that?

Damn being a girl.. and these damn hormones.. bleah
~2

Well… Is She Pretty?

Growing up, the majority of my friends were male. My best friend was a guy up until my senior year, when Brenda hit the ranking of full time best friend. She was close enough to a guy… she could definitely hold her own in a belching contest… and fuckin’ cussed like a sailor (last time I saw her she still had her old potty mouth.. hehe.. Love you Bren). ANYway… I think I can safely say I know LOTS about the male brain.

I have always been the friend… rarely the girlfriend… that was just weird. On multiple occasions me and my “brothers” would load up my trunk with boards and head off to somewhere exciting. I drove… and took the pictures, delivered the moral support and offered advice when I could. When it came to their “girlfriends,” I can always shake my head in disgust.

Guys in general go for one type of girl… you know the one, and it’s usually the one who breaks their hearts later on. But it is strange how this girl can some how magically intoxicate this boy… and somehow no matter what she does to him… he will always forgive her and take her back… she knows he will… she is absolutely sure she is a “goddess” and in his eyes… yeah she is.

I won’t lie… some of my friends girls were the biggest bitches I have ever met… and I was forced to hang out with them on occasion. I can get along with anyone… but ask me if I liked it. Just smile and nod, Tomara, pretend that you care about her clothes, makeup, hair… pretend that that outfit is “the bomb”… bleah.

My mother has always said that you are only as pretty as you act.. and it’s funny because if these girls looked anything like they acted… their bodies would be covered with oozing pus-filled boils.

ANYway… the point of all of this nonsense:

Yesterday after I got off work, I had to pick my son up from the after school program. On the way back to our apartment he started on about the kids in school and what he did during the day, etc. He went on about this girl, Morgan, in his class. He has talked about her before, saying she is mean to him. I had explained, previously, that that just meant that she liked him, and he would usually get upset and just walk away.

SO, anyway the bad news… Morgan had to sit close to him in reading groups before.. but now… she sits right next to him.

“Well, is she pretty?” I asked.

He was starting to blow me off, “She thinks she is a princess, and she is mean to me…”

“Is she pretty?” I am persistent..

“She doesn’t act pretty… so no she’s not.” I couldn’t help but smile. It tickled me that I have instilled that in him… already.

For a moment I felt like I had accomplished this HUGE thing… He didn’t like her because she was ugly to other people… and him… because she thinks she is better than everyone else… heh…

Right now he doesn’t like her, but in a couple of years, when those hormones kick in… he’ll be carrying her books to class and mixing her chocolate milk… boys - Will they EVER learn?

~2

For some weird reason this saying just popped in my head - my deceased ex-step grandmother use to say, “She thinks she’s hot shit on a golden platter… and really she’s just a cold turd on a paper plate”hahahahaha… that kills me

Santa, Ignorance & Baby Jesus

***I wrote this for the draw: “Many persons have a wrong idea of what constitutes true happiness. It’s not attained through self gratification, but through fidelity to a worthy purpose.” - Helen Keller (submitted by Carolyn 6/10/05)***

We live vicariously through our children, especially around the holidays. As we get older, Christmas becomes less about us, but more about our kiddos. I especially like watching their smiling faces as they race to see what Santa has left them under the tree.

My son will be nine next month, and I thought it was time that I dropped the “Santa” bomb on him. I really didn’t want to tell him, but he had been talking about how the kids at school says “Santa is fake”, and he was so certain that those kids were full of bologna. I was sure I could pull it off again this year… like always he just rips the presents open… never looking at the tags to see which are from us and which are from the jolly man in red.

We made a longASS road trip to Oklahoma to spend the holidays with family there. DH (Dear Husband for those just tuning in) thought it might be a good idea to open presents with his parents in Edmond, Saturday night… so the kids had time to play in plain view of Nanny and Papa before we made yet another trip to my mom’s in Elk City (about 2 hours away) Christmas morning. I was worried that this early present presentation would stir problems with the Santa gifts on Monday morning… being that I don’t mark anything from Santa; Gabe just assumes Santa came and left him all the good stuff.

After milling it over and over in my head, I thought I should tell him… Monday morning was going to come and Santa wouldn’t bring anything, because the turkey would have opened them all Saturday night.

Gabe has grandparents in Midwest City, and I promised him that we would drive over and visit them a bit while we were close. SO… we go and visit for a while, and on the drive back I try to muster the courage to shatter all his magically hopes and dreams of this fictional bearded fellow.

“Gabe… I need to talk to you about something.” I mumbled.

“Oh, yeah… ” he went on and on about some other stuff.. non related material. He’s good at making no sense whatsoever.

“There once was this guy who liked to surprise the children on Christmas morning with gifts, etc….” I couldn’t really remember where I was going with this… so I made up some stuff. I really should have looked into this before I started into my story, “He wanted to surprise all the good children this time of year… to show the importance of giving… um, what do you think about this?”

“We should really be focusing on the birth of baby Jesus?” he goes into.

“um… I guess, but that is not what I am saying,” I don’t go into the religious aspect of the holiday, mainly due to the fact I am agnostic. I don’t push religion on him, so he gets his baby Jesus stories from somewhere else… not sure really where. “Basically what I am trying to say is how likely is it for one guy to bring gifts to all the boys and girls all over the world?”

“Are you saying he isn’t real?” I look over at him and he is starting to tear up… DAMMIT!! Why did I do this… look at him, all teary eyed and sad-like. I just broke his heart. I can hear it now, years down the road in therapy, he’s going to talk about the day his mother told him Santa didn’t exist, and how it ruined his life… FOREVER… shit.

“Oh baby, what I am trying to say is that you’re old enough now to know the truth, we all have to carry on the tradition… Santa is in here (I point to my chest like a dumb ass)… he lives in all of us. We have to honor his memory by giving to others,” etc, etc. I go on to tell him that it is his civic duty not to mention this to anyone, to make sure his sister gets to experience this all for herself… that as long as he doesn’t say anything… he will continue to get gifts from “Santa”… “
Why are you crying? Are you mad at me for not telling you, or are you mad at me for telling you?”

“I dunno why I am crying. I just am.” He chokes out.

Damn it if that wasn’t the shittiest thing I have ever done. I ruined that kid’s ideas and beliefs… all the magic and wonder… bleah. He still promised not to say a word and he would help to make other’s happier by giving selflessly and anonymously.

SO… this kid has a big mouth and told everyone at Nanny and Papa’s house that Santa isn’t real.

THEN… to make things worse on me… he thought I was lying and kept saying that Santa was going to leave something for him at home and he would get it when we returned to Phoenix… GEEZ… I can’t win with this kid.

To sum it up… ignorance = happiness

~2

I'll Be Home for Christmas

Wow, another year came and gone, and all I have to show for it is old age spots and the beginning of a wrinklier me. I started blogging here on myspace in April, and I have made some of the best friends a girl could ask for. A few I even met, and have crossed over from net friend to “real life” friend… I am such a lucky girl.

Tonight, after DH (Dear Husband for those of you just now tuning in) gets off work, we are heading back to Oklahoma to spend the holidays with our family. I am extremely excited about going home, and can’t wait to see everyone. We thought it would be best to drive all night, so the chillin’s can sleep… making the drive waaay more tolerable for the both of us.

I love Phoenix, but it just doesn’t feel like it’s Christmas time here. The houses are decorated, but the feeling just isn’t here. I want to be able to walk out side and see my breath and feel the cold kisses of the night air bless my nose, ears, and cheeks. I want to smell wood fireplaces blazing, and taste the hot cocoa in the air. Christmas carolers stage left, and I want to see them brightly colored in traditional Christmas garb… with bells on dammit. Bring in the snow… lots of it, and maybe a slight wind.. carriage rides… que the laughing children and kissing couples.

Enter the cozy home… smell of cookies, cakes, and pies fills the air. I want to warm my pink hands over the furnace and wrap up in that beautiful quilt my sister made last year… thawing my toes slowly. Welcoming hugs from those loved ones that always warm my heart, and just breathing in… home.

I have never been so homesick in all my life as I am this holiday season.

I will probably be away most of the next couple weeks, due to my mother’s crappy internet, but know I am thinking of you and wishing you the HAPPIEST of HOLIDAYS! I should be back in full force on the 6th of January… I hope to see you all then.

If you’re bored, go back through some of my old draws and write a piece or two for me to read when I get back. I will start a regular draw after the first of the year… and I promise to write too.

~2

*******TAKE A LOOK AT THIS CUTIE*******





MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!!!!! BE SAFE, STAY WARM, AND DON’T FORGET TO LEAVE YOUR PORCH LIGHT ON IF YOU’RE STAYING OUT LATE ;-) HAVE A HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!
Love,
~2

The Good, the Bad & the Ugly - The Moving Story Part 1

****Sorry… this is a long one, but you’ve got to read it… especially if you are thinking about moving anytime soon****

So we made it to Phoenix… I am sure you are all aware. I want to fill you in on the HORROR that I like to call relocating to another state. SO here is Part One… The Movers

Everytime I have ever moved, I have packed my own crap and loaded it all up onto a uhaul and drove to my happily awaited destination. It’s no walk in the park, but it’s pretty straight forward, and any problems were my own damn fault… I couldn’t blame anyone for my packing techniques or lack thereof.

Since this move was due to a promotion for DH (Dear Husband for those unaware), his company was footing the bill… so why the hell not call someone to move our crap for us… I of courese would packup the small stuff, I had nothing better to do anyway - except maybe blog on myspace. Besides, packing would give me something to complain about - and we all know women aren’t happy unless they have something to complain about.

So weeks before the big move, I had contacted a moving company and they were going to come and give us an estimate. The day DUDE was suppose to be here he called to get directions to my house.“Are you familiar with the Elk City area?” I ask.

“You’re in Elk City?” DUDE questioned, “I was told you lived in Duncan.”

“Nope, Elk City.” I reaffirmed.

“Well crap, I will call you when I get back to my office and see if we can put together an estimate over the phone.” I told him that was fine… against DH’s wishes for a walk through.

When he finally called me and asked me what all was going I went through the inventory. He asked me about my TV and I told him that we had one of those expensive flat screens (maybe I failed to mention plasma… but I have no clue about this shit)… and my table is heavy, metal (rock on!) with a glass top… he said “Oh”.. .that was it, and gave me my estimate, etc. I told him I would talk it over with you know who, and get back with him.

I talk to DH, and he says he still wants a walk through, but to go ahead and schedule pick-up etc. SO… I call the company back and say we’d like to move the week of the 11th, and that I still want a walk through, etc. He said he would probably be out around Thursday (which was the end of the week) and he would let me know, but get the paperwork sent out to me.

Thursday gets here… no DUDE, but I assume (yeah, I know) everything is fine and in good standing. I get a call from the company that says the movers will be out on the 11th and they are set to delivery on the 18th. WOAH! Where is my shit going for a whole week? Is this right? Well I don’t know how it works, apparently the driver takes several loads at once, and it takes time, you know. So we make arrangements to stay at the hotel across the street from DH’s work downtown for the end of the week/first of the next. We decide that we will take our time driving both vehicles with BOTH kids to Phoenix and we will leave maybe on Wednesday and get there Thursday evening.

Saturday I get a call from the company that says the movers will be here Monday afternoon. The have a load to pick up in Tulsa and would be in the areas sometime after lunch. I knew better, being Tulsa is a good 4 hour drive from Elk City. I decided to make Monday kiddo #1’s last day of school that way he wouldn’t be in the way while the movers were there. He has the tendancy to talk to anyone about anything, ask the lamest of questions, and give out more information than is neccessary. He is the king of TMI.

So, Monday comes and drags on. I have been fighting with kiddo #2 to stay off boxes, and out of everything, all morning. She is relentless. My mother was out of town and to return sometime that evening, and I was praying (not the norm) that she would get home early. I go and get the other kiddo out of school and take him back to the house… where I have to fight him to keep him off of boxes and out of everything… bleah

4 o’clock and the movers arrive…

Wait a minute… I can’t take that TV or your table top. WTF? And… apparently he has very little room on his truck. The company was suppose to send someone out to crate our Television, and he didn’t want to be liable for it. He’s not going to take my Vintage King Kong poster either, and he was told we had about 5,000 pounds and he was sure we had close to 9,000, and he won’t be able to get it all on his truck.

DH is in a rage, and I am just sitting in disblief. He immediately gets on the horn to the moving company. DUDE tells him I never told him we had a plasma TV and the table, blah blah blah… They are yelling at each other, and I am like.. just forget it… Let just rent a uhaul and load it up. DH says there is no way we can move that furniture ourselves into a 3rd level apartment. He’s right… and I don’t say that often.

Meanwhile, the movers are trying to make a second level in the big truck parked in front of my little house to try to get our shit in it.

I think this is when I blacked out… if I did, cause I really don’t remember what happened, but they worked it out where someone was going to come and crate up our TV, and part of our stuff was going to be put on a second truck and taken to the warehouse until it could be put on a driver’s truck who happened to be coming out our way. I am still in disblief, and totally pissed at DUDE for calling me a liar, etc. Oh yeah, by the way, both kiddos are completely restless, and getting hungrier by the minute. Both vehicles are trapped in my driveway by this BIG ASS truck, and I think I even saw one of my neighbors flip me the bird.

FINALLY… my mother gets home and comes and relieves me of my rabid children. The weirdo that came to crate my tv shows up about 10pm… and he is cutting 2×4s in my front yard, usuing the bottom of one of my reclyners as a saw horse. It’s a good thing we wouldn’t be there much longer, because his sawing and hammering at 11:00 wasn’t winning us “The Best Neighbor of the Year” award… neither was the running 18 wheeler on my narrow street.

SO… crate guy loads the rest of our crap onto his truck… which is going to the warehouse… which we may never see again… bleah. He has my table, King Kong, book case, bikes, trikes, and some other stuff… I don’t think we will ever see it again.

Midnight… they are gone, and we are headed to my mother’s… Both tired and sore… totally worn out - exhausted.

After baths and toothbrushing, we were ready to retire. As I lay there in my mother’s bed, which she gave up for us to sleep in, I about how shitty the day was and rambled on to DH, “Today has to have been my worst day ever.”

“Yeah, I never want to do that again, I knew we should have had them come out first.”

“Well… we will know better next time… I never want to do this again though, but I can honestly say it can’t get worse than this… so we’re going to be ok.” I laughed

“They still have to deliver our stuff.” he says.

SHIT…

This is getting waaaay too long… I am going to break it down into several parts and try to post them for you…

~2

Want to See My War Wound?

I originally wrote this for the Blue Doodle, when I first started writing over there. I want to share it here because I have new readers who don’t read the doodle (you really should http://www.thebluedoodle.com/), and I am strapped for time because of this move. I am still in the hotel and our stuff should arrive at the apartment tomorrow — hopefully in one piece. My kids are driving me nuts, thankfully #1 starts school tomorrow. I am starting to miss home a little, and if you have the number… call me. I am not changing the old cell number just yet.

ANYway… here it is, I will try to get something new out next week… if we have our internet that is
—————————————————————————
When I think of veterans, my ex-step dad comes to mind. Ex, yes, now removed. My poor mother will never be happy – she takes OCD to a whole other level. I have decided, and actually told her at one time, she is destine to be alone and miserable… yeah I think that wasn’t my finest moment.

ANYway, my ex-step dad was this incredibly awesome person. He always did things for me and my sister, like help coach our softball teams, take us fishing, and was very active in our school, etc. He did, however, have a way of freaking all my friends out by showing off his war wound.

He was honorably discharged from service after being shot in the Vietnam War. The bullet had pierced his abdomen and exited out his back, leaving him with this hole that looked like someone just dug out flesh with a spoon. Unlike most draft dodgers during that time, he willingly went off to war; he wasn’t even of age – had his folks sign the necessary paperwork to ship him off, because he couldn’t wait to protect and serve.

I can only imagine what it’s like from his stories and the many movies I have scene. War changes you. I don’t think he was diagnosed, but I am sure he had post traumatic stress. You couldn’t touch him while he was sleeping, or try to tap him to wake him up, or you would likely lose your head… he would wake up swinging, ready for the fight… very sad, but humorous to a young teenager. I think I perfected the art of tap and run… just to catch a glimpse of the man in the act of self defense. Yeah, I am probably going to go to hell for that… one of the many things on my list of BAD things.

Even though he had been to Vietnam, he was still more laid back than my mom. He caught me ditching school at the lake one nice April afternoon. He was conveniently fishing close to where we were semi-naked cliff diving. Yeah we weren’t too smart… all stoned out of our gourds and drinking wine (we were young and would drink prune juice if we thought we’d get a buzz). I saw his truck on the horizon and made a mad dash to my friend’s car… dove into the front seat and laid there, eyes closed… like it made me invisible. I heard him stop… questioning all of my friends. Eyes closed I lay there in the seat, practically holding my breath. I hear footsteps and then the tapping of glass… I gather my composure and glance up. There he stood, with a very irritated look on his face and he gave me the finger. Not the one you’re thinking… the “come here, I’m not EVEN going to say anything” finger. GULP. I get out of the car and follow him over to the truck and he said few words — told me he was disappointed in me, but he didn’t make me leave. I’ll be damned if I went back to school… no way. I think we spent the rest of the day BAH-HAWING in my friend Aaron’s Datsun. The awesome thing… he never told my mom.

I did get in trouble though. My mother found a check I wrote to Pizza Hut for eighty bucks that day. Yeah, I know, not too smart. She ratted me out to the principal of my school and I got in-house suspension. Thanks MOM!

Even though my mother and he divorced right after I graduated high school, I still see him. He takes Gabe golfing, and even lets him drive the cart; he brings gifts at Christmas and birthdays for the kids; he calls from time to time to see how everyone is; and I even talked him into coaching our Coed softball team a couple of years. War may make men tough, but I think it gave him an appreciation for things that we tend to take for granted. I love my mother dearly, but she never took an interest in what we did as kids, he seemed to genuinely appreciate the time he spent with us, making the most of it. My mother may have removed him from our family, but my sister and I… we kept him.
~2

Toilet Fairies

Being a parent makes you do evil things. We constantly lie to our children about stuff, and it’s overlooked. We tell them it’s not right to lie to us.. but sure it’s ok if we mislead them. They are young and believe anything we tell them… anything.

Santa, the Easter bunny… every year we find a handfull of things to decieve them with. I am sooooooo guilty of doing this. It is so much fun. Every year we draw out the Santa thing to our advantage. You better clean your room, or Santa will not bring you that new bike. You better do your homework because Santa will know you’re making bad grades.

Oh I have a smart kiddo. He’s eight and I am not sure how much longer I can pull off the Santa thing. He’s already asking questions and I have a hard time coming up with the answers:

“So Mom, we don’t have a fireplace… how does Santa get in?” he asks.

“Um…. he has a special key he uses just for those families who are too poor to have a fireplace.”

“But Mom, if Santa rides in a sleigh, and his reindeer are only capable of flying 55 miles miles per hour… Really I think he would have to travel much slower being that his sleigh is more like a convertible… and it’s cold… not to mention he has no windsheild… How can he cover the distance possible to leave presents for all the boys and girls in the world?”

“Ask dad.”

SO… anyWAY… I am guilty of the best deception… and one I am sure he will mention in therapy in years to come. The Toilet Fairy.

AH yes.. the Toilet Fairy. I have managed to convince my son that there is a fairy that flushes the toilet for you in public places. Yes it’s creepy, and I think it’s one of the most brilliant things I have EVER come up with.

Depending on the place, I sometimes make him go in the women’s room with me.. because one - I don’t trust him in the men’s room alone, and two - there are lots of freaky child molesters out there… and I don’t want my kid to take some weirdo’s candy or help someone find their puppy…

SO… I go in the stall with him… and he makes me turn around… cause he’s a boy, and I might see his “private parts”… he finishes… and the toilet automatically flushes.

“Wow! Hey Mom, How does it know I am done pee-ing?” he asks me.

“Well… there is a little fairy in the wall that sits and waits for you to finish…”

“What? You mean there is something in there that watches me pee…”

“A Fairy”

“One of those little things with wings?”

“Yep”

“Mom… that kinda freaks me out!”

“Yeah me too… but it’s just one of those things you get use to, you know?”

“Well I don’t like it,” he says.

“Yeah well wait till you get older… life is full of disappointment.”

He’s gotten use to it now… does a little dance to put on a show for the toilet fairies. Man, being a parent is awesome!!

Yeah I know I am going to hell… better on my terms though

~2