In Hiding...Deep in the Congo

OK, I'm actually in hiding in the hallway between the kitchen and the bathroom. Either way, I have commenced evasive maneuvers to shake The Toddler. Also, this spot have excellent coverage for my in-home network, so hey- it works. So sue me. Or call it child neglect. Don't care - we're on each others nerves like ducks on popcorn this morning.

He is happily munching away on the cheese and bologna plate I made him for lunch. I can hear him laughing at Oswald in the next room. All is good. If only the damn Wonder Mutt weren't next to me emitting near-fatal meatloaf farts, all would be right in my world at this moment. It doesn;t help that when her ass explode, she gets up an throws an accusatory glance my way. That dog has no idea where her body begins and ends. I swear.

Jack woke up in a mood this morning. All day he has had to have some part of me touching some part of him. I am guessing there is some developmental spurt coming. Potty Training would be fantastic. We have had interest but, as yet, no success. Baby steps, I guess.

Busy rest of the week. We have a very unfortunate funeral to attend tomorrow. Details too gruesome to report here. He was a colleague of Osi's and Osi is friends with his dad. After that, we'll go to the house where the family is siting shiva. Always a bowl full of fun.

Friday we're going to see the Browns, who we haven't seen in ages. It's good to catch up with the friends from high school. She's really the only high school friend I have stayed in touch with. That is, if you don't count Face Book, to which I am completely addicted. It is great to see all kinds of old acquaintances pop up there. Also interested to see who asks to be your "friend" and who accepts your "friend requests." At any rate, I can wast hours just looking for people on Face Book. I highly encourage you to join, so I can cyberstalk you, too, while hiding in a hallway :)

Oh Lord. He is repeating "Broken, sorry" in the other room. Better go see what he is sorry about breaking.

I Think My Brain Chemistry is Off

This has been a not-great weekend. As my friend Sandy says, the "dark uglies" have been swirling around me all week and just culminated this weekend.

Per the "Sloppy Seconds" post earlier this week, my mom and I have not spoken since Tuesday. We usually talk every night - at least for a few minutes - to check in. I know I need to suck it up, but I am really just done playing the role of the "make nice girl" or the one who is always trying to smooth things over. Also, tired of taking a back seat to "The Show" as Osi and I refer to the Mettlers. Mom and Dad spend so much time (Dad especially) begging for scraps from The how and then just assume that we'll always be here, waiting to jump whenever The Show makes up its mind as to what the plans are going to be.

Jack put in one of my old marching band tapes yesterday and watched it. I literally (please note the correct usage of the word, people) bawled through the entire tape. Like the hard, soundless cry that leaves you exhausted. What the hell is THAT about? It got me thinking that I should have followed my gut my senior year in high school and been a music major. Is that what the relationship with Ben through most of college was... just one long sign from God that I was not supposed to be just hanging out at the School of Music (because my boyfriend was a music major) but that I was actually supposed to be taking classes in theory and drill writing? I had one of those "If I had it to do all over again..." moments where yeah, I realized I took the wrong path and should have been a band director. Or was that particular performance - the last marching performance of my high school career - the last time I felt deep-down soul-quenching happiness?

That lead me to question a lot of other major decision I have made in my like. (The ark Uglies" are exceptionally good at spiraling out of control once they take root in my brain.)

Of course, all of this could be the end result of forgetting to take my Effexor regularly for the past week and a half. My brain tends to crash and burn when I'm not on it. But that still doesn't resolve anything with my parents...

Literally...and The Biggest Bad Geek Ever

OK, people, listen up:

"Literally" means something ACTUALLY happened. If your feet "literally didn't touch the ground the entire first season at Ohio State..." (thank you on Cris Carter, formerly of the Minnesota Vikings) then you better damn well have wings.

This is a pet peeve of mine, can you tell? How hard is this to grasp? These are the same morons that, when asked "Where is the yellow ball?" reply by typing "Its over their." Cripe - just typing that sentence makes my brain hurt. How hard is it to grasp the intricacies of your native tongue, folks?

In other news...

There is a Drum Corp International competition at Crew Stadium on Wednesday at 7:30 p.m. I so want to go, because, as I may have mentioned before, I am the world's biggest band fag. The problem is that Osi already sat through 4 year's worth of high school marching band video tapes and he is band-geeked out. Also a problem, I have no friends who are nearly as devoted as I in my love for all things marching and musical. (sigh)

Attending a DCI event by yourself is just sad. With whom will I rejoice when a corps hits a company front? Who will revel with me at the horn flashes? Alas, the Geek stands alone :)

The Meeting That Made Me Want to Die

WOW. I had the meeting to end all meetings last night. Literally. I will not be attending any more meetings called by this group of people because after last night's 2 hour extravaganza, I wanted to use the platic servingware to gouge out my eyes and then stick the forks into both of my ear drums if only to drown out the incessant talking.

I am the Executive VP oF Temple Israel Sisterhood. I pause now so that the gravity of the title can sink in and you can be duly impressed.

(pause.)

What that means is that next year I'll be a co-president. I am also currently the marketing VP, which is why I was at this particular blood-letting they call a meeting. We spent 2 hours writing the text of the invitation. We have an invitation chair - a very CAPABLE invitation chair who should have been left to do her job. Would the VP of Programming - the old windbag - let that happen? Noooooo. TWO FUCKING HOURS I will never get back.

The meeting was so excrutiating that I could not sleep and when I did sleep, I had tortured dreams that I was trying to tell everyone else on the SH Board that the VP of Pbrogramming had to go, ut no one would listen. They just kept asking me to please pour the punch. (WTF?)

None of you are in Sisterhood, so I don't expect you to grasp the dynamic here. On this particular committee are 2 people who haven't been actively involved in Sisterhood for over 5 years, another who is new to the Board altogether and me (who they all apparently regard as the young gun with no good ideas whatsoever).

For those of you who know me, I do not take to being steamrolled very well. Also, I outrank all of these bitches. Also, for Christ's holy name, we are VOLUNTEERS--- so could everyone just chill the fuck out?

I need a drink. And some earplugs. Seriously, why do people make things more difficult than they have to be? Why do peole act as if "Executive VP" or "VP of Programming" actually means something? It doesn't. We're volunteers. It is a power struggle among the less-than-minimum-wage workers.

And it is enough to make me turn my eyes from Sisterhood and start practicing Catholicism again. Jesus!

Confessions of Secret Dreams

OK, so I am going to keep a running list of secret dreams I have. Most of them goofy, all of them things that have crossed my mind and have caused me to think "Well, wouldn't THAT be grand?" Feel free to add your own. I don't get nearly enough comments. (Nikki - I know you're out there...)

1. That gay marriage would be approved and the divorce rate would plummet severely over the course of time. Wouldn't that be a kick in the ass for the religious right?

2. That Antiono Ciacia (I didn't get the job, by the way), would marry Charro, thus making her Charro Chacha and that they would produce a son names Chachi.

3. That I could roller skate on the old 4-wheeled skates in my neighborhood without the fear of being heckled by the damn teenagers that are everywhere these days.

4. That the 126 OTHER people who have joined my "Wall of Sound" alumni Face Book group were truly as band geeky as I am and would join me on a weekend in the fall to go watch our old marching band compete in Columbus. Not gonna happen. As far as I know, I am the Queen of the Band Fags and there is a better chance that secret dreams #1-3 would happen than anyone else would voluntarily spend a few hours watching a high school band competition on a gorgeous fall Saturday afternoon.

That's all I have right now. I'll add more as they come to me.

Sloppy Seconds

I had a disturbing conversation with my mother last night. One I didn't intend to have, but which just happened.

As I may or may not have mentioned, my sister was an interloper on Jack's weekend alone with Grammy and Grandpa a few weeks back. Mom and dad had agreed to come stay with Jack while Osi and I got a much-needed weekend away. Dad made the mistake of calling Melissa to see if D could come spend the night either Friday OR Saturday night. My enterprising sister's response? "How about both nights?" So, Donovan was here literally from about 18 hours after we left to about 10 minutes until we returned. He spent Friday night here and all day Saturday and Sunday.

Now, Donovan gets regular weekends alone with Grammy and Grandpa. Add to that the fact that my mooching sister lived with them until Donovan was 2 (and she could mooch off of someone ELSE) and Donovan gets all kids of one-on-one time with my parents that Jack will NEVER get.

I brought this to my mom's attention and this was her response. "Oh sure Jack will get time alone with us. In a few year's Donovan won;t want anything to do with us."

OK.

So I guess Jack gets the sloppy seconds after Donovan decides that he is no longer interested n Grammy and Grandpa. God forbid and Grammy and Grandpa WANT to spend time with - apparently- the LESSER of heir grandsons.

I am so unbelievably hurt by this conversation that I just don't know what to do. I always knew that mom and dad jump at the scraps Melissa and Mike throw them. But it has never been put so straightforward that they flat out WILL NOT CHOOSE time alone with Jack.

I am hurt and sad and pissed.

Dad;s birthday is in 2 weeks. I don't think we'll be going down. Let them have Melissa and Mike and, apparently their most favorite person in the whole wide world - Donovan.

An Afternoon of Tasty Goodness

I am a Foodie.

Not a gourmand. They just like the super-fancy stuff. Oh, I like that. But I can enjoy a good burger from a dive as well.

Today's gastronomic fantasia was a combination of BOTH (FOODGASM!). Osi took the day off today and after we both toiled in the yard, mowing, weeding and scooping up after the Wonder Mutt, we both deserved some good chow. Enter The Rusty Bucket Tavern. Oh me, oh my, the Elvis Velveeta burger is just so good! The description literally says it will be "dripping with..." and then lists the toppings. It never fails. I am confident they remove the calories before it hits the table. Because this is the Velveeta cheeseburger that Skinny Elvis ate, right? Right?!

After enjoying my dripping cheeseburger, we headed next door to Jeni's Ice Cream. This is ice cream for people who mock the unimaginative limitations of Baskin Robbins' 31 Flavors. They have things like "Thai Chili" and Lemon Yogurt with Blueberry Jam." My personal favorite is the Riesling and Poached Pear. I want to be buried in it. Today, however, I opted for the Salty Caramel (always a winner" and the Goat Cheese with Cherry Preserves. Now, you would THINK that goat cheese ice cream would just stink to holy hell. Not so, my friends. It is rich and yummy and the cherry preserves set it off nicely. Jeni, of Jeni's Ice Cream, is a flippin' genius!

Finally, we ended our gustatory journey at Smith Farm Market. Osi had a hankering for watermelon and peaches and I don't buy produce anywhere else - especially in the summer.

So that was my afternoon. I really need a nap, or more appropriately, I need to lapse into a food coma :)

Revelation

I'll admit it. I buy the Oprah magazine. The articles are sometimes informative and there are always good book reviews. If Ellen had a magazine, I would buy hers instead.

This month's O magazine had an article about the "negativity receptor" in women and how our brains are actually designed to make the horrible stuff about us easier to believe in our own minds than the good stuff. Need more proof that God is a man? This explains a little bit about me.

Also, in another article, a woman wrote "If enough people love you, those ones that don't won't matter." These two articles together brought me to the realization that the reason I need everyone to like me is because I am afraid that those that don;t will convince those who do that I am, in fact, unliakable. This happened in 6th grade, so i proof that this can actually happen.

My entire life has been shaped by my horrible junior high experience and the evil ways of Jodi marshall, Erin Murray (co-leaders of one evil ring) and Annie Hogan - who invited me to slumber parties so that the rest of the guests could make fun of me. A human pinata. Since junior high girls are lemmings - follwoing one moron off the cliff of moral ineptitude - everyone else went along with the class so THEY wouldn't be the one mocked.

So now that I have come to that realization, how to get over it? I guess just realizing that my fear of other people's influence will leave me friendless is a start. How many "people who like you" are "enough" though?

Can't Sleep

I am thinking of the line in the song "I Will Remember You": I'm so tired, I can't sleep.

Don't know why. Just can't.

I've wasted an hour on Facebook, which I find addicting. Lots of old high school buddies popping up there.

Read Diamante's "The Red Tent" for about 90 minutes before that. Good book. Too much sex within the pages, though (especially for a book based on Bible charater).

Jack will be up in three hours, so I am wondering if I should just see what's on TV and stay up or try to get 3 hours of sleep.

Ug. My kingdom for a Sominex.

Sick of Being Sick

As great as our Fourth was, apparently I spent too much time out of doors. I am an indoor Zimmer. My allergies started to rage on Sunday morning and I believe I am eyeball-deep in yet another summer sinus infection. Luckily, the doctor gave me a script when I was there was time, so I got that filled and am medicated. The sinus pressure has a tendency to turn into migraines, though, which only compounds the yuckiness.

Adding to my "Mommy is always sick" guilt, my cousin Nikki is supposed to come down this weekend. Hell is to be raised. Family gossip is to be shared. Beer is to be consumed. We are currently negotiating if this trip will still happen, which bums me out.

Now that I have used all of my energy bitching, I am going to go shower and take a nap.

Really Good 4th

Good friends, good food, good fun. Sounds like a slogan, no? We had a really good July 4th this year.

Jack was not so fond of the Bexley parade this time around. Always a fan of the marching band, he was NOT amused by the loud horns on the large trucks, the sirens on the fire trucks and the booming drums that accompany the high-steppers. We left 20 minutes into the festivities. We were there long enough, though, to see Grand Marshall E. Gordon Gee and for me to shout "Hey Dr. Gee - O-H!" and get the requisite "I-O!" back from him.

We came back from the parade and had a few friends over from Temple. These are all people we know from Sisterhood and Brotherhood who are Osi's age - with the exception of Jason and Mel who are my age and Miriam and Marty - who are, well, twice my age. It was a very small group and I think that is the way to do it from now on - with the exception of the Holiday Fun Brunch. Ten or 15 people allows us to talk to everyone and not have to prepare loads of food.

We had a few hours of down time and then this same group of people had invited us out to Pickerington to watch the fireworks. Have I mentioned that all of these people are riotously funny? Also, Jack is by far the youngest. The next youngest kid in the goup is 10. So, seriously, there is potential to find many, many babysitters here. Despite the fact that we spent way too much time in the out of doors, we had a fantastic time.

We took off Saturday morning and headed to Cincinnati to visit the folks, wich is always interesting. Especially when we pull in and see The Show is also there. Thankfully, we were incident-free this go-round.

So, that was our holiday. I hope yours was just as good!

Too Good To Be True

So. Antonio from yesterday's post? He of the stubble head? His last name is Chacha.

OK, so it isn't exactly SPELLED the same, but is pronounced CHACHA and that is all that matters. His name is Antonio Chacha. Does it get any better than that?

I could go on - and I have ad nauseum for the last 24 hours, but you folks collectively have a great sense of humor. Discuss.

Game Time

I had a second interview today with BLF Management. It is an association management firm that manages associations too small to have staffs of their own. I would be the membership director. The interview was with the owner, Brad L. Feldman (thus, the "BLF" Management) and the Communications Director, a young man named simply: Antonio.

Fact: Antonio's hair is the exact same length all over his head. From his scruffy beard to the tippy-top of his scalp. I kid you not. This is a fact on which it is hard not to concentrate when you are answering questions. I hope he was not offended that I directed my replies mostly to Brad, who takes a more long on top, hardly anything below the ears approach to follicular grooming.

Other than that, it is hard to tell how the interview went. I think it went well, but let me tell you that I would NOT want to play poker with Brad L. Feldman. The man gives you nothing. He seems nice enough and I like the company and the people I've met thus far (hair issues notwithstanding), so I hope it turns out OK.

Is it time for me to go back to work? Oh, I think so. Do I get butterflies just thinking about re-entering the office place? You betcha. Scares the crap outta me. Everything about it screams NEW NEW NEW! When I just want to go back t my old, comfortable demons that I knew how to slay (or at least how to bitch about effectively). A new place has new demons. Oh bother.

I am also about to have a very uncomfortable discussion with an old friend. You remember the "Am I being an unreasonable Bitch" post? Well we are sitting down to talk about that today and I hate confrontation. Especially with people who are supposed to be on my side to begin with. However, I am not Osi's family, so we can't continue to push this under the rug any longer, so I guess we'll be adults and see what progress, if any, can be made.

Wish me luck on all fronts, friends!

Back on the Radar

Well, after over a week, I am back on the radar. Our vacation was THAT GOOD. I kid, I kid. It was 3 days of getting up when I wanted to, instead of to the tiny alarm that rings "Mommy? Mommy?" Also, room service is a good thing.

Our time away actually was pretty awesome, but it has taken me a week or so to feel like writing again about the mundane thins that go on around here. It was only this weekend that I experienced one of those rare (or so it seems) parenting moments that I want to lock into my brain and remember when I'm 102.

The other Room Mommy and I hosted the Crocodile Room (Jack's room at the JCC) Party at the playground/picnic area at the JCC on Sunday. It was a really nice time and about 10 families showed up. So did a downpour about 15 minutes into it. While we all huddled under the picnic shelter eating Graeter's ice cream, a perfectly-formed mud puddle was created about 10 yards away from the playground. It did not take long for the kids to find this.

Nick Breyfogle (Sam's dad) and I tried in earnest for about 20 seconds to get the kids out of it. We tried for about another 30 seconds after that, but the kids knew the jig was up and that we weren't really serious. At that point, we looked at each other and said, "Their kids. It's a mud puddle. Who are we to stop them?" Thus, the classic parenting moment. Man, those kids had a great time for about 10 minutes. I am thoroughly convinced they would still be there now if the parents hadn't dragged their children from the muck kicking and screaming. When I got Jack home, he literally had mud IN HIS DIAPER. How does that happen, man?

In other news, I have a second interview tomorrow for the Membership Director position at BLF Management. Should be interesting.