Random ramblings, and a teaser

Braves swept the Chicago Cubs in the three game series that ended this afternoon. Excellent pitching by the Cub's starting pitcher, a really tall, kinda sexy fella who's name is hard to pronounce (spelled Samardzija)   but who only lasted into the 6th inning. Things got better for the Braves after he burned out.

The game ended with the Cubs having 1 run, the Braves 5. Boo yah! Samardzija seemed to get really angry in the 6th inning when his pitching deteriorated. I don't know what's up with that. Yeah, he's sexy, but that anger isn't. (Do a Google image search of Jeff Samardzija for more pics of the sexy giant.) 

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Another thought about my father: the man bought 48 pairs of black socks the week before he went into the hospital. He was obviously planning to come back home.

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The trolls go back to school tomorrow. Spring break is over! Yes, I'm excited. Spring break is a trial run for summer vacation, though. In a few short weeks school will be over for the year and these young'uns will be home pretty much all the time, unless we can find a way for them to be otherwise occupied. Jobs would be good, though at 15 years old there are limited employment options for them. We shall see. Until then, I'm going to enjoy the hours they are in school.

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This week will be a good opportunity to do more sewing. I finished up one skirt and made a complete other skirt before the Delaware blogger gathering. Yay me. There's a dress pattern I've had in mind for a couple of years that I'd like to complete before I head back to Florida. I have had the fabric for it since, I don't know, 2010 maybe? But I need to make a sample from plain muslin first to adjust it for proper fit. I'd like to wear the dress at the Life Celebration party. Also, I got a haircut yesterday. I had the gal leave it a little bit longer than I'd prefer because I have to look like the daughter of the deceased in two weeks (two weeks from today, actually) and not like some hillbilly power dyke (no offense intended) in town for a rumble.

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I started this in the middle of the afternoon. It's 10:00 pm now and we haven't gotten as far as I intended. But of course now I can't remember what else I was going to say.

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I'm trying to cook more healthy meals these days, and eat less of the unhealthy stuff. I've found a great blog to help me out. It's Victor's husband's food blog, The Food You Choose. Tonight I made tilapia with greens and noodles. Except that I had flounder instead of the tilapia I thought was in the freezer, and I didn't make any noodles or rice or other starch to go with it. It was pretty good. I used bok choi and purple cabbage and  a little bit of shredded carrot for the veggies. It was colorful, pretty, and tasty. Superman liked it. None of the children would taste it. They are trolls.

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I have increased my beer consumption a bit, which is not helping the weight reduction. I blame the children. Mostly. The teenagers have been so damned frustrating today I'm about to wring their little necks. So tonight I'm drinking beer to numb the discouragement and resentment I feel concerning those trolls. They are trolls.

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Here's the tease: we have a new puppy. I haven't got pictures yet and I want to give him his own blog post for a proper introduction. Stay tuned. Perhaps tomorrow while those teenagers are at school I can get down to the business of  chronicling the introduction of a dog to the Java household.

Hair and death

Diva got a new 'do. She wanted me to share it with you. 

She hates this second picture because it shows her teeth. She says she has baby teeth, but they look pretty good to me. Of course, being the parent, I think they look good primarily because she doesn't need braces, so her teeth aren't as expensive as, say, Light's teeth, which look good now because we spent thousands on getting them straightened. 

These pictures were taken with her standing just outside her bedroom. This is her bedroom door, the outside of it. She "decorated" it herself without permission. It's ugly and tacky and pisses me off every time I see it. And I see it every time I come in the house, since it's opposite the foyer in the hallway.

What else was I going to tell you? I know, let's talk about death. We, Superman and I, are at an age where a lot of our older relatives are dying. Just yesterday Superman's Aunt Jackie died. Poor ol' gal has been hanging on by a thread for a while now. She got dementia and hung around for a while with that, but recently began deteriorating rapidly. Aunt Jackie is the older sister of Superman's mother, and the nicest of all the siblings. She got all the nice that her older sister missed. The oldest aunt is a sour, spiteful woman, and still alive. Superman says she's too sour to die. Preserved, as it were, with her sour attitude. Anyway, we may be taking a 500 mile round trip for Aunt Jackie's funeral. Not sure we're going, depends on a few things that depend, gas prices being one of those things. (I could rant about gas prices, but I'm sure you can find lots of other such rants most places on the internet these days.)

In other death news, the mother of my long-standing best friend from childhood died last Sunday. Her husband died last year (I don't remember exactly when, but I think it was within the past six months). Her name is Pat. She's a hoot. Graveside service and interment is Monday in Ohio, though they've lived in Florida since 1972? Early '70s, anyway. But the family is originally from Ohio, so that's where she's gone to decompose. Pat was like a second mother to me. Honestly, my mother was a bit nicer than Pat, but Pat was more interesting. She had a bigger zest for life. She was also a lot crazier than my mom. We found out years later that she was abusing prescription drugs that whole time, so that's an interesting twist. She was a good Catholic wife, had five babies, of which my girlfriend is number four. And five children was a bit much for her to handle, I think. Now, she might have gone crazy otherwise, but I suspect raising five children pushed her over the edge.

My friend posted on facebork last week that she was in the ER with her mom. I commented that I'd just had a dream about Pat. I'd just woken from a nap and logged onto facebork when I saw the post. While napping, I had a dream in which Pat appeared. Can't remember much about the dream, and Pat was, I think, a minor player in the dreamscape drama. And she was drunk. So I commented on the facebork post "I just had a dream about your mother. Aside from being drunk, she was fine." Well, my friend passed that message on to Pat, who had a hearty laugh at that. I am really glad that at least I got to help Pat laugh again before she died.

And I think I've mentioned that Superman's father is in really bad shape. He only has about half of one kidney left, the rest of his kidney parts having been surgically removed a few years ago. And that partial kidney is failing. And he refuses to go on dialysis. I don't blame him for that, though. I'd probably make the same decision were I in that situation. He's ready to die. And once he goes, my MIL will not hang on long, I think. Superman's brother who lives in the area mentioned that their mom seems to be losing her memory. Lordy, I hope she doesn't get the dementia that Aunt Jackie had. That will be ugly.

Although I'm not on death's door or anything, I'm coming down with some kind of ick. But not fish ick. My lungs are tight and heavy-feeling and my throat and right ear are beginning to hurt. Superman had these symptoms right after Christmas, spent over a week being too sick to do much. I'm trying to get lots of rest and drink plenty of fluids - and not beer, either! Speaking of which, I could have oatmeal and milk for breakfast: Highland Oatmeal Porter and Duck-Rabbit Milk Stout, both of which are currently in our beer crisper. But I'm not. I had some yogurt instead. And now I'm going to put that load of laundry in the dryer and go back to bed.

Hair, mostly

I got a haircut today. As I have noted previously, haircuts freak me out a little bit. It seems such an intimate, personal activity, not one I want to share with just anybody. Unfortunately I don't know any beauticians/barbers well enough to entrust my hair to. (bad sentence!)

This song keeps popping in my head when I sleep. It's been the song in my head when I wake up recently. I don't know why.



So I went to the beauty college this morning to get my hair cut. It's cheap but takes a long time. I told the gal I want it short. Yes, short. No, shorter than that. Cut all that part off. I explain it's been a long time since my last haircut, it's grown out a lot longer than I want it. But these sissy bitches don't take me seriously when I say short. I sat in the chair while the instructor, the student assigned to my head, and one or two other students with more experience chopped on my hair for a while.

The chatter was about children. I'm not in a good place regarding children these days. They's all crazy. Babies are OK as long as they're someone else's babies and I don't spend too terribly much time with them. Babies and toddlers are cute. Anything approaching teenage is terrifying. These ladies in the beauty chop had misbehaving children on their minds. I hate it. My kids are crazy bad. Maybe it's my fault they're so bad, maybe I take them too seriously. Maybe I don't take them seriously enough. Comparing my kids to those of others is depressing. Hell, just bringing up the topic of my kids is depressing.

Eventually I accepted my gal Brenda's work on my head. Yes, that's good. Thanks so much. I left a small tip. I came home. Kept running my fingers through my hair. Looked in the bathroom mirror. The top of my head looked square. It parts on the left, and the hair on the right side of my head was bumped up, squaring the form of my head. It needed to be shorter there. Hell, it needed to be shorter in lots of places.

Yes, I did.

I scooted a few things out of the way, then put a towel-sized piece of fabric (towels have too much nap and catch and hold loose hairs) over the sink and counter in my bathroom. I got my small sharp sewing scissors and started cutting. Clip-clip here, grab a chunk and snip away at it there. This seems longer than the other side. No, wait, I thought she shortened that bit more. It needs trimming. More snip-snip, clip-clip. Covered all over with short hairs. I hate that part. Itched like crazy. Finally figured I'd better stop clipping before it got too ugly.

I shook out the hair-covered fabric off the back patio, then took of my shirt and shook it out, too. I dazzled the neighbors' back yards with my fat body in nothing but my undergarments for a minute there. Don't think anyone saw me, don't care if they did. I came back in for another shower and shampoo. The head didn't look too terrible when wet, and now that it's dry it looks, well, not too terrible I think. Maybe. But I can't see it well.

Superman came home for lunch. He noticed my haircut, but didn't notice that I cut it myself. That's a good sign, but not proof that it isn't butchered. Diva's case worker says it doesn't look too bad, and I trust her opinion about hair more than I trust Superman's.

Diva got her hair did last weekend. She's all kinds of proud of it now, and wanted me to take her picture and post it here for all to admire. So here she is.

My doctor sent me to a physical therapist for my back. I've never done PT before. Had my first appointment this afternoon. It was relatively painless, but took a long time. The feller says we're going to work on strengthening my back muscles and stretching (gently) to increase range of motion. I have simple exercises to do throughout the day. Twenty seconds at a time every hour or two. I can handle that, methinks. I see the physical therapist tomorrow morning at 8 a.m. and Friday at 9 a.m.

My kids are home from school now and are irritating me. Sproing is springing and clapping loudly and yelling and arguing. Diva is quiet, but Sproing is arguing about her. He's been mouthing off to her and her social worker. "I'm just kidding." No, son, that behavior is disrespectful and annoying. But he won't hear me. He's too busy yelling at me to listen, and blames everything on others.

I'll write more about my crazy in another post. I felt very very crazy when I started writing at noon, but now I'm too distracted, too numbed by over-stimulation. And I wanted to try to write about it. I need to figure WTF it's about.

A quote and other observations

Every man is a damned fool for at least five minutes every day. Wisdom consists in not exceeding the limit. -Elbert Hubbard, author, editor, printer (1856-1915)

I exceed the limit nearly every day.

I had good day yesterday. I spent the midday with my little old dying lady (Hospice volunteering). She's a hoot. Her stories get a bit confusing sometimes, especially when the details change from her being the child in the story to being the mother of said child. She has some great stories. My favorite from yesterday involves domestic violence, and it's funny (I think, anyway). As a young bride-to-be, she took her future husband to visit her parents. He asked her father if there was anything he should know. Future father-in-law said "Yes. If you ever hit her, make sure to kill her with the first blow. Otherwise she'll kill you." Yes, my little old dying lady is a spunky gal.

She also told of a friend of hers. When they were both young married women the friend often appeared with a black eye and assorted other bruises and evidence of attack. When she asked, the friend admitted that her husband was beating her. My gal said "Why don't you hit him back? Knock him upside the head with a frying pan." Oh, no, she was too afraid of him. So my gal told her to wait until he passed out (he was one of those violent drunk wife beaters) then tie him up in a sheet. Then beat him. She said her friend took the advice and wasn't victimized by the fool again.

It's a lovely rainy day here in The South™. We've had high temps in the upper 70s this week, with some powerful sunshine. I'm glad the rain is bringing cooler weather. It's a perfect morning for a nap, which I intend to partake of after I hit "publish post."

I took Diva to the beauty "college" to get her hair did last night. C's ex, N, is a student there. He was sick yesterday so didn't go to school last night. Diva's 'do took a long time, during which I sat knitting and listening. Interesting stuff. One of the girls has become N's friend-girl, and we shared notes. I love hearing the rest of the story in the gay dramas.

I told you about the fuck buddy, right? About how he and N have been enjoying each other, but did I tell you that once or twice he's been here with C? Well, I found out last night that N knows that the fb has been with C, and N suspects (no confirmation) that the fb has been f'ing the Youngster who shares the apartment with N. If you need a reminder, Youngster and Other Guy are a couple. Youngster left Other Guy when C left N, but returned to him a week later.

So of course when I got home from the Hairy House of Gossip I had to bring C up to date with events. When he heard about the fb and Youngster possibly (no confirmation) twisting the sheets, he was highly amused because Other Guy, with whom he's been friends for years, would blow a gasket it he found out. I asked a few questions and come to find out that Other Guy is a stickler for the double standard. It's OK if he gets a little on the side, or if he participates in some group activities on his own, but he is totally not OK with his boyfriend getting any from anywhere else. Yeah, he's a real jerk.

C has spent a little more time with the fb recently, but not in bed. They've started working on a project together. The more he gets to know the fb, the less he likes/trusts him. I've been suspicious of the guy from the start. He reminds both C and me of C's first boyfriend, S. There's some ugly psychopathology in that basket. C has decided that the fb will no longer be a fuck buddy for him. A wise decision, imho.

I don't watch soap operas. I don't need to. I live in one.

So Diva got her hair done last night in a style that she requested. It's a black girl Mohawk; close braid (twists, actually) on the sides and curled in a wide strip from forehead to neck. And she hates it. The gals curled her hair very tightly, and she wanted looser curls. Thing is, those tight curls will relax in a day or two and be just right. If they'd curled them looser, the curl would un- in a couple of days. This way the curl stays viable for upwards of two weeks. Diva is only concerned about Right Now. She was a pouty bitch when we got home. I spent four hours and a passel of money to get her hair done up right, and she resents the whole thing. Shit. What a teenager! She seemed a bit less bitchy this morning. I really hope she has a good day today. Those middle school girls can be wickedly cruel, and have been to poor Diva in the past. I really do sympathize with her about the social peer pressure mess. I wish she didn't take it so personally, but of course she wouldn't be a "normal" teen if she didn't. As far from normal as she is in some ways, this part is in the textbook.

Mental Floss sells a product called the Baby Owner's Starter Kit and a Toddler Owner's Manual. Though I haven't read either, I'm sure they're quite amusing and possibly informative. What I don't see at Mental Floss is the Teenager Owner's Manual. I need one. Perhaps I could write one myself? That might be fun, actually. And possibly cathartic.

That nap is calling loudly. Hopefully I'll be back before too long.

Celebration and miscellany

Let's begin with hair. Diva needed to get her hair "did", so I took her to the beauty college where they do hair for cheap. This is the before shot.

And here she is after.

She holds herself with more confidence and has a better attitude when she knows she looks good. I like that, especially the good attitude part. I like the beauty college, too, especially their prices. I plan to wander over there this week and have my hair cut, too.

And speaking of my hair,

mine is slowly turning gray. It's part of the aging process and it doesn't bother me. I'm actually surprised that I don't have more gray hair. But let me tell you, I found it pretty weird when last week I pulled a gray hair out of my nose. Normal, I suppose, but I didn't expect it.

I have this song floating around in my head this afternoon, so I am sharing it with you.

The kids are in school right now (Hallelujah!). I am having a wonderful day. I got a lot accomplished this morning after I dropped Diva at school. Sproing took the bus, which is opposite from how I expected they would get to school today. At any rate, I did a lot of mundane errands and took the cat (Smudge, formerly known as Scheherazade) to the vet for her shots. The other errands were mundane, the cat was not. We both managed to survive, but I now have cat scratches on my back from where she climbed over my shoulder to get away from the vet when he gave her an anal probe (checking for worms).

We need Smudge's updated records in order to bring home our new cat from the animal shelter. Yes, Diva talked her Daddy into getting another cat, and the shelter doesn't allow the animals to come home unless other pets are up to date with their shots. Good plan. I let Smudge's vaccinations expire (forgetful, not malicious) so this gets us back on track. But the point of this paragraph is the new kitten. I am not excited about this addition to the household. Hopefully the new kitty will keep Diva occupied and out of my hair for a good long while. Expect cute kitty pictures soon.

Speaking as we were of anal probes, Superman and I saw "Cowboys and Aliens" this weekend. I liked it, am glad I saw it, but probably won't watch it again. There are movies that I want in my library, and others that I'm happy to see only once. I want to get "How To Train Your Dragon" for my personal library. And call me crazy, but I want to see the smurf movie, too. I know it's bad, that's obvious from the trailer. But it's silly, and has blue smurfs in it. Plus NPH. I'll let you know how that goes.

And speaking of libraries, I read a good book. I like gay romances (M/M, but not so much F/F) and stories about gay characters. There are a lot of tawdry gay romance books out there that are not of stellar literary quality. Light, fun reading, but not much to make you think. I usually like to think. I read The Brothers Bishop by Bart Yates, and it was fantastic. It's a rich book, made me think. Nice literary allusions and stuff. It was almost as good as At Swim, Two Boys by that Irish guy, um... (hang on, gotta look it up) Jamie O'Neill.

I have also recently read two of Michael Thomas Ford's novels, Looking For It and Last Summer. They're good, enjoyable, better than run-of-the-mill, but not excellent. I want to read the rest of that series.

The kidlets will be home in about an hour. I want to piddle around here a bit more before they return. I'm sure I'll be back soon with kitty pictures.

I'm the last to know

...what most of my friends and relations figured out about me long ago. But I'll get to that in a minute. First, let's have some bullet points.

• Today is C's birthday! He's 23 today. We're taking him and N out to dinner later this evening.
• The Hospice folks have assigned me to a new patient. I'll find out more tomorrow, then go for my first visit next week. I can't say much about it, confidentiality being all the rage these days. But I'm excited about starting this adventure.
• One of those therapist people is supposed to come see us this evening. Right, and we're taking C and N to dinner. I see too many therapists, honestly folks. This is the lady who works with us to help us better understand/cope/parent these crazy kids.
• And speaking of kids, today was their last day of school. This does not please me. I am sad that their summer break fills me with dread. I'm not totally unprepared, there are some possible activities to keep them busy. Hey, on the bright side, I won't be getting phone calls from school about their misbehaviors!
• Our little car has been making some odd noises. I foresee a trip to the mechanic in the near future. I noticed last week that she (her name is Eva) needs a new set of tires. And Manny my beloved truck is in bad shape. He runs, but not fast and not far.
• High temperatures in the area this week are in the mid to high 90s (F). That's mid 30s for you sophisticated metric-system-users. I managed to avoid going out today, but every other day this week I've been running errands and such in the hot middle of the day. It will only get worse over the next three to four months. I miss winter.
• My hair needs cutting. Again. Didn't we just do this a couple of months ago? I made an appointment Tuesday evening for Wednesday morning, then called early Wednesday morning to cancel it. I didn't feel comfortable about the stylist. I drove past another shop yesterday that looked decent. I should have called that shop today to set something up, but I wimped out. I like my hair short, but don't like the process of shortening it. We've discussed this.

Back to the original topic: I have a confession to make. I am a hoarder. No, it isn't as bad as the really scary stuff, but it isn't good, either. I don't attach sentimental value to used kitchen sponges or empty toilet paper tubes. I do, however, have a hard time getting rid of stuff. I mean to, I say that I want to, but when my stuff is on the line, I don't usually follow through.

I'm just realizing this about myself. If my family were to read this (extended family, the nuclear family of origin*) they would bust a gut laughing. As I begin to explore this new title, I'm faced with evidence that extends way into the past. Hell, just looking around my office I see evidence of long-term hoarding. How long have I had that (random item of junk)?

I watched an episode of the A&E program recently. It was the first time I've seen the show. I'd heard about it, but not watched it. My pathetic little self says "I'm not as bad as that person, or that one, or those weirdos." But does it matter? In the long run, probably not. I have my individual expression of the pathology (part of me denies that it is pathological) that restricts my life, as do other hoarders I have known.

I hoard more than stuff, too. Am I hoarding my hair, not wanting to allow anyone else to cut it? I dunno. Last week I got an email from a dear friend I'd not heard from in a while, and it took me four days to answer it. I think I was hoarding the essence of hearing from him. How messed up is that?

There is lots to explore and confront. We'll be returning to this topic in the future, I feel certain.

*Those of my immediate family who might read this are already laughing hysterically.

P.S. I just told C of my recent realization. He was very good. He only laughed for a minute or two.

Because I was mad

For the past few months my depression has been, I dunno, in remission or something. I've been feeling pretty good. Happy, even, some days. But the depression monster is creeping back in. I have days that are not good. The good days are not as good as they were a couple of months ago. Yesterday was a very not good day.

I don't know why. I can't think of anything that has or has not happened to tip me over. I'm overly sensitive, which smacks of hormones. On Saturday night C and N failed to include me in a project they were doing, one that I'd mentioned an interest in. I was incredibly hurt, more so than the situation warranted. I don't know, maybe that had something to do with why I felt a bit off yesterday. But it doesn't explain why I got so upset on Saturday. I just don't know.

So, about yesterday (Sunday). Self-loathing was the theme of the day. In related news, I needed a haircut. Why am I uncomfortable about getting my hair cut by professionals? My theory is that, to me, a haircut is an intimate encounter. Not as intimate as cuddling, but more intimate than sitting beside someone on a bus/train/airplane. I don't want just any stranger to cut my hair. Even the woman who cut my hair for 10 years was too much of a stranger. She moved out of town, and I'm not going to Erie or Cleveland or wherever she went just to get my hair cut. I was kind of used to her cutting my hair, but I wasn't comfortable.

But the hair was annoying me. It has that habit. Feeling unworthy to get a professional cut, I cut it myself. It's a mild, perhaps passive-aggressive, definitely less painful form of self-mutilation. No one was at home, Sproing and Superman having gone out to do something they told me they were going to do but I now forget. I think it involved washing the car, but no matter. I got my scissors and went into the bathroom. I emptied the garbage can and put in a fresh liner, then sat on the edge of the toilet, leaned over the garbage can, and began cutting my hair. And crying. Crying silently, which is how I usually cry. I'm good at it, except for the annoying sniffles that I can't stifle. It's a duct thing.

When Superman and Sproing got home, they came into my office where I was sitting doing my homework (or goofing off online, like I am now). Superman looked at me in surprise and asked what I'd done, why I'd done it, something like that. I forget exactly what he said. Sproing knew, though. He said that I got mad and cut my hair. The kid knows more than he lets on.

It looks pretty bad. I can't figure out if I'm upset about that or not. I'm staying home today, but I have school tomorrow. Maybe I can convince Superman to even up the back. I took the clippers to my neck with very uneven results. It looks bad and/or funny, depending on one's perspective. Oh well. I cut my hair and now I have to lie in it.

Meta, random stuff, and a promise

First, the promise: I owe you a post about my most wonderful day in Asheville at the Biltmore Estate last Wednesday. I took a whopping 27 pictures! If I recall correctly, I believe Larry* said he took a few hundred. Yeah, I'm not much for taking pictures. So I promise to write at least a little bit about the Biltmore trip. But I'm not putting a time limit on that promise, because, well, I know me.

I'm doing a lot of these "random stuff" posts, and frankly I'm getting tired of it. Not tired of blogging, mind you, though the increasing time between posts might suggest otherwise. I'd like to write something deep and meaningful, perhaps philosophical, but my brain has been wandering to the shiny recently.

I finally, after much mumbling about good intentions and such, have added a blog roll to this site. It has been over a year since I had a blog roll, and man, Blogger has made it much easier to generate those things. There are a bunch of blogs I "follow" with the Blogger gadget that does that, and I was able to pick which ones of those I wanted to put on my blog roll. I did not put all of them up, as some of the ones on my "follow" list either haven't been updated in months or are ones that I don't check regularly. I suspect some of them have folded. At any rate, if I missed your blog and you would like me to add it to the list, just send me an email (see the profile page for the address).

I'm pleased to say that some of my long-time blogger buddies have earned the coveted (by some) Content Warning on their blogs. Though I have no need to achieve that accolade, I appreciate the dedication and hard work (a-hem) that these devoted men have put into their image searches. Congratulations, fellas.

I mentioned my infected ear in my last post. Just inside the outer ear, above the lobe, has a pocket of infection. It's been bothering me for nearly two weeks now. I saw the doctor, he put me on antibiotics, it still hurt like a mo'fo' after five days so I took my ear back to him. He put me on a brief course of Prednisone to attack the inflammation. (Prednisone and I don't get along well, and he knows it, so he kept the dose relatively low.) Finally the ear is getting better! The swelling is down significantly, it doesn't hurt constantly, my lymph nodes are no longer sore and swollen (that happened after the first few days on the antibiotic, thankfully), and the itching has subsided. Superman helped me clean it out a bit this evening. I'll spare you the details. He put some hydrogen peroxide on the sore and it bubbled beautifully. The thing is finally healing!

We saw Diva on Tuesday for a therapy team meeting, my first one. They are a monthly delight, and I missed the first one by attending class instead. "They" were not amused. "I" don't give a shit. Anyway, we had the meeting and it was a meeting. She's doing well in school, somewhat surprisingly. The individual attention helps, I'm sure. They've got her on quite a few meds. Whatever. She behaves well enough most of the time, with the exception of a few fights. No biggie, though, evidently. We had some time after the meeting to visit with her and meet her new therapist. (The other gal left for a new job. I don't blame her.) Things were going along smoothly until I denied her something she wanted. BAM! She completely shut down, wouldn't look at me or Superman, wouldn't talk, nothing. She didn't look mad, didn't actively pout, she sort of went blank. No emotion. It was like turning off a light switch. The new therapist was there to see it, for which I am thankful. It may not seem weird as you read this, but it was striking. It's more of a gut/emotional reaction thing, and I'm not writing about it very well. However, I'm glad she demonstrates for the staff there how "off" she is.

Short hair is easier than long hair. It looks kinda funny, but it's cool, easy to wash, a snap to dry, doesn't need a brush or comb (yeah, it's that short), and feels nifty when I rub my head. It also doesn't wad up in the shower drain to cause nasty plumbing problems. We all appreciate that.

Maybe I'll get my head together and write something meaningful this week. Here's hoping!

*There is no link to Larry's blog because Larry no longer has a blog. His partner Greg does, though, and it's there in newly minted blog roll over there --->

The mundane and the surreal

The mundane: I got my hair styled by a professional on Thursday, right before our family therapy meeting with Diva. Told the stylist I wanted a very short cut. She showed me a picture, I said "yeah, kinda like that." It got shorter than I meant for it to be. Talk about the butch dyke look! I hesitate to show you what it looks like. The good thing about hair is that it grows. My hair grows quicker than most. Eh. C'est la vie.

The surreal: Then we had the family therapy meeting with Diva and the therapist. The primary topic was the mother-daughter relationship. We don't have much of one, and the idea is to strengthen that bond. I spoke to Diva about my efforts to connect with her, and my perception that she doesn't seem to make any attempt to contribute anything to the relationship. Her response is telling: she showed no emotion. She didn't make eye contact with me. It wasn't like she specifically avoided looking at me, rather she didn't look at anything. Those eyes were blank. She wasn't present.

The therapist asked Diva how she feels about us being her parents, and the things we do for her and with her as her parents. Her answer was "nothing." And it's true. She has held this opinion for many years. She doesn't need us. She isn't attached to us in any real emotional way. She's biding her time until she can move out and live independently, which by the way she thinks she's capable of now, at twelve years old.

I'm supposed to go see her once a week and do some fun, meaningful activity with her. Diva reminded me that I'd begun to teach her how to knit, so the therapist jumped on that as a good starting point. Next Thursday morning I will go to Columbia, take the knitting needles and yarn I got for the child, and we will have a knitting lesson. I'm taking thin, relatively sharp, long metal sticks into a mental health treatment facility for my daughter, prone to violence and unable to control her angry impulses, to use in an activity with me, her mother, with whom she feels no significant emotional attachment, all with the blessing and encouragement from her therapist. Does this look somehow wrong to you?

Before we settled on the idea of knitting lessons, the therapist suggested that I take her off campus to do something fun. I don't know the Columbia area very well, it's too hot for me to do any kind of outside activity (picnic, visit the zoo, etc.) and I despise the shopping malls. I've got a bit of agoraphobia going on. But the heart of the matter is that I do not want to be alone with her in any kind of unsupervised environment. I asked the therapist if we could stay on campus and share some simple relationship-building activity. I'd much rather be there where I have back-up if things go poorly.

I'm going to go along with the plan, as much to make a show of participation to the therapist as anything to do with Diva. I have a small spark of hope that this may actually work, but at the same time I'm frightened to get close to her. Every time I've done so before, she's used that against me in painful ways. The child isn't right in the head. Whatever is wrong with that child is no small thing.

And now, the moment you've all been waiting for...

But first, a picture of C. Isn't he adorable? And yes, boys, he's single! He has been such a comfort to me since he moved in a couple of weeks ago. He has helped support and encourage me as I wander through this hairy time in my life.

We were outside smoking and taking pictures of each other. He looks much better than I do. And no, girls, I'm not single.

Here's what the hair looked like hanging down my back.

OK, I almost like this picture.

This is the view from underneath when I bent over and let my hair fall in front of my face. I think the angle is cool.

And Sproing says "WTF Mom!?!?!?" And you see how cluttered the desk is. Just look at how adorable he is, and what a big mouth he has.

After, left side

Oooh, look at all those little coarse, gray hairs!

ugh. It looks a little better than this now, after it's had a couple of days to fluff out (or whatever hair does after a cut) and been shampooed a few times.

The front looks better than the back. Oh, and I had Superman shave my neck and use the 1/8th inch guard up to the occipital ridge, after I took this picture, so it's now shorter than this in the back.

Um, yeah. That mess above the forehead that's sweeping up and back? It has now calmed down and is looking kinda punky. Much better than this. I'll take some more photos after I get it styled.

Today Sproing and I had a difficult time trying to accomplish his lessons. I've had it. I can't do this, and it isn't doing him any good, either. He and I went to the middle school this afternoon and re-enrolled him there. They've got three more weeks of school, then summer break. When school resumes in August he will probably be back in the 6th grade. It isn't an ideal situation, but it may work out for the best. At this point I do not care. It's better than me trying to teach him at home.

Tomorrow (Thursday) Superman and I will attend a family therapy session with the Diva. Assuming there are survivors, I'll report on that by the end of this weekend.

Hair, not the musical

Classes are over, final exams have not begun. I am currently taking a brief break from writing the rest of my Behavioral Stats paper. Tis very tedious, and due Monday. My goal is to be finished with the "discussion" section before 8:00 when the Braves vs. Mets game is broadcast on my TV. It's 6:00 now.

I am going to cut my hair. I began letting it grow out, I dunno, maybe 4 or 5 years ago? I really don't quite remember. I think it was about the time C moved in with us. It had been short, off of my neck, but with a feminine cut. The hair is pretty long now, going to the middle of my back below my shoulder blades. It's heavy and hot and hard to control. I'm ready for a change. And I will donate the hair to one of those places that makes wigs for bald children (or something).

This time, however, my plan is different. I want to get it cut very very short, almost a buzz cut. I can picture it buzzed in the back and around the ears, and just long enough to not stand up straight on top - maybe 1.5 or 2 inches. I want to get a picture of my head and hair before it gets cut, then again for an "after" shot.

I'm waiting until the school semester is over before I cut it. Don't want to deal with all the questions and surprised looks from professors and other students. But I wanted to warn you about it. Not that you see me, or know much about what I look like, but nevertheless I wanted to warn you.

Pride Celebration begets Blog

"Lesbian hair cut" sounds like a good name for a song or poem. I would link to the post where I got that idea, but he's afraid of my spam-stalker, so I won't.

Sproing is doing well. The bump on his head isn't noticeable anymore. The whole forehead is slightly puffy, but there is no specific bump like there was Sunday. He still had a headache yesterday, but it's gone today.

Some of you asked how Sproing managed to knock his knoggin. I'll tell ya'. He was running. (I bet you guessed that.) The kids like to run circles around the perimeter of the house. The back yard is fenced in, and on the driveway side there is a large double gate wide enough to drive a truck through. I know. I've driven a truck through it. On the other side of the house are the bedrooms. The side yard there is maybe 15 feet wide, and the air conditioner box (whatever that thing is called) is over there. The fence on that side has a small gate in it. Sproing was running through that side of the yard, heading for the narrow gate. He looked behind him for some reason (I'm not real clear about that part of the story) and turned back just in time to run face first into the metal gate post. He says he fell down and had to lie there for a few minutes. I've heard that Diva found him and brought him inside. I suspect Diva was chasing him and that's why he turned around in the first place. But I really don't know.

I'm getting excited about the advent of September. August is usually one of my two worst months of the year. February is the other. This August has been long, but the dreariness was interrupted by interesting interludes. Superman and I went camping without the kids earlier this month. School started and I mostly have days to myself now. I get to blog! I check on my blog buddies, and I feel more connected with people now than I have in past years. It has been raining for the last couple of days. This is a welcome break from the searing sunshine of earlier in the month.

Last August was hot and miserable (as most Augusts are around here). Early in the summer I had applied for a job in the library at Lander U. I was hoping to get that job, as it would put me in a challenging academic environment and keep me inside in climate controlled comfort. My other option was to continue driving the bus for another year. August on an un-air conditioned school bus is, to put it mildly, 3 degrees hotter than hell, and just as unpleasant. I found out 3 weeks before school began that I did not get the job at Lander. It was all I could do to psych myself up to get back on the bus. I was depressed. I had no outlet for intellectual stimulation in my life besides my husband and eldest daughter. And Eldest Daughter was about to head off to college for her freshman year. It was a bleak time.

All this came to pass. It was hot, I was driving the school bus, Light was away at school. September came around heralding South Carolina Gay Pride Celebration toward the end of the month. I forget exactly when, but it was in September. I'd been learning about homosexuality for just over a year, and still the only gay people I knew were a few of the teenagers living in my house and a couple of their friends. None of my gay acquaintences was over 22 years old. I knew I needed a more mature perspective on The Gay. I was excited about Pride.

We went. S and C and Sproing and I. (Superman got sick, if I recall, and I took Sproing to keep him out of his dad's hair. Not the best move I could have made, considering where we went, but we do what we must and it wasn't at all bad.) Sproing and I left to come home around dinner time, but S and C stayed until very late and enjoyed a lot more of the festivities. The boys said it was good that I took Sproing away. The evening brought a new level of bawdiness to the picnic. The crowd was very family friendly during the day.

That was the first time I had seen gay couples openly affectionate in public. There was PDA all over the place!! It was wonderful! (As I said, all quite appropriate during the day.) I had learned enough, become comfortable enough with the idea of homosexuality, that when I went to Pride in Columbia last year it all seemed so good and right to see same sex couples wandering all over the park. Ironic, perhaps, but I felt so comfortable, so at home among the gay majority in the park that day. I realized I had in a sense become more gay. I'm heterosexual, and I don't pretend to know what it is like to live as a homosexual in this society. But I had embraced The Gay so much that being in a park full of gay people felt more natural to me than being in any other group of random people anywhere else.

Then I left the Pride celebration and came home. Back to Greenwood. Back to hidden homosexuals. I was empty, but more eager than ever to meet real, live gay people. They are hidden in Greenwood. Where the hell do I find them?

Then it hit me. The Interwebz! I'm an old lady, you know, and it isn't yet natural for me to immediately go to the internet when I wonder about something. I'm getting better. Google is my friend. Google is my homepage.

So I Googled. And I discovered blogs!!! The first one I remember seeing was Michael in Norfolk. I commented or emailed, I don't remember which, and he wrote back. We had a little dialogue going. I asked questions, he had answers. I checked out his blog roll. I found other great blogs. Each of those blogs had blog rolls. And interesting commenters. I clicked link after link. I discovered some I didn't feel very comfortable with. I didn't go back to those. :) But OMG!! I discovered a whole new HUGE world full of gay men (and a few women).

I read blogs for a few weeks. I commented. (I like to spread my opinions around. I have so many to share!) In the beginning I think I asked more questions than anything. But it got to the point pretty soon that I was writing very long comments on other people's blogs. It was time to start my own. So I did.

It's not my blog's anniversary yet, and this subject seems more appropriate for that occasion. But I was thinking about these things today, and this is where my train of thought brought me. So here it is.

Saturday

I spent my blog time yesterday looking at other blogs. I keep experiencing things during the day that I want to write about here, but haven't yet done so. I get so caught up in the great stories and lives of other bloggers that I don't often make it back to my blog to tell my stories. I'll try to get better about that.

Today we are going up to Asheville, NC for the Asheville Pride Fest. We should have left over an hour ago, but we are going with some pretty queenie gay boys, so we are waiting on them. Superman and I are going with C and S and another gorgeous queen who is getting his hair done. We are waiting on the hair, I think.

The trip should take us about two and a half hours. I'm looking forward to it, as the traveling companions are lots of fun. We'll be meeting up with my eldest, Light. She's got a two day Fall break at school. She'll be coming home to spend the rest of a long weekend here.

If I had a working digital camera I would take pics then post them here for you. But alas, I have no camera worth taking. That's one of those things on my wish-list, for when I have enough money to spend on that after buying food, gas, paying utilities, etc. Being a grown-up has disadvantages, for sure.