Braggart

I'm currently taking the second of the five classes I need to finish my Associates degree--three of which are math.

I'm not a huge fan of the numbers game, but I decided I would suck it up and plow through to get the piece of paper I've wanted to get for a looong time. I can't transfer back into ISU to get my four year degree without the math, so here we are.

When I went to take the placement test a few months ago, I only tested into the second lowest math class. No big shock there. I haven't taken a math class since high school unless you count the statistics class I passed by the skin of my teeth back at ISU.

Last week we took the fourth test of the semester. This one was supposed to be, in my professor's words, "the really tough one".

And what did I get on it?

95, bitches.

Ninety-frimframmin'-five.

Not only that but, because he decided to grade this test on a curve because of the "poor showing of grades", I found out that I had the highest score in the class.

Of course, Jim was quick to point out that I just fucked up the curve for everyone else. Somehow that made it all the more sweet. Is that mean? Do I care?

This is so unexpected. I never thought I would do well in a math class. The first three tests went fairly well but my grades have been steadily getting worse as we take each one. I got a 90, 88, then an 83. Naturally I expected that I would gradually get lower on this one.

But NOPE.

I'm just going to go ahead and congratulate the hell out of myself for the rest of the day. Who knows when this will happen again?

College was way more fun the first time around

I've got Mommy Guilt.

I've always hated that term.

I started my math adventure this morning. After a brief bout of nausea and some cold sweats I've decided that I am going to kick this class's ass. I have to just get over the fact that I haven't taken a math class since my sophomore year in college and I'm way out of practice. It probably doesn't help that that last math class was statistics and I was chemically altered for much of it.

I passed it though. I think I got a C. He must have been grading on one hell of a curve.

Because my class starts at 8am Mondays and Wednesdays, I cannot drive the girls to school those days.

It's not that Jim is incapable of covering that duty either. He pulls his weight around here in spades. I'm lucky that his work schedule allows him to do it too.

I just can't over the fact that I feel like I am shirking my responsibility as a Mom.

I quit my job to stay home with my girls almost 4 years ago. It's a decision I never saw myself making. However, though I want to hide in the bathroom with a bottle of bourbon some days, it's been one of the best choices I've ever made.

I know how lucky I am to have that choice in the first place. I know that going back to school is important and that, again, I am lucky to have the choice to do it. I know all this, but because it is something that is just for me, I feel guilty.

I guess in the big picture, this is not all for me. Once I am done with this degree then (hopefully) the next, I will be in position to have a new career to provide a future for my kids that doesn't include student loans and money worries.

My furthering my education is not only a benefit to me, but to my girls. Also, once I have a real live paycheck with health insurance benefits, I can lighten the load on my husband. I know it doesn't seem like a dude who runs a comic book store would work his ass off, but he does. He might have a great time doing it, but he pours a lot of himself into it.

He doesn't worry about money like I do which is good. He plays the straight man to my neurotic kookoopants around here. I know money shouldn't matter, but it sure seems to when you're not real sure if it's going to be there when you need it.

We have a home, food on the table and the utility bills paid so I shouldn't complain. And I'm not. I just get nervous about the state of the economy right now. People don't put comic books high up on their list of "needs", so I know the bottom could fall out at any moment.

And maybe that all ties with the guilt I am feeling. I'm spending money to go back to school when we should be saving as much as we can in case the well dries up. But I need to go back to school to get a job to have money to save.

Blabbity blah blah.

Just tell me to get over it already.

Correction

It was brought to my attention that my post yesterday contained an inaccuracy. Our band name wasn't the brainchild of Stacy, but rather Gina. Big ups to Stacy for correcting the error.

Stacy also reminded me of the name of one of our songs (that she DID come up with):

De Kappa Kappa Kappa Tate.

Tell me we weren't onto something there.

God, I miss being 21.

One time I was in a band

Back when I had time to spend hours laying around stoned and contemplative, some friends of mine and I decided that we needed to be in a band.

Most of the people we knew were in bands, so why not us? Did it matter than we didn't know how to play any instuments or carry a tune? Of course not.

First order of business was to find a name. What is a band without a name?

Stacy, in a moment of pure genius, was the one to come up with our moniker.

After School Snatch.

Let the sink in for a moment. Fuck yeah.

Google it and you get this:

On Thu, 11 Dec 1997, TJ O'Brien wrote:> In Normal, Illinois, there was a group of girls that were going to be backed by a group of guys (a la thee Headcoatees), and they were going to be called After School Snatch. I really wish they would've gotten (have no idea where this was going...wish this guy would have written more)

I really wish there'd be more of that old girl-group style stuff. I really enjoyed The Pussywillows back when they were around. And in Long Island just a couple years before that there was Bedrock A Go-Go, who'd get up and do a couple songs with LI garage group The Vindicators backingthem. (The Vindicators included Secret Service guitarist Rob Normandin as"Norman Roberts," along with then-Plastic Device organist / then-future King Missile bassist Chris Xefos. Oh yeah, they did one 7" that lists 4songs but has only three on it. And I seem to remember the first pressing having the hole slightly off-center. To think, I've even got a signed copy!)
Blair

See? I'm not making this shit up.

Apparently someone else liked the name enough to use it, and I think they actually went on to make actual music because there is another band out there with the name.

We had a few songs that we wrote ourselves. One was called "All Girls Love Satan" and another was about how stupid frat boys were. Can't remember the name of that one. I know they were all about how we would pretty much kick everyone's collective asses. Think The Donnas, but drunker and way sluttier.

We had some friends of ours on guitar, bass and drums and played one whole show. I don't remember a whole lot except that it was in a bowling alley on punk rock night, it was the birthday of our guitar player and I was really really drunk. I do remember it was super fun and I wanted to do it again and again. But it was not to be.

After that show our drummer had to have some kind of carpal tunnel surgery and, in the haze of being the dopey young people we were, the novelty wore off and we moved on to other things.

My singing voice hasn't gotten any better and I still don't know how to play an instrument, but if given the chance to be a rock star again, I would so be all over that.

Brain Dump

I have a profile over on Facebook and I've been getting back into touch with all these people I hung out with in college. We're talking 12 to 16 years ago. Christ.


I ran with an insane crowd of people back then. I still hang out with some of them, but our insanity has settled into more of a simmering weirdness.


A lot of these old friends have been posting pictures from "back in the day". Some of them make me laugh my ass off and some of them make me have to catch my breath. I lived a lot of life in those few short years.


By looking at all those old pictures, mostly what I am reminded of is how much of a total dipshit I was.


I tried to explain this on the phone to an old friend the other day. He just laughed and told me that "we were ALL dipshits". I don't know though. That's not exactly how I remember it.


It doesn't help that I still live in the same town that I went to college in. Maybe if I didn't have to drive past the houses and apartments I partied in (or the spaces where the houses and apartments used to be) it wouldn't still be so fresh in my mind.


You'd think with all the mind-altering substances I put into my body during that time I wouldn't be able to remember much, but it's still there.


Don't get me wrong. I had A LOT of fun--probably too much fun. But somewhere in between all that "fun" were some not so pleasant memories. Part of getting older and having to become a "grownup" must be the lingering guilt of the past.



Or is that just me?


I don't think I was a mean person, just thoughtless. Selfish. Self-centered.


If I could go back in time and talk to my 20 year old self, I would tell that person to quit being such a dumb ass. I would tell her to try and think her decisions through to the end instead of demanding instant gratification.

"See that guy? You will come home from a party and find him bleeding in your bed."

"And that guy? He will dump you "to be alone", but introduce you to his new girlfriend about 12 hours later."

"That one? You'll catch him ogling another girl's tits at a party and he'll break up with you when you call him on it. (But he'll make a spectacular fool of himself trying to sleep with her, so it all evens out in the end. And then he'll ask you to take him back by biting the heads off roses and spitting them at your feet at a bar.)

Obviously what's done is done. And things turned out pretty peachy in the end.


I just can't help but think of how much time got wasted getting here.

Besides, I'm pretty sure my 20 year old self wouldn't have listened anyway.

Me + Math = not good

Math is hard.

I'm back in school now. I can only take one class at a time because I am paying for it on my own. I suppose I could find some financial aid, but I'm already paying off a chunk to Sallie Mae and I just don't want to have to add more to the pile.

In order to finish my Associates I have to take a math class. The kicker is that I had to take an assessment test to find out which math class I could sign up for next semester.

They don't just let you take the 100 level class and be done with it. No. They want to make sure they humiliate you as much as possible before letting you in.

So, I took the test this morning, and I felt like someone hit me in the head with a hammer and asked me to walk a tightrope.

I haven't been in a math class in many many years and even then I was pretty lost most of the time.

From question ONE I was scratching my head.

Needless to say I tested into the "dummy math".

There are three (not for credit!) classes below the 106 I need for my degree and I tested into the second to the lowest--Math 087.

You don't even need a calculator for this class. Just all your fingers and toes.

So now I have to take 087, 096 and THEN I can take 106. And by the way, if I want to get back into ISU as a Psychology major I also need a finite math class.

I'm going to be drowning in numbers for the next 4 semesters.

Stuff and Things

Is anyone still checking in on me?



I'm lame and have slacked once again. Part of it is that my laptop is still dead (but I'm very lucky to have a friend who knows his shit about computers, and is graciously working on it for me--Thanks Rick!).

I had to miss Katie Schwartz's reading at the Pilcrow Lit. Festival because Mina had an end of the year picnic with her class, and I would have never heard the end of it if I had been the only parent who wasn't there. Sorry Katie. I had every intention of going until that came up.



School's out now, so it's been a nonstop circus of excitement 'round this parts. It's nice to not have to get up at any certain time and be able to enjoy the warm weather and the kick ass thunderstorms we've been having.



We planted all kinds of flowers and some vegetables too.



I finished my volunteer training and have the pager this weekend. I haven't gotten any calls yet, and that's a good thing.



A little while back I was having fun making fun little cards, and finally made so many that I put a few up on etsy to see what would happen. I sold one so far, and that pretty much made my year. Even if I don't sell anymore, at least I can say someone out there liked my stuff so much they were willing to pay actual money for it.



Here's a link if you want to see: http://www.etsy.com/shop.php?user_id=5923697

I leave for Italy two weeks from today, and I am nowhere near ready. I'm not even sure what clothes to bring. I've had a couple people tell me to bring something to cover my shoulders if I want to tour any cathedrals. My cousin said not to bring any shorts (I don't own any anyway), but that capris and sundresses were OK.

I have a 5 hour layover at JFK, and my brother is going to come out from his house in the Bronx to have dinner with me. It'll be nice to see him as I only get to visit with him about once or twice a year.

I fly into Milan where I'll spend the day wandering by myself, then I'm going to take a train over to Venice to meet up with my cousin. From there I think we'll make our way down to see this and that until we make it to Rome by the last day, where I'll fly out.

I'm excited. I don't think it will really hit me until I am on the plane.

Oh, and I'm going back to school in the fall. I signed up for one class at the local Community College (Intro. to Criminal Justice). I met with one of their academic advisors who went over my old ISU transcripts and plugged in the 90 credits to see what I had left for an Associates.

It looks like I only have a handful of classes to finish my two year degree. Then it's back to ISU for a Psychology major and Criminal Justice minor.

Most of my gen. ed. stuff has already been covered, but times have changed since I was in college last and I'm sure I'll need a few computer classes to catch up with the rest of the world.

I'm really excited about this new career path. I've done some research and found that there are professional vicitims' advocacy jobs out there. I'm just going to get those pieces of paper and go from there.

During training to be a rape crisis volunteer, we got to speak with two Assistant State's Attorneys and they were amazing (and really cool to boot. I would so go out drinking with those women). No, I do not want to go to law school, but helping to put sex offenders, child molesters and wife beaters behind bars very much appeals to me.

So....

Yeah. I've had a lot going on.

Forgive me?

It's Official

Not having my own computer sucks a whole lotta' booty.

I'm going to have a friend of mine take a look at it, but he just got back from a long vacation so I don't want to thrust it at him 5 seconds after he gets home (I save that sentiment for my husband, thankyouverymuch).

I will say that I have been getting a lot more done around the house during the day without the distraction of the internet. Maybe this laptop death was a good thing.

Yesterday I started training to be a rape crisis volunteer. It was an all day training session, and I felt like someone had kicked me in the stomach by the time 4:30 rolled around. I'm not complaining. I kind of expected to feel emotionally exhausted by this venture.

I'm glad I finally got signed up to do this. It's something I thought about back when I was in college, but somehow never found the time to get it done. It's kind of sad that I didn't think I could fit it into my schedule then, but somehow have found the time now that I have a real adult life thing going on.

In a way, I am glad that I didn't volunteer back then. I think I was way too self-centered and lost to be of any help to anyone. Now that I have a few (OK, more than a few) years on me, I am more equipped to handle what I am about to do.

We live in a world where some men still feel it alright to use their inherent social stature over women for carnal gain. Where "no" can mean "maybe" or, sadly, "yes".

We live in a world where children, the elderly and the disabled are preyed upon as "easy targets" of sexual assault and rape.

We live in a world where young women are told that their worth is calculated in direct correlation to how men rate her desirability.

What does this say about us?

I know I can't save the world. Unfortunately, along with those "years of experience" I've racked up, I seem to have lost the genuine idealism I had as a young adult. However, I can do my part.

And it feels really good.

Regret meme

Katie tagged me with this one: You’ve just learned that tomorrow you will die at sunrise. Tell me the five things you regret and the five things you don’t.

The Don't Regrets:

1. I don't regret starting a blog. Though I was hesitant at first (who the fuck am I that anyone else wants to read about my take on stuff?), I'm glad I hopped on the bandwagon. It wasn't until I re-found Grant Miller digging around on the internets that I seriously considered it (read: you can blame him for this amalgam of whoosit).

I've since (both virtually and actually) met some new friends through it, and not one restraining order has since been filed. In two days, it will have been one full year since I started Better Living Through Bacon. And it's been delicious.

2. I don't regret having children. In my younger years, I honestly didn't think I would. I didn't think I had it in me to take on the responsibility and set aside my own selfish tendencies.

It's not perfect, and sometimes (all the time) I question my capabilities. Having children has tested my sanity in ways I never thought possible. If they weren't so damn cute, I'd have sold them to the gypsies years ago.

With the difficult however comes the amazing. The adoration that oozes from them all over my husband and I is payment enough for every sleepless night, every splatter of poop, and every puddle of puke (of course, they aren't teenagers yet).

Knowing that I have two mini-humans counting on me to keep my shit together gives me reason enough to try and be a better person.

3. I don't regret quitting my job as a hairstylist almost three years ago. I miss doing hair sometimes, but I don't miss hauling my kids around to get to work for a paycheck that was barely covering expenses incurred from working. How sad that it sometimes cost me money to go to work?

4. I don't regret being slutty in college. I would never buy a pair of shoes without trying them on first no matter how gorgeous or cheap they were. Some people learn by seeing or being shown. I learned by trying every pair of shoes in the shoe store.

Sure, I got my heart broken more times than I'd like to admit and maybe I should have listened to that inner voice a little more often. In the long run however, I can't say that I regret any of it (OK, maybe a couple of them).

5. I don't regret going on crazy pills. This is a recent development here in the land of salty meat, and not something I ever planned on talking about here, but there you have it.

I spent way too long ignoring the unignorable. I had myself convinced that everyone felt the way I did. They just didn't talk about it. I was wrong.

My only regret is that I didn't deal with it sooner.

The Do Regrets:

1. I regret never living alone. I went from living at home to the dorms to having roommates to getting married. I never got to enjoy the kind of freedom one has knowing a space is all one's own. I missed my opportunity to do it when I could, and until my kids move out and my husband decides to get a trophy wife, I'm SOL.

2. I regret not finishing college. I could always go back, but time and money don't grow on trees. It's always in the back of my mind though. Someday.

3. I regret not cutting poisonous people out of my life sooner. Whether it was a bitchy friend who never had anything positive to say or a loser boyfriend who couldn't tell the truth to save his life, I regret not having the balls to tell them where to go. I always seemed to fall into that trap of not wanting to hurt anyone's feelings even when the situation made me miserable. I know better now.

4. I regret not standing up for myself when I should have. I spent way too much time in my young adulthood not asking for what I wanted and/or needed. As hard and tough as I thought I was back then, that girl in her twenties would cower in front of the woman I have turned out to be.

5. I regret not owning my actions earlier in life. I also spent the better part of my 20's spending too much time blaming others for my own mistakes. With age has come the realization that I am responsible for my own choices and the fallout--and that that's not a bad thing. This to me is what led me to come to grips with my Atheism (after a whole life of being raised in a religious household).

I hope to look back on this post after a long while and not have anything to add to the bottom part of the list, but without regret what would spur us on to try new things and learn from our inevitable mistakes?

Un-regretfully yours,

The Bacon Lady

One time I could have gone to jail

Back in college I partied a lot. Like a LOT a lot. It makes perfect sense that I never got my degree. I pretty much pushed the limits of my very being for a good four years.

But it's alright. I wouldn't take more than a handful of those experiences back, and everything turned out OK in the end. I mean, look at me now. I'm Suzy fucking Homemaker!

I was a bartender as one of my many jobs through college which meant that, on a busy night anyway, I didn't get the chance to get my personal drink on until after close at an after hours party.

Most of the bartenders went out together after close which was fun because I didn't have to be the only partially sober person walking into the mayhem of people who'd already been drinking for several hours.

One night my friend Alison and I went out after work with an old friend of hers, Pete, who was in town visiting. He was a nice guy and was game to join us for what I thought would be a few beers at a small gathering.

We got there and the party was outside. I remember it was a really warm night and everyone was sitting in the grass just chatting and laughing.

At one point I lost track of Alison. I was talking to Pete for a little bit when I looked up to see Alison in a very heated argument with some dumpy drunk guy.

Pete seemed a little apprehensive about the situation but we both knew Alison well. She could handle herself in just about any situation.

A few minutes later I could tell their conversation was getting heated...then physical. Pete and I looked at each other in disbelief. They weren't throwing punches. It was more like a very unfriendly wrestling match. It was so weird because they weren't making a whole lot of noise and it was pretty dark in the yard so no one was really paying attention.

At one point, Dumpy Drunk Dude had Alison pinned by the shoulders with his knees. He had his weight as a major advantage and I could tell Alison was stuck.

I looked at Pete, reached behind him and grabbed an empty beer bottle. I got up and silently walked over to the ruckus.

I calmly told DDD to "get the fuck off her" before smashing the bottle over his head.

I stood there for a good 5 seconds before I heard someone tell me to run. And I ran.

My boyfriend at the time (presently my husband) lived a few short blocks away and I sprinted just as fast as my short little legs could take me.

I burst into the apartment to find he and his roommate playing Tomb Raider, oblivious to my half crazed panting behind them.

"Holy shit!" I said trying to break Lara Croft's vice-like grip on their senses, "I just broke a bottle on some guy's head!"

Before I could get any reaction out of either of them, Alison and Pete came in.

"Holy shit!" Alison yelled, "You just broke a bottle on some guy's head!"

About a year later I was at the bar hanging out when some guy I didn't recognize walked up to me and told me I owed him a drink. It took me a minute to figure it out. Then, I couldn't help myself. I started laughing.

He tried to make me feel guilty about the fact that he needed a bunch of stitches that night, but I wasn't having it. I told him he deserved it, and walked away.

I found it charming.

One summer back in college I had a boyfriend who was sweet and funny and a little bit crazy. It was fun.

I had met him years before we actually dated when I was sleeping with one of his roommates. Who would have thought, years later, we would end up together for a while?

One night while Summer Boyfriend and I were hanging out, he told me that his bedroom was directly above his old roommate's, and he used to be able to hear us having sex through the floor.

And he would masturbate while he listened in.

Lowering the Bar

Someone please explain to me why it's apparently become socially acceptable for a 20-something year old guy to wear a shirt that reads, "I JUST SHARTED" in any capacity, let alone in public.

I'm no prude, but christalmighty, that's just wrong on so many different levels.

Recently the business department at ISU implemented a corporate attire requirement for class much to the collective groan of its students.

I don't really give a shit either way except that now it's a lot harder to tell the future MBA's from the Jehovah's Witnesses on campus.

Word to the wise: Check for a Bible before making inappropriate comments at young male co-eds.

Note to newly arrived college students in town

If I am driving down the road and my light is green, that means you stop and wait at the corner until I have passed through said green light. My green light is not a signal for you to begin crossing the street in front of me. If you are halfway across the street as my light turns green, I will cordially tap my breaks to allow you approximately 4 seconds to get the fuck out of my way. Otherwise, stand clear because I am usually not in the mood to scrape a skanky freshman coed off my hood.

Be warned

I'm on this kick lately.

I'm hunting down old boyfriends, friends and "special friends". Not for anything clandestine, mind you. I just have this burning curiosity to know where they are and what they are up to. Oh, and we have a discussion going on a parenting message board I belong to. We're dishin' proper yo.

I thought I found the boy I lost my virginity to, on Myspace. It looked a lot like him and his profile came up when I searched him name, but it wasn't him. This led to seeking out others who spent some time on my "dance card".

It's been interesting.

Anyone share my obsessive "need to know"?

One time I dated someone really dumb

In between sluttin' it up in college, I had an actual honest-to-goodness boyfriend for a good stretch.

He was sweet when I first met him. I almost didn't go out with him, he was so sweet. I just wasn't into nice guys. As it turned out, he wasn't a total anklebiter so I gave it a go.

We were together a few months when Christmas break came around. I visited him at his parent's house (a good three hours from mine) over the two week vacation, and had a nice time. His parents, little brother and sister left for church for a few hours at one point. Later, his dog brought the condom wrapper he had fished out from under the bed to the dinner table. I got a rockin' glare from Boyfriend's Mom and a wink from Dad.

A few months later, Boyfriend decided to get two pet mice for his dorm room. I questioned his judgement, but since I wasn't going to have anything to do with them, I passed it off as another of his stupid ideas. I was tiring of him by this point, but he was cute and fun and had certain talents a smart girl doesn't pass up lightly.

Then Spring Break rolled around.

When one lives in a college dorm, one is required to vacate the premises over any school break. They don't want you hanging around causing trouble (until moving off campus anyway) while no one "official" is on post.

I spoke with Boyfriend over break on the phone (as I wasn't exactly welcome to visit anymore...).

"How are your little pets doing? Did you Mom freak out when you walked in the door with a couple of rodents?"

Silence.

"You brought them home with you, didn't you?"

"Uh...no."

He left two mice in his dorm room for a week.

Having pets in the dorms was obviously strictly forbidden, but having some janitor find them wasn't really the point. We did a lot of things we weren't supposed to be doing in the dorms.

What kind of fucktard thinks leaving living things that need to eat food and drink water alone for seven days (nine if he left on the Friday before) is a good idea?

I had never held him up as a brainiac, but this took the cake.

When we got back to school I asked him what happened. Turns out these mice had a showdown that ended with them both getting out of their cage and one of them pulling an Alive worthy cannibalistic smackdown--on Boyfriend's bed. He came back to one and a fourth dead mice nestled on his pillow.

I refused to even enter his dorm room until he threw all his bedding in the dumpster and requested (and received) a new mattress. It wasn't long after that that I had to be done with him.

Some things you just can't overlook.

The one I really really don't want my Mom to read

Not that I want her reading any of them, but this one in particular might send her over the edge.

Katie Schwartz (who, if you don't know by now, ya' really should. She's, as she might put it, "tits to the Nth degree") tagged me.

"For this meme, I'm going to ask you to answer three (hopefully not dumb) questions: What is the dumbest question you ever been asked? Why was it it dumb? And, even though it won't help, because answering a dumb question never does, what's the answer? (Or, as I like to think of them: The Big Dumb Question, The Big Dumb Reason, and The Big Dumb Answer.)"

My sophomore year of college, I was at a party minding my own business when I suddenly found myself in the bathroom making out with some guy I just met. What? It happens. Visitor Guy was in town visiting a friend (who also happened to be a friend of mine).

After the party, we went back to Mutual Friend's (known from here on out as MF) house to continue the party.

This lead to that which lead to another few things and...well, you get the picture. Suddenly, I feel a tap on my shoulder. I look up and it's MF. I should state at this point of the story, Visitor Guy and I had commandeered MF's bed. Being Visitor Guy, he obviously didn't have any other place to go to, and I didn't want him hanging around my house.

So, I feel this tap on my shoulder and I look up and MF is standing there, looking nervous.

"Can I join you?" He asks.

"Uh, what?"

"Can I...ya know...join you?"

For the record, I did not laugh in his face. In fact I was uncharacteristically gentle in my response. Maybe it was the Xanax I had taken a hour before. Who's to know?

I calmly told him no, and kicked him out of his own bedroom to "hang out" with his out of town guest.

Proof that I have not lost my badassedness to motherhood*

On Thursday nights I meet a couple friends out for a drink. I don't make it out every week but when I do, it's a nice break in the week--especially in these last few months with all the house craziness.

Yesterday was particularly deserving of an adult beverage. I took the girls to the pool in the morning, then took them grocery shopping, then had to get home to wait around for the home appraiser. My girls really should have laid down for some "quiet time" because they were really wiped out from swimming, but I knew they would get interrupted by whoever was coming over to appraise the house. So, no nap.

Nevermind that the guy was an hour and half later than he said he was going to be, and my kids were practically clawing at their face in exhaustion. When Mina gets overtired, she takes on all the characteristics of someone with Tourette's Syndrome, randomly shouting and screeching. Audrey just whines and cries at every single imagined infraction of the universe.

Add to all of this the fact that I was on day one of Bleed Fest June '07, and even though I had taken enough ibuprofen to put down a racehorse, I could still feel my shitty baby purse cramping away.

By 5:30, the noise level in my house had reached monkey house proportions, and I was ready to put my head in the oven.

By the time 9:30 rolled around, I was more than ready to get that drink.

I got to the bar and strolled down to the end to find my friend and her husband waiting. She got up to play some songs on the jukebox, so I followed her over to chat. While we standing there, some drunk fuck stumbled by and literally stopped in his tracks and proceeded to give her a full body leer. He was gross and grizzled and smelled like ass. It was kind of funny the way he didn't even try to hide the fact that he was checking her out head to toe.

We shrugged it off and went back to picking songs.

When we sat back down, Drunk Perv happened to be sitting a couple seats down, across the L-shaped bar. My friend than told me that Drunk Perv had been sitting there the whole time she had been there, trying to make conversation with her husband and her for a good hour. By the time I got there he was so drunk, he was now just staring at us. He might have been drooling. I don't know. It was kind of dark in there.

After trying to ignore him and talk with my friend, I couldn't take it anymore. It's really hard to have a conversation when someone is boring holes in your breasts with their eyes, and not even trying to be subtle about it.

Finally, the day caught up with me. All the yelling and crying and waiting around and trying to pack and make lists for the next day and thinking about my surgery and already being so tired from it all spewed out of me.

"YOU NEED TO FUCKING STOP IT RIGHT NOW!"

"Wha--"

"I don't know if you're staring at her or him or me or WHAT, but you need to stop fucking staring over here because it is seriously creeping me out."

"I'm just listening to the music..."

"I don't care what you're doing, but you need to stop staring at us while you do it."

So he got up and stumbled out of the bar.

I don't know what came over me. I mean, that's something I always want to say when this type of situation comes up, but I never do. Sure, I've had my share of "incidents" in the past, but it's been years since I got to break a bottle on someone's head, put a cigarette out on someone's back, hit someone in the head with a pay phone receiver or break a broomstick jabbing someone in the back....but I digress.

I'm an adult now--an adult with two small children. I'm not supposed to yell at drunken slobs for skeeving my friends and I out--or am I? Who's to say I can't still throw down (verbally only-I don't feel the need to physically harm anyone unless they pose a threat to my family)?

I feel pretty good this morning.


*That picture is from NYE 2005, and yes that is a Girl Scout shirt and sweater.

But I don't have any freckles

I have red hair. I was born with it. It's been changed to just about every color of the rainbow at one time or another, but it is naturally red.

As a kid, everywhere I went, some old guy would invariably call me "Red" or "Carrot Top" which pissed me off. Even at 8 years old, I had no tolerance for elderly smartasses.

"'Bet she has a real temper, that one", some smarmy retiree would quip at my Mom while waiting in line at the grocery store.

Well, wouldn't you if you couldn't go anywhere without someone pointing out the painfully obvious?

People were fascinated by it. They would ask which side of the family it came from, then share some story about how their Great-Great Aunt on their Mother's side had red hair. I couldn't help but roll my eyes and pull on my Mom's arm to get the fuck out of there.

As I got older I grew to hate my natural born locks. I felt like some kind of freak. No one I knew had red hair, and we all know that when you've been saddled with a genetic rarity such as this, kids can and will be cruel.

It didn't help any that I was a really ugly kid. Oh, good times....

We also happened to live in southern California at the time, and in addition to having the pelo roja I was as pasty as the driven snow.

I remember idolizing Cyndi Lauper and Annie Lennox back in the day. Not because of their talent, but because they had red hair. I wasn't quite clued into the fact that theirs wasn't natural. I begged my Mother to shave a checkerboard in the side of my 'do like Ms. Lauper or crop it ultra-short like Annie. She gave me a horrified "no", and I was stuck with the long in the back/feathered sides and top (pretty much a longer version of a mullet). Hey, it was the early 80's! I know--still not a good excuse.

Later in my early teens, I was asked if the "curtains matched the drapes". It took me a few times of laughing uncomfortably with a puzzled look on my face before I was filled in on what that meant. Nothing like asking a 13 year old what color her pubic hair is. Classy.

A few years later I was introduced to the phrase "redheaded stepchild". I didn't know what it meant (honestly, I still don't) but I sensed it wasn't good.

After moving away from home, I experimented with an array of shades. I was every color from the whitest blond to the blackest black. Throw in a few shades of purple, blue and an unfortunate kelly green stint and my hair had seen it all.

And that was before I went to beauty school.

And then it happened. I made peace with my cranial hue.

One summer day, I was walking around campus minding my own damn business when a car full of frat boys zoomed by. One hung out the window and as they passed me yelled, "FIRE BUSH!".

It stopped me in my tracks.

Fire Bush? Really?

At first I was embarrassed, mortified and not just a little bit angry--stupid monkey boys with nothing better to do than sexually harass a lone woman taking a stroll.

Then, I was fascinated by the fact that walking down the street with red hair could elicit such a response from total (albeit undeniably cunty) strangers.

Maybe this red hair thing wasn't the detriment I'd always seen it as. Perhaps it held some kind of magical power. I liked that.

I haven't messed with the color of my hair for years now. I used to wear it in a really short pixie (think Mia Farrow in Rosemary's Baby). Now it's slowly making its way down the middle of my back. I'm not just wearing it--I'm wearing it.




And yes, the carpet matches the drapes.

Grant Miller Asks the Tough Questions

I had the honor of being grilled by none other than Grant Miller of Grant Miller Media. I feel special, and not in a grocery-store-bagger-at-Kroger kind of way either.

I met Grant back in 1991 at an arts camp for high school kids (ironically enough in the very town I live in now), so if you want some juicy dirt on him from his youth...actually I don't have any, but I'd be happy to make something up.

Enjoy!


You and I actually know each other from the real world, but we haven't seen each other since 1993? 1994? Describe why you stopped returning my phone calls.

Well if you'll recall, it wasn't phone calls but letters I stopped returning. I wish they weren't packed in the storage unit. They are still hilarious to read 13 (or is it 14?) years later. Nothing blackmail worthy, but I could be convinced to share them in the future (royalties to be discussed at a later date).
I think I stopped returning them because I was busy doing important college stuff like getting drunk, hopped up on drugs, and having lots and lots of casual sex. That took up most of my time.


2. You worked in a hair salon in Bloomington, Illinois. What's the best way to style a mullet.

Funny you should ask. Just today I saw a man jogging down the street dressed in a 1985-era Bears jersey, matching shorts and knee high sports socks (with stripes). He had a white terry cloth headband holding down a glorious mullet/porn star moustache combo. I teared up a little.

He had the right idea. It's not just about 'business in the front/party in the back', but the look as a whole. One must commit to the mullet, for the mullet is not merely a hairstyle, but a way of life.

3. Keep the sideburns or shave them off?

You could shave them level with the top of your ears and start religiously watching NASCAR. Don't forget to pull back out that free tshirt you got from sending in your Marlboro carton UPCs.

4. You're trying to sell your house. What lies have told prospective buyers or their realtors?

If I get a little hint as to who's doing the looking, I "stage" the house. One time, I knew a professor from the private college in town was looking, so I put out a few pretentious books on the end table. If I know they have kids, I make sure the art table in the dining room has a couple of the kids' drawings set out on it.

One time I almost left something really embarrassing out that would have only appealed to a vampire.


5. Why should people read your blog?

I like to use the word "cunt" in many different forms. Also, I am friends with you which makes me awesome by proxy.

Dream a little dream

When I went to ISU, I used Health Services for all my medical needs. The doctors were friendly and the facility was pretty nice as far as health clinics go. I was happy to have the place available, especially for my yearly lady bits exam.

The only qualm I had with the place was their choice of decor in the exam room. Among the magazines, cheesy "successories" posters and STD pamphlets was a poster. This poster was not on the wall, but rather strategically placed above the exam table. It was unavoidable, right there on the ceiling.

It was a Tiger Beat-esque poster of the Coreys (yes, plural).

Now, had I gone to college in the late 80's, this would have made a little bit more sense. This was the early 90's. Mr. Feldman and Mr. Haim were well past their sell by date at this point.

What was the purpose of having anything on the ceiling, let alone a dated poster of child actors? Comic relief or something way creepier?

I can only assume whoever put the poster up there thought college co-eds (still) found the Coreys attractive. Why would they want someone getting a very personal medical procedure to be turned on? Why would I want to think about washed-actors while someone had their hand up my snatch?

That's what parties were for.