Well ain't that just always the way...

I haven't really spent much time on OkC lately. Been getting a little bummed by the whole thing, to be honest. The last post I did about what I really want to put in an ad? Yeah, I just did that. Just now I copied and pasted the whole shebang over there. I'm not getting any messages anyway, so who fucking cares? I need some more photos of me on there, but there's a couple problems with that:

1. I change my hair all the time, I know this is a small thing really, but still

2. I HATE having my picture taken. HATE IT. I am NOT photogenic and I know it. Come on, the nicest pic I could find to put on this thing makes me look like a goddamn Che Guevara t-shirt! I prefer to just do it myself in a mirror, no matter how friendless it makes me look. Fuck you, I don't have professional photogs for friends.

3. Even if I was in the mood to try and take a decent pic of me (and I am really not ever in that mood) this bathroom mirror I have now is up so high if I'm not wearing stacked heels you cannot see my whole face. It makes putting makeup on for work very interesting. This would be me ---> w-(’u')-w

4. My face is set for fall and the weather around these parts is pure summer. The skin does not appreciate this fact, nor the typical rush o' hormones one has close to their 30th birthday. I'm broken out, in other words. Yeah, I could probably edit the spots out even if I had to use MS Paint, but it just doesn't put someone in a "I feel pretty" mood, you know?

And ain't that always the way? You want to feel pretty, you want to put that best face forward and your face, your own goddamn FACE rebels against you. FMF.

What I Really Want to Say

I am getting really tired of online ads. How can so many people find so many ways to say nothing? I'm including me in that assessment, I have over 500 words in my profile and it fails at conveying what I'm really like. Just like Bachelor #3's profile failed spectacularly in forewarning the ladies he has hangups galore when it comes to women who know a thing or two about their sexual natures, mine fails in letting the guys out there know that I am that kind of girl. However, would a more truthful profile be any better? Is there a reason, some rule I'm not aware of (totally possible) that we as people aren't more honest about themselves when it comes to things that may make or break a relationship with another person? Let's try it, shall we, and see what makes a 100% honest profile such a bad idea. I'll even do it in OkStupid format to make it even more plausible (ish).

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My Self Summary

I'm a mom first and foremost. I work outside the home, raise my kid alone with no help from anybody, pay the bills and keep the budgets, run all the errands, do the yardwork. I share my house in which I also help out with occaisional cooking and cleaning. I spend 99% of my time doing things for everybody else, and I'd like to focus on me a little bit. Recently I've gotten my mom to agree to take care of the Kidlet so I can get out of the house and try to remember what being an independant human being is like.

So far the biggest problem I've found with meeting people on here is that they don't seem to have any time to date anybody. Please, if you feel it would be a chore to make time for me, say, once a week, then don't get my hopes up. Another issue seems to be that nobody does "dates" anymore. It's always "hanging out". I thought "hanging out" was something you did after the date when you know you're happy just being with another person. You know, when you're comfortable to the point that you can forego eyeshadow and burp in front of them. Maybe that's just me.

I enjoy giving and receiving neck/shoulder/back rubs. I don't embarass easily. I like clean fingernails and shiny toes. I have a PhD in snark.

What I am Doing With My Life

Working when I can and surviving day to day. Little by little getting back into myself as a human being, not just as a mom. Conversely, I'm also trying to find new things to experience with my son that are free and won't make me nauseous.

I'm Really Good At

I make jokes a lot about almost anything and I love to tell stories (usually when you don't expect them). Normally, I can hold my own on any given subject of conversation from asparagus to Zionism. I do all the voices in my son's storybooks and can carry a tune without a bucket. Sometimes I wish I could just check into a nice hotel and draw for a couple days.

I like to throw tasty things into a crock-pot and have it be even better by dinner time. Spaghetti sauce and Amaretto cake are my specialties.

The First Things People Usually Notice About Me

I'm short, sardonically funny, and pretty darn open about anything you'd like to know.

My Favorite Books, Movies, Music and Food

I read constantly. Right now I'm on the last book of Harry Turtledove's "Settling Accounts" Series. My current favorites include alternate histories, dystopian novels, Jasper Fforde, and China Mieville.

I like lots of different movies including documentaries, comedies, most super hero movies, bad Sci-fi (love MST3K and RiffTrax), Stephen Chow, Shaun of the Dead, Monty Python, and the very occaisional chick flick.

Music is another mix of just about anything from Mozart to Classic Rock to modern Pop. I listen to the radio in my car a lot and find that I know a lot of songs but I don't know who sings them. I have a soft spot for 90's music including Lisa Loeb and Tori Amos. I sing "Cornflake Girl" as a lullaby to my son. I've always loved David Bowie.

Given my figure, you may assume I really like food. You'd be right. Sushi, Pho, Chinese, and Indian food are all wonderful. Italian beef sandwiches, chicken wings, pizza and beer are all great too. I watch a lot of food shows on Travel Channel and Food Network. Hell's Kitchen is back on which makes me happy. I don't drink soda anymore, but I love iced tea and good coffee.

The Six Things I Could Never Do Without

My son, good food, great books, my sense of humor, new things to learn, and something to look forward to.

I Spend A Lot Of Time Thinking About

What kind of home I'd like to have, and my role in it. I want to be married. Ideally I'd like to have another child or two and do it right this time. My son is the happiest of accidents but I never intended to be an unwed mother. I'd like to be able to have the freedom to stay home while the kids are small and make a home for them, myself, and my husband. I'm not Martha Stewart but I think I could do it in my own way. I'd like to not have to worry about utilities being turned off, or checks bouncing. When the kids are in school I'd like to be able to work part time somewhere and put that money in savings and/or use it for vacations. Either that or sock it all away for the African photo safari I'd like to take before I die. Sound too June Cleaver-ish? Too bad. Believe me, I have a way to put my own stamp on anything I do.

What is my son going to be when he grows up? What should my next art project be? How the hell am I supposed to achieve any of the things I've already mentioned?

On a Typical Friday Night I Am

Doing absolutely nothing special, that's kind of why I'm here, I'd like to change that. It's time for some Out of the Ordinary.

The Most Private Thing I'm Willing to Admit

I have absolutely no problem talking about sex, or making my desires known, but in reality 98% of anything I've experienced has been with a total of 2 guys, both of which were men I thought I was going to marry. Those experiences have made me somewhat sex-forward and that may throw certain guys off. Imagine how much fun the guy that puts a ring on my finger and actually follows through is going to have. Serial monogamists can be kinky too.

You Should Message Me If

You are seriously searching for a partner, not just a date. You have a love for a good debate and realize that a debate and an argument are not the same thing. You are patient even when I'm not. You're dependable and just a little bit nuts without any silly hangups about commitment or sex.

Speaking of messages, why do I keep seeing profiles with bits in them about how "girls get tons of messages anyway and I don't want to get lost in the crowd". What the hell kind of crap is that? Just send a message for Heaven's sake! I don't bite. Not until the 3rd date anyway.

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Okay, now that I look at it, it really isn't much more different than what's already up there. The main differences are this profile makes mention of sex and tells the whole story of what I'm ultimately after, i.e. marriage and comfortable home. Why wasn't that stuff in there before? I guess I assumed that the sex thing wasn't a big deal these days, but I recently found out (thanks bachelor #3, you jerk) that indeed it is a big deal to some people. I am a sexual person. I make no apologies about that, but just because I am so comfortable with that doesn't mean I am not selective with my partners. I think that's worth saying. Sex is important to me and I think that even though it may turn off some guys they're the ones I don't want to get tangled with anyway. Ditto with the marriage thing. I don't want to still be "dating" in 10 years. I've been far more comfortable in my long term relationships than I have with dating, and it's a place I want to get back to when I can. Again, the blatant talk of marriage and family may send guys running for the hills, but I'm not 19 for goodness' sake, I'm damn near 30. I am an adult and I'm interested in other adults. Part of being an adult is planning for the future and that's what I'm doing.

Of course I could just go tot he other extreme and pare it down to:
"SWF seeks marriage-minded cunning linguist with steady job".

Hmmm...maybe I'll try that next.

Well, It's Official

Bachelor #3 is off. I find this extremely flabbergasting (what a great word!). Here's a rundown of the last 3 weeks or so:

1. I send message on OkCupid, get message back, texting and IMing ensue
2. Have drinks, hit it off big time, not so much as a held hand let alone a kiss.
3. Lots of texting and IMing, some of it quite saucy
4. Second date made, rescheduled, and attended
5. Making out occurs with he instigated
6. He goes out of town for 5 days
7. Even saucier IMing and texting
8. Third date made and canceled the day of (after make up on, TYVM) due to flu
9. Sporadic contact, understandable if you feel like creamed crap
10. Somebody's getting better, ooh, very hot IM session utilizing all my skills from my former job as a text chat operator
11. No plans for rescheduled 3rd date.
12. I get some talk about how "it's looking like more of a sexual fling"
13. I mention that I feel like it is a chore for him to eke out any time to see me
14. I get Dear John letter that things are moving "too fast".

Three weeks, ladies and gentlemen. Three. Weeks. There was no sex. None. Just one physical heavy make-out session that I didn't start, so explain to me dear readers (both of you), how is it I'm the one left feeling like a whore?

McD's and the Fancy Store

McDonald's on Sunday. It's a strange place. Even more than Wal-mart the McD's is where you can find anyone at anytime. Just in the play area I saw:

A Hippie boy with uncombed long brown hair
2 kids in their pajamas
About half a dozen girls in Sunday dresses looking very confused. Poor things were like "We're allowed to play, but these are our good dresses and if we play in them we get in trouble, but church is over now and...."*fizz* *pop* *head splodey*
Kids still in their shoes, parents yelling "Don't take your shoes off! Do you want to get a disease?!"
Parents playing Name That Scream "Hey is that scream your kid?" "Nah, my kid's more of a whiner."
Parents trying to herd their kids
Parents herding other people's kids
Parents herding kids that looked similar to their own kids
Parents in their Sunday best
Weekend dads all jealous that they can't fit on the equipment anymore
Yelling moms
Gossiping moms
Blase grandparents wondering why they have to go through this shit at their age
Fashionable moms
One mom wearing what I'm pretty sure was a bath towel not long ago
And that one creepy old guy that eats in the play area even though it's pretty obvious he doesn't have a kid. It's not that he's a predator, he just likes the bigger tables and will hog a whole one, glaring at the kids and bitching about the noise.

My kid could have cared less about any of it, of course. He ran in there and headed straight for the stairs, shoes still on, smacking his head on something because he wasn't paying attention. Here I am, arms full of food and he's trying to get his shoes off so violently, he makes the knots worse. Some lady there with her little ones helped him, much to my relief, and then he was outta there. When I saw him stuck way up high, crying, she just grabbed some kid and said "Tell (my kid) his mom needs him, now." Lo and behold, here he comes, crying that he hit his head. One hug and a forced drink later, he's back up high like the little monkey he is. All is well for a little bit, he's happily crawling around, barking at the other kids and howling, then...Name That Scream! Yup, it's mine. He's smacked his face now. Right-o one healing kiss and we're off again, except...

"Hon, where's your socks?"
*shrug*
"No, really, where are they?"
*points in the vague direction of "up"*
"Go get them and put them back on."
"Wanna go play!"
*Motherly sigh* "Just get your socks."

Other Lady recruits every kid she can corral for a minute to look for the erstwhile socks. Nothing doing. Ah well, maybe he'll learn not to take his socks off next time. A Happy Meal and a pair of socks almost too small for him is a small price to pay, I guess. So now it's time to go. It is beyond lunchtime and Boogernose needs to eat. There is no way he's going to sit and eat in the restaurant so I get him ready to go, once I catch him, that is. Once I used his middle name some other kid actually herded him back down, telling him there was no fighting the mama on this. I thanked her and when I went to put Kidlet's shoes on, he threw a fit. He wanted his socks! Let him go get his socks! Well, for one last play, here's Helpful Other Lady climbing in the structure to look for these socks. They were awesome socks and all, by my god! I had visions of the Fire Department being called to cut this poor woman out of the plastic jungle! After she returned (thank goodness) there were no socks to be found. Oh well, perhaps the Sock Mice decided they were cool enough to steal a whole pair at once, instead of picking one at random from the dryer. I put a loudly protesting and snot covered tot in the car and he chowed down on his food, which, amazingly, seemed to help calm him down. We drove for a while so he could eat and he kept insisting we had to go to Safeway. Here is the actual conversation:

"Safeway? The grocery store?"
"Yes. Safeway."
"Why Safeway?"
"Because I'm a big kid" (his go-to answer to everything)
"Not what I meant, babe. I mean, what do we need from the grocery store?"
"Potatoes and *mumble*"
"What?"
"Potatoes and w-*mumble*"
I've pulled over at this point so I can literally read his lips. "Potatoes and what?"
"Wolves"
"We have to go to Safeway to get potatoes and...wolves."
"No! That's silly! You can't do that in one trip! Get the wolves first, THEN the potatoes!"
"Wow. So we have to go to Safeway, get wolves, take them home, go BACK to Safeway and buy potatoes?"
"Yeah!"
"O-kay. You know what? You're weird. And that's okay!"

Well, I didn't want to go to Safeway, but I suppose a grocery store is always an option, a quick call home to get suggestions and off we go up into the hills to the fancy store. That takes food stamps. What the hell. My reason for going to that store wasn't just because it has a bevy of fine products but because they give free big ass cookies to the kids. Helloooo dessert for free! I was good. Somehow I made it out of there with only a pound of bacon, 3 hot dogs, a huge red apple, a huge zucchini, some baby veggies to steam, a scone, and an apple fritter.

Kiddo was regaling me with all kinds of stories, stories about the wolves in the store, ("Just tell them to follow us, hon." "Okay! Come on, wolves, come on.") stories about him turning green, stories about his stuffed puppy. He was telling a lady from the deli all about it and she was so enraptured she got him a fresh sliced piece of cheese. Score! This being a snooty store she figured Kiddo would like some fancy cheese. Nope! Good ol' American does just fine! While he's chomping on that, I'm raiding the fancy meats out for sample. Serrano ham? Spanish dry-aged chorizo? Capicola? Extremely aged salami? Don't mind if I do! The Serrano and Spanish chorizo were my definite faves, even if the sample lady was being a snob about it. She kept peppering me with total food snob questions like she's a damn sommelier of salami. Whatever. The ham and chorizo together cost over $50 per pound, so...yeah. Free samples! We left the store (after my son got a high five from the bagger) with our groceries, free salami, free cheese, free big cookie, and 4 wolves which I am happy to say settled right down in the car and didn't cause a lick of trouble all the way home.

Consideration

Today I was hoping to grab some lunch with the online guy...he has plans. Well. How nice. I can't stop thinking about how a friend of mine says that if he wanted to see me, he'd make time for me. So there you go. I guess that means nobody wants to make time for me. What a happy thought. You know, it's not easy, what I do. I work outside the home. When I get back from work I have a 3 year old attached to me demanding all my attention. Since that is impossible (I need to pee sometime, as well as eat, wash my face, change my clothes...) he then makes sure I know damn well how displeased he is with me leaving to go to work. Usually this involves doing anything and everything he knows he isn't supposed to. This not only drives me crazy, but I feel guilty for working. I am the only driver in the household so on the days I don't work I run all the errands, usually with the kiddo which is either fun or horrible, depending on his mood. I pay the bills and keep the budgets. I do without. I make the necessary calls (my mom has this thing against the telephone, I don't know why). I have the library card. I do the yard work. I cook sometimes. I help around the house when needed.

And I don't dare say a word about it because the people I know fall into 3 distinct categories:

1. They don't have kids and don't understand the big deal/consider it my fault for getting pregnant
2. They have husbands and don't understand the big deal/consider it my fault for not getting married
3. They did it and they had it SO MUCH WORSE and they will tell you stories that make you feel like the most selfish piece of shit ever for wanting something so horrible as 10 minutes to yourself, a meal without children, or 2 nights a week for dating

I admit, it gets to me. A cranky old woman, an energetic toddler with a smart mouth, 3 dogs and a cat. I get lonely. I get tired. And I get angry. Today I saw that the kid was full of beans. It's too damn hot still to go outside and the house is too small and full of animals to give him the room he needs. If I stayed here with him my mother would've gone berserk and quite frankly, I don't want to hear it and the small fry doesn't need to hear it. Far too often my mom gets so frustrated she comes out with something really nasty and I have to jump on her for it. I flat out told her if she had spoken to me that way when I was young she wouldn't be here today because we wouldn't speak.

So, to keep the peace and give both old woman and young boy what they need I took the offspring to McDonald's and the indoor playground therein. I had to split the food between cash and card, but dammit, kiddo got to climb and run and jump and yell to his heart's content until such time as I put my foot down and said we were leaving so he would actually eat the food I bought for him. He got to do it all in an air-conditioned environment with lots of different kids and about 8 or 9 parents watching. It was interesting, but I'll get to that in a different post.

After that, I wanted to give him plenty of time to eat so we drove way up in the hills and went to a swanky grocery store where kids get free cookies and they take food stamps (don't ask me, I've never figured that one out either.) First stop was, of course, the bakery. I love this joint's scones. We've got some good coffee in the house and the idea of starting my Monday with a peach scone and good coffee was way too good to pass up. But that's selfish. I can't just get myself a scone, so...ah ha! Apple fritters! Mom's favorite! So I get an apple fritter to go with her coffee too. Oh but that's not all! I wanted to get some bacon and over in the fabulous meat department they have Chicago-style all beef hot dogs. To an ex-Chi Town resident they are a godsend. Personally, I don't like hot dogs. I eat them maybe twice a year, if that. Mom and Nelson love them though so, what the hell, 3 hot dogs kind sir! What the fuck will I eat while they have their meaty tubes? No fucking idea. I didn't get myself anything. I could have. I love shrimp and scallops on the grill, mom can't eat them and Nelson doesn't care for shellfish so that would have been perfect, but...didn't even occur to me at the time. After I got home I realized I could have done that.

It is nearly 5 o'clock and not one person has thought to ask me what I wanted to do today.

Why do I do this? I can't think of the last time someone did something nice for me. Just me. No agenda. No reason, except they saw something, or heard something, or tasted something they knew I'd enjoy. Maybe I need to get a little selfish. Maybe I need to consider it karmic build-up and quit my bitching. I don't know. I really do not know! What do other girls do that makes a guy just say "Wow. I want to spend time with this girl." or "You know what? My girl's been pretty down lately, I'm gonna pick her up a pint of ice cream, or a cup of coffee, or pick up her favorite food for dinner." What do these girls do to get treated this way and where are the guys that actually do it? Today I got a message on OkStupid from someone with no profile (seriously they haven't done a single thing to it) making a crass sexual remark. That was the only line, an allusion to their penis and what it can do. Yippie.

And yet, I get told I'm too negative. Maybe I am. If nothing else, all you guys out there? Do something nice for your gal, especially if you happen to be dating a single mom. I can guarantee they need it.

The Saga of Bachelor #3

Two posts in one day! You know what this means...the kid is actually sleeping today!

Anyway, the Saga of Bachelor #3 begins in the usual way of these things, by a message sent on OkCupid. We meet for a drink and it goes well. I'm ready to jump in a backseat and furiously make out for a good 30 minutes, but my hormones and I reign it in. I want to say this is on a Thursday, but I may be wrong. Okay, there is copious texting and IMing of a flirty nature and a second date is set for Sunday. Cool. Well, maybe not. He moved over the weekend and begged a raincheck due to exhaustion. Okay. So...Wednesday. Movies at his place. Maybe food. No. No food, I need to eat before getting over there. O-kay. Not even a $10 pizza. Huh. Do guys not do that anymore, the "dinner date"? Whatever, I'm still excited about getting to watch a movie rated higher than PG. I get there and on cable is 500 Days of Summer. I'd never seen it and I still wish I hadn't. It was, in my opinion a whole lot of "poor sad Hipster" garbage. I found not one character I could identify with on any level at all. I was mentally hoping Bruce Willis would show up and shoot somebody, anybody, to break the monotony. Movie over. Oh wait, no, before I go into that I have to mention the surreal part of the evening where his mom showed up. That's right folks I got to meet his mom when she showed up with his Garfield comforter! Credit where credit is due, he was rightfully mortified and the whole thing was over rather quickly. Hilarity was had by me, and I was once again grateful that my mother does not drive and therefore was unlikely to show up next.

Move to the bedroom. Watch a good movie, well I liked it anyway, I'm pretty sure he did too. He picks movie #3, I (Heart) Huckabees. I was so glad the making out happened shortly after the start of the movie, because that thing was doing nothing for me except making me start counting the incidents of Unfortunate Hair. Mmmmm. Making out good. There were the usual snarls that happen from one partner to the next, you know what I mean. Feeling each other out (so to speak), getting the right teeth/tongue ratio going on, squeezes, strokes, rubs, pinches, and volume. None of these are givens and that's why I never try to judge overall technique until at least the 3rd session where most of the kinks are worked out (or in as is your preference). Whatever, I had a really good first orgasm (yes I have more than 1 as a general rule, no that's not a challenge) and I was ready to give him his, and...nothing. It's not that the erection was gone, far from it, he just didn't want to ejaculate. That is the first time I have EVER heard of such a thing. Usually even the most fastidious of male will nab a Kleenex or a t-shirt or a picture of the Pope and go for broke. To just hold it in is, well, weird to me! He said he didn't want to make a mess. Yup. You read that right. I still have no idea what to think of that and I'm waiting to make a judgment until it happens again, or we have sex. He's going on vacation for 5 days so the next date won't be for a while.

Date Number Three! Friday night. Dinner. A show. He's been a little cranky with the texting all week, not responding to the kind of flirtiness that was going on before. He just kept saying that he wasn't getting back into Work Mode after Vacation Mode. Well, he still asked me out for that date so it's not like he isn't into me a little bit, right? Except it's like pulling teeth to get anything firmly set. I admit I had wicked PMS and was likely being a pushy broad but I do need to make sure things are taken care of with my kid and, more importantly, the sitter. I also need to make sure I have enough time to do everything that needs doing.

See here's the thing- I'm the only one who drives. If an errand needs to be run, I need to do it. If the kiddo goes to the doctor, I'm on it. I have no assistance of any kind. Even if his dad was around he doesn't drive either. I work outside the home, I have chores inside it, first and foremost giving a toddler as much attention as he needs, which is impossible. If I want something specific for dinner, I cook it. I am a busy person, especially if I'm getting the hours I need from work. When I ask for specific times and places, it's not because I'm being pushy or demanding, it's because I want to make sure to give my date the attention THEY deserve and in order to do that I need to take care of everyone else FIRST as best I can. It's not you, it's me. Multitasker from Hell.

Okay, I try to explain the problem and apologize and everything seems okay. Meet at restaurant at 7. Cool. I'm just about to leave the house, all jazzed up, the kiddo and sitter eating hot dogs (bleh), I check my phone....2 messages. From him.

He has the flu.

Why he didn't mention he physically did not feel well all week, I don't know. Why he waited until 12 minutes after work ended to text me, I don't know. All I know is, the money I had for drinks and stuff now went to MY dinner since even if I liked hot dogs, there wasn't one made for me. A total waste of mascara. The general consensus is varied:

Friend #1- Dude, he ain't into you. Move on. If online stuff isn't working for you then get out there. Go to bars, go to a movie.

Fair enough. Of course, I don't like bars, movies are not a place to go to meet people, and I'm "out there" all the time. At Fry's, Albertson's, Safeway, Sunflower, Target and Walmart! That's out there!

Friend #2- He's sick, or he isn't. He's into you or he's not. Nothing you can do about it, so it's all practice.

Practice. I hate that. I don't want to "practice" anything. I don't want to date interminably, I want a stable relationship. I've done it before and I'm far more comfortable there than here in Wasted Mascara Land.

Friend #3 (an actual male!)- Go with Friend 2. My gut tells me this isn't a big blow off, so don't sweat it.

Easy for you to say down there in Paradise. I appreciate it and all, but come ON.

I have IMed with him since then and he still sounds off. He says he feels off but has dragged himself out for a prior engagement of a friend's kid's 1st b-day party. I admire the sense of duty, but on the other hand (and I know this sounds petty and bitchy as hell) is it too much to ask just to get a straight goddamn answer here? I. Am. Into. You. Are. You. Into. Me. Or. Is. This. Thing. Done?

I just don't know, and quite frankly, if this is typical dating you all can fucking have it.  

Short Hiatus

That's a nice way to put it, I think. In reality, I've been lazy. I would not have a decent topic to post about, go looking for inspiration, next thing I know the kid's awake and I've still got nothing. Sometimes I even slip out and run a quick errand while the babe's snoozing or I use the hour or so to read a good book. Whether I fall asleep while reading is a crap shoot at its best.

I've also been putting time into OkCupid, which has paid off not one fucking bit. I get no messages, and yet I see these profiles where guys say shit like "I don't want to get lost in some full inbox so ladies should message me first." Wanna know what's wrong with that sentiment Bucko? EVERYONE ELSE IS DOING THE SAME THING. Why do these guys think that just because we have lady bits we are just inundated with offers for everything from a quick roll in the hay to an all expense paid weekend in Maui? It doesn't work that way, Gentlemen! Here's how it really works: The decent guys think that they will be lost in a crowd that doesn't exist so they wait for the ladies to message them. Less work and worry for them. Meanwhiile the real Twatwaffles of the 'net are messaging gals willy-nilly (or willy in hand more likely) looking to hone their douchebaggery skillz. Meanwhile all we girls see is an inbox full of tumbleweeds and the occaisional "opportunity" to join the Fiesta De La STDs. Is it any wonder the numbers seem slightly skewed between male and female members of these sites?

Being an Equal Oppurtunity Bitch, here's a quick tip for the ladies- stop saying you're Bi if you aren't. If you think that the best way to get dinner is by dangling out the faint possibility that you may make out with the waitress in lieu of tip, then the guys who ask you out aren't interested in your personality. They don't care if you're a smart, educated, fully deserving, wonderful woman, they care whether or not they'll be able to tap out "Dear Penthouse" on the bottom of the table in Morse Code with their dicks while watching a free girl on girl show. Stop saying you're Bi unless you are absolutely 100% into both genders as damn near equally as you can be and looking to openly date and/or fall in love with someone regardless of what kind of wedding tackle they sport.

Actual dates I've had as of this writing? 4 I guess, and 3 of those were first dates.

M- had coffee, really felt no spark, no big deal
K- absolute fun to chat with, long coffee date, never got a second one, sucks, but he wasn't really looking anyway, he just kind of forgot he had an active profile. whoops.
C- great first date, fantastic second date even if it was just watching DVD's and making out. There were a couple of issues, which will be their own post.

I'm trying, folks, I really am, but I gotta say this isn't making me too happy at all. Meeting up for coffee, or a drink or whatever just seems kind of...pointless. The whole essence of Rules to be Followed, and the Theatrics of it kind of bore me. Not to mention the whole subset of Rules for dating as a single parent. The makeup, the clothes, the expense of things you can't afford (like makeup and clothes) and the juggling act of Job, Family, Money, Feelings, Stress, Obligations, Desires, Wants, Needs, and of course Self is bad enough without the added pressure of posturing yourself like a goddamn animal during mating season. Yet in the western world there is still this ferocious outcry against arranged marriage. It just doesn't make any sense to me at all.

Glad for an election year

I never intended to use this blog as a political soapbox, but I have to say one thing: I am so glad it's an election year. Yesterday I got a letter from AHCCCS (AZ Medicaid) outlining the changes to coverage starting October 1st. Our unelected governor has pared down coverage for the poor (of which there are more of every month) to try and flush some more money into the budget. The only nice thing about these changes is they do not affect coverage for children. For adults over 21 however, a lot of things have been cut. Liver transplants are now unavailable for those with Hep C unless they are getting a kidney transplant at the same time. Why this is okay, I don't know. Maybe surgeons throw in the liver for free with every kidney transplant? Dental care was never great for adults. Pretty much the only thing you could get done on the state's dime was getting a rotten tooth pulled. You're not even allowed that anymore. There's a dentist, great lady, her whole practice is pulling teeth for poor folk and she's the best. What is she going to do now? What the hell is anybody who needs a tooth pulled going to do now?

The worst change by far has to be the physicals. They're gone. If you're not in pain then you have no reason to go to a doctor. For ladies, you're allowed to have a pap smear every year if you're sexually active. You are not allowed to have STD tests anymore unless you have reason to suspect a problem. What the fuck? So, pap only, no exam for cysts lumps or bumps? Fantastic. Even better is if you have had 3 normal paps in a row and are not sufficiently sexually active the state can now dictate to you how often you can have paps, if at all. Just because the governor doesn't care about early detection of cervical, ovarian, endometrial and uterine cancer I have to be put at risk? I have to pony up for an STD test? Given how many nasty little bugs have a tendency to wait around for years before fucking with you, I think it's only responsible to do so, or not fuck I suppose. What the fuck else can I afford to do, Gov? I'm poor! Yes condoms cost money but they're a hell of a lot cheaper than STD tests and cancer screenings.

Why is it that in the era of the American Universal Health Care Reform this happens? Isn't every American supposed to be able to count on a certain amount of care in order to make this a HEALTHIER nation? How can we be healthier if we don't have the chance to have physicals, preventative screenings, or even the most basic dental care? The governor thinks the system gets abused now? The only thing she has accomplished is to once again pull shit against people she doesn't like without putting it up for a vote by the very people it affects. The horrible immigration bill the feds smacked down? Hers. The "anchor baby" movement looking to change the goddamn 14th fucking amendment to the US Constitution? Right here. Her homies. Why not target Medicaid recipients? Most of them are damn Mexicans anyway, right? Wrong, bitch. I work, I pay taxes, I don't cheat the system and I'm not Hispanic. You know what else I do, Madam Unelected? I. Fucking. Vote.

That's why I'm glad it's an election year.

Tales from the Leasing Desk Pt. 1

My job today was to babysit this swanky property in the rich part of town. I love going to this property not just because it is usually very quiet, but because the "haves" are always hilarious to me, a definite "have not".

There were only 2 story-worthy folks today, but they were plenty. One was a lady who, the last time I met with her she was trying to convince me that someone cased out her apartment to steal two glass decorative lizards. Two. Glass. Decorative. Lizards. It wasn't that I didn't believe her at the time, it's just I didn't care. What on earth was I supposed to do? They were on her patio, that's not exactly Fort Knox, no matter how inflated the rent.

Today our heroine, A, called me to tell me that the landscapers were playing horseshoes by her apartment. Horseshoes. That's not a euphemism or anything, they were just playing horseshoes. On their lunch break. Fiends! I feel for A, I really do. She's a mom with little kids at home which of course makes her insane and I get that. I'll tell you one thing though, there is no damn excuse for keeping a screaming baby propped up on the same shoulder that the phone is propped on. My right eardrum will grow back someday. Anyway, she kept saying how the landscapers were loudly playing horseshoes and that's really unprofessional and why would I pay such people who do these things? Um, I'm a TEMP I'm not paid to care about vendors at any particular property, sorry. When that line of reasoning didn't do the trick, she started telling me that they were walking on the rocks close to her railing and that's just like somebody doing whatever they want on my front yard! Yeah. There's a chihuahua that does whatever it wants on my front yard. I usually just yell at it and it goes away. But wait, there's more! They are also peeking in her window and watching her TV! This actually is a serious charge. If I caught somebody peeking in my window they'd be short a couple bits below the belly button, know what I mean? Anyway, I get the crazy lady calmed down and tell her that I'm sending the maintenance guy to check it out. She begs to be anonymous. Yeah. Whatever. I tell her the peeking will be taken very seriously and we will get it stopped. Um, wait, she says, the peeking isn't a big deal, but they are being so unprofessional playing horseshoes by her apartment! So now I know A's lying about the peeking, I will no longer listen to anything she says. It has become obvious to me she wasn't looking for a problem solved so much as she simply wanted me to chase away the brown people. Yeah, no. Not in my job description, but I did ask the maintenance guy to take a look. According to the landscapers they asked her if they could play horseshoes over there and she said yes. Head? Meet desk. Repeatedly.

The other guy, I don't know who he was. Given his attitude I would guess he's a condo owner and not a renter. The owners seem to have this combination of helplessness and snobbery about them that permeates their very aura. This guy comes charging in the office asking for a printer cable. Parallel port will be fine. No. No it won't. I'm not a Staples, Best Buy, shit, I'm not even a goddamn Wal-mart. I have never, and I doubt this will change, been in an office that keeps spare printer cables around for resident use. I tried to politely tell him that in the incredibly unlikely event that there was a spare printer cable around the office, I would have no idea where to find it as I am a TEMP. He started telling me where it MIGHT be. What the fuck? Are you kidding me? There. Are. No. Printer. Cables. I am not going to go on a one-woman scavenger hunt for a stupid cable that in the time he took trying to bully me into pulling one out of my ass, he could have gone to Target and bought one for under 10 bucks. He actually scorned me! Scorned me for not having Mary Poppins' purse or pulling a Geek Squad member from my cleavage. Douche. I hope he gets herpes. Parallel Port Printer Herpes. 

The last thing I saw today wasn't at work, it was on the way home and it was awesome. An obviously homeless guy complete with scraggly beard standing on the median of a busy road holding a cardboard sign that said "Blah Blah Blah". I laughed and shot him a thumbs up. It was just the perfect ending to my day up in Snobby Valley.

Insights from the produce section

Today I found myself shopping for a few groceries around midday. It's not so bad a time to grocery shop, the store wasn't busy, parking was great, and it has nice cold air conditioning for the hottest part of the day. So here I am pushing my cart, kiddo damn near asleep in the big part of the cart surrounded by shredded cheese and salsa verde, and I decide to get some bananas. Kiddo likes bananas at breakfast, so do I, and at $0.49 per pound you can't beat the price. So here I am looking for a bunch that aren't too green and don't look so much like victims of domestic violence, and I find myself humming along with the music. In a grocery store. Out loud. Once I realized what I was doing in an almost epiphany-like state I said to myself, "I'm humming along to Duran fucking Duran while I pick out bananas. What the fuck happened to my life?!"

Then I got home and made myself the nutritious lunch of unbuttered microwave popcorn and a handful of M&Ms and realized how funny the whole situation was. There must be someone at Fry's with a sense of humor. I remember seeing a shelf tag for something or other, one of the ones that says "additional product located ____" for the stock overflow of something popular that happens to be on sale. This one I saw directed us to the "Dairy Bunker" for more cookies. Not Dairy Case, or Dairy Dept., or even Milk Dept. Dairy Bunker. This made me think of that mysterious back room being sandbagged and  Fry's employees in helmets and coordinating polos shaking down a spy from a competing store. "Tell us another one, ya traitor! We know you're lactose intolerant! WHO DO YOU WORK FOR?!"

Then there was the joker who put a "WIC approved" sticker underneath the V8 fruit and veggie juice. I wish WIC let you get that shit, man. To a mom with a kid at the "vegetables are disgusting" age, that stuff is a godsend. All the nutrition, none of the taste. That part isn't really funny but it does make me wonder why the feds don't let you use WIC for that. They let you get fruit, veggies, fruit juice, veggie juice, but not fruit and veggie juice. The juices they do allow do not blend well, either. Welch's white grape with Original V8? Yeah. Don't think so.

The last thing that made me smirk was the Duran Duran at the bananas part. Yeah it's uber lame to be caught humming along to grocery store music, but when you consider that a grocery store was playing "Hungry Like the Wolf" at lunchtime, it is kinda funny.

Okay, I'm blogging about the rationalization process I used to turn an ordinary grocery trip to a playground of irony. WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED TO MY LIFE?!?!?

Potty time is over...

Just like every other mom on the planet I was so looking forward to having a potty trained kid. If nothing else, I wanted the money back in my pocket instead of in Pampers'. I thought it would free up that time spent on changings and wipings and stuff.

Yeah, right. Here's a typical conversation with my newly potty trained kid:

You need to go potty? No? Okay.....now wait a minute, your hanging on to that thing like it's about to run away. You think someone's gonna try and steal it? No you're not, stop being a smart aleck, go potty. Go potty. Go. Potty. Go in the bathroom. Go. Yes. GO TO THE BATHROOM. DROP YOUR DRAWERS. GET ON THE TOILET. LIFT THE LID DAMMIT! No you shouldn't repeat that. Okay, now go for it. Oh I have to stay here. Fine. Go ahead then, dazzle me. Okay, honey, honey, HONEY you just hosed your own leg and you're sitting down. It's okay to separate the penis from the testicle it is stuck to. Okay, good. Isn't that better? Wait, no. No. NO! Point it down! Down! DOWN AT THE WATER FOR GOODNESS SAKE! Okay, here's a square of toilet paper. Dab the end. Dab it. So you don't drip all over the place because you haven't figured out the shake yet. No I didn't mean hop down and shake like the dog! Good LORD child, doesn't that hurt when it's slappin' all over the place like that? Wow. Okay. Weirdo. Put your underpants back on. Put them on. PUT YOUR UNDIES BACK ON NOW! Don't you "okaaaaaaay" me young man! Just pull em' up! Honey. Honey? Woo hoo? Your penis is sticking out the bottom of the undies. Why is that? "It's comfortable?" I don't think so. Let me get those things untwisted. Because if your dork's hanging out it kind of defeats the purpose of underpants. Now lets get these shorts back on. They're backwards Sweetie. Backwards. Remember? The tag goes in back. The. TAG. Goes. In. BACK. THANK you! Now flush. Thank you. You can let go of the flusher now. Let go. Okay let's go and- what? No I won't take off the tank lid again so you can watch it. No. Because it's fixed now. I said no. No. What did I just say? That's right. Remember I'm still bigger than you.

So let me ask you this. Who's actually the trained one?

Well, well, well...

It's that time of year again, apparently. I've noticed that ever so often conservative media outlets like to trot out one of their pet projects whenever there's a slow news day or their peers on the other side of the spectrum are getting a little too close for comfort on something they screwed up. Liberal news outlets do the same thing. It's the name of the game in propaganda and I doubt it will change anytime soon. I just find it hilarious that ever so often the conservative media feels the need to remind us that they don't approve of teh gays, or teh buttsex, or socialized medicine. We know! We got it the first few hundred times, okay?

ChristWire.org published an article on 8/14/10 titled Is My Husband Gay? which is really nothing but a Top 15 list of stuff to watch out for. I don't know why they didn't try to cash in on a few different demographics and boost themselves up on Google by calling it "Top 15 Ways to Tell If Hubby Is Homo", but I suppose the good people at ChristWire don't want to be mistaken for Cracked. For the record, for all the info I can find about this site it could be a subsidiary. No one can seem to figure out if the whole thing is fake or not. You can follow the link for the whole shebang, or check out Huffington Post for their take on it. For the rest of you, here's my take on the article, which instead of filling this space full of thoughtful arguments and impassioned pleas for equality (read: minding your own fucking business) I'm just going to rip this piece mercilessly for it's blatant stereotyping and unintentional try at "science". Please read the damn thing at the source for all of their "data". I'd cut and paste the whole damn thing but Lord knows I don't need to be on these people's radar.

TOP 15 WAYS YOUR HUBBY MIGHT BE SHOWING YOU HE'S HOMO

1. Secretive late night use of cellphones and computers

Yeah, because straight guys don't ever cheat and get caught because their secretive phone calls turn out to not be as secret as they thought, and no straight happily married man looks at porn on the computer. BWAHAHAHAHA! Sure thing, folks, and there aren't lots and lots of happily married couples who indulge in porn together. If you don't like your man checking it out on the DL then try sharing it with him, make suggestions, hell, make a video!

2. Looks at other men in a flirtatious way
If your man is checking out other dudes openly, that may seem odd. I would think 9 times out of 10 such a thing is more likely to trigger an internal response of "Badass jacket" or "Fucking Packers fan" than "Hello, Sailor". The article includes doing such things as being visibly upset when "visibly upset when someone does not return a compliment about his physical appearance". That's not a sign of gayness, that's just straight up douchebaggery. 

3. Feigning attention in church and prayer groups
So all little kids, bored adults who worked a late shift the night before, and people coming down with colds are gay? Come on, even Jesus thought a couple of the Pharisees were boring and full of it, chances are you may just have a boring pastor.

4. Overly fastidious about his appearance and the home
"Natural men have a certain amount of grit about them. They sweat and they smell. Homosexuals often abhor this sort of thing..." Really? I can think of one time when 99% of men and women of all sexual proclivities love some sweat and smell. How are these "natural" couples having sex? "Just a second Husband, let me turn on this Neil Sedaka CD and grab the Febreze. That way your pungent man smell won't choke me this time. Lah Dee Dah, at least I know you're too gross to be gay!"

5. Gym membership but no interest in sports
So....yeah. This is just plain retarded. The "reasoning" here is gay men use the gym as a way to hook up after looking at other hot sweaty men. First of all, wait a minute I thought teh Gays didn't like to sweat, and secondly, if the gym is where all the buttsex is happening then why hasn't the Casual Encounters section of Craigslist disappeared?

6. Clothes that are too tight and too “trendy”
Again, he may just be a clueless douchebag. Does he watch Jersey Shore?


7. Strange sexual demands
"If there is a sudden interest in sodomy, sadomasochism, lubricants, role-play, sex toys or other non-traditional intercourse methods, this is clearly an indication of deep emotional abnormalities." So....I'm gay now? What the fuck? I'm not even a dude! Does this automatically make me a lesbian, or should I just have the doc double up on my meds? Look folks, you will never go wrong with the assumption that everybody is kinkier than you think and you will be even more correct when you realize unless they're fucking you it's none of your fucking business.


8. More interested in the men than the women in pornographic films
Confession time. I like looking at chicks in pornos more than dudes, and I'm not a lesbian. Unless the cock in question is about to be mine (figuratively speaking of course) I really don't think about them too much. They're kinda funny lookin'. Vaginas aren't exactly that gorgeous either, aesthetically speaking, but I guess it's a "devil you know" kind of thing. Also, if I'm looking at a porno I'm looking more at the actresses makes it easier to really visualize and internalize the types of stimulation I'm looking for. When you're watching a movie of, say, someone swimming don't you start to feel the muscles in your arm flex a little, or maybe smell the ocean a little bit? I betcha someone who doesn't know how to swim would not feel those muscles or smell that air. Think about it.

9. Travels frequently to big cities or Asia
How dare you make a living with a career that may not allow me to watch your every move?!

10. Too many friendly young male friends
Oh fuck me sideways, just rewrite this one. Is your husband Oscar Wilde?

11. Sassy, sarcastic and ironic around his friends

This includes such behavior as "excessive back talk and speaking with one’s hands." So that covers toddlers and Italians. Good job!

12. Love of pop culture
"Gossip websites, Glee and The Golden Girls are three well-documented icons of the gay movement..." Really? That explains all those floats during Pride featuring a quartet of Betty White impersonators singing Lady Gaga tunes and being conducted by Perez Hilton. Speaking of the Lady, why isn't she mentioned? You're dropping the ball here, ChristWire! 

13. Extroverted about his bare chest in public
"Does it seem like he’s purposely standing right in the middle of a crowd to show off his chest and arm muscles, peppering people with questions about how strong he looks?" Well then he might be a caveman, an extra off the "300" movie set, or just a douchebag. Really, folks, have you even heard of Occam's Razor?

14. Sudden heavy drinking 

"Does your man disappear on drinking binges for long hours without answering his cellphone? Is there a strange odor about him when he returns, some strange mix of cigarettes and gel?"

1. Like straight men don't binge drink? That's not a sexuality thing, that's an alcoholic thing.

2. What's a wife in this scenario supposed to do? Stay up until he returns, lean in and say "Is that...appletini I smell?"

3. GEL?!?! What the FUCK! 

15. Ladies, have you dated men in the past who turned out to be gay?
"ask yourself whether you’re honestly looking for a man or just a shopping companion. Is sharing gossip more important to you than raising children? Ultimately, it’s a question of getting your priorities straight!" I'm not touching that one with a rainbow-colored disco stick. Shrinks. They help. Just sayin'.

A foray into a serious subject

I have never, and will never, claim to be a Writer. I can write, duh, but Write? Nah. This is just for shits and grins. Be that as it may, sometimes I like to pretend I could be if I wanted to, and this is what happens when I try. Enjoy M'Dears. Try not to pelt too many tomatoes at your screens in order to block the self-serving crap.

When you hear the term “single mom” what’s the first thing you think of? Hood rats with 5 babies by the time they’re 20 years old, collecting welfare but gabbing to their friends on an $800 cell phone? Trailer park denizens who trash pick for baby clothes but pay cash for Coors? Maybe you think of your own mom? I know my mom was a single mom until she married my dad. She was even a teenage mom, having had my sister at the age of 17. Her unwillingness to quit high school when she started showing caused the enlightened minds of 1973 Rialto to screw her out of a diploma for missing a gym credit. She was pretty much home-bound by her own mother who couldn’t deal with the shame of an obviously unwed pregnant teenage daughter. My mom still wonders that her mom didn’t make her wear a fake wedding band to her Ob/Gyn appointments. These are the things my mom likes to remind me of when I get in a funk about my own situation. She’s right, of course, there are now certain laws in place to protect pregnant teens from getting screwed out of an education, but as for the rest? 1973 ain’t as far off as you’d think, even if you’re out of your teens.

“When are you getting married?” That’s a fun question to get asked, isn’t it? Especially when my stomach was all round and feet-obscuring, and my ring finger all too bare, not even a tan line to vouch for it. I never got asked this when the Baby Daddy was around, oh goodness no. Babydaddies get mad props just for sticking around after the girls get fat. They’re expected to take off and when they don’t, well, they’re goddamn saints. There are guys who do in fact stick around for the child and maybe even stay with the mother, but those are Men. I’m talking about the far more plentiful Babydaddies.

You can’t give an answer to the person asking about your marital status, because even “mind your own goddamn business you hag” is all the answer they need to correctly ascertain the situation. You’re not going to get married. Right away the distinction is made. You are not loved. You are not lovable. You are stupid, because only stupid girls get knocked up. You are damaged. You are easy and slutty and it caught up with you. You will be easily found at the welfare office. You failed. This is all the same now as it was back in 1973. It is also just as much bullshit as it was back then, but it still stings. Of course, now there are plenty of women who have gone parenting alone and there is safety in numbers, yes? There’s a sort of comforting anonymity in numbers to be sure, but you don’t feel safe. You feel like hiding.

Then you wake the fuck up and realize, look, if nothing else you have a lot of goddamn work ahead of you. Birthing plans, maternity clothes, stocking up on baby junk, picking a hospital, doctors appointments, ultrasounds, circumcision or no, Catholic, Protestant, both, neither, none at all? Names! First names, middle names, who’s last name will the baby get? Shit, man, you can do this crap, of course you can! If you need to finish high school, you can! If you need to work, then you can! If you need time off when you give birth, there’s a 70% chance that you can have that too (if qualified). The government is there to help you, but of course you can help yourself, right?

Well, there are a few problems with that. Who is going to watch the baby when you go back to work? Day care is expensive and not every place takes infants. The cheapest palatable day care around here is $135 a week. I don’t begrudge them a penny of it, but that totals out to almost the same as my monthly rent. Is there government help for day care costs? You bet! If you qualify with the proper kind of work hours, and you’ve risen to the top of a waiting list with several thousand names ahead of you. Several. Thousand. Okay, you shanghai a friend or a relative to watch your kid so you can work and not go on the road to welfare. You’ll just take your breast pump and keep the milk going during the work day. There are lots of laws in place to protect the rights of breastfeeding mothers that they have to be okay with it, right? Of course! If you’re lucky enough to live in a state that has the same rules in place for breast pumping mothers. My state was not one of those until very recently. My employer at the time was within their rights (and they exercised them) to ask me to leave my pump at home, pump on my lunch time, and then dock my pay for the extra time I took getting home and back to the site. I could do nothing about it. I complained, but it came to nothing but a lecture on “assuming” I had the rights of a “normal” breastfeeding mother. The attitude is very much still “if you have to work then formula feed your baby.” Never mind the well documented fact of the superiority of breast milk, or the fact that the Feds push it like no tomorrow in every WIC office and health department around. The Feds are so into those babies getting the best food they can get that they have YET to pass a universal law protecting the rights of working mothers and their pumps. Even employers who had children and nursed them referred to my pumping as “fake feeding”. If you want to nurse that baby then you better stay home until it’s weaned. Let the Husband take control of the…oh. Right. Sorry.

*Sigh* Okay, so you’ve gotten past the weaning stage and the baby is now sleeping through the night. Your body may be a bit closer to normal and you have caught up on some of your much needed rest. You’ve figured out that you are still a human being and you’d like to maybe find somebody to share that with. After all, you’re still a desirable human being with a brain and great (if perhaps saggier) rack and bodacious (if a bit wider) hips, right? You may be getting a little help from the government since it’s pretty hard to properly feed 2 for the price of 1 and of course Medicaid sure helps with those immunization costs, but for goodness’ sake you are a vibrant young woman! You’ve got a few Mommy pounds, maybe a little wrinkle by the eyes, or a stray gray hair or two, but it all adds to that new layer to yourself as that sacred being of Mother. It’s a beautiful thing, isn’t it?

Beautiful, yes, but there’s no reason to be fat! That’s THE cardinal sin of womanhood! You see so many single moms around, (celebrities, for instance) that there is no goddamn reason you should not be an educated, successful, self-reliant, thin, gorgeous, well-read, ubermom, who bakes cookies, cooks nutritious meals every night, keeps an immaculate home and then turns into a lithe sex kitten ready to have multiple orgasms with her fantastic boyfriend as soon as Babydaddy takes junior for his court ordered visitation time. That’s not too much to live up to is it? Why are you so tired, Honey? Honey? Come out of the bathroom, Hon. If I hear “Mother’s Little Helper” by the Rolling Stones one more time I’m leaving. Are you crying? Honey? Honey?! Are you going to drink all that wine? HONEY!

I have heard it said, and had it attributed to a single male under 30 that the leap in the number of single moms can be used as evidence against the effectiveness and overall benefits (or lack thereof) of the Feminist movement. The solution is that Babydaddies need to man up, sack up, and MARRY those girls! Provide! Lead! Be MEN. Sure. That’ll happen. All those scared little boys will just snap right into the role of Ward Cleaver no problemo. I have a different idea. Call it crazy, call it unfeasible, call it whatever you like, but how about just treating single moms like fallible human beings? We were people before children and we are people afterwards. We have baggage, you bet. It may be true that we have lumps where there were no lumps before, and that we cannot be expected to just drop our lives on a whim to go on an impromptu road trip to nowhere. We aren’t little girls anymore. Despite our chronological ages we aren’t girls at all. We are Women. We are Mothers. Respect that. Realize that what you may trade in youthful fantasy you gain the mature experience of someone capable of being more than a breathing masturbation toy. We are Capable. We can be your partners, your lovers, your friends. Give us some slack, some room to breathe away from the judging horde and we may just learn to loosen up and turn out to be exactly what you’ve been looking for.

Oh, for fuck's sake...

When I was pregnant, there were certain things I wanted my child to get from me. Every mom-to-be does this, any that deny it are lying or already on the good drugs. When I thought about my boy to be, I was hoping he'd get my squinty, slanty, Indian eyes. Check. My chin (his father has none)...check. My brains, I'd like to think so. My allergies? FUCK NO.

I didn't get my wish. This poor kid, starting yesterday, has been nothing but a burbling snot fountain. His eyes are so red-rimmed I've dubbed him The Strawberry Raccoon. When he talks, he's about as easy to understand as a congested platypus.

I give him Benedryl, it works, kinda, for about 2 hours tops. He is, of course, a zombie, but a fairly less snotty one. Today I'm trying Claritin. It's what I take (of course I don't get the yummy grape kind, dammit) so here's hopin' it'll help him. These are the kinds of things they just didn't have when I was his age and suffering, and dear Lord did I suffer. At Trader Joe's today the checker and I were swapping stories about growing up with fucktastic allergies. Apparently I wasn't the only kid with their own box of Puffs Plus on their desk. I also wasn't the only kid who loathed tests because they got glared at every time they sneezed and broke some poor kids' concentration.

As I grew up my allergies got much easier to manage, but that didn't come until I was well into and on my way out of puberty. I love the parents that get all Granola Holier (Granolier?) Than Thou and talk about antibodies and histamine reactions and the healthy immune responses of children like they're all God's Own Allergists. Fuck them. When it comes to drugs I'm definitely in the "kids don't need drugs, their parents do" camp, but for allergies? Pass the antihistamines. Pass the decongestants, and not the cutesy PE shit, the real meth-makin motherfuckers! Do you know how hard it is to sleep, eat, function at all normally with a head full of snot? An adult can understand and persevere. A child, especially a toddler, knows only two things- 1. They don't feel good, and 2. Mommy isn't fixing it. Well, THIS mommy ain't gonna try and explain the whys and wherefores of it. She's gonna set up shots of grape flavored magic until she finds one that works (following the directions on the packages of course) and if they don't she's hittin' up the doctor for something better. This is 2010, and there is NO reason on God's Green (and ragweed filled) EARTH that my son should have to sound like Elmer Fudd and feel like shit for 3/4 of the year. You hear me Faux-hippie motherfuckers?! Put that in your goddamn free-trade, organic mud, hand-spun, recycled glass embellished, Grateful Dead bear shaped pipe and smoke it.

Let's get serious for a moment

I'm sitting here in my bra, blogging (Bragging? Brogging?) wondering what this little experiment will turn into. Will it be simply a venting space to bitch about life in general?  Will it have a singular purpose- a sole focal point? Will it be just a vain attempt to try and grab some attention as a very small voice in a very crowded room? I don't know. What I do know is three things:

1. I met a guy for coffee yesterday evening. It was nice. He seems to be really not looking for anyone steady right now, so I don't know if he will be calling me back for a proper date or not. He knows I'm interested. Let's see what happens. I'm fabulous, if he doesn't want to date me, then he's a dumbass, right?

2. The next blog post will be a serious attempt at writing on a serious subject. Stay tuned.

3. Reese's PB cups are, and always will be, the bomb.

Laterz.

For the love of chocolate chips...

What the fuck is going on goddamnit? I didn't get to go on my coffee date yesterday due to an unforeseen puppy paw injury, and a firm reschedule has not been set. Sucks. So now I need to come up with something else to write. Well I could bore the ever-loving shit out of you by describing the absolute clusterfuck this damn cooler has caused and railing against the landlady that let it happen and continue to happen during one of the hottest weekends in August, but I save that shit for my nearest and dearest (don't you guys feel privileged?)

Then I thought I might do a funny piece on these ass-ugly weird panties you get by mail order which are studded front and back with dozens of tiny magnets, but I lost the flier and I couldn't find a picture of them to include. Pity because these were some fucked up panties. I'll find them again somewhere I'm sure. Note to self: scour web for weirdest and worst panties.

What I am going to do, you lucky people, is talk about an increasing issue in the lives of women today. The Shared Man Experience. This is what happens when two female friends are connected in something more than a casual way to the Same Guy. This isn't like swapping emails or having lunch with your ex and his new lady, no no no. This is two women, friends, who are having a Shared Man Experience over a guy neither of them is with anymore. It's like this- Friend A wants a relationship with Guy B, but it fails on takeoff due to numerous boring reasons. Friend B becomes friends and wants a relationship with Guy B, but the sparks don't fly. Friendly enough, but for a minute there was bad blood between Friends A and B over Guy B. Well now that Friend B is not with Guy B, Friend A wants to commiserate a bit, try to turn the Shared Guy Experience into a bonding exercise, but what is the etiquette there? See if it was a Shared Douchebag Experience it would be easy:

Girl A: Guy B wanted to stick a pogo stick up my ass and make monkey noises. In church.
Girl B: Yeah, sounds about right! Did I tell you about the time he wanted me to wear his dead grandad's old suit while we made out on his casket? During the funeral?
Girl A: The same funeral he hit on your auntie and punched a pallbearer?
Girl B: Yeah, what a douche.
Girl A: Agreed. More tequila?
Girl B: More tequila! More chocolate! More strippers!
Girls A and B: MORE TEQUILA SOAKED CHOCOLATE COVERED STRIPPERS!!!

However, with the Shared Guy Experience it can be a little sticky. You may hear something from a friend, or in these days a blog, and find out that Guy B said something along the lines of "Feminism created all these single moms nowadays" while on a date with Friend B. Well Friend A would love to use this as a jumping off point for a conversation about feminism and single moms, but because it was inspired by a time between Guy and Girl B it is firmly in the Shared Guy Experience and could be construed as a way Friend A is trying to get into a Shared Douche Experience or simply start a Bitter Woman Flame Fest (tm).

What is the etiquette here? Is there a code word for "I heard about this thing that happened and I want to talk about it, but not really about him even though he was there" that I don't know about? Is this an argument for or against extroversion? Where does one procure a tequila soaked chocolate covered stripper in Tucson? The answer to all this shit is I don't fucking know, but now I want some chocolate, booze, and decent conversation.

For the record, I do not believe that Feminism created more single moms. Feminism created capable and unashamed single moms. Suck on that Guy B.

Friday the 13th ain't got nuthin on today

I thought I was supposed to have a shit day yesterday. I was expecting it yesterday, so I guess that means I got it today just to show me? FML.

Yesterday the maintenance guy replaced the dodgy motor on our swamp cooler. Awesome. That should stop the damn thing from freezing up and making the switch spark. Today the swamp cooler decided that not only should it start to smell like ozone and burnt plastic, not only should it make sounds like it's being hit with a sledgehammer, not ONLY should it NOT blow any cool air out of any vents as well as make the switch spark again, but today should of course be about 103 degrees. Even with all the curtains drawn and blinds closed and every appliance possible turned off it was still 90 in the house. I was afraid there'd be another dead dog by the end of the day, but luckily they seem to be okay. The kiddo wouldn't keep still or take a nap for love nor money which means by the time sunset is here he's red as a strawberry and nuttier than a fruitcake.

But, where is the intrepid landlady? The homeowner sworn to keep things running smoothly while she cashes my rent checks? Well, she didn't call me back until after 5 or six voicemails and after 5pm to tell me she could not get a hold of the maintenance guy, and the secondary maintenance guy is in Phoenix. However, if we wanted to pack up everybody, the stuff we'd need including sheets, towels, and pillows we could camp out in one of her partially furnished mobile homes. That would have been great if she had offered it, oh, 5 hours ago! Amazing. I'm still not sure when or if someone will fix this thing tomorrow when the temp is supposed to be a measly 105. I am seriously considering going to see legal aid Monday morning and seeing what we can do about this, maybe even breaking the lease and moving.

In other Saturday the Fuckteenth news, I made a gorgeous stew for dinner. Lamb cooked in a stock with red wine, rosemary, garlic, carrots, onions, and celery until the lamb practically dissolved off the bone. My mom, who has never really had lamb but maybe once or twice, took a bite and declared it tasted to her fubared taste buds like plywood pulp. Oh joy. I don't take this personally, she really does have fucked taste buds, but now I'm stuck being the only one that will eat an entire 3 quart crockpot full of lamb stew. *Sigh* I hope it freezes.

However, that coffee date I was going on next week has been bumped up to tomorrow morning, which is pretty cool. I hope I don't look too much like that celery I pulled out of the pot after a few hours.

Dirty Talk

Back when I was pre-child (barely) a good friend of mine hooked me up with an at-home job as a text-chat operator. That is a nice way of saying I talked dirty for money. Instead of being on the phone with an electric toothbrush in one hand and the tv remote in the other, I was on the computer holding 6 different IM conversations at once. We were supposed to never let on that we were anything but horny ladies (between 18-22) texting them on cell phones. It goes without saying that we were also never supposed to admit that we weren't paying $2.99 every time they texted us. That's right folks, they paid 3 fucking dollars per received text, which makes the other part of my job even more amusing. We weren't allowed to swear. I shit you not, no 4 letter words were allowed, several five letter words, and a couple of six letter ones would get you fired immediately. If you called a guy "Dick" even if he'd said his name was Richard, you got in trouble. Dirty talk without the dirty words. It kind of stifled the creativity a bit, but with enough imagination you could prevail, or they could pay $4.99 per received text to do an x-rated chat where you, the pleasant 18-22 year old dominatrix with a scat fetish, could call them motherfucking pussy shitting cunt licking fucktrumpets to your hearts desire.

My favorite chat that I ever had is the guy who through the power of "I can see past chats on my totally not a cell phone, you retard" I knew he wanted to get down with a big round bellied preggo lass. This made my day since for once I didn't have to lie! At the time I was a big round bellied 8 months preggo lass, complete with action stretchmarks and kung-fu ankle swelling. As soon as I told him this (in an entirely sexy way, of course) he...DIDN'T BELIEVE ME. He cut off our chat because although the "hot co-ed" he spoke to before who was only "3 months pregnant" was totally legit (in reality she was a 400 pound woman in a mobile home outside of town) I, the real thing, heartburn and all, was a fake. Now I had dudes on there who believed I was an amazonian dominatrix willing to beat their asses Xena-style if they smudged my toenail polish. I had dudes who believed I really was a barely legal Catholic schoolgirl going for extra credit. I had dudes who believed that I believed they were in the middle of a hot threesome while texting me at the same time, but the one goddamn time I was telling the truth about being fetish material for this champion hand jockey, he didn't buy it.

Well, he did kind of buy it in that he still had to pay $2.99 every text he got.

Shortly before I gave birth the department closed down and we were all laid off. Such a pity. I miss that job so much.

A couple of odd thoughts and a small story

Odd Thought #1- My son is part camel. I always wondered what was in that melon of his, and now I guess I know. Seriously, he could pee a gallon not two seconds before getting in the tub, and yet somehow he has another gallon ready to go. At least it's sterile. Blech. The bright side? When he starts taking showers he won't have to worry about Athlete's Foot.

Odd Thought #2- Ever since I remembered I was in charge of cooking lamb tomorrow, I've been thinking in a Greek accent.

Small Story- I threatened promised to tell the story of Rerun being the Household Fart Detector. It's not really much of a story. Ever since she was a puppy when she smelled a fart she went butt-hunting. She'd start with whatever male happened to be in the room, (I totally did not train her to do that, dogs ain't all that dumb, yo) then she would go through the females by age, then go to the rest of the dogs until she found the culprit. She would then point at them. She would stay pointed at them until the farter excused themselves. I don't just mean the humans, if the culprit was canine she's get a lick on the nose or something. The absolute best? One day she went through the whole house looking for the perpetrator, failed to find it, sniffed her own ass, tried to point at herself, and fell over.

If I could make this shit up on the fly I'd be rich.

In other news, it looks like I've got an OkCupid date. Will post more as bulletins warrant.

How I get to wake up

Not the most thrilling title is it? I wish I could say the same for the way my days get started around here. First of all let me explain the dynamics of the household a little bit- due to many extenuating circumstances, mostly involving money and how little there is around these days, my mother, myself, and my son share a house with the animals. I recently lost my dog to heat stroke, so we're down to mom's 3 beagles and my cat.

Introducing..the Gang:
1. Max- Beagle. 11 years old and refuses to admit it. Horrible breath and wrapped around the paws of
2. Lucy- Beagle. 10 years old. The Brains of the Operation. Alpha of the pack. Total princess.
3. Rerun- Beagle. 9 years old. Built like a whippet in a beagle suit. Household fart detector. No, really.
4. Bean- Cat. Mama was a longhaired orange tabby, daddy was a Maine Coon. She likes earlobes.
5. The Kid- Toddler. 3 years old. Likes to pretend he's Doctor Who.

So here I am trying desperately to attain my goal of sleeping past 8 am and through my happy little haze of dreamland I hear the first signs of life. The sharp, annoying, poke-your-brain-with-a-stick signs of life. Rerun. In case you have had the misfortune to never be acquainted with beagles, let me explain these little hounds don't bark usually, they bay. That means instead of being greeted with barks or yaps you get an ear-splitting AHH-WOOOOOOOOOO. You get used to it. Really. Rerun, however, never got the memo about how a proper beagle is supposed to sound. Oh no, this little oddball sounds more like a car with a bad starter. ERR-ERR-ERR-ERR-ROW! That sound can pierce through the most pleasant dream and make you long for things like tri-color fur slippers. That was the first thing to wake me up. Next came The Kid.

Well, technically I did get to sleep past 8am. It was 8:18 when The Kid came in, ran up to my face yelled "Wake up Mama I need to talk to you!" and straddled me so I couldn't run away. There's no coffee in the world with the wake up power of "Toddler On Bladder", lemee tell ya.

"What do you want to talk about, Kiddo?" I mumbled, knowing that sleep was not gonna happen anymore.
"SUPAH LETTERS!"
"Super letters, huh? What about them?"
"SuperFly (Super WHY, a show on PBS I hate) and Alpha Pig *something something*"
"Uh huh. Okay. Listen, can you get off me? I really need to pee." I'm so feminine, aren't I?
"Princess Pee?" (Princess PEA, another character on the show)
It was at this point I tried to play dead, hoping The Toddler, like The Grizzly Bear, would lose interest. You'd think I know better by now. Cue a toddler hand on each cheek, squishing my face into a fishy shape and shaking my head all around while yelling, "MAMA TALK TO ME!!!!"
"Can we talk about WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOUR BRAIN?"
"My brain. Yes. It's sick, Princess. We need to fix it. Open your mouf."

At this point thankfully my mother decided to check and see where The Kid was, which distracted him enough to allow me to get up and shuffle to the bathroom. Of course I wasn't alone in there, good lord, no. Privacy? In a bathroom? Surely ye jest! Nope, I got "The Doctor" sitting on the edge of the tub chanting rhythmically "Go Princess, go Princess, go! Go Princess, go Princess, go!" while I pee. After that, he handed me ONE square of TP to "dab dab" myself and asked to flush the toilet for me. It's kind of like having my own bathroom attendant, if bathroom attendants got tipped in fruit loops.

My last thought before heading for the coffee pot? I gotta blog this shit before I forget. Later I'll explain how Rerun became known as the household fart detector.

Out in the online

Well, in my search for attaining availability I have joined OkCupid, or if you prefer, OkStupid.  Some of it is stupid, I gotta admit. Some of those questions are just, well, remedial is a nice way to put it. No kiddin, here is a real match question from OkCupid I was given to answer:

I shower:
a. once a day or more
b. usually once a day, but I skip some
c. something disgusting (I may be paraphrasing)
d. I wallow in filth (not really paraphrasing)

And after answering this for yourself, you are supposed to indicate how your partner should answer, and how important it is to you that they answer in that way. Okay, okay, fine. Some people need things spelled out to them, I understand that, but then to make it Public you must expound on your reasoning behind this. I couldn't help myself, folks, I had to answer "I have to explain why showering often is a good thing? Really?"

Look, I'm not a strictly picky person, but there are some things I absolutely will not put up with. You must not chew on kittens for fun, you must not burp the Gettysburg Address until date 3, and you must fucking shower often! I'm not asking for a guy to walk around fastidiously smelling like a potpourri emporium but parmesan-crusted HOBO isn't an option either!

Have the rules changed so much that Nuclear Funk can be considered a viable option for a lifestyle? Has Rule 34 truly permeated the zeitgeist? What the fuck, people, just what. the. fuck.

A typical conversation about my son pt.1

My son is 3. And weird. Very, very weird.

This is a short conversation between my mom and myself regarding my son:

Me: "The Wicker Man" is on, but that's not really appropriate for the kiddo, huh?

Mom: With the kind of deranged little mind he has, there isn't much left that would be considered appropriate for him. That's why he now plays with pretend guns and knives, and that's just what he's picked up from the commercials! Have you seen his "knife"?

Me: Do tell.

Mom: He walked up to me with his hand like this (in a "knife holding" manner I suppose) and said, "I have a knife!" So I asked him, "Well, what are you going to do with it?" He said, "This!" and then grabbed his Froggy and went like this (chopping motions like he's giving Froggy a massage).

Me: He minced the frog?

Mom: Yup! That's how many cooking shows he's seen, that the first instinct he has with a knife is to fillet his enemies. My grandson...the Serial Chopper!

Me: I'm so proud.

Why? Well, why the fuck not.

Hi. I'm Lorrie. 29 year old female with readily available internet access. The pic really is me although my hair is different now and I don't look quite so much like a Che Guevara t-shirt.



I don't have a Facebook, I've never had a MySpace, and this is the first blog post I've ever written. Based on that you would think I lived under a rock or worse, Detroit. See, I've always had this belief that unless someone is one-on-one with me in an email, IM, text, or Heaven forbid, IRL, the general public at large doesn't give a flying fudge monkey what I have to say. This is still true, but, the rules seemingly have changed insofar that anyone under a particular age (i.e. dead) who doesn't voluntarily at least pretend to be an outgoing social unappreciated genius must have something to hide. This never bothered me until recently.


Due to a large amount of drama involving some dude I thought was worth waiting around for, the girl who originally introduced us who I had no idea was even into the guy, and a lot of stress, tears, and other bullshit, one thing did sink into my notoriously thick skull.


This is a fucking long-ass way of explaining this blog. Sorry. (Not really, it's my blog after all. It took me long enough to do this shit I may as well make the most of it, right?) One thing she said to me before she stopped speaking to me was that she was much more Available than I was. She has her FB page, her blogs, her hotline, and of course her picture splashed all over the place. More power to her. She is talented and if she ever speaks to me again, she may even let me link to her blog. More importantly, she has a point. 1 in 5 relationships start online. Information about anything and anyone is so undeniably easy to find, why bother putting forth the effort of a blind face to face meeting? As much as I think it sucks, people comparison shop for their mates just as much, and more often, than they do for sofas. Case in point, one little ad online in less than 2 hours snagged me a coffee date the next day, and that was without a picture. I can't argue with results. So here it is folks, my wit and worldview (such as they are) available for your perusal 24-7-365.

Enjoy, bitchez.