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Archive for October, 2003

It’s a brand new day. Er, even though it’s over and all.

I feel better.

I attribute this to the fact that I wore my socks with the bumblebees on them today.

While I’m a wee bit nervous about the Anatomy Lab exam yesterday (she threw a couple curveballs at us; DAMNIT!), I slam-dunked today’s chem midterm.

My kid hit a kid so hard at the ballgame tonight that I could have sworn both their pads cracked in two; both boys went flying ass-over-teakettle but my son was the first one up, bouncing on the balls of his feet, flailing in my direction.

“DID YOU SEE THAT, MOMMA!??” he hollered, making the daddies that lined the fence laugh. Mommas are in the stands when boys look up, you know, just to make sure we’re there (like a touchstone or sommat), but we are Generally Not Acknowledged during a game. ‘Twas a sweet moment, one to file away in the keepsake part of my brain.

Speaking of keepsakes, I’ma have a block of time this weekend all to myself, something that is very much a rarity these days. I believe I’ll craft some new cigar box purses (forgive the photos, they’re ass because I snapped them with a disposable camera while waiting on a replacement for my broke-ass digital one last fall) as my inventory is sorely loooooow and so is my bank account. I’ve got to plump up things in order to start Christmas shopping for the Superior Trinity….if you’d like one, drop me an e-mail and we can discuss; they make super-cool gifts. Jane (formerly of Escribitionist fame) and reader Suzanne Atlanta each bought one from me last year and by all accounts they were big hits. I have a couple that I carry m’self and I get positive reactions/comments on them alla time. Let’s make a deal, baby.

That’s about it. I’m tired. Good night, Cyberians.

|| October 15, 2003 || 11:30 pm || Comments (8) ||

Workin’ inna coal mine, goin’ down-down-down.

Sweetly enough, there are things about what I do for a living that are wicked cool. I get paid decent change and have (pretty much) fully flexible hours. I can pull a case or I can give it a big thumbs-down if I so desire. I can work as much or as little as I please, I can specify to a great degree the whos and whats and wherefores. My son coined an excellent term for it some months back: Freelance Social Worker.

So, yeah, that kinda nails it.

Though I do have cases that are centered around adults, mostly I deal with children. LOTS of children. Kids in all shapes, sizes and circumstances. Some cross my path with shabby clothes and worn or angry faces. Some fully belie their circumstances and remain fresh-faced and silly, as kids should be. The fortitude they posess, even though I myself was privy to some ugly, hard times as a child, just knocks me back.

“You should be angry/scared/suspicious/withdrawn/rattled to the core, but you’re just a wee, silly kid. YAY!” is what I often think.

This week a guy went on vacation and I’m subbing out on a handful of his cases. The objective today was to pick up two girls, ages four and justbarelysix, and take them an hour away to pick up their brother (seven) and teeny sister (two) and supervise a visit with some of their extended family for an hour-and-a-half.

I never really know what I’m going to get, never know what will turn up in sneakers and a backpack to climb into my car. Today I was smitten about four-point-three seconds after the girls were reunited post-schoolday. They squealed and hugged one another and admired the artwork each other had crafted at their respective schools. I buckled them in their booster seats, and they seemed to take to me immediately; both animatedly asked me questions and engaged me in conversation and it wasn’t ten minutes before we were all giggling.

“I,” Evie* announced, “am going to throw my toys away when I get a boyfriend.”

“Really?” I asked, mock-incredulous, “Why you wanna go and do something silly like that?”
“PFF! ‘Cause I won’t need ‘em anymore (the ‘more’ part sounding terrifically precious, like this: mow-urh)!

“I’ll be growed up!”

Though both were ebullient and animated, Cass seemed to be the more grounded and serene of the two, as if she should be the oldest rather than Evie.

It was a pleasant drive, really, and I looked fondly on them, two little matching denim jumpers, two sets of chubby cheeks, two pairs of flowered Keds, two hairbowed ponytails, two bright pairs of eyes and two perfect, easily-given smiles. Little animated hands, teeny bodies locked safely away in booster seats, giggles abounding. So then, it was horrifically surreal when, squinting against the afternoon sunlight, Evie and Cass began a brief-but-still-too-long (though not too heated) debate on who had touched them inappropriately, mom or dad, and who was in trouble for what.

“It was not momma, Cass, it was daddy, and I’m tellin’ that you said that.”

“Nuh-uh, it was momma that touched us in our private places all wrong [she said that, 'private places all wrong' and I wanted to pull the car over and gather them up to me in comfort --though I don't know if mine or theirs-- and then go find the parent responsible, one or both, and peel their skins off], I don’t care if daddy is in jail for it.”

It was very Hitchcockian: Some days this shit just eats my guts, man.

*names, of course, changed to protect the innocent

|| October 15, 2003 || 11:38 am || Comments (3) ||

YES, champy, it IS one of THOSE DAYS.

I haven’t the motherfucking words for how utterly sonofabitching aggravated I am todamnday.

I’ll let all this marinate in my brain for a while, and maybe later there will be some nice, angsty alphabet stew to spill across the page, for fucksakes.

|| October 15, 2003 || 6:58 am || Comments (2) ||


It’s Chauncey’s and my big day. Wish us luck. Hell, I know where an infraorbital foramen is and he just happens to have one, so that counts for something, right?

In other news, I bring you the genius that is Davey’s 999th post:

This entry would, assuming I can summons my very best and clearest thinking, lay out in very few words a clear path for the future of this world, a manifesto of which our children’s children’s children will visit to gaze at in awe inside a climate-controlled display case. It will be translated into every language known to man, including Klingon, and weird geeks will dress up and gack out my missive on command at gatherings in Holiday Inns nationwide.

Go read. Enjoy. Spew liquids on the monitor. That is all.

The one where my son feigns stupidity in order to Facilitate A Want

JETT: …Son, I said maybe.

SAM: Yeah, that’s what I said: Probably.

JETT: Probably and maybe are entirely different animals.

SAM: Maybe means probably…

JETT: No. Miles apart.

SAM: Welllll, I always thought they meant the same thing.

JETT: Nope.

SAM: Maybe means nope?

JETT: It does now.

|| October 14, 2003 || 7:55 am || Comments (8) ||

Oh, for artsakes!

That Dane-person, whipped into a frezy by picketers blocking his attempts at foraging, vidblogs.

Verdict’s in: Tay-staaaay.

|| October 13, 2003 || 9:58 am || Comments (17) ||

Things for today:

1) I found pretzels. Top floor of the technology building, east end. There is a wee alcove. Pepsi products can be procured here also.

2) Anatomy exam down. There are Ethics, Excel and Practical Lab Anatomy exams yet to conquer this week; my family will be subsisting on sandwiches. Pork now, caviar later is how these things run; trust me.

3) Ladies, inter-stall chat-ups are not cool in the restyroom. You hear me? Not. Cool. You wanna banter like you’re at the ballgame, then try the men’s…this is yet another thing that is ‘acceptable for the boys, but not for the gals’. Get over it. And, if I wasn’t clear before, shaddap while pissing, please!

4) If you canna figure out why your velour sweater is wearing more on this side (i.e., showing your brar over one nip and not t’other) or that side, pause a moment to collect your thoughts: Which boob is bigger? I’m betting a dime to a buck that’s your worn side. I bring the logic, you drink it in; you’re welcome, send cash.

5) My body cries out for a nap, yet I soldier on. I would like a tee-shirt that declares ‘HERO’, please.

6) I love my in-laws, but they are spending some time being unreasonable this week. To my great and silent delight, Maxim has been flying them the big ole middle finger. I do believe the boy is growing into hisveryownself.

7) This one was just to round things out and tell you fuckers that I certainly love you, and I hope your day is grand.