And then there’s my daughter…she has me blocked on FB because ‘I commented on every post’. Honestly, I didn’t even know she had blocked me. She doesn’t post that often, and I don’t go tracking her down. She also wants me to ‘like’ her boyfriend…but I don’t even know him. She’s met him at college, and I’ve met him once for about 10 minutes. I told her I have to know more about him before I can like or dislike him.

Apparently, that’s the wrong thing to say to an 18-year old.

So, she’s pissed at me (even though I’m very proud of the 3.96 GPA she earned in her first year of college). My mom’s oblivious to the connections she makes of me.

I’m feeling sort of unloved.

Maybe a glass of plum wine will help.

So I went back on the blog for the date it was prescribed and Bingo! There it was. A little refresher of what was going on during that time. This little ol’ blog keeps so many memories for me. Some of them small, some not so small. It’s nice having it here. As of Tuesday, it will have been seven years of blogging for me. I’ve almost run out of things to talk about. Almost. I’m not done bitchin’ yet!

And so there I was today, on the elliptical. Halfway through my workout, I was ready to stop. Why the hell should I submit myself to this? What does it matter anymore? It’s hard, it’s boring, it’s no fun, it’s not taking the weight off or slimming my body with the speed it did ten years ago. I’m in relatively good health otherwise per my most recent physical. I’m extremely busy with work, and coming home and ‘having’ to do this routine just flat out sucks. I’ll never have the body that I did in my 20s, dammit. Why do I put myself through a workout that brings very little joy to my life?

But then a thought hit me. What if I had been a spectator at the Boston Marathon bombing? (I’d never run a marathon, no matter what!) Would I have had the physical strength to help? Would I have been able to carry out someone? If I was injured, would my fat ass make it difficult for someone else to carry me out???? Fuck that. I want to be ready to help. To be a sheepdog instead of a sheep. I want to be prepared to be able to stand up against the wolves, even if it never happens to me personally (please dear God). I’m sure just about each and every one of those participants and spectators never thought about the circumstances that happened to them. But it did, and they had to react. Given the right circumstances, I don’t want to be a burden.

So I finished my workout. Because it does matter.

It was pretty…showing a pastoral scene with a church, and a choir singing.

A boys’ choir.

An Anglican boys’ choir. And we’re Catholic.

Kind of reminds me of the wedding congratulations card my mother sent us. The couple on the card were black. We’re not.

My mom isn’t bothered much by details.

The message she wrote in today’s Easter e-card is so typically my mother, too:

“A blessed Easter and a beautiful spring season.
I’m thinking of the Easter in Brunswick, Ga when
you were just getting over chicken pox and we went
to Jekyll Island with all its pretty flowers. I felt
I had just been released from jail. Enjoy the day!”

Uh, thanks Mom. I think. Sorry about that chicken pox thing. I won’t do it again.

When I read that, I interpreted it as ‘Fuck you, nutter’. And I kind of laughed, thinking nutter was an odd word to use.

Then I saw the article, and realized the photographer was a black man.

And then I thought, ‘Wait a minute. The Hollywood ilk are supposed to be the most un-racist people of all. As a Southern conservative, I am supposed to be very racist. Why, then, didn’t I think of the ‘n’ word when I read that headline?’

Because despite what I’m stereotyped as, I’m not racist. That word doesn’t even really exist for me. But, apparently it does for Sean Penn’s son. Way to go, Hollywood.

And for the record, the photographer didn’t want to press charges. Guess he’s not racist, either.

This picture made me kind of sad.

I’m not the most graceful of people. I walk too purposefully for that. Eyes on the goal, focus where I need to go…and wind up running into stuff because of the ‘blinders’ the focus brought on. And I bruise very easily.

In the classroom, I am always running into the corners of the kids’ desks. Sometimes the desks would be close together, and as I moved around them getting from student to student to help, I’d even catch the insides of my thighs on the corners.

My ex thought the resulting bruises ‘proved’ I was running around on him. Because those bruises couldn’t come from desks, of course, but from some other man’s hip bones during sex.

Of course, he was the one ‘running around’…but it was always my fault, one way or another.

Somehow, we got on the subject of evolution. And homosexuality. And the lunch, while not exactly contentious, was on its way to becoming heated.

My sister is very firmly entrenched in the Bible. Six days to create the world, man created out of clay, woman from his side. And that homosexuality is a choice.

I believe in God. And I believe God is the greatest programmer of all time. That evolution is His creation in progress. That we could have evolved from single celled organisms because God is just that cool…and omnipotent. I believe that the Biblical creation echoes an evolutionary process, just over billions of years instead of six days. However, early man couldn’t understand the complex processes, and therefore man relayed it as best he could understand it.

My sister, however, firmly believes in the Adam and Eve story. No evolving from primates, especially no evolving from single cells (even though I mentioned the single-cells of the egg and sperm that create a human). Humans are better than that, apparently. I mentioned the mitochondrial evidence that does seem to indicate that modern humanity came from one woman, an ‘Eve’ if you will, that science IS reflecting the Bible. But she dismissed it entirely, using her rationalization that we couldn’t come from a single cell.

Then…we discussed homosexuality. She firmly believes that it is only a choice, that people aren’t born that way, and it goes against God’s will. I said I believe it happens both ways. I asked her if she believed that God created all life on Earth, and she said ‘yes’. So then I asked her about homosexuality that occurs in animals. She was flabbergasted, and asked for examples. All I could think of at the time was dolphins, primates, and penguins (the male penguins that raised a chick that was in the news awhile back). She just couldn’t believe it. Then I told her that one of my proudest moments of my son (Eraserhead) was when one of his friends chose to ‘come out’ and tell him he was gay. That that young teen had such faith and trust in my son’s friendship with him to reveal his homosexuality. I was almost crying because it moved me so much. I think instead of seeing the beauty of that situation, my sister was more worried that my son was hanging around gay people and might become gay!!!!

I knew we were getting nowhere fast. I really don’t try to ‘change’ the minds of people who believe one way or another. I don’t care what you practice as long as you don’t go Westboro Bap. Church on me (and gays can be as militant as the fundies!)

My sister is very religious. She has ‘faith’ there is a God, that He created the world. She believes in the Bible and in doing God’s work.

Homosexuals also have a belief. They ‘believe’ and have ‘faith’ that they are homosexuals. That belief is just as strong as my sister’s belief in God. How do we prove that one ‘faith’ is right and one is wrong?

You don’t. It just is. Treat each other decently. Don’t be an asshole. That’s pretty much Christianity summed up, right??? Don’t be an asshole. Be nice.

Why?

Because I thought of eating it. And once you think of eating anything in this house, you’d better eat it right then and there, or else hide it. Because Buck has this ESP kind of thing…all you have to do is think of eating something, and within ten minutes, it’s in his stomach. Seriously!!!! It can be a food item that has sat there for days…unwanted, unloved. But the second you think about it…the thought process somehow emanates into the air and is picked up by Buck’s brainwaves. Even if he is asleep.

It has happened far too often to just be a coincidence. It can be leftovers or something on the shelf or shoved in the back corner of the fridge, hidden from view. But if you so much as look at it and think, “Oh, that sounds good!”, you have to eat it right then. BR and I have been sitting in the living room in the evening, and he’ll say, “I think I’ll have a bowl of cereal.” And within 10 seconds, we hear the sound of the refrigerator door opening, and then Buck is pouring the last bit of milk into some cereal. Honest to God, this has happened many, many times.

And if I mentally plan out the week’s dinner menu, I have to be sure to tell Buck. Otherwise, I’ll go to cook spaghetti, and the huge can of sauce has disappeared. Or the pasta will be entirely gone because he’s playing ‘chef’. Oh, he won’t play chef for the family. He’ll cook before the rest of us get off of work and eat it himself. Then I won’t have the items I need for dinner. I try to get him to cook for us, and I’ll do his hated chore of the dishes…but he won’t. Unless I buy all the ingredients for a gourmet dinner (he wants to cook with food items that I’ve never even heard of before, or that cost a fortune!).

Food…a driving force for life. It’s driving us crazy.

One thing I’m going to do is to have him bag up all the clothes in his room, drive him to a laundromat, load him up with quarters, and leave him there until the job is done.

Then while he’s gone, steam clean the carpet in his room. It stinks in there.

Let him get a taste of the ‘real life’…as in, this is probably how you’ll do laundry when you move out on your own.

It’s the adult way of life, dude. It’s doubtful you’ll find an affordable apartment with a washer and dryer in it. Spending hours washing and folding and waiting. Should I warn him to take a book?

The same damn week. Cannot remember the last time any of my kids’ spring breaks and mine occurred the same week. Now it will be a week of Buck and I home together. My fire, his gasoline. No, reverse that. He’s the one that’s been playing with fire.

We might kill each other.

I think I might stay at the other house. Have a vacation away from everyone.

If BR gets the internet up there. He’ll be escaping there when Princess No comes home for her Spring Break, bringing home a friend from college.

A girl friend. Which is why BR is going to the other house. With Buck. Because having Buck around two cute college girls is just not a good thing right now.

When did life get so complicated?

*************************

And, oh yeah, when BR is gone at night, I do lock my door when it’s just me and Buck. Makes me sad.

And now I need to stop.

“See??” he said, turning around and pulling up the back of his pants legs. “They have springs! Now I can run and jump very fast!”

I acknowledged that would indeed help him at recess.

“And see what else?” He turned back to face me again and pulled up the front hem of his pants, showing me the velcro across the front. “I don’t have to tie anything! I have strap-ons!”

Oh my god, you folks, surely I get to skip Purgatory for not laughing my ass off at some of the things these kids say!!!

When Buck was very young, younger than five, his favorite toy was ‘Green Baby’. His egg-donor had won the stuffed dinosaur (or was it a dragon? I can’t remember now) out of a claw machine (yes, she does have a gambling problem). But Buck loved Green Baby. Took it everywhere with him, slept with it, typical little kid stuff.

Well, being that it was won out of machine, Green Baby was not well-made. While the boys were down from Utah for a visit, one of Green Baby’s seams split. I sewed it up for him. He went around telling everyone I had fixed it for him. He told his egg-donor and her twisted mother on the phone about my fixing up Green Baby. Apparently after they returned to Utah, he again told his Utah relatives about my fixing the stuffed toy. They went on their own vacation then (because those twisted people had to always show that they were the more ‘fun’ family to be with). And one morning in a motel room along the way, little Buck woke up and couldn’t find Green Baby. Mom and Grandma told him that Green Baby had ‘run away’. They had probably got tired of hearing Buck tell how I had fixed it.

Anything we sent up there was destroyed. The golf club BR bought for Goob disappeared…Mom said she had to use it to beat up a burglar that had broken into the house, and the club got blood on it and had to be thrown away. Costumes that I made for the boys ‘disappeared’ a la Green Baby. Goob was dressed up by his mom as a ‘ho’. All the while that sick family kept doing fun activities, skiing, camping, snowmobiling, going on vacations, flying with Grandpa…”See, we’re the better family that loves you most because we do all these fun things with you.” Except Buck didn’t always get to go…Often he would be left at BR’s parents’ home, while the older Goob and their younger half-sibling got to go. And Buck had a speech delay that his bitch-mother did nothing to treat.

So even despite all the shit Buck has given us, I can’t completely give up. His mother has abandoned him in favor of a registered sex offender, he feels less intelligent than the other kids, he can’t express himself easily…even though he has done stuff that I *know* is morally and ethically wrong…I can’t let go just yet.

If I do…it’s like letting that cock-juggling thunder-c**t win. Yes, that’s a vulgar term…and one that’s almost too good for her. She’s a pathetic excuse for a human being, and I wouldn’t piss on her if she was on fire.

But right now…Buck still has a chance. He still has a chance. So I must keep trying.

He reveled in my time ‘away’ from him. Didn’t have to do anything.

But I sat back and watched him become even less of a decent person…a very self-serving egocentric and shallow person. Continually leaving messes, spending all his time at his friend’s house, and even going off on a school activity without signed permission. Spending all his time on his school computer playing games.

I can’t let that happen while he’s in our house. I will not allow him to fail himself like that while he’s under our roof. And he is so desperately failing himself, even though he thinks he’s some kind of demi-god.

But I can’t let it be the confrontational situation it was before. Previously, I would expect him to know his regular set of chores and do them in a timely manner. He would put things off for days, because he won’t act on or of his own accord. Now, I will simply tell him to do whatever chore it is. I’m leaving a list for him at his table, with assigned times (since time management is very, very hard for him). I don’t expect him to read and follow it. But he will know what’s coming when I tell him to do it. And I will strive to do so matter-of-factly. The ‘kill ‘em with kindness’ approach, if you will. I will not allow him to rattle me. I will stay in control, or walk away if necessary. Well, last night I did splatter him with water from the dishrag when he used the ‘f’ word around me.

But I have to have expectations of him like he’s about 8 or 9. He refuses to be responsible because ‘we are holding it against him what he did in the past’, so therefore, he doesn’t have to prove it now. (FWIW, the past few years he’s progressed from saying vulgar things to girls to showing porn to them to sending pics over a cell phone to trying to arrange to have sex with a girl in a room at the church…all without showing a single bit of remorse…just anger at being caught.)

That’s fine, Buck. But now you’re grounded. No going to your friend’s house, no cell phone, no extra-curricular ROTC. And yes, Buck, I’ve already contacted your ROTC commander and told him this. Even though he is a doofus, the commander has offered tutoring on Mondays. It’s up to you to take it. And oh, the IT department at your school will be getting me a log of what you’ve REALLY been accessing during school hours…like that chat session with a classmate…no wonder your grades keep dropping. Girls will only get you in trouble.

Also, no school computer at home unless it’s directly for school work. We’ll get to the state of your room another time. Not going through that battle right now.

I will try this approach for a week or so. See how he progresses. He can stubbornly go to his room for a grounding and just sit there for days if not weeks, doing nothing. Seriously, he can do that. Okay, then, Buck.

Just 15 months and then he’ll (hopefully) graduate. But you know, if his egg-donor shows up, I think BR would let him go. That’s sad…but if he is truly that unremorseful, he is his mother’s child all over again. The blatant stealing and lying…it’s his mother’s way of life, too.

But I have 15 months to hope for him. God bless his angry little soul.

I just hope the next one isn’t named ‘Peter’.

Why, may you ask?

Oh, because of the prophecies.

The prophecies that were outlined by a bishop named Malachy. If what he said was true, then Benedict is the next to last Pope.

The next one supposedly would be ‘Peter’, and he would be the last Pope.

And then *blam* the end of the city of Rome.

One of the possibilities to be the next Pope is a Cardinal from Africa.

Peter Turkson. That’s right. ‘Peter’.

So, what’s in a name? He’ll just take a new name as Pope anyway.

And what could possibly destroy the whole city of Rome?

Hmmm…a nuke could, right?

But why would someone do that?

Maybe an angry Muslim.

Angry at a new Pope who once said that ‘a theological dialogue’ with Islam is ‘impossible’. Who at a conference once showed a video that could be deemed ‘anti-Islamic’.

Okay, okay, okay. Don’t call the people with the nice white, self-hugging coats. The Church itself doesn’t espouse or endorse the prophecies. I think a lot of the individual lines of the prophecies can be ‘made to fit’ the circumstances and descriptions of post as needed.

But…it does make one wonder.

When they get back to the room, the teacher finally gets a chance to look at his paperwork and realizes…he’s in the wrong class. He should be in a SECOND grade classroom. So she sends him off to the correct class…where they are just lining up for THEIR class picture. So yep, he’s in a second class picture. In another grade level.

So when people look at the yearbook, the question will be…was he promoted? Or bumped down? I think we should make it a yearbook event…have teachers send kids to be in other class pictures, and do a kind of ‘find Waldo’. Might increase the yearbook sales.

As I’ve mentioned before, I don’t expect Buck to do the dishes anymore. I make him wash his own, if he uses them outside of the dish-washing time I am doing them.

But tonight I cut my finger preparing dinner, so I told him he would have to do them.

OMG…you should have seen the homework he had to do all of a sudden. He whipped open his computer and has been working furiously. Well, appearing to work furiously.

Finally, after about two hours of his switching between screens (didn’t see him typing, just looking at school-type work), I told him to take care of the dishes and then go back to doing homework.

What do you want to bet that there is no more homework after the dishes are done?

Nah, I can’t take your money like that.

Not watching the Super Bowl…heard the lights just went out anyway.

Getting ready to go see Mrs. Goob in a couple of weeks before she leaves for the sand box. That gives me a sad.

Found out that the musical ‘Wicked’ will be coming to New Orleans in late May. Got very, very excited until I found out the nosebleed section starts at $87…the seats I’d love to have (not front row, but not way in the back either) are $200.

*sigh*

Can’t afford that…plus the travel over there and the night’s stay that would be involved.

*sigh*

The gravity of Obamanomics is keeping me from doing a lot of things.

First, let me say until today, I had NEVER heard the song below the fold. Very familiar with the group ‘Soft Cell’…and if you’re any child of the 80s, you can sing every line of their song ‘Tainted Love’. And there I was, driving to work today, when I saw the group’s name on the satellite radio display. With the song name ‘Sex Dwarf’.

Whatthehell???? I sure as hell don’t remember that song. I rarely got to purchase records as a child…we couldn’t afford it. So if it wasn’t on the radio, I didn’t know a band’s other songs.

And growing up in the Bible-thumping area I did, if this song had EVER gotten airtime, there would have been hellfire and brimstone called down just after the tar and featherings of ANYone who would have dared played that song.

So when I finally got home tonight, I had to youtube ‘Sex Dwarf’.

Oh.

My.

God.

Apparently, the FIRST video for this song was confiscated by police. The second one had a nice transvestite symphony orchestra.

But the original one…let’s see…combine S&M and bondage and Dexter and cannibalism and oh, yeah, a dwarf, of course.

On youtube, I found two videos for ‘Sex Dwarf’. The first is the original ‘banned’ version. And no, I didn’t exaggerate in the description above. So it’s NSFW!!!!!! Ever, ever, ever!!!!!!!

But the second video for the song…is even worse.  I would let my kids watch the first one before they ever got to watch the second one.  And in the second one, if you make it that far, please tell me WTH the green one is doing with the flower!!!!  Wait, wait, wait, I don’t want to know.

Just don’t watch them right before you go to sleep.  I wouldn’t want to be responsible for your having any Kafka dreams.

(*Tyrion, the coolest dwarf to have ever existed…yes, I’ve finally gotten into Game of Thrones.)

THE ORIGINAL ‘BANNED’ VIDEO:

THE EVEN WORSE VIDEO:

The house still needs a lot work. It was a fixer-upper when we bought it, but one month after we bought it the shit hit the fan. We spent over $35,000.00 in court costs to save those boys…so there went the repairs. We went without to send all four kids to parochial school…never had a new car until the Mustang, and that was only with trading in the paid-off nearly new car we inherited from BR’s m-i-l AND trading in his beloved Harley. I haven’t really bought new clothes and shoes until I had absolutely no alternative (meaning shoes fell apart or clothes were too washed-out to wear outside the house).

I loved this house. I loved its potential. I loved the thought of retiring in it. Quiet neighborhood, space for a garden should I want one, lots of possibilities for landscaping, space to put a mother-in-law house should my mom need it…

But now…now it’s past the point of no return. The ugliness the house has witnessed has outbalanced the joys we had.

The camel has collapsed.

But to Buck, it looks dead. So he chopped it down. My favorite little tree in the yard, that gets these wonderful, tiny white blossoms in the spring. The tree softens the back corner of the yard.

Or…it did.

Apparently, ‘clearing around the fence top about six inches for the electric fence line’ means chopping down every damn small tree and sapling…even if it’s on the neighbor’s side of the fence.

Fuck.