May 13th, 2009 | 20 Comments »

I had a TMI post all written about how Herman got his name, but then I recalled two things:

  • I had stupidly sent emails to the people where I do my banking (Hi! wonderful banking people!) that contained a link to my blog in the sig line. Since they have met me in person, I knew they would associate that post with me every time they saw me.
  • I had promised Kelley, who is having blog problems, a guest post, even though I, myself, have been posting maybe once a week. But I love her and she is all kinds of the awesome, so someday, Kelley will let you know about Herman. He has a twitter account, really.

Did you know it was mercury retrograde? Consider yourself warned. Back up your data. Expect miscommunications, misunderstandings, and old issues to resurface. Travel plans, especially short term travel plans, are certain to be a fool’s errand.

I am embarking on a fool’s errand tomorrow. I was supposed to leave today for a sibling type reunion, but hello?? Merc retro.

A client had insinuated herself into my life because she was hurting so much. I didn’t give much thought to the fact that she had ABSOLUTELY NO EMOTIONAL SUPPORT. (She had alienated everyone else in her life. Hah! How smart was I? But, she was suffering. She really had some terrible things happen in her life.)

As a result, I worked less hours (logged on) than usual to accommodate her many visits, even though I was trying to collect enough hours to take a week off. (I need to be firmer with my boundaries)

Then last week, (full moon in scorpio, uh oh) she showed up (while I was logged on) and proceeded to berate me with all the crazy ways that I was not BEING HER FRIEND. (Did I mention boundaries?) How does a client I felt sorry for become a friend? A “friend” that gets extremely unhinged if you don’t meet her needs in the way that she wants them met? I would say see a therapist, but a therapist has those pesky boundaries where you have to actually make an appointment, and can’t just drop in to dump all your shit on because you have been dwelling and DWELLING on it and cannot stand it another minute unless you share the misery RIGHT NOW.

After placing the entire blame on ME for her being so stressed she had to take a leave of absence from her work, she stormed out. Great. It usually takes me about three days for my energy field to clear itself after such an intense encounter. I was useless to work. So, I took a mini stress leave, because I didn’t feel I could serve my clients properly.

That might have been over and done with, but she wasn’t finished with the demands. By email. My refusal to meet these demands were met with vicious assaults on my character and psychic abilities. I had to block her email and instruct her not to call or drop in ever again.

I don’t know why I let her upset me so much, but I continued to be unable to work. I was planning for last week to be a humdinger, so I could make up for the week I was planning to take off to visit with siblings a short journey away. (Siblings and short journeys are third house matters, which are ruled by Mercury, which is retrograde.)

Now I don’t have the reserve funds to travel that I had, and am trying to contact my brother, Dizzee, who I cannot reach by phone. We are supposed to meet up at Skinny Bitch’s place, and we can travel to the gathering together, then afterwards, he and his long-lost daughter, Hidden Treasure, will come to my place to visit, driving me home. Except I can’t reach him to determine if he will be also travelling with another brother, Mr. Trick and his daughter, Cutie Pie,in which case there would be no room. Mr. Trick is not answering his phone either. Damn you, merc retro!

April 7th, 2009 | 25 Comments »

When I was about eleven years old, my Grammie and Grampie came to stay with us because of proximity to a first-rate hospital, which wasn’t available in our little pissant hometown. The hometown that I dearly love.

Grampie had had a heart attack in his mid-fifties. We weren’t supposed to jump out of nowhere and go “Boo!” because that might get his heart all wonky. This was revealed to me after several such incidents.

He was also very superstitious. I tortured him by raising an umbrella inside the house. I’m sure he was freaking out all day (now that I consider it. I was a total arsehole then, and considered nothing) That same day, I fell through the ice at recess, while playing on the forbidden lake, and hid this from Grampie, so he wouldn’t say “I told you so.”

But the nicest way I killed my Grampie was at mealtime. We had to stay seated at the table until our plates were cleaned. There were only two things I absolutely could not gag down. Liver. And cabbage. I never did make friends with liver.

Grampie, because of his heart condition, was not allowed chicken skin. Thus, the bargaining would begin. I would cleverly hide my chicken skin under the heaps of cabbage on my plate, and we would both eat very slowly. Everyone else was excused from the table. Grampie was left to supervise the cabbage consumption. My Grampie would wait until the coast was clear, and eat my cabbage for me, to reveal the forbidden chicken skin underneath.

Oh, how we rubbed our hands together in conspiratorial glee that we had foiled the food police together!

Unfortunately, Grampie died while staying with us. Another heart attack.

I miss him.

And I still save the chicken skin for him.

It’s the least I can do.

March 26th, 2009 | 12 Comments »

Has anyone ever used the stealth method of parenting? Dances With Shrapnel still holds this one against me:

witchypoo: Time for bed.

DWS: But I’m not tired.

witchypoo: It’s DARK out. (It was winter, dark came at 5:00pm)

or

witchypoo: Eat your corn.

DWS: I don’t like it.

witchypoo? Are you kidding? Did you know if you eat lots of corn, you can see it in your poop the next day?

DWS: Really? (wide eyes as he contemplates the thrill of seeing corn in his poop)

March 24th, 2009 | 17 Comments »

I know you’re thinking the usual way, and you would be partly right.

As soon as the wedding cleanup was done with, my first husband and I immediately began to receive pressure from his parents to make them grandparents.

We had other concerns, like travel, non-stop sex, and naked housework. You know, things that would make the marriage kind of fun. You’re welcome.

About two years after the ceremony, we were discussing the issue in bed, where all friendly talks are held, IMHO.

We decided that we would discontinue the birth control and see what happened.

The husband removed the birth control dispenser from the nightstand and flung it out the window. All without even getting out of bed. Awesome.

The next day I bought feminine supplies in bulk because they were on sale. Guaranteed to bring on a pregnancy.

They didn’t get used for about 40 weeks.

Later that very same week, I felt something different while performing the marital duties. Something more than the usual “the earth moved”. I just knew that we had conceived Dances With Shrapnel at that very moment. Wasn’t expecting it quite so soon.

I had a repeat of the same feeling when I conceived Ass Burger Boy. Right after going off the birth control. Also? Right after buying feminine supplies in bulk because they were on sale.

Fuh-reaky.

For those who are having difficulty conceiving, I’m sorry. For those who puke your guts out, I only barfed once in each pregnancy. I’m a freak of nature.

March 18th, 2009 | 15 Comments »
  • Ass Burger Boy has a job. With his first paycheck, he wanted to buy a new camera. I offered to buy his web cam to help him achieve his goal. He negotiated with me, just because he wanted to use his skills. So I paid $65 for something I have never used, and don’t really care to, so he could have his camera. And? He was $15 short after tax. That’s $80.
  • He used up the batteries in one freaking day.
  • This led to a frantic search for rechargeable batteries. Our charger did not work with these batteries. Our charger worked with a particular type of battery that is no longer available. $80 down the tubes.
  • He found another charger, plus batteries. With a replacement warranty plan. Another $112.
  • So he’s into me for about $130. Which was comforting when I went to buy a box of wine and discovered that there was not enough in the account to cover it. I wasn’t using my cash, so I did without. Even though the pain of tromping the freaking mall left me gasping.
  • I was thinking I might get domestic chores out of him in recompense, but it doesn’t look good. Once he gets what he wants, it seems what he agreed to do for it becomes unimportant.
  • I will get $60 back next pay, so I negotiated that I could share use of the camera for the remainder. So far, it has not left his grasping hands.
  • I wanted an image of my blog post idea notebook, and he was to take the image for me. It wasn’t readable. He suggested I use my scanner.
  • I had to explain all of these points to him since he was mystified as to why I was a tad cranky with him.
Posted in Ass Burger Boy