Maker of lists

Reasons why I enjoy being no-longer-married:

1. I can lie down sideways on my bed.
2. Nobody gives me any shit for my love of "Dance Moms."  Except Beanie, but the hell with him.
3. Toilet paper lives ON the roll.
4. Speaking of toilet paper, we go through like half as much as we used to go through.  I DO NOT KNOW WHY.
5. On nights when the big kid has youth group, I only have to really feed the baby, since I'm not huge on eating, anyway.  So bologna sandwiches!
6. Back to the bathroom, only girls use my bathroom.  FAR LESS WIPING DOWN OF THE TOILET.
7. Wine.
8. Seven o'clock damn well is bedtime, if I say it is.
9. 1/2 the laundry.  None of it smells like Not-House-of-Pancakes.
10. Old friends.  Some of whom may or may not be male.  All of whom really do make me smile.
11. I can hang up any god damn art where I choose.
12. My groceries now live where they ought.
13. TWO CLOSETS.
14. If I want a lighter, there is likely to be one in my pocket.  And in my purse.  And in my car.
15. Pretty undies?  Sure.  Pretty jammies?  Oh, fuck that. 
16. Girls, you want to talk on the phone, you just call me.  Some boy will want my attention, but I can prioritize differently, now.
17. Beanie knows how to use the grill, so it's all good.
18. Corn without butter.
19. No leftover clam chowder in the sink.  Ick.
20. Socks are all in the hampers.  ALL of them.

Things I can do without:

1. Killing bugs.  I can do this, but it sucks.
2. Putting gas in the car.  It sucks.
3. Paying the bills.  It sucks.
4. Fixing broken shit.  Like doorknobs.  Sucks.
5. Better not puke.  Nobody to hold my hair.

I think I'll keep working on this list.  I'll update it as I think of things. 

Reading Rainbow

Have I mentioned that I like to read?  No?  Yes.  I also like to do jigsaw puzzles and knit.  Fuck off.  You have dirty little secrets, too.

Well, so back to reading.

I just recently read, and it took me once trying and giving up, but this time I stuck it out, but anyway, so yeah.  I recently read Oil! and you know what?  I did NOT hate it.  I'm not going to say it was my favorite book ever, but it didn't dry me out like the Sahara this time, and I actually found myself caring about the characters.  A little bit.  Which is fine, because I don't think Upton Sinclair cared about them, either, he was just using them as a vessel to get his politics on the paper.  It's all good, Upton.  Why you think I blog?

Anyway, at the end of it, I was dis-settled and I wanted something neater, with a happier ending, all tied up like a bow, or so I thought.  So, I picked up an old favorite that I have, literally, read a hundred times or so.  Pride and Prejudice (without zombies, this time).  I KNOW how this book ends, and so I cruised right along.  Picked up a few things I had missed before, even.

And then, you know what?  I started to get right to the end, right where Bingley and Jane work it out, and then Darcy, and...  I put it away. 

I KNOW.

Because, you know what?  Who gives a shit if Elizabeth and Darcy both get over their damn selves and see eye to eye?  Who gives a shit if Lydia DID get engaged?  NOBODY, that's who.  Whom.

Fuck it, Austen.  You are unrealistic and quite silly to me now, and I don't want to read you, so there.  SO THERE.

Meanwhile, I had begun an audiobook, as I do, and it's a Steven King book called 11-22-63, and my expectations were low, but... it's actually perfect.  A little dark, a little creepy, a tiny bit fantastic, and mostly, just pretty good.  Not too much lovey dovey (thanks be to St. Barf-olomew) and a good bit of history, which, you know, Nerdette over here loves.

So there you go.  I have hence come to the conclusion that Steven King is the perfect read for divorcing smart girl people.

Additionally, I'm reading Dracula, because if I'm not reading a classic at all times, I feel wrong.

Books mother-effing rock.

cheese it

Dear America,

I did something new yesterday.  I went to mediation.  Mediation.

I was really, really scared.  The kind of scared that makes tears get all up in your eyes, even though you know that is STUPID SHUT UP DON'T CRY, but, good lord.

Anyway.

We were mediated, at least partially (oh, joy, I probably get to do it again.  Yippee.  Fucker.)  and I am done (for now) and I didn't cry (BOOM) and I survived.

But I didn't like it.

I really am inclined to make fun of some of the things that happened there, but my heart's not in it.  Not yet, anyway.

So let's talk about something else.  Cheese.

My baby has decided he is not a fan of cheese.  HOW CAN THIS BE?  Because, well, I love cheese.  A lot.

And you.  I love you too.  Redheaded or otherwise.

Accounts PAYABLE, MAN

1.  So we have this "bookkeeper," and I use that term loosely because I know for a fact that she has never been to college and thus is certainly NOT an accountant.  Furthermore, she sucks.  BUT, she is really a nice, sweet, and smart lady, she just doesn't give a shit, so she does whatever she wants.  Which, you know, is lame.

So here's the thing.  I have not the best history with handling my personal finances so much, but... I am one mean motherfucker when it comes to accounting.  You know, at the work.  I love it.  LOVE LOVE LOVE it, and I am a hardass and I make everything BALANCE.

Except that one time, when I missed a million dollars on an accrual, but man... who cares.  That was at a company where a million dollars was Not That Big of a Deal and I didn't lose my job, so.  Yeah.  Doesn't count.

Anyway, at my current place d'emploi, I have proven to be a better bookkeepr than our actual one, in that I know how to work Quickbooks and show up more frequently than once every two or three weeks.  And that I care. 

Thing is, we pay this lady like $50 an hour or some such nonsense.  I have told the Boss Person that I will be happy to do her responsibilities, thus saving us like $350 each month, but... don't you think that some of that bank ought to be rolled over to my pocket?  Just saying...

So we will see.  In the meantime, four days a week (minimum), I am the go-to gal for the finances 'round here.  And I do a kickass job.

2.  What the fuck is Pinterest?  Everybody keeps talking about it, and I have one and stuff, but holy crap, y'all, do I find that boring.  Um, so it's a place where I can keep recipes?  Thanks, but the recipes I cook with are printed right there on the box, so I'm good.

And some of my lovely friends have admitted an addiction to pinterest, and I just don't get it.  I love you people, but... I don't really need the recipes.

Now, if it was only funny cat pictures, we would be in luck.

Old Old Old Lady

Know what is TOTALLY hot?  Runners.  Running girls, with sweaty ponytails, mismatched running clothes, a band of plastic strapped around their chest (that's for the heart rate monitor), a plastic watch (it's a Garmin, shut up.)

No, no, I am not going to pretend I am running again, but... I have run 1.69 miles each day for the last two days.  And that stupid watch thinks I ought to be hitting 9 minute miles (For.  Real.) so I've actually really been trying hard.  To hit 12 minute miles, which is much more my speed.  Literally.

And this is the antithesis to what I would prefer to be doing, which is either playing Wii Jeopardy (the only show I miss on tv.) or working on my puzzle.  Holy eff, I am 100 years old.

At any rate, so yeah, I've been running.  Ish.  I'd like to see what kind of distance I can get up to, but I'm still struggling with figuring out when to run.  I could run after work, but then the kids don't eat until seven.  Or, I could run after supper, but I'm so tirrrrrred.  Wah fucking wah, hunh?

So the watch was my Big Christmas Present, and it's pretty great.  I also got some books, some money, some gift cards.  Good stuff.  A donut maker, and that's sort of unexpected, but it's red, ergo, cute.

The Russian contingency is BACK and I'm super pysched, but I haven't seen them yet or snuggled my new nephew (who is, apparently, rather snuggly) so that sort of sucks, but I'm a few short days of getting that fixed.  Come on, Saturday!

And I have nothing else, which means, time for kittens!  WAIT NO - look, this is my favorite dog in the whole wide world (except my gay boyfriend's dog, Bradley, because he is family.):

Giver of Cheer. Receiver of Cheer, actually.

I have had a truly remarkable week.  After being propositioned by a (perhaps) Indian man on Monday, it has only gone uphill.

A boy told me that he thinks I'm pretty, which, you know?  Definitely a nice thing to hear.  Definitely the highlight of my week.

Other than all that, we had our choir Christmas party and we had band practice, and the artist formerly known as my husband and I are legally separated and that's GOOD BUT WEIRD TOO, and his mom has Doodlebug but she is bringing him to me today, so that's good, too.

It's just weird.

But anyway, today was Christmas-at-work day, and I got some nice, nice things:
1) A new rosary (nicer than the one I bought myself, and good nuns have multiples, so I'm in good shape.)
2) Two candles
3) An ornament
4) A big, fabulous LSU hoodie.  FREAKING LOVE IT.
5) A gift certificate to Applebees, about which I am a little meh, because, you know?  yuck.  Applebees.  But still, free meal.
6) A few other little things from my friends.

I have nice friends at work.  Makes me happy.

The good stuff starts tomorrow, and I'm excited.  Christmas is my favorite.  For real.

I'll fill you in later.

In the meantime, Happy Christmas Adam, Eve tomorrow, and glorious day on Saturday.

Receptionist, or... hooker, it would seem

I wear a lot of different hats at my place d'emploi.  I am the HR girl, the Finance girl, the shredder girl, the IT girl, you name it.  I also answer the phones.

Now, please note, we have a handful of full time staff, including several office people and then four guys that work out in the hall (it's a big place.)

We also hire part timers, usually to work nights and weekends, when we have events.  Because that's what we do at my work. 

So last summer, we hired this girl, I'll call her Brittany (because that is her name.)  Pretty much immediately after we hired her, she started getting called by what I can only guess is a bill collector that has been outsourced to a call center in the middle east somewhere.  I'm guessing India.

I took a message for Brittany once or twice, but then I told them that this was not a good number for her, she can't take calls here, etc.  Bastards were persistent, and they called back several more times, and I was emphatic that they May Not Call Here anymore.  And eventually, they stopped calling.

Note, Brittany does not work here any more.

Okay, so yesterday?  I answer the phone, and HEY LOOK BRITTANY IS BACK ON THEIR SHIT LIST.  So this happened:

"Hello, may I please speak to Britt-i-an-ee?"

"Let me speak to your boss."

"Why?"

!

"That's none of your business!"

There was a pause, and then,

"Hello, this is boss"

(hi, Peggy.)

"Listen.  I have told you that you cannot call here anymore, you cannot reach Brittany at this number.  She does not even work here any more."

"Look.  I am going to call you as much as I want to.  What is it that you are going to do about it?"

"I am going to CALL THE POLICE."

"Well, I want to fuck you."

!

"What?"

"Yeah, I want to fuck you.  What is it that you are going to do about it?"

"Don't ever call here again."

And I hung up the phone.

O.  M.  G.  WHAT is that???  WHO does that? 

Unfortunately, there is no caller ID for me to report to the po po, and I don't even know they name of the company, so no good is to come of this and I cannot really report this without any of that information, but...  I really, really hope they call back.

I also am kicking my own ass because I didn't respond with "Really?  Because I usually only like to fuck your holy precious cows."

Or at the very least, "Oh?  What are you wearing?  A sari?  Me TOO!"

God, I swear.

And yes, there is a teensy part of me that totally went, inside my head, "Mama's still got it going on."