No Poop Here!

I surprised myself today; this is how:

Boy has had swimming lessons all week. The Y is running a program for free, so I'm all up in it. Yesterday Boy experienced a huge leap in his confidence around water. What did he do with this gift? Why, go in the deep end without any floating device actually attached to him. With a floaty barbell and some flippers he heads for a good place to DROWN. I'm watching from the observation deck. I'm really starting to worry. Just when I'm ready to bust out the window the swimming teacher catches him and suggests a floaty belt for these hijinks.

Ahhhhh....

Later, Boy jumps in the shallow end for a few last minute maneuvers. These are marketed as a chance for me to see what he can do, but actually serve to keep him in the pool for every last possible second. Another boy begins a game of chase. The other boy, WEARING A FLOATY BELT, aims for the deep water. Boy pursues him on a floaty bar. I yell at boy and tell him to get his non-swimming butt back in the shallow end. He turns around. He puts the barbell under his chin in a "Look Ma, no hands!" posture. The barbell goes Shloop! right out from under him and lands just out of reach. He utters one desperate "Help!"...we will now follow events in slow motion....

I think I have to save him.

In dumb-ass-mode I go to put my wallet and keys down, as if they'd cease to exist if they got wet, or as if I would care....

The two life guards are already at the edge of the pool.

I get ready to jump in and wade over. It is taking SOO LONG for me to get in the water!

One of them dives and pops up right next to him.

This all happened so fast Boy didn't even go under.

This freaked me out. Really a lot. Way more than Boy. Later that day I retold the story to Loon. I then told her about shocked I was that Boy had NO FEAR OF DEATH! Loon looked askance at me. She said there was no real reason to worry that Boy would drown in a pool surrounded by lifeguards. She said I should encourage Boy's risk taking, if not his rule breaking.

She is right. I realize she is right. I also realize that Boy could DIE in any pool anywhere. He could. People do. Ok, so this maybe a little teensy bit irrational. If you don't have kids, just wait- someday you will grow an irrational fear of your own.

At today's swimming lessons Boy learned to swim. Just like that. Now, I'm not saying he'll win the Olympics or anything, but he has made a sudden progression to a level where motion results from his movements. I was so excited. We decided there must be more swimming in celebration of his physical feat. It was supposed to be raining today, so we decided just to go back to the Y.

This is where I surprised myself...I had so much fun with Boy. Real fun, not the kind of fake fun you have when you're doing something for your kid that you really hate doing. He's never playd Marco Polo before, so we played that. We goofed around. I taught him all my best splashing and squirting techniques. We played with floaty balls. I taught him to do that thing where he stands on your shoulders, then you stand up real quick and throw him. I just plain threw him. It was SO FREAKIN FUN. Just me and him. There was no way for him to get into trouble, there was no one else to argue with. We didn't have to put on sunscreen (he hates that, but we're way too wonder-bread not to). It was perfect.

On the way home we sang to some downloaded tunes like "Fish Heads" and "Happy happy joy joy". They were all new to him and he thought they were soooo funny. We had a hoot.

ASIDE:

I have resisted exercise. Someone told me every year that you don't exercise your metabolism slows four percent. My body has recently been presenting a nice demonstration of this. My weight is not changing; composition is. The effect is like unto what would happen if I were made of wax and started to melt.

Actually, in some regards I have been pleased, never really having an ass before, or a "pot" (remember Pulp Fiction?). Then today I went to get into my swim suit. Same swim suit as last year- drastically different look.

I have decided I will exercise now, ass or no ass.

Poop

Boy story for the day:

Crazy/Loon run a daycare, did you know that? Today I helped Crazy take the kids to a restaurant for lunch. Boy had a chance to get ice cream, but chose not to.

?

This immediately makes me think he's going to barf, because what other reason is there to not eat ice cream?

Boy says he's just tired. Then he asks where the bathroom is.

After he walks away, Crazy decides she'll leave with the kids she brought. I help her clean them up. Boy still isn't back. I help her pack them up. Boy still isn't back. I go to the mens' bathroom, stick my head in and ask if he's alright. He replys, in a rather irritated tone of voice, that he's just fine. All her children are packed up and gone, and he's still not back.... when I'm about to go gangbusters right up in there, out he comes just as pretty as you please.

I ask what he's been doing. He says "I was reading. There was graffiti on the wall- somebody wrote 'My dick rules' and"

There you have it. Boy was not puking, being raped or showering in a urinal...no, he was catching up on some light reading.

Another potty story:

So one of their kids had to go to the bathroom, but he came running out saying "There's a large amount of water! There's so much water it just chased me right out of there!" This is a funnier story if you keep in mind he's three. Then, after it's all cleaned up, he looked at me and said "Well, that was a drag."

Potty story the Third (Are you noticing a trend?)

So Crazy decides that what the kids need is homemade playdoh. She procedes to make a perfectly good batch of the gloppy goodness. When faced with the task of choosing a color, she decided that purple was the way to go. She had red and blue, which, when mixed, made chocolate brown. This was alright by me, because I noticed the resemblance the mixture had to poop. There is little that amuses me and my son as much as making realistic playdoh turds. It would amuse you too, admit it.

Ok, I promise to get off my poop jag. The next entry will have no poop in it what-so-ever.

Nothing's Shocking

Have you ever wanted to do something shocking just for the hell of it, just to see what would happen? Something silly for no real reason. Like, if I had a nice two-melon ass instead of a white-woman-peach butt, I'd like to go into a nudey bar some night, drop my drawers and lay a big ole' log right on the floor.Then I'd zip up my pants and walk out.

Bet that would raise a few eyebrows. Can you imagine what would happen after I'd left?

"Did you see that!?" "Dude! Some chick just took a crap on the floor!" "Nice ass!"

Of course, I'd never do that, mostly 'cause it's not fair to the person who'd have to clean it up. Also, I would have crusty butt, having not wiped. Makes me giggle to imagine it though.

Or what if I walked right into a men's rest room, stood in front of a urinal and whizzed. Hee hee.

I have less grandiose ideas too, ones that don't involve elimination... like licking a complete stranger's ice cream, or giving a speech with my skirt tucked into my panty-hose in back just to see if anyone would tell me.

One time Loon and I were fixing caramel apples in the kitchen and I noticed how the caramel looked JUST like earwax, so I got a q-tip and dipped it in, then went into the other room and started a conversation while I pretended to clean my ear. When the moment was right I pulled out the chunky q-tip, licked it, and went right on talking. Hee hee hee... of course, the people present knew me well enough to know something was up, but it was funny none-the-less.

Today I am all about hyphens, have you noticed?

The Scary Boat Ride

I tried and tried to add an entry about my trip to AuntieM's, but every time I do the computer pukes before I can load it. Loon and I decided the only thing to do is to type it up else where and paste it in. At first I thought that it would be a good thing to write the same entry more than once. Instead of getting better and better I think it gets worse from wear.

So, as I was trying and trying to say, I had a very interesting visit up north. Ben wanted to go out on the lake, and having gotten permission we headed out for a three-hour tour. Please keep in mind this was the second time I had been captainess of a vessel. We began by having the first mate (Read that as "Boy") row us out. This event was somewhat complicated by the fact I was only familiar with going places frontwards. When I gave directions I was expecting the front of the boat to go the way I was pointing. It was with some befuddlement that the first mate got it through my head that the Back of the boat goes first. At least it does when he rows. Later on he tried it my way and decided going frontwards isn't half bad. Soon thereafter he decided he was Done rowing. He asked if he could get in the water.

Let's have a peek inside my head, shall we? "This can't be a good idea, can it? I mean, he is wearing a life jacket, so he wouldn't drown. And the water isn't deep. And I'd be right here. What a pain it is to get in and out of a boat, but then I guess it would be a pain for me. He probly wouldn't care, he'd be so happy to be in the water. Of course, there are icky slimy huge leviathan unseen creatures down in the brown, cold layer your toes can just reach, but if I don't tell him about them he may never imagine them and manage to grow up a sane man who'll swim in lakes...."

I answers "Ok."

Boy climbs in. His face registers a moment of fear as he slides into the water, then relief as the life jacket does its job. He paddles his arms.

Suddenly he realizes the boat is drifting ever-so-slightly away. He tries to swim towards the boat, but he really hasn't learned anything about swimming in swim class, and he's not getting anywhere. Now his face is all about fear. I'm talking to him the whole time. I'm telling him I wouldn't leave him there. I tell him I'm bringing the boat around. I tell him to hang on, he's alright. He obviously doesn't hear a word I say. He's begging me to get him. "Mom, come get me!" "Mom, don't leave me!"

Now That's a heart breaker.

I did get the boat within his arm's reach, after a maneuver that briefly looked as if I was going farther away. He grabbed onto the edge and..... was fine. Didn't want to get in the boat, just wanted to be sure he could reach the boat.

?

I mean really, would I leave my kid in the middle of the lake?

So now that the crisis is avoided he does a one-armed shimmy down one side of the boat, up an oar, down an oar and back.

At this point the thought occurs to him that there is no elevator, crane, ladder or magic wand to put him back in the boat. Worry begins to rear its head again. Amidst his pleas to "Get me, Mom" I reach, haul, drag, yank, pull and heave him back into the boat. His reaction?

"Cool, can I get back in?"

Believe it or not, I let him. After the three minutes it took for him to become a Popsicle he asked to go through re-entry again, to which I replied that this was THE LAST TIME I was doing that procedure. He agreed, and I reached, hauled, dragged, yanked, pulled and heaved him in again.

The first mate then decided he needed to pee. We landed on the shore where he chose not to pee on land, but in the lake.

"Ha! Now the lake is full of MY pee!"

I dare you to tell me that man is not a territorial animal.

As I rowed us out to the middle of the lake again, we encountered another obstacle. A soft "ploop" signaled the loss of the nut that held the oarlock together.

Boy freaked.

You may think he was justified, but you haven't seen the lake. I was rowing because it was really too shallow to use the trolling motor comfortably. You can walk across the lake in many spots. Even if all that weren't true, it's not like the family didn't know where we were.

I related this to him. He didn't seem to believe me. After a tiny bit of finagling I got the motor set at a usable angle and we set off for home. Boy leaned over the side. I thought he was looking at the bottom of the lake. As we pulled into the landing I realized he'd fallen asleep.

When he woke up he jumped out of the boat, turned around and said "That was a SCARY boat ride!"

Ok, there's more to tell, but it will have to wait.

Phooey

Aww hell, I went through the trouble of typing up a nice crispy new entry and the computer barfed afore I could load it up.

Guess I'll try again.

Just got back from visiting AuntieM. We did indeed have a little drinky of some homebrew, and it was good unto us. We also talked and talked. We talked until both husbands and Boy asked how we talked so much. We then continued talking. We would still be talking but AuntieC had to go home.

:(

Do you remember staying up past your bedtime and listening in on your Mom (Maybe your Dad) chatting with friends or relations? Remember the thrill of realizing you were privy to a conversation she would never have with you. It was exciting even if (because?) you didn't always understand what they were talking about. AlmondUnjoy went upstairs to get something and saw the fleeting scuttle of a supposed-to-be-in-bed Boy. It would seem Boy was basking in that thrill. I can't be mad at him.

Boy caught three fish. They were yummy- sorry I can't share over the internet 'cause they were GOOD. My other grand-folks used to tag team for the best fish ever. This is how it went down: Granddad would take a five gallon bucket and hie him down to a froze-over lake for some ice fishing. He would proceed to fill the bucket with bluegill and sunfish. (Almost) no fish was too small. I believe this was illegal somehow, but I also think that pleased him. When the bucket was full he would bring it home and then he and his wife would fillet the whole mess. If you have never cleaned a fish then you have no appreciation for the skill necessary to fillet a fish that's smaller than your hand. It is significant. The resulting piece of meat is about the width of a potato chip, and when battered and fried can be eaten sans fork in a similar manner. The pain in the butt that the filleting had to have been was definitely worth the yummy result.

Gosh I have a lot of tales to tell, but they'll have to wait for tomorrow as I'm tired.

Super Boy!

Written by Boy

Shazam, there he goes.

"Super Boy, come back!" said the Mayor. But it was too late. Super Boy had vanished. But the huge bigger than BIG monster was still alive.

TEACHER'S ASIDE: Where could Super Boy be? Will he be there the next time a BIG MONSTER threatens our safety?

BOY'S REPLY: I don't know, I'm not him.

You know, maybe he left 'cause he couldn't stand the ugliness or the stink. That monster's mom didn't give it a bath.... since 1969.

Super Boy really left cause someone was calling him. Someone evil. Someone untrustworthy. Someone he worked for.

Just joking, it was his mom. He was late for dinner. And he really wasn't a super hero. He was just a normal person. And he left because the monster was a super pooper party pooper ugly....galooper.

TEACHER ASIDE: Ooh Yuck! Hey, what's for dinner?

BOY'S REPLY: Fried monster.

The monster looked something like this:

(picture to be added later)

See what I mean. Maybe he did go 'cause of the ugliness. And I don't blame him. It is ugly. But he is as blind as a bat. So how could he have known. Maybe he used his super seeker.....

ASIDE:

The story is currently unfinished. Considering it took a first grader five pages and three different bouts of writing to accomplish, it is already of epic length. I edited it for spelling and punctuation just to make it readable, but all the words and "..."s are his. Ain't I proud.

Oddnesses

Today she speaks about herself in the third person.

Last night Hayric and Morning agreed to keep the Boy for another night, leaving Her free to party like a rock star. She showered, put on a suitable bra that put her boobs in the correct location (no wonder it's called a wonder bra), and went to see Loon. Crazy was off on a little trip, so She had Loon all to herself.

You would think the women would take advantage of the situation and go downtown, find some men and ravage them. Indeed, this is what She intended, but both agreed that, in the end, the net result would be disappointment and a hole in the pocketbook. It's rarely fun to go out to bars unless you have a gaggle of fun people going with you already. And the beer's expensive.

Instead, they hied themselves to Dairyqueen where they indulged in various yummies. Afterwards they rented Margaret Cho's new video and laughed muchly.

This morning She woke up before Loon. She let all the dogs outside, and sat in a wooden lawn chair while they chased each other in a string of growls. Suddenly the dogs stood still, and the hairs on the back of Her neck rose as She heard a "zhhr, zhhr, zhhr,zhhr"...Following the dog's stare She saw two HUGE cranes flying low overhead. It must have been the wing beats, because the eerie noise could never have come from a bird's throat.

It reminded Her of the time there was an earthquake right here in Ypsi. She had been sitting on the couch in Little-the-great's house, when the cats all came running up. This was disturbing enough, since they usually spent all day in hiding, but their mewing was oddly creepy too. Then the couch trembled, like someone terribly heavy had sat down next to Her. She looked and looked, but there was no one there when the couch trembled a second time. Her mind simply couldn't fathom what had happened. She walked outside, thinking maybe a heavy truck was coming, or a meteor, or at least that other people would be standing outside equally perplexed.

They weren't. This must mean it had happened solely in Her own house. She decided it must have been a ghost and forgot about it.

Read that again please.

She doesn't believe in ghosts. She is a normally logical person. This explanation made sense to Her at the time, so much so that She ceased to think of the occurance as abnormal. It wasn't until watching the news that night that She realized what a wacked-out thing Her brain had done.

It still disturbs Her to think that the organ She depends on the most is so desperately fallible.

Boy is Still with Morning and Hayric, and She is starting to jones.

Mabel Mabel Set the Table

Mabel!
And now, Mabel the wise!

And now..... Dead Mable!

Coming soon, Lucy!

The Wee-Wee Fairy

The Wee-Wee Fairy
I told the girls that if they didn't pee in the house for a whole week, the Wee-wee Fairy comes and puts the yummiest bone they've ever tasted in their crate.

Think it'll work? Me neither, but I was hoping to speed up the process.

Boy is at Little-the-great's house this morning. Last night we went to visit with other kids I used to watch... it was a nice little reunion. It's a good feeling to be surrounded by small humans you had a hand in raising. Little-the-great came with, and when Morning came to get him she got to say hi to some long lost chums too. Then she did me a big favor and took the boys to see Scooby-Doo, which I did NOT want to see. Boy spent the night, leaving me free to... well, um, have a beer and go to bed. WOO HOO.

Want to hear a joke one of the kiddo's told me? It goes like this:


abcdefghijkk...

kk?


Ok, so it's funnier when she tells it, she being two and all.

This morning when I was half asleep I had an odd urge to create a family with three or four children in it, instead of just one. Then I got this overwhelming feeling of guilt, like I'd contemplated cheating on Boy, and then I decided it could wait until boy was older, like 18. Then I could find myself a sugar daddy and hatch a brood of youngins... and the time that Boy and I had together would be a something special to cherish between us, something for his future younger siblings to be jealous of. And boy could go through college grousing about me to his friends, "Yeah, I don't know what's up with the horny old bitch, I mean, she's too old for that, ha ha ha..." Won't it be swell.

Or not. By then I'll be 38. That's the prime of life, you know? Do I want to give that up to kids?

News Flash

Just in case some of you were worrying, I now have both clean underwear and dishes.

Also: I have just discovered that BOTH of the puppy girls have SEVEN nipples. Three on one side and four on the other. Somehow that seems odd... perhaps that is true of all dogs and I just never bothered to count before.

The Long Day

I feel a long-winded entry coming on.

Either that or gas.

Today Boy wanted me to go with his class to the park for their annual pickanick. I was suprised at the vehemence with which he requested my presence. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact he now shares me with Little-the-great.

I arrive just in time to wait. That's how it works when you are herding 40 kids anywhere. One teacher headed the line, the other was the tail, and I somehow ended up with an ever changing group of stragglers 10 yards back.

For those of you who are not knowing, Boy's school is in an urban type area and is peopled with urban type kids. They know nothing about nature at all. Somehow one little girl, let's call her MissThang, got hold of a millipede at home and brought it to school. MissThang put it in a cup with some dirt and a few pebbles. She divied up viewing rights as only a female first-grader can. Apparently I'm alright, because not only did I get a viewing, but my advice was sought on the best way to care for "Centipedes".

We began with a lesson on how to tell centipedes from millipedes...

ASIDE:

In my universe, millipedes are simply the coolest creepy-crawlies ever, closely seconded by rolly-pollies. Also, in my universe, centipedes are simply one of the most horrifying creepy-crawlies, indeed, creatures. They rank second only to spiders.

WE NOW RETURN TO THE LESSON IN PROGRESS:

and progressed to the care of pet millipedes, rolly-pollies and snails. Upon learning they ate dead leaves and stuff like that, the girl gaggle began a very serious hunt for such things. At the beginning of the walk they were scarce, but about a block into it the air was filled with "I found one!"s. It was with some scepticism that the girl gaggle agreed to wait till we got the park to search for dead leaves. They were convinced the finest dead leaves were only to be found HERE AND NOW, and that one could hardly expect there to be any vegetation at a park.

We did eventually make it to the park, after one dead mole, a lost shoe and a bout of "Honk" on the highway walk-over thingy. After lunch I was appointed leader of a nature walk. Other lucky girls were appointed to be various Aunties of MissThang's millipede. I was to lead them to more millipedes so that more girls could start their families. This, of course, led to a discussion of the future names of babies. Sierra Alexandra was put on the table, but was dismissed as "too much".

The nature walk yielded the following wonders:

*Skunk cabbage

*catnip

*1 dead bird, complete with maggots

*a mullberry bush, the berries being green and fostering much discussion about poisoning...

*2 rolly-pollies

*1 other millipede, who promptly became lost and will remain an orphan

*1 shell from some kind of pupa

*1 bird's nest sighting

It was most amusing for all involved. I enjoyed grand "Other" status, having once taught these girls as a sub but now being around just for the fun of it. I constantly had my hand held, and recieved several hugs. This was very nice. I was also asked my age no fewer than thirty six times in a row because NONE of the girls believed I could be that young.

OUCH.

Notice Boy is not in this picture. Having been assured I was indeed meeting my end of the bargain, Boy promptly began one of forty variations on a game of chase. I left early, but I have no reason to believe he stopped before their FOUR HOURS there were up.

When I picked Boy up after school I brought him a snack and a cold bottle of water and informed him that he was feeling tired. He didn't believe me. I also informed him he would still be required to be nice to Little-the-great. He wasn't. He was downright vicious. I finally stopped him and gave him a first class talking to.

Those rarely fix the problem.

First class talking to-s do stop the problem momentarily, so while Little-the-great was in swimming class, Boy and I had a gentle discussion. It seemed to have the desired effect.

Of course, on the day when Boy is so tired, I forget money for parking and we have to walk five blocks with two puppies, their cage, a suitably thick book that I hope to study from (HA), Little-the-great and his backpack and lunch box. Of course, since I forgot the bags, the puppies poop everywhere. Of course, since it's hot, I end up carrying everything but the children.

You should be tired just from reading this.

After swimming we raced over to another babysitting gig. That house had a pool, which was just what Boy needed to complete his exhaustion. By the time we left the very air made him upset.

At Little-the-great's house there was a dead baby bird on the door step. Some dumb cluck has made its nest on the roof and sends its prodgeny to their doom on the average of once a week. Boy did not grieve as I expected him to.

I did manage to get him in bed on time. Ten minutes later he comes out telling me he knows why he was upset- he's decided he must be a bad kid to do those things to Little-the-great.

This is what a first-class-talking-to will get you.

So we ate up some bed time talking about how he could tell he wasn't a bad kid, and once he was certain he's not evil he agreed to go to sleep.

You have no idea how glad I am that it wasn't the two dead birds and a smooshed mole. Self esteem issues i can deal with, but I can't seem to bring back the dead.

Now I am done. I am going to bed. You are going to forgive the typos and bad writing because you love me and you know how tired I am. Boy is going to forgive my parenting gaffs because I'm the only mom he's got and I can only do what I can do. I am going to forgive his mean streak because he was tired and he really is the sweetest kiddo ever, and I love him all to pieces.

Night night

AuntieM is Coming!

Hey! I need to add a few names:

AuntieM- My mom away from mom.

Almond Unjoy- Her grumpy old man, who I dearly love.

AuntieC- My other Aunt, also a great influence in my life.

J- Her old man.

So, I thought of them 'cause AuntieM called to say she gets to come for a visit. I LOVE to visit with her, we just talk and talk and talk- it's the best. It's not often I get her all to myself, but since AuntieC is coming up and wants to go to HenryFordMuseum, she is AlmondUnjoyless for a day.

I myself don't care one way or the other about the Museum, but I'm dying to see the girls, so I'm game.

AuntieM makes wine. It is good. She is coming down the night before and we will drink yummy wine and talk talk talk.

AuntieC drinks wine. We'll all go up to AuntieM's and partake. It will be good. We will all drink wine and talk talk talk.

I'm stunned by my inadequacy to relate how happy her visit makes me.

Conundrum

I've spent some more time perusing the amazing diaries out there... mine is a wimpy weenie by comparison. I have come to understand that comparison is the devil's work though, so I will have to just accept the fact that mine is under-developed, and may yet grow up to be a hearty robust diary. I am a little sad that some of what I thought were good ideas have already been taken. I'll just have to think up some more... or shamelessly use them anyway.

Still am not sure what exactly to do with this thing. I have made the decision to avoid people's real names (Obviously), but have been forced to not write about people for whom a good alias has not yet been thunk up.

ASIDE:
Alias, the TV show, is some of my favorite brain candy. Sydney's cute and smart and sensitive and sexy, and the acting is great. Did you see Will's scream when she rescued him! Dude!
BACK TO THE SHOW IN PROGRESS:

I suppose I could think them up now and get it over with. I'll make a sort of key, like they do in overly long science fiction books where the characters have unpronounceable names.

Boy- my offspring, my prodgeny, the most wonderful boy in the universe...

Loon- Best bud since highschool, and Crazy's wifey.

Crazy- Loon's wifey. (If I'm going to call her loon, I can call you Crazy.)

Carrots- A certain tall-light-and handsome guy type friend.

Mom- The woman who raised me. Duh.

Dad- The guy who tried to help.

N.S.E.S.M- The not-so-evil stepmom.

Assman-The man who sired my son and did little else for him since. I should say that he occasionally pays childsupport, which I know is very difficult for him and for which I am VERY grateful.

Morning- My boss, landlady and friend.

Hayric- Her devoted husband and a great dad.

Little the great- Morning and Hayric's boy. He has been in the past and is currently my charge.

Emma- Loon's dog, my grandbaby.

Mabel- My big puppy.

Lucy- Boy's little puppy.

Ummm... I think that's it for now. Will fill in more as I go along.

So as I was saying, I'm still a little hesitant to go all out and say everything that comes to mind. Isn't that what a diary is for? Isn't it where you put your innards down on the table, and once you have them in the open you poke around them and sort them out and make sense of them while they're spread out like that? I guess I could maybe try to do that in public. I just have to figure out how to discuss people without feeling gossipy or sneaky or something I don't quite know how to describe.

ASIDE:
Yes I know about the password thingy, but what's the point of an online diary if you don't let anyone read it?
BACK TO THE RANCH:

Here's a for instance: Remember the blast from the past that e-mailed me? If this were a diary I'm sure no-one would read, I would have a lot more to say about the subject. I'm fine with everyone knowing what a bitch I was, but I cannot assume that he wants the details of the affair on the internet. As a matter of fact, I'm pretty sure he doesn't...maybe I'll resort to two diaries and lock the othern.

If anyone is reading this, feel free to give me advice on the subject....

White Men Can't Jump

It would appear the girls have given their cousin (read "Loon's dog") a cold. Emma used to be the lone dog in my life, free to receive belly scratches without competition, free to ride shotgun in my car, free to be spoiled rotten by me, her grandma. Then came the puppies. Not only did they usurp her place in my life, but they gave her some kind of kennel cough. Yummy. Did you know dogs are capable of a reverse sneeze? It's a horrendous sounding loud snarf. They snarf and snork the snot back in their head, and Emma sometimes goes through jags of nonstop snarfing until you cover her nose and reverse the airflow.

Boy played basketball today. I have never seen him look quite so white. He has very few skills when it comes to basketball- I'll have to see that something is done, because even Diane Sawyer couldn't play basketball that bad.

Got a blast from the past today! I check out classmates.com to see what's up with folks from back when. I have never expected anyone to look me up, but low and behold, someone did! A guy I knew in college went and e-mailed me. I suppose you could call him an ex, so I suppose neither of us should be too happy to hear from each other, but honestly it warmed the cockles of my heart. He was my first real boyfriend- I was a total bitch... So it goes.

My ten year reunion is coming up. Am dreading it. In filling out those ridiculous forms classmates.com insists on, I discovered some unexpected rage towards my class. Why should I fill those damn forms out, it's not like anyone will want to read them! Raggin fraggin blahblahblah... Loon was taken aback by the venomous burst. I'm afraid some kind of Seether will take over if I go to the reunion. My head will spin around and spew pea soup, or at the very least, I'll make an ass out of me.

I had forgotten how invisible I tried to make myself in highschool, and how angry I felt at people for letting me. I had thought I had grown past that stuff. I'll go so far as to say that I have grown past doing that kind of thing anymore, but I guess I've got some leftover anger to deal with. Won't that be fun!

Miscellany

Good advice the first:

Do not, for ANY reason, rent or own an apartment in an attic, unlessing it possesseth central air conditioning.

Good advice the second:

Do not leave the remnants of a bowl of cheerios in the sink (to be washed later...the bowl, not the sink...) if the temperature in your kitchen will exceed 90 degrees. The resulting funk is like no other. I swear there's something in Leviticus about that...."And if you do leave the bowl in the sink, it will be unclean for you, and your kitchen, and you will be unclean till evening."

I've used up all my cups and am now resorting to drinking from rice bowls.

I've also used up all my clean underwear, even my dreaded thong, and have resorted to bike shorts instead. My best buddy, aka Loon, suggested wearing them as my primary pants-like clothing type item, instead of as underwear. Upon closer inspection we agreed this was NOT A GOOD THING, as it resulted in an unfortunate effect she calls a "camel toe". I had never heard this phrase before, but found it quite humourous. So humourous I almost made said camel toe wet.

Boy story for the day:
Boy approaches with broken plastic toy and asks for the "Plastic surgery glue".

Ok, so it's a short story.

Self Approval

I've been spending a lot of thinking effort on who I should tell about this thing. I'd never ask my family to read my old journals, but I've been wondering if I shouldn't tell them about this site. Phone conversations, heck, even visits don't really do a good job of conveying who I am and what I'm about on a day-to-day basis. Then again, do I want my family to know who I am? The thought scares me a bit, as I'm certain they won't be happy. It seems like it would be inviting criticism and wreaking havoc. If my parents found out who I turned out to be, wouldn't it just break their hearts, wouldn't they just shrivel up with grief?

A therapist once said I wasn't in control of what they felt, and I should quit pretending I was. From this point of view, wouldn't it be a very theraputic thing to do, to let them see what I've done with the life they gave me and leave it up to them as to whether or not to rend their clothes and gnash their teeth.

Decisions, decisions, decisions...

I'm 27 and I still seek my parent's approval. That's sick.

Quote for the day- "What do you call love, hate, charity, revenge, humanity, magnanimity, forgiveness? Different results of the one master impulse: the necessity of securing one's self approval." From "What is man" by Samuel Clemens

Puppy Love

My latest trick has been to see how late I can stay up when I'm completely exhausted. Apparently this is a pass- time of many people who use this site. Why don't we all just go to bed? There is nothing preventing me from going to bed this very second, unlike the million and one things that will be preventing me from taking a nap tomorrow....

I got puppies recently. Two of them, so as to be sure they've always got company. I had wanted a puppy for YEARS and had managed to act like a sane responsible adult until a month ago. I don't have the money for puppies. I don't need more things to do. I hate getting up in the middle of a nice sleep. So what do I do? I go and get puppies of course. They turned out to be more wonderful than I had imagined (after having a kid puppies are easy) but I was still ashamed to admit what I'd done to my friends and family. It was as if I'd gone and gotten myself pregnant again. They're all very supportive, but I know they sometimes wonder how I got myself into this mess.

I call them my poohdas. Nothing makes a fool out of one as quickly as children and puppies. I zerbert their little doggie bellies and make kissy noises when begging them to come here, I fuss over their fur and whether they eat enough and whether they're making the right kind of friends.

Ok, I give up... I helped take apart playground equipment today and I'm whipped. The rest of you should go to bed too.

Night night.

The Virgin Entry

I've always enjoyed starting a new diary. This is the first time I couldn't flip through the blank pages, but it is nice to write without their accusation... "Why haven't you filled us in yet?"

August 13, 2006: I've decided to move my Diaryland blog here to Blogger. This was the first entry I ever wrote. Ain't it cute?