September 14, 2006

Pissed Off Mama

You damned drunken bitch.

You have got some nerve. I can’t divulge specifics, because this may well go to court, and I’m not having my blog pulled in as evidence - LOL

I got a phone call at 11 PM. “Mom, I’ve been in a car accident.”

When my heart started beating again, I asked if he was OK. Yes. Was anyone hurt? No.

Thank you, God.

Can’t go into any details, but I will say that the police report (which I just returned home with) shows that the other driver was arrested for driving while intoxicated.

It’s right there in the report.

Yet, this woman had the audacity to file a claim against Middle Son’s insurance. As I drove him in to McDonald’s this morning, his cell phone rang. I am driving him because his car is at the shop, courtesy of Drunken Bitch. It was his insurance company telling him that she had filed for damages. He was half-asleep and mumbled something. When he got off the phone I asked him who was calling and he told me. I was shocked!

“SHE is filing against YOU?!?”

We hadn’t even SEEN the police report. But you can bet your ass I hustled straight over to that police station after dropping the lad off. Got copy of file, took it to car and read about her failure to pass the sobriety test and how she was arrested.

Steam was coming out of my ears by the time I finished reading. I am still so furious, I want to break something LOL

Instead, I did what all bloggers do, and start typing.

Type, breathe, type, breathe.

Breathe…breathe.

I’m not sure what course of action we will take. It isn’t really my responsibility, it’s Son’s.

But I am one pissed off mutha….

25th Wedding Anniversary

In totally unrelated news, one week from today on September 21st is our 25th wedding anniversary. Cards, flowers and cash donations gladly accepted LOL









Categories: Special Days, Cats, Family, Rants

Posted by Marti @ 2:26 pm | 11 comments

September 7, 2006

School Troll

Dear Daughter slugged him. I got the dreaded phone call - please come to the office. Groan.

They sat in there, the miscreant ne’er do well, and Dear Defiant Daughter.

Nothing but a metal office chair and a fog of fury separated them. I sighed. I was expecting this (unfortunately). He’s been tormenting her for years. She got her period. She snapped. No court in the land would convict her LOL

We adjourned to the counselor’s office. Explanations were in order. The lad shrugged and claimed innocence and wonderment at being attacked. Daughter rolled her eyes so severely, I feared they would pop out and spin across the floor.

Fool. His puny intellect was unprepared for the onslaught. Daughter launched a tirade worthy of the finest orators in the land. Listing, step by step, year by year, report by report, the pain and suffering inflicted upon her tender soul by Moron Boy, and her requests to the administrators for castigation (not castration, we’re not barbarians LOL)

I was so proud.

Of course I had to wear my Stern Mommy face, because we do not resolve our differences with physical violence. It required the strength of Hercules to remain straight-faced when they asked why she hit him. “Because nothing else got anyone’s attention.”

So they’re both in trouble. Didn’t really seem fair to me, but I’m biased. If some jackass tormented me for years, sticking gum in my hair, calling me names, tripping me in the hallway and incessantly tapping my shoulder from the riser above me in choir, only to be released from any punishment when the incidents were reported, I’d have snapped too.

But don’t tell Dear Daughter. I gotta be Mean Mommy even when I hate it.

Categories: Family, Humor, Rants

Posted by Marti @ 7:13 am | 7 comments

August 5, 2006

Cruel School

Well, it’s almost that time again. Back to cruel…err, school.

Do you look back fondly on high school? Any of you who do, please line up over here. Yes right there on that square.

YOINK! {{ Followed by shocked look and hair flying over heads, as trapdoor flops open dropping them into pit below }}

High school is a horrible but necessary training ground for the rest of life in this cruel, cruel world.

I realize now, and have tried to instill in my children, the fact that every one of the greasy little pigs believes they are hideously ugly - more disgusting than a bowl full of intestines. Yes, even the cheerleaders feel this way. That is why they are especially cruel. It’s a defense mechanism.

For most of us (peeks in on pit dwellers who are pacing and reciting their valedictorian speeches to calm themselves) high school was a nightmare. Now (oh joy) I get to relive the nightmare (for the third time) through dear Daughter.

She will be a Junior this year. She feels stupid and ugly. I tell her she is smart and beautiful. She says that I have to say that because I’m her mother. Oh yeah, I forgot - that was in the handbook.

We went back-to-school shopping yesterday. This weekend is the “sales tax holiday” here in Mazoorah. Damn, and I forgot to put up decorations. What a crock. The cities could opt out, so the “savings” (she said sarcastically) was the state tax, which is about 4%. So on the $40 we spent on the limited list of products that are included, we saved… WOW! A dollar and sixty cents! Let’s start a college fund for you honey!

There’s the joy of trying on clothes in the dressing room that is too small and badly lit. Finding that perfect first-day outfit for everyone else to gossip about is so difficult. Especially when she’s decided she wants only black apparel, following in Goth Boy Brother’s combat bootsteps.

Plus we have the hair issue. The hair-that-was-dyed-black-over-the-summer. The hair she wants to darken again, much like the throbbing headache that wants to do to my doorstep.

This followed the thrill of attempting to register and adjust schedule for the upcoming school year. The district sent out newsletters (apparently to everyone on the planet) to show up at the high school to register. They all did. Packed like sausages into the Jimmy Dean Gymnasium.

Please bring proof that you exist.

No, the newsletter that came addressed to you isn’t enough proof. You could be a terrorist who went around stealing those out of mailboxes.

The fact that the student has lived in this district since birth doesn’t matter. Or that she has attended schools in this district all her life. Or that the mother has sent three students through these schools and knows every teacher and administrator by name (and evil nickname).

Having served as a room mother, office assistant, field trip manager, chaperone, PTA member, Grad Night coordinator and Secret Santa is not enough. A terrorist might have gotten plastic surgery to look like you. (This is followed by me rolling on the floor with laughter, and Daughter acting like she doesn’t know me).

You want to do what? Oh no, we can’t change any of the classes here. The office isn’t open. You’ll have to call and make an appointment for that. Ignore the three hours you spent waiting in line and wrestle your way through the sweating hoard to exit. Step aside. NEXT!


Categories: Family, Humor, Rants

Posted by Marti @ 9:08 am | 18 comments

June 16, 2006

TGIF

Tempestuous - stormy, wild, raging
Galactic - having to do with the galaxy/outer space
Iconoclastic - making fun of things people believe in without questioning
Flatulence - the release of a mixture of gases known as flatus produced by symbiotic bacteria and yeasts living in the gastrointestinal tract of mammals. Flatus is released under pressure through the anus, often accompanied by odor and sound. Releasing flatus gases is colloquially known as farting.

Gawd have mercy, I am one tarred lil’ tookas.
(Translation from hillbilly & Hebrew = My butt is worn out.)
(Also familiar to fans of Bender the Robot in Futurama - his famous quote, “Kiss my shiny metal tookas”.)

(You know it’s an interesting post when I start out using big words, talkin’ ‘bout farts and quoting rednecks and space robots)

[Bender has stumbled upon God while drifting through space]
Bender: I was God once.
God: Yes, I saw. You were doing well until everyone died.
God: Bender, being God isn’t easy. If you do too much, people get dependent on you. And if you do nothing, they lose hope. You have to use a light touch, like a safecracker or a pickpocket.
Bender: Or a guy who burns down a bar for the insurance money.
God: Yes, if he makes it look like an electrical thing. If you do things right, people won’t be sure you’ve done anything at all.

- - -

Bender: Wow, your kid is great. How hard did you say you had to hit him?

A sentiment I understand.
I have many tempestuous rants today. Lemme getcha a chair.
These youngens…who invented children, anyway? Isn’t there a better way for us to repopulate the planet? Could they torment me any more? (That’s just a rhetorical question kids, don’t actually try it.)

The boy. His car. My car. Need I say more? His recently purchased Modus Transportatious is still on the fritz. This means we still “share” my car. And by share, I mean I fill it up with gas and he drives it for thousands of miles. LOL (Just kidding - I steal money out of his wallet to pay for the gas *snicker*)

The girl. Went out with her friends last night, even though it was a (summer) school night. They have a pool. I took pity. She said she’d be home by 10. I was pacing the floor at 11:15. No more pity.

- - -

The cats. Today is the first day of the rest of your life. Outside. I can’t take it one more minute…tripping over sixteen little feet, all of which manage to get under one of mine, just as I go to take a step. Having them leap onto my back digging their little claws into my fleshy flesh until they draw blood. I won’t leave them out there forever, but it’s time they started getting a little fresh air. Gawd knows I could use it. The mama kitty (who is doing a very good job - I just peeked out the window and she has them all herded together, as they stumble around in dazed confusion on the front porch) is the most flatulent cat on the planet. She farts incessantly. I am surprised she hasn’t deflated as flat as a throw rug LOL And stinky? OMG! If the government could bottle her farts and fly them over to Iraq, they could build their own Improvised Explosive Devices, such that an unsuspecting terrorist would be sprayed with the nastiest, longest-lasting foul odor known to man.

Oh, but we don’t need any help over there. Everything’s goin’ swell (if you are a manufacturer of prosthetic limbs and have a contract with the Veterans Administration) Almost 18,000 troops have been wounded according the Department of Defense. The US death toll in Iraq hit 2500 yesterday.

Let’s all start singin’ (Apologies to Country Joe and the Fish:)

Yeah, come on all of you big strong men,
Uncle Sam needs your help again.
He’s got himself in a terrible crock
Over in the desert, down in Iraq
So put down your books and pick up a gun,
We’re gonna have a whole lotta fun.

Well, come on Wall Street, don’t move slow,
Why man, this is War-a-go-go.
There’s plenty good money to be made
By supplying the Army with the tools of the trade,
Shares are good in Otto Bock*
Lots o’ lost limbs over in Iraq

And it’s one, two, three,
What are we fighting for?
Don’t ask me, it’s just so sad,
Next stop is ol’ Bagdad.
And it’s five, six, seven,
Open up the pearly gates,
Well there ain’t no time to wonder why
Whoopee! We’re all gonna die.

Well, come on mothers, so his arm is a hook?
Pack your boys off to Kirkuk.
Come on fathers, don’t hesitate,
Send ‘em off before it’s too late.
Be the first one on your block
To have your boy come home in a box.

*Otto Bock is the global leader in developing and manufacturing prosthetic technologies and devices. Prime buyer is the VA.

- - -

The head arrived. It is broken (been that kind of week)

Broken Blue Head

Now, I sell stuff myself on E-Bay, and I have the good sense not to put something made of GLASS in an old biscuit box with a layer of newspaper around it. Sigh. Yeah, it was insured, but that’s not the point. It is useless as a gift. Grrrr………

On a happier note, I’ve got a little Link Love. Karen over at Write Stuff, has a guest column today by yours truly. I could use a hug, or a nice comment *snicker*.

From the comments: “And tell me, why is Old Horsetail Snake not on your b**groll? Huh?”
Hoss, sugar you’ve ALWAYS been on my blogroll. Like a stain I can’t remove {giggle - just teasin’ ya, you know I love ya and you are a fabulous blog friend}

OK, ‘nuff nonsense outta me. Things to do, rooms to air out, money to steal LOL

Hope all o’ y’all have a wonderful weekend!


Categories: Writing, Rants, Family, Cats, Blogging, cars

Posted by Marti @ 9:54 am | 14 comments

May 19, 2006

Sense You’ve Been Gone

No I didn’t misspell “since” LOL

The past couple of weeks have been such an assault on my senses, I think they have simply thrown up their hands. No wait, that makes it sound like my eyes and ears are vomiting appendages with fingers. That ain’t right. LOL

It has however, been a time of great trial and tribulation here. Each and every one of my senses - sight, sound, smell, touch, taste and common (snicker) has been pushed so far beyond the point of what passes for normal ‘round here, that I feel as stretched out as Paul Abdul’s credibility. Wait, bad example….LOL

Where to begin?

Sight - The last fruit of my loins has rolled out of the basket LOL

My daughter, who just turned 17, has transformed from the little girl I put to bed last month into a drive-her-mother-crazy teen. The first sign of the apocalypse was her request for the Devil’s toolbox, a cell phone.

Then a friend asked her if she would like to go “tanning” with her (I didn’t realize it was a sport LOL)

So Daughter called Harried Mother and requested I go purchase tanning time. I have never paid for tanning. (Us old hippies used the sun, which is apparently as outdated as wearing a corset LOL)

But I went, and a little leatherish pixie (five feet tall, 80 pounds dripping wet with skin the color of a well-worn saddle) asked me several questions about the potential tan-ee. “What’s her base?” This one had me buffaloed. What did the tawny elf want to know? If my child plays softball? Her political inclinations? No, she wondered if the child had a base tan. She does not. She, like her mother, is whiter than white. We make rice look bronze LOL The pixie said she would start the tan-ee at Level 1.

Following the tanning session, she asked to go home with the Friend Who Tans. Turns out FWT is also Friend Who Colors Hair Frequently. Returning home late last evening, was a child with very dark hair, in place of the daughter with golden highlighted locks I had sent to school. I blanched at the sight of her.

Let me chant now :
Ohmmm
Don’t say something wicked that you will regret
Don’t say something wicked that you will regret
Don’t say something wicked that you will regret
Ohmmmygodmmmm

Sound - We decided to get the in-laws a virgin LOL

A Virgin Mobile cell phone. Yes, despite the horrors encountered with bad billing and nigh-on-impossible activation, it seemed like the wisest choice, as the folks got stranded on the road not long ago, and nearly-ninety father-in-law had to hoof it to a gas station to call for assistance. So we got them a pay-as-you-go (which we will pay as they go LOL)

Teaching myself how to use it (so I could teach them) was a bit of a challenge, but activating it was downright hilarious. Whereas the voice mail at OUR phone company *coughsprintcough* is a synthesized, homogenized white woman, Virgin Mobile picks up with a peppy African American female saying, “Hey! This is Simone! Whatchu want? Aw ri-i-i-ght!” It was delightful! I just checked in with mom-in-law and yes, she has been practicing with it, and was able to place a couple of test calls - yea!

Smell - Something frightened a skunk near here. The windows are closed, (what a shame - it is beautiful outside) but the stench seeps in. I am simmering potpourri, spraying air freshener and burning incense (LOL) but the mighty skunk funk remains.

Touch - Is there anything softer than a tiny kitten? I think not. Here are the little hooligans, now 18 days old. They are becoming more mobile, and managed to wander around between when I posed them (all facing me) and snapping the picture. The gray striped one is in the background (see the label “Hooligan #4” on the picture LOL)

Kittens at 18 days old

All are doing well.

Taste - On the daily drive in to McDonalds to deliver Middle Son to his duties, we usually stop for an energy drink. We take turns buying, and on the days it is his money, he is bold in his choices, and brings me whatever strikes his fancy. I have learned that I am not a No Fear kind of gal LOL I like most SoBe drinks, especially Liz Blizz , the non-alcoholic Pina Colada flavored, vitamin enhanced drink, but dear gawd that No Fear stuff is nasty - what I would imagine battery acid is like LOL

Common - I was in the grocery store the other day and there was a fella walking around wearing one of those danged wireless headset things (which I didn’t realize at first). As I passed him, he started speaking, and said, “I’m going to take twenty of those.”

I was trying to figure out why he felt the urge to explain his choice to me, when he continued, “They’ll never figure out that I stole them.”

Now I’m freaking out, thinking this total stranger is confiding his intent to shoplift to me.

Then I saw the thingy on his head, and realized he was having a phone conversation.

Gawd knows what he was stealing, or from whom.

I don’t want to know, but wouldn’t common sense dictate that you don’t discuss committing a crime OUT IN PUBLIC? LOL

_ _ _

I haven’t been making it around my blogroll much lately, but trying to play catch up today. I sure appreciate y’all stoppin’ by and visiting! Hope I get by to see you soon!

Best wishes to all of you for a lovely weekend!

Categories: Family, Cats, Rants

Posted by Marti @ 6:00 am | 18 comments
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