Maria

That dirty little skeezer Maria is back this year in kindergarten, and N. still seems to fancy her (please refer to "Preschool skank" post). I finally got to see her; no running sores or nits were evident upon visual inspection, but we all know that doesn't really mean anything.
N. actually made me promise not to tell his sister that he plays with her at school-- this is SERIOUS. She's coming to his birthday party, so today after nap I'll let her know that I don't want to see any nonsense with the hula-hoop. Maybe I'll mention his "special" relationship with little Paulie. Shit, bitch. spin up off my boy!

The big gay sleepover

Little N. has a best buddy, little Paulie. When they are together they typically break things, spill things, climb things and attempt to jump off of things. Behind their angelic little faces they are demonic agents of entropy. N. was invited to spend the night at Paulie's, and hysterical joy ensued; imagine the destruction that could be wrought in an entire evening.
Paulie has a nice mom that makes pancakes and allows them to trash the entire basement and even permits them to watch Sponge Bob. So what, you wonder, could Nick find to bitch about during this happy event?
Well, the sleeping arrangements, of course. He was half mad with worry that if they were to sleep too closely together, that sometime during the night, these two four year old boys might accidentally rub up against each other, bump uglies or something, then wake up Saturday morning humming show tunes and searching for nail polish. Oh, the horror.
He is still trying to cope with the fact that we have a family member who is gay, and absolutely convinced that if the young man in question would just try a woman, that an epiphany would occur. He is so convinced of this, that he has offered this sweet soul a thousand dollars if he would do it with a girl, just once.
He does not experince similar anxiety over H.'s sleeping arrengements with her little girlfriends. Hmmm.

The giant Petri dish, K-8

Nick, the proud civic worker and owner of approximately 200 sick and personal days, has squandered most of them on hangovers. This leaves me to deal with the actual event of illness, H. this time. She can puke with outstanding precision and has such explosive diarrhea that if aimed properly she could probably knock the hat off of the doorman across the street.
The emergency back-up fell through and here I am, as my staff shops online and I stay home. The nice thing is that I can't get canned, the bad thing is that I could go belly up. Going back to school (aka giant Petri dish) is always a mixed blessing.
My options for the day: 1. Catch up on some laundry/housework, toss some of Nick's broken lamp collection.
2. Watch season 6 of "The Sopranos", feel Carmella's pain.
3. Do some journal reading.
4. Do some fun reading
5. Search for the elusive Higgs boson particle in the couch cushions while "The Sopranos" are on.
6. Wash my hair

Dr. Meany

Every time I have a sick kid I have to see the asshole Dr. because the 2 good ones are booked. My kids hate him, even though he wears ties with cartoon characters. When they play, they have the "Nice Lady Doctor" and they use Darth Vader in the place of the Mean Dr. Man. Every time I leave after seeing him I feel like an idiot, an inept parent and ever so pissed-off. I get enough of that shit right here at home. Really.
The 2 times that I've called the office because of N.'s acute asthma, Dr. Vader said go to the ER and follow-up in the office. In the ER he gets a little steroid and is all better. I follow-up as instructed and see asswipe who tells me my kid's fine, no treatment, he's fine! am I sure that his RR was really that high? Can I count past 20 with my shoes on? So yesterday after a few days of wheezing, crying, & coughing unresolved with albuterol I drag him in so he can see him when is symptomatic so the ER is not managing his chronic condition.
N. is wheezing like a diesel engine on it's last legs and Dr. shithead agreed that there was some kind of problem but decided that it's probably me administering the albuterol incorrectly. "He should be breathing deeply and holding for a count of five" kind of like a bong hit (I saw it on TV once). If he can get a crying 4 year old to do that, my hat's off. So maybe he could have rx'd a neb?? or suggested evaluation? nope, just gave me a long lecture about me being an idiot, him being a genius, stick to my own specialty (if I'm not then why am I in YOUR office? dickhead?). Then charged me for a level 4 visit. Never going back there.

My Manhuntin' Profile

In the course of fantasizing about Nick running off to Vegas with an update who makes mean pasta fagolio, I considered my prospects.

My match.com "woman seeks whipping boy" profile would be something like this:

So much baggage I need a Sherpa! Crazy ex who's a big man with a bad temper and major jealousy/control/abandonment issues; but it's all under control. Really.

All about me:

• I don't like lingerie unless it's flannel
• My lifetime maximum for receiving criticism has been met and exceeded.
• I have great Whopping Shitloads of SEXY student loan debt!
• Business owner, almost any day getting ready to start getting close to breaking even.
• I do not like jazz or poetry
• I'm almost sure that I never want to have sex again.
• Blonde/blue. Skinny, only thing big things are my feet.
• I enjoy reading, running, pretzels & jelly beans.
• I do not like sharing my popcorn at the movies.
• Good cook & gardener
• 2 great kids that you will never have to be bothered to meet! if you try, I'll chase you away with an axe!

Seeking:
a nice neat gay man-- we could admire each others wardrobes.
or
about 10 kitty cats.

oh, and meet the family:

sorry Dad, but you KNOW that's their backyard. Looks like someone shut off the satellite service!! what the hell!!

mutton done up as lamb

This is pretty much what most of the ladies at our neighborhood block party look like. The more seasoned glamor girls are cruising for a man, any man. The men in their age group are usually paired up with the chippies represented in image #2. These grandpappy men have brand new babies provided by their sparkling and perky chippies. The surly teenagers from a previous marriage are babysitting for the newborns. The unattached men are eyeballing the surly teenagers and the Polish nannies. As the evening progresses the old gals get buzzed on expensive champagne and totter around on their stilettos, a pair of which costs more that my first car (used dodge colt). The chippies resist the urge to top off everyone's drink because they were all cocktail waitresses at some point (not in any way suggesting that cocktailing is not a noble profession). Then there are a few of us that are kinda bitter because we spent all that time in school and ended up with some asshole that would have preferred a cocktail waitress.
It is probably one of the few block parties that can boast of more people in sequins than bluejeans. There was a 7 piece band and several separate little groupings who had hired caterers in case they didn't want the organic tofu pretend hotdogs and soy ice cream which was the main fare.
For the kids there was a scary ass clown who made all the little ones cry and gave all the bigger ones bad dreams.
As the evening wore on, one of the old gals tipped right off her Jimmy Choo's into the neighbor's boxwoods. I thoughtfully rescued her and allowed her to vomit into the bag intended to pick up the little fuckers poopoo. I sure hope I get into to heaven. Why do we have to work so hard to please men that look pretty much like this?

Disney Princess Douchettes

Snow White, Cinderella, Aurora, Ariel, Belle, Jasmine, Pocahontas, Mulan. I hate them all. H. apparently knew well enough to not bother asking if she could undergo a $200.00 makeover at the Bada Bing Disney World salon.

I think that allowing our girl children to watch midget porn would be better parenting than filling them up with the Disney Princess crap. At least the porn would involve consenting adults who are fully conscious, unlike the princesses, most of whom are in their mid-teens and occasionally comatose (sleeping beauty, snow white).

Am I an awful mother because I don't permit the whole Disney cabal? They have not been out-and-out banned (as have the Slutz dolls) but I have discouraged them, and maybe even accidentally pitched a few of the accouterments into the throw away pile citing lead or magnet containment. Naturally, Nick digs the shit out of the dumpster if he finds it; cursing and ranting at my wasteful extravagance. Who knows when you may need an ill-fitting sequined leotard with an attached tulle skirt?

Poor maligned Barbie at least has career aspirations, while the Princesses seemingly are able only to sing (Aurora, Belle, Ariel), clean (Snow White, Cinderella), and await rescue by The Manly Man (all). Of primary importance, they are all young, beautiful and stacked. Yes, Belle likes to read; but for all we know she's reading Danielle Steel drivel or some Jackie Collins shit. I guess she's not reading about Stockholm syndrome.
Also noteworthy is that in the hands of Disney, the gift of intelligence bestowed upon Aurora by a Fairy Godmother in the original fairy tail was changed to the gift of song. Yes, I know Disney did not invent the entire damsel in distress genre, and I admit to enjoying the occasional happy ending chick flick myself, but let's just quit this happily ever after shit already.

And where are the fat chicks? the ugly ones? the old ones?
Well, they are all evil. Consider the fat chick: Ursula in the Little Mermaid who is an evil sea slag of some sort. Next some ugly ones: Cinderella's mean bully step sisters. How about old chicks? Apparently Snow White's entry into womanhood was coincident with her vain and wicked stepmother starting to prune up; recall that the loss of her "fairest in the land" status kicked off her homicidal rage.

There are generally two female Disney characters:
1. The young, helpless, orphaned, beautiful princess
2. The fat/ugly/old embodiment of evil. I consider the Fairy Godmothers an anomaly; whenever they are present they are just counseling the princess on how to get the guy by every method short of the old pinhole-in-the-condom trick.

Perhaps the most annoying and consistent theme extending even to Bambi and Nemo is the dead or absent mother. Cinderella and Snow White have evil stepmothers. Pocahontas wear's her dead mom's ring around her neck. Ariel's mom was killed (or something) by pirates. Belle has no mother. I don't know where Mulan and Jasmine's mothers are, but only their fathers are included in the story. Nemo's mom gets offed in one of the early scenes, and we all know about poor Bambi's mom; but she at least had a speaking role. Why must the vacuous twattles be motherless? Maybe because their mothers, if present, would have said something like "honey get your head out of your ass, put on some clothes, and get a job". Maybe.

I heard that the little mermaid sequel may include Ariel having a baby. This will not contradict my above thesis because she'll likely die in childbirth as her lower half is a fish, and she probably lacks a proper birth canal (maybe an "Alien" type birthing?). So how did she get knocked up in the first place? Probably just from sweet kisses, because I'm pretty sure the Disney gals don't fuck.

Is all this malice just because I'm bitter in general? I'm pretty sure my Disney disdain predated my generalized man bitterness, but I guess maybe I am a bit sore because my prince turned into a frog. BACKWARDS. I got it backwards. shit.