Inanna and the SUVs

June 25, 2004 at 6:06 pm (Uncategorized)

There are several reasons why I do not drive an SUV.

1) I can’t afford one. They cost almost as much as my house. At the current payment on my compact car it would take me 22 years to pay off a Ford Expedition. It would take me 9 1/4 years to pay it off at my current house payment. It would still take 6 1/2 years to pay it off combining my car and house payment. It better come loaded because I’d be living out of that bitch.

2) If I can’t afford the payment I sure as hell can’t afford the gas.

3) I simply should not be placed in control of such a monstrosity, like most people who drive them.

I drive a Sunfire, 5 in the floor. I will not own a vehicle without a stick shift. Yes, I love the feel of the stick in my hand. I can’t help it. Its as much an addiction as smoking and blogging. I love it.

I love horsepower. Not so much speed, as power. However, my good friends in the NW allowed me to get behind the wheel of their brand new SUV. Why? Because I was the only sober one. I was left in charge of my friend’s brand new husband (I was maid of honor while I was there) and two of her brothers. I’ll call them Brother Z, Brother B and Brother T and that SUV.

We were on the Columbia River, standing around the woodstove drinking, them beer, me water. (I had a run in with the best people and the best tequila I’ve ever been completely blasted on, but that’s for another post.) When we got ready to leave I have to adjust everything as Brother B had been driving before. He’s 6’5″, I’m 5’3″. I followed one of Brother Z’s friends out to the secondary. When he popped up on the road he went into the oncoming lane. The Brothers are stoked, “He wants to race.” SHIT!!!

There’s a fairly long straight stretch ending with a gentle rise blocking the view of oncoming traffic. I’m the type of person that when folks around me get stoked, fuck it, I’m stoked too. I now have three grown men egging me on. Fuck it. I punched that bitch. Brother Z is in shotgun and I see him go slamming backwards. I now have tunnel vision. I’m not looking at anything but the open road and am only conscious of my foot laying on the gas pedal like I’m squashing a bug the size of Washington itself.

I lay that bitch wide-open and she’s gaining that wild momentum like the crazy woman behind the wheel. We smoke that wannabee. Just one small problem and what I don’t know, is… the onramp to the Interstate is right over that little rise. Brother B and Brother T don’t know this either because, like me, are not from WA. Brother Z knows this though. He takes up the call first, “We gotta turn! Slow down!”

Bitch is still wide open.

Brother T and Brother B sensing impending danger also take up the call, “Shit! Slow down! Slow down! We gotta turn.” I’m coming down from this massive power high and see the turn myself. In a split second I know I’m going to flip this bitch unless… I slam on the brakes, throwing the Brothers against their seatbelts (I think someone lost a filling) and the moment I execute the turn I punch it again, knowing if I don’t I’ll lose traction and… oh well, that didn’t happen.

I blend it with Portland/Vancouver traffic while the Brothers sit in shocked, stunned silence.

Brother T, we call him Tweeker, also for another post, is the first to break the silence. “And you’re the fucking sober one?!?”

Muuahahahahahahhahaaa. This is why I don’t drive an SUV. Be very glad.

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Aiding and Abetting…

June 25, 2004 at 9:19 am (Uncategorized)

My Family and Jesse James

I am the family’s resident genealogist. I am aware of how many times I am my own cousin. Big deal. The royals did it, we did it, oh well. Appalachian Royalty has a certain twang and we don’t have one eye in the middle of our forehead or hemophilia.

There is a family story, passed on by my Great-Great-Grandmother Julie (Ma-Ma’s side). Now G-G-Grandma Julie was about the same age as my Great-Grandmother on my Pa-Pa’s side, so she wasn’t really THAT old in relation to the rest. She did live to see great-great grandchildren born, just like my Pa-Pa.

The story is that Julie lived with her mother in Pikeville, KY in the late 1800’s. Supposedly, her mother ran a boardinghouse in the area, Jesse James stayed there, or rather they hid him while on the lam, and he tipped my g-g-grandmother $50 for bringing him a meal. Now, I’m inclined to believe it was $5 which probably seemed like $50 as she said she was 6 or 7 years old at the time.

Other family genes have discounted this story because supposedly Jesse James was not in that area at the time. Julie was not the type to make up stories of that nature so I was leaning toward Julie. (Now, I never knew her personally, I’m only going on the character reference of my grandfather and grandmother) I dug around and dug around in archives and such looking for clues to Jesse James whereabouts during this time frame.

Finally, I found what I was looking for. I was reading stories on http://www.crimelibrary.com. Its my thing. Yes, I read about serial killers and the mob and outlaws. It serves me well. They have a section on Jesse James which is fairly long and involved written by a Civil War buff and BOOYAH! There it is in black and white… he went through KY in August of 1876. Julie would have been 6 or 7 years old at the time as she was born in August 1869. My family were conferedate sympathizers, even though they all deserted, and in old stories were linked to Quantrill’s Raiders.

This doesn’t prove that Jesse James and my g-g-grandmother ever crossed paths. But it doesn’t disprove it either. I’m naturally more inclined to believe the family story, with a grain of salt, that we aided and abetted one of the most notorious outlaws ever. I’m so proud…sniff… does anyone have a tissue?

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I RULE!!

June 24, 2004 at 10:56 pm (Uncategorized)

I finally figured out how to post links. Although I’m too much of a squib to know how to put the actual title “Links” anywhere. I know I have lurkers out there so its really for them since, well, we all sorta know each other anyway. And if not, well, the links are there. Ummmm… now I linked all these folks and now I don’t know if I should have. Do you ask someone if you can link them? Or do most people just asked to be linked? I noticed Zelda linked me, I’M SO PROUD!!!, and she didn’t ask, but then, that is Zelda and Zelda is awesome.

Here is it: If I linked you and you don’t want to be linked to my site chances are you’ll never know anyway since you don’t read my blog. Problem solved.

For all others, it is my pride and pleasure to present to the lurkers the opporunity to read your blogs and become addicted as I have. May you have calluses on your ass as I do!! CIAO!!

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Top 10 Reasons…

June 24, 2004 at 5:41 pm (Uncategorized)

The Beaufriend is on the road again. This time its an “alternative” shop… in other words a sex shop masquerading as a music store because they sell CDs. Here are the top 10 reasons that he should buy edible/flavored lubricant/massage oil:

10. I’ll go half on the price

9. It has less calories than Wesson oil

8. Its less expensive than Olive Oil

7. It will taste better than baby oil (hopefully)

6. Friction, friction, friction

5. A good reason to shower together afterwards

4. The slicker, the hotter, the better

3. The sweat will bead on our skin

2. The boss will slide between the upper frontal prizes easier

AND, THE NUMBER ONE REASON IS….

1. My ankles are more likely to make it to your earlobes… YEEEEEHAWWW!!!

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Channeling Jim Morrison

June 24, 2004 at 2:41 pm (Uncategorized)

I answer phones on roll-over at work. That means the receptionist is stuck with someone and the phone ring and rings. Its a chance you take picking it up, afraid it might be that client you’ve been dodging. I usually try and disguise my voice.

Today, I got a guy who said, “I gotta sort of a wierd question.” God, I love these. He says, “I was divorced in ’98 in Florida,” immediatley I’m thinking, “Good, I’ll refer him back to Florida.” Bad me. “Well, my ex-wife called to let me know her dad died and the estate is worth a couple million dollars.” Ooooookaay.

“Now, why would she do that? Her dad and I were always on good terms.” Be damned if I know mister since you called a law firm instead of a psychic hotline, but I’d try like hell to get back in her good graces. “Well sir, perhaps you were named in the will.”

“I didn’t think of that.” Damn, but I did! “Me and him were always close. Just because I divorced her don’t mean I divorced him.” oooookaaay

“Sir, did she just call and say, ‘hey, my dad died, he’s worth 2 million?'” That’ll teach ya for divorcing me!

“No, no, matter a fact, we talked for 4 hours and cried together. See, she never got along with her dad very well,” So much for the inheritance, dump her! “And I broke on through to the other side,” Whooaaaa, serious 60’s drug use here causing him to channel Jim Morrison, “so it really patched things up with them.” Awwwwww…

“Sir, I think maybe since you and her dad were so close that she wanted to talk to someone who loved him as much as she did. She needed to make a connection with someone who would understand what she was feeling,” I am SO good!

“Yeah, yeah, I think that may have been it.” Then why the fuck did you just waste 5 minutes of my time? “Thanks for clearing that up for me. I really appreciate it.”

Not a problem, Thursdays are always my most psychic days.

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108808570837077575

June 24, 2004 at 9:58 am (Uncategorized)

How does one be romantic without being cheezy? Or are they the same thing? Beaufriend’s b-day is coming up. Wanna do something nice, laid back but not cheezy and schmoozy. I got him a 3 year subscription to Popular Photography magazine. Its the gift that keeps on giving. It also means if he dumps me he’ll be reminded of me once a month. If that’s not romance, I dunno what is.

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108808163281368120

June 24, 2004 at 8:33 am (Uncategorized)

I was hoping I would see the bitch that works at the law firm down the street from me this morning. I woke up with cramps and a headache. Somebody needs to pay. This woman is just like my mother. It appears she never steps out of the house without each flyaway hair lacquered into place. She walks like she’s trying to keep a marble between her butt cheeks. She would drown if ever caught in rainstorm. Snotty hag.

She has been the object of my ire since she made a racist comment about a good friend of mine. My friend is very small statured and this bitch didn’t see her behind all the people over 5 feet tall in the elevator. I haven’t liked her since and I’ll never like her. I imagine that she only has sex in the missionary position and fakes orgasms a lot because she’s so frigid no man could last long enough to defrost her twat. She probably has sex on a towel too, you know, to soak up the condensation.

She’s thin but hangs out with two fat women. I think this is to make her look good because after they get off the elevator she makes fun of them. I keep hoping she trips and falls face first into a parking meter. One day I’m going to help that along.

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The Lonely Child (Part III)

June 23, 2004 at 6:12 pm (Uncategorized)

We’re huge Lord of the Rings fans around here. (I have the books in English and German.) I was sitting in the Control Room one day, one ear cocked to hear the conversations in the living room. T.L.C. was being a butt. A real butt. Hyper-Boy was putting up with this. (This was pre-“Fine go home then”) I am boiling but stay in my room. Suddenly, a phrase from “The Two Towers” springs to mind. “Stupid, fat hobbit.” And I repeat it over and over in my mind in Gollum’s voice. I am ashamed.

I am afraid something will happen to T.L.C. At this rate it will. Its called drugs and mischief. It may happen to mine too. No one is immune. But there’s no reason to give it a head start. Its hard to impress upon someone that children need us MORE as they grow up, not less. Its just a different kind of need. They need supervision, guidance, rules, consequences and love. Love most of all.

I wonder if something did happen, whether death or consequences of choices, that they would miss T.L.C. Would they miss the way freckles pop out on his nose during summer? Would they miss his white eyelashes against his sunburned face? Would they miss the silly songs that he sings? Would they miss the way the boys get excited and hyper when playing video games to the point where even I join them (and I hate video games) as T.L.C. shouts directions at Hyper-Boy… “no, no, right there! NO! Speed up, right through there!! That’s it! That’s it! YOWWWZAAA!!!” And they stand up and high five and shake their butts going “oh yeah, oh yeah, uh huh, oh yeah.” Would they miss the way he sticks his tongue out while playing Gameboy?

Do they notice enough to miss anything?

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The Lonely Child (Part II)

June 23, 2004 at 5:57 pm (Uncategorized)

I can’t forget the month of the talent show. T.L.C. talked about it endlessly. Hyper-Boy has stage fright, unlike his mother. Every morning, every evening, T.L.C. talked about it. One morning I hear him coming across the lawn between our houses. I hear him because he is bawling, sobbing. I meet him at the door and ask what happened. His dad lost his permission slip for the talent show. He won’t get up to take him to school to sign another one. T.L.C. is angry. I console him the best I can, wanting to go over and drag his father out of bed and tell him his child is worth more than a goddamn 1/2 hour of sleep.

I reassure T.L.C. that I’m sure he can still be in the talent show. I almost go in and sign the damn permission slip myself but I know the school knows to call his dad at work and get verbal permission. This is a normal occurrence.

When his parents go out at night, they don’t really ask me to babysit. They call to let me know that he is home alone and will I be home in case he “needs” anything. There is no difference in this and asking me to watch him. I remind them that I put Hyper-Boy to bed at a certain time and T.L.C. cannot stay here. That’s okay, they’ll be home at 10. I said TEN. I stay up, afraid the house will burn or I won’t hear him if he cries or calls. Most nights it is 11:00 or 12:00 or 1:00.

This is neglect. I know this. I am ashamed that I do not turn them in. My other neighbor who watches Hyper-Boy is ashamed too. We are the worst sort of people in the world. We know everything and do nothing. We try to lead by example. What kind of example are we if we do nothing though? Who are we to dictate how another parent treats their child? He’s fed. He’s clothed. He has a roof over his head. He’s not beaten nor abused. Or is he?

Do not think I am a saint, for I am not. No matter how sorry I feel for him, sometimes he just downright gets on my last nerve.

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The Lonely Child (Part I)

June 23, 2004 at 4:19 pm (Uncategorized)

I have often heard my mother say, “She doesn’t love her children anymore than I love mine.” Is that true? How can one equate love? It is but an emotion. Is it self-righteous to assume that you can love more or better than someone else? What is love? Elusive definitions.

The lonely child lives next door. T.L.C., ironic isn’t it? My home is very small, less than a 1000 square feet. When you walk in the front door you are in a living room. To the right is the kitchen. Straight ahead at the end of the house is Hyper-Boy’s room, to the left is the bathroom. To the right is my room. Before my room is the computer room/laundry room/3rd bedroom/junk room. The living room is large, which suits me. When T.L.C. comes over I stick my head out of the computer room (We really call it the Control Room because this is where the Woman in Charge hangs out) and I can smell him from across the room.

He smells of male cat piss, crap and rottenness. He is 9 years old. He will be 10 in August. He’s cute although overweight. He’s very good at video games and loves to sing. He’s very selfish because he’s an only child and his mother believes that because he’s an only child he should be selfish. Its just how only children are. Bullshit. (Here come the comparisons) My son is not an only child. His father has two other children from his two marriages. His brother, S.W., is 16 and his sister, A.W., is 11. They live with their mothers. Hyper-Boy and A.W. see each other every other weekend and sometimes she and her mom come to visit us or we go visit them or I pick up A.W. at her grandparents house on the weekend when the kids are not together. (That’s a whole nother story)

But, for the most part, Hyper-Boy is an only child. I do not allow him to be selfish. I do not allow him to blackmail other children to get his way. T.L.C. used to be good at this. He would tell Hyper-Boy he was going home unless X, Y or Z was not done. Hyper-Boy always gave in. Sometimes this worked, sometimes it didn’t and if didn’t Hyper-Boy would come crying to me. It broke my heart and I asked him again and again, “why do you let him do that to you?” “Because I want someone to play with.” Good answer, same answer, over and over. So, I finally shut up. One day I heard the same ole, same ole start. I heard T.L.C. say, “Fine, I’ll just go home then.” I heard Hyper-Boy say, “Fine, go home then.” I pumped my fist in the air in silent jubilation.

Hyper-Boy comes into the Control Room and asks, “why does T.L.C. have to be such a butt?” How do I explain a child that receives no guidance nor attention? T.L.C.’s mother leaves very early for work so his dad wakes him up in the morning. T.L.C. gets dressed and ready for school. No one tells him to have a good day, kisses him goodbye or tells him that they love him. If he rides to school with me and Hyper-Boy I tell him to have a good day. He comes home to an empty house. Now that its summer, he stays home alone although he wants to go to his old babysitter’s. His parents say they can’t afford it. They can afford to drink and party but not hire a babysitter. They make roughly twice what I do and have roughly the same bills. I can afford it.

His mom has told me she never wanted children. He was standing in front of her at the time. She equates this by saying, “but I love the one I got.” Okay, can we just stick to the “I love the one I got”? His grades are abysmal. I know this because he left his report card at my house. His mother complains because the school wants her to work with him at home. She says it is their job to teach him, not hers. Obviously. I interject as best as I can the importance of being involved and helping where we can. “Its not my job,” she says.

T.L.C. gets angry because Hyper-Boy can read better than he can. He got angry (jealous?) because Hyper-Boy went on a special field trip because he had gotten his Accelerated Reader points. He told Hyper-Boy to stop bragging. “Its not nice to brag about stuff when other people don’t get to do it.” I told him, gently, that Hyper-Boy was not bragging, he was merely relating his day. Hyper-Boy was not saying, “Ha ha haha ha, I got to go and you didn’t.” I would have knocked out that loose tooth he has for that. He was just excited about what had happened.

Later, I told Hyper-Boy, who has enough trouble at school that I’m thrilled when he gets kudos for his work, that he had every right to be proud because he had worked hard. He had every right to talk about his accomplishment.

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