Category: ms. malaprop

delurk.

delurk.

lunatic fringe: i know you’re out there.
The Great Mofo Delurk 2007

seriously, though. i get a gazillion 100+ hits every day — well, legitimate ones — i get a lot more from spammers — and yet i know only a scant few who actually ever stop to comment and say hi. (well, besides the spammers who are getting really interesting in their comment spam. thank G-d for Akismet!)

so c’mon every beatbox! say something. share your favorite recipe for anarchy! or chocolate brownies! or tell me you love me! (or not. but be kind about it.)

just let me know you’re out there 🙂

[and props to kellyo for bringing it up :-)]

as usual, i suck as a mom

as usual, i suck as a mom

yesterday was painful enough. BC started a running program at school geared toward tween girls — you know, all about girl power and healthy self image and all those things my girlfriends and i all lack? of course, she gets there, and there are three other third grade girls who say hi to her and quickly run away. the girls, apparently surgically attached at the hip, were not interested in making a new girl feel welcome. apparently, after i left, BC cried 🙁

it sucks having to relive childhood misery.

so this morning, i wore my workout clothes to school when i dropped BC off. after yesterday’s trauma, i took a few minutes and walked her in. i should point out that my t-shirt is an ancient, huge t-shirt that a woman from the Weekly World News gave to me when my old workplace was contemplating doing a content deal with them. i absolutely love this shirt and will mourn it’s passing when it goes (it’s 11 years old now). there’s a picture of a mink on it. the headline reads:

WOMAN KILLED BY FUR COAT

$30G full-length mink comes alive and bites rich widow to death!

ah, the subtlety. the new york post has nothing on these folks.

anyhow, i am walking out of school, having successfully removed my beloved child, BC, off my person. i see a mother. she sees me. she stops.

and she scowls.

i mean, a major, WTF scowl. like somehow, i am polluting the very air she and her child are breathing because of my shirt (which, i would point out, was freshly laundered at that point in the day.) she actually looks angry at me. i walked on.

that’s it. i’ve had it.

i’m checking ebay to see if i can find BC a Sex Pistols shirt to wear to school.

road rage

road rage

what the HELL is the matter with you people who drive on Route 270 through Montgomery County? [and yes, i am, in fact, screaming.]

i drove to a birthday party up in scenic damascus yesterday, and i felt like i was taking my freaking life in my hands. now understand, i am not a frightened little old lady who drives at 20. no, i drive the NJ Turnpike, i drive the DC Beltway, i drive all over the place (EXCEPT for NY – i swore when i received my driver’s license i would never, ever drive there. 25 years later, i am true to my word.) i drive like a big-ass, jerseygirl driver. which, of course, i am. sans the big hair.

and yet.

here i am, driving to this little kid birthday party with jools in the backseat, singing his super why repertoire at the top of his lungs. meanwhile, i am negotiating 6 of the 12 lanes that cut through lovely (don’t go back to) rockville, potomac, parts of rockville that are also called potomac (to make people feel richer), gaithersburg, etc., and people are screaming by me. i mean SCREAMING, and the wind they create actually makes my tiny little prius shake slightly. i’m going 70 to keep up with slow traffic. and when i say people are passing me, they are whizzing by, not just gently passing.

then there are the weavers: the people, usually male, who weave through several lanes at a time at 10,000 miles per hour, like cloth through a loom. usually, they’re driving huge pickups — the ones with the supersized sides — or SUVs. (i get it, i get it. you have a huge penis. now get the fuck off the road and go play with it somewhere else.)

and then, lest i forget, the clowns who merge onto this panoply of pandemonium… at 40 mph??? do they have a freaking death wish? where did they learn to drive — north dakota??? did ANYONE take PHYSICS in high school??? SHEESH.

where ARE you people going in such a rush? to your graves? my G-d. if you aren’t having a heart attack, stroke, or baby, you really need to slow your speed-loving ass down.

ARGH. it actually drove me to take my mp3 player off random and put it on James Taylor’s Greatest Hits on the way home. i needed sedation. and if i heard anything remotely punk-like, well, i don’t think it would have been a good moment for motherhood on the road.

bashing

bashing

so today, i’m at physical therapy, doing what i do best — sweating and being a complete and utter spaz. i’m on this pulley that i have to pull, attached, like a dog on a leash. i walk forward like the guys in genesis in i can’t dance only to hit the end of the line, and, like a dog that rushes it’s way to the end while chasing a squirrel, i get yanked back by pounds and pounds of weights. it’s pretty funny, actually, and i can’t wait til next week, when BC has to accompany me. oh, i’ll be hearing about this for years: mommy is so nutty! let’s have her committed.

but i do this every week in the hope that my knee will get stronger, that i’ll get stronger, that the world will resume some semblance of normalcy.

but will it ever, i wonder.

so i’m doing my thang. next to me is a woman who is working on another body part with one of the PTs, a really nice guy whose name i’ve forgotten. we’re all talking about new jersey, as his siblings live there and he’s off there for the weekend. i mention that i grew up there, and we start talking geography.

so this woman notes that she likes middletown, NJ. i mention it’s a nice place, that my mother taught there for a little while. i’m trying to understand what she’s saying — she has a thick accent, though it sounds like a mixture of asian and hispanic, and i can’t really hear everything clearly. but then, she starts going off on jews. v e r y c l e a r l y, thankyouverymuch. are you jewish? she asks the PT. he whips out two crosses he has around his neck. and then she goes off on how jews are all rich and-other-delightful-stereotypes-that-just-make-my-life-complete and which i won’t even write here.

COME AGAIN?

this was the point where i hit the end of the pulley, literally knocking the wind out of myself. they moved at that point. i stood there, dumbfounded. i’m still mad that i didn’t get to question her. politely.
there’s a part of me that has had such an incredibly shitty week that would just simply start screaming in a socially-unacceptable way. considering, though, that i have to continue at the PT for the unforseen future, though, i didn’t.

but that chick better hope i am not scheduled at the same time she is. she will get an earful.

why? why? why?

it seems to be increasingly socially acceptable to bash jews again. even segments of the liberal left (of which i always thought i was a part), some of whom are jewish, go after jews on the whole concept of middle east peace. it’s difficult to separate rational arguments from antisemitism, to be sure.

people seem to have forgotten how it all started: how many countries refused to let refugees from Nazi horror into their countries — sometimes in measured amounts, but plenty of times, outright refusal, america included. israel let them in. i’m not saying israel is even close to perfect — america certainly isn’t — but i’m beginning to get irritated about how it is becoming increasingly fashionable to bash people with broad brush strokes. as if we are one people who agree on everything in every way.

it’s about as effective as bashing all americans because of our president’s foreign policy. because believe me, it ain’t like we all agree with the Shrub.

grrrr…

come sit on my couch

come sit on my couch

molly, by way of kelly, had a fun meme. i tried it. you can, too:

1. Go to www.careercruising.com.
2. Put in Username: nycareers; Password: landmark.
3. Take their “Career Matchmaker” questions.
4. Post the top whatever results

there are those who might think that i sort of have achieved #16 informally.

1.

Casting Director

2.

Human Resources Specialist

3.

Paralegal

4.

Archivist

5.

Historian

6.

Lawyer

7.

Civil Litigator

8.

Corporate / Commercial Lawyer

9.

Judge

10.

Critic

11.

Writer

12.

Print Journalist

13.

Director

14.

Political Aide

15.

Court Clerk

16.

Stuntperson

17.

Insurance Claims Adjuster

18.

Criminal Lawyer

19.

Venture Capitalist

20.

Curator

21.

Legal Secretary

22.

Housekeeper

23.

Hospital Service Worker

24.

Animal Trainer

25.

Communications Specialist

26.

Adoption Counselor

27.

Mediator

28.

Fundraiser

29.

Lobbyist

30.

Humanitarian Aid Worker

31.

Family and Consumer Scientist

32.

Anthropologist

33.

Actor

34.

Medical Secretary

35.

Industrial-Organizational Psychologist

36.

Stock Clerk

37.

Editor

38.

Marriage and Family Therapist

39.

Postal Clerk

40.

Multimedia Developer

are these parents 4 real?

are these parents 4 real?

and then there’s the story about the New Zealand parents who are mad that they cannot name their kid 4 real. since the NZ registry office won’t let them register a name with a number in it, they’re naming him the highly rational name superman instead. but they’ll stick to their guns and call him 4 real in daily life. they have chosen this name, 4 real, because when they first saw his ultrasound, they knew he was … wait for it … 4 real.

now, people should be allowed to name their offspring whatever the hell they want. but i often marvel at the names people choose for their kids. as if there’s something meaningful and important in naming your child qwerty because you conceived him while laying on a keyboard. i’m still marvelling at the popularity of the name nevaeh, which is heaven spelled backwards. its especially popular among holy rollers. but isn’t the opposite of heaven hell? is your baby the new god of hellfire?

for me, naming my children was a cultural experience. in my culture, we name our children after beloved dead people. (or, at the very least, we use their initials.) but i wanted names that i thought were beautiful, names that wouldn’t get my kids’ asses kicked on the playground. i cannot imagine what some parents are thinking when they drop names on their kids that will surely land them in therapy one day.

and those parents in NZ? well, one day, i figure the kid will do what zowie bowie did.

when zowie was about 12, he asked people to start calling him joey.

pariah of the parent set

pariah of the parent set

so we’re waiting for the bus to camp — me, BC, her friend, and her friend’s dad. we only met yesterday, but they seem like really nice and interesting people. we’re chatting about all sorts of things — scooter libby, the idiocy of the president, that sort of thing that passes for pleasantries here in the nation’s capitol.

then, BC looks at my arm, which isn’t covered by a sleeve. “hey,” she says to her friend, “look at the holes in my mama’s arm!”

yep. that’s a conversation killer.

i had to explain to the father that, in spite of all appearances, i am not a smack-shooting mother but rather a person who gets hooked up to an IV every few weeks for some life-saving IVIG.

yeah. i’m sure we’re getting invited over for a playdate. real soon, too.

Theme: Overlay by Kaira Extra Text
Cape Town, South Africa