my BS got me a trial subscription to Rosie Magazine. it isn't exactly my cup of tea, but it was a lovely gesture, as BS knows i really like Rosie O'Donnell. nevertheless, there is an article in this month's mag that really, really made me mad. here's an excerpt from the article.

basically, there is a wonderful couple who fosters kids with HIV/AIDS. they are involved in the PTA, they are involved in the kids' lives. they are nurses, so they especially are wonderfully sensitive to the kids' health issues. they would like to adopt the kids, but they can't. this couple is gay. they can't because one of the kids is from florida; and florida, ya see, is the only state that prohibits gay people, both couples and individuals, from adopting. (gays ARE allowed to foster in florida, though. weird, huh?) Mississippi and Utah, bar same-sex couples from adopting. (now there's a shock: one state deeply-mired in the bible belt, and the other, orrin hatch-ville.) this all came about thanks to orange-juice-brained anita bryant and her hateful legislative rampage in the 1970's.

i have friends who are gay; i have friends who are heterosexual. we all know that life is short. and we all know that it is hard to find love in the world, regardless of your sexual orientation. there are good people, there are flawed people, and there are people who should not be allowed to breed or care for children. some of them are gay, some of them are straight. why kick out some of the good and mildly flawed people based on sexual orientation? it makes my blood boil.

and then there's the old “kids need role models from both sexes” argument. sure, kids do. but no one goes after single parents about this. in short, every parent has the responsibility to show their kids how to be a decent human being. being a decent human being is not a gender specific trait, despite the days i believe it to be true 😉

so. if you are as pissed off as i am (and hopefully you are!), maybe you can make your voice heard. check out lethimstay.org. and find out how. maybe it is time to write to our dear old friend, Jeb Bush.

there. i'll get off my soapbox now and do some dishes.

so this morning, my three-year-old daughter gets mad at me and yells, “oh jesus!” i yell many exciting and colorful additions to the english (and other) languages when i am mad, but i do not usually yell “oh jesus.” i don't know if it is a jewish thing, i don't know if i just find other words more accurately express my utter pissed-offedness, but i just don't exclaim those sorts of things too much. growing up, i never yelled many bad words until i left home. we just didn't say things worse than “hell,” “damn,” or the biggy, “shit.”

you just had to see BS and my faces when she exclaimed utterances to that good old guy. we, of course, promptly informed her that there were better ways to express her ire. (yeah, listen to mommy when she drives at rush hour.) of course, this reminded me a bit of the new show “The Osbournes.” i don't know if anyone else out there has watched it. it is pretty awful, but like a car crash, i can't seem to turn my head away from it. it's ozzie as ozzy! his kooky wife (and manager), sharon! his teenaged son jack (who is also a record company talent scout in his free time)! his wacky, multicolored-coiffed daughter kelly! their nanny! (one daughter apparently decided not to participate. smart gal.)

now here are the parenting questions i have for the osbournes.

1) why do teenaged kids need a nanny?

2) why is every word out of everyone's mouth “fuck”? i just imagine the kids as toddlers, approaching other little ones: “fuck you, billy, it's MY truck!”

3) why hasn't the ASPCA cracked down on them for having so many animals? it seems nearly cruel to me; and clearly, if the animals constantly poop and pee all over the house, someone is not paying enough attention to them when they need it. sure, i know, animals make mistakes, animals mark their territory, etc. but when you are as self-involved as the Osbourne family, how on earth can you remember to walk all of your dogs? don't even talk about feeding them!

and finally,

4) why can't ozzy figure out his remote? some iron man. hmmph.

'80's! i'm livin' in the '80s!

with many apologies to akadashi-san, AKA mr. bean, i have found a station i just lovelovelove! (although i love your station, too, karly-warly.) i can't believe they are playing Gene Loves Jezebel right now! OMG!!! AIIEE! i am suddenly transported back to Club Schmel, AKA the Melody Bar deep in the bowels of New Brunswick, NJ (Motto: It's a Shithole…but it's OUR Shithole.) Matty Pinfield, who took his bald head and made it as an MTV DJ in the '90s, spun records here on the weekends before he ever glimpsed fame (and fortune? who knows – the half-life of an MTV DJ is about the same as that of a dragonfly). i used to pester him to play The Smiths every saturday night, and we would spin around the room dancing to “bigmouth strikes again” and “hand in glove” while the neon picked up what little white we might have had on (please, even then, i only wore blackblackblack at night.)yep, jaaaaane, me, lynnard (and her ID du jour), glamourous miss jackie – all riding down suydam in jackie's ancient VW bug to that smelly old firetrap. we didn't much like the roxy across the street, but we loved fuzzy navels (everytime i see peach schnaps, i think of my beloved pal suzanne!) yep, karin and i liked to have guinness at the Whalin' Bitch (the Ale N Witch), but the mel was *the* place to see poseurs side by side with executives in town from Johnson and Johnson with the latest dregs that poured in from g-d-knows-what-sewer, with lots of bouncy college kids thrown in for good measure. the place on “That *80s Show” is so sanitary. it just doesn't compete with our old hangout – a place that was repainted, resculpted, and redecorated nearly weekly by basquiat-pretenders and anyone else who took a fancy to spray painting walls. big hair, big neon, big fun.

so, what's become of club schmel? what, indeed. they paved paradise, put up a “for sale” sign.

it's monday, and i still see a dumpster. of course, no one is working on the house today. of course not. i better shake my sillies out and and calm my bad self down. i am beginning to act like dagwood bumstead.

anyway, last night, i had the pleasure of discussing the merits of arachnids…at 2:30 a.m. see, yesterday morning, BC had a spider some sit down beside her…well, not exactly. a little spider nearly came down on her head, and, in short, little girl was not amused. (who would be?) i cleared away the offensive spider and explained how spiders are usually our friends and eat the nasty bugs and are more scared of us than we are of them. in truth, i always left the bug squashing to BS — but that was pre-BC. now that she has come along, those hepped-up maternal instincts kick in, the ones that say “must-protect-baby-girl!” (in a william shatner-like voice, of course.)

so here i was in the middle of the night, turning on the light, showing her that the spiders were not coming down on her head. i even broke out a spray bottle and sprayed “anti-spider-serum” on them (water, and hey, imagine that, it is the same stuff as the anti-crocodile spray we use 😉 finally, at about 3 a.m., BC thought the better of it and conked out.

the last time i had this sort of conversation was in high school. a friend of mine (who shall stay nameless) had dropped acid, or so he claimed. my experience with that sort of thing remains limited, as i have never done the stuff but have been around people who were happily high and examining the deep meaning of bugs bunny. truly. but suddenly, here i was, little straight-A high school girl with friend who somehow was in ok-enough-shape to ring me up (in the days before redial) in the middle of the night. and why? to share that purple spiders were coming off the ceiling and attacking him. and that i had to help him. and somehow, i ended up convincing him that the spiders were friendly and that if he only closed his eyes, he would be ok. what possessed me to have that sort of conversation? i'll never know.

but i was reminded of it when my daughter informed me that her friend, Sammy Spider, was a friendly spider and that she would be ok. where did this come from? beats me. but i am glad that she suddenly befriended a friendly spider. maybe i will have a half-chance of a full-night's sleep.

http://members.aol.com/couplandesque/quizzes/johnquiz.htm

not surprisingly, i ended up as rob, the guy from High Fidelity. what a freakin' shock 😉

well, well, well. i used to think that i needed a huge colossal party to have fun. i still enjoy parties and wouldn't complain if i had one; but now that i am older and a mum, i have different joys that make my natal day complete.

probably the highlight of the day (thus far – it ain't over yet, y'know) was walking the aisles in the supermarket today with BS and BC (beloved child), the latter of whom is 3. now BC, apropos of nothing, says “mommy, i can't tell you what i got you for your birthday.” pause. “I got you socks!”

BS was incredibly chagrined. i laughed so hard that people were staring at me. (attention: lunatic on aisle 3!) BC, of course, only thought that i was giddy with the joy of her future present (which, by the way, was awesome. y'see, my daughter has my JAPpy grandmother's spirit in her. we were in nordstroms last week, and she immediately ran over to these funky Steve Madden socks and screamed, “mommy! you HAVE to have these! you MUST get them! NOW!” after recounting this tale to BS, i guess they took a little trip back to nordie's and VOILA! i now have some really funky socks. **and** a digital camera from BS, i might add. thanks, BS! you rock!) anyway, the look on BS's face was worth the price of admission.

the workmen are working on a saturday across the street, and i have to put on music so that BC will nap amidst the BOOM BOOM sounds. but nothing's gonna spoil my day. *nothing* i tell ya. we had a lovely walk on roosevelt island, marred only by one moron who refused to leash his two wolfhounds and let them shit all over the damn park. i am getting so tired of people who believe that rules apply to everyone *but* them.

but it's my birthday. i won't dwell on some DC asshole. maybe they can shit in the District, but not on my national parkland, mister. take your dookies elsewhere!

… and proud of it, man. seems someone's dumpster is not presently under any existing permit by the local government. oh dear ;-)and did you know that you are not allowed by law to truck in stuff from another dumpster? oh my.

boy, that man from the commercial was right. it's amazing what you can learn when you let your fingers do the walking.

warning: those with a severe aversion to suburban angst need read no further.

since november, there has been a colossal renovation taking place directly across the street from us. in the end, this house will be larger and higher than any other house on this street. that is not why i am so annoyed, however. if their windows are so high that they inadvertantly peek in on me while i am nekkid, then that is definitely their problem and not mine…

but. since november, they have taken out my cable for three days (dumpster truck pulled down the line into the street and they did nothing – no internet and no TV!); i have raised my telephone line as a preventative measure; others have dumped trash into their dumpster, which overflows into the street and into my yard (sometimes with HUGE pieces of wood, which i have had to move out of the street before someone's car gets mangled); the workers themselves leave their 7-11 trash all over, which ends up in my yard; and nails from the project ended up in the street in front of my car, which i know because one ended up in the tire of my subaru, flattening the tire and ultimately costing me $300.

so you think i am a little pissed?

so today, someone came by and started dumping construction crap into the dumpster from another site, with the complete sanction of the head construction guy, who was chatting with them before they began dumping. Beloved Spouse (from now on called BS – boy, he'll love THAT!) came out and took a picture of this. as he was driving away (and i was outside in my jammies), he asked the project manager, brian, whether they had a trash transfer permit. he said yes. i think i might call up the county today and find out fer sure.

i cannot believe the complete disregard these people have shown for us. i met the future new owner and filled him in on what has been going on. he was fairly appalled. but while this is not directly his fault, this type of shit does not make good neighbors. it is hard enough that the BANG BANG-BOOM BOOM has been going on for months — and often intensifies right around the time i am trying to put my daughter down for a nap. i can forgive the usual issues regarding renovation. but the people from Morris Day are just completely uncaring about anyone else in this neighborhood.

::phew:: i wish i could say i felt better after ranting. but i don't.

yeah, right. dip me in shit and call me stinky. i am happy. thanks to my pal karl, i now have this lovely, handy-dandy live journal. thanks, karl! it fits, it doesn't make any noises, and it doesn't make me want to vomit into a bloomingdale's bag. which is more than i can say for a select few gifts i have received in years past for my birthday. (which, incidentally, is saturday.)

anyway, i will write more Meaningful fodder later. now i hear screaming from the kitchen. time to take on my daily role as the maternal *deus ex machina*.

ciao, babe.