Inside the mind of America’s (raunchy, foul mouthed, overly opinionated, sexually aggressive, incredibly offensive, fly by the minute, ridiculously absurd, often times erratic, psychologically questionable) Sweetheart.

United Flight 93 October 29, 2006

Filed under: Uncategorized — the108 @ 6:46 pm

Last weekend, Dean-o and I settled the kids into bed and decided to watch a movie. As usual, we both wanted to watch different ones… He wanted V For Vendetta and I wanted to watch United 93, a re-enactment in real time of the events of September 11th, 2001 to the one flight that didn’t reach it’s intended target.

There have already been a few movies made about Flight 93… one for the for the A&E channel and one for some other television station. This particular movie was the one that was made to release in theaters and I wanted to see it. I hadn’t seen any commercials for it or anything, but I am one of those strange people who’s obsessed with history and this is one of those things that will one day be tucked right in there and classified as “important history”. I had also realized that there wasn’t much I knew about this flight other than that it was hijacked and intended to crash into the Capitol building or White House and that the passengers had attempted to fight back. Other than that, I knew next to nothing.

V For Vendetta won last weekend so I reserved my movie for another night. Then, a last minute change in scheduling had Dean-o working cq (24 hour duty) yesterday and the whole night was had all to myself. I decided to watch United 93 without him since he hadn’t seemed all that interested.

The movie starts out with the hijackers in their hotel room shaving their bodies and praying. For the next few minutes, the scenes jump from the crew of the flight preparing carts and readying the plane, to the passengers arriving and waiting to board, the pilots engaging in small talk as they walk to their planes, to air traffic control doing their thing, the fueling of the aircraft…. All the crazy, crazy stuff that has to be done to get these things up in the air.

Once everyone is on board and ready to go, the plane gets delayed for about 45 minutes due to heavy traffic. At this time, the hijackers in their seats start to squirm and look nervous until the plane finally takes off. Once they get up in the air, the flight seems to go on as usual for about another 40 minutes or so, the hijackers sort of arguing over when is the best time to “do it” and the passengers oblivious to anything that is happening on land. By this time, two planes have crashed into the World Trade Centers which is experienced all over again by the viewers by way of the scenes with air traffic control who kept losing planes on their radars and not getting responses from the pilots when they were called on. It was very interesting to see how this all started out up their in the booths, the suspicion that maybe a plane has been hijacked turning into other suspicions and then flights missing from their screens. Then, CNN announces that a plane has smashed into the World Trade Center and they think they have found their missing plane. In New York, air traffic controllers watch the Trade Centers with binoculars and stare dumbfounded when a second plane comes out of nowhere and makes contact with the second tower.

At this point, we are also watching this play out from the inside of NORAD and it is really interesting to see how our airmen and soldiers are depicted as all of this is going down. As the wife of a soldier, it’s believable… the dialogue, the people themselves and how they react. Then, they get word that another of the missing planes has hit the pentagon, the first plane to go missing, American Airlines Flight 11 which they had thought had been the plane that hit the first tower. They are still not getting any response from United 93 and begin to make preparations to send jets up and, to be honest, sort of freak out because they need permission from the President to shoot down any aircraft that is flying with the intention of slamming into a building. The President cannot be found and everyone is panicking.

By this time, they are getting no response from Flight 93 for a reason. The hijackers have made their move, one of them entering the bathroom with his carry on bag and assembling a bomb that may or may not have been real, and strapping it to himself. After grabbing a stewardess and killing the pilots, they shuffle the passengers to the back of the plane.

After that is just plain devastating, as people are screaming and crying and having no idea what is happening. Many begin to sneak phone calls to try to get help, say goodbye to family… and at this time, someone is informed that planes have been crashed into the WTC. Word travels quickly through the passengers on board and everyone pretty much comes to the same conclusion: This is a suicide mission and they are all going to die.

Some of the men on the plane frantically discuss that they have nothing to lose and that they need to try to get the plane back under their control. They are going to die anyways so they might as well make the attempt. They get up and make their way to the flight attendant station and inform them to begin boiling water and to pass out anything that could be used as a weapon amongst the passengers. They tell them that they are going to get the plane back and ask if anyone there knows how to fly. One gentleman on the plane is a pilot but has never flown anything but a single engine plane. They decide that he is going to pilot the aircraft and land it with the help of those on the ground and everyone prepares.

A lot of the passengers are still on phones with people explaining to them that the men are going to try to overtake the hijackers. This whole thing is unbelievably well documented since so many people were using the phones and informing people of what was going on.

The movie stressed me out. I felt like my heart was going to pound right out of my chest the entire time, but once the end was near, I cried like a baby and did my best to fight off the nausea I had. By the time the credits rolled, I was a mess. I was physically shaking and couldn’t breath. I felt sick.

The movie depicts the passengers as taking down one of the hijackers. Another hijacker tries to keep them back by repeatedly slamming them with a cart. They climb over and with much screaming and shouting, take him down as well as that hijacker is frantically trying to get into the cockpit where he believes he will be safe. He doesn’t make it. The plane is speeding up and heading for the ground as the passengers begin to use the cart as a battering ram on the cockpit door. In the movie, the two hijackers left are shouting and praying as the door begins to crumble. The people break through and jump on the hijackers and wrestle to get the controls from them. In the final seconds, you see the crash from their point of view… the ground spinning in front of them like a wall and then darkness, silence.
No one is sure if the passengers made it through the cockpit doors. There was, of course, the little black box recordings of what was taking place in the cockpit before the plane crashed and that was recovered. The strange thing is though, that the plane crashed at 10:06 in the morning and the publicized transcripts of the tape stop at 10: 03. Three minutes are missing or have been silenced… by someone.
After watching the movie, I hopped on line and started researching though the whole mess. I discovered on numerous websites, that there is quite the conspiracy regarding the whole affair. Basically, what eye witnesses said they saw from the ground, the placement of the debris and things that were overheard on the telephone calls were causing people to believe that the military, indeed, had shot down Flight 93. I hadn’t heard this before.

I think I might be convinced, though and I don’t like it. One particular sight I went to was pretty well informed and it seemed had a good amount of knowledge about the situation. You can read the whole thing here if you want to. It makes a very interesting read, I will say that. A lot of questions have been raised. I’m not sure too much of it matters though.

I suppose I can understand the government sending a plane to shoot down Flight 93. They knew it had been hijacked and they knew it was heading towards Washington D.C. with the intent to slam into a building killing thousands of people. The 44 people on board the plane were far easier to sacrifice if that is what really happened. The government is denying this, but if you ask me, I can read this article and easily become convinced that that was exactly what happened.

I am left a little confused. But more than that, this movie and my wee little research afterwards has left me unbelievably saddened for these people, the passengers on this plane. They knew exactly what was coming for them and fought it. They are heroes.

Years after September 11th, 2001 and it has finally kicked in. Where it had been devastating before, sad and angering, now it is more for me.

I am terrified for what’s in store next now that we have made so many more enemies in the world. I pray that they will go easy on us. We cannot stop them any more than we could have in 2001. And now, we have strenghthened their numbers and their determination. When will it come? Where?

We like to say that our leadership has learned enough and is doing enough now to stop this from repeating. The truth is, they can’t stop it at all. I wonder, at this point, if we are just making it far worse on ourselves. It just seems that there were far less tragedies before the “War on terrorism” was born. Perhaps we should have chosen our battles more wisely and left them alone to destroy each other.
It blows my mind how many people out there think Saddam Hussein is responsible for September 11th. I have heard it with my own ears.

“Fuck Iraq! Let’s blow em’ to smithereens! Look what they did to the World Trade Centers!!”

In reality, Saddam Hussein had nothing to do with it and the man who did is still out there, no longer mentioned by the media.

But, thank god, we got our revenge on Iraq. Iraq with all the weapons of mass destruction that were never found. America has weapons of mass distruction. We admit it. We have them and so do many other countries. Shit, we were the first and only country to actually use them. Remember? Remember when thousands and thousands of inncocent children were vaporized when we unnecessarily bombed them as they were starting off to their schools in Japan? When this happens, it is no longer political. It is personal. Smaller attacks limited to their military and government would have sufficed. But we had to make sure to take out all those threatening children. Funny. Not funny.

It scares me to watch us poking at the devil with a stick.

Liberation? Maybe. Who really knows what our intent was? Money seems far more likely considering that after we bombed the entire country of Iraq, our companies, businesses and contractors were then sent in to rebuild it and money, money, money was made. However, liberation was not the reasons we were told we were doing this. September 11th happened. The World Trade Centers happened.United 93 happened. There was an enemy out there and we joined together to take them out. Wrong enemy.

I feel sick to think that all these Americans have now become scapegoats, their deaths the excuse to kill thousands more. It is a viscious cycle and one that isn’t likely to disappear any time soon. We die. They die. We die some more, they die some more until what? Until someone finally gives up? What will it take?

I’m scared to know what it will take and what will be sacrificed along the way. I’m scared that I have come to distrust our government so much. I’m scared of the lies. I’m scared of the future.

Back in the day, America unselfishly liberated millions of prisoners who were suffering a terrible ordeal. That was true heroism. We stopped a madman and tried to help those who had already been victimized my him. That was real and it was honest.
Now, we are fighting other demons but for different reasons.

There are honest reasons right in front of us should we choose to look. Africa needs us. But is there money to be made in Africa? Have we anything to gain by helping them?

We had nothing to gain from 1939-1945. We lost a lot from 1963 to 1975.

Now what? Who is America and what does she truly stand for? I don’t know anymore. It is something that has divided our country. Everyone has their beliefs and that is and may be the last, great America left.

Who is the threat? Do we fear America being destroyed from the outside? Perhaps it is being destroyed from the inside. Maybe we are simply setting ourselves up for disaster. Like I said… poking at the devil with a stick.


Maybe we are the devil.

Who’s to know? Certainly not me. Certainly not you.

With so many God’s out there swimming around, fighting each other, who do we turn to? Who do we trust in?

Who will save/destroy who?


The Little Fish October 28, 2006

Filed under: Uncategorized — the108 @ 3:46 pm

At the top of the water
Where the sunlight shines through the surface
And the obstacles are rare
The little fish swims along
Not looking back
Not looking below
His body cuts through the water with ease
Stirring nothing up
And leaving no trail behind him
But, Little Fish
Why not swim along the bottom
And see the world down there?
So full of life
And color
And beauty
Of course the journey will be difficult
And often dangerous
And there will be times when you look around
And all you can see is darkness
But swim a little further
And take another look
There are lessons to be learned
Behind every rock
And the hardships you endure
Will make you grow stronger
You could get lost in a world so big
But finding your way out
Will only make you open your eyes
And see things that you haven’t seen before
You may learn to appreciate the beauty
Of this world around you
And forget the emptiness you used to feel
It can get very lonely at the top, Little Fish
And sure, the life is easy
When you can shut your eyes and swim along
But what happens when the seagulls come
And your easy life is gone?


Hilarious Conversations I have Had October 27, 2006

Filed under: Uncategorized — the108 @ 8:18 pm

Hilarious conversation #1:

The phone rings. I pick up it.

“Hello?”, I say.

“Hi! My name is Jason and I was calling you today to see if you like magazines!”

Me: Uh… I might like magazines.

He: (laughs loudly) HA HA HA HA HA! But seriously! Do you like magazines?

Me: No.

He: (a momentary silence as he tries to figure out a response to that. Then, finally….) HA HA HA HA HA! You MUST like magazines! What do you suppose your favorite magazine would be?

Me: Well, I suppose I’d have to say Maxxim.

He: Perfect!

Me: Uh….

He: Now, what is your NEXT favorite magazine?

Me: Uh…. Blender.

He: Perrrrrfect! (Comes out kinda sounding like someone giving an approving, “duuuuuude!”

Me: Uh….

He: Well, now, that’s just GREAT! What would you say if I told you that you can get FIVE magazine subscriptions for the price of just ONE subscription? (I should mention here, that at first he said, “prescription” by accident)

Me: That sounds like a fabulous deal.

He: Doesn’t it though?

Me: Uh….

He: So, what do you say to this unbelievable offer?

Me: Listen here. I’d love to help you out and get these incredible magazines, five of them in fact, for the price of only ONE “prescription”… HOWEVER….!… I do not keep credit cards or debit cards or anything other than money in pocket. I am extremely saddened that I will not get the opportunity to take advantage of this incredible offer, but so it must be.

He: You SERIOUSLY don’t have a credit or debit card? You’re not just saying that?

Me: Uh… no. I solemly swear to you I have no credit cards. They are the devil.

He: Well, then if what you are saying is that you have NO credit or debit card, then I am sorry to have to inform you that we will not be able to conduct business today.

Me: Yes, it would appear as such.

He: But, if you don’t mind me speakly frankly, I’m a little embarrassed, but I’d just like to say that if you didn’t live in LAKEWOOD washington, then I’d be asking you for your phone number right now.

Me: You have my phone number. You called me.

He: Oh. Yes. I suppose I did.

Me: It was lovely talking with you.

He: It was a pleasure I will not soon forget.

*I think I’m in love.

Hilarious conversation#2:

Me: Matthew, either clean up your shit or don’t. I don’t care anymore.

Matthew: Um… is the option mine?

*Damn it!

Hilarious Conversation #3:

Matthew: Dad, can I have a snack? I’m hungry

Dean: No, you just had a snack.

Matthew: But I’m staaaaaarrrrrrving!

Dean: Matthew, you have got to stop eating us out of house and home. We can’t afford to keep feeding you like this, son.

(Matthew wanders off and then returns a few minutes later)

Dad? Can I PLEASE have a snack? I’m feeling a tad peckish.

*Fucking kids.


Oil On Canvas October 26, 2006

Filed under: Uncategorized — the108 @ 11:20 pm

There was a time when I felt that the German language was ugly and crude. Words flew out like phlem off the tip of the tongue. Every phrase I heard sounded twisted and choked on and the whole damned language came off to me like cancerous sputum being sprayed across my face.

It’s funny how much I loathed Germany when I lived there. I saw the place as dreary and depressed and the people as controlling and rude. After living in shiny America for so long, it was a cultural shock. It was an unfriendly encounter to say the least. Germany and I had our differences and we did not exactly hit it off. Not in the beginning, not in the end.

Now, I miss it. It seems that perhaps we were just not ready for each other yet and now we have both matured enough to relate to one another. Germany is the land of the broken spirit who keeps on fighting, silently and sadly. At least from the eyes of a foreigner. I often thought that Mother Nature had an honest idea about Germany and dressed him accordingly in suits of gray and a constant frown. In the summers, it was ridiculously hot and it seemed that the locals just hadn’t realized it yet as they do not have air conditioning in that country. It is predominantly chilly for most of the year, but for a few weeks in the summer, it would reach temperatures of over a hundred degrees forcing us to soak towels in cold water and wrap them around ourselves to stay cool. It was ludicrous.

Summer would end and I would start to feel better emotionally. The skies began to remember that they weren’t very happy after all and simply stopped trying to pretend. Summer seemed like maybe it was just an anxiety attack on Nature, a bit of a nervous breakdown… unfamiliar and dishonest. But come September, reality would return and along with it the chill and the mist and the changing of the leaves into colors so bright that they couldn’t be real at all. The trees were fashionable beings… always knowing just the right shades of red and gold, purples, oranges and deep browns to wear and then they accessorized themselves in the mist that remained long after the morning fogs danced away. It covered everything like a long scarf and twinkled feverishly, knowing that everyone was powerless to stop it had they wanted to.

I spent the fall looking out my windows. I could do this for hours. It seemed that finally, the world around me had figured it all out and gotten it right. There was nothing so calming, so peaceful to me. I felt connected to the world in ways that I can’t explain and shouldn’t have to… but want to, at the very least, to beg someone to understand me. Fall understood me and we were friends.

Winter would arrive like the greeting of a politician to the podium, ready and prepared and in control. Fall would exit gracefully as if it were merely the opening act, thought up and designed with the sole purpose of getting the crowd riled up before the man of the hour would arrive. And he would arrive alright to thunderous applause that he would humbly accept before quieting the crowd, getting down to serious business. I was that crowd, on my feet… believing in the cause, supporting the movement, hanging on to every important word.

Winter and Germany did something important for me. It connected me to the ways I was feeling that I couldn’t connect to the rest of the year. Germany was ugly, old and worn down. There were colorless buildings, colorless bridges, colorless people. When the sun shined out loud, everything just looked ugly to me. You see things differently when they are blanketed in snow, and visible through a frosty window, one perfect nose print in the glass. It made you want to step out from behind the glass and immerse yourself in it. In the fall and in the winter, I did. Something happens to the air during this time. Things smell differently, sound differently, feel better. At any other time Germany, to be polite, is inconvenient. Winter time turned it from inconvenient to having it’s adorable quirks and from there, it was simply a personality flaw that I could compromise with.

I needed Winter in Germany. I live my life often feeling like I’m not real, like I’m just a blotchy figure in a red coat dabbed onto the far corner of a canvas. Faceless, with a huge story that no one knows except the long forgotten person who smudged me into the landscape. I feel lost a lot. Like I have this whole life painted out and I am just a mystery to anyone who takes the time to study the painting. A simple, momentary curiousity. I don’t know who I am. I don’t know what my story is. I am just there allowing anyone to come and write it for me. Perhaps, I am walking home to drink hot chocolate by a warm fire. Maybe I am leaving somewhere to start fresh somewhere else. Maybe I am meeting friends to sit and have drinks and talk. I don’t know who I am or where I am going because I am just a dab of oil on canvas. The story is yours to be written.

My fall and winter friends supplied me with a huge connection with myself. At the time I felt alone and unsure. Then, I rushed out of Germany and moved smack in the middle of the Desert where the hot sun hid nothing from me. My lovely friends were gone and I hadn’t thought I’d miss them so much.

The other day I hopped in my car alone and went for a drive. I passed down a road I drive down all the time but that day it was different. I heard a familiar voice and looked around to see that my old friend was back. I pulled over and shut off my car and got out and just sat for a minute watching the millions and millions of leaves twisting around in the streets like dancers at Carnival. Scarlett dresses with gold trim, the deepest purple fabrics, all swirling around like fierce, little tornadoes begging for my participation. I listened to the sounds of the wind blowing them faster and faster and watched for a long time. I had never seen this many leaves in Germany and there were a lot of dancers there, too. This time, it was like a welcoming parade that a committee of thousands had prepared in my honor. I inhaled deeply and smelled Christmas. Pine and Evergreen… the real deal, not like those little car air fresheners or bathroom cleaners. Real winter. Real evolution. And instantly I felt real, too.

This honest and familiar feeling is a welcome one for me. It uproots me out of my harsh reality and sets me down gently in my canvas where I am comfortable. Just my tiny, faceless smear of oil on canvas. With infinite stories to be told and only you to write them.


Lovelier Days October 18, 2006

Filed under: Uncategorized — the108 @ 4:03 am

Somehow, the days are getting slightly perfect. Not completely because my house is a mess and I can’t stand it, but inching closer… closer still…to perfection.

Today I woke up and got my sweet bumblebee, Olivia out of her bed. She greeted me as she always does… with a bright and cheerful, “Hey, mommy!”. Follow that with a smile and it is the best tasting breakfast you’ll ever have.

I get her out of bed and bring her out to the living room. She dances around as I get her a drink and put on my kona and then I settle her to play while I make some breakfast for her and the still sleeping Owen. Matt was off to school with Daddy this morning so it was just me and the babies. Owen emerges from his bedroom looking like he got into a fight with someone five times his size. I look at him expecting him to unleash some sort of still half asleep rage in my direction but he just grins. I relax. The two little ones, as is custom, throw themselves at each other and giggle and chase each other around as I get their breakfast on the table. As they eat, I check email and have my coffee and then clean up the table.

My morning was lazzzzzy. We stacked a big pile of books on the floor in front of the fireplace and sprawled out on pillows. I must have read them about 40 books and was perfectly happy doing so. Happier than I’ve been in a long time. Midway through Green Eggs and Ham, there is a knock at the door and it is my friend Meghan stopping in. We decide to take the kids to lunch and I get them dressed to go.

Lunch was fabulous, as usual. We ate at Panera… we’re a tad addicted. Yesterday, I took the babies there for a treat of brownies while I had a coffee. Today, they picked out bagels with cream cheese and I had a sandwich and a salad. It was so nice that talk sproutedof taking them to a park or to do something fun once Matt got out of school. Dean has cq tonight and is working until 9 tomorrow morning so it is just me and the kiddos. So, we head off to hit up the auto store because my tail light is out and once that’s replaced, we head home where we parted ways with Meghan who had some of her own errands to run.

Matt got home from school and I woke Olivia up from her tiny little nap and we headed off to play mini golf. Boy, was that an adventure. Matt is so funny. He takes it so seriously but hits the ball way too hard and, I swear, scored, like, a thousand. When he got sick of taking it slow, he just started pushing his ball with the golf club slowly towards the hole and the whole thing was very much like that stuff the Canadians do… what is it called? Brooming or something? I dunno. But they use brooms.

Owen just flat out cheated. Instead of starting where he was supposed to, he would place his ball right on the edge of the cup and then tap it in. Hole in one every time. I can’t believe Matt didn’t kick his ass.

Olivia gave it her best shot. Her best shot being just picking up her ball and throwing it at the hole. When that didn’t work, she would smack it around for a bit and then just set it gently into the cup with her hands. Also a big, fat cheater. But at 20 months old, what can you say? At least she got the jist of it and made the attempt…lol.

18 holes later, it was time to go. By this time it is dinner time but I figured we weren’t ready to go home yet. So, mom says, “How about some ice cream?” Cheers all around.

We went and spent about an hour at Coldstone Creamery,the kids eating their ice cream and running around and me sitting there watching them act silly. On the way home, I made them promise to at least try to eat some dinner. They made me proud. Each of them put down a hamburger and some carrots and some broccoli and as we were sitting there eating, Daddy came home for a bite, too. He went back to work and it was just me and the kiddos again. Miss Olivia was cleaned up and we sat and read goodnight moon before it was time for her and Owen to brush their teeth and say goodnight. Two little ones out like a light. Then, me and Mr. Matt settled in to some homework.

Now, all is quiet and I am relaxed. My tv has not been on once today and it is perfect. I’d like to get rid of it altogether.

Tomorrow, Dean is off work since he is pulling 24v hour duty today. I’m not sure what his plans are, but me and the kids are going on a picnic. Maybe a hike. Who knows? But it will be fun.

Thank god for today. I really needed today to happen. It makes me really want tomorrow. Instead of wandering through my Tuesday in a daze, going through the motions and routines, I actually lived a bit. I smiled at least a hundred times today and laughed just as much. Today I loved everyone and it has been a long time since I have felt that way.

Today was a good day.


Under Pressure October 15, 2006

Filed under: Uncategorized — the108 @ 8:58 pm

Do you ever feel under pressure to be not like everyone else and then you become just like everyone else trying to be not like everyone else?

It seems like there are all these new stereotypes out there and some of them confuse me. I remember a time when there were just the normal stereotypes… jock, cheerleader, drama fag, band geek, chess club dork, hippie, over achiever, … and the outcast. The outcast was a very broad stereotype because it pretty much included everyone who didn’t fall into any of the other categories. If you wore black, for instance… or had a tattoo. If you looked visibly filthy or had a police record, leather jacket… you get the picture.

Sometime in the 90’s it seems that the varying types of outcast branched off and got their own identities.

Suddenly we had, the Thug (wigger for those who remember the term), the hood (that guy in the metallica t shirt) , the sluts (those girls who were always pregnant but got into a fight where they were kicked in the stomach and miscarried…. or, they delivered the baby and put it in their locker.), the grunge guy, the goth, the punk, the skater, the skinheads, and later in the decade… the metrosexual. The metrosexual being an over exeggerated version of the preppy excpet that it was by looks alone. The metrosexual could have any personality type so long as they used hair product and referred to it as hair product.

Now, after the millenium, we have added a few more things to this… namely, emo, screamo, and a million more I can’t even think of right now.

All well and good.

I guess I’ll put it this way:

Sometimes, I feel under pressure to like Monty Python, to hate Dr. Phil, to worship tofu and to hate Christina Aguilera.

The truth is… I hate Monty Python, like Dr. Phil, think tofu is disgisting and am ashamed to enjoy the huge voice of the tiny Aguilera.

I constantly feel guilty when I talk to my friends because I feel like I am supposed to be wierder than I am or something. I feel like I am supposed to like and dislike certain things. It’s like high school all over again.

Recently, when Dean decided to do Idol, I was met with a shitload of, “Oh my god… why would he do that???”‘s from about a million people. Well, he would do that because he wanted to for his own reasons. And I suddenly felt like I needed to explain or defend everything I do, say, listen to, like, wear… everything. I feel like I have to put on an act and I’m just not really good at it.

I’m just me. I’m a 27 year old woman with three kids and at first thought… you’d say soccer mom. And you’d be right. I have pink and black hair, piercings, tattoos and I dress nicely from time to time. And I do this while I pile my kids into my minivan and drive them to soccer practice, to the grocery, to the doctors or post office or to Home Depot when I need something to fix something else. When I come home, I read books and I watch t.v. and I’m happy. I read what I want and I watch what I want and then I’m ebarrassed to tell people what I like and dislike because I don’t want to have to defend it. I crochet. Don’t tell anyone.

I shrug these days, a lot. I used to explain or make excuses.

“I like Dr.Phil because he knows Oprah and Oprah likes Bono and Bono is cooooool.”

Now it’s, “I like Dr. Phil because he is honest and funny and insightful and if he wants to promote his book on every show then what do I care?”

People are just not allowed to like Dr. Phil.

Cult classics! It’s all about cult classics now!

You, as a human being, are required to like Monty Python. Also, The Beatles (who I can’t stand), Rocky Horror Picture Show, That guy who wrote that horrid book about the gorilla in the room with the man who he teaches all life’s great wisdoms to…. what is that guy’s name…. Daniel Quinn! That book was shit if you ask me. Another book that was shit that I am told I have to love is Siddhartha. Another big, steamy pile of crap. Terrible authors writing shitty books with equally shitty storylines that they use to get their ideas across. But the writing sucks. But I love them because you tell me to!!

Another thing you are not allowed to like is any song that is played on the radio more than once in a day. This includes anything by Nickelback or Justin Timberlake… both of whom have songs I enjoy but am afraid to admit it. A band is really, really cool until they are played on the radio a bunch and then they suck. Green day was once considered cool, but now it is too “pop-y” and cliche. Evanescence was once dark and gritty but then they made it big and now they are uncool to listen to. And good lord… if you are a techno band or a dj and everyone recognizes your name, you now suck. It is only acceptable to listen to people no one else knows about. And you will root around and dig for it. Maybe you have a freind who listens to some band you’ve never heard of and they’re okay. A little talent, but more importantly… they’re obscure! You decide you love them as well and listen to them all the time and feel really cool that you follow a band that is too cool for the radio. Then, they make it big and you proudly declare that you loved them back before anyone had ever heard of them and halfway take credit for their greatness. The second album comes out, they win a grammy and you drop them like a fly and declare that they are too mainstream *sniff*

Feel free to turn up your punk rock nose….

Basically, Im sick of this shit. Snobbery comes in all forms and I’m tired of seeing it or hearing it. It is now super cool to be super uncool.

Guess what? I bought some of those jeans that come pre-dirtied. They have holes and stains in them that will never wash out with all the oxy in the world. I paid 40 bucks for them when I could have gone to the thrift store!

So what?

And the tiny retro looking tee shirts that look vintage and are not? I get mine at Wal Mart for 7 bucks a pop. I don’t dig around in underground stores or dig through my mom’s old crap. I see something I like… I buy it.

And so do you. You think I don’t see you at Hot Topic buying that crinkled up leather jacket and those old school plaid pants with the suspenders? Like hell I don’t. And don’t think for one minute that I don’t see you sneaking into Bath and Body Works for that Plumeria lotion, either. I’m on to you.

So… to sum it up. I’m uncool. And so are you. Deal with it.

I’m off of here. Extreme Makeover is on.


One down…. two to go

Filed under: Uncategorized — the108 @ 6:03 pm

Halloween is one of my favorite holidays and I usually go all out. This year, I have toned it down a lot, partly because finances are tight and partly because my two older boys changed their minds so much in the past month, that I was unable to really start any costume projects.

By the end of Halloween night, I am going to want to kill them. Seriously, they have driven me nuts and it is not over yet. They will continue to drive me nuts until November 1st.

I wanted to make Olivia Tinkerbell. However, I live right outside of Seattle and it is cold and wet here in the fall and I knew if I made her Tinkerbell she would freeze her ass off. So, I came up with this idea of making her sort of a Victorian Ladybug… like a ladybug dressed in human clothes. I figured this way, she could wear long pants and a heavy coat and not freeze her ass off.

I didn’t sew her coat. I bought it on ebay and then bought her some comfortable pants and dyed them both black to match. The coat is a navy peacoat and it’s really cute but a tad too big on her so it kind of looks like she’s wearing a trenchcoat. Like a little ladybug flasher or something. Yet, appropriate for the climate here. I imagine that if I were a ladybug living in Seattle, I’d probably wear a trenchcoat and carry a little umbrella. I’m contemplating buying a red umbrella and sewing black spots on it. Lord knows she will need it come Halloween night. Yeah. That’s what I’ll do. It’ll be cute.

So, I buy the jacket, the pants and some kick ass boots for her. Thinking now about the whole umbrella thing, I should have bought her rain boots, but instead I bought her these knee high things that are quite hot. Maybe they can pass as rain boots. Maybe I should make the umbrella look like leaves?? and a flower? Somebody tell me what to do!!!

The wings had me up until 2 in the morning last night. I sewed them to hang down her back and be quilted. She has a set of single layer black wings and then over that, a double layer of red ones. They tie around her neck with a little velvet ribbon. It’s pretty cute. Looks kinda like a cape. Then again, she looks pretty cute in anything. We’ll have to see.

I have just informed Dean that I am making her an umbrella. His response:

“That will be an awesome accessory.”

Good. This means he will cooperate when I am up to my elbows in multi colored fabric and floral wire. It’ll be fun.

So, Olivia’s costume is done with the exception of the umbrella that I have just, in the last 30 seconds, decided to make.

Owen is getting there.

Let me just back track a few weeks and talk about how much my boys suck. To be fair, once Olivia is old enough to have an opinion, she will suck too. But for right now, it’s the boys who are doing all the sucking.

In the last month Matthew has decided to be Jack Skellington,a mummy, A red reaper, Nightcrawler and every japanese animated character there is. Owen has wanted to be a fireman, a dog, also a mummy, a dinosaur, spiderman and for a brief moment, a soldier (mom said hell no…. we have enough of that in this house.)

The first thing Owen wanted to be was a pirate… one pirate in particular, Capt. Jack Sparrow. Up until last week, mom had agreed to do a fireman and Nightcrawler. Then, I started having issues with the fireman costume because I wanted an authentic helmet and couldn’t find one that would be here in time. I refused to let him buy one of the store bought fireman costumes (remember this for later…lol.)Then, I began googling pictures of Nightcrawler and was all set for the unbelievable project of turning my kid into a freak.

But they kept changing their minds and I kept panicking and they were freaking out and finally, I dragged them into a costume store and told them to pick some shit out because I was fed up. Then… the expected happened:

Matthew: I want to be Batman
Owen: I want to be Batman.

A fight ensued over who got to be Batman. I tried everything I could think of, which wasn’t much. I was NOT having two Batman’s. I said… Hey Owen, why don’t you be Robin and Matt can be Batman?

Owen, in not so many words, told me to go to hell.

So, I tried, Het Matt, how about you be the Joker and Owen be Batman?

Matthew in plenty of words told me to go to hell.

So, I informed them that neither of them was being Batman and they both freaked out. I mean, crying and pitching a fit, the whole deal. Then, Matthew decided on the following and was recived by his mother with these answers to his requests:

A power ranger: Uh, the power rangers suck. You’re not being a power ranger.

The Hulk: Hell no. That costume looks like a piece of crap.

A ninja: No kid of mine is going to be a ninja. Every other kid your age is going to be a ninja and you are not going to be just like every other kid.

I was already pissed, I suppose. I felt raped of my opportunity to make costumes, which I do every single year. Not only were my kids being assholes, but I was bitter that I was standing in this store looking at this overly priced, cheap looking garbage. I told Matt he can deal with Daddy about the whole thing. He finally settled on this reaper type thing that is shrouded in gauze and who’s eyes light up. Fine. Whatever. There is not a damned thing I can do to tweak it a bit. Sigh.

Owen went back to the original Capt Jack idea. I bought the damned kit with the vest and shirt and boot covers. Then, I bought him an outrageously priced pirate hat and sword and an even more outrageously priced wig. They sold wigs with the dreadlocks in them but I bought a normal one so I would have something to do. Then, I spent an hour last night dreadlocking this wig. Later today, I get to put beads on the damned thing and bead up the goatee I bought him. Then, I get to sew a head scarf and all that and I will be done. Although I have instructed Dean to take this thing outside and run over the whole costume with the car a few times because it is just too damned clean looking.

And I have informed Owen that he WILL be wearing eyeliner. Loads of it.

So, I’m sorta bummed about Halloween this year. But I did find a pumpkin patch I’m going to take my kids to which I think will be fun. I also want to take them to this haunted corn maze thing, but Dean says that will be traumatizing. Dean sucks.

I’m off now to obsessively sew this head scarf thingy that will take me five minutes.

Ahhhh. Five minutes of pure Bliss.