weekend round-up
August 30, 2010
On Friday evening, I headed out to The Glasshouse in Pomona. It’s an all ages venue that I’ve been to at least a dozen times. Some of the more outstanding shows I was lucky to see there were Save Ferris’ second to last show ever (between 2002-2004 sometime, I think*) and my first Glassjaw show in November, 2002 when I was becoming largely pregnant and required the surroundings of gentlemen who wouldn’t let a rowdy being near my precious frontal cargo.
*The time lapse part of my brain has broken. Things that occured six months ago feel very much like they were last week. This explains my maturity regression. Sometimes I think I’m sixteen.
The Juliana Theory are not the best band, nor one of my favorites, and don’t hold an especially meaningful place in my heart. But it was their first show in five years and their last show ever and I felt obligated a few months back (who knows how many?!) when I bought myself a ticket. I hadn’t seen them before but I’d worn out a copy of Emotion Is Dead when I was in high school. Plus, ya know, live music kicks ass.
It was really, really cool. They played really fucking well and I thoroughly enjoyed swaying around and singing along. I’m glad I got the chance to see them and hang out with my cousin Alex and her ladypants, Heidi, while doing so.
On Saturday I cleaned with fervor until only a few stray white cat hairs remained. We ordered the UFC fight and had some people over for burgers and dogs in bulk packages. Of note: I am really bad at feeding the vegans. My apologies to those friends.
The turn out was fantastic. I met and made merry for the first time with a friend I’ve talked to through a journaling site for a couple months. Some friends I was starting to lose touch with made an appearance and rekindling with my blackened heart. Even people I didn’t know showed up, causing me to whisper to Josh, “who the fuck is that dude??”
The fights were super disappointing. A geedee refund is in order. I actually left the room for the last few minutes of the BJ Penn fight and I had been pretty jazzed to see it go down.
A couple of us headed up the street where a 29th birthday party was occuring that included an ice sculpture and a stripper with few to no boundaries. These two things were not combined at any point, mind you… that I know of.
I struggle with my thoughts on the… stripping industry? I’m all for the freedom to do what works best for you, to flaunt your talents by way of gyrations and picking up cash without using your hands, feet or mouth. If you know what I mean. And I think that you do. Although then I cringe a little to think of the risk this girl may be taking some nights and how, above the money she makes, I hope this is what she wants to be doing.
There’s a whole feminist rant to be had for either side of that coin. I’ll leave it to the pros.
Making nice with new neighbors is always fun, even if you’re supposed to be 100 yards away from that block by law. Ahem.
Sunday was lazy and indulgent. Kiddo was between excitement and nerves for the upcoming first day of school, which went swimmingly compared to last year. There’s a new after school program that she’s excited to check out and new friends to make, as her closest is attending another school this year, and a new teacher to make crazy. As long as the kid is happy, I’m happy.
Would it make me a big meanie to say that I am so relieved school is back on? Let the routine fall back into its blessed place.
-CJ
FLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEW
March 12, 2010
Kiddo had to write a short story in three parts. For the middle: “We flyed a kite.”
As expected, her teacher corrected it with a strikethrough and wrote just above the word: flied.
FLIED.
FLIED, said the woman in charge of my first grader’s education. Flied. Fucking flied.
-CJ
ps, flied.
this makes me happy
October 2, 2009
- “The world is moving so fast these days that the man who says it can’t be done is generally interrupted by someone doing it.” –Elbert Hubbard (1856-1915)
- Values.com and their billboards & bus ads
- The counselor I had an appointment with at school, who absolutely oozed a geninue sweetness, in the cutest way one could ooze sweetness, and got me all motivated & encouraged for my journalism degree
- Casual Friday for me, PJ Day for Kiddo
- The University of Florida WAS prepared for zombies
- I’m going dancing tonight with a lady friend or six and I’m determined to ask someone to dance
- That rare encounter that leads to a dozen things in common right off the bat with a perfect stranger and the knowing that you’re going to be good friends
What makes you happy today?
-CJ
EXCITED
September 25, 2009
The other day my co-worker asked how school was going. Sadly, I’d skipped a semester when my bank account giggled maliciously come registration time. We discussed major opportunities and I explained how I’d declared business some time ago for absolutely no reason other than my desire to graduate and it just might look pretty on a resume to say I know things in regard to business ethics. (Says she who will punch everyone – the ethically challenged, they call me.) I detached from the conversation and took on a morbid gloom, tossing my side bangs over one eye for emphasis. The lack of business driven desire offers zero motivation. The drive here is my urgent need to prove I can finish something and frame an 8×11 piece of paper that says so since my word would never be enough.
This morning however, THIS MORNING, on this bright and teeth-chattering Friday (MUST we always have the air running at subzero temperatures in this little igloo of an office? Will the walls melt, for fuck’s sake?) in a burst of motivation, which feels much like a burning/tingling sensation of the ass cheeks if you must know, I researched an AA I could get behind, a university that offers a BA I could definitely get behind, made an appointment with a counselor, printed schedules and requirements and registered for a late start computer class so I don’t miss this semester entirely.
Journalism & women’s studies – I WILL PWN YOUR ASS.
(silent plee: dear motivation, please last. kthx. love, calamity jill)
-CJ
first day
August 31, 2009
Unthinking, I rolled into Kiddo’s school parking lot loudly playing NOFX’s Drugs Are Good this morning.
It was mass chaos, just like last year, as parents and siblings offer well wishes until the classroom door is closed and the official new school year is started. Kiddo was sharp in her cuffed dark denim jeans and striped polo shirt, sparkling new Chucks and Jansport backpack. We met the new first grade teacher, a lovely lady that I’m sure Kiddo will adore as the year progresses. We made our way through the maze of bodies and kids, all perfect hair and bright colored new clothes, to the playground, where I knelt to hug and kiss on her and saw the first of many fat tears trailing her cheeks.
Several attempts at pep talking and squeezing and tear wiping didn’t seem too promising and I couldn’t bear to leave yet. We wandered over to the daycare classroom where she’s familiar with everyone and she gave me a sad goodbye. I watched her walk away, alone, and plop herself onto a bench, lower her head and cry.
Now I had a c-section so I’m just speculating here, but I think drug-free child birth couldn’t hurt as bad as that scene did. There was no fucking way I was leaving that school.
We sat on the bench together and she asked me to wait until the bell rang. I would have waited until her eighteenth birthday if she’d thought to ask.
The poor thing has never had to express nervousness. She’s been scared and overwhelmed and shit, she was even apprehensive once before. I think she could accurately express all of those feelings but this morning was simply nerves and all she could do to show it was try her mightiest to hold in her tears and tell me she’d miss me.
Kid has no idea.
She lined up on the playground at the appropriate room number when the bell rang, face crinkled and red and making a valiant effort to keep her head up. That may have hurt the most. These weren’t attention seeking tears. She tried to wear her brave face. A teacher’s assistant came between us and clucked, “Oh no, we’re not doing this, say goodbye to mama! You’re gonna be fine!”
Which is all well and true. I’m sure she’s seen this a grillion dozen times. But right then Kiddo was the only first grader in the world and she was upset and I think most other mothers will have my back when I say: that bitch almost got her face broke.
Kiddo blew me a snotty, teary kiss from her side of the chain link fence when I finally headed out. I watched until she disappeared into the classroom, called my co-worker to say I’d be running a little late due to some first grade trauma, and promptly, burst into tears.
-CJ
on pressure
June 30, 2009
As a high school and trade school drop-out and twenty-four year old with no college degree, I feel like I have failed at everything. I have no sense of ever fulfilling a meaningful goal. The reality is that I did finish high school, technically, by passing the GED test. And I have been slowly taking courses in college since 2005, skipping a semester here and there, completing eight courses so far. This year I swore with a militant diligence that I would take 1-2 classes per semester until I could graduate.
This summer course that I enrolled in took much thought and scheduling with Kiddo’s dad and averting routines but I was sure it could happen. And what’s four exhausting weeks, in the grand scheme? It would fly by.
Halfway through class last night, when I couldn’t even make it to my car without bursting into tears like a fucking pansy, I tried to explain to myself why I had to drop this class. Why the time allowance in my full time schedule didn’t allow the amount of work that was required outside of the classroom and the amount of hours required inside. How maybe I would just need to skip summer semesters if I was going to balance forty hours a week at work and still have time to keep my life and my daughter in decent working order.
But giving up the semester on those terms was not conducive to my promise to power through it, no matter what. I did what any self-respecting woman does in a crisis and I called my mom and cried in her ear about being angry with myself. She talked me down. Then I did what any self-respecting slightly obsessive woman does when she’s stressed and I cleaned.
I am pissed at myself. I know it’s okay to accept being overwhelmed but I don’t want to. I want to not think of myself as a teenage drop out/knock up and see something through and feel like I’ve done enough to lighten the pressure I put on myself. And no matter how clean my house is, or how well I do at work, or how happy my kid is, I can’t let that be enough. I need to. But I can’t.
Any ideas?
-CJ
new favorite spot
June 28, 2009
As plans fell through this morning, I found myself with nothing to do, home alone, on a gorgeous Saturday. I won’t lie – I plopped right down on the couch and watched Choke. And when that proved exhausting, I took a two hour nap. Then I figured I should probably, like, do something. The abode was warm and my new hairs (shorter ft. return of the bangs) needed to see the light of day.
I packed up the new beach blanket, all my school supplies, a Diet Coke and a Reese’s and hit the park. The breeze and tree shade, spliced through with just right rays of sun made for the perfect place to study and I got through way more than I had planned to before I couldn’t resist a BBQ invitation.
-CJ
