Filed under: kiddo
Crank your head to the side and check out my kid reenacting this Geico commercial:
http://v7.tinypic.com/player.swf?file=2gtn4np&s=7
I’m pretty proud.
-CJ
Friday, fifteen hours with my sig-o’s family and extended family and distant family and non-blood family, etcetera, for as far as the eye could see for a double funeral and the reception that followed.
Saturday, a mad cleaning spree and three dozen cupcakes for guests who came to celebrate one blue-eyed wonderchild’s eighth birthday.
Sunday, eight hours on foot at the magic kingdom. Some portion of those hours spent in the rain.
Monday, from bed to work to English 106 to this stellar bean and cheese burrito and cold Corona. When I could have chosen one of many mindless DVR options to decompress with, I forced my ass into this hard and unforgiving dining room chair for some sort of pathetic, minor and likely ineffective creative outlet. Because I’m fucken losin’ it, man.
The workload is all-consuming without a moment to breathe. The only reason I took a lunch hour today was to bang out 1.5 pages of key points from a short article by Malcom X to turn in at 6:30pm when I switched to student mode. Today, in conclusion to a loooong-winded e-mail, I told my boss, “I am very, very upset.” Which is corporate code for SO FUCKING PISSED OFF RIGHT NOW. But between anger and my usual tall order of discouragement, I’ll take blood-boiling rage that can only be expelled through proper e-mail because my mind and my feelings mean nothing without a branded signature at the end.
I framed and hung a huge Kraken rum poster in my dining room. It’s making me smile.
Of note, the music that plays on that website was reoccurring background noise in a number of nightmares I had as a kid. Eep.
More later. Lots.
-CJ
Filed under: kiddo
“Mom, you know how you asked me to brush my hair?” Kiddo asked me the other morning, hair a-tangle on her sleepy head.
Um yes, why aren’t you doing it yet? “Yes.”
“I just wanted to tell you that that was an imperative sentence.”
I looked the word up when I got to work and I’ll be damned. That seven-year-old blows my mind.
-CJ
The holidays passed with an embarrassing amount of last minute to-do and to-buy things on the list. I had prepared by buying a few presents in October and stashing them away. Then my gung-ho motivation to be ready for the red & green drenched period of crazy consumerism ended. Ended before I’d really dented the amount of gifts I wanted to procure and ended WELL before the wrapping…
But it passed and my kid has a new bike and I’m typing from a brand spankin’ new laptop.
I know it isn’t about the material possessions and the receiving but as an atheist, it’s not about the religious traditions either. It’s really about that feeling of being lighter during a generous vacation-y time with my friends and family, the FOOD, the wine and/or cocktails and naturally, the kids.
(But the new books and pajama pants didn’t hurt a bit.)
December 25th was this majestic calendar date that felt light-years away, even in December, as a kid. If there weren’t a seven-year-old in the family, I imagine Josh and I would sleep late and definitely not have a tree or many decorations, if any. My parents might lose the spark too, as their youngest is in high school. Kiddo’s keeping the Christmas spirit all around but don’t tell her.
The kid gets so big-heady.
Hope it was all well and fabulous for you too, whatever it was you celebrated. Or didn’t.
-CJ
On this lovely Friday evening, when I left the office after what felt like a long, long week, I should have felt lighter. Carefree. But I was weighed down by my pillowcase sized pursebag (I have to always carry ALL THE THINGS*) and my laptop bag and one overflowing bag of my co-workers’ generous food donations. When my arms regained their feeling, I took a deep breath for the first time in days. Work is so overwhelming in its quantity. School feels like a chore (one! more! week!) and my kid is making me crazy.
*I can’t even talk about going to the bank without saying it exactly like this, and yes, I do a voice.
When I got home, the bathroom reeked of an awful mildew.
From when the toilet overflowed. Twice.
Again.
And so I cracked a beer and got back to work on my laptop, this time in my long basketball shorts and a baggy MMA thermal, hijacked from Josh. (Athletes must be so COMFY all the time.) Two hours of OT didn’t dent the stack of papers I brought home. The stack that Lucy decided looked like a good place to lay upon. We all know I did not stop her.
Kiddo has taken to lying. A lot. For silly, nonsensical reasons that will not benefit her. Except by the time she realizes it won’t benefit her, she’s stared me in the eye and said with conviction that she lost her lunch money.
Er, spent it on charity candy.
Um, bought cheap breakable toys at Santa’s Workshop, where the kids can buy inexpensive presents for their family with a couple dollars.
She’s admittedly thrown responsibility to the wind. When it comes to bringing home her jacket or lunch box, or turning in important papers, or listening to at least ONE of the words we say to her, the kid could not be paid to give a chocolate dipped fuck.
In the car last night, I told Josh, “You realize… she’ll be a teenager one day.”
“And she’ll have her lunch money outside the liquor store…”
“Begging for booze and cigarettes…
“Coming home with tracks marks and saying, ‘Mo did it!’
“And we’ll be like, ‘Mo’s been dead for five years!”
I reiterated some portion of this to my mom in a woe is me and parenting stinks phone call. Surely she rolled her eyes and laughed maniacally when he hung up but before that, she reminded me, “This is parenting. Being able to laugh about it.”
dramatic sigh.
I GUESS.
Wouldn’t you want to trust this face?
Is it any wonder where the blue eyes came from? This is my (incredibly handsome, yes?) dad.
-CJ
Just like everyone else, every December, say it with me now, I can’t believe the year is almost over.
In 2010 Kiddo turned seven, which was when I started to realize she wasn’t quite a baby anymore, but a stubborn individual who needs me a little less every day week month year. I turned twenty-five and for the first time, I worried a little bit about my age. There’s something freeing about being in your ‘early twenties.’ It excuses late nights and hangovers, renting instead of owning, shitty credit woes, hand-me-down chic, and mismatched silverware. No one ever asks me why I’m not married yet but rather whether I am considering marriage in the future. I can be ‘going through a phase.’ Am I supposed to be a more distinguished ‘adult’ by the time I cross the halfway point of my twenties? Am I going to shake my head and laugh with nervous embarassment when I look back at this in my thirties?
So much has changed. Early last year I would have choked on the rum I was so dependent on to think I would be happily committed come eight or nine months. I would have balked to think Kiddo could act any less than stellar. I would never have considered that I could be too brash. I would have hid behind my passive agressive tendencies to avoid ever admitting that sometimes I am wrong and more often than not, I have something to learn from everyone around me. It’s hard to see your own stubbornness and your own selfishness. It’s hard to catch yourself in the act, retract and rethink. And it’s hard to watch yourself fall on old habits you want so desperately to have corrected by now.
Dare I say, I might have learned a thing or two in those twelve weeks of anger management this summer.
Which is worse; stagnancy or regression? I think it’s important that I keep changing, be it for better or worse. I want to evolve into a happier, smarter, more independent, secure and selfless being. I want to be proud of myself. I want to be okay with being proud of myself. I am speaking for every woman in America, maybe.
There’s work to be done, surely. And I’ll write too much about it and be afraid of what other people think, no matter how hard I deny caring. Then I’ll rear back, confident, and challenge someone to care. I hope one day that the cycle stops at ‘confident.’
-CJ
Early in October, my roommate moved out and my baby daddy boyfriend Joshua moved in. In the wake of the transition, I’ve handled an embarrassing amount of dust and practiced weaponized vacuuming. My barely stirred domestic instincts began raging like that of a woman in the third trimester of pregnancy, WITH TWINS. I’m nesting, people.
I picked up some cheap 4×6 frames online for these two shaving prints I’ve had. The blue haired beauty is a painting by my friend Marci Bones, printed on a greeting card. The other is from a postcard rack of photos in a very random art show I wandering into in Pomona, years ago. They’re hanging in the master bath.
I picked up two cupcake prints from Gary John on the Venice boardwalk and some simple document frames on Ebay for above the kitchen sink.
I loved his Skull Soup print, which I might pick up for between the stove top and the hood, though I like them in twos.
I voluntarily took on the loathsome task of painting and had a pint by the name of Country Heather (a light blue) mixed up at the local hardware store. I grabbed a roller and an edger and pretended I knew what the hell I was doing – taking on Kiddo’s new room. I only did the window wall because I love a good accent. The contrast with her black window covering didn’t come off too harsh. I used the leftover paint on a cubby set from Freecycle where all her shoes go. It used to be pink and we just couldn’t have that anymore. This is the kid that shuns the Barbie aisle in Target. Sadly, I can’t get a good shot of the wall color on my crappy camera.
We’ve got a dining set on loan until Ree asks for it back. My meeeean seven-year-old dug a pen into it, scratching the surface to hell. There were some other nicks and dings and one bright cup ring on it before I had it refinished by the wonderfully affordable guys at my work.
I’m on the lookout for some affordable cube side tables for the living room, like these: http://store.steelcase.com/go/products/detail/TS31415L/
Upcoming projects: purple paint for an accent wall in mine and Josh’s room, guitar hooks for some slim wall space between our closet doors, reupholstery of some beat up couches, a possible accent wall in the living room, and forever, the collection of handmade goods and wall art.
What are some of your favorite home goods and where did you find them?
-CJ
…but this foul-mouthed blogging bitch is back.
My creativity has dried up like the sponge in the office kitchen and the only thing paying attention to it are fruit flies because they need somewhere to lay their larvae. And they’re like, “There’s the wrung out leftovers of Jill’s mind!” and they kamakaze dive to it.
Human Biology is one class, one night, for just shy of 3.5 hours but it consumes more than 40% of my brain. I want to succeed in the subject I am not good at. I slipped on the first test and scored a high D, adding to it the extra credit I earned in the first week, I balanced a C-. This is not acceptable. I studied like I was getting paid for it and scored a 96% on my second test. I’m balancing out now with a B average and determined to use my last few weeks, chock-full of tests and quizzes, to bring it up slightly.
I’ve always had a very regular reading habit but I’ve devoted my lunch hours and free time to the textbook and the notes to the point that I forgot the story line and who was who in the big ass hardcover I was pointlessly carrying around. I’ve neglected my blog and my personal journaling site. I don’t put pen to paper unless it’s to add cat food to the grocery list. (Man, those furry fuckers EAT.)
School is not entirely to blame. I work on a team of a few people at work, all of us leaning a little on the others to complete the various stages of the order process. Three of our 8 person team have left – one for disability, one for maternity and one for another opportunity. I’ve taken on more than double my work load resulting in some OT (yay!) and major stress, usually held tight in my left shoulder and lately, my neck (boo).
But there is still so much good. I got to go to a Jimmy Kimmel Live taping and see A Perfect Circle perform as a guest (William Shatner was a guest as well!).
I got to swoop up a last minute ticket with my cousin to see them again at the Avalon, where they performed the entire Mer De Noms album in order. And an even last minuter ticket went to my little sister, who I was thrilled to have with me.
I double-dated off to the Galaxy for a night of Joe Rogan’s comedy.
There’s been more social activity than should be for someone working this much, attending school and hanging out with their seven-year-old smartass.
No one warned me about the Smartass. I knew things would get dodgy, rough, patience-testing, infuriating and overall worthy of the pain but BY GOD THE SMARTASS. This phase of sarcasm and dry wit deserves a daily slap upside the head if she weren’t emulating her father and I EXACTLY.
Her father and I… While it is highly likely that this is all in my head, I feel like we’re being challenged to succeed while the people around us are waiting for the crumble. All we ever did was crumble before and build back up something a little weaker. We had a ROUGH five year stretch but we started that stretch at 17 and 19 years old and had a CHILD together before we’d known each other one year. (Kiddo was born three days prior to the one year mark of the day we met.)
Our story goes something like this: hot chick (heh) rolls up in an El Camino with the windows down and talks to a co-worker outside her grocery store job. His two friends linger in the back. One of the friends remarks that he has the same jacket that I’m wearing. (This one.) Girl remains unimpressed. He is, after all, just a boy. And boys are so lame. Girl’s passenger (a family friend) invites the gentlemen to our house for that night’s big boxing match/excuse to party. (Roy Jones Jr. vs. Glen Kelly, 02/02/02) They come. We chat, we beverage. He says now that I was flirtatious. Numbers are exchanged later that week through the co-worker of mine/friend of his and our story began. It went up, waaaay up, and it crashed down. Over and over for five years. And then we spent the better part of three years trying to be big kids without the other to lean on.
It says something that almost nine years after we met, we are having a lot of fun living together with our house full of pets and I still can’t keep my hands off of him. Through the good and the bad, we never lacked passion. And that is weaving into something more solid, stable and exciting than it ever was.
The naysayers, in my head or otherwise, are wrong. We got this.
-CJ
Coming apart in eight easy steps:
Two weeks ago, my company graciously handed over a laptop for use as a second screen on my desk and also the essential tool for working from home when combined with wireless capabilities.
Shortly after, the elementary school nurse, in rare form in that she was mostly pleasant, called to let me know Kiddo had a headache and would be needing a ride home. If I know my child and I think that I do… nevermind. Nurse threw in how she can usually tell the fakers from the sufferers and I was on my way.
But when Kiddo was skipping out to the car and using her obnoxious voice to tell me all about what she’d done in her half day of school, I knew there was no pain or what pain had been was no longer though it occured me to reinstate it with a well aimed headbutt.
The community college I attend is roughly one block from Kiddo’s school and of course I still needed test materials for the test taking place that night. I hurried over there with plans to be in and right back out of the campus bookstore. If I can avoid being on campus with so many privileged day students, I will. But it turns out that the school had a remodel. It was breaking ground the last time I took a class and now seems to be a fully functional labrynth again – this time with the bookstore not where it had always been. Some amount of sweat and tears later, I stopped a girl and asked for directions, bless her for guiding my confused and weary soul. I was in no mood for the guard (?) at the bookstore entrance when he told me I could not bring my purse inside with me and told him as much. With my eyes.
Sans purse, I found the proper Scantron package and got the hell out of that school, my long sleeve sweater clinging desperately to my damp skin. And lo, a parking ticket.
At home, I fainted from the smell of the litter box and split my brain in half. Okay, I didn’t, but I rushed to get the offending shit box as clean as possible and saturated the air with a scented spray that Josh loathes. I will take chemical floral anything over Furby and Mo waste. It is what coats the floors in hell, I’m sure.
My vision is so pathetic that even with my glasses on, I couldn’t see the trail of ants until I was down at litter box level. They led all the way to a gap in the vinyl at the dining room wall. Using the rest of a can of Raid to rid my house of the skeevy bastards (say what you will about ants – they’re what lives in the shit coat on the floor of hell). But there cannot be Raid without a good mopping to follow, for my poor monsters could lap up the poison and keel over on me. And God forbid, the one that keeled be Furby. My relationship would not survive.
I cleaned the shit, I killed the ants, I mopped the mess. Until I found another trail leading to the kitchen trash can. Repeat process. Insert expletive. I was finally ready to get back to work on my laptop.
Except my own internet connection was password blocked. I called my trusted IT dude who questioned my modem and connections. I threw up my hands. “I called Time Warner this one time and I had internet the next day. THAT IS ALL I KNOW.”
I finally found out (after thirty minutes of plugging and unplugging and loading and reloading) that Josh had protected our connection with his cell phone number.
Insert SON OF A!
Many moons later, I was online and working, Kiddo tucked into a nap. Like my mom would say to me, ‘if you’re too sick for school, you’re too sick for damn near everything else, ever.’
Does it surprise anyone that next to me on the couch was a tub of raw cookie dough?
-CJ
Over the weekend, Josh and I spent many hours grunting and kicking and throwing and sweating during a five game kickball tournament for a youth charity. My company sponsored enough people to form two teams. Kiddo played ball on the sidelines with a friend while we kicked some ball ASS.
There’s never a lack of interesting in my life.
-CJ
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