If You're Happy & You Know It WTF?

How's your summer been? Mine has been smashing. I can't think of any one thing that stands out that should cause me to make such a positive statement to describe my life in general, especially over such a long expanse of time since my last post, butcha know what? I'm happy. And I know it. Kiss my ass.

MDH and I have had a summer filled with friends, travel and just the right amount of family (except for Knucklehead) and house guests.

Probably the biggest news is that I have a new job. I know, I know, but calm yourself, it sounds more important than it is... It's a new job, but it's still at Large Corporation and I'm still a contractor. I sit at my same desk, have my same parking space, and earn the same wage.

The good points are:

• It's a job I applied for a couple of years ago and wasn't even considered for an interview.


• It's a more prestigious position - when I tell people what I do now they say things like "Ohhh...good for you!" As in I had no idea you were such a smarty.


• Somebody up there likes me, saw potential in me, and specifically asked to have me on the team.


• It gives me an edge to eventually getting full time work with Large Corporation as it's a job with much more exposure and potential to showcase my talents to people who have sway.


• I love my new team and more importantly I LOVE the new work (as I knew I would when I originally applied for the job).

The bad points are..., well, "bad" is rather harsh so let's rephrase that.

The bleh points are:

• Although technically it's a huge promotion, I'm getting paid exactly the same. Boo!
  
• There is still no reason to assume that it might turn into a permanent gig. Boo!

Here are some other bullet points to catch you up with recent doings and goings on in Ladyland:

Went to Boston to visit my mother in law for her 80th birthday. Highlights included:

1. Stayed at a hotel within walking distance to the North End and during the course of the week we ate enough tasty Italian treats to last us the rest of the year. I tried some new things that were surprising and delightful (beef carpaccio - I tend to avoid raw meat, but this was so finely sliced it melted on the tongue like cotton candy) and some things that were surprising and revolting (Campari and Soda - I thought it looked refreshing and chic, but it tasted like what I imagine drinking a urine sample over ice in an elegant glass with a twist of lime might be like).

2. Visited Peacefield in Quincy Mass., homestead of 4 generations of the John & Abigail Adams family, including John Quincy Adams, which brings my list of presidential homes visited up to a whopping 10 (how ya like me now CDP?). Peacefield is a short T ride away from the city. No car needed for this adventure. It is awesome. You should go.

3. Spent a gorgeous afternoon wandering leisurely around Harvard Square, popping in and out of shops, laughing and generally enjoying quality, wholesome family time with MDH and my mother in law.
(Insert record scratch sound bite here.)
At least that was the original plan. Oh, we spent the day wandering around Harvard Square all right, but it was hardly leisurely, wholesome or enjoyable because for some reason my brother in law Knucklehead wanted to tag along and turn it into a shit sack.

These days Knucklehead, fresh from his last tour in the can, is whacked out of his mind on prescription pain medications (which provide only a slight improvement to his behaviour since the days when his drug of choice was crack). So we spent a gorgeous afternoon wandering around Harvard Square with Knucklehead, who stopped every five minutes to smoke, hollered at traffic, loudly made rude comments about me, my mother-in-law, MDH and random strangers that he considered to be "fuckin' freaks and freeloaders" (he was able to recognize his own kind apparently), and generally embarrassed the crap out of us for about 4 hours. It was exhausting.

4. Oh, and now Knucklehead walks with a cane that he occasionally shakes in the air at people and cars and goes, "Baaagh!"

5. He's only 47.

6. Spent some great nights hanging out with my brother-in-law Las Vegas, also in town for the 80th birthday festivities, and his 3 grown boys and their various girlfriends. We're so proud of the next generation of little rakes, not a crack head in the bunch. Although my one niece, Knuckleheads daughter, poor kid, kind of reminds me of (I hesitate to say it) Snookie (only taller and pretty). MDH and I are keeping an eye peeled for her.

Went Up North With Friends:

1. Our friends R&R and their two kids visited us here from Washington DC and we were thrilled. They actually spent their summer vacation in Michigan. People do that. They spent two nights here at our house and then headed up north to Glen Arbor, where MDH and I joined them a few days later for the weekend.

2. I went tubing, which in Ohio means that you get dragged along, bouncing uncontrollably behind a speeding pontoon, piloted by my lunatic hillbilly cousin-in-law Bubby, in a murky brown lake which typically goes something like this:
But in Michigan tubing is something entirely different and I loved it hard. We floated gently, and safely if I might add, down a clear, clean river. I opted for a tube with a bottom so that I could sit indian style. I also snagged a paddle so that I could more easily steer myself away from any potential dirty muck or imagined crocodiles and river sharks. I will do this again.

Went to see Doug Benson last Friday night:

1. He's known for his pot humor, so it might be odd for me to love him so much, since I don't smoke it, but I love his podcast and am very excited for his new show coming to Comedy Central this fall, The Benson Interruption. I think he's one of those people who is just naturally funny and I love him, there it is.

2. Had the beginnings of what I thought was a bad cold, so hesitated to say hello after the show, as I didn't want to make him sick. I know a thing or two about what it's like to travel for a living and be sick when you're on the road, but MDH encouraged me to go up. I am not a gusher, but I assume that when you are an entertainer by trade that you appreciate hearing nice things about your work so I mentally prepared a little mini-speech. Something quick and simple, like, I love your podcast, I think you're so funny and can't wait for the new show and then I move along.

3. I got up there and he tried to shake my hand and I declined, so he gave me a little arm around half hug. Ok. Time for my nice words... here we go...

4. All I was able to say was "love your podcast" and the next thing I knew I was somehow cockblocked by MDH. Yes. You read that correctly. Well, maybe not. I mean I wasn't trying to hook up, just say hi, be nice and move on. And last time I checked I don't have a cock, but still, whatever you want to call it, my own darling husband, my love and partner on my path of life, who had encouraged me to go up and say hi in the first place... People it was freakish. The moment words of my prepared mini-speech started coming out of my mouth, MDH nearly pushed me out of the way to buy a CD, get it signed and started making pothead smalltalk with Monsiuer Benson as if I wasn't even there. If you didn't know we were married you might have thought we were strangers. It was bi-zarre.

5. The ride home from the comedy club was a bit chilly. I'm sure you can imagine.

6. Turns out I had a rotten case of the flu. I am just now recovering. I hope I didn't give Doug Benson the flu. I've been checking periodically on Twitter to make sure he is OK. Very out of character for me to give enough of a shit about anyone to check their tweets (I shudder to even type that out), but I feel a strong sense of personal responsability about this. So far I think he's OK.

Anyhoo... I hope you've been having a great summer too! Tell me about it in the comments please.

BTW: Here are a couple of other podcasts I've been enjoying while I perform my new job this summer (available for free on iTunes):

The Nerdist
Matts Radio

Hammer Time

MDH and I returned from Florida less than 24 hours ago, and it's been so long since I last posted on my blog that I'd be quite shocked if anyone out there missed me.

Some (one or two) of you may be wondering, as I was, just what the fuck were you doing in Florida in the middle of June crazyface?

Central Florida is hotter than Hades in mid-June and judging (and I am indeed, very judgemental) from the snippets of overheard conversations between my fellow airline passengers, only mouth breathing degenerates and their screaming heathen progeny fly to Central Florida in mid-June.

Or people who already live in oven hot climates.

And us.

Seriously, the mental capacity of some my fellow travelers seemed pretty limited. Case in point: The young man and his "gran-maw", sitting behind us, who I'm pretty sure were both making their debuts outside the holler, had never seen a magazine and spent most of the runway taxi time and flight to 10,000 feet, (at which point the flight attendant said we could use portable electronic devices and I praised god's glory in heaven and giddily jammed my earbuds into my listening holes and was able to block these morons out), pointing in amazement at the "pitchurs" in a glossy men's magazine that I can only assume someone had left behind in the gate area, and reciting aloud the prices of each and every item of clothing in the fashion spreads and wondering who would spend $225 for a pair of jeans and the like.

When reading fashion magazines I often wonder the same thing. In the privacy of my own head. But then I quickly get over it. This guy hammered it all out in a twangy monotone. Item by detestable item.

Lookit this Gran-maw - it sez here this guys jacket costed 23 hunnert dollers. Can you believe that shit? Damn! That's a whole years wortha child support!

I've got nothing against rednecks. I've got no room to talk as I myself come from a long line of the finest Kentucky redneck stock, but when your conversational skills are that loud, that limited and I am forced to listen to your stupid ass bullshit it endangers my health. My eyes were rolling up and all around in my head, it's lucky I didn't sprain them.

Well I guess that's what you get for booking at the last minute on Squalor Airlines.

Anyhoo... back to my original question that I imagined you gave enough of a shit to care about or ask me - we went to Florida in the middle of June because we had to reschedule our original, more reasonably timed December visit to my parental units due to my mother's broken pelvis. Understandably, she wanted no visitors during her extremely painful and lengthy recovery. No problem-o. Then I had the brilliant idea to come down in June for her birthday.

It seems extreme, but I'm finding it increasingly necessary to pad visits with my parents with buffer periods both before and after our time with them. This year our 4.5 day visit with my folks was preceded with 3 days at the beach and concluded with 2 days at Disneyworld.

Let me give you some facts about how things go down at my parents house these days:

1. They keep the air conditioning set at 80 degrees.

2. 80 Fucking Degrees.

3. That is hotter than shit.

4. It is not possible to sleep when the air conditioning is set to 80.

5. My mother makes the weakest coffee known to man.

6. My mother is even more passive aggressive than I am.

7. One morning I volunteered to make the coffee and snuck in a couple of extra scoops.

8. She said it was a tad strong for her taste, but cheerfully decided that she could temper hers by adding a little water.

9. When she added the water to her cup she said that it made it too cool and she has this thing where she refuses to heat up coffee in the microwave - so she decided, rather loudly, that she just wouldn't drink coffee that day. "It's just one day. When I was in the hospital recovering from MY BROKEN PELVIS I went for almost a whole week without coffee. Can you imagine that?"

10. It was so over the top she could've won a Tony.

11. It took every ounce of strength left in my sweaty, exhausted, coffee depleted body to restrain myself from suggesting that she leave her cup in the guest room for a minute or two to heat it up.

12. On a brighter note the house rum is 92 proof, flows freely after 11am (new summer hours apparently as previously noon was considered appropriate) and is conveniently located next to the fridge (with built in ice maker) between the cocktail napkins and a bowl of limes.

A Thing of Beauty Is A Joy for Three or Four Years... Maybe Five Tops

Time sure does fly when you're too busy to lay around with unwashed hair in pajama pants all day, watching TV and eating everything but the wallpaper for several weeks. Or as I like to call it - having a full time job. I hope you don't mind, but I've been living life for a change.

Oh, I'm still the same old me. Still throwing internal tantrums at the supermarket checkout and spending too much money on shoes and personal hygiene products, but I'm somewhat new and improved. Since returning back to work my skin has cleared up (probably from all that daily washing I'm doing now), I have lost 9 lbs and I could swear that my step contains a trace of a swagger, although that could be because of all the cute new shoes I bought to "smarten up my work wardrobe".

Anyhoo... I missed you. As in you my blog and you my blogger friends in blogger world. According to my Google Reader I have 375 unread blog posts. I'll try my best to get caught up on all the important things that have been going on in your lives, but holy jesus you people are wordy so probably not, but I'll try.

Meanwhile I hope all of you are enjoying Spring as much as MDH and I have been.

Now here's some pictures of some new shit I bought to replace some old shit that I was either bored with and/or was falling apart and now that I'm back to work can afford to replace without running it by MDH first. I always have trouble justifying these kinds of purchases with MDH who believes that you should never buy anything new until the old thing breaks or is no longer usable and that's just crazy talk. Also I feel I should mention that somehow this rule doesn't seem to apply to electronics such as DVD players and stereo equipment.

It doesn't really matter because I don't ever listen to him or care what he thinks and simply buy whatever the hell I want anyway. If we lived by his standard our house would look like the set of Sanford and Son.

Ah, nothing says Spring quite like a new shower curtain. Am I right or am I right?

Our old kitchen floor runner had pretty much disappeared under a 22"x84" rectangle of matted cat fur, pine needles and cookie crumbs...

Last week we got new cable, which required a new cable box. The new cable box doesn't have a clock on it and you never realize how much you come to rely on that fucking cable box clock until it's gone. So I bought this pretty yellow clock to hang on the wall above the TV but MDH said the ticking was too loud and now it's been relegated to the basement.

It seems slightly ridiculous to replace the flatware organizer tray, but the old one was too small and slid all around the place. Besides it was another one of those holdover things from MDH's previous marriage. This flatware organizer try is mine - all mine. It fits perfectly in the drawer and now there's a proper spot for my cow head and ass corn holders and my monkey jazz band canape knives.

The battery has been dying on my old iPod and I couldn't stand the thought of waiting until it fully died so I bought myself a new iPod Touch. The 32GB one. Oh yes I did. I love it and pet it and call it George. You can look at it, but don't touch it.

Is This Thing On?

Is anyone still out there? Jesus. It's been a long time since my last post and you know what? I still don't have anything relevant to say. Not that I'm going to let that stand in my way. I never have, why should I stop now?

Anyhoo... I'm back in my old post at Large Corporation making the world safe for data management and things are things. My cubicle this time around, although equipped with a delightful ass caressing, lumbar supporting, real deal, gen-u-wine Aeron chair, is tiny. Miniscule. The cube is teeny-tiny. Insulting. More insulting - they have taken internet access away from all of the contractors in the department. More humiliating than insulting I suppose, but what can you do? Certainly not check gmail, live-stream NPR, read blogs or get a weather forecast. It's a drag, a huge donkey cock suck if ever there was one although I do enjoy endlessly bitching about it to anyone who will listen, so there's that.

It's great to be working again, and trust me I don't forget it. I keep reminding myself of it every day.

Since Bag O'Mice and Hey Mr. DJ both retired guess who got assigned both of their workloads? It's me! Hooray! Actually, so far it hasn't been all that bad and I'm not nearly as swamped as you might think. Come to think of it, now that I'm fully aware of the scope of the projects they were working on I'm not sure at all what those two old coots were up to all day before they left.

At least in the case of Bag O'Mice it seems he must have spent around three quarters of his day puttering back and forth between his desk and the copier as I have discovered that the heaving, giant dossiers, nearly bursting at the seams that I inherited from him are mostly full of printed email correspondence. Yes. Apparently Bag O'Mice printed all of his emails. Jackass.

What else? People I actually got offered a job one week after I started working for Large Corporation again. Not a great job. In fact kind of a shitty job working for the state and I turned it down. It was the right thing to do. It boiled down to pay (although surprisingly it wasn't that much less), but also the work was not exactly what I would call stimulating. Filing. Data entry. Been there. Done that.

I would have felt totally differently about it if I hadn't taken the call from the state's HR lady while luxuriating in the awesomeness of my fabulous new designer office chair and sipping a gratis vente Starbucks in front of my two 20 inch flat screen monitors, which were at the moment displaying the very latest in database software technology.

During the interview, which by the way took place the week before at an office located in a run down strip mall in a questionable part of town, when I had asked them(because I come prepared for that shit so when they say "do you have any questions for us? I immediately whip out a printed list and go to town) what was their most challenging obstacle to accomplishing the long term goals of the department (eh? eh? a good one I think) they replied that it was that a lot of people balk at using a computer, not using the new software we just got, but the fact that they have to use a computer, like at all. This is not the place for me.

The whole interview experience was like that Sesame Street song, One of These Things Is Not Like the Others. I mean if you could have seen the other people who were interviewing - I got to see the competition because they corralled us all together in this big giant room while we waited our turns to meet with the HR people. It was like a casting call for creepy losers and pressed, dry cleaned, prissy me. A couple of the creepy losers were already doing the same job in a different city and were merely interviewing to be transferred, a formality I guess, and spent their time commiserating between themselves at top volume about what a shitty job it was.

So between listening to that, the disconcerting interview-ee holding pen concept and the fact that I had gone through the trouble of hot rollering my hair and wiggling into pantyhose and was sitting next to a rumpled man wearing scuffed white (white!) cowboy boots, enough pomade to wax a Buick who smelled like he hadn't washed his suit since the civil war, when I realized that we were all interviewing for the same position I almost bailed.

I don't normally like to think that I'm better than anyone else, maybe that I'm better off, but not better. But in this case, better, better off, either way I knew that I didn't belong there. I stayed for the interview, but the whole thing felt wrong, wrong, wrong and I knew that it would be a huge step down. Clearly some of those other folks needed that job worse than me and if that's a snobby thing to say - well I just don't care.

Did I mention that the job was shitty? Have I harped enough on that or do you need to hear about that some more? Oh and it wasn't even a permanent job. Yeah. Up to 2 years. Not even a guarantee of two years. Only possibly two years. To me I might as well stay at Large Corp where I have so many friends and a new comfy spaceship chair, challenging work that I enjoy and a small modicum of hope.

It's funny though the feedback I got from different people that I talked to about it. Some people were like oooh a job with the state, like that in itself was a boondoggle. Even when I explained that it was a temporary, low paying, shitty job, some still insisted that it was a good opportunity and a "foot in the door". Perhaps I might feel it was a good opportunity if Large Corporation hadn't asked me to come back, or I was 21 and freshly out of college or didn't have a bachelor's degree and over 15 years of professional experience. To me it felt like a huge step in the wrong direction.

Anyhoo... (you get a bonus anyhoo because it's been so long since my last post) going back to Large Corporation has been like going to a family reunion only the people there are happy to see me and nice to me. It's been like putting on a pair of old slippers only not really because it smells better than my old slippers, which frankly still kind of smell like Cool Ranch Doritos even after I run them thru the wash.

The News Round Up - Soup, Cake, Drugs, Financing

1. Late Saturday afternoon my friend Rachel called just as I was in the throes of preparing the last big pot of soup (Portuguese Kale Soup) of the year, as it is now if not actually Spring, it is at least Spring-like and getting warmer and who needs big bubbling pots of hearty soup when it's warm out? Anyhoo... I heard the phone ring and hollered out to MDH from the kitchen that if it's for me tell whoever it is that I'm elbow deep in kale and that I will call them later... but then he hollered back that it was Rachel so I hollered back - tell her to bring Dave (her boyfriend) and come over and have soup with us - and so she did.

Then I called Ladette to see if she wanted to come by too and damned if she didn't just happen to be hanging out with her husband at a pub only a few blocks away. They came too.

Hence an impromptu dinner party - my dream come true.

Seriously, I dream of this but the stars are so rarely aligned in such a way as to accommodate impromptu dinner parties. House is clean? Check. Even the bathrooms? Mostly, check. Am I clean? Check. Got snacks? Check. Beer's cold? Check. Plenty of food? Check. Holy shit - c'mon over!

As if the evening wasn't already great enough Rachel caused me to squeal and carry on like a contestant on the Price Is Right, when she walked through the door with a Chantilly Torte cake from Arnie's for dessert. It's only my favorite cake EVER! Thanks Rach.

2. I start my new old job next Monday. When they told me that I'd have to take a drug test sometime this week my initial reaction was a quiet moment of slight panic until I remembered that I have nothing to fear. I have a guilty conscious but haven't been stoned in well over 10 years - unless you count Pamprin and I don't. If anything having to take the drug test is inconvenient because it causes me to leave the house and drive across town.

It's been awhile since I've had to take a drug test so I was very pleased to learn that they just take a hair sample now, which is so much more civilized than sitting in a room full of strangers avoiding eye contact with each other because we all know that each one of us is there waiting our turn to go piss in a cup. Eye contact avoidance aside, I will admit to looking around and trying to figure out who among us in the waiting room had the most to be worried about and it was never me.

3. MDH and I got a new bed a few weeks ago and it has been a glorious, transformative, life changing thing. It's a gigantic, king-sized, leather and teak* monstrosity of a bed. It's hard as a goddamn rock (extra firm) and so enormously huge that I have no idea what the hell MDH is getting up to waaaay over there on his side of it and I don't give a shit because I'm too busy sleeping like an angel through the night and waking up with no aches and pains.

His bowling ball doesn't knock over my wine glass anymore.

We love the new bed so much, and our bedroom has transformed into such a beautiful haven that we have agreed that whoever wakes up last makes the bed - and we have made the bed every day since. Not only that, but the room has remained clean and pristine. I actually dust in there now and put away all my clothes and shit where it belongs. Previously we were neither one of us bedmakers and we** had crap strewn everywhere to the point where not only was the room not a haven, I didn't even like walking by it. It was like a messy dorm room. We*** feel like grown ups now.

Each night before we turn out the lights we gaze lovingly at each other from across the vast expanse of it, sweep a leg around until our big toes are touching and declare aloud our love for each other and the new bed. I think it might be the best money we've ever spent.

*I don't actually know what kind of wood it is, but it is dark and teak-like.

**Me

***We

Large Corporation

(This photo is meant to represent eagerness)

Six months have gone by since Large Corporation gave me the old heave-ho because of their ridiculous policy that only allows contractors to stay for 18 months at a time. Six months is the amount of time that has to pass between my leaving and being eligible to work there as a contractor again.

They called me today and wanted to know if I wanted to come back and do my old job, and if so when could I start? I said let me just brush my teeth and I'll be down in about 20 minutes.

This time though it's going to be different:

• I'm not going to kid myself that they will ever hire me permanently.
  
• No matter what anyone there leads me to believe I will not get my hopes up that they will ever hire me permanently.
  
• Even though I found out that my good friend Hey Mr. DJ and that stupid old fart Bag O'Mice are retiring next month I will not get my hopes up that they will ever hire me permanently.
  
• I will passionately continue to seek full time permanent employment elsewhere because I know in my heart that they will never hire me permanently.
  
• I mean it.
  
• Fuck them.
  
• Now, where's my parking pass?

Don't Ask, Don't Tell

My mom worked in accounting at the main office of a chain of appliance stores for over 30 years. She took a short break after my sister was born but was right back at it as soon as my sister was old enough to start going to school. Thirty years is a long time to work at the same place. I just can't imagine it.

Over the years the company changed and grew and my mother's job along with it. She had started working there part time when she was still in college and they only had one or two stores in Central Ohio. Back then her office consisted of herself and two other women and the owners of the company. By the time she retired the company had stores all over Ohio and the Midwest, she had a staff of over 20 people and she was a company wide legend. Everybody knew her and she knew everybody.

When you work somewhere for that long people really get to know you and in my mother's case it seemed that she shared every intimate detail of her life with these people. Whenever my sister and I tagged along at any company or accounting department sponsored party or event her coworkers seemed to know everything about us. Good and bad. Mostly bad it seemed. They all knew to congratulate me for making the honor roll or to chastise me because I had gotten caught making long distance prank phone calls. They knew about how I had stolen the "key" to the cable box and watched pornos. They knew that I had spiked the kool-aid at a slumber party with my dad's moonshine. They knew everything. I figure my mom must have walked in the door of that place each morning and immediately begun to blab about me to her coworkers and anyone who would listen all goddamn day.

Not that I didn't constantly give her the need to vent frustration.

Still I assumed that some things between my mother and I were sacred.

I was wrong.

Eventually I discovered the degree of my mothers blabbitude, much to my horror and disgust when three or four of her co-workers actually fluttered about me like buzzing middle aged mosquitoes at a 4th of July picnic (or some potluck or such) somewhere around the year of our lord 1978 and had the collective balls to talk to me in loud whispers all about how I'd recently started having my period. As if they thought we were all chummy characters in a Judy Blume novel having a lark and not a shy and stunned 11 year old girl being psychologically tortured by cackling grown-ass women who were, although very good friends to my mother, strangers to me.

I thought I would die.

I had a hard enough time talking about period related stuff with my mother (I had even begged her not to tell my dad) so it was the last thing that I wanted to discuss with my mother's co-workers. I soon discovered though that it was only the beginning of a long, one sided and yet very intimate relationship I was to continue to have with 15 to 20 women that I only ever saw or spoke to about 3 or 4 times a year. Women with whom I could barely match faces to names, but would know it seemed every single detail about my life.

After the Great Period Fiasco 1978 I confronted my mother regarding her breach of respect, trust and privacy and she merely laughed at me like I was an adorable little chit.

"When a bunch of women get together they talk", she shrugged.

"Yes, I get that, but did you have to talk about that?"

"Yes." She said. "I did. I can't help it. You're my kid and you hit a milestone and I told all my friends about it. I'm proud of you and if it makes you feel any better they all tell me all about their kids too."

It didn't make me feel any better, but over the years I got used to it I suppose and began to automatically assume that everyone at the appliance store knew my bra size, the diameter of my nipples, my preference of tampons over pads, and all about my every cramp and gas bubble. Frankly the Great Period Fiasco of 1978 was the beginning of the end of me sharing any personal information of any importance with my mom.

At this point you might think that I'm telling you all this psychotic episode inducing shit about my mom so that I may continue to use my blog as a form of cheap therapy. Well there is that. But it's also so that I can tell you about how our friend Pecan Sandie is sending her teenage son Miles to come and stay with us this week.

Long time single mom Pecan Sandie called us a few weeks ago crying and babbling about how Miles had gotten himself into a spot trouble of a sexual nature with a girl. Nobody is pregnant or diseased or anything like that. Actually it's all pretty innocent and normal stuff (by my standards) and my only beef with any of it is the fact that I FUCKING KNOW ABOUT IT AT ALL.

Suddenly all that stuff about my own mother discussing the intimate details of my life with her friends was brought screaming and unwelcome back to the forefront of my cranial lobe. I thought I had put it all behind me.

Sandie had told me over the phone all about what Miles had been up to with the girl in very graphic detail. I'll just say this - it was pretty juicy stuff - but waaaay too much information and while I wanted to be a good friend and good listener at the same time I wanted to throw the phone across the room, put my hands over my ears, shout LALALALALA and stamp around in circles until all of the damaging visual images Sandie had put in my brain went buh-bye. I was able to steer the conversation to a place with fewer details but wondered how in the hell she had come upon all of this very personal information about her son. Apparently he'd told her all about it. I shuddered.

Anyhoo... Miles is coming to stay with us because Sandie thinks that MDH is a good role model for how a young man should conduct himself with the ladies, which just makes me want to snicker, and she's hoping that Miles will be able to talk to MDH about things of a sexual nature in such a way that she as his mother is unable.

Meanwhile I'm looking forward to having Miles come and visit for many reasons. He's a great kid and it's always nice to have a house guest. Besides, MDH and I could use some more youthful influence around here. We have lots of plans to take Miles to do cool stuff while he's here, but I will leave all discussions of sex up to MDH and plan to pretend that I myself have been given no knowledge of Miles and his recent previous shenanigans.

Finally, what I realized after all this time is that talking about your life and your children with your friends is only natural. I myself, although I don't have any children, can think of oh so many embarassing personal details about the people that I love, including my husband, that I have spilled not only to my friends, but right here for public airing on this blog. So I'm guilty too, but what I have also realized is that it wasn't the fact that my mother shared stories about me with her friends that upset me so much as it was that her stupid fucking friends, who I barely knew, felt like they could openly discuss these intimate details about my own life with me.

So I'm never even going to hint to Miles that his mom said a word to me about his sex life. If anything I might talk to him about the many benefits of keeping secrets from your parents and if I have that discussion with him I won't tell his mom about it.

LALALALALALA.