untitled

Reaching for the words to
Express what I do not want to feel.
Grin and bear it,
Reversal is not an option.
Enjoy the misery of my heart
Tearing into pieces.

From My Notebook At Work

Girl Rant
I am not your sweetie, baby, honey, gorgeous, darlin', sweet cheeks, or anything else. Look at my apron. If you weren't staring at my tits, you'd realize that I have a name. How 'bout you use it?

More Things You Might Not Know About Me

Apparently, I can be a little intimidating. Me?

I enjoy reading a thesaurus.

I like my hair brushed by someone else.

If I were to get high off of pot (which I of course wouldn't, as I am drug free) I would be a total sarcastic bitch to you. And I would think it was funny.

Sometimes, I want to be a hippie and live in a commune where we all share everything. (but not drugs.Riiiiight.)

I think that decorative throw pillows are the cutest, but I won't buy them because I could never begin to decide which ones I want more.

I think that credit cards will be America's downfall.

On my drivers license it reads that I am 5'2". This is not the case. I am actually a half inch shorter.

I have a Precious Moments coloring book that only I can color in. With my own big box of crayons that the children cannot touch.

Presents!

I got a present from my Secret Santa at work today. My SS knows what I like. I got gift dollars for my favorite coffee place, Dutch Brothers.
What a great freakin' gift! I should have told everybody that's what I wanted. Then I wouldn't have to pay for coffee for a looong time.

The Only TV Show I Get To Watch

My partner is addicted to Smallville. You know, the one with the young Clark Kent, who alternates between saving people, kicking krypton-enhanced evil mutant ass, and gazing wistfully off into space at absolutely nothing.
For a lesbian, she sure does stare and sigh longingly a lot.

Here are some things I've noticed about Smallville.

There are only two cities in their little world. Smallville and Metropolis.

Superboy must have a fantastic mechanic we never see, because he crashes that red truck in almost every episode. And a few scenes later, it looks as good as new. No scratches. No dents.

For a farm that's in financial trouble, they sure do have an endless supply of cash to keep replacing the tractors that Clark blows up.

And on that thought, does anybody ever do any farming?

For such a rich and powerful guy that Lex is, his home security sucks. Clark can just wander around wherever and whenever he wants, and nobody seems to care.

None of these teenagers ever have any sex! I was having sex in highschool. So were most of the people I knew. Don't you just love TV Land?

Congratulations To Me

Today is the day, nine years ago, that I became a mother. Here is a picture of that scrawny little six pound baby who had jaundice so bad we almost had to spend Christmas in the hospital...










Here is my "baby" now. What a difference nine years makes...thank god she didn't stay yellow...

Things About BrokeMom You Might Not Know

I only passed my second year of French in high school because of my very good friends, Brandy and Jill, and their large handwriting on tests.

I have never broken a bone.

I have only had one cavity in my teeth, and that was when I was 22.

I used to be a preschool teacher.

I play the piano. I took lessons for over ten years.

I love chocolate covered cherries, but I spit out the cherry after sucking out the yummy filling.

I am a Knifty Knitter.

I love buttons.

If you leave your backpack or purse at my house, I will go through it. If confronted about going through your stuff, however, I will tell you the truth. I'm curious, dammit.

Popcorn makes me farty. This is a recently new development.

I am a sucker for full sleeve tattoos.

If you want to buy me a coffee from Dutch Brothers, I drink a sugar-free breve Milky Way.

I hate snow. I have been heard saying while walking in the snow, "Ew yuck it's touching me getitoff!!"

My Underwear

Every day at work, I stand in front of a register by a huge roll-up door. It's about fifty degrees, and gets pretty windy sometimes. I wear a tanktop, a thermal shirt, a larger thermal shirt, and then a sweatshirt over all that. I wear two pairs of socks. I wear a scarf, and really dorky gloves with pockets, so that my fingers can come out and count change. People laugh at me because I look like the little boys off of The Christmas Story, where they fall on the ground and can't get up. I freeze. I whine a lot that I'm cold. Because I'm pretty fucking cold.
I was talking to one of my customers about thermal longjohns. I expressed interest in buying a pair, since it was so damn cold. He was some nice guy, around 40 years old maybe. We chat about how fucking cold it is. He leaves.
About 30 minutes later, he comes back and hands me a plastic package and says "Merry Christmas!"
They were longjohns.
So I told everybody that a customer bought me underwear. That way beats the guy who bought me a diet Coke one day. Way.

Say Cheese

No, she's not angry. She thinks it's funny. I, however, look pretty fucking hot.

Bah Humbug

I hate Christmas. I really do.
Maybe it's not hate. Perhaps it's just apathy, for a "holiday" which means nothing to me anymore. I wish it were over, and I wish I could look forward to not having Christmas next year.

We put up the tree today. It's artificial. I have never ever had an artificial tree. It was seemingly simple. And there won't be pine needles in the carpet. And I am standing up for my belief that in today's world with our depleting natural resources, we shoule be planting trees, not murdering them by the thousands once a specific time of year so we can take it home and put colored lights and candy canes on it!!!!! What a stupid fucking tradition.

We went to see Santa at the Mall today. My partner and I dressed the girls up in their beautiful dresses and decided to stop procrastinating about the whole thing. Everything went fine until my partner asked Santa if she could have a candy cane. (She's a sugar freak. They were just sitting there in a basket! And the moms suffer through more than the kids in those lines.) So she says, "Santa, can I have a candy cane?"
Santa replied, "Only if you sit on Santa's lap!"
Although, I'm glad to see that Santa likes the moms sitting on his lap more than kids. You never know with those Mall Santas.
By the way, I had my back turned when that exchange happened, so I don't know if Santa got his wish. But my partner had candy for all of us...hmm...

Anyway, my point now is that Christmas sucks.

Zizzors

My four year old daughter doesn't say 'scissors'.
She says 'zizzors'.
It's the cutest damn thing I've ever heard. I try to get her to say it as many times as I can, just to hear it.
"Mom, can I have the zizzors?"
Me: "The what?"
"The zizzors!"
Me: "I don't know where they are. Do you know where they are?"
"I think they're in the cupboard!"
Me:"What are in the cupboard?"
"The zizzors!!"
She probably thinks that I'm retarded when it comes to the scissors.

It's Hard To Yell at The Kids When You Have No Voice

I woke up this morning and my voice was gone. I still have not found it, maybe it will show up tomorrow...
My oldest daughter had her birthday sleepover last night. I know what you're thinking now, and no, I didn't lose my voice from screaming repeatedly at a bunch of eight and nine year olds all night. They were very well-behaved.
I can only blame the stuffed up sinuses and slight sore throat from the day before.
After all the little girls had gone home, my children were being pretty bratty, probably accounting from the 3.4 hours of sleep they received the night before. I let it slide for awhile, hoping it would pass. yeah right! So I finally opened up my mouth to let loose with a scary sounding "Knock it off!" or a threatening "Anybody want a time-out?"
And all that came out was a scratchy, whispery, garbled up version ending in a croak.
My children starting laughing at me. They cracked up, and started walking around croaking and whispering, "You kids are gonna' be in trouble! Do you wanna' time-out?"
Where is the respect that I deserve as a mom who spent the previous day at the skating rink with thirteen children who asked every three minutes, "Can we have some cotton candy? Can I have a slushy? I'm hungry! Watch me skate, hey mom, look at me!" And then I took these children to my home, fed them pizza and plied them with movies and popcorn until they passed out from exhaustion.
The respect question was a rhetorical question, by the way. Stop laughing.