Not So Blonde

Insomniac Maniac

I can’t sleep and since I left you all hanging I’d figured I’d pop in for a bit. I don’t think I could have picked a worse time to try and start blogging regularly again considering this month is busy as a mofo. Wait, is a mofo busy? Well, THIS mofo is busy.

Some random thoughts going thru my mind:

• The teen can’t seem to bring up his math grade.
• We’re having a meeting tomorrow to discuss putting him back into a regular Freshman math class.
• I’m not happy about this.
• Not that I don’t think he needs to go back to the regular math class, he does.
• But in doing so he’s going to be out of the Univ. HS program.
• Which makes no sense to me since the rest of his classes will still be AP.
• M is upset about it.
• I’ve talked with him about it a lot and have told him we’ll get thru this year.
• And see where we stand once he completes his Frosh (I love that word) year.
• If the dad says one more time, “He’s almost ready to drive…”
• Or, “He’s almost graduated…”
• He’s almost nothing, but almost a 15 year old kid that needs a teensy bit more support from his dad.
• It drives me insane.
• The dad is blaming M and I think it’s ridiculous.
• High school, especially an AP program, takes support from EVERYONE.
• You don’t just throw the kid in and say: SINK OR SWIM, BUDDY!
• I couldn’t even look at the dad when he was talking to me the other day.
• I wanted to punch him in his stupid face.
• How am I going to get thru this meeting tomorrow without a) punching him in his stupid face b) crying or c) giving the side eye to the step-mom by way of silently communicating, “Why are you HERE?”
• Oh wait, I’ll probably do c).
• Neither of them have done anything they said they’d do to help M besides put it all back on M.
• I kind of hate them both.
• It’s not very mature of me.
• F maturity.
• R, for the first time ever, has told me something he wants for Christmas.
• Sweaters.
• Where the F do you buy sweaters for a big man such as R?
• And he said sweaters, as in plural.
• So I need to find more than one.
• I came up with a couple of things I want to get him but he’ll be deployed soon-ish.
• I don’t want to load him down with crap that he’s either a) going to have to put in storage or b) take with him.
• He won’t take much with him.
• R is a very light traveler.
• He better take those damn sweaters, though.
• Sweaters.
• WTF?
• I told him I wanted a Blackberry.
• And perfume.
• And a new Michael Kors bag.
• To which he laughed and said, “Okay, now you’re pushing it.”
• I knew I was, I was mostly joking.
• But if he happens to find that white one I’ve had my eye on at the NEX, so be it.
• I’m not holding my breath.
• I don’t really want it.
• Or need it.
• But I want the perfume.
• Any perfume.
• I told him I wanted this one, I’ve told him about it before.
• But I changed my mind and said to pick something he likes.
• God help me.
• Ha.
• R likes none of my perfumes, really.
• So I’d like to wear something he likes.
• Even if he won’t be around to smell it on me.
• I’m not depressed about him leaving.
• Yet.
• I’m in a suspended reality where I’m used to him being gone.
• But with him still relatively safe being state-side.
• Most of the time.
• Most of the time being state-side, that is.
• Probably safe, too, come to think of it.
• R goes places and does things that he can’t always tell me about, until after the fact.
• It doesn’t really bother me.
• Until he tells me things that he does that I could have lived without knowing.
• So to clarify: It doesn’t bother me, when I don’t really know what’s going on.
• I always pretend he’s in San Diego no matter where he is anyway.
• Denial? I’m okay with it.
• Living this life is something I wouldn’t wish on anyone.
• And no one really understands unless they go thru it themselves.
• I would not trade it for anything, though.
• Every time I get down that he’s gone,
• And we haven’t been able to talk for a couple of weeks,
• I’ll read a few old emails.
• Or look at photos of us together.
• Or listen to our song (we finally decided on one).
• And I’ll remember…
• He’s worth it.
• It’s 3:30am.
• Maybe I’ll be able to sleep for a couple of hours.
• Let’s hope.
• I’ll let Adele sing me to sleep…

K-Mart is Hell

A few months ago, I thought I was going to get all creative and hang some curtains in the boy’s room. I bought the curtains and curtain rod but once I got both home, I couldn’t find R’s drill.

Then, I found the drill but couldn’t find the charger. After I finally found the charger, I couldn’t find the “safe place” I stuck the drill. That’s when I got really irritated, threw the curtain rod in the laundry room and hung the curtains over the kid’s blinds and called it a day. I know, classy.

Actually, if you were to see the boy’s room your eye wouldn’t even be drawn to the haphazardly hung drapes but the other CRAP he has laying all over the place.

Here’s where we dance on that fine line in parenting where you recall what a pig sty YOUR teen room was but yet find yourself yelling at your offspring to clean their room, already!

Maybe that’s just me. It’s probably also only me who’s parents were so fed up with her (er, my) mess that they had my older sister (like I have any younger siblings - I AM the youngest, isn’t it obvious??) lure me out of the house for a day of shopping so they could gather up my CRAP into garbage bags and throw it all out.

Oh yes, they did. Issues of Bop!, Star Hits, a Winger cassette tape, a lone shoulder pad, a used up bottle of Giorgio, ripped out pages from People magazine of Alec Baldwin (LOVED him), a Bon Jovi tour poster - gone, gone, gone to the ages.

At the time, I was SO offended and got really teenager on my family that day. Lashed out at my mom, my dad, my sister for her foray into the darkside. How dare she align herself with the parents’ evil plot! But, now? I GET IT.

But this isn’t about my teen years. This is about my own foray into another darkside: K-Mart.

I forgot to buy cat food last night at the grocery store, even though that’s WHY I stopped at the damn grocery store to begin with. Today, after many pissed off looks from the cats, I figured I’d take back the forgotten about curtain rod and buy some cat food with the proceeds.

If I knew then, what I know now… I would have used my squirreled away wine money and bought the damn cat food with CASH.

I get in line at the front desk, a rather long line and wait. And wait. And wait some more. My back is still on the blink and standing in lines is TORTUROUS but I was already there, so I said: Screw it.

I was wearing R’s Navy sweatshirt which has been my cold weather uniform as of late since the teen has stolen every other sweatshirt I own… except for that one… he knows better.

First, we line holders were entertained by a toddler kid taking merchandise and running around by the door sensors, setting them off. The security guard, a little old man who didn’t look like he could secure a line of credit much less an entire department store, kept snatching the kid and yelling: “WHERE IS YOUR MOMMY?”

The kid would run away, laughing until he’d snatch something else to pass by the sensors in order to set them off again. BWA BWA BWA! (That’s not laughing, that’s the alarm - clever, huh?)

That game was fun for him until the automatic doors swung open and banged into the kid but good. He wasn’t really hurt but he started shrieking nonetheless. This once again had the security guard running over and shouting: WHERE IS YOUR MOMMY?

Only then, did the “Mommy” start yelling his name: Alex! Alllllllex! ALEX!

All of the people in line, including me, shook our heads at such lax parenting and then settled back into waiting in the never-ending and UNMOVING line.

All was once again quiet until a few minutes later, an obviously strung out meth head walked by me and goes: “Huh. Nice sweater…”

Now, I’m not opposed to calling sweatshirts “sweaters” but coupled with the unclear meaning was the fact Methie kept walking. I didn’t know if she was talking to me or telling the voice in her head about some fetching Jaclyn Smith offering behind me.

I did the logical thing and ignored her by burying my head in my phone. God bless you, Samsung!

A few minutes later, Methie came up to me again and barks: “So, uh… you don’t see that much around here. So uh… are you, like, in the military or is, like, your husband… or something?”

I was so taken aback that Methie was literally inches from my face and the feeling of being grilled by her that I sorta nod my head and go, “Uh huh… my boyfriend…”

Methie replies by nodding her head vigorously and asks, “So, like, where is he stationed?”

I answer, “San Diego?” like I wasn’t even sure where my own boyfriend is stationed but Methie already lost interest in the conversation and wandered off.

I go back to standing in line, feeling violated, when finally it was my turn at the front desk.

I lay the curtain rod on the counter and the cashier goes to pick it up. This is when I fully understood the meaning of the word “violated” cuz Methie really ain’t got nothing on what was about to transpire…

The cashier “accidentally” thrusts the curtain rod right between my legs (I hope Google search is turned off) and goes, “Oops! Sorry! I could get fired for that!”

I jump back from the protruding ROD and stretch my entire body over to pass her my debit card so she could look up my purchase. I’m sure my face was as red as Rudolph’s nose (Christmas shout-out, heyyyyyy!) and all I could do was pray for this all to be over, quickly.

I ask for the return to be placed on a card because this broke bee doesn’t have time for the money to appear on my debit, 4-5 days from now. Actually, I have all the time in the world but the cats sure would be pissed.

I snatch the card, dash down the pet food aisle and grab a bag of food. I scurry towards the front of the store as fast as I could. I really, really needed to get the F out of K-Mart.

I see a tall, grey haired man looking around suspiciously when he sidles up to me and says, “HEY! We’re having an in-store giveaway today and you can have a chance to win this bracelet!” With that, he lays a kinked up herringbone gold bracelet over my wrist. “Isn’t it PRETTY?”, he exclaims. I eek out, “Uh uh…” and run away.

I flee towards the front lanes, but not before glancing behind me and notice the man was also holding a roll of “admit one” carnival tickets.

Now you and I both know this is some type of scam. What kind of scam is anyone’s guess and while I had every intention of telling someone, anyone of this nutter on the loose in their store, there was the dilemma of… who to tell?

The crotchety tiny security guard who has since abandoned his post at the automatic doors? The bored looking cashier who didn’t utter two words to me during our entire transaction? The Violator at the customer service counter who just got more action than R has in 2 months time?

I paid for the cat food, beat it the hell out of there and race home while shaking the “ick” off me.

I walk into the house and see the cats stalking around, glancing over at me with daggers in their eyes as if to say, “That had better be food in that bag, lady, or else!”

I throw some food in the bowl and say: “You assholes better appreciate this!” And immediately pour myself a glass of wine.

K-Mart? Is hell.