Where Shall I Start?

Nate was an asshole in karate this evening. A couple of times I wanted to walk out onto the mats and jerk a knot in his ass. In good news, Nate wrote his essay today, all five paragraphs, in two hours. The Nabes are being evicted. They have to be out by Monday. I have submitted several resumes. I have heard nothing. I’m constipated creatively and must have no less than eight bead projects ongoing, trying to get ready for jury in three weeks. Baby Squeak, that is the abandoned kitten brought over by The Nabes, is dying. It’s sick and Lola abandoned it under the bed. It was so near death when I found it, I thought it was going to die in my hand. Now, it’s gotten warmed up and is living up to it’s name. It’s pitiful. I thought about kitten formula but if it’s sick anyway, why prolong it? Than again, I see this incredible will to live and hate to let it just die without a fight. I don't think I'll have much choice by in the morning. Sensei Smiley was not at karate tonight. We haven’t heard anything from the private school. I’m applying for an Associate Editor position at Bead&Button Magazine. Trouble is, the job is in Waukesha, Wisconsin, which is where our dear KtP went to college. Couldn’t be that bad. Could be bad if Jeff wants to raise a stink with me, which, I’m sure he will IF I even have a chance at the job since I don’t have a degree in Journalism or any other art. It’s been five months since I sent out an article. The months creep by. I wasn’t able to pay all of my bills this month. I’m very frustrated, with just about everything right now. Very frustrated. My job ends April 1st. I’m tired of going to work and having nothing to do but look for another job. I’m grateful I still have a job, but I’m bored. I’ve tried pulling files, I answer questions, I’m trying to close out as many files as possible before I go, just so no one else that has no idea what is going on has to deal with it. I check my voicemail three or four times a day. I check my e-mail. I’m so very frustrated.

Find Your Orientation Point

I sat down with Nate last night and worked on some exercises from the book, “The Gift of Dyslexia.” It’s a visualization exercise meant to center the “mind’s eye” where it should be and “turn off” the disorientation center of the brain. Nate looked at me and asked, “What’s ‘disorientation’?” I said, “Confusion, not understanding things.” He looked at me with those big blue eyes and he asked softly, “Can we turn that part off?” I responded, “That’s what you’re going to learn to do.” I had him write “The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog” before we started. I then had him write it afterwards, noticing when his mind “jumped” away from the subject. I had him bring his “mind’s eye” back to the “orientation point” and write it again. In the first sentence he made the “q” a “g” and had to write over it. He also capitalized “fox” and “jumped.” In the second sentence, he got the “q” right but erased and re-wrote the “w” and the “z” and only capitalized “jumped.” I pointed out which letters made his mind “jump” and how to reorient himself. The third sentence was perfect. True, he had written it three times, but not only was it perfectly spelled and punctuated but it was fluent. “Fluency” in these terms means how fast something is written. His handwriting was beautiful and he even pressed harder with the pencil. There was no hesitation in his writing. Normally, no matter how many times he writes the word, “quick” or “pick” or “dog” or “was,” he hesitates because he has trouble with “q,” “p,” “g,” “d,” “b,” “w,” and “z.” At least half the time his “b” and “d” are combined and the “q” looks like a “g” before it looks like a “q.” For a child who has been writing the alphabet since he was four, he should be much more fluent. He has to stop and concentrate on how the letters are actually formed. With the orientation exercise, he doesn’t have to do this because he has “turned off” the disorientation caused by his mind “jumping.” I asked him this morning why he thought he did so much better on the third sentence. He said, “Because I worked harder on it.” I asked, “But were you able to work harder on it because you were able to concentrate on it or just because you worked harder?” He said, “Oh, because I could concentrate on it,” then he scrunched his face up and said, “but I didn’t have to try as hard to concentrate.” *Light bulb* Last night, when I had him compare the first sentence vs. the third sentence and I asked him what he thought about it, he just grinned at me and hugged me very hard. Baby steps . . . and more exercises.

What If...?

After doing more research into dyslexia, I’m wondering if Nate is even ADHD at all. A lot of the same symptoms apply. Nate grasps mathematical concepts very easily, yet hates writing anything on paper. He knows the answer, yet doesn’t show his work. There are more and more things. The trouble with time, disorganization, social problems, daydreaming, inability to concentrate, etc. I ordered the recommended book and read all of the comments from other buyers. The vast majority were positive. I’ve ordered so many damn books. I’ve looked into so many resources. I found you can do a similar program to do at home that the lady is offering for $2500.00. Might as well give it a try. Jeff saw the price tag on the class and immediately pooh-poohed its effectiveness. Of course, it wasn’t him presenting the material, and it wasn’t his idea, so it has no merit. He didn’t even read the materials on the signs and symptoms of dyslexia. We already KNOW Nate has dysgraphia and although he reads well and grasps that math easily, what if this is the key? WHAT IF THIS IS THE KEY??? Maybe it’s not. Maybe there is no key, just like there’s no fucking spoon. But, fuck, you don’t give up. You don’t look at a bright, brilliant, funny, creative child and say, “Sorry kid. I give up.” You don’t. You keep looking for the key. Maybe there’s more than one key. Maybe there are so many doors to open. But you have to keep looking, you have to keep trying. It’s more than just... whatever, it’s an intuition. I look at Nate and I feel it. I feel this incredible longing inside of him to break free, to succeed, to learn how to overcome, to just be happy with who he is. What others see as a disability, can actually be turned around to be empowering. If it wasn’t for the Leonardo De Vincis, the Albert Einsteins, the Thomas Edisons, where would we be today? Okay, minus an atom bomb, I’ll give you that one. I’m weary. I’m so very tired. As of April 1st, I will no longer have a job, unless, I get a new one. The employment ads are bleak. But maybe, this coasting time period is the period I need to concentrate on Nate. I’m like a cat. I always land on my feet, especially if you drop me from a high enough place. I will land on my feet. I will take Nate with me. I will never stop looking for the key.

Providence Smiles Again

I got a call on my voice mail today from the private school (we still don’t know if they’re letting him in) letting me know they are having a Young Writer’s Workshop and thought Nate might benefit from it. I discussed it with Jeff who thought it was worth Nate missing Saturday karate (and me missing Sensei Smiley *huff*). I just got off the phone with the coordinator. She said she thought the class would be perfect for Nate, very kinetic and creative. There’s more though. She works exclusively with dyslexic children and as I described Nate’s writing problem she said, “It sure sounds familiar. You know, that’s one of the easiest disabilities to help. I’ll bring you a brochure to look over. I work one-on-one with kids just like him.” My people, do you have any idea what it’s like to talk to an educator who says, “You know, I can help your child.” Wow. Also, Nate’s last essay at school was so good, they copied it and put it on the Principal’s door. Jeff’s rethinking whether we should switch him now that he’s doing better. My response: HELL. YES. Nate looked at me this morning as I said, “Have a great day, Bub. I love you,” scowled and responded, “Yeah. Let’s see what Ms. Teacher can dream up to torture me with today. It’s always something.” I said, “Dude, it’s only one more day. We can all make it one more day. A positive attitude can change everything. Now, let’s both have a great day, okay?” He lifted his chin and gave me a half smile, which meant, “I’m trying, I’m really, really trying but I still don’t believe.” Believe Nate. Believe.

A Little Bit of Nate and A Little Bit of Me

As you can probably guess, Jeff and I have had a multitude of discussions regarding this school switching thing. Things to remember: This private school is not a “quick fix,” even if they accept him. There’s a transition period involved, and wherever Nate goes, he takes his challenges with him, that’s just a given. I cautioned Jeff not to hope for a miraculous change in Nate. It took time for him to get where he is, it’s going to take time to get him where we know he can be. Right now, he’s very down on himself. His self-esteem spikes and plunges. In my heart, and don’t try to talk to me out of it, I believe the teacher and principal are wavering between hoping this is what is best for Nate and hoping he falls flat on his face to spite me and Jeff. The principal’s attitude was, “I hope you find satisfaction in what you’re doing” or something to that nature and it wasn’t with good tidings. If I didn’t believe that this would be the best thing for Nate then I wouldn’t do it. What’s more, it takes pressure off of his current teacher to keep her test scores up, although Nate has always scored in the upper 10% on standardized tests. I’m sure if we can get Nate transferred by the 28th, she’ll be happy he won’t bring down the test scores for the 4th grade writing assessment. Writing, obviously, being his worst subject. Part of me wants him to take the writing assessment, just so all of his hard work has not been in vain. Nate pulled up all of his grades and came out with 3 A’s, 2 B’s, 2 D’s and an E. This was much better than last time when he pulled 5 E’s at midterm and 3 E’s at the nine weeks. Nate buckled down and utilized the accommodations for his writing, still showing he knows the material. I’m very proud. **** As for me, I’ve edited two more short essays for the WV writing competition. I’m entering “Chrysalis” in the Non-fiction, “Fruit of a Christian - Sermonus Interruptus” in the Humor and “Down the Nar’ Path” in the Appalachian Writing categories, all three will be entered in the Emerging Writer category, since the last time I won anything for writing it was in high school. What used to be these posts have been broken down, cleaned up, added on, edited, edited, edited (definitely less cussing), making them stronger and tighter, and in the case of “Fruit,” I think, funnier. If you would like to review, refresh, or simply read them for the first time, leave your info in the comments or e-mail me and I’ll ship them off to you. All of these hold a special place in my heart and perhaps they would all fit in the Appalachian writing category. I’m not so sure. I think “Fruit” is uniquely Southern (as in Baptist), and “Chrysalis” not so much so. “Path” was written specifically about West Virginians and therefore Appalachia. I’ll just keep it as it is. Nate and I got to the dojo way too late to even think of seeing Sensei Smiley. The yellow stripe belts were testing for their yellow belts and it was a mad house!! I couldn’t even sit inside the dojo to watch Nate. I sat on the inside steps leading down into the dojo and ran into a classmate from high school that I hadn’t seen in 18 years! She was two years behind me in school but I recognized her name and then the face, although she’s 8 months pregnant with baby # 4! The world is small folks. Later, as the multitude of parents and children filtered in and out amongst the bathrooms and up the steps and down the steps, and in and out of the dojo, Nate finally caught up to me and then drug me into the dojo, the entire length of the dojo, back to the offices, with me asking him every step of the way, “What do you need Nate?” “What do you want Nate?” I thought he was going to try and con me out of a shield, or sparring gloves, or worse, THE DREADED CUP. No. He marched right up to the second office with Master J and Sensei Smiley, waves and says, BYEEEEEE!! He turns and says, “Okay, I’m done.” I just stood there and asked, “What did you want?” Master J said, “I think to say good-bye.” DOH! But, I did get to see Sensei Smiley smile. Which isn’t hard to do with Nate, in all his enthusiasm, waving and saying good-bye, even though I felt like an idiot for being drug all the way across the dojo, caught up by Nate, having no choice but to go instead of making a scene. I guess it was worth it seeing his smile. Nate’s and Sensei Smiley’s.

In Other News...

Nate starts thrice weekly karate on Saturday. Tae Kwon Do on Tuesdays and Thursdays, Iaido and Aiki-Judo on Saturdays. They then have a beginning and advanced class of Tae Kwon Do directly afterwards. Twice the fun. Heh. **** Lola has become a surrogate mother. One of the Nabes’ cats had kittens and she carried them all over the house and then abandoned them. They found one in a the closet, starving after its Mommy hadn’t been there for two days (and had no milk because the kittens weren’t sucking) and brought it over in the hopes that Lola would take to it. She did. It looks a lot like the black and white one she lost. She’s been cleaning it and even after last night when it wouldn’t latch on, is now happily sucking away. I’m keeping tabs but basically letting nature take its course. The two remaining kittens, MJ and Marco, are HUGE! I mean, HUGE. MONSTROUS. They’re only four weeks old but look six. When I came in this evening to look at them, Marco and MJ had wedged the baby between them, the three of them wrapped up like a kitty burrito. My concern is that she’s not feeding Baby enough, since the other kittens don’t need her all the time, but, like I said, nature will take its course. **** Took Nate to the private school today. He took a spelling test and got 18 out of 25 right, even having never studied the words. We wanted him to get a feel for what they were doing in the class. They are much more laid back, yet strict. It’s difficult to explain. He said he liked it. They kids invited him to play and he actually did, which is different for him. The classroom is smaller but the kids there are totally into what he’s into and I think he fits in better. Plus, there’s not as much noise and voices which make it hard for him to follow a conversation. We’re starting the application process. His current school said they don’t know how long it will take to get his transcripts together because they have to go to each individual teacher. Pardon me? Whatever. Punks.

Providence Smiles

As luck would have it, Sensei Smiley was exiting the dojo at practically the exact moment that Nate and I pulled up. I put on my best smile and he said, “Hi, how are we this evening?” I said, “I’m great!” Hell yeah, I’m great, I’m seeing you, outside the dojo, without people standing around. All that preparation and worry, and there he was... all mine. He said he just had to get out of there for a minute. I told him I had something for him and rooted around in my pocket, fishing out the slip of paper with the name of the massage oil I use for sore muscles. I found out he had an AC joint problem which is why his shoulder had been sore. He had surgery last year. Ummmm... I told him how great I thought they all were with the kids and told him that he was Nate’s favorite and how he was the only one that Nate knew his name and thought he was funny. He laughed and said he was afraid after being in the office for so long due to his injury that they would all look at him and say, “Who are you?” I mentioned the tournament and Other Sensei. He didn’t have much to say about Other Sensei, which didn’t surprise me. I gave him some brief instructions on the oil usage, since it has to be massaged for about 15-20 minutes to really have an affect, “you know, wax on, wax off.” He smiled real big and thanked me genuinely. I tried, again, to linger as much as possible at the end of class as he was coming my way, but then someone else took his attention, and people were everywhere and I had to find Nate. And, I forgot to introduce myself. DOH!

Ivy and Thunder

I’ve wanted to write about my dog, Ivy, a Chocolate Lab, for a long time. It’s a tragic story, putting a 3 year old dog down for cancer, but Ivy was much more than how she died and the difficult decision to free her instead of keeping her for my own selfish reasons. Seeing the Other Sensei at the tournament reminded me of Ivy’s loyalty and take-no-shit attitude. We were in search and rescue. Ivy and I worked very hard, to the point she stopped running away from me and responded both to voice and hand commands. We spent practically every free moment together. She was a riot and she loved to “search.” Even though she was a Lab, Ivy was not an in-your-face, slobbering mess of love, unless she knew you. She had a healthy disdain for strangers, some more than others. As we arrived at the staging area for a fake search, one of the main rules was that the dogs, even though they’ve searched together, been socialized, and knew the other dogs, was to keep them on a leash. All dogs were to be leashed until they were searching. Period. Until the Other Sensei arrived, and he opened the tailgate and brought out his white German Shepherds. I love Shepherds. They’re beautiful animals and even though I’ve been bitten by one, whose name was Thunder, I still think they are an incredible breed. Other Sensei’s white Shepherd’s name wasn’t Thunder, but that’s what I’ll call him. Dogs have personalities just like people and I think in some instances dogs tend to take on the personality of their owners. As I remember this situation, and know my own personality and that of Other Sensei, I would have to say it can be very true. Other Sensei did not leash his Shepherds. They had never been on a search before with our group so none of our dogs knew these two strangers. Thunder immediately set out to settle the pecking order by pissing on available foliage, then preceding to sniff down the line of dogs leashed and heeling. I got the same feeling from Thunder that I have from people I’ve met. Aggressive and arrogant. The closer he got to us, the more concerned I became for Ivy’s safety. Ivy was a respectable 75 lbs. but Thunder had to go 120. The other dogs were restless and nervous as well. I tried to stay calm and quell the butterflies in my stomach, knowing Ivy would pick up my trepidation. As he came down the line, with each successive dog, Ivy leaned closer and closer to my legs, until finally she scooted over and sat on my feet, her head pressed against my kneecaps. We stood there as one, extensions of each other. Thunder stopped in front of us and turned, coming around to sniff Ivy’s butt. I recognized her “worried look” but she turned and pressed her head against my knees again, until Thunder gave a low growl. I’m pretty sure he meant it as a “know thy place, bitch” kind of growl but Ivy was having none of that. I think as long as Thunder was sniffing her butt and being a jerk to her, that was all fine and dandy, but when he turned to me and growled, Ivy took exception to that. In a split second, she turned her head, snapped the air half a dozen times, let out a high pitched yelp/growl that scared the shit out of me, and drew her muzzle back to show her teeth. Pussy Thunder wasn’t the big, badass he wanted everyone to believe he was. He tucked his tail like a little sissy and went off to greener pastures. On the other half of that split second, Ivy was back to licking my hand and being my loving, loyal girl. I knelt beside of her, kissing her and rubbing her silky ears. “Good girl, Ivy.”

F*(& Damnit F*(&

I now know Sensei Smiley’s and Sensei Blondie’s real names. First and last. I went to the tournament this weekend. I was talking to one of the other Sensei’s (he runs a dojo in a neighboring city), we were talking because we used to be in search and rescue together, and Sensei Smiley was officiating (looking all hot in his suit... meow), and they were hollering at the Sensei I was talking to because they needed him to help officiate. And there was the reason I call him Sensei Smiley. He was smiling and laughing at the other Sensei since he was too busy talking to me to realize they needed him. Actually, the other Sensei and I almost disgraced ourselves by laughing our asses off at some search and rescue remembrances. No, I’m not interested in him. Later, I caught Sensei Smiley’s eye and smiled at him. He looked away rather quickly. I’m not sure if it was an “Oh God, she caught me looking at her,” or an “Oh God, she’s looking at me. Help!” I didn’t really have a reason to hang around after everything was over, although I lingered as long as possible. I didn’t get to see him again. Fu*(&! Coming home from Jeff’s this evening, I was trying to tell Nate all of the Senseis’ names so he could remember them, because I didn’t think he even knew any of their names, and I said, “And then there’s Sensei Smiley,” and he cut me off and said, “Oh, I know him, he’s my FAVORITE!” I said, “Yeah, buddy, me too.” *smirk* Sensei Smiley was rubbing his shoulder at the end of the tournament. I know he had a shoulder injury that prevented him from teaching for a while and I thought, maybe that’s my in. I could pop up out of my seat, introduce myself, and ask about his shoulder, maybe recommend a massage oil I could slather all over his body for his shoulder. So? Is that a good idea? Ya’ll, I need some serious help here. I keep thinking, “What if... he’s married... has a girlfriend... isn’t interested....” then I make a fool out of myself? Then I think, “What if he’s thinking the same thing?” Beanie said, “Ask him out for coffee!! Don’t wait on him to ask you!” I said, “What if he says no?” She said, “What if he says yes?” F*(& Damnit F*(&!

Windkisser III

I didn’t expect you to kiss me there, in front of your friends, in front of strangers. I didn’t expect your kiss to lift me up, to cocoon me in silence, a rush of security. I didn’t expect to forget they were watching. I didn’t expect your kiss to taste like the wind.

Windkisser II

The first night you stayed, March wind was blowing warm through the windows. As night crept past our sleeping forms, the thunderstorm grew, and the sound of dripping rain and a train too close on the rails woke me. I turned toward you, softly, so as not to wake you, and the train seemed to go on forever. I rose and blew out the candles, practically gutted in their sockets. I closed the window and dropped the shade to keep the approaching morning light from your eyes. Later, you would tell me you liked my tattoo, although I couldn’t remember you getting that close to my hip. Then you tell me you watched as I moved around the room, before I secluded my naked form in darkness, before I blew the candles out, before I dropped the shade. I wonder if you watched me as I slept.

Windkisser

A storm is blowing in on the wings of the wind. It’s been gusting and howling since last night, growing in intensity, decreasing in temperature. Wind is cleansing. When your sorrows rise to the surface, they can be swept away. All the filthy things in life we absorb will spill from our pores. The wind will evaporate them. The heat of anger will be cooled. Our tears become the first raindrops preceding the downpour. The wind will eventually bring Spring, new life, new opportunities. Two years ago, before I even knew what a blog was, a particularly windy evening kicked up, buffeting Lex and I as we walked down the boulevard, hand-in-hand. Our relationship so fresh and new we hadn’t even properly kissed. Both of us had long hair then, he still does. We must have been a sight walking along in the wind, our hair tossing around, his strands tangling with mine. He pressed me against the door of my car and that same feeling overtook me, the one of floating, hovering above the Earth, vacuum silence, intensified by an incredible kiss, the wind trying to interrupt by throwing locks of hair between our lips. Our hands fighting hair, smoothing it off each other’s faces, while still holding each other close and kissing. . . in the wind.

Remember The Seeker and Other Schtuff

If you don’t remember Seeker then this won’t mean much to you. For those of you that do, I finally caught the non-email-responding-non-blogging bastard online last night. He was actually looking for me too, since he hadn’t responded to my desperate plea for information of his whereabouts and how his life in Oz was going. He’s good. Says that he and Nord are both stubborn but they work through it. They have moved from the Outback to the oldest inland settlement in Oz and are about an hour from the ocean. He’s still the same old Seeker - no punctuation, plenty of sharp ideas, and attitude. Most of our conversation was taken up by one his sharp ideas that I’m not at liberty to discuss and I wish I had had more time to chat with him. He says to tell you all "hello from Oz" and maybe he’ll be back around some day. ***** Nate, who has been doing SO GOOD in school, was sent to the Principal’s office the other day because he had fashioned a "weapon." He had found a paperclip in his student planner and had bent it. Basically, he was playing with it so he didn’t write down his assignments. By definition of the student handbook any instrument may be considered a "weapon" including pencils and pens if used with the INTENT TO HARM. Nate intended to harm no one. He was merely playing around with a paperclip. He didn’t touch anyone with it. He didn’t poke it into the desk. He didn’t deface school property, unless you want to count bending the paperclip. I’m wondering whether this merited a trip to the Principal’s office instead of a friendly reminder from his teacher not to twist and distort the paperclip. Jeff feels as though they’re blowing up every incident with Nate so as to label him a "dangerous student" so they can send him to "alternative school." Jeff now thinks it’s a good idea if we send him to private school, which costs 2 ½ times more than my car payment. I can’t say I disagree with Jeff’s assessment of the situation nor can I say that I disagree with wanting to send Nate to private school. I’ve wanted to for a very long time. There’s a lot that goes into that as well, with the public school, the private school, Nate and of course, me and Jeff. This is going to be interesting. I guess we’ll go this evening, they’re having an information session, and see what it’s all about. Nate is wobbly about switching. He wants to see the school and what it’s all about first. Jeff and I are back and forth about the affects on Nate etc. etc. ad nauseum of leaving him where he is and switching him. *Sigh*

A Post With No Strikethroughs - For Trashman

Hope you all had a wonderful day yesterday. I have a job interview today at noon, which was scheduled at 9 this morning. I told the attorney I was not dressed for an interview and she said she wasn’t either as she was down from Pittsburgh looking at files. It’s a Corporate gig with an Oil & Gas Company. The attorney sounds really nice. She said normally HR calls but since she’s in town she decided to do it herself. I like her already. I did complete my Federal application but who knows if I can even get an interview. I suppose if I got this job I could always move forward with the Federal job, since I’m sure it would take three months to complete the background check and five or six interviews. Sensei Smiley was not so smiley yesterday. Neither was Sensei Blondie nor any other Sensei in the building. A definite air of disgruntlement wafted about the dojo. Sensei Smiley walked past me four times with neither smile nor nod or glance in my direction or any direction for that matter. Although Sensei Blondie did glance my direction more than once. However, it appeared as though their Valentines had pissed in their cornflakes and then left them for another. I cleaned out my car most of the way yesterday and found my make-up case, which is good, since it has a brush in it too. Yes, some mornings are so hectic, I forget to brush my hair. I rarely wear make-up, especially in summer, but I don’t guess I look half bad, maybe I’ll try it more often. That’s about it. Have a good one.

Happy St. Valentine’s Day Massacre

As you all can tell, I’ve learned how to use the strikethrough function in HTML. It’s the best invention since sex sliced bread. I hate abhor despise detest tolerate Valentine’s Day since Nate’s into it and I like the goodies he gets from school. Otherwise, it’s a fucking useless “holiday.” I appreciate nice things. I appreciate people who do nice things but why oh why must it be limited to one day a year? I’m not the kind of girl woman who focuses on the material aspect of a relationship. If you want to give me a gift it should be in the form of sex beads, sex books, or sex. Hot, mushy sex. None of these are limited by Valentine’s Day. And hey, if you don’t do any of the above, I’ll assume you’re treating me to sex like a decent human being and are sharing your life with me, its ups and more downs, and generally being my friend and lover. I’ll assume you kiss me and feel me up hug me on a regular basis, hang out on the couch and watch movies, laugh with me and at me, lend me your shoulder as I lend you mine, and remember our special times that have nothing to do with a holiday, but everyday things that mean much more. The only other redeeming quality of V-Day is it reminds me that AZ and I met after the blessed holy day of I’m-giving-you-a-card/flowers/candy-so-you’ll-still-be-my-girlfriend/boyfriend. 14 years. Damn, that’s a long time to know that cranky bastard that sonofa... that porcodillo one of my best friends. Not quite half my life sure has hell feels like an eternity sometimes. So, ya’ll enjoy your day and have a Happy St. Valentine’s Day Massacre.

Snow Slush and other Schtuff

The Nor’easter passed us by. It snowed for 24 hours straight and we got . . . 2 inches. I know it’s a pain in the ass to dig out from big snows but it would also just be nice to have one. I guess I’ll hold out for a big March blizzard.

In other news, I’ve got the hots for two of Nate’s karate instructors. It’s very distracting, to me anyway, and I find myself surreptitiously peering over the novel of week (this week it’s "Coma" by Robin Cook), to study their personalities, physiques, and smiles as they work with the children.

One has caught my attention more than the other. He’s funny and outgoing in class and the kids like him a lot. Plus, he has these deep eyes and radiant smile and chest hair.

Huh? Oh, uh, yeah, hey, ummm. . . momentary lapse of coherent thought.

Anyway, they have both noticed me as well. As I watch "Smiley" walk the length of the dojo in my peripheral vision, he makes a point to catch my eyes, smile, and nod, which I return, and which he doesn’t do with anyone else in the long line of parents shifting on the uncomfortable seats.

*Drool*

*Ahem*

"Blondie," the other one, is a bit more stern in class, but we’ve traded pieces of conversation and he has a bit of cockiness that, while not off-putting, could be. He seems to have a biting humor, which I can certainly appreciate, but. . . there’s that air of. . . something that makes me wary of him. Sure, he’s a black belt and he’s good looking, not afraid to make conversation, puts up with 30 Nates, but . . . can’t put my finger on it. Although he does have a nice voice.

Perhaps with Blondie, I get the feeling there is an invisible bar of worthiness which is consistently set higher and higher so that you never achieve true worthiness. I’m more attracted to Smiley because the feeling from him is openness and a bit of. . . that twinkle in his eye, the way his whole face is transformed by his genuine smile. . . what my German Papa would call, "schlingel," a brat, a prankster. His personality just radiates.

One problem. . . how the hell do you corner someone in a room full of kids and parents even to introduce yourself??? What? Pop up from my place at the side, wedged between Chance’s father and Yuki, like a Jack-In-The-Box to block his path with my coat and Nate’s shoes, my purse, and a book in my hands? Or shall I continue to peer surreptitiously across the pages of my book, basking in his smile, his laugh, his humor, his voice. . . that damn chest hair peeking out of his gi. Oy.

Snow... Maybe

It’s been one of those weeks. I’ve been very busy at work since Sissy went on maternity leave, which is great, since it makes the day go faster. It’s supposed to snow bucket loads which means we’ll get a flake or two. I live in the "Chemical Valley," squashed between Carbide, Bayer, and DuPont. There’s a nuclear reactor chemical factory right across the river from me. Someone has said we would be close to the top of the list for terrorist attacks except our population is not high enough. Since the factory across the river manufactures the exact same thing they did in Bhopal, India (ya’ll remember Bhopal, right?) it seems like it could cause far reaching consequences regardless. My only consolation is if the factories are bombed or otherwise terrorized, we’ll go quick. I live too close to even make a run for it. Then again, I live in a sort of bowl, just like New Orleans. The road is built up above the river on what could be seen as a levee, then it dips down and the back up to cross the railroad tracks. I live in between. If there’s any explosion and the train is on the tracks, it will blow the train over on the peeps across the tracks from me. Heh, who lives on the wrong side of the tracks now? People wonder why I always flush my toilet. My parents are notorious for "saving it up" so as not to waste water by flushing every single time you take a piss. I flush every. single. time. Why? It may be the only clean water we have in case of a shelter in place. While the toilet bowl may not always be pristine, at least the tank water is manageable. All in all though, I’m not prepared for an emergency of the magnitude which could occur in the event of a leak or explosion at a nearby factory. Now why did I start writing this? Oh, snow. That’s why we don’t get any snow anymore! The chemicals in the air I think just heat it or dissolve it or something. I’m not sure. If it starts snowing pink or green then I guess I’ll have my answer. If the fish can glow, why not the snow?

This N That

I have been working diligently on my federal job application. I’m still not finished. Oh me. Oh my. I got a call today from an organization who pulled my resume from Monster.com. I’ll find out more tomorrow. Got a letter from another federal job, letting me know they have my resume, and informing me the job closes on March 18, 2003, and interviews will start the last week of March (The job closes on Feb. 18, 2006, btw). I told my boss it was no wonder they were advertising for a legal secretary. We then went on to discuss some of the want ads that we’ve seen, mostly for secretaries and assistants, that are so badly misspelled that again, its no wonder they’re advertising. I then pointed out I wasn’t sure I wanted to work for someone who couldn’t even spell a want ad correctly. Nate got his first yellow stripe on his white belt yesterday. He was thrilled!! He has two more yellow stripes to earn before he can test for his yellow-stripe belt. White - yellow stripe - yellow - green stripe - green - or blue stripe - blue, I don’t remember but they get the striped belt before they move up to the solid belt. Regardless, he was one happy camper! Now the Muslims are protesting against the U.S. over this cartoon fiasco. Why? Because we're the leaders of Europe and the leaders of the infidels all over the world. Yeah. Whatever. For once, we actually didn't do anything wrong and we're still getting blamed for it. Fuckers. I'm not sure if "pagan" and "infidel" are considered the same thing, but I'll take it as a compliment. Fuckers. Got your turban wrapped too tight? Camel step on your head? Got sand in your ears? If you can't figure out the difference between EU and US, something is wrong. Hand over bin Laden fuckers!!! If I haven’t been around, my apologies, I’ve actually been... busy.

Anal-ity Pays Off

Okay, it hasn’t paid off yet, but it may. I was the kind of student in school that you really hated. You know you did. I was the one who made the 100 + bonus and groused at a 97. My one weakness was math. My instructors made me take all those college prep math classes, like Trig and Geometry and Algebra, which, I sucked at. Which in turn, brought down my grade point average. I graduated 4th from my class in high school, even without my Senior classes since I got basically a “pass” in English (based on a letter written by my German English teacher) and a “pass” in International Studies (small wonder) since those were the only two credits I lacked to graduate. I’ve had to review my old high school report cards and college transcript since I’ve been applying for Federal jobs. I looked at my college transcript and wondered what I could have done if I had really applied myself. Yes, I graduated magna cum laude, but, as always, if there was another rung on the ladder, then I want to be on the top of it. After working full to part-time, depending on my classes and carrying anywhere from 17-21 hours my last three semesters, I guess I couldn’t complain when I pulled through with the grades I did. After all that work though, I felt as though it didn’t really matter. No one around here really cared if you were magna or summa, just that you got a degree. It made me wonder why I busted my ass working and going to school and keeping my grades up (although they could have been better in some instances), if no one gave a shit. Finally, someone who gives a shit how many times I made the honor roll in High School. Yet, I wonder if that’s only to inflate arrogance, I mean, ummm, self-esteem and confidence in your abilities, that they actually care that you’ve exhibited a long history of sticking your nose in a book. In that regard, my anal-ity toward my grades is at least going to pay off a bit. It gets my foot in a door where other feet can’t go. But does it really mean anything? Nah, I don’t think so.

Dear Neighbors

Stop asking me for money. I may have it, I may not, but the fact remains, you never pay me back. If I’m assured of receiving money in a short period of time, I have no problem spotting you a few bucks, but the few bucks never show up and right now you’re already indebted to me for $100. If you’re that poor, then you should know what a $100 means to me. I didn’t loan it all at once, but it’s built up over time. And every time I loan you a little more, you promise the entire amount will be paid back “when you get paid,” or “when we get that loan.” Whatever. I’m not your bank. I know how it feels to be down and out and not have a dime to your name. However, wife, tell your husband to get off his lazy ass and get a job, ANY JOB, to help with household expenses instead of calling me at 7:03 a-fucking-m, the absolute worst time of day to call and ask me for ANYTHING, to see if I can get him some fucking Copenhagen and, of course, he’ll pay me back tonight. Yes, they loaded my child support, hoorah! No, you’re not getting any of it. See, I have this electric bill for $55, and this gas bill for $124, a phone bill for $105, and a car payment I should have made in December, insurance for that car, Nate’s karate, my Curves (not necessities, but we’re entitled), my $89 water bill, oh and I’m still paying the bank back for an overdraft I had, probably because I loaned you money. I’m entitled to do what I want with my money and you’re not entitled to any of it, regardless of how you try to make me feel. I’ve loaned you money in the past, and as I recall, you never paid that back either, so technically, you owe me a lot more. I’ve given you food. I’ve let you use major appliances and my phone more times than I can count. You’ve “borrowed” toilet paper and trash bags, neither of which I want returned, but I’m done. Get off your lazy fucking ass and get a job. And don’t feel bad, I ragged on the Muslims yesterday.

Mix and Match 2

Dear Followers of Islam: Congratulations on showing the world what non-violent, peace-loving, diplomatic individuals you are. For those Muslims who do not condone the violence, speak up before your brethren ruin your name before all of the world. Not that the Taliban and bin Laden haven’t done enough of that already. I’m not saying I condone blasphemous cartoons or caricatures of any religion, and I can understand your ire, but, that’s what Courts are for. Using violence to get your message across only gives us the message your violent thugs instead of thoughtful, intelligent people capable of putting two words together. "Jihad" for the record, is one word. Two syllables, one word, doesn’t count. Its no wonder the Danes started this. Maybe this is the way the world really gets to see what Muslims are all about. Newsflash: I stopped listening when you started throwing rocks, breaking police barricades, and burning embassies. And if you think its bad being Muslim, you should have tried being Catholic in the U.S. when the whole priest/child molestation thing was going on. Yeah, I saw some pretty rank cartoons at that time. Some that even made an old pagan like me blush. I read on CNN that you were told the Danes were trying to re-write the Quran too. Ya’ll believe that shit? Maybe you should try reading a real newspaper instead of that propaganda they shove down your throat. Oh, that’s right, you’re not allowed because its not Islamic approved, which is probably the reason those other Muslims MOVED TO ANOTHER FREE COUNTRY. Here’s a thought. . . if you live in a free country, meaning freedom of the press and freedom of religion, then take what comes with it: You’re just like everybody else. Your religion, your politics, and your lives are just as open to ridicule as the rest of us are, regardless of some notion somewhere that Muslims and the Quran are above all that and somehow are special. Take all the offense you want. Maybe I take offense to MGM making "The Wizard of Oz" but you don’t see me burning down their studios. Take it to the Courts, take it to the U.N. and let Kofi pat you on the head, but remember, those caricatures may be forbidden under Islamic laws, but the Danes and Norwegians don’t live under Islamic law, jerkwads, and if you don’t like it, then go somewhere where your gentle constitutions will not be upset by brash Western thought. Ya’ll done pissed me off and I’m tired of your bellyaching. Maybe its because I’m not Muslim and I don’t understand how you can condone this, maybe I don’t know enough about your religion, but you sure as fuck aren’t giving me any reason to find out. Piss. Off. ***** We got one for the thumb!! WOOT!! GO STEELERS!! ***** I got this great idea about a short story!!! Then I started research on the Roma people and found they are still one of the most discriminated against populace in the world. It made me very sad because my family are thought to be descended from the Roma. I would have to have a DNA test to prove it, which I’m seriously considering as part of the Melungeon DNA project. Regardless, it still made me very sad and a bit angry. Can anyway say "screenplay" instead?

Mix and Match

Nate was really getting on my nerves last night. I told him I was PMSing and it was in his best interest not to piss off the Mommy. He didn’t understand the term "PMSing" so I very rant-like reminded him of the birds and bees and hormones and periods. His response, "Well, could you just have your period at work instead of here?" *Scowl* ***** Babies, babies, babies!!! T-Bird’s sister had her baby by C-section on Tuesday. A boy named Alijah, weighing 7 lbs. 3 oz. And Mrs. Mogul had her baby, a boy weighing 7 lbs. 5 oz. yesterday. Go wish Mr. and Mrs. Mogul congratulations on their bundle of joy! It may be the first time that Blogger thoughts and wishes have put someone in labor. Hey, she asked for it. Today is my co-worker Sissy’s last day. She’s going on maternity leave. Her baby, also a boy, is due the 20th of March but I’d bet money she goes much earlier. I think their due date is really off. She’s having a lot of swelling and she concerned about pre-eclampsia. Sadly, I’m pretty sure I won’t be here when she gets back. ***** I’ve been attempting to delete, copy, save, send, and otherwise back up my personal files from my work computer. Do you know how many personal files I have? Almost six years worth. I’ve decided I just need to make sure I have "Rainy Day," "Higher House," "Chrysalis," "Coin," "Hunting Season," my resumes and cover letters and I’ll be okay. Those will be sent via e-mail, plus saved on disc. ***** Its Superbowl weekend!! I’ll miss the first 15 minutes by picking up Nate but maybe I’ll get to see opening kick-off at Jeff’s. Then again, maybe I’ll just tell him I’m going to pick him up a few minutes early so the game won’t be interrupted. Oh, yeah, good idea! Naturally also, since Nate won’t be here, its going to be a crappy, rainy, snowy weekend! So, the outside of my house will continue to look like crap!! How does all this stuff get in my yard??? Hopefully, I will get the inside cleaned up. I want to make some of my delish meatballs and weenies for the game. The best meatballs I ever made were a few years ago at New Year’s. Half a dozen ingredients, roll the out, bake them, then put them in a crock pot with barbeque concoction... YUM!!! GO STEELERS!!!

Stand Down

Phil saw his shadow. I think in WV, we’re all living under a shadow as two more miners were killed yesterday in two separate incidences. There was a third incident which did not have any fatalities. These two accidents were in the county I grew up in, within a few miles of the homestead located on Rt. 3. Black Castle Mine is located on Rt. 3 and the tipple stretches out from one side of the road to the other. My grandparents lived in Drawdy, so I saw a lot of Black Castle or whatever name it went by that week. My neighbors work in those mines, my cousin, and two friends. One works at Black Castle on the 6 p to 4 a shift, so he wasn’t there when the accident happened. (Black Castle is a surface mine, by the way) If you would like to see where Nanner grew up, you an go here and on the left hand side there is a list of featured videos. The one entitled "Mine Stand Down" has about 10 minutes of news commentary with a lot of shots of Boone County. When they showed the shot at the Peytona Church, I was thankful they spelled all of the words on the board right, even though its not grammatically correct. That’s just me. I don’t want my home state, much less my home county, looking bad on national news. I haven’t been in that area for almost two years. Since my grandfather’s death, I haven’t had much of a reason to travel that particular stretch of highway and I was just amazed at the changes the surface mining has made to that area. But that’s a rant for another day.

Faces

I met a very nice lady at karate last night. Her son is in Nate’s class and she has a really cute younger son. I’m not sure how we even started talking but she told me her son is also ADHD and we talked about our frustrations with the school system and our children, people in general. Her younger son is three and she said he is completely different than her older son. Her name is Yuki and based on her accent, was not born in the U.S. I hate to say it, but while listening to her talk and wondering what Asian country she comes from, I was hoping it was Vietnam, since I love clay pot fish so much. I love accents and I love trying to figure out where people are from. Often, and I’ve been told I do this when I speak German, you can tell where someone is from by listening to the inflections on how they speak English. You still carry the traits of your native tongue, especially inflections and tone. Although I'm not a linguist, I recognized the inflections of an Asian language in Yuki's English. (I hear that as a sharp, high, very clipped tone, whereas I recognize a German accent more due to the word order inversion, plus I hear it a lot. There's just a certain cadence as well, a certain flow of the words.) Plus, I’m a nosy bitch. I like hearing the stories of how they came to live in the U.S. and what it was like in their country and if they ever visit and if they have family there, what they miss, what the food’s like, just anything and everything, especially if they have a clay pot with fish in it. I think its also an interesting phenomena about the facial characteristics that we totally miss about people outside our own race. Yet, when I stop to think, I compare the facial characteristics of my friend May, who is Japanese, versus my friend So-ok, who is Chinese and can definitely see the unique area of Asia in their faces. So-ok’s face is more round and broad, whereas May’s is more delicate. Mitzco, also Japanese, has the same characteristics of May. I can see the similarities between Jethro and my friend, Raj. Jethro’s family is from Vietnam and Raj’s family is from Thailand. Similarities yes, but also subtle differences. Like the difference between the former Eastern bloc countries and Western countries, even of the same country, even of the same race, like Germany. Maybe its even the same among the multitude of African and Middle Eastern nations. When I think about it, I can definitely see the similarities and differences between Syrians, Lebanese, and Iranian individuals, those being the only three Middle Eastern individuals I’m acquainted with and know for sure where they’re from. (Oddly enough, as for inflection in their English, the Syrian, who also speaks Arabic, and the Lebanese, who does not, but whose parents are from Lebanon, have very similar inflections and cadence. The Iranian immigrated to Greece first, then to the U.S. and she has a completely different speech pattern.) I know facial characteristics are a way to classify and used to justify discrimination. But they also paint a portrait of uniqueness that goes beyond race. Facial characteristics are our heritage, our history, and family traits. Faces are fascinating. Look at some faces (and listen to some voices) today.