Words from the burbs

Law school revolves around "study groups". At the beginning, one is selected on percieved wit more than popularity. A study group is a loosely affiliated group of people who get together once a week at this time of year and daily near finals to share and combine their knowledge against the dark forces of the final exams. I'm in the "percieved" best study group, which is really funny. Its me and three moderates and two ultracons. But politics do not come up at the study group. People are actively trying to get in, which I find hilarious. I'm like "I'm not in charge, we meet at this time show up with an outline". In the background, there's huge drunkenness (law school is about drinking) so there are time conflicts between hangovers and study groups, so usually, they start at 1 on sundays and there is a lot of coffee consumption.

Just something I thought a prospective law student should know. I have no idea how I got into my study group, but I'm fine with it and I'm holding on for dear life.

I'm going to the Mag Bar tomorrow after trickortreating to see the costumes with my friend Melissa. I've not seen her since I started school. It should be fun.

You may have guessed from the front page picture or just in general, Zule and I are big on Halloween. This year, we used scrap lumber and paint to make a pretty horrific scene, including a graveyard. The best part is Dbot came up with tombstone epitaths. One said "Stupid" and the other said "I'm with stupid" with an arrow pointing at the other tombstone. For some reason, I think this is freaking hilarious. Zule came up with "RIP Yo Momma." That is on another tombstone. There are fake spiderwebs all over, a flying bat and many pumpkins. The best special effects are: 1) we have a fog machine and 2) Zule set up our digital projector to project a movie onto our huge front window, so people will be subjected to horror movies when they walk up to our house. It looks really cool. (When summer comes again, I'm going to invite people over to have a "drive in" movie using the same principle.)

Shhh: *spoiler* Zule is going to dress up in this fucked up Bee full-body costume (don't ask, think plushie, someone found it at a garage sale) and attack me with a chainsaw at exactly 10 p.m. Fake blood, fake dismemberment, real screaming, right in the middle of the street. Remember, we live in the burbs. If we get through the evening without arrest, we'll be ecstatic. The Bee costume is in his truck right now, and all day, passers-by have been peering in the windows of the truck. Our neighbors call us Ozzy and Sharon for a reason. It would not be above our sense of humour to get our 12 year old to act like she's vomiting blood when she answers the door for someone saying "trick or treat". Or the two year old, for that matter.

Samhain, Bitches!

A normal day for me involves, falling into an exhausted slumber at 11:45 ish, waking up to a kicking toddler at 2 a.m. Getting up at 6:30, going to school, coming home, taking a quick nap, cooking something fast and doing whatever odd obligation I have that evening. Tonight's obligation:

Drake's Recital. (BAAL, email Zule and he'll ftp you the video). She plays the viola. I was at the middle school and I looked around and realized, goddamn, she's nearly an adult! She did that thing we all did, where you avoid your parents. So Zule and I pretended to make out. Pretty funny. She did well. As she was playing, I looked around, at the parents who had cameras. I used to think people taped things because they wanted to have a small, portable, electronic device in hand as a status symbol. Now I realize, they're trying to capture the moment. The exact moment in time where their child was, and how the child was and who the child was at that moment.

Totally different paradigm, given our low infant mortality rate but roughly the same rationale for this, which is sad, but one of the first things commercial photographers did.

http://www.deathonline.net/remembering/mourning/victorian.cfm#photos

When I was a kid, we did not have DDR. We just turned on the eight track and jumped on bubble wrap until it was all popped. It was just as fun. I try to play ddr, but I'm no Baal.

Baal has the gift of prophecy. On September 25, he predicted the global domination of the song "My Humps" by the Black Eyed Peas. He was correct.

Now even Sweatone sings it. He's a pretty cute Fergie.

http://ubl.artistdirect.com/nad/music/artist/card/0,,670697,00.html

For some reason, even though I've invested, in my estimation, close to a million dollars in buying pens, I can never find one, ever. I think my kids or my couch eat them. Mostly, I end up writing with Sweatone's yellow crayon from Frisch's when I have an important phone number to write down. Then of course later, I can't read it. Or I have to run over to one of the gazillion computers in my house, pull up a word doc, type it in, the whole time saying "uh huh, uh huh, could you repeat that?" to the person on the phone.

For Christmas, everyone buy me pens please.

O, I'm a total cherry flavored douche. I lost my cell phone, again. So if anyone reading this is in my cellphone contacts list, sorry if youre getting calls from transesuals or rednecks at 2:00 a.m. I'm not reporting it lost for one week, in hopes it turns up. This is the third cellphone in a row I've lost. The last one was behind my bookcase, but turned up only after my contract had expired and I moved the bookcase to clean behind it. Zule hates this kind of behaviour. I expect I'm in the dog house. He's easily distracted though, if I get him a pumpkin pie as a bribe, he'll swallow his anger, and save it for later ammunition to make me look retarded when its dramatic.

Ask him about the time he dumped me on the Tijuana/San Ysidro border as a prank. Funny stuff that.

I found this blog when I googled up "cherry flavored douche" for the hell of it. (I also found cherry anal desensitizing cream, but I was afraid to click on that)

http://www.annelawrence.com/portlandia.html

So my friend Gary came over for technical advice. Not from me, doh. I did not expect anyone to come in the house just use the garage, so I figured I was "home free".

Anyhow, about ten o'clock, Sweatone said "I poop in pottie mommie". And well, let's just say he "jumped the gun".

Poop everywhere, like a chimp. As I'm trying to get his poopie pants and pullup into the trash, I heard sweatone saying "I shave mommie". I ran back in, and he was trying to shave his armpits with his dad's safety razor. I screamed. I took the razor away, and ran some bathwater.  Sweatone is sitting there depantsed, I'm trying to get him cleaned up and of course Gary and Zule, for the first time that evening, come into the house. After I got Sweatone clean, we all went into the living room. We dressed Sweatone in his monkey costume (which is freaking adorable), but then, he rubbed his nose all over it. By the end of the evening, I'm convinced Gary thinks my kids are maniacal poop throwing chimps.

1) on Thursday, I went to PF Changs to  a friend's birthday. We were all outside in the rain smoking, and some Barbara Bush looking bitch pushed me out of the way to get into the restaurant. Not the hot twin Barbara Bush, the old one. I was just surprised. At first I thought it was my friend Charlie clowning, but it was actually just a cantankerous old person. It made me laugh.

2) I went to MSL last night and had a blast. I left at midnight so I'm sure exciting things happened after I left, but  I had fun while I was there. I worked the door for an hour. The reason this is ironic, is b/c the bar MSL used to be a different bar, from which, when I was underaged, I'd get kicked out of constantly. This was in the days before photoshop, so my id's were really really bad. Plus, all the bouncers knew me anyway and how old I was, so they'd be like "okay, you're out of here, drunk ass, you and your drunk friend too." (In reference to my then friend Tobi, who was walking trouble while drunk). So last night I was checking id's and I started to giggle, b/c its so full circle. Plus I can't add in my head, so I was like, born in 1982, nice try ass hat! (Then I realized they were in fact 23 and I'm just old). :)

On a local community website, someone sent me this message today:

"hey i work for a websute seeking hotmature moms you interested? "

Resounding NO, motherfucker.

 http://www.cnn.com/2005/POLITICS/10/20/Delay.booking/index.html

Haha, now Tom DeLay can never live in public housing, because HUD laws prohibit anyone charged with a crime from living in public housing or getting Section 8 assistance.

I bet he's concerned, since he's such a welfare mom.

He does look dapper in his booking photo. That's how you can tell he's a huge fake. Anyone who smiles like that in a booking photo can fake a smile for any photo opportunity.

O yeah, this misdirect (this is not The Smoking Gun) http://www.smokinggun.com/

is wierd.

Someone give me their opinion of what the hell is going on in this photo.

Have you ever gone into a convenience store and just known you're in the wrong place? You can tell by the magazine selection.

Today, I stopped by this place to get a powerball ticket and a pack of smokes and they had four types of African American themed porn, Guns and Ammo and some sort of Bollywood looking magazine in Hindi.

I left quickly.

Nothing here.

I had a headache from class.

I got the giggles in contracts, so I got called on. Its b/c the teacher said "butress your arguments" three times, and I have the sense of humour of a eight year old.

I went to the zoo over the weekend.

My sister was telling me she could communicate with the elephants.

She said "watch this" and looked all serious and stuff.

Then, nothing happened, so she started taunting the elephant with a stuffed animal, which is predicated in reasons only known to us.

BAAL gave me some nifty indian cloth, which is now a window treatment.

Thanks!

So Zule hooked up some sweet deal in our basement where we can listen to music really loud.

I picked the Pixies to listen to and corrupt our son, he picked Rush.

It reminded me of when I was a teenager and dated these DND guys.... I'd have to listen to 2112 over and over.

It was fun. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sweatone rocking out.

That reminds me, once Zule and our friend Lucas decided to float over on a raft to Fiesta Island in Mission Bay, to sneak into a Rush concert. They bough and inflatable raft. They had only a flash light to warn oncoming water craft. Somewhere, in the middle of Mission Bay, the flashlight failed and they heard a strange beeping coming from directly above them. They of course told me they lost two hours of time, and I believed them, but that part is not true.

Apparently they were not abducted and probed by aliens.

too bad.

http://www.russian-detective.com/black_lists/individ/individual_scammers3.htm

well doh motherfuckers.

especially the correspondence on this part: worth a read if youre supposed to be working or something.

What can I say, the foibles of humanity make me laugh.

http://www.russian-detective.com/black_lists/individ/new/kondrusova/kondrusova_olga2.htm

Notice he only put her letters up.

http://www.cnn.com/2005/LAW/10/15/inmate.abortion.ap/index.html

This case intrigues me, b/c obviously, the person could have somehow raised the 350 bucks for transportation. So, the case hinges on other factors, not all abortion related. I have a feeling this chick is having this baby.

So, anyway, about seven years ago, Zule and I lived in this apartment in San Diego. There is huge housing density, zero lot lines, that kind of stuff. Basically, people are crammed together like a GWAR mosh pit. Anyhow, we lived on the second floor, and this dude lived on the first floor. We could see a portion of his bathroom. One day, a movement caught my eye out of the window. Lo and behold, this dude was whacking. The funny thing was, the method in which he was doing it. I had no idea people stood up, one hand on the wall, the other hand in action and fought it out. I did not watch very long though, b/c I get embarassed if people kiss in my presence, much less that kind of thing. It was still funny as shit.

I'm very sad. I'm going to get fishnets and wear them on my arms, along with dark eyeliner.

I got a "C" on my Basic Legal Skills Memo. Nevermind that this is not really the end of the world. I'm a perfectionist. It would be on thing if I had not obsessed over it for a month, done five drafts and proofread and turned it in early, sensing that I had perfection in that memo. I actually did. I'm an abject failure! (Okay, so I don't really care that much, if anything, I'm just pissed, which goes to my ego problems, of which I have legion).

I would tell you the all time funny story about a dude whacking off in a bathroom in an apartment adjacent to my apartment in California, but Zule shall have to post and say "Ok".

I hate making titles for this. from now on out, they may be non sequitors.

Funny story of the day: a couple friends of mine and I went to Cafe Kilimanjaro for lunch. One of my friends was telling me about her sorority sister and best friend. Apparently, this girl chats all day on sites with internet webcams. She was showing my friend her conversations with four different men in a chat room. All rather tepid, like "LOL, u know u like it gurl". then the friend pops up the webcam window, and the dudes were all watching this girls friend and literally were jacking off.  The girl just sits there and types all day, does nothing else, and guys are jacking off to it.

Awesome! The world is so strange.

   Just saying.

I accidentally printed out a four hundred page document at school.

Luckily, I called before I used an entire ream of paper.

A tree somewhere lives!

Last night, I went to a barbeque at my cousin's house. Both she and my sister are fine artists. Apparently, by the end of the evening after I left and karaoke was over, omniously I was told they had alot of fun and that the driveway of my sister's mother in law's house was scorched and covered with crayon drippings.

I have no idea what that means.

Fire I suppose.

The below is a fairly sad story.

I wonder what makes people trust goth photographers? Earlier in my life, I had photographers wanting to take pictures of me out the wazoo. What did I say? No sir. I figured their motives were less than pure.

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/9646779/

http://babble.dictator.org/?p=13

(Kirkland is Costco's generic brand)

Okay, so its spooky time. There are four words that strike abject fear into the heart of my family and guests, (at least when I say them):

"That's okay, I'll cook".

Fried chicken.

Lets just say everyone is upstairs eating KFC as restitution for my failure at this present moment.

My grandma got selected for the car wash killer's trial, but she's going to try to plead age. She's 88. 

http://www.amw.com/Fugitives/brief.cfm?id=25830

I would not want to be on that jury, even at thirty.

We all went on hayrides and listened to bluegrass today.

So, I've been studying my ass off for my first final, (Legal Research). I was a ball of anxiety armed only with flashcards, study sheets and my wits.

I get to the exam.

I find a nice place to sit.

I hear them. These fucktarded kids in another section a/k/a "the frat." I'm still trying to study, b/c I'm dedicated and shit. This is what I hear from behind me.

"he he, I'm so cheating"

"he he, this is cutting into my drinking time, I'm giving it an hour and then, fuck this, I'm off to PTs" (It's three pm)

"Yeah, that bitch gave you a good lap dance last time, that was funny that you were like "sure I"ll take two" and then you were like "I gots no money bitch, but I'm going to be a lawyer", I'm surprised you did not come on the bitch".

"That would be the best that whore had ever gotten".

I know its just me. My background, wtf ever, but for some reason, this whole exchange pissed me massively off, especially the cheating and the stripper thing.

I hope they keep on getting drunk and arguing with strippers over the cost of lap dances, so that I can beat them in the class ranks. And then, as I pass the bar and they flunk, I'm going to whisper "bitches, pay your strippers their due."

I don't know what to say, whether this was me being a bitch, or them being suck.

O yeah, the exam was cool. Thank God I have a nearly photographic memory. That's been pretty helpful.

Then, we went to my sister's for dinner. My stepmom made the best springrolls and meatloaf I have ever tasted. We all ended the evening by playing with a balloon (knocking it at people's faces) and then forcing all the adults to "tuck and roll". (Sommersault). Zule's was the best. He tucked, but he did not roll. He went straight up in the air, and then, with the assistance of gravity, flopped on the ground on his back, like a felled sequoia.

Mine was pretty good, I think. Except I forgot to tuck, and hit my head, but I think my sommersault was the most fluid.

10 points.

   http://www.scotusblog.com/movabletype/archives/2005/10/blog_roundup_mo_11.html

The last one is funny. As funny as SCOTUS can be.

Today's gasoline enema award with a lit match cork goes to the birth parents in the story I read today in "Good Housekeeping".  Apparently, a couple adopted two little boys, one of whom they had to wait to adopt until he got out of the hospital, where he was having his face rebuilt from a beating from his birth parents. When they got him, he still had fist marks on his face (heartbreaking picture with bruises in article). He was ten months old. The first time the ten month old cried, his two year old (also adopted) brother jumped in front of the baby and told the adoptive parents, "No hit baby". The baby was kept under a crib like a cage and went unloved, unfed and untouched except for crackers or toys the two year old shoved through the crib. After six years of constant love, therapy and rispardiol, (an anti-psychotic) the adoptive parents broke through to reach this child. Pretty inspiring. I know, I'm sappy.

Gasoline is kind of pricey these days though, maybe the birth parents should get a different flammable enema. Paint thinner maybe.

O, and yeah, you can mock me for reading Good Housekeeping, but I don't really care. I take potluck seriously, and I'm tired of only being able to make macaroni and cheese. They had some good recipes. Watch out, I'm bringing polenta!

So I was able to score about six packs of candy cigarettes today in Indiana. I had to return a puppy. Long story.

I visited my mom's farm. She's a pretty cool chick. Distant, but cool. She's a writer and an artist and totally batshit crazy. She lives in a renovated barn. When they first started renovating it, they lived in a bus for three years, with no indoor plumbing. She's hardcore like that. I think it came from growing up with seven brothers and sisters that were younger than she and a schizophrenic mom. My grandma was either committed, or pregnant, or in delusions the entire time my mom was growing up. It kind of wierds me out that by 32, my grandma had been pregnant ten times. (Only eight were full term and lived). My mom remembers being nine and having to mop up after my grandma started to miscarry, because my grandma could not do it herself, and they did not want the doctor to come and see that on the floor.

My grandma was pretty cool too. Wacky as hell, and on enough meds to tranq a horse, but by the Seventies, when I was born, she only had a few schizophrenic episodes that I can recall. I remember her hands shaking so hard that her coffee would slosh in the mornings, and she'd laugh and say "Its my nerves" and then she'd go listen to Patsy Cline for hours. I literally thought everyone had 'nerves' like that and I was really worried that I too, would have 'nerves'. She used to love to play bingo. She'd take all the grandkids to the knights of columbus hall and make us play bingo with her, just so she could have extra bingo cards. She never trusted us to pay attention, though, so she was on us like a hawk. "They called b-9, did you get that?"

And then she'd wave a bingo marker at us in a threatening manner and scowl. If we were good, we got pulltabs as a reward, if we were bad, she made us go sit in the car until later (and they delivered newspapers for a living, so the smell of newsprint and car fumes is firmly rooted in my psyche with culpability). I feel sorry for any cousin of mine that fucked up something so serious. To my recollection, we were all so scared of my grandma during bingo we behaved. Plus, we liked hanging out with my grandma, b/c she'd buy us "Big Red" and let us eat whatever we wanted until we puked. Including Candy Cigarettes. She'd always buy them for us. Of course the ones I bought today are cheap compared to the awesomeness of the prior candy cigarettes. Now they say things like "Dinosaur Candy Stix" back in the day, they said "Pall Mall" and "Lucky Strike" and they had a red tip.

Grandma also taught me to play spades. She'd cut a bitch if you messed up the trick. I kind of miss being a kid. I realize now, that growing up with hippy, crazy parents and truly mentally ill grandparents is not the norm, but to me, it seemed normal. For example, my sister and I would wait till my mom was kind of drunk, sneak out of bed, and listen to her talk on the phone to her sisters and brothers. "O yeah, remember that time mom stood over our bed with knives? I never did figure out if she wanted to kill us or the demons she thought were chasing us. Lucky we hid under the bed."

So, I'm kind of relaxed as a parent. My children usually forage for snacks, b/c I don't cook. The eleven year old can cook her own dinner. They sleep where they fall. But now, Zule and I know, we are absolutely on top of the parenting thing.

Last night we went to the trolley hop over at the Mellwood Arts and Entertainment Center, which is practically a construction site, and a labyrinth of danger (we did not sit Sweatone down at anytime, fearing for his life). As we were leaving, a little three year old was walking down the stairs, no parents in sight. I asked the little guy "Do you know where mommy or daddy is?". I realized, in today's world, this probably is not the best default question, considering the number of same sex families or those without one parent, but I figured it was as good a starting point as any.

"I not here with mommy, I here with Sterling". Keeps walking. No other adults within 20 yards.

Okay, so dave is walking downstairs with the kid to keep an eye on him, and I thought, I'd better go find out if there is a panicked adult upstairs (the one time Dbot got separated from me at Sears at the same age as this kid, I noticed within 30 seconds, started screaming and demanded that Sears lock down the store, which they did, and Dbot turned up crying, hiding in a clothing rack about three minutes later). I walk upstairs, no upset adults. I say, in my loud voice (I have a voice that can carry across the Puget Sound). "Is anyone missing a small boy wearing light-up sneakers?"

A woman looks up casually from tying the shoes of another child. "O yeah." She gets up, and barely interested, she walks downstairs with me.

I find Zule, carrying Sweatone, at the front gate (all that is between kids and traffic) trying to restrain this little guy, verbally, from running into the parking lot. (There was traffic, and it was dark, and kids that are that size are really hard to see).

Lady saunters up, picks up the kid and walks off. (No thanks).

Zule felt wierd, b/c the whole time he looked like a massive perv. "Excuse me little fellow, you'd better stay with me until your mommy comes". Luckily, he was carrying a toddler.

Anyhow, apparently, I'm an odd parent that I would freak out if my toddler was running around loose and playing in traffic.