Sunday, 26 June 2005

"Mom, can you wipe my butt?'

"Mom, can you wipe my butt?'

Just some of the everyday questions that I get from my four year old. It doesn't even phase me anymore. Maybe it should, but what's a little poop among friends?

I'll tell you what sucks, though. Watching the HBO special about teens drinking and driving and crashing and fucking themselves up. Having a little brain damage with that case of beer kinda gives one a buzz kill, if you know what I mean. And it's not the ones that are uber-fucked up that makes you sad. It's the ones that realize the differences in their own personalities, pre-accident versus post-accident. One kid became aggressive which was very different from how he used to be - and it made him depressed and suicidal. It was very sad.

Then this one kid.... Total retard. Before AND after. He was only 15 and drank a shitload of beer and wrapped his four-wheeler around a tree. Did I say around? Nevermind that - he fuckin snapped the tree in half with his head and his leg. Broke himself up real good.... Parents were a little redneck but upset nonetheless. He was in a coma for a few days then came out and had some damage to the ol' noggin. He had to go to physical therapy to remember how to speak and stuff that he probably couldn't do all that well before the accident. Anyhow, the show did a follow-up like six months later and he was drinkin and four-wheelin with his stupid idiot buddies and his parents were just sittin there, like, "we can't believe that Timmy is doin' all the things he was doin' before, yuk yuk. He's a little slow gettin' the thoughts out of his head, but otherwise, he's the same." Whatever. The fucker should have done everyone a favor and finished himself off the first time. It's such a shame to know that there are good people out there, dealing with horrible realities (three little boys suffocate in the trunk of a car, female marines targeted in Fallujah), and here's this shithead. Thousands of dollars to his treatment and rehab, for what? Ugh.

Hopefully I won't have to be wiping my kid's butt when she's 18. I still would, but that would totally suck.

Thursday, 23 June 2005


We got our household goods yesterday. I still don't know if I am happy about it. It means a couple things:

1. Unpacking. I can safely say that I need another house to fit all my crap. My husband wants to have a garage sale, but I can't possibly hope to get more than 30 cents for the shit I don't want. Though we are now located in the RedNeck Riviera, so my trash might be Billy Bob's treasure.
2. Reality. It's true. We're here to stay. When you don't have your stuff, living in hotels and buying necessities in travel sized packets, you kinda feel like you're on an extended vacation. You allow yourself to eat out more often and drink more than you should. You say, "Screw it" and buy stuff that you know is a little more expensive. Vacation mentality. That has all come to a screeching halt. Cooking and cleaning instead of restaurants and housekeeping. Ugh.

On a good note, though, it's like Christmas opening all the boxes. I haven't seen any of this stuff in two months and, honestly, don't remember all the junk that was in the back of the silverware drawer. It's going to be a life-sized game of Tetris getting all this to fit in this little house.

It's all good. Maybe I'll just go back to work and let the Husband unpack it all! Hehe.