Why Does Everything... EVERYTHING Have to be SO HARD?!

I... *sigh*

I don't want much, I swear. I SWEAR! I can't think of a single thing I need that I don't have... Except for one thing that I'd really, REEEEEEEEEALLY like. It would make me happy every day! It would provide something to do every day over the summer while my son is home, so I won't have to go to the effing park and mingle with THOSE FUCKING PEOPLE.

Have I ever told you about the Home School People that frequent the local park? hahaha! Of course I haven't, I just got here! Starting over is weird. -They show up with their van full of weird, too-old-for-a-giant-wooden-castle-kids, and set them free!!! Usually with at least some kind of nurf rifle, but I saw at least one get out with a fucking cross bow! The adults sit outside the play area, which is meant for kids between the ages of about 2 and 10 or so, while the 11-16 year old kids wreak havoc. They knock over the little ones, running right through them like they're not there, as they utilize said castle for games of War. I've seen them push them off swings... It's ridiculous! And I have a very low tolerance for that kind of bullshit. Inevitably, I end up stalking outside the play area, red faced and nearly psychotic, to bellow, "DO THESE WILD ANIMALS HAVE PARENTS ANYWHERE?"

It doesn't usually go all that well from that point. I think it's funny that the Home Schoolers are generally painted as Liberal Hippies who don't want to subject their offspring to the regiment of the various school system options, in my experience they strike me more as people afraid their children might be forced to learn some science in Science. Or some history in History.

But I digress. (Often, make a note of it.)

There is this one thing that I would love, carress every day, clean and pat and call George, that would save me from that kind of summer. It would allow me to make this year perhaps fun enough to make up for last year, which was suckalicious in every way.

A pool.

Not an elaborate, olympic sized in-ground pool, costing thousands. No, I'm pragmatic. We have a drain field and I'm sure it would be a nightmare. All I want is an Easy-Set, soft sided, above ground deal. We know right where it should go, as I can still kindof see where the previous owners put theirs. The yard is already pretty level, so just the ground cover should take care of prep.

I think that because it's not a permanant structure, no permits would be required, but in an attempt to be an upstanding citizen of these here United States, I have spent most of the morning trying to find local ordinances and such, so that we can go about this the right way. I remember hearing, a couple of years ago perhaps, that there were new requirements for securing above ground pools, to make the world safer for fence jumpers.

No, this did not entail stiffer fines and punishments for those who insist on invading private property. The requirements were for the pool owners, of course. Something about pools of a certain size needing fences of a certain height, with specific barbed wire and guard dogs, or something like that... I just wanted to know the details before buying the thing.

I can't find shit!

Then the Husband asked, "So... How do we fill it?"

"A hose?" Obviously, right? But then, before he could even go all man on me, I started thinking. An 18' pool holds almost 4 thousand gallons of water... Not only would that take forever with a garden hose, but we have a well. That's probably asking a bit much of it. So shit. How DO we fill the motherfucker?

"I think maybe you should check with the fire department."

"Whaaaaaaaaat?" I can just HEAR that phone call in my head! OH MY GOD, I'm gonna be their "shit for brains" story of the day! I mean, they don't hang out at the house to wait for people who need their pools filled, surely! I think they would cuss my ass out if I asked them to trot on by and fill 'er up. I would cuss me out for that.

"Yeah, I think that's who ya call." I began to grow skeptical. Maybe H doesn't want a pool. Maybe he doesn't want to make me cry, so he's pawning me off on the local fire men...

So that was another thing I repetedly tried to look up today. Fuck you, Google! Fuck you right in the ear! I've read how-to guides, owners manuals, "tips"... They all stop just short of where to get the fucking water! SON OF A BITCH! I went to every local water company web site, none of them offer any pool related option. *sob*

And yet, every dilapidated trailer I pass has one in the front yard.

I'm not giving up on you, George! I WILL swimm in your clear, fresh, crystaline waters this year, oh yes I will!

If you happen to know the procedure for this... Please put me out of my mysery. Please?

I Found My Diaphragm!

Not that diaphragm, you dirty bird! I've always been far too put off by the idea of retrieval... And all the ways that could go wrong, terribly, terribly WRONG, like, "Dr... Um... It's still in there." wrong, to use one of those. Ew.

No, the other one. The anatomical one! It only took me 30 years, 11 months and 8 days, but I am SOOOOOOOO EXCITED!

I can't sing. I can warble, I can make my own mother say things like, "You should NEVER do that in public!" or, "Did that sound just come from you?!" it's pretty bad. Which only hurts deep down in my soul. A lot. But that's okay, God. *sniff*

When you are a person who can't sing like *I* can't sing, and someone catches you doing it anyway, you sometimes receive advice on how to maybe make it less blood curdling or skin crawly or brain blowy-uppy. This advice usually contains the sentence, "Try singing from your diaphragm for GOD's SAKE!" and to be honest, usually ends in, "Or not at all. That would probably be best."

Well, I tried. I tried singing from my gut, I tried singing from my heart, I even tried singing from my appendix, which only resulted in those bastards removing it! I tried singing from my naughty place... TWICE! At least the second attempt was fairly quiet. -I don't even think it would have helped if someone had handed me a road map to it. I'm just inept. Sometimes the sound changed, but it was just another layer of "Is this hell? I don't remember dying... But surely I'm in hell."

From time to time I'd be watching a movie or show in which someone was singing, and some brilliant coach or teacher would grab them in the belly, making them go, "whoo-hoo!", and telling them to, "Sing it from HERE!" and I'd tilt my head and poke myself in the belly, go, "whoo-hoo!" and then try to make a sound from way down there... Nothing. Still coming from the throat region. Still sounds like the torture scene from Braveheart. (*spits in Mel Gibson's general direction* That's a story for another day.)

My friends did not believe me, which lead to The Karaoke Episode of '02, in which I sang a Blink 182 song to a room full of Country fans at a shitty bar, dead sober. ON MY BIRTHDAY, and when I tried to make it comedy... They didn't get it. So... There was this angry mob, and well... I never would have escaped if they'd followed rule number one of Angry Mob Prepairedness: "Keep the lighter fluid handy!" My stupid ass friends forgot that I was the designated driver, probably because it's SO WRONG to make The B-day Girl the fucking designated driver, and tried to skip out on me.

I only made them jog along behind the car for a mile or two. Fuckers.

So there has been strife. Is my point.

But yesterday, as I careened down the road all alone with Pearl Jam vibrating my side mirrors (amongst other things...), something totally crazy happened.

I was blowin' out State of Love and Trust, because that's what I do in the car when I'm alone, I blow it the fuck out, and I realized that a bunch of muscles that aren't located in my throat were... Uh... Moving and clenching and doin' stuff! So I started the song over, and there it was, and I almost wrecked because I was so, "YIPPEEEEEEE! There it IS!"

I turned the stereo down a bit so I could hear me, and it still sounds pretty fuckin' fucked up, but still, I found it... And I found something else, too...

When you sing from way down in yo belly... A lot of muscles start twitching... Including the hoo-hah muscles... Which means that while I still cannot sing, I have found a much funner way to do my kegals!

Yay for tight snatch and singing!

The end:D