So, Of Course...

Fucking Blogger ate my reading list! It was there... *refresh*

*POOF*

The Fuck?

And I have no patience for this today. I don't even know who to shake my fist at! *flops limbs aimlessly* *rips out hair*

Today

My uterus feels huge.

That is all.

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

This One Time, On Flag Duty...

It never fails to amuse people when they find out what I was like when I was younger, and I don't blame them. What the hell was I doing in ROTC?

I was hiding, that's what. I was fighting the inevitability of who I am now... It doesn't matter why.

A friend's post reminded me of this incident... And I can't stop giggling about it.

I was on flag duty for a football game at my high school. Usually I avoided this like the plague, preferring to handle the stationary pole in front of the school where no one was watching, but the girl who was supposed to be doing it had some kind of mishap, so there I was. The back up.

I hate football. I hate football players. They guys at my school pretty much ruined me for any kind of athlete fantasy, they were such enormous douche bags. The Lacrosse team was a different story, but I digress...

So Connie and I got all suited up, secured each other's white, patent leather flag holsters (Oh the fucking humanity!), checked that our 'lil hats were on right, and waited inside the gym, near the locker rooms for further instruction. I don't think either of us had ever been saddled with this duty before. We had no idea what we were doing.

I remember hearing a god awful lot of whooping from outside, the rednecks were all riled up. The team was doing really well that year, hurrah. -I can't remember who it was that finally approached us, standing there, fondling our poles, but we were instructed to go out to the field via the boys locker room.

Personally, I assumed at this point the boys must have been suited up and ready to go, as the flag ceremony was supposed to directly proceed their emergence onto what would surely be the field of victory, but I was wrong.

Connie flung the doors open, probably with the opposite assumption in mind, grinning like a fiend, and walked slowly towards the exit.

I felt my face go burning hot before anyone even noticed we were there... It was just so damned naughty. In memory, it seems like the benches stretched on into eternity, towels flung all over, mostly naked, impressively muscled young men standing around with beads of water or sweat refusing to drip from their skin... I'm not immune, just steadfastly apposed. Give me a fucking break!

George, bane of my existence since about fourth grade, was the first to realize we were there. He took two easy steps towards me, a maniacal grin creeping, "See anything ya like?" he drawled. "Fuck off." I replied, keeping my eyes glued to his, though I could see the swing of his cock, fuzzy in periphery.

He took another step in my direction, menacingly... "You're blushing." he whispered in my ear as he passed.

I was blushing... I was seeing a lot... Pretty much for the first time, at least in living color. I was supposed to be... What? Embarrassed? Shocked? Scared to death of cock? I wasn't... And that's why I knew I should hurry my ass right out of there.

But where the hell was Connie? Well, she had wondered from our route, and she was chatting up someone she did not yet realize was a freshman... "Connie!" I hissed. "Whaaaaa?" She was outwardly the hooch that I was hiding, though I was privy to the fact that she NEVER went there. -In the four years we were friends, she was engaged to three guys whom she teazed mercilessly, but never so much as stroked any of them. -Which in a way lead to the end of our friendship, I guess.

Anywhore, I retrieved her just as the Coach walked in, almost had a stroke, and started yelling at the team to, "JESUS FUCKING CHRIST! Put some fucking cloths on! Where are my pills?!?!! Damn it boys, there are LADIES present!" We scurried towards the door and out, memorizing the stunning array of flesh as we went.

There was no time to laugh or digest what was going on until we were outside. Connie immediately started a wish list... I immediately started mentally flogging myself. There was a time when I gave a shit... About what kind of girl I knew I was going to be, and I fought it. I beat myself up about it for some time before deciding to just embrace it.

We did our thing, while a stream of leering boys with all the wrong ideas flooded the field, and then we hung around ignoring the game.

After...

George had always enjoyed tormenting me in whatever way his pea brain could concoct, and he didn't have to think real hard anymore. Whenever we crossed paths he'd try to back me into a corner, or taunt me with inuendo... Little did he know that I suspected Hate Sex would be the most fun of all, and I tried not to let on.

I have three enduring memories of him, all somewhat disturbing.

1- In fourth grade he had racked up so many visits to the office that they decided corporal punishment was the only answer, so a paddling was scheduled. We weren't pals, he was a pecker head, but I still felt terribly sorry for him... Through a rediculous series of events, I ended up in the hallway, crossing paths with him on his way back from the event.

His freckled face was beat red, and I could see the tracks where tears had fallen. My immediate reaction was to reach out and touch his arm, words of sympathy and reassurance flying to my lips. He jerked his arm away and growled something unintelligable, storming towards the bathroom. I think that's probably the day he actually started hating me. I understand, I was a witness to a rare moment of weakness... I still feel kindof bad about it. I don't know what they thought they were going to accomplish with that, but they failed.

2- In sixth grade... I sortof accidentally... Punched him in the face. *grimmace*

Yeah, it was around Christmas break time, and it was a free for all in class. I was at the back of the room with my best friend, joking around and dancing like a moron, and he came up behind me and grabbed my arm. I spun around and popped him right in the nose, and then we simultaneously covered our noses- me in horror, and him.. Ya know, in pain. "SHIT!" I yelped through my hands, and his eyes just burned right through me as the boys all made that, "Oh no she di-in't" hissing sound... Again, his freckles all but disappeared in a burning sea of red, and he tore his hand away, lurching towards me. Two or three of our mutual friends jumped in front of me, aborting I don't know what... Part of me thinks they should have just let him hit me back, at least we would have been even.

I wonder what he was about to tell me before that happened... -The teacher witnessed this whole exchange, by the way. She was kindof a bitch, she didn't even check on him or send him to the nurse, nor did she admonish me. Maybe she knew it was an accident? Her face said she thought he deserved it. And he kinda did, but I still wish it wasn't me.

3- Naked in the locker room, of course... I have no idea why he was so pissed off at the world, he was hung like a moose, and if that isn't having God on your side, I really don't know what is.