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This cannot be real life

NonSoccerMom — Tue, 22 Nov 2016 20:22:12 +0000

It’s been weeks now since the election and I’m still not over it. I don’t know that I ever will be. Beyond the obvious heartbreak that this country apparently would rather have a racist, bigoted, misogynistic blowhard reality TV star in our highest office than a woman with a normal amount of political scandals in her past, I just wake up every day horrified anew. It’s like the Twilight Zone. It looks relatively like the life I used to have, the America I knew, but clearly it isn’t.

Neo-Nazis are being selected to some of the highest positions in the land. Phone calls with world leaders are happening off the record. Evidently there will be limited access by and virtually no transparency with the press . Oh, but there will be closed meetings with high-profile press members, in which our president-elect will rant about pictures showing his double chin. All the while, he isÂ still tweeting insults and complaints like a child. He’s threatening freedom of speech. Immigrants and people of color and Muslims are scared for their futures. So is the LGBTQ community, and rightfully so. This should not happen. It is 2016 in America, a country founded on and known for its freedoms. What is happening to us? We’re going backwards. This is horrifying. I can’t even link to all the articles and tweets and news fromÂ the last few weeks because there’s too much. Not to mention the numerous conflicts of interest, because it seems that Trump is not going to back away from his business dealings as he should. Plus his apparent refusal to live in the White House full time, thereby costing taxpayers more money to protect him in New York. Oh, and his daughter Ivanka is attending transition meetings with world leaders for even more appalling conflicts of interest. I just. It’s too much. How is this happening?

I am aware that there was a large contingent of Trump voters who voted for him solely on the basis of anti-establishment. They wanted him in office to shake things up. To get away from traditional politics and really make a change. But is this what they intended? Are there Trump voters out there watching all of this unfold with the same horror I feel? For the future of our country, I certainly hope so. I have to believe they’re realizing the depth of their mistake. Not that it excuses voting for a childish man that is soÂ obviously racist and uncaring of basic human and civil rights, but I know from personal experience that not all Trump voters are deplorable. Some of them are very good people, and though I will never agree with their choice in this matter, I have to believe that they truly didn’t think they were enabling the Neo-Nazis to take over this country. And yet.

I don’t even know what the point of this post is. I just needed a place to rant and put my feelings somewhere in more than 140 character snippets. So here it is. If things keep going as they are, there will probably be more at some point. In the meantime, hang in there America. We’ll get through this. We have to. Because there isn’t an alternative.

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A (very) few thoughts on this election

NonSoccerMom — Thu, 20 Oct 2016 22:59:18 +0000

Less than three weeks, guys. Like 19 days or something at this point.Â We can do this. We can survive this election.

Honestly, I’ve always been sort of a lazy voter. I’ve rarely bothered with local elections at all, because I don’t usually keep up with the issues and don’t want to vote if I’m uninformed. I did vote in the 2000 presidential election, the first one I was old enough for, but then I skipped 2004 because I was largely indifferent (look, I had a toddler and a new job and I was a little busy). I voted for ObamaÂ in 2008 and 2012 and, well, here we are.

All that to say: I have paid more attention to this election campaign than I have to all the others in my life combined. Â It is crazy and horrifying and yet I can’t seem to look away. Anyone who follows me on twitter has been inundated with my opinion for months now. I’ve been blasting out my frustration in 140-character snippets but that isn’t enough. I just have far too much to say, and even though I never write here anymore (seriously, it’s been almost two years…oops) I had to say my piece…or at least part of it. My husband, as usual, wrote something far more eloquent and fact-filled than I could ever hope to, and I strongly recommend that you head on over to his blog to check that out.

At any rate, here are my thoughts on one aspect of this circus sideshow:

Trump isn’t just an asshole. I mean, he IS an asshole, but he’s a lot of other things too. And none of them are good. I truly believe with every fiber of my being that there is not one good bone in that man’s body. He’s awful. Truly, truly just an awful person. My problems with this man are myriad (he’s infantile and a liar and a bigot to start) and I could probably write a thousand-page novel on the subject, but I don’t have time to write that, you don’t have time to read it and so for now there’s just one thing about Trump andÂ his joke of a campaign that I really want to focus on.

He isÂ completely, utterly disrespectful of women. You don’t even have to believe that he assaulted all the women who’ve accused him (though I do). All you need to do is look at the video evidence. He’s been caught on tape innumerable times talking inappropriately about Ivanka (ew) and rating women’s looks…not to mention the Billy Bush debacle. (Quick aside for a gentle reminder: Forcing yourself on an unwilling person is sexual assault. It doesn’t matter who you are or what your position is, if you grab another human by the privates against their will, you are assaulting them. It’s that simple.) I mean, come on, he’s using a woman’s looks in defending himself against the allegations by saying things like “Have you seen her? I don’t think so.” Who says that? Certainly not anyone who views women as equal human beings, but instead someone who views them merely as items to be desired – or not, dependent entirely on their looks. It’s very clear that he can only view women in light of their attractiveness. If you haven’t seen the Hillary Clinton ad that is simply just a compilation of his words, you need to watch it. Here. I’ll wait.

Now. Think about your daughters. Your granddaughters. If you are a woman, think about yourself. How would it make you feel if those demeaning words were directed at you? Would you be okay with it if a man called you a fat ugly pig? If he said that to your daughter? Would you be willing to just write those words off? I doubt that very much. And even if you were able to just let it go, you would probably never look at that man in the same way ever again. Here we have a man willing to say such things to women publicly, on live TV and in recorded interviews, and we’re expected to elect him into and then give him the respect due of the highest office in the country? I don’t think so. Not a chance.

Think about your sons and grandsons, and imagine them saying any of those things to a female classmate. Or a female coworker. Or a family member. If I caught my son saying ANY of the phrases in that very short video, I would subject him to a lecture on respect the likes of which he would never forget. If my husband ever said anything like that to me our marriage would be over. Full stop. There’s absolutely no excuse. None.

To me, just the fact that Trump’s knee-jerk response is always “NO ONE IS MORE RESPECTFUL OF WOMEN THAN ME” is very telling. Last night’s debate audience laughed out loud, it was such a preposterous statement. We all have seen him – numerous times – making disrespectful statements about women on live TV, so just by making such a grand statement in direct contradiction to previous behaviorÂ he’s insulting everyone’s intelligence. We see you, Donald Trump, and we’re calling you on your bullshit. Â

We won’t even talk about his “nasty woman” comment last night, and the fact that he stalked Hillary onstage like a predator during the second debate.

It’s not just words. It’s never just words. It’s not locker room talk, and it is not normal or acceptable. If you’re voting for Trump because he “tells it like it is” then you need to think about what exactly he’s telling us with these hurtful, demeaning words. Don’t tell me that Hillary is just as bad, or that Trump is just blowing hot air and the words don’t mean anything.Â Casting a vote for Donald Trump excuses his behavior. Whether you can admit it to yourself or not, it does.

Voting for TrumpÂ normalizes devaluation and disrespect of women.

It endorsesÂ rape culture.

It does nothing to promote women’s rights and equality in our society, and in fact is a vote against them.

It certainly is not going to makeÂ this country a better, saferÂ place for our daughters.

It sends a message to our sons that treating women like second-class citizens is okay.

And casting a vote for Donald Trump may very well may be hurting someone you love.

The post A (very) few thoughts on this election first appeared on NonSoccerMom.com.

A slew of annoyances (and parentheses)

NonSoccerMom — Mon, 19 Nov 2012 03:47:23 +0000

Um, hey there. I still have a blog and stuff, it seems. I’m really quite tired of beginning each post with an explanation of where I’ve been. (Something that I suppose could be avoided by updating regularly, hmm.) The actual fact of the matter is, I haven’t felt like writing. I’m tired, okay? And whiny. The shiny newness of living in a different city is wearing off (as I knew it would) and while I adore San Francisco and have no regrets, the day-to-day minutiae have become exhausting and occasionally overwhelming. (Just as they do anywhere, I suppose.)

First off, over these past months I have gained an enormous respect for all the single parents of the world, whether they’re there by choice or happenstance. No matter the reason you find yourself in that situation, there are few things quite as trying as being the sole caregiver for children. Kids – now this is a little groundbreaking, so bear with me – tend to be demanding, ungrateful and less than helpful. I KNOW! Shocking. It turns out that being the only adult available to make sure they’re clean, fed, behaving properly and (reasonably) happy is a tall order. N has always been far better at playing with them – he’s the fun parent. My role is more like a…drill sergeant. I’m great at keeping everyone in the routine – making sure that things are where they belong, lunches are packed, schedules are kept and everyone brushes their teeth. That sort of thing. It’s been a struggle for me to be in charge of entertainment as well. I try to find fun stuff to fill the time on the weekends, but with kids 5+ years apart in age, it can be hard to find something that they both enjoy.

Anyway. That said, we’re doing fine. We really are. I have occasional tantrums on social media (prompting my mother to call and scold me – “You be nice to my babies!”), I complain to family and friends over the phone and through email, and admittedly I often have less patience with the kids than I should. But overall, everyone is okay. We miss N terribly and sometimes rather desperately, but we really are okay.

For the most part. In addition to missing N for the wonderful father and husband that he is, and the stability he provides both as a partner and a parent, it is apparent that I need him around for other reasons as well. Clearly I rely on his rational (read: adult) thinking skills quite a bit. Here, let me give you some examples.

Exhibit A: Extreme Toilet Fail – I’ll spare you the details, but as the upstairs toilet began to overflow in a spectacular fashion I learned that my coping mechanism for such things is to scream obscenities while flailing for the water shutoff. By the time I managed to turn it off, I was ankle deep in…unclean…water, with tears of fury and frustration running down my face. It’s funny now, but at the time I was so upset my hands were shaking. You see, I’d just cleaned the entire house that morning (and done all of the laundry) so OF COURSE the toilet would time its rebellion to coincide with my clean floors. As I was using every towel we own to soak up the mess (thereby creating a ton more laundry) (and props to Lex, by the way, who clearly reacts much better in a toilet crisis than his mother) Misty said tearily from her relatively dry vantage point in the hallway, “Daddy should be here to help us with this.” No joke, kid.

Exhibit B: Wee Hours Mystery Alarm – I tend to suffer fairly regular bouts of insomnia, where I go to sleep without issue but then wake around 2:30 in the morning and am unable to settle back down. This turned out to be a good thing one morning last week, because I was up and surfing the internet when an alarm started blaring. Fortunately it was only four short (if shrill) bursts, and it didn’t wake the kids. By the time my heart rate returned to normal, I noticed that the furnace was making weird sounds. Somehow, because at 4 in the morning it made perfect sense, I decided that the alarm and furnace noise were related. So I went into the (dark, scary) garage using the flashlight app on my phone (yes, there are lights in the garage) (it was 4 in the morning, remember) and found a big switch on the furnace that said ON/OFF. I turned it off and emailed my landlord*, who was able to stop by the next day and diagnose the alarm as a dying motion sensor battery. Turns out nothing was wrong with the furnace other than my own paranoia. Which brings me to:

Exhibit C: I Am An Idiot – Anyone who knows me is aware that I’m not a fan of gas appliances. I don’t like having open flames in my kitchen, okay? And yes, I see now that they cook faster/more evenly/blah blah whatever, but I’m not a cook by any means and so this isn’t a huge deal for me. I’ve learned to cope with the range, but the oven was making an off-putting hissing sound accompanied by a gas smell. For someone like me who is uncomfortable cooking with gas anyway, this sends me directly into the Panic Zone (which is only a short distance from Crazytown, evidently). I convinced myself that there was a leak and if I used the oven we would surely die, and for a woman who feeds her kids frozen pizza more often than is probably healthy this is not an ideal situation. So I called the gas company and after several reschedules finally got the guy out here for him to tell me “Ma’am, this oven is perfectly fine. It’s supposed to smell and sound like that.” D’oh.

Exhibit D: No, Really. An Idiot – I was having a bad day last week. The kind where nothing has really gone terribly wrong, and yet you feel as though it is simply the Worst Day Ever on account of all the small irritations piling up. I’d had a frustrating day at the office, the kids were needy and annoying, it was cold and took us forever to get home. After dinner and a half-assed attempt at cleaning up the kitchen I decided to take a shower. The water started to run cold halfway through, and by the time I rinsed all the conditioner out of my hair I was shivering and miserable. We have two water heaters (no idea) and have never run out of hot water before. I went upstairs and tested the kitchen sink. Sure enough, that water was cold as well. So I called my mother to complain, as you do. “…and then we almost missed the bus and after dinner I took a shower and it was COLD and clearly there is something wrong with the water heaters because this has never happened before and I don’t know how the pilot lights could have gone out on both and waaaaaaaaah!” I was so dramatic that she gently suggested calling the landlord and I sniffly agreed to do so. Before finding his number I decided to check one more time and voila – hot water. Evidently I had…wait for it…used it all, in what retrospectively seems like a rather LONG shower. So.

It has become abundantly clear that I have very little business being in charge. Of anything. (Shh, don’t tell my new employers.) In other words, it would probably be to everyone’s advantage for N’s job situation to resolve itself fairly soon. Gaaaah.

*My landlord Jerry** apologized profusely for not answering my email until almost 8am. I was like, Dude, I emailed you at 4:30 in the morning. I wasn’t really expecting an immediate response.

**Jerry looks uncannily like William H. Macy.

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And how was your day?

NonSoccerMom — Fri, 01 Apr 2011 02:34:02 +0000

After running a few errands this afternoon, I stopped at the gym before heading to the grocery store and then on to pick up the kids.Â As usual, I had scheduled myself down to the very last second – I rushed through my workout and left myself just enough time to grab a few major items at the store before the daycare closed.

Or so I thought.

My car started up just fine, but as I began to pull out of the gym parking lot there was a THUNK.Â I don’t know how else to describe it, except that the THUNK was accompanied by a BUMP, as though I’d hit something.Â That can’t be good, I thought, so I parked and inspected the underside of the car.Â (Because I would know if something was wrong…maybe there would be a fire or a gushing fluid or a gnome holding a sign that says LOOK, HERE’S YOUR PROBLEM…okay fine SHUT UP.)Â Anyway, since there were none of those things beneath my car and no Warning Light of Doom on the dashboard (seriously, this car gets upset about a lot of stuff), I was like, well, I guess it’s okay to drive home.

I’m sure by now you know where this is going, even if you don’t follow me on Facebook or Twitter.

It seemed okay as I pulled onto the road, although I noticed that the air conditioner didn’t seem to be blowing cold air.Â I convinced myself it was because I’d just finished working out, that’s why I was so hot. But the further I got, the more obvious it became that no, that was decidedly NOT cold air coming from the vents, even though the display claimed it was 60 degrees.Â Okay then.Â I called N and asked him for the number of the local BMW dealership.

Because we just had non-air-conditioning-related warranty work done there last week, you see.

I called N just as I drove up to a major intersection.Â An intersection where the traffic light happened to be on the fritz, so two cops were directing it manually.Â Great, I thought, since I felt the steering wheel begin to vibrate under my hands.Â From personal experience I know what THAT means.Â The car was about to die.Â Â And that was right about the point that the dash lit up like a Christmas tree.Â TEMPERATURE WARNING, it said.Â ENGINE OVERHEATING DANGER, SOS SOS EXCLAMATION POINT IN TRIANGLE HALP.Â Nice timing, car.Â Thanks for that.

I managed to steer off to the right, into a lane that’s been closed recently as part of a construction project.Â There was just enough room for me to squeeze between two barriers and get completely out of traffic.Â I called the dealership, and the service guy was very apologetic but pointed out that I needed to call BMW Assist before he could do anything.Â Oh, right.Â Oops.

About this time one of the traffic cops began to wonder what I was doing, so he wandered over and I rolled down the window.Â “Sorry,” I said, and quickly explained my plight.Â He nodded and went back to directing traffic.

So then I hit the magical emergency assist button that calls BMW.Â And I have to say, this feature alone has now made every penny we paid for this car absolutely WORTH IT.Â Within seconds I was connected with a very nice lady, who used the GPS tracker and pinpointed my location exactly.Â I confirmed, explained my situation and she linked the call in with some other guy, who apparently handles the calls for towing companies.

He asked a few more questions, then informed me that a local company had been dispatched and the ETA was 70 minutes.

“Excuse me,” I said, “did you say seventy minutes?”

“Yes,” he replied.

“Where is the truck coming from,” I screeched, “Houston?!Â Why an hour?Â I can’t sit here for an hour!!Â Nothing in this town is an hour away!!”Â Possibly I was feeling a bit frazzled by this point.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” the poor guy stammered, “that’s pretty standard.Â They just put you in a queue and get there when they can.”

I sighed, thanked him and hung up.Â My mom had called in the midst of all this, so I called her back to explain why I ignored her originally.Â I called N back with an update, and then I called the dealership to explain that the tow truck likely wouldn’t get me there before they closed, yadda yadda I need a loaner car, what can we do and also this is YOUR FAULT since you supposedly “fixed” my car less than a week ago.Â The cop came back to check on me – the traffic lights were working again and he wanted to make sure I was squared away before he left, which was nice.

A mere 20 minutes later, I was relieved to see the tow truck pull up.Â Two trucks, actually.Â I jumped out of the car and waited as the drivers worked to get it ready, and quite honestly was fascinated by their swift efficiency.Â They had to use a special rig with temporary wheels under the front, which is apparently because my car has all-wheel drive.Â (The driver explained all of this on the way to the dealership – he commented on how the X5 is actually considered a “curse” by tow truck operators because it’s generally very hard to tow.Â That’s how he got stuck with it – as the newbie on the job they figured he needed the experience, hence the second, seemingly unnecessary, tow truck that I had been wondering about.Â That was his supervisor.Â Anyway.)

Long story short (TOO LATE), I got to the dealership before the service desk closed and basically refused to take NO for an answer to my question of “can I please have a loaner car?”Â But my car insurance card expired YESTERDAY and even though I paid the next semi-annual premium I had forgotten to put the new card in my wallet.Â OF COURSE I HAD.Â So!Â The service guy had to call State Farm and confirm that yes, I do in fact have coverage with them, blah-dee-blah sploo and yes, I can be trusted with a loaner car.

And that, my friends, is why there is a Volkswagen Jetta sitting in my garage.

The post And how was your day? first appeared on NonSoccerMom.com.

I really need for this week to be over

NonSoccerMom — Thu, 01 Jul 2010 01:58:06 +0000

Dear County Constable Officer:

I owe you a sincere thanks for not ticketing my dumb ass as it sped merrily through a 45 mph work zone at 60 miles an hour.Â While, um, talking on my cell phone.Â I deserved that ticket and we both knew it.Â Although to be honest, I’m just glad you didn’t clock me five minutes before, when I was flying low at nearly 90.

However, you were kind enough to make me a deal:Â if I listened to your brief lecture on the dangers of speeding – especially through construction areas – you’d let me off with a written warning.Â This time.

And that, my good sir, is the best deal I’ve been offered in quite a while.

Thanks again, A grateful new law-abiding citizen

*****

Dear Professor Old:

I’m trying to help you.Â Really I am.Â However, I have to admit that I’m getting a little frustrated.Â We’re talking in circles here.

I told you that I’ll take care of getting the letter that you need.Â I promise, I will.Â That’s part of my job.Â And I guarantee that I will get it signed by our authorized organization representative, a person who is also known as an AOR.

But here’s the thing.Â You keep tossing around “AOR”, constantly, in every single e-mail that you send, and to quote Inigo Montoya: You keep using that word, and I do not think it means what you think it means.Â Yet you continue to emphasize the necessity.Â It’s really the priority at this point, you e-mailed me, to get the AOR.

And while I’d love to oblige, something tells me that my boss may object to being gotten.Â As I’ve tried to explain, the AOR is a person.Â You can get the AOR’s signature.Â You can get the AOR a cup of coffee.Â However, you cannot get the AOR.

We won’t even discuss the convoluted manner in which you’re approaching your budget preparation, or the fact that I don’t have a clue how to submit your proposal in the first place.Â But none of that matters anyway, because as you’ve pointed out repeatedly – the main thing is just to get the AOR.

Best of luck, NonSoccerMom

*****

Dear Cat:

If you don’t shut your face, I’ll be forced to shut it for you.Â Just a gentle word of warning.Â FTLOG.

Thanks much, Your incredibly disgruntled owner

*****

Dear Miss T:

I love you dearly, you know that, so I just need to throw this out there:

It is really, really embarrassing when I’m carrying you into a public place for you to have your arms wrapped around my neck while loudly yelling, “I want my Mommy!Â I want my Mommy!”

Love, YOUR MOTHER

The post I really need for this week to be over first appeared on NonSoccerMom.com.

Things I don’t get

NonSoccerMom — Wed, 12 May 2010 02:18:50 +0000

1.Â What possessed my son to spit on the bathroom floor tonight.Â (In his defense, he did it without thinking and was almost as horrified as me.Â “I’m so sorry, Mom!!”Â Tell it to the gypsies, kid.)

2.Â How someone walked off with my car keys after leaving the child care at the gym and did not notice for almost 10 minutes.Â What is it that you were doing on the way to your car, lady?Â The parking lot isn’t that big.

3.Â Why it is that my daughter can take 394732893578540 hours to eat one cereal bar and a handful of Craisins.

4.Â This.Â Holy Mary, Mother of God, I DO NOT UNDERSTAND THIS:

Why?Â WHYYYYYYYYYYYY is my dryer doing this to my clothes?!Â No, why is my dryer doing this to ME?Â Maybe it is possessed too.Â It’s the only thing I can come up with as to why a years-old dryer with no obvious flaw or recent damage is suddenly eating drawstrings and tumbling my clean laundry into a GIANT EFFING KNOT.Â Yes.Â Demonic possession.Â It’s the only reasonable explanation.

5.Â Why at work I am either swamped or completely dead.Â It’s either WORK WORK WORK NOW NOW NOW OMG HURRY UP FASTER HURRYHURRYTHINGSAREBURSTINGINTOFLAMES or I don’t get a single e-mail or phone call all day.Â PLEASE TO EXPLAIN.

6.Â How my memory is so shot, at the age of 31, that I cannot even remember the sixth thing that I don’t get.

7.Â WHY MY DAUGHTER IS NOT ASLEEP YET OMFG.

The post Things I don’t get first appeared on NonSoccerMom.com.

This is why.

NonSoccerMom — Wed, 16 Dec 2009 22:14:27 +0000

This is what I’m dealing with, people.Â STILL.Â And you wonder why I’m half insane.

Me: Â [sound asleep, 3:07 a.m.]Â zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

N:Â PSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHh

Me:Â [wide awake]Â GOD.

N:Â [silence]

Me:Â zzzzzzzzzzzzz

Miss T:Â WAHHHHHHHHH!

Me:Â DAMMIT.Â [get up, re-pacifier toddler]

N:Â PSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Me:Â SHUT.Â UP.

N:Â PSHHHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhHHHHHHHh

Me:Â GODDAMN.Â ENOUGH.Â [covering head with hot, uncomfortable pillow]

N:Â PSHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Me:Â [seriously considering going outside in freezing temperatures to retrieve ear plugs that are still in the car from the gun range]

N:Â PSHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Me:Â [lusting after ear plugs]

N:Â PSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Me:Â HUSBAND.Â YOU ARE KILLING ME WITH THE WOOSHING.Â ROLL OVER! Â FOR THE LOVE.

N:Â PSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHhhhhhhh

Me:Â [shove husband with foot, HARD]

N:Â PSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Me:Â [whimpering softly]

N:Â [sits up]Â What?Â Who?

The post This is why. first appeared on NonSoccerMom.com.

Fussy, fussy

NonSoccerMom — Tue, 24 Nov 2009 03:17:29 +0000

Dear Fellow Commuter:

Well, well, well.Â My condolences.Â It’s quite the predicament you’re in, seeing as they clearly did not equip your Saab with an accelerator.Â Shame, that.Â Such a nice, shiny, expensive car, and it doesn’t have the ability to go faster than 30 miles an hour in a 60 mph zone.

However, while I sympathize with your obvious plight, please get the hell out of my way.Â Because the left lane is for PASSING, not DRIVING HALF OF THE POSTED SPEED LIMIT, and while YOU may not have anywhere to be at 8 a.m. on a Monday, some of us have jobs.

Thanks very much, NonSoccerMom

Dear Subway Sandwich Artist:

I realize it isn’t your fault that Subway chose to discontinue the chicken salad.Â I suspected all along that it was a limited time item, and should have paid closer attention to when it was scheduled to end.Â That’s my bad.Â I should not have snapped at you, folded my arms, and huffed like a petulant child.Â It’s not fair to blame the messenger.

But if it makes you feel any better, I don’t think you’re the only person I frightened by my childish display ofÂ irritation.Â I’m fairly certain that one of my coworkers – along with the several strangers in line behind him -Â is afraid of me now, and he will undoubtedly refuse to go to Subway with me ever again.Â Of course, I’ll have to avoid your store anyway, because I totally wouldn’t blame you if you spit in my (NOT CHICKEN SALAD) sandwich from now on.

Sincere apologies, NonSoccerMom

Dear AE:

What the hell, kid?Â I don’t have any idea which finger “they” say is stronger and therefore more useful for flicking.Â If your middle finger is stronger, then by all means flick whatever it is with your middle finger.Â I don’t care.Â I don’t even know why we’re having this conversation.Â I’m tired and it doesn’t make any sense.

Also, ENOUGH WITH THE FAKE STATISTICS.Â I am quite certain that no studies have been done to compare the flicking abilities of one human finger versus another.Â And if there were, I’m sure that individual results vary widely from person to person.Â Just because someone else’s index finger is their strongest, doesn’t mean that it is YOUR strongest finger, and also, why the hell do I allow myself to get drawn into these inane discussions?Â You’re baiting me, aren’t you?

By the way, flick all you like with that middle finger just as long as you aren’t using it for flipping.Â That’s something else entirely.

Love, Mom

Dear J. Crew:

Generally speaking, I love your clothes.Â I truly do.Â I’ve been a huge fan since my sophomore year of high school, when I became a snobby snobby label whore.

However.Â Lately your prices have become totally outrageous and some of your “styles” are extreeeeeeeeeeemely questionable.Â But above all, I’m sick of you clogging my e-mail in-box with eleventy-thousand “sale” ads per day.Â Twenty percent off of a hojillion dollars is still far more than I’m willing to pay.Â Knock it off, or I may have to unsubscribe to your mailing list.

Cordially, A Loyal Customer

Dear Husband:

I mean it.Â If you don’t stop leaving bread crumbs on the kitchen counter, I’m selling you to the gypsies and I’ll make you take the kids.

Love, Your Crabby Wife

The post Fussy, fussy first appeared on NonSoccerMom.com.

Conspiracy Theory

NonSoccerMom — Wed, 18 Nov 2009 17:53:55 +0000

I’m off work today, because I seriously needed a Mental Health Day.Â (Seeeeeeeeeriously, judging from yesterday’s Grand Display of Idiocy and Illiteracy, which is too stupid and embarrassing to even go into, but suffice it to say that I’m pretty sure my coworkers think I’ve totally lost my marbles, like for reals this time.)Â My workload has been crazy busy for the last several weeks, but yesterday seemed to mark a temporary end to the insanity so when I noticed that (last Wednesday) I put in for a vacation day.

And ever since my boss approved the time off, I’ve been waiting for the disaster.Â Because nothing in my life is ever that easy, and inevitably something happens when I plan for a day off.Â It’s like the universe is trying to keep me from recharging my batteries.Â Miss T has had the sniffles all week, then I found out on Monday (the day from hell, OMFG) that a kid in her class has chicken pox.Â So I assumed that would be The Thing that kept me from having a day to myself.Â And if this whole paragraph doesn’t make me sound like a selfish bitch, I don’t know what does.Â But really now.Â One day to myself, that’s all I ask!Â One day to sit on my ass and do whatever I want, whenever I want to.

However, to my great surprise, so far so good.Â It’s hard to type with my fingers crossed, but as of this very moment (11:48 a.m., CST) the only thing out of the ordinary that’s happened has been the mysterious beeping of our home security system.Â That started last night, and it’s beyond strange when you consider the fact that we’ve lived in this house for 3 and a half years and the security system has never been activated in all that time.Â Anyway, Joe the Security Guy told me that there’s no telling what new “trouble” there is with the system, but he gave me the magical code to make it shut up.

Blah, this post is very rambly and boring, and besides, I’ve got lots of laziness (and laundry, unfortunately) to accomplish today so I better wrap it up.

Happy Wednesday!

The post Conspiracy Theory first appeared on NonSoccerMom.com.

Everything but the kitchen sink….oh.

NonSoccerMom — Thu, 12 Nov 2009 02:50:17 +0000

Second verse, same as the first

I am so, so very sick of being exhaustingly busy at work.Â Okay, so I know they pay me to DO MY JOB, and that’s fine because in theory I LIKE my job.Â However.Â That being said, I used to have occasional downtime.Â Time where I could catch up on filing, or updating electronic forms, or other such minutiae.Â I even used to write a monthly newsletter for my department.Â These days, NO.Â NEVER EVER AGAIN.

Take today, for instance.Â I have been drowning all week, plus all of last week, and also the week before that.Â I had this huge proposal that kept getting pushed down the schedule, because the involved faculty couldn’t get their shit together.Â Trying to coordinate a bunch of federally-required bureaucratic information for nine university professors is an awful lot like herding cats.Â ANYWAY.Â Today I finally had that proposal under control, I got a whole bunch of other stuff out of the way this morning, and I was feeling pretty good.Â I walked away from my desk for a moment to turn in another proposal that’s been hanging over my head, and once that was done I felt SO relieved.Â FINALLY, a chance to come up for air.Â I went back to my desk, only to be greeted by a ringing phone.Â When I picked up the phone, it was yet another scatter-brained faculty member logging in a new last-minute proposal – due by the end of the week.Â And, I lost it.Â I slammed down the phone, fell into my chair and started to cry.Â Poor BB heard me from her cube and rushed over to try and calm me down, but it was not to be.Â And as luck would have it, right then my boss walked by.Â The good news is, she gave that proposal to someone else who is currently less busy (and stressed), the bad news is that I am once again The Girl Who Lost Her Shit At Work.Â FAIL.

IT’S A GODDAMN ORANGE, THAT’S WHAT.

Miss T has entered a phase.Â It’s a phase I remember from AE’s toddlerhood.Â It’s not a phase I missed.Â It’s a close cousin of “But why?”, a little something we call “What’s dat?”Â From the moment the child wakes up in the morning, she’s pointing at everything under the sun and demanding to know what it’s called.Â I realize she’s trying to develop her language skills, and I’m all in favor of this, but she even does it when she knows full well what “dat” is.Â And I’m here to tell you, it is all kinds of annoying.

Miss T: What’s dat?

Me: It’s your shirt.

Miss T: What’s dat?

Me: It’s Mommy’s shirt.

Miss T: What’s dat?

Me: Your shoes.

Miss T: What’s dat?

Me: My shoes.

You get the idea.Â Tonight she had some mandarin oranges with dinner.

Miss T: What’s dat?

Me: An orange.

Miss T: What’s dat?

Me: It’s an orange.

Miss T: What’s dat?

Me: Still an orange.

Miss T: Orange?

Me: Yes!Â Orange.

Miss T: What’s dat?

Bloodbath

I re-dyed my hair on Sunday night, using a slightly different shade than what I’d been using since August.Â The original shade was Chocolate Cherry.Â The new shade is Burgundy Blowout.Â As far as I can tell, the main difference was a little tube of “color boost” that I had to add to the mix this time.Â And it looked exactly like blood.

Once time was up I got in the shower to rinse and HOLYYYY CRAP.Â I now know what to expect if I ever murder someone and try to wash away the evidence.

Speaking of murder, I thought N was going to murder me when he realized I got some of the color boost on the front of our white cabinetry.Â Oops.Â Time for a trip to the hardware store to pick up some Kilz.Â That shit STAINS.

Interestingly, my hair color is not drastically different from the last shade.Â A little redder, yes, but a lot of people haven’t even noticed.Â I guess now they’re so used to red-headed me that a different shade of red isn’t all that noticeable.Â Either that or they hate it and are too nice to do the head-tilt “Oh!Â You dyed your hair again!”Â Hmm.

At least now we can afford white cabinet paint

We finally got the bill from George the plumber, and it was a mere $84 dollars.Â I mean, it’s not like I WANT to spend $84 on plumbing services, but considering my propensity for breaking the handles off of sinks, it’s good to know that it won’t break the bank the next time we require George’s services.Â And I’m sure that we will.

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