Throw Away The Key

The jury is currently deliberating on the the trial of the mom who created a fictitious MySpace account to harass a troubled teen who ultimately committed suicide. The mom crafted the account posing as Josh Evans, a hunky 16 year old boy, after her daughter and the now dead teen had a falling out. After reading a few news stories about this trial, I say she's guilty. I say we should make an example of her. I say, what the HELL are you doing on MySpace?

The last message Josh sent taunted the teen saying: The world would be better off with out you in it.

The mom says, she didn't send that message, so she should be excused. But you see...she opened the account. She says she didn't read the terms and conditions before agreeing to them, that no one does, but - ugh, I'm so disgusted by the whole mess.

It really sickens me that a 49 year old woman would conspire with her daughter and another teen to created a fake account under the guise of getting information and turn it into snarky sport.

What ever happened to Bunko? Or book club?

I'm hedging my bets that she'll learn what it's like first hand to become someone's bitch the object of affectionate torment.

BEFORE:


AFTER:

Can you keep secret?

We'd just walked in the front door. It was dark in the hall. I noticed it in the distance.

Lula took a few steps towards it and her jaw dropped to the ground.

"Get on the floor! Get on the floor!" I screamed sounding like a bank robber.

"Lula, go sit on your sister!" That was my next brilliant instruction.

Then I grabbed it and quickly moved it to my closet. Throwing a stack of sweaters over the box on the top shelf.

Somebody is getting a sewing machine for their 8th birthday. Now zip your lips.

Gobble. Gobble.

I can't decide if I should cook Thanksgiving dinner or go out to eat. I remember a few years ago, spending hours in the kitchen assembling the feast. Only to have the eating completely eclipsed by the preparation. And then there was the clean up.

I remember other years in NY, meeting friends in the Village and dining at the Cowgirl Hall of Fame. It was all fun and games —until the bill arrived.

It's a double edged sword of a decision. One thing is for sure, my kids don't like turkey.

*I've made a reservation at the same restaurant we went to 8 years ago when I was 8 months pregnant with Hazel. They have a 24 hour cancellation policy.

Roughing it

We took the girls camping Saturday night. The weather was forecast to be unseasonably warm. Like almost everything I pack for, I went with an under approach. It's one night. We'll get by - I thought. So I threw a few blankets and a few pillows into a bag. We rounded up our trusty tent and the one sleeping bag we had and headed West.

Five miles down the road, we encountered our first obstacle. The passenger's side rear tire systematically began to unravel in the fast lane of the 880.

A few hours and one stop at Big O later, we arrived at the campground. As the sun was setting, we quickly set up the tent, started our campfire and got down to the serious business of weenie roasting and s'more making. At exactly 6:46 the girls were begging to go to bed.

We were able to stave them off until the ripe ol' hour of 8:30. We all crawled into the tent. My plan was a pallet of sorts. We'd all share the blankets. Of course, it was colder than anticipated. The kids were fine. Thanks to a Groovy Girl™ sleeping bag. I ended up with the one of their hoodie sweatshirts tied around my head and a beach towel wrapped around my legs.

"I'm so cozy." Hazel exclaimed.

It was cold. And good grief that ground was hard. I mean, seriously, I had no idea. I thought I had enough padding with the sleeping bag and the blankets and what I'm managed to naturally accumulate on my own waist and thighs. My hips hurt, my shoulders hurt, my ears hurt. It was easily one of the longest nights of my life.

Around 4 am my husband exclaimed that he couldn't take it anymore and went to the car. Moments later I heard the ignition engage. That was my que, faster than the raccoons that ransacked our cooler, I zipped myself into that bag that had up into that point unsuccessfully held any body heat.

Later, I stumbled out into the night, opening the driver side door complaining that he was wasting gas and disturbing the other campers. Sports radio mumbled below. I crawled back into the tent and pulled the girls close.

At first light, I heard Erik start the car again. We all piled in and set off in search of coffee and cocoa. As I opened the door to the passenger's side I marveled at our new tire and the fact that Erik had spent the last few hours trying to get warm in the car with the passenger's window down.

She get it from her Mama

The first time I played tetherball with her I let her win. But today, she's upped her game. With months of practice, she now possess the ability to beat girls in higher grades. At the end of the long rope a yellow ball bullets towards my face and I whack it with all the force of a heavy-weights right hook. Usually, I make contact sending the ball flying around the pole. More times than not, she volleys it back with heft. Once in a while, I swing and a miss or worse I have to duck to avoid taking it upside the head. We wrap our tourney at 2 - 2.

"What time do you want me to pick you up?" I ask.

"Around six" she answers.

"What about the fairies?"

"What fairies?"

"The ones that are coming to clean the house." I say.

"Oh, they're going to be late." she says over her shoulder as she runs off to return to school.

My kid has my sense of humor.

Bitter

I think the passing of Prop 8 is what started my downward spiral into an all out fuss.

I felt sad. I felt confused. I felt stuck. And when someone twittered "Fuck You California!", I felt like I'd been slapped in the face.

Then I was watching this video over at Fussy.org and I got all nostalgic and remorseful remembering that I used to have a turtle. And when I thought I'd reached the depths of despair I remembered the turtle I used to have, lived in the house I used to own.

I mean of course, I'm happy in California! We live across the street from the beach for crying out loud! But in my ex-house, I had a Consumer Reports #1 rated LG stainless front loading washing machine. And now, I haul stinky socks and sheets down the hall. And heft the damp drawers into a dryer that I discovered (after almost posting passive aggressive note to the community bulletin board asking the perpetrator to: STOP OPENING THE DRYER MID-CYCLE OR DIE) independently pops open leaving the time running out and my clothes sitting damp. Did you follow that? For this joy, I have to keep track of pre-paid keycard and pay $1.25 a cycle. Unless the door pops open, in that case, I pay $2.50.

Recently, I discovered that a blogger I read has over 2000 followers on Twitter. Which is cool, except this blogger only follows two other people on Twitter. This really made me feel blah about the blogosphere. It's one thing, to have a huge blog following and say upfront, "Hey - I'm just too damn busy and popular to comment or answer my emails." But to expect us all to hang on every tweet and then realize that there isn't any give and take. You're just pushing out content. You tweet every five minutes and don't really even give a damn what anyone else thinks? It made me feel spammed in a new and not so nice way.

(Update:I just checked and Dooce has close to 20,000 followers and is able to follow 65 other people. That's all I ask. But because I love to eat crow, a certain other blogger I adore follows zero.)

And then I watched Away From Her. Yeah, I have a sick infatuation with really sad and depressing movies. But in case you need an excuse, this flick is the express ride to Zoloft-ville.

And then they announced Chicago as the host of BlogHer '09. And I couldn't really get all that excited about it. I had my heart set on Portland.

So, sorry for the break between posts, Mrs. Blogoway.

In summery, bitchy + twitter = Bitter.

Yeah, I'm down but I'm not so far gone that I can't make up cute little post titles about the state of my mood.

Yes We Did

The hardest part of this election is the discovery that several of my family members are racist. It was difficult and painful to hear their jokes. To receive their texts. To listen to their excuses.

I know that it's rooted in fear. That when you've never been exposed to different cultures, different colors, different opinions it is difficult to to embrace the unknown.

I'm so happy that my children are excited and optimistic about our 44th President.

And my sheltered and narrow minded family, have yourself a heapin' helpin' of CHANGE.

Election Eve

I'm clicking all over the internet trying to find WHERE I go vote tomorrow. The search is only interrupted by me kicking myself for not exercising my early voting option. Should I be nervous about the lines? Should I be nervous about the outcome? I haven't allowed myself to even contemplate that there is a chance that Obama won't win.

In my search I've found a bunch of new local blogs that seem to be focused on Alameda. I can't wait to give 'em all a look-see.

I was so excited to tell you all how my 84 year old Grammie is voting for Obama. But tonight, my republican father reported that she couldn't find her voter registration card. I think I detected a hint of glee in his voice. I countered with a "she probably early voted and forgot." Or else they gathered up the voter registration cards at her assisted living facility in preparation for the taking all the residents in the morning.

If only

I was as good at taking pictures as I am at making homemade costumes.

Día de los Muertos

On this the Day of the Dead, I wonder if it will be I that will end up expired.

I orchestrated the 200 mile trek of Hazel's BFF to spend the night at my mom's. The true root of the problem is that, I still struggle balancing the visits between my divorced parents. Currently the happy to unhappy ratio of the Grand Banquet and Sleep Over is 6 to 2. *sigh* Oh, I should add the BFF's parents to the happy. They're holed up at a fancy resort hotel. *sigh* 4 to 4. I added my dad and my mom's "companion" to the unhappy. They're both watching the UT vs. Texas Tech game. I guess a more accurate count would be 2 to 6. *sigh* Oh, Lula's joining in the fun! Wait everyone's happy. Hold. Your. Breath.

As a silver lining to the day, the present Hazel had selected for her BFF arrived this afternoon. Her request was a Best Friends necklace, and we found this adorable version online.

I'm on the fence about NaPoBloMo. But wish to not disqualify on the first day