HEELS

I really miss Cole today. I think if anyone is less than perfectly nice to me I might just cry.

It's days like this that make me think I should do absolutely anything in the world to be able to stay at home with my little bubba. But even in my wildest imagination the numbers just don't add up.

The worst day I ever had in Yosemite was when I was about 11 or 12. We were staying in the tent cabins and were a long way from the restrooms. I realized a little too late how badly I needed to pee and I didn't make it. I peed in my pants. To make matters worse, I had forgotten to pack extra undies and so had to wear the wet ones all day (because, at that age, the only thing worse than soiled undies was no undies at all, apparently). It was mortifying and awful and the root of my obsession with packing twice as many pairs of underwear than days I will be away (yes. I do this.). That was the worst day in Yosemite. Until last Saturday.

Why could a place like Yosemite be so bad when, ostensibly, you are an adult and have not, in fact, peed your pants? Well, because you asked:

1) It's hot. I mean limb-swellingly hot.
2) Your 9 month old son is teething and pissed about it.
3) Your 9 month old son is teething and wants to chew on everything including pine cones, pine needles, dirt, your shoulder, the railings at the filthiest food court tables (with overly-agressive squirrels), and anything in the bathroom.
4) You are driving on the merest whiff of petrol fumes and there are no stations in the valley.
5) Your husband and father are doing an 18-mile, 12-hour hike up Half Dome and, in the middle of the day, you see Medivac helicopters and Ambulences.
6) You are with my mother.

And really, it was that last one that truly killed the day.

I had grand plans of taking a bike ride through the valley and maybe a couple of short hikes, at the very least. But my mother decided that she didn't want to ride bikes and she didn't want to hike because her hips hurt and she didn't like the bikes on the trail (in her head, all of the bikes were aiming for her ankles) and she didn't want to paint because we wouldn't have enough time (that was 2 hours into the 6 hour wait). So we sat. And sat. And sat. We sat around Curry Village (the part of Yosemite I like the least) for 6 hours just people watching. And dealing with a baby who would have gone to sleep in the bike trailer or the hiking backpack, but intead was trying to figure out how to stuff the dirtiest things possible in his mouth to stop the teething pain. In a baby's mind, apparently, dirt=painkiller.

From 8AM until 8PM all I had to eat were a couple of crackers and cheese. I had one small bottle of water all day.

For THIS I missed BlogHer?

But John and my Dad were fine and had a great hike. They really appreciated the work we did on the food for them (even though they decided to wait to eat until we got home instead of the picnic we had planned). And make it home we did. And the gas was not quite the $10 per gallon I had imagined. Not quite.

But my relationship with my mother is perhaps not so easily fixed. I'm not sure if she knows that I had had it with her, but I don't think I'll be able to spend much time around her for a little while. It sucks, because I love my mom. But right now I think it's best if I'm not around her. I'm not sure I can bite my tongue much more. I've done it so much lately that there's not much tongue left to bite. I think I just need a little time.

My Daddy's up on that-there mountain!

That's right, Mr. Rat, and I salute you. I have never come across an animal quite as determined to keep living in my garage as you. I had an inkling when I found the two sticky traps missing, but I got the real feel of it when John found both sticky traps under the lawn mower and covered in huge chunks of gray rat hair. What's next, Mr. Rat? Will you chew your own leg off? What is so amazing about my garage that would make it worth ripping two sticky traps worth of hair off of your body?

There is a kind of honor and diginity to your determination and pugnacity. I can respect it. Now fucking DIE already, would you please?

Good Update!

What with all the bad news (camera, BlogHer, dog-size rats, etc.) it comes as a relief to be able to report back to you all about something that could have gone very badly but has, instead, gone well.

My property Manager and Landlord believe us about the stove and are not going to make us pay the $400 to replace it!

YAY!

Not that they would have been able to get any more money out of us anyway. Like blood from a stone, people.

I'm very confused.

A couple of days ago, I set out traps for the rat(s) in our garage. I apologize for my heartlessness to those of you who enjoy the company of rats, but I hate them and want to see them die. (Actually, I don't want to see them die, literally, 'cause- ew. I just want them to no longer be in my house or leave any trace that suggests their existence on the face of the earth.)

This morning I went out to the car and glanced around at the traps (read: checked the ones under the stairs compulsively because I'm so scared of the rat that I don't even want to walk above it) and noticed something very strange: two, TWO, traps were gone...

The thought I've had in my head ever since is of the rat wandering around in my garage with both sticky traps attached somewhere on it's body. I can't imagine how it can live normally with  two huge traps attached. I'm dreading finding this thing. The thought is at once hilarious and horrifying. I actually don't want the thing to suffer, I just don't want it in my house (that's how I feel about all of the pests- rats, mice, hamsters, birds, bugs, snakes, republicans, evangelical christians, etc.). Is it ever going to die or get caught or will it just keep picking up more traps and start a punk-rat trend?

I'm. Too sexy for my shirt.

Too sexy for my shirt (rrrawr).

So sexyy it huuurts.

I just ordered my new camera. YAY!!

Until then, we just have an imaginary camera. The nice thing about it is that even Cole can get in on the action.

*click*

Firstly- the winner of the last caption contest is....Ticknart!

"Mom, do you have any more 'special' brownies?"

Except that it should really say "Grandma" instead of "Mom".

Moving on...

THE NEW CAPTION CONTEST!

To give you some inspiration:

What's that? You say bang louder? Don't mind if I do!

Now it's your turn. Please, I could really use a laugh. You have a choice this time. Please feel free to caption either or both of the following pictures (or any others, if that's what makes you happy).







The only restriction- you are not allowed to say "Tune in Tokyo, Tune in Tokyo" for the second one.

COMMENCE!

Or whatever.

I just cancelled my BlogHer reservation. Even though I was solid about not going, I had been avoiding actually taking that final step. My heart sank when I hung up the phone.

I'm really sorry that I'm going to miss you all. I'll be looking forward to reading all about it.

Shit. My camera just died the real death. Fuck.

I'd love to have this, but I don't have that kind of money right now.

So I think I'll ask for this for my birthday (August 20th- it's coming up!). It's an upgrade of the camera I did have , which I found in Australia (I mean FOUND. In a bathroom.) and have really loved. My Dad has the new version that I want and is really enjoying it. The price has come down so much, too!

Anyway, there will be no new pictures until I get something. I'm really bummed that it had to happen today, of all days. I'm going to a potluck tonight with some girls I went to elementary school with and they all have new babies and I'll have no pictures and I'm really sad now. Poop.

What a week. And it's not even over (Sob).

Monday:
Just got away from me, with all the work I had to do.

Tuesday:
PRESSURE!PRESSURE!PRESSURE! On everyone in my group to get a big report out. That should have gone out on MONDAY at the LATEST. It still didn't get out for lots of reasons, but I got into a "discussion" with a co-worker that led to him raising his voice to me in a VERY inappropriate manner (this is the co-worker with whom I have had run-ins before) which caused me to walk out while he was still "talking" and going straight to HR. WOO HOO! FUN times.

Then... I went to a bellydancing class. I didn't tell you all about it before because I didn't want to be all "Yeah, I'm going to bellydancing. I'm going to love it and totally be a natural and rock the whole belly/tribal dancing WORLD" and then go to the class and hate it. But I loved it, even though I felt like an uncoordinated duck. I was told I'd be sore, but, so far, not so much.

Wednesday:
I worked 7 1/2 hours on that same project! But I got it out. Then had yet ANOTHER meeting with HR. Goddamn, do I hate those meetings. That was the WHOLE DAY.

After work, John wanted to go swimming so we went to my parent's house. He took the baby in the pool and I had a nap. O Bliss- thy name is NAP! Ahhh, refreshing. He also cooked dinner. It was a good night after a crushing day.

Until I went to search through the boxes in our garage. I was in a corner next to the stairs when I heard a scrabbling sound and saw a RAT, A FUCKING RAT, come flying out of...wherever the fuck he was, and STRAIGHT AT MY FLIP-FLOP SHOD FEET. All I could do was scream and stomp my feet to make it clear that coming any closer to me was sure death by trampling. He got the clue and disappeared somewhere. It still makes me shudder. Uuuugggghhh.

Today I have meetings, but with FREE FOOD!! WOOT!

(And I think that the co-worker I do not get along with is precariously close to getting canned. I'm not getting my hopes up, but I can't help occasionally quivering with glee. I'll let you know, of course, because I apparently can't have anything happen in my life without you lucky, lucky people hearing about it.)

... this baby, no matter what else is happening in my life.

Yesterday times 1 million.

I swear- I'll have something better soon. Please don't leave me!

CRAZY CRAZY CRAZY WORK. I love you guys.

That is all.

Oh yeah, the movie we saw...

It was Pirates of the Carribean (spelling? I always forget that word- 2 r's? 2b-s? none of the above?).

Awful. Just dead awful. But lots of fun. Worth seeing on big screen if only because of Johnny Depp and that it will have no reedeming factors on a tv. And because it's a connector movie almost more than anything else. It does NOT stand alone. In fact, that makes it suck even more!

But still fun! Actually, I kept thinking about parts of it this morning and trying to figure out what book I had been reading. Then I'd realize that it was the movie and feel really stupid.

The CGI really was impressive. And Cole slept through 2/3 of it. Perfect!

(Thanks, J., for pointing out my glaring omission!)

Okay, so, you remember the evil daycare lady? The one that was awful to Cole and then LOST that little girl? The one who stole $200 from me?

Well...

My family and I went to the movies last night. When I got into my seat, I realized that my parents had chosen seats right behind that woman and her family. This is a person I never wanted to see again for my whole life. I had to sit there for the whole movie trying desperately not to boot her in the head. ("Oh whoops! I slipped.") I hope she felt the knives of rage coming from my eyes and piercing the back of her head.

But I didn't do anything. Absolutely nothing.

So, when we went out to the lobby and I had to wait for everybody else to use the restrooms, I had no reason to think that I would get any shit back from them (the daycare family, not my family, coming from the bathrooms). But her husband, a short, bald, skinhead asshole, would not stop trying to stare me down. I tried to just ignore it, but he wouldn't stop. My family came back from the restrooms and they noticed it, too (except John, who, though exceedingly bright, can be a bit oblivious to those kinds of things). My Dad was so concerned that he insisted on walking us to our car.

Again, nothing really happened.

But still, where does he get off, trying to intimidate us? They abused my child, I paid them several HUNDRED dollars for the privilege, and he stares ME down?

Fuck that. Fuck you.

Goddamn small towns.

(How much do you think I'd have to pay someone to firebomb their house? When their kids are gone, of course. 'Cause I'm not evil.)

This morning I paid someone to commit mass murder at my house. Yes, I finally broke down and brought in an exterminator. I think the deciding point for me was when, one night, I turned on the lights in the kitchen and heard the skittering legs of a wolf spider the size of a cat. Then I went outside to turn on the sprinklers and a black widow ran down the pipe when I turned the handle. The two events so closely spaced just pushed me over the edge. (Also, black ants came into the bathroom to tear to peices a dead wolf spider in the trash AND I squished a GIGANTIC red ant that was crawling on our foundation.) It was time to call out the big guns.

The whole time he was there I kept wanting to say "well, it's a good thing you're probably not a Buddhist, huh? Heh, heh, heh." I'm such a dork.

He sprayed inside and out, soaking our deck with chemicals. (Note, if coming to our house: I don't recommend chewing on the deck. I know, it was so tempting.) I left the pup inside today because she loves to use the deck as her "cave", and I was afraid of her lying in that stuff all day.

He also found a black widow nest that he destroyed. (Hey, did I ever tell you about the time when I was a kid and I remember seeing my mom come out of our shed hollering and brushing something off her body frantically? And that it turned out to be baby black widows? Thousands of 'em? Did I tell you that?)

So now my pwecious wittle bubba-kins won't have any ucky 'pider bites. And the neighbors won't think my husband beats me everytime they hear me shreik because there's a spider in the same room. Never mind that it's not really a spider, and instead a piece of lint. (Not that that's happened. 'Cause that would be crazy, right?) (She's a FUN crazy!)

(What's with the parenthesis abuse lately?)

I don't really know what to write today. It's been a day that has had me wanting to quit, plus I just got a call from the Property Management business we rent from. She told me that the appliance repair men came to fix my ceramic-top stove but couldn't because it was broken in three places. The top. Is broken. And they are claiming it's my fault, even though it was fine before the first time they came out. So now it's a matter of my word against theirs. It's a $400 part. I don't know what I'm going to do. I know they broke it, but I don't know how to prove it. What do I do? It's eating my stomach up with anxiety. I DO NOT want to replace a part that I had nothing to do with breaking. I WILL NOT! Shit, what a mess this could be.

Watermelon Jolly Ranchers always make me think instantly of the first time I saw the movie Beetlejuice. It was in the old movie theatre here in town. I had a Watermelon Jolly Rancher in the "stick" shape (not the little nuggets they are now) and a cherry Coke. I remember dipping the candy into the soda as I watched the movie, but always keeping one eye on the huge hole in the ceiling tiles. I was absolutely convinced that Beetlejuice was going to come through the ceiling and kill me (I scared easily as a kid- I was even afraid of Gremlins, the movie). Somehow, it's still a good memory.

What about you? Are there certain tastes/smells/sounds that never fail to bring you back?

My posting has been a little light as of late because I've been freaking the fuck out here, people. Pregnancy Scare!

But, whew, it all seems to be okay.

What's wrong with me, though, that after all of my ranting about not wanting to have another kid, there was a little part of me that was really excited about the possibility (even though there could hardly be a worse time for us than right now!). Waiting in the doctor's office I kept stealing jealous glances at the huge pregnant bellies and all of the masses of babies who were only weeks old.

(I think what I really wish is that I could remember Cole better when he was that little. I would love to revisit that time. He was (and still is) the most wonderful baby.)

But anyway- it's given me some new  insights into myself while avoiding the financial ruin that another baby would mean a this time. Though I'm now more sure than ever that I really need to see a psychologist.

(A phrase I heard this weekend- "She's crazy, but it's a FUN crazy!")

I'm getting into not going to BlogHer anymore. I'm still bummed, but I'm trying to make the best of it. I will instead be the support team for a group who will be hiking up Half Dome. I think Cole and I (and maybe my mum) will spend the day hanging out in Yosemite Valley and then put on a killer Welcome Back feast for the hikers (it's a 16.34 mile hike that takes 10-12 hours. And on part of it you have to use CABLES to climb. Wicked.) Maybe we'll hike some of the smaller trails and rent bikes for a couple hours. Or, if my Mom has her way, we'll sit in the Awahnee Hotel all day and drink cocktails.

So don't you wish you were me- going to Yosemite instead of stinky old San Jose? I didn't want to go to San Jose anyway. Harumph.

This hike, by the way, and the day in Yosemite has an open invite. If you'd like to be included in any part of it, please email me at heelsblogatgmaildotcom. We'd love to have you along! Especially if you're blowing off BlogHer to come up!! Come on- you know you'd rather spend a lovely day outside than in with your computer, right? Right?

(I can feel that I'm gettin' no love back on that last one...)

I should mention, since it sure seems like I'm no longer going, that if anyone lucky enough to be able to go to BlogHer still needs a hotel reservation, I have one room booked at the $75 rate. I will be canceling it soon, but if you email me right away I may be able to just switch it to you. I'm not really sure.

I will most likely not be going to BlogHer. We just don't have the money. I am in despair. In fact, I really may cry, I feel so sad about it. I feel like I'm going to be missing out in so many ways. In my head, everyone going will afterwards be the best of friends and will mock me from afar. I'll never get another comment or email, even from people I know, and I will die alone.

Maybe I'll see you all next year.

I'm unbe-LIEV-ably conflicted this morning. I found out that a friend of mine is having her birthday celebration the same weekend as BlogHer.

NO FAIR!

I've SO been looking forward to BlogHer. I haven't registered for the Saturday session, but I was going to. I already have my hotel reservation. I REALLY, REALLY want to meet some of the people going. I have been giddy to the point of nausea even.

But now I really want to participate in all the birthday stuff, too.

Here are the two sides:

BlogHer:
Pros-
Meeting new people who I already feel like I know but would like to actually.
Relaxing in a hotel in San Jose.
Getting out of town for a bit.
Doing something new (I kind of hate that part, but it's good for me).
Learning something new.

Cons-
I will have Cole with me for sessions- not totally cool.
LOADS of money (to me) that I don't really have right now.
Being away from my husband for a couple days (sometimes would go in the "pros" list, but not right now).
Doing something new.

Birthday:
Pros-
Freakin' CHEAP!
Get to see good friends.
No time away from John (except when he's climbing Half Dome and I'm not, because- yeah right, I'm going to climb Half Dome? HA!).
Cole will be welcome.

Cons-
I've been to Yosemite a lot. I love it, but I don't NEED to go again too soon.
I'll probably be alone a lot. I think most will do the Half Dome hike, but, let me reiterate, not me.
Hiking by myself.
I'll have other times I can see these friends.
I won't be able to participate in all the "events" because of Cole and/or exhaustion.

Can you see my conflict? I'm really agonizing about this!

Please tell me- what would you do? What would be the deciding factor?

(And maybe, were you looking forward to meeting me at BlogHer? 'Cause I'm really afraid that no one will talk to me there and I'll be lonely and sad. I'm even afraid to ask, which is why this is in parenthesis, as if you'll just forget that I asked it instead of making fun of me.)

Once upon a time, it was a beautiful day in Northern California. Lovely children gathered in a grassy meadow to play. They spoted a beautiful, magic pony and lured it closer. It was attracted to their joyfulness and beauty.

"Come here pretty pony."

And then they strung it up and beat it.


They were vicious. Relentless.


The pony tried desperately to get away, but they beat it back down. They even took turns.



They finally broke its neck and the magic pony's life was ended. Yet they continued to savagely beat the dead body.



When the interest in bashing the corpse around had waned, they feasted on the innards.

Then they went inside for cake.


And the pony's poor, brutalized body was left swinging in the trees for the birds to pluck.

The end.

Today is my Monday. Even though it is actually Wednesday, it still feels like Monday. Already I feel like punching one of my co-workers. Even at only three days long, it could be a very long week.

I seem to have a lot of pent-up hostility lately. I blame it mostly on my co-workers who treat me like shit and I can't do anything about it. It seems that, because I can't take it out here at work, I find other ways.

On Saturday, John, Cole, my sister, and I went to the Farmer's Market. To go there, the easiest place to park is on main street. We got there a lot later than usual and parking was kind of slim. I found a place behind a motorcycle with a trailer and turned on my blinker to show I was going to pull in (back first- the only way to parallel park). But the owner of the motorcycle was standing in the parking place. When we asked him to move, he and his wife gave us some bullshit line about the truck behind us being too close and that we would never be able to pull in (which is crap because I'm an awesome parallel parker- I used to parallel park a BUS for cryin out loud). We decided it wasn't worth fighting about (and he wouldn't MOVE) and found another place a little farther up.

I was going to just try to let it go until I saw that they had just been saving the place for their friends who were also on a motorcycle with a trailer (side note- what dumbass bothers to ride a motorcycle and then puts a trailer on it? It totally defeats the purpose). It just infuriated me. (Here's where the pent up rage comes in) As we were walking past them, my big, fat mouth opened and I said "You people are assholes. Talk about fucking being childish- saving spots." To which the guy responded "What did you say?" and I shot back over my shoulder "YOU ARE AN ASSHOLE."

What I didn't realize is that John decided to stop and calmly explain where he thought I was coming from. He started to tell the guy that I was just irritated that we had tried to park and that, instead of telling us that they were trying to save a spot for friends, they lied and said we couldn't fit in.

But this guy decided that he would try to pick a fight with John. He started stepping up on him and called him a "nerd".

If you know my husband, you would know that he IS a nerd. Totally and completely, and he is not ashamed of it at all. But, besides his glasses, he doesn't look like a nerd. He looks tall and fit and has huge, wide shoulders. He looks like a soldier on leave. This guy who was picking the fight was easily in his late 50s/early 60s and was overweight. I don't know what he was thinking, trying to pick on my husband. Further evidence that he's an idiot, I guess.

So John responded by calling him a "fat fuck." It was hilarious, really. I wish you all could have seen it.

My sister and I pulled him away as they were about nose to nose and we continued to the market. When we came back they were gone.

Yes- I realize I was an idiot for saying anything, especially the WAY I decided to say it. I felt like an asshole the minute the words were out of my mouth. I was PMSing, too- did I mention that before? I had all the rage stuff going against me. It doesn't excuse my poor behavior, but it might explain it a little better.

But is it wrong that when my husband was defending me I thought he was mighty hot?

John immediately went and got a very butch haircut. And we had something to talk about with our friends all weekend. Perhaps it was worth it just for the story.