Where's My Fatted Calf?

And lo, the Prodigal Blogger hath returneth. Actually, you can scratch that fatted calf deal, given my vegetarian status. After a record hiatus, I figured I at least owed you a catchy title.

And by record hiatus, I mean I haven't hollered at you all since Santa swept down my chimney. In my defense, it's been hard for me to tell the difference, given that my Christmas decorations are still up. Don't judge. It's been that kind of a year. After a while, I quit seeing it, to tell the truth. I'd be sitting here doing homework, and suddenly feel a troop of nutcrackers, staring down at me from over the stockings. Like a festive line of Chuckies illuminated by Christmas lights, which, by the way, are still going strong, and do give a nice ambiance, if I'm honest about it.

Yes, by record hiatus, I mean about three months. Exactly the length of, oh ... say, winter quarter at one's local community college. This non-traditional student gig sucks ass, people. Especially at your place of employment. Yeah, instructors also being your colleagues ... just a little added fun.

I don't know why I thought taking a full load this quarter, on top of working full time, This Old Motherfucking House, the offspring, and the four-legged beasts was a good idea, but I did. Even then, it would've been okay had one class not turned out to have a two-legged beast of a brutal-grading instructor. Do not let anyone tell you that graphic design is a fluff class or "just an art class", people. This was the most time-consuming, stressful class I have ever taken. And that includes organic chemistry, as well as advanced anatomy and physiology. Yes, worse than cadavers staring up at you while you examine their muscle fiber. Graphic design was no joke, people. I wanted to pop my instructor over the head with my final portfolio by the time it was done. If I even think about taking GD II, somebody slap the shit out of me. Hard.


Side note: Dear Mom and Daddy, you were right. I should've finished school when I had no other responsibilities. You were also right about that: I had no responsibilities then. Also, you were right when you said that if I got married young, chances are I would not finish school. You were also right about that whole getting married young thing, just as a bad fucking idea in general. As well, you were right when you said I should have my own money and make an emergency fund for myself, if I was going to insist on getting married young. You were also right about my pride being my downfall with that whole, "I don't need your goddamned alimony! Just take care of your children!" thing. It is true that going to school later in life is fucking hard, and worse when sitting in a classroom of bored 19-yr olds who think their lives are hard, while staring at an instructor who is also your colleague, and who is secretly wondering what the fuck you're doing there. It makes me feel even older than I am, which is quickly becoming "pretty fucking old". So basically, you were right. Even though you're now crazyass teabagger right-wingers, you were right about school. If I could go back in time and kick my own ass, I would. I'm surprised you didn't.


Okay, so, in other news, I will also be spending this next quarter researching the ins and outs of foreclosure. Yes, you heard me right. That whole, "You can never go wrong buying property" thing? Bullshit. Worst decision of my life. I haven't decided for sure yet, but the more I research it and run the numbers, the more I'm having to face the fact that there doesn't look to be another solution. My credit score was almost 800 when I bought this bitch. That's about to change. Anyway. That's all I have to say about that.

Male Offspring switched to the Running Start program, which is where high school students can take college classes for joint high school and college credit. This means he is also attending classes at my place of employment. Of course, I don't see him in any of my classes, him being in the engineering track. He's about to take the 3rd level of chemistry, and has moved past pre-calc to straight up college calculus. I'm still contemplating that "Math Anxiety" course. On the bright side, he's a reasonably good shot at financing my beach house when I'm old and infirm. He's also discovered swing dancing. Pretty cool. He actually dons suit and tie, and goes with his friends down to a ballroom in Seattle for swing and salsa. He helped start a swing dance student club, and even started taking classes at a local ballet company and is taking a swing class on campus. They love having a wrestler-slash-football-player who can actually lift the girls and do the steps! So if the engineering gig doesn't make the boy rich, there's always Dancing With the Stars.

Oh, also, all that community work I've been doing the last few years? The son is about to take on the school board with his own cause. Next Tuesday he will speak at the board meeting with other students from the gay-straight alliance, asking the board to allow high schoolers to talk to the middle schoolers about the National Day of Silence, and for staff/administration to support student participation. They made a video they want to show to the middle schoolers, but the m.s. principals are not all down with that. Feels pretty damn good to just attend the meeting, and not have to do a thing but watch certain principals and administrators squirm.

Teen Demon (who is now two years past teenhood) is back in school, has transferred out to a university in central WA, and is doing well. For those who didn't know, she was in a horrible accident at the end of summer, in which she made it out, but lost her best friend. I don't have any words to describe that tragedy, and the effect that it has had on TD and her friend's family. I don't even want to try, here. I just want to let you all know she's back in school and seems to be healing, as well as can be expected. She likes her classes, she's been getting outside in the sunshine, and got a job working with young children in an after-school program. That ties in with her major (education) and she's making a difference with the kids -- they are mostly Latino kids, and she was warned that the kids were "hard to handle" and that she'd need to "take a firm hand" to get them to "behave". TD is having none of that, says the kids are great and just want someone to actually give a shit and be a mentor. Plus, Spanish is her minor, so she does well with the communication. Super proud of her. I don't know how I'd do, going through what she went through. She is something. Tomorrow is her friend's birthday. Today is mine. I'm really sad about that.

The Bohemian is about to graduate college. I know. She's trying to decide whether she'll go straight for her masters, or ... y'all best sit down. Sitting? OK, she's trying to decide whether to go straight to grad school or join the military to pay for it. I know. I told you to sit down, didn't I? She's been on a full academic scholarship the past 4 years, with a stipend, and has gotten used to that. She says if she doesn't get grants/scholarships to cover grad school as well, it's ahoy matey she goes. I suspect it's less about paying for grad school and more about her dream of running away to sea that she cooked up when she was 10 or 12. She was one of those kids who, in addition to inventing her own language for the fantasy stories she wrote, and keeping a sketchbook, also kept a journal of life goals that she swore she'd never forget like people tend to do when they grow up. Like Peter Pan without that racist bullshit of the Lost Boys or chasing after Wendy's lame ass. I suggested that she become the musician for a cruise ship for the summer, put that fancy piano degree to use, but that suggestion was met with disdain. Cruise ships are about as far away from the pirate's life as you can get and still be on water, I guess. Cruise ships are not badass. Also, they tend to be overrun with rich white people. Yesterday, she called me, and I was having trouble hearing her.

Me: Where are you?

Bohemian: What?!

Me: Where are you? What's going on?

Bohemian: Oh, I'm at a protest.

Me: A protest for what?

Bohemian: An anti-war protest.

Me: ... you do see the irony here, don't you?

Bohemian: Yes, yes, I see it, OK?!

I worry about how an anti-war protesting, outspoken, progressive extremist, kick-ass, openly pan-sexual young women will deal with shifting herself enough to deal in the military. I have no doubt she will succeed, I just worry about what it will cost her. Not to mention what our government -- yes, the current government, not just the old one -- is doing with the troops. I can't even think about that. Going to college was supposed to keep her from that life. She spent years in a military environment, it's not like she's clueless about military life, and she's grown now. She's done well with everything in her life, and regardless, I'll support her ... I just don't want it to cost her too much. Plus, you all know I will have to mock her for being a Navy puke. I mean really, the Navy? They can't even march in cadence. And those dungarees. Please.

In other news, it looks like there's trouble in paradise for the Ex and his bride of not-quite-three years, but I'll have to update you all on that another day if you know what I mean, and I think that you do. Hang tight.

So that's my update. I should be around more often now. There's been a lot of bitching building up, and you all know I can only go but so long before it spills out. Happy Spring Equinox, by the way.

On a Cold Winter's Night ...

Another Christmas come and gone. Sitting here with the Bohemian, bathed in the glow of Christmas lights and our computer monitors, Nora Jones adding to the late night ambiance after a long and good Christmas day. The Ex is back at his hotel, Male Offspring and Not-So-Teen Demon are dreaming of sugarplums snug in their beds, dishes are done, dogs are tuckered out, wine is poured ... it was a good day.

Tonight, during a break in the dinner preparations, I went outside for a few minutes, and thought about passing time. It was one of those rare Seattle nights - crisp, clear, glowing moon, twinkling stars, the whole bit. Maybe the rarity is a good thing; when you add Christmas lights, slightly chilled Shiraz, and the distant sounds of a busy kitchen to the aforementioned twinklyass stars, it all adds up to one tall glass of melancholy. Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about.

Anyway, I'll leave it at that, and just say I'm exceedingly glad for the time with my family today, glad that we're healthy and together. I'm thankful for my children. I'm thankful that their dad could come spend Christmas with them. I thought about people I miss today, and people whom I know only via the wonders of The Internets. I'm a slackass blogger; you all know this. I entertain myself with thoughts of you accepting this as an endearing foible. Hey, my blog, my fantasy. Whatever. Seriously though, merry merry to all my cyber friends. Connections are important, whether in the flesh, or in the heart. So here's to making it through another year, and to connections that help maintain our tenuous hold on sanity. Merry thoughts, all.

In My Blood Like Holy Wine

Damn you, Joni Mitchell.

Just ... why?

Why would a foreign language instructor assign her class to write a paragraph about "a place you'd like to go", when we haven't yet learned future tense, and we're supposed to be practicing two different past tenses that we HAVE learned? I mean -- and I'm just coming up with this off the top of my head here -- wouldn't it have been better to write about a place we've been?

Just wondering.

All Hail the Power

You know, I'm really fucking sick and tired of "God" getting all the credit for anything good that happens, yet none of the blame for any of the bad shit that goes down. Am I the only one who notices the disparity here? What kind of sense does that make? Seriously. It's bullshit, people. You can't have it both ways.

So anyone who wants to tell me that bad times are the perfect times to turn to some spiritual guidance, you know what? Fuck you. And the cloud you rode in on. If your deity isn't man enough to step up and take responsibility for the bad shit, then he's apparently not allfuckingpowerful enough to have had anything to do with the good. And if he were responsible for the good, that means he could've damn well prevented the bad, but didn't. Seriously, could it be any more clear? So no, thank you.  Been there, done that, woke the fuck up.

And that's all I've got to say about that.

Just Call Me the Snug Meister.

I bought a Snuggie, people. Yes, as seen on TV. This accursed PNW weather has finally pushed me into the the desperate realm of the oft-maligned Blanket With Sleeves.

I know. I hear you mocking me. It's okay, I understand. Until a few days ago, I was a merciless mocker of Snuggies myself. Besides, the offspring beat you to it. They were first, second, and third in the mockery line. And you know those kids were raised on the milk of sarcasm, so it's been more like running the damn mockery gauntlet around here.

It's all good though. Mock away, bitches, this thing is warm. I mean warm. Like swine-flu-fever warm. Like I-have-to-crack-a-window warm. Bite my snug ass, Seattle weather -- go on, bring your best. Rain, sleet, snow, never-ending dampness, go ahead. Because this winter I'm armed with the chocolate brown folds of the sleeved shield of glory. That's right. Just call me the Sleeved Avenger. Yeah, you heard me. Let's go, Seattle weather. Consider yourself served. By a Snuggie. We'll see who comes out ahead this spring.

Columbus: Still a holiday. Still a Genocidal Asshat.

I'm humbled and, frankly, shocked shitless, that many of you apparently remembered my 2007 rant about Columbus, bold discoverer of genocide and thievery.

If you want some truth about Columbus, check it out: Columbus: Bold Explorer or Genocidal Asshat? I even reread it my damn self, just to see if it still had the same effect on my blood pressure. Check.

Also, as some of you know, I've been attempting to butcher learn the Spanish language. As such, I've plowed through some simple articles, most of which kicked my non-comprehending cerebrum in the dirt, but I laboriously learned some cool stuff about various revolutions and other historical tidbits.

Like the fact that in Venezuela, Hugo Chávez renamed it Día de la Resistencia Indígena in 2002. A couple of years later, some students celebrated that auspicious October day by toppling the statue of Columbus that had stood in Caracas. Nice. One year on Oct. 12, Chávez gave 1.65 million acres back to some of the indigenous peoples in particular areas. I think it'll be a cold day in Alabama before we see anything like that here, but it was nice to hear that someone somewhere realizes that celebrating this man's "contributions" to the world is just a shameful way of condoning genocide.

Anyway, click the link if you haven't read it. No, you know what? Click it if you have. We all need to remember...

'Tis the Season.

You all know what time it is.

Mom? Is That You?!

My mom is on Facebook. See previous post for relevance.

Yeah. Some of you understand my dilemma. Sis friended Mom. Sis and I are friends, both relatively new Facebookers. Sis and I are both friends with Atheist Uncle, Mom's estranged elder brother by 11 months, and his heathen, albeit hilariously witty, wife and kids. Yeah. I'm sure that's already caused some family drama under the surface, which will assuredly be masked by LOLs and :-)'s. Mom refused to attend cousin's wedding because it was performed by a Wiccan priestess in a deconsecrated Catholic church. Yeah, that pretty much sums it up. That whole atheist-evangelical dynamic? The proverbial oil and water.

So, I'm a horrible daughter if I don't friend my own mom, and I risk letting myself and possibly the Freedom School kids in for some hurtful comments if I do. And truth is, I would love to be friended up with Mom to share pics, small life details, and overcome that blasted time-zone + work hours communication differential. I just don't want it used as a platform to force my ass to see those political/racial/religious emails that I delete without reading.

In fairness, I don't know that my mom would do that. Maybe I'm just being a bitch. She misses us, she feels out of contact with me and the kids. And I'm the first to admit that I suck ass big time at keeping in touch. I'm really shitty in that department. I should do better. My mom is sporting major stretch marks because of my ass. Well, more specifically my head, but you get my gist. Facebook would make it much easier for me not to suck at that.

I friended her. Yeah. I think she's already got her privacy ettings up though, because neither I nor Sis can write on her wall. And Sis is a religious Repub, although a very cool open-minded one.

I have adjusted my privacy settings accordingly until I can ascertain her intent. I hope I'm just being a pessimistic bitch of a horrible daughter. I really do.

Dear Mom, Yeah, It's Racist.

Recently I opened an email from my mom. And felt so sick I couldn't sleep.

It was titled What Every White Person Needs to Hear. I knew I shouldn't open it. I never open them. But we'd recently had an okay conversation about race, and I thought maybe I could use it as a jumping off point for another conversation. Get an idea of where she's coming from.

I shouldn't have opened it.

And now, I can't erase from my brain what my mother, my children's grandmother, really thinks. What she thinks I should think. It was pretty awful. A video, a Black guy, a pastor at some Harlem church. J@mes D@vid M@nning. I won't link to him.

Think Rush Limbaugh + internalized oppression, and imagine how that might look. Makes Clarence Thomas look like a progressive Panther. The things this guy was saying, the words he used, the way he stirred White people to action, to knock the chips right off those Black folks' shoulders! Knock 'em OFF!! To hear this man telling White people they didn't need to put up with the attitudes and arrogance of Black people, that they're justified in stepping up to do whatever needs to be done in order to feel comfortable around Black people, to stop walking on eggshells ... I don't even want to write more about what he said.

 It was sickening, in a literal way.  It made me wonder, what has happened in that man's life?

When something like that floats around the Interwebs, you can click it closed, shake your head, and move on. When something like that comes from your mother ... what do you do with that?

I know my mom would say it's not racist, it's someone's opinion. She'd say we're all the same, all given the same opportunities, that race shouldn't be a factor. In fact, how can it be racist, if a Black man said it? How could I possibly find fault with it?

It's weird how people are willing to listen to Black man's point of view, even use the speaker's race to validate his words, IF it's supporting what they already think. There could be 1,000 other people of color with studies and evidence and data, with researched, logical, statistically supported points saying the opposite, and the Right will come back with that doesn't count; they're just saying that because they're Black. They're biased. But let one Black man come along and echo their bootstrapping, assimilation, racism-is-over, the-system-is-fine rhetoric, let one Black man come along and say that you don't have to change anything, that it's Black people who need to do the changing, and watch how quick they now laud that Black man's point of view.

Yes, I've let her know how offensive the religopolitical email stream is to me. I've let her know it doesn't help to "bring me back to the Light", and if anything, pushes me irreconcilably farther from it. I've let her know that the racial "jokes" and commentaries are hurtful and damaging. That I don't want to see them. I've said to her, Mom, your grandchildren are Black ... they are not exceptions, they are the people targeted in these emails. I've written her long and heartfelt letters on more than one occasion asking her to stop forwarding things to my work email. She finally did, but I think it was more about inappropriate use of state resources threatening my job rather than the fact that it was hurtful to me. When I wrote to her I did not tit for tat. I've never sent her anti-conservative, anti-religion emails in return. Not once. I've asked her to please respect my values and beliefs as I have respected hers. I've done unto others, and I'm not the Christian here.

And still, she sends these things to my home email. Why? Seriously, Mom ... why?

My mom used to be a left-wing, war-protesting agnostic. Then she was a mainstream caring Christian. Now ... somehow my parents have come to be of similar thoughts as the Birthers and Tea Baggers. It's taken me some time to admit that to myself. How do I reconcile that?

She's my mother. I love her. I miss her. A lot. She was a fantastic mom, I had a good childhood. If you've got some image of a crochety, mean old lady stewing with hate in her housedress, you'd be wrong. Someone knowing nothing other than The Emails, wouldn't know the whole of her. My mom is lovely, young-looking, with a radiant smile and laughing eyes. My mom is hilariously funny. She's kind and smart. And yeah, she was a big reason why I came up believing racial prejudice was a bunch of bullshit. How does that change so drastically?

And it's more complicated: my mom was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis years ago. Stress can easily present in the form of physical exacerbations, causing the MS to hit her body harder, even to the point of hospitalization. I can not be a cause of additional stress for my mom. So a big lay-it-on-the-line discussion is not happening here.

I don't have the $ to fly me and the kids out for regular visits. My mom can not travel. She's an early-to-bed person, I'm always out late for work or community meetings or kids' sports, plus I'm on the wrong end of the time zones. So we do weekend morning phone calls. Not even every weekend.  Not even every month.

It's hard to discuss things like race on weekend morning phone calls from opposite ends of the country. From opposite ends of the political, religious, and ideological spectrums. Without causing stress that could affect her.

But it is so deeply hurtful. It hurts me to my core. I look at my children, I think of the things they have experienced, that they will experience, and it just kills me to know what my mom thinks White people need to know. And I don't know that there's much that can be done. Which makes me incredibly, broken-heartedly, sad.