Living fiction

Even though I’ve had The Kite Runner listed on my sidebar for over a month now, I just started reading it this weekend. Right around the time that our house hunt went from “Traipsing through other people’s houses and ogling their furniture is fun!” to “Holy fuck, we need to find a place to live, like yesterday” I decided I wanted to read it, but I never got past page six.

I couldn’t focus on anything except the fact that if we didn’t find a place soon we’d be shackin’ up with my in-laws, so I put reading fiction on the back burner and focused exclusively on being a total stressbag instead. I kind of forgot about it until Friday night, when I caught a glimpse of it on my night table and picked it up.

I haven’t put it down since. Holy crap, this book is amazing. I am living and breathing this book, this riveting, at times painful, exquisite story. When I’m not reading it, I’m thinking about the sounds and smells and the lives that are unfolding on the pages. I’m picturing scenes in my head, the characters and their faces, what they’re wearing…I dream about this book at night.

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Like the cheese, the filing cabinet stands alone

Like the cheese, the filing cabinet stands alone

Sometimes I miss the person I was in high school. I’ll think back to those days and I alternate between cringing with embarrassment and laughing in that oh my god, I can’t believe I did that kind of way, but there are times when I think about the girl I was and can’t help but miss her a bit.

I was brash, outgoing and not afraid to speak my mind. I had quite the “I don’t give a f***” streak running through me; I was a bit of a rebel for a while. I wanted to be different, original; I wanted to be spunky and stand out. And as I got older I took some of that with me, but a lot of it I left behind.

Back then my most prized possession was a black filing cabinet that I kept my tapes in (RIP, cassette tape) and stuck all of my rock stickers on. Every time I went to a concert or into a head shop I’d buy a sticker to take home and put on my filing cabinet.

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My Buyer’s Remorse

My Buyer’s Remorse
Yesterday was an extreme case of Buyer’s Remorse for me.  I typed up a blog post.  Saved it.  Reread it.  Saved it.  Read it again.  And then finally hit the publish button.I immediately felt torn.  Should I have published the post?  Should I have just kept it to myself? It was a post about my dream of being a millionaire with regrets of being a mom when I was still a young girl. I am still working towards my GED using these awesome MyCareer Tools video courses (they have also career tests).
The first few comments made me feel proud of taking the risk and publishing my true and honest opinions on my blog.  And then I got some comments that made me wretched and heartsick and physically nauseous.  I should have kept that post to myself.  I shouldn’t have hit publish.  We’re all just moms doing our best to survive, so why would I add fuel to a fire of controversy?
I unpublished this post, I disabled all comments and then I got angry.  Really angry.  It’s MY BLOG.  Who cares what anyone else thinks?  I don’t blog for anyone but myself.  I do love readers and comments, but in the end this is for me.  Did I get some hurrahs from readers?  Great!  Did I possibly alienate myself from some others?  Maybe.  In the end, it doesn’t matter.
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Spiders and waff-waffs and eeps, oh no…

Spiders and waff-waffs and eeps, oh no…

Some things are funny for reasons I can’t explain. Suddenly I’ll look at something in a slightly different way and it will seem utterly hilarious. One day, Bahkti, my son, and I were sitting in the bath and I spotted a bottle of dog shampoo.

On the label was a picture of a spaniel, one which did not look as if it wanted to be bathed. It appeared to be mouthing the sound waff, with the implicit meaning “don’t you dare bring that shampoo toward me”. I already had a private joke about spaniels (which I can’t explain here, unfortunately) and suddenly they became the second most miserable thing in the world.

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Bootie Stiletto and Bikes

Bootie Stiletto and Bikes

It’s a shoe of many talents; the thin black piping and neatly tied bow suggest a prim Edwardian schoolmistress, the damson pink color and cute peep toe signal a high-kicking showgirl, and it’s easy to picture that spiked heel being ground into a fleshy back by a sexy dominatrix. There’s also the bling factor, as embodied in the pale gold, engraved Gucci logo. The bootie goes by the name of “Newton,” though I’m not sure what the scientist would have made of its gravity-defying 4.5″ stiletto.

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What Friends Are For

What Friends Are For

Will we get hit by Mathew? Baltimore County has no idea what to do when it storms, they’ll probably cancel school – again.  Which meant Laura’s day care would also be closed for the day.  Which meant I would have to take yet another day off from work, after missing three days last week to the plague.

But I was able to go to work after all!  Did I leave the dog in charge of the baby while I was away?  Nope!  I was able to leave Laura with a dear friend, whose 7-month-old son is the same size as my peanut of a daughter.  Laura had a day-long playdate, while I went to work worry-free.  And even better?  My friend documented the day in photographs for me!

I am so thankful to have so many great friends right near us that I can count on in a pinch.  I would do the same for them in a heartbeat if called upon!  That’s what friends are for.

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