thorvalson.net : babble ether

Your Mama Wears Combat Boots...

...and yet, somehow, you still have to clean your room.
Look carefully and appreciate. This is probably the last time her room will be this organized until she moves out.

Personal growth

Let it be known that I have not been to Target in over two months and therefore would be expected to go on a wild binge.
Let it also be known that my primary source of Target-related inspiration during my dry spell has been Tracey: She Who Hath Super Organizational Powers.
Let it also be known that I received a $30 gift card to Target from Jen and Paul for Christmas (thank you!).
Let it finally be known that, on top of the gift card, I brought an additional $100 with me, and I ONLY SPENT FORTY DOLLARS OF THAT MONEY.

I have grown as a mother, as a woman, and as a human being. Let us all marvel at the wonder that is...

Organization of My Daughter's Freaking Junk Pile of Art Supplies and Play-Doh Paraphernalia.

...and God looked down upon what She had created, and saw that it was good.

Gifts

Happy Birthday, Love.

Marshall St.

you fake a strained sort of grin
that matches the shape you're in
and accept any lies as truth
after the long year that we've been through

you ain't saying nothing that I don't already know
when you say life takes turns like fiery shadows

- Red House Painters

The Way We Were...

Some observations, after spending the last three days sorting through home video footage.
1. I am shocked and appalled to discover that I have, for the last four years, truly UNDERestimated how much my dad actually did swear. Seriously. If my dad had said the last sentence, it would have come out like this: "God dammit, Gee-zus Christ. I am SHOCKED. You got that goddamn right. Boy, that son of a bitch. He knew how to let it out, that's for goddamn sure. Gee-zus CHRIST."
2. My sister is a freak.
3. At one time in my life, I had a VERY feminine pink room with porcelain dolls, milkglass lamps, pink sheets, a bookshelf stocked with the first fifty volumes of _The Babysitters Club_ series, and a closet door covered in magazine photographs of Skid Row. It looks like Headbangers Ball threw up all over Laura Ingalls Wilder.
4. My sister is a freak.
5. In 1994, Jan Carpenter had a blonde bob haircut down to her shoulders. And she still wears those huge Jackie O sunglasses that I have grown to love and even emulate.
6. Maybe one of the reasons Bill Spring found it so difficult to reconcile with my father is because of the fact that my dad spent the last year of their friendship drunk with a camcorder at Bill Spring's house, videotaping Bill's wife's ass. Just a thought.
7. My sister is a freak.
8. I spent a good deal of the summer of 1990 hiding my father's cigarettes from him. Actual conversation:
Dad: "Are you going to come to my funeral?"
Me: "Only if you don't smoke cigarettes."
Mom: (laughing) "I don't think your dad will be smoking cigarettes at his funeral, honey."
8. I miss you, Dad. And yes, I went to your funeral. You didn't smoke any cigarettes that day, but I sure as hell did. You got that goddamn right.

Happy Birthday, Bean!

Love,
Aunt Stephy

Psst. Hey you.

Drive safely. There's precious cargo in that van.

Disco.

Do you want a Mac-friendly connection cable with that?

My daughter woke me up this morning with a camera in my face. You would think my first registered cerebral activity would have said something like, "GET THAT FUCKING CAMERA OUT OF MY FACE." But no. You know what I thought? I thought, "HEY! DID THAT THING COME WITH A MAC-FRIENDLY CONNECTION CABLE?"
Nevermind the fact that I have no idea how, when, or where Maddie acquired her own digital camera. Logic would lead to Ryan. But that's no fun. Did she steal it? Did she buy it off our local friendly neighborhood crackhead? Did she build it herself?
IS MY DAUGHTER A GENIUS? And if she did build it herself, CAN SHE ALSO BUILD A MAC-FRIENDLY CONNECTION CABLE.
THAT is the question.

Hello, trifluoperazine!

Read 'em and weep, folks.

Patriotism 101: A Summary

Me: "Our country's system is so fucked up. I was standing in the aisle at Osco for fifteen minutes, arguing with myself over A DOLLAR AND FIFTY CENTS. And yet the government says I make too much money to qualify for assistance. There is now a test available that can determine, if you have cancer already, whether or not you are likely to have a recurrence, but people won't take advantage of it, because if it's determined you are likely to have a recurrence, the insurance companies will drop your coverage for therapy. You'll still be covered for hospice care, but you'd better die within six months. Why does it have to be either/or? Why can't you have chemotherapy - if it's beneficial to you - and get hospice care at the same time? Why can't our system be more like those in Europe, where people are taken care of in situations like this?"
Tracey: "Because then you'd be a socialist pinko commie."
Me: "Oh, yeah. That's right."

Can I still say I'm sorry...?

Greg just called and informed me that on the Chariots Race website there are now MP3s of their performance on WMSE in November, as well as a fully mastered version of "Static," which is one of two songs they had me sing back-ups on (and if you're Mom or Tracey, you will want to know that the lower vocals are me throughout most of the song, except at the end, when I suddenly start channeling Lita Ford).

Go listen. They fucking rock. And if you live in the Midwest, check out the tour page, too. They'll be in St. Louis and Chicago this weekend.

"you're like a dagger
you stick me IN THE HEART
and taste the blood from my blade
and when we sleep would you shelter me
IN YOUR WARM AND DARKENED GRAVE" (kick/snare, insert Vince Neil-on-"Wild Side"-inspired, "HU-UGH" here if you're really feelin' it)
(gong)
"if I close my eeyyes for-evah..."

Disclaimer to the uninitiated: the above lyrics are Lita Ford, NOT Chariots Race. Repeat: DO NOT CONFUSE CHARIOTS RACE WITH LITA FORD.

Lita Ford...

Chariots Race.

Lita Ford...

Chariots Race.

Thinking...

There is nothing better than waking up at 8:30 a.m., discovering Maddie has slept in late, and crawling back into bed with the man I love, only to be joined moments later by Maddie, crawling into bed with both of us. I am in my bed with my family. All is right with the world.

Maddie, first thing this morning

"Good morning, Mommy. I like ice cream. Last night, when I was talking to myself in bed, I was thinking about ice cream."
"Really?"
"Uh-huh. And you thought I was sleeping but I was thinking about ice cream. I'm a little tired this morning."
"Me, too."
"Can I have some ice cream?"

Oh, the horror!

I'm a shameful, sick, and perverse individual. Don't forget blasphemer, addict, manic-depressive, and heretic! But at least I'm literate!
If she liked my comments on Tracey's site, she should have read this post. If Tracey wasn't trying to get rid of this insane woman by ignoring her, I would comment back with her own entry, spell-checked and corrected for grammar.

Take Notes, People

1. Send me flowers at work with a card that says, "Happy Birthday," even though my birthday is in March and you know that but you just like to pretend it's my birthday even though it's not, and then when I get off of work, take me dancing and tell me as we're dancing that we're really dancing in some old ornate building and you're all dressed up and I'm all dressed up in my 1920s dress and we're dancing.
2. When a couple of really young and really drunk girls start calling you "Greggy" because you're HOT and they're hitting on you and one of them says the other one's crazy and the Crazy One starts saying no, she's not, and the other one's all, "REALLY, WE'RE NOT CRAZY," because they don't want you to think they're crazy because they're hitting on you and when I approach and say loud enough for the entire group to hear, "I'm fuckin' NUTS," laugh your ass off and kiss me.
3. Get off work early on a Saturday night so we can hang.

I swear, I didn't teach her that

My daughter is sitting in the living room right now under a makeshift tent of blankets and pillows (FORTS! I LOVE FORTS!) singing - I swear to God, she really is - singing "YES, JESUS LOVES ME." And she just told me, "Mommy, Jesus loves grace."
And she gets to spend Christmas with Ryan's family this year, which means that she's going to come back with all these crazy ideas in her head about Christmas being Jesus' birthday and how the holidays are all about giving and love and giving love and all that shit. IT'S TERRIBLE, I TELL YOU, TERRIBLE. Because now I'm gonna have to explain that no, it's not really Jesus' birthday, it's just that the Church stole the day (along with lots of other stuff) from the Zoroastrians because they knew that it would really piss off Freddie Mercury, thereby keeping one more artsy-fartsy faggot musician off of the One True Path. And, HELLO, Christmas is about PRESENTS. It's about fulfilling our duty as American consumers by trying desperately to make up for that time you let it slip to Grandma Nancy that Cousin Erin is a Whore, and by proving once and for all through the ratio of gifts (Number of Gifts + Money Spent = How Much Jesus Loves You) that Big Sister Margaret really is Mom's Favorite.

All of this, and all I really wanted to say was HEY! MY BOYFRIEND'S FROM CANADA! SO WATCH YOUR MOUTH, ANN COULTER, YOU ROTTEN MISERABLE WHORE.

Gregory West

Well, here we are. Eleven months - almost a year! I hate to use those words because it instantly conjures up little demons of conspiracy that want to toss one or both of us in front of a semi before we hit the Official One Year Anniversary, but I think acknowledging the demons keeps them away, so we should be cool. I'll spare you all the really mushy stuff until then.
You've had a rough week. I know this. I'm pretty smart. That's why you love me. You're pretty smart, too. That's why I love you.
We were driving over the River Shannon in Limerick when I took this picture of you. I kept looking around thinking, "This ain't no tough town. I don't know what everybody's so worked up about." You were driving our rental in perhaps the most cautious manner I have ever seen you drive a vehicle before or since. I'm not saying you're a bad driver. You're a great driver. You're just a fast driver. Race-track fast. I-can-drive-this-fast-because-I-know-what-the-fuck-I'm-doing fast. Fast, but not reckless. Like the Tilt-a-Whirl.
And you're a Renaissance Man. Example: Today, I had a headache from smoking too many cigarettes last night. You reached over and, just when I thought you were going to massage my temples, you took your index finger and applied pressure to very specific points on my forehead, alleviating my pain. And I was like, "!!!! He knows acupressure!!!!" Brilliant! And you're always doing stuff like that. Just when I think I've figured you out, there's a new trick up your sleeve.

Like the time you - and the entire kitchen staff, and half the restaurant - sang Happy Birthday to me. In September. My birthday is in March. You knew that, and you grinned at me the whole time like a fourth-grader caught looking up someone's skirt.
It's amazing to think of who we were when we met, and who we are now. Not that we're that different. Eleven months is such a tiny blip on the radar screen. But there have been some subtle changes. Some tune-ups, some tweakage. We don't drink or smoke as much as we used to, although we like to remind ourselves every now and then that we can still hang. You don't have that crazy mustache any more - the one you thought would scare my entire family away - except when you're dressed up as a Guarda. We're taking better care of ourselves, and each other. It wasn't until this last months that we've ever had a "date night," a night when neither of us is working and Maddie is at her dad's. And the last Saturday we had together, after talking of dinner and movies and things we wanted to do and places we might go, we ended up staying home. We never even watched the movies you rented. I had gotten all dressed up, and by the time you got here, we were both too tired to go anywhere. So we just curled up on my bed, and I was wearing this crazy gown from the 1920s, and we had a glass of wine and went to sleep. Well, not right to sleep, but... And that was one of the best nights we've had in months. Just you and me, chillin. We stay home more. I like that. When we sleep through the alarm, it's more often because we're just plain exhausted from work and Maddie.

Maddie. You drive her absolutely nuts sometimes. Utter nutter. This morning, she wanted nothing to do with you. You kept egging her on, saying things like, "Maddie, how come you're so argumentative?"
"I'M NOT!"
"Yes, you are."
"NO, I'M NOT!"
"Maddie?"
"What."
"Can I have five bucks?"
"NO. I JUST LOVE MY MOMMY."
She thinks you're crazy, but she loves you. And I love that. I never thought I would ever find myself with someone who loves both me and my daughter. Maddie's easy. Everybody loves her. How could you not? But you love me, too. Even when I'm all grumpy and being the disciplinarian. You love the whole package. And I am so, so grateful every day for that.
You are my Home and my Heart and my Soul, my Love. Thank you for the best eleven months of my life, and thank you for all you do to build our future together. There is not another soul on this earth I would rather share life, dreams, chaos, struggles, and Love with. You are my favorite human being, the one I have waited for, and I love you. Thank you for being in my life.
Here's to you and me Sunday driving.

I Am So Desperate For Picture Posting That I Will Pretend This "Goodbye" Photo Is From Yesterday, Not Three Months Ago

The Title of This Entry Is Not "I Have a Dream, and In That Dream There Is Alcohol," Because If It Were, I Might Get Into Trouble, At Which Point the Enforcers Should Contact Me and I Will Change the Title So It Is Not "The Title of This Entry Is Not" Etc

Home again, where I am FURIOUS because after all of this bitching about my camera not working and me not having the money to buy a new camera or a cable for Greg's, I think the only thing wrong with the camera is that I bought shitty batteries. So here's a big FUCK YOU WALGREEN'S AND YOUR SHITTY ASS BATTERIES, YOU FUCKING SHITS. I don't even know what pictures I CAN'T upload, because the batteries won't work long enough to turn on the LCD, let alone browse the menu. Again, FUCK YOU WALGREEN'S. Done now.
Spent the night at Tracey and Jason's house so the two of them could spend a rascaly evening out at a wedding reception and I could hog the piano while the girls literally ran circles around each other. Fun highlights: Maddie, Juli, and Ava (!) playing Let's Bonk Heads, which consists of the three of them headbutting each other and then saying, "OW!" before breaking into fits of giggles (except Ava, who can't say "ow" yet, but will soon learn if this game keeps up); Maddie, telling Jason first thing this morning - before coffee, even - that "I have to go potty and poop and that starts with 'p'."; Maddie talking about poop incessantly all day long (positions kitty stuffed animal in sitting posture and says, "This is how Solomon goes poop."); Maddie telling me just now that she has to go potty and poop; Juli believing that there really are signs on the interstate that say "Juliana, please be quiet FOR FIVE MINUTES"; me, hogging the PIANO and playing the PIANO at Tracey's house where they have a PIANO; and Ava, doing an awesome shoulder-ribcage-Cabbage Patch-dance that is the funniest dance I have ever seen a baby do without parental puppeteering.
So that was all fun and hilarious, and I have now decided to mope in self-pity because I can't pay my rent, can't go see Chariots Race tonight (no babysitter - damn my friends and their selfish needs to educate themselves; EDUCATION, SCHMEDUCATION! I dropped out of high school (and college! twice and thrice, respectively!) and LOOK HOW WELL I'M DOING!), and Maddie is in one WHINY ASS mood (and if you say, "Gee, I wonder where she gets it from," I will stick you with sharp objects and laugh as you rotate on my rotisserie of rage), and although it was tons of fun spending the last day and a half with all three girls, what I could really use right now is just ONE HOUR of either absolute quiet or ONE HOUR of music so loud and melodious that I won't be able to hear myself think. As the first is impossible until Maddie's bedtime, and the second isn't possible in the preferred manner (i.e., the show), I am compromising with new free music downloaded for free from Jason's iTunes which was totally free (did I mention it was free?), as well as the new iLife which was (cough) totally acquired (cough cough) by competely legal (ahem....errrr) means.

I believe in peace, bitch.

It is far too early in the morning for this body to be awake. Yes, I'm aware it's 9 a.m. I AM SO TIRED. This is how tired I am: Thursday night, I had four pints of Guinness after work. Four pints on an empty stomach may make me a bit tipsy, but I had been munching all night at work and taking extra good care of myself. So when I went to bed Thursday night, I felt a little buzzed, but far from drunk. It was like, "Hmmmm. This is nice. I think I'll go to sleep now."
I woke up yesterday morning to Greg very gently and cautiously informing me that Maddie was downstairs in the lobby and I had slept through the alarm. IT WAS 8:30. I slept a through a FULL HOUR of alarm buzzing and phone ringing. Jill the Receptionist Who Shall Henceforth Be Known As Jill the Goddess of Light and Goodness had Maddie all set up in a spare room next to the front desk, where she was happily zoning out on cartoons when I came down.
After a few hours - THREE OF THE LONGEST HOURS OF MY LIFE - Maddie finally decided she was tired, too, and we laid down on the couch for a nap. We woke up at 2:45, three hours later. Thank God I looked at the clock, or we would have missed Patsy, who was to be at our house at 3 so that I could get to work by 3:30.
I pulled myself together to get to work on time and was informed upon arriving that Superbitch would be late. "She doesn't know what time she'll be here." Great. AND THEN, putting on my apron and settling in for another night of festivities at the Palomino, I discovered a bulge in my jeans pocket, reached in to make sure I had not grown a penis overnight, and discovered Greg's car key. I had taken his car key the night before when someone needed me to move our cars, and had forgotten to give it back to him.
I would end this with a big "I AM A FUCKING LUSH AND A LOSER," except that I WASN'T DRUNK THURSDAY NIGHT. What the fuck is wrong with me? Why is my body so overly sensitive to lack of sleep? I've functioned gloriously for YEARS on sleep deprivation. Why is it all coming to an end now?
On a better note, I am relieved to know that Superbitch's days at my place of employment are numbered. Mom and Dad (otherwise known as our owners) have come up with yet another brilliant concept and are expanding one of their cafes into a full bar. Our GM will be transferring to this bar when it opens (hopefully in March), leaving H to manage the Pal. I LOVE H. I love K, too, but I LOVE H. H is a bartender. H has depended on tips for income for the last, oh, probably ten years. H understands the frustration of being recently on this side of management, and most importantly, H will not tolerate Superbitch's superpowers of superbitchy-ness. Ten bucks says that Superbitch quits or gets fired within two months of K's departure.
HELLO PEACEFUL FRIDAY NIGHTS, HELLO TABLE TEN.

I'm so gonna get dooced.

Hehehe

EVIL!

See? See? IT'S NOT JUST ME!

Humph.