It's Just Another Day...
Friday afternoon, my cassette copy of "Dead Man's Party" took its last breath and died. Props to Ben, who burned its 9 tracks to a CD for me on Monday. Oingo Boingo lives on through Napster. Fuck you, Metallica.
Wow--what a weekend. Everything from dog fights (bad) to sex in hot tubs (good) to kick ass barbecue (very good). We basically spent 2 1/2 days doing...well, nothing, save each other. It was a much-needed retreat from the real world. Sunday, I ended up engaging in two separate phone conversations with my ex that both resulted in my screaming "fuck" and throwing my phone against a wall. (I'm surprized it still works--way to go, GE.) Picked up El Nino at 5:00 and made the long drive north to spend the 3rd of July with my family. It was, of course, raining, but the rain miraculously stopped long enough to allow us to carry out Arson Fest '05 in true family fashion. The torch has been passed--literally, the propane torch my dad uses to light fireworks has been passed to my brother, who is now responsible for killing us all. My parents' backyard is pretty much a deck and a hill, and they have a wooden platform they've rigged up for fireworks. All is well until the platform wobbles and whatever pyrotechnic happens to be sitting on it falls over and starts hurling flaming balls of death at the spectators on the deck. This happened a few years ago--and again Sunday night. Fortunately, no one was injured. It was, however, freakin' hilarious.
Monday was trying. My son, fresh from a weekend with Fun Daddy, was in no mood for me and my rule-enforcing ways. Ben and I took him to a whole new park, and it was fun for a while, until he started spitting and I told him it was consequently time to leave. That was the first of probably 3 major shit fits of the day. He's also learned a new trick--when I tell him "no" or he doesn't get his way, he bursts into tears like his dog just died and NOW starts crying for "daaaaaddddddyyyyy." Oh, boy. Nothing like crying out for that shithead to start mommy's blood boiling.
Tuesday morning, I dropped him off at preschool and attempted to accomplish some things. "Attempted" being the operative word. First stop--county courthouse. My personal property taxes were due in December, so I'm a little late, and they must be paid before I can renew my license plates, which expired in June. Oops. I made it through the security line and was the first person in the assessor's office. Score! One check for $257 later, I was on my way. At that time I realized my renewal form was NOT in my purse as it had been several weeks before--DAMMIT. Oh, well--the courthouse was the hard part of that job, no biggie. So I drive up to Liberty to my lawyer's office to sign custody papers. I get there around 9:00, he's not in yet. I'll wait. Around 9:30, I'd waited long enough, so I left him a note to call me when he decided to stop being a slacker and left. Stopped by Ben's office to pick up his house key. Drove to his house, watched some crappy tv and waited for him to return. He came home around 10:00 and suggested we have sushi for lunch--which we did. (And no, that's not a new euphemism for sex. We did that before lunch.) Then he drove me back to Liberty where I signed all the papers and hopefully didn't start the battle of a lifetime.
My lawyer did mention that I shouldn't move in with Ben until this is resolved, because the judge may not look favorably upon mom shacking up with her boyfriend. In the worst case scenario, we wouldn't go to trial for another year--I told Ben this, and he replied, "well, in another year, we might be married by then, anyway."
I'd do it, too. That's right--me, the Anti-Bride. The woman who swore "I will never get married, so help me, I will never even live with a man I'm romantically involved with, period, the end, Amen." I would marry Ben tomorrow if he asked me to. Abso-fuckin'-lutely.
So today it's back to business as usual.The break was fun while it lasted, it just didn't last very goddamn long. I don't hate my job, I'm just bored with it. I want to do something interesting. And I have no damned drive whatsoever--either within my current position or in terms of finding another one. I don't know what I'd do, anyway. I'd only leave this job to do something relative to writing, and every waiter in New York City knows that writing jobs are hard to come by and typically don't pay for shit. Not to mention that whole lack of motivation thing. Boredom has been my curse throughout my lifetime. I've never been satisfied with the status quo, I've always been on the lookout for something extra. Which explains why I've had 24+ jobs in 16 years and a plethora of boyfriends (and a girlfriend, too). I've learned where to accept boredom--and happily so--and where to allow myself to explore the options. Career is definitely an "explore" territory, but I'm not willing to fuck with my salary or a working environment that allows me the kind of flexibility I have here. Still, it would be nice to actually have something interesting to talk about at the end of the day.
I guess that's what "grown up" means, isn't it? "Adult life" = "mundane."
How bizarre that sounds--I work for a law firm, I've just started what could be a tumultuous custody battle with my son's father, I'm involved in the relationship I've only dreamed about my whole life...and I want more.
Only me...
2:44 pm
The momentum has ceased. All that lovely work-related energy I started with this morning? Gone. Kaput. So I'll be spending the next hour-and-45-minutes doing what I do best--screwing around. I excel in that capacity.
I just tried to call my son at preschool, seeing as how my call was ignored last night and likely will be again this evening. I dialed the main number and got the office.
"Brookside Charter and Day School, this is Joan."
Hi, Joan. Can you transfer me to the Horizons room, please?
"No, I can't."
(pause) Oh. Okay.
"There's no phone in there."
Oh. Well...
"Who did you want to speak to?"
My son, but since you probably don't know him on a first-name basis, I'll shoot for one of the teachers, who I don't know on a first-name basis. Just anybody, I guess. Me smart parent.
(sounding exasperated) "Okay, hold on."
I held on for a minute, then hung up. Frankly, I didn't care at all for Joan's tone. Joan's tone was, and usually is whenever I speak to her, rude and scary. When I have to talk to Joan, I always feel like I'm 8 years old again. I feel sorry for the kids who have to deal with her scary ass on a regular basis. Hag.
So the chances of my talking to my son today are slim, I'm guessing.
Unfortunately, not everyone in my office agrees with my philosophy that all actual work should be completed by noon, so I'll be ending this now.
Wow--what a weekend. Everything from dog fights (bad) to sex in hot tubs (good) to kick ass barbecue (very good). We basically spent 2 1/2 days doing...well, nothing, save each other. It was a much-needed retreat from the real world. Sunday, I ended up engaging in two separate phone conversations with my ex that both resulted in my screaming "fuck" and throwing my phone against a wall. (I'm surprized it still works--way to go, GE.) Picked up El Nino at 5:00 and made the long drive north to spend the 3rd of July with my family. It was, of course, raining, but the rain miraculously stopped long enough to allow us to carry out Arson Fest '05 in true family fashion. The torch has been passed--literally, the propane torch my dad uses to light fireworks has been passed to my brother, who is now responsible for killing us all. My parents' backyard is pretty much a deck and a hill, and they have a wooden platform they've rigged up for fireworks. All is well until the platform wobbles and whatever pyrotechnic happens to be sitting on it falls over and starts hurling flaming balls of death at the spectators on the deck. This happened a few years ago--and again Sunday night. Fortunately, no one was injured. It was, however, freakin' hilarious.
Monday was trying. My son, fresh from a weekend with Fun Daddy, was in no mood for me and my rule-enforcing ways. Ben and I took him to a whole new park, and it was fun for a while, until he started spitting and I told him it was consequently time to leave. That was the first of probably 3 major shit fits of the day. He's also learned a new trick--when I tell him "no" or he doesn't get his way, he bursts into tears like his dog just died and NOW starts crying for "daaaaaddddddyyyyy." Oh, boy. Nothing like crying out for that shithead to start mommy's blood boiling.
Tuesday morning, I dropped him off at preschool and attempted to accomplish some things. "Attempted" being the operative word. First stop--county courthouse. My personal property taxes were due in December, so I'm a little late, and they must be paid before I can renew my license plates, which expired in June. Oops. I made it through the security line and was the first person in the assessor's office. Score! One check for $257 later, I was on my way. At that time I realized my renewal form was NOT in my purse as it had been several weeks before--DAMMIT. Oh, well--the courthouse was the hard part of that job, no biggie. So I drive up to Liberty to my lawyer's office to sign custody papers. I get there around 9:00, he's not in yet. I'll wait. Around 9:30, I'd waited long enough, so I left him a note to call me when he decided to stop being a slacker and left. Stopped by Ben's office to pick up his house key. Drove to his house, watched some crappy tv and waited for him to return. He came home around 10:00 and suggested we have sushi for lunch--which we did. (And no, that's not a new euphemism for sex. We did that before lunch.) Then he drove me back to Liberty where I signed all the papers and hopefully didn't start the battle of a lifetime.
My lawyer did mention that I shouldn't move in with Ben until this is resolved, because the judge may not look favorably upon mom shacking up with her boyfriend. In the worst case scenario, we wouldn't go to trial for another year--I told Ben this, and he replied, "well, in another year, we might be married by then, anyway."
I'd do it, too. That's right--me, the Anti-Bride. The woman who swore "I will never get married, so help me, I will never even live with a man I'm romantically involved with, period, the end, Amen." I would marry Ben tomorrow if he asked me to. Abso-fuckin'-lutely.
So today it's back to business as usual.
I guess that's what "grown up" means, isn't it? "Adult life" = "mundane."
How bizarre that sounds--I work for a law firm, I've just started what could be a tumultuous custody battle with my son's father, I'm involved in the relationship I've only dreamed about my whole life...and I want more.
Only me...
2:44 pm
The momentum has ceased. All that lovely work-related energy I started with this morning? Gone. Kaput. So I'll be spending the next hour-and-45-minutes doing what I do best--screwing around. I excel in that capacity.
I just tried to call my son at preschool, seeing as how my call was ignored last night and likely will be again this evening. I dialed the main number and got the office.
"Brookside Charter and Day School, this is Joan."
Hi, Joan. Can you transfer me to the Horizons room, please?
"No, I can't."
(pause) Oh. Okay.
"There's no phone in there."
Oh. Well...
"Who did you want to speak to?"
My son, but since you probably don't know him on a first-name basis, I'll shoot for one of the teachers, who I don't know on a first-name basis. Just anybody, I guess. Me smart parent.
(sounding exasperated) "Okay, hold on."
I held on for a minute, then hung up. Frankly, I didn't care at all for Joan's tone. Joan's tone was, and usually is whenever I speak to her, rude and scary. When I have to talk to Joan, I always feel like I'm 8 years old again. I feel sorry for the kids who have to deal with her scary ass on a regular basis. Hag.
So the chances of my talking to my son today are slim, I'm guessing.
Unfortunately, not everyone in my office agrees with my philosophy that all actual work should be completed by noon, so I'll be ending this now.
posted by Mitzi Green at 12:36 PM
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