Sugared Harpy

My sister is amazing.

A-mazing.

Thank you, Lindy. I love you.

It sucks.

I hate living without a partner.

I realize that so much of this is because I DID live with a partner for my entire adult life. Except that one time.

When the boys’ daddy and I divorced a thousand years ago, I was so happy to be free of him and his Nintendo playing non-diapering the babies ass that I reveled in it. I nursed our baby alone watching ANYTHING I WANTED on tv. I let the toys pile up in the living room until I felt like dragging them up the stairs of our townhouse to the kids’ room. I had leftover kids’ dinners for my dinner a lot of the time and just enjoyed being a single mama because the weight of living with that man was too heavy.

He’s not a bad man. He just wasn’t my man…well, he was nobody’s man since he still had at least five years more growing up to do. And hmm, he was also everybody’s man since he sure did like to sleep with the ladies. Did I ever tell about you about that one time he moved his girlfriend in our house when I was 8 months pregnant with Brett? It’s a good one.

So when he finally moved in with his sister, I didn’t worry about being alone. I was like, oh my god, the house is cleaner and I suddenly have more money despite the loss of an entire income.

This is different.

I loved being married to Mike, for the most part. Obviously, things weren’t all that they seemed because we aren’t married now. But I did like partnered living. I liked having a spouse. I liked living with someone. It’s hard to get used to now, even after nearly a year of not living with him full time. It’s weird to even type that.

I think our different upbringings forced their way into our marriage and broke it apart. We were raised wildly differently, with two sets of problems that never could figure out how to handle each other.

And here we both are. Living alone for the first time in a long time. Having the kids here helps. I would sleep in their beds if I didn’t think THAT would scar them even more. Scoot over, Junior, Mama needs a good cry! Mind if I bring these Twinkies in here?

NB is awesome. So freaking awesome. But he doesn’t live here. Nor will he, because my boys have no need for another daddy type. And his daughter doesn’t need another mommy type, having lost her stepmom, NB’s wife, three years ago to breast cancer. He gets being alone more than I ever ever EVER will comprehend. And yet, neither of us want to live together at this point. If we ever will, I don’t know. See where this thing goes first, I imagine.

I do know that on lonely nights, it’s awful. And on nights I spend not alone, much better. So much better.

But I need to do better than that. I need to get better on my own two feet and learn how to embrace this situation for fuck’s sake. Embrace that there is no one here to tell me to pick up my socks off the living room floor and stop eating those damn chocolate covered raspberries and for the love of Athena quit being so damn argumentative with the television.

Spam (spelling is remarkably good): “Dear Melissa, do u want 2 ift into Xtra LARGE condoms?”

Daniel keeps his Clearasil pads

in this:

Oh yes, that’s a dice cup from the Pirates of the Caribbean gambling game.

Don’t ask me why they make a gambling game…or why he has it.

My first day back went just fine. Except for discovering that the students were issued (or paid out the ass for) a revised version of the textbook, whilst I was still harboring the old version, all went well.

The boys also had a good first day. They are both now in middle school, lord helps us all. At least, I thought they had a good first day until late in the evening when Brett asked if he could bring his lunch tomorrow.

They had chosen to buy lunch this first week, something they don’t do often.

I told him, “Well, I paid for a week of lunches…”

He broke down, sobbing.

“But, but, but, I only get a few MINUTES to eat after standing in that line!!!!”

Whoa, mister. Okay, okay. Pats little head, holds eleven year old boy in lap.

“You can bring lunch, it’s no biggie. In fact, I prefer it. So now you just have a little money to spend when you feel like it in your school lunch account.”

But, of course, it reminds you that yes, kids get no time to eat lunch. Especially if they’re waiting in line for most of it.

That’s pretty sucky.

I shave my legs.

It’s not even a matter of wanting to, although as a slave to the patriarchy I am used to smooth legs and will NOT grow it out anyway, it’s also that my skin and hair follicles are so sensitive that any leg hair that touches pants equals rash time and folliculitis.

So, I shave my legs.

As you can imagine, having sensitive skin also means that shaving sucks too. I had a mediocre routine for many years involving the Gillette Sensitive Skin Razor and Aveeno shave gel.

And then the goddamn Gillette people up and changed the razors somehow. This made decent skin turn angry and red and full of hate. I had to find a new routine for my delicate legs.

And so beget the ridiculousness that is my two-razor system.

I am have discovered that Pantene Ice Shine shampoo makes an awesome shaving gel. So yeah, I’m using that.

Then, I shave with the Schick Quattro razor. It’s so so so easy on sensitive skin, oh my lands. But it seems to leave a bit of a light stubble behind on me. It’s supposed to be super close, and who knows what it does for others but it isn’t for me, but I can easily glide this thing over my legs without any harm to my skin.

I am wondering if the men’s version of this works better, with the same skin-saving qualities.

As it is now, I’m THEN I’m finishing it up with a once over with a Bic Soleil.

They come with scented handles, I think that is remarkably odd.

The Soleil allows THE best, closest shave ever. Ever, people. I can skip days of shaving and still wear a skirt. This has never happened before in my life. It’s a damned miracle. However, attempts at only using this miracle shaver is not good on my skin. It just tears through it if I try to go over it more than once or twice. So, it’s the cleanup crew. I do a once-over everything with the Soleil.

This is the ridiculous, overfluffed version of shaving I have to do. Yes, it’s complicated. Oddly enough, it takes less time to do this two-razor jig (by at least 10 minutes) than my old routine. And if I just feel saucy, I skip the Soleil and I can breeze through with the Quattro and get done and out the door.

There, now you know what I’m doing every morning.

A few months ago, I was seriously considering buying a house. After 8 years of owning a house, it felt really odd to rent one. I want nothing more than some damn stability, god knows nothing else is giving me any stability right now, and a rental house was making me a little uneasy.

Maybe because I had Brett in my ear, asking:

“What if the REAL owners want to sell this house?”

“What if the REAL owners want to live here?”

I know, kid.

Except.

When we first moved in here back in December, the water heater broke. I mean to say, the water heater spat out its last surge of hot water in a sickly display, then up and died forever.

I cried.

I thought, how can I replace this thing? We just dumped a huge amount of money into the deposit, rent, furnishings, curtains, and Craigslist.

Then it hit me.

THIS IS NOT MY HOUSE. THAT IS NOT MY WATER HEATER.

Commence jig dancing.

One phone call, next day, new water heater that I didn’t pay for.

Renting is o-fucking-kay.

It didn’t hurt that after a month or so of discussing the idea of new houses, Brett also melted in the parking lot of the grocery store. Crying, “Just make the changes STOP!”

So, we are staying. This is it for the moment. Kid needs to stay, it’s a great house in a neighborhood where they have friends…we are staying.

Naturally, there’s been that buzzing of “you’re throwing your money away renting!” and other sundry bits of advice you didn’t ask to receive. And I was kind of buying into it.

I am remembering the water heater. Did I mention New Water Heater is really built for a house twice this size? Oh yeah, bitch is huge and I could bathe the entire cast of The Fully Monty in one session if I wanted.

(Go see The Full Monty! Most excellent!)

I have been watching Melissa’s housing situation with earnest. They’re renting. They’re happy about it. She passed along this article in this post.

It was helpful, to say the least.

I needed to read something like that. I needed to see that yes, my situation fit the bill for renting better than buying for a multitude of reasons.

We’ll buy someday. But not right now. And I’m happy about that.

My children are in Brett’s room, quietly, slowly, earnestly, and soulfully singing the jingle for Ebay.

“I found itttt on Ebayyyyy…”

I love the bumper sticker that reads, “Woman, behold your son,” with an ultrasound image of a fetus.

We all think abortions suck, mightily. But some of us, you know, the women with the uteri and the lifetime of parenting and financing ahead of us, also know that sometimes abortions are necessary. You don’t like it, help the social problems that contribute, don’t put a sticker on your car. (A sticker with Biblical words taken out of context, I might add.)

You know what I love more?

When my eleven year old son sees this WOMAN! bumper sticker and asks me, “Don’t women already know that’s their baby? Why does this person think they don’t know that?”

Amen, son.

Watch out.

I’m going to Strassenfest tonight.