The 13th Apostol

Can You Get a Law Degree On Line?

Mer's favorite TV show right now is "Americas Got Talent" ...("Got" isn't even a word)
Mainly because I don't know how to use the other 389 channels.
I'm a kid of the 60's.
There are only three channels and they all go off the air after the ten 'o clock news.

Mer has a brilliant imagination, and if he learns to channel it into something productive, he could be the next Billy Gates. Since he's only nine, I'm pretty sure he just needs the right kind of attention. At the moment he's bored, mad at the world for losing his friends and the old house (but we all know if there's a hell, SHANNON EDWARDS will be there)

Back to what I was saying about Mer's favorite TV show...
He fantasizes a lot about winning contests, getting attention, people LIKING HIM because I don't flippin' count. I could just quit trying huh?

I asked Mer, "Mer, if you won America's got Talent" and could only take one person with you to Las Vegas...who would it be?"
(because I was expecting us to have a MOMENT)
Mer thought seriously about his answer, then looked me dead center and said "Ember"
Ember? (his friend's mom)
Ember?
EMBER?? WTF Ember? What about me? (I didn't SAY this of course, because God forbid I RE-FUCKING-ACT.

"Oh, (here comes the BS) I bet Ember would love to go with you to Vegas honey...but (gotta throw some reality in his face) who would take care of her family while she was gone?"
"Shane." (Ember's husband)
(Don't lose it, he's nine, he's trying to get a reaction...breathe)
"Honey, Shane would have to work."
(I cannot believe I'm actually engaging with this child like this)
"So, Shane could work and Indigo and Brody could go to their Grandparents while Ember and I went to Vegas"
(I now officially hate my own kid)
"Fine, if you win "America's Got Talent" I'll make sure Ember takes you to the next level in flippin' Vegas. OK?"
"Thanks mom, I love you"

It's going to be a long summer.

Penis, I Call it Many Names

Mama Fix -"Whatcha doin?" -
Mer - "Looking at all the pictures I've taken on my phone."
Mama Fix - "Can I see?"
(hesitates)                                                                           
Mer - "Yeah, but there;s some nasty (where did he learn nasty?) pictures on there I can't figure out how
to delete (right)
Mama Fix - "I don't care what's on there, it's your phone, and i completely understand if you don't want me to see them
Mer - "Weeell, I guess it's Ok. Here, let me show you how to do it."

As we scrolled through the typical "I've got a technical toy" pictures boys love to take...the TV, trees, shots from the balcony at church, I realized nothing "nasty" was appearing anywhere.

Finally near the end I came across a fuzzy picture of what appeared to be an arm pit...low and behold it was a portrait of Mer's  butt from six months ago,  he claims was taken while he was asleep at his friends house. (My kid so sucks at lying)

I assured Mer, that was perfectly normal behavior as long as both of them wanted to play with the phone.
Yes, that's in fact what happened.

Somehow the conversation got on Penis's (the word itself makes Mer cringe and say "Eeewwww, MOM!"

Mama Fix - "well honey, what do YOU call it?"
(pause) and with his head held high he took the phone from me and said,...
Mer - "I call it many names." then turned on his flips and walked out.

Universe, he so needs a dad.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            

Someone Once Told Me...

Someone once told me "We are all doing the best we can"...
Another person said "We teach people how to treat us"...

Today, I believe those words with all my heart, and I look at people differently than I did in years past. I look at people with my eyes open, I watch their actions, not listen to their words.

"We are as sick as our secrets" doesn't mean you tell the world everything about you, and being accountable is something we do to OURSELVES...no one else.

I've been given a lot of bad advice in my life, when I chose not to listen to my gut. Today, the entire Universe could tell me to do something, but if my gut says otherwise I'm following it instead.

You don't have to believe what anyone tells you...this is what I'm saying, the truth, the absolute truth lies within. Nowhere else.

Not on a giant monitor in a church
Not in your child's eyes
Not in your relationships
Not in your careers
Not in your incomes
Possessions
Sex
Food
How you look

(only how Tan you are, K?)

I am one person finding my way among many. Times are hard for everyone, yet we pull away instead of pulling together. Put our children in daycare instead of the moms houses who don't work, mow our lawns, talk crap on each other, do damage of the worst kind to the weakest of the pack and call ourselves "Better than".

Sometimes, people forget where they came from, and sometimes they never really knew. It's easy to sound like you know a lot about bicycles, if you've worked in a bicycle store all your life...
but if you've never ridden one, that's a different story all together...
now isn't it?

It's a fact that repeated trauma, physical abuse, neglect and religiosity damage a small child's sense of worth and value. 12 step meetings are full of the evidence.

The problem with treating others the way we want to be treated, is so many people still want to be treated like rubbish.

So just for today, don't hit your kid, they're smarter than you give them credit for, treat someone well even if it causes acid reflux, and never ever go to an all night Tanning Salon with all your children in the mini-van.

And so it is.

Pride 08

The 21st Annual Gay Pride Festival comes to a close at 10:00 p.m. tonight, at the fountain park on 31st Classen.

The weather held, which is I'm sure an act of the gospel of Obama or the virgin Oprah or "Obampraha" when we don't have a torrential down pour for more than three days in this town.

First Unitarian of OKC has a float we usually ride or walk along side of. Since they switched things around this year, for what specific reason I've yet to have confirmation, we chose to miss the Parade on Friday night when the festivities kicked off. Usually it's a weeks full of events, all across the city, with the main focus being in the hub of the GLBT community at 39th between N. Western and May ave. Since it was a Friday night  and Mer was with me, I opted for a less frantic evening of hearing my friend Lea speak on Hallowed Ground.

 

Mer and I went back yesterday afternoon and walked around the booths. Seemed more "Low Key" that in years past. Drawing a more family oriented (please no puns) crowd, and of course "The Looky-Loos" (insert eye rolling)

It was hot and nary a free bottle of water was to be found...now come ON peeps?
WTF? One Dollar! give it up...it's water, at least have a hose for people.

I honestly thought about going back out tonight, but was so bummed by the lack of expression in peoples attitudes of PRIDE...I can do laundry and have more support from my rainbow jog bra.

We'll get feed back from Pride Inc. and see what the turnout was like. Nothing I dislike more than being in a fishbowl, I'm too old for that garb'age and bars...well, they don't allow 10 yr olds so I'm safe.

All in all it was a different event than in years past, less leather, less explicit sexuality, but it was still blessed diversity, which the world doesn't have nearly enough of.
One of the defining factors in not pursuing any type of shared parenting with Mer's father and his family of origin, is their absolute belief everything is either black or white. If you aren't like them then you're crazy, nuts, mentally ill, etc.

The sad part is, they are the majority in this world still.
Because I don't want a dead teenage son, I embrace all that Mer is and isn't.
He is wholly himself.
Pride is a necessary part of overcoming the shame this society dumps on you, when you aren't black or White.

Mer calls people of color just what they are. Peachy, brownish, tannish, etc., because he doesn't understand why anyone would think human beings were the absence of color in regards to their skin.

With that said...

Peace to all, and a gentle walk getting there.

No More Second Chances

A friend of mine overdosed on pills and died. Dead. No more second chances.

I've watched a lot of people die in my life close to me.
My parents, friends, a boyfriend, stupid-ass people, but Jennifer hit me square.

The Universe is pretty much indifferent I've come to believe, but I'm all for those who believe otherwise if you treat people well.

The one thing I know deep in my soul is you will run out of second chances if you keep doing what you're doing.

Chalice Camp '08 or Thank God for 9 Volts

I...am a freakin genius who nearly asphyxiated Mer and I with his Chalice Camp sand candle.

How? Well I'll show you a picture of Mer's Chalice Camp sand candle, but there's nothing but a charred glob perched atop his scorched clay bowl from Spring Break art camp...

Last night, we found the lovely clay bowl he'd hand painted and the vibrant red creation of sand, crayons, and wax. It didn't quite fit in the bowl, more like teetered, yeah, it teetered on the rim of the bowl.

Excitement ensued, as we trimmed the little wick back from the small twig it was bound to, set it evenly on the edges of the sculpture, then went about the lighting of Mer's nature Chalice.

As Mer was dozing off, and "The Murdering Shows", as he likes to call them were  coming on...I scooped my camp-weary solder into my arms and waddle-deposited him into his bed with "Leopard Di Caprio" and Cinko his Ugly Doll.

Sigh, just to breathe in his boy-ness as long as I can, his innocence, his pure heart.
Then of course I sneaked into the bedroom to watch "The Murdering show" alone
Somewhere around 1:45 a.m.,  I was awakened by the smoke alarm in the hallway going off, and flames from the sand candle licking the ceiling.

The paint on the clay pot acted as an accelerate, and needless to say I freaked OUT (in my head), but stayed calm enough not to spread the boiling wax across the top of the TV. I grabbed a wet hand towel from the bathroom and gently extinguished the flames. (then quietly so not to wake Mer, shut his bedroom door, and opened windows throughout the house.)

I sprayed deodorizer through out then crawled into bed completely freaking out, inhaling Christ knows what sort of toxic chemicals from the clay pot...because I...I am a freakin genius.

The Loon Whisperer

My friend Lara calls me "The Loon Whisperer".
Chiefly, because every nut case within a thirty mile radius I either attract...
or am attracted to.

Since one of my most glaring character defects is KNOWING ABSOLUTELY EVERYTHING UNDER THE SUN ABOUT EVERYTHING UNDER THE SUN (it has it's high points) insanity (as in the pathology of) fascinates me like some are fascinated by serial killers...and redundancy.

Lara's ability to talk me out of MY tree, one to seven times a week, has me wondering whom the true "Loon Whisperer" is. Hmm? Today, was Peanut's ballet recital...I've wanted to call Lara all day and give her an atta' girl, but was so afraid I'd start talking about me I haven't.

Lara has been coerced into "Jon-Benet-ing" Peanut up for months in preparation for photos and todays big event. (Lara hasn't seen the crime scene photo's, and has a more twisted sense of humor than mine. Slack please.) To which "Outsiders", even the closest of friends could not attend...especially "The Loon Whisperer".

I can see it now, Peanut all powdered and ribbony (or whatever you do with girls) and here comes the loon whisperer, drawing every unmedicated individual in the joint in her direction, then because I KNOW ABSOLUTELY EVERYTHING UNDER THE SUN ABOUT EVERYTHING UNDER THE SUN, I would begin my psychoanalysis just as Peanut was pirouetting through a solo that would bring tears to Baryshnikov's eyes.

I'm not ashamed of my "Gift", I was born with it. However I'm learning to use it for good, not evil. The whispering of loons that is.

Now, if I could just convince the gnats/termites/species of unknown origin, it doesn't matter whether they had blue birthday candles on their birthday cakes as children or pink...they are lovable, valuable, creatures...but it's time for them to get their own place. (Maybe a nice loft in Midtown.)

Atta girl Peanut, you have one amazing mama kid!

Instead of calling to support Lara, I went seeking loons to whisper at a Bar-B-Que some mutual friends were having with a live band (which put a big old damper on my whispering) Do not fear, they found me regardless of the acoustics, I feel at least two are now completely healed of their childhood traumas, but the still-smoking guy with one lung may need several more sessions to help him achieve oneness with the Universe.

At one point during our initial "Getting aquainted" stage, he, as loons tend to become, became aggressive toward me for bringing up his deceased (whom he practiced  necrophelia with) mother.

At this point I was over my pseudo-"First do no harm" oath, and needed reinforcement.
Then St. Francis of Assisi (no, he was the animal one) Which saints protect the nut cases? Anyway ONE of the saints sent me a body guard...

Franken-Mer showed up, crazies scattered, and all was right with the world.

Mine, not theirs.

Why I Hate Kids and Grown-ups Suck

THREE HUNDRED AND NINETY SIX DOLLARS.
That's what "Hero"owes on my storage unit...
the one in his name, with mine and Mer's crap in it...FOR A YEAR.

Mer's bicycle, family heirlooms, toys, clothes, I think I will become bulimic again...this feeling crap is killing me.
I need a shot gun and some buck shot, that's what I need.
"Pray for his stupid ass" - my ass, buck shot first, then pray.
He hasn't been paying child support, and now I find out the "Excuse" for lack of said payment, hasn't been paid either...Oh my effin LORD I am losin' my mind.

I've trusted this man three times in my life.
Two are named Mer-boy and Mer-girl...the third is named "I'll pay the storage unit for you".

Asshole.
I'm being eaten alive by gnats and or termites, still using the precious mini fridge lent to us by the Impressive Restorations gang back in DECEMBRE (no, I'm not going to Mexico too, I'm just speed pecking)

I have to be at "Camp West Nile" in an hour, and if I don't get this out into cyberspace, I'll four wheel over some unsuspecting 9 yr old with a green faux hawk.

I hate kids.
No, seriously, I hate kids.
God made a massive error in ovum count, because I HATE KIDS!
Hold on, my pants are suddenly ablaze!

I miss Mer-boy.
He spent six dollars on a "Walking Stick" at the Trading Post, and it was a BROOM HANDLE. (but Mer and I will decorate that effin broom handle so cool he can hike Mt. Rushmore) Can you hike Mt. Rushmore?
Whatever.
Grown-ups suck.
I need a pest control dude and a Valium.

This is NOT my life, it's a joke...right?
THREE HUNDRED AND NINETY SIX DOLLARS
This is why I will never get married again...
unless he works for Orkin, Terminex, or is a black market Pharmacist.

I miss my Pharmacist. Oh Allen...
Life used to be so simple medicated.

This is what I want to know, please Internet help me here...

If the Judge got fed up with "Hero" in December and issued a warrant for his arrest, and yours truly had to pay ($50) to have the papers served to prove we weren't together (as if) and they still haven't picked his dead beat ass up in JUNE...it sounds like they just made $50 off me, plus the $1,000 fine he's being hit with that could give us a HUGE leg up over the summer so I could start back to school in August.

Be thankful for him, why...because he randomly "Mow Stalks" the yard?

Webster's Online Dictionary - (with Multilingual Thesaurus Translation)
defines "Mow Stalking" or Mow Stalker, as -  "an ex-husbands use of a lawn mower to annoy, and or harass the mother of his children, by mowing at inopportune times...such as dusk on Sunday evenings"

You see, I wanted a baby, a child (who needs me less and less sweet mother of immaculate conception) I was willing to do anything to have what I wanted. Even "Hero", but that's another rant.

I watch these dads with their sons, fathers who care in ways akin to my own fathers love. And then there are the dads who are being raised by their sons, in a sick anti-parenting way...but it works I guess.

Six months from now, God willing, I'll be in a better place.
Taking Basc math at OSU OKC, just to get over my fear of my ancestors numerical heresy. Everything has to change, everything...

because this mama wants a Hasselblad H Sytem, to shoot homeless, toothless, dying, living, angry, joyous, full-blooded human beings -  so I can turn around and help them with the profits.

After I buy the shot gun and buck shot of course.

Now, on the "Camp West Nile", alone, single, and damned proud of it!
(though my teeth)
Waaaaaaaaaa!, Sniff, sniff, waaaaaaa!

Mer-boy Does Tai Chi

Cub Scout Twight Camp '08

Mer has been at "Twilight Camp" all week long.
I drop him off at "The father of the year's" house at 1:00,
retrieve him at 9:20 or so.
"The Father of the Year" is a far better dad than he gives himself credit for.
I see it in his beautiful sons eyes, speech, tenderness.

These growing of humans, doesn't occur alone.
Two great quotes stick out in my mind at the moment.
Winston Churchill's "When you're going through hell, just keep going"
and whoever said "it takes a Village"? Was that Hillary?

Regardless, the role models Mer has are human. Doing the best they can not to let their own relationships with their dads stand in the way of doing things differently if necessary.

For the "Hell" reason, and the "Village" too...I thank them in ways they may never know.

The inherent dignity and value and of every human being, to see that worth and value...
That's a tall order when in charge of a bunch of nine-year-olds.

When you're going through Hell, keep going...

It's The Little Things...

I...have a gnat infestation.
Do not question my gnat infestation, I am an extremely clean (say neurotic) house keeper.
I "Rainbow" at least, at LEAST once a week, mop with that Mexican Pine sol crap every other day...
Yet these gnats, OH, these gnats have caused the loss of much serenity.
In the beginning, I thought they were termites.
They are not termites dear reader, they are gnats, the ones with the silent "G".
I actually...hold your lunch, found one in my ear. (did I write that?)

I got a close-up of it...

Holy mother of all things winged and flying, what, what I ask will make these creatures leave?
I have sprayed chemicals powerful enough to make Mer grow a sixth toe, yet still they come...from WHERE?
I simply cannot take much more of this gnatty business in my home. I am utterly terrified of my garage. The creatures residing there are far more aggressive than any gnat. I...am a weenie.
An insectual weenie...

Which brings me to Mer's attempt at Cub Scout Twilight camp this week, where I'm certain he'll become infected with West Nile, poison Ivy, Oak and Sumac...have 3rd degree sun burns because I wont be there to slather him repeatedly with sun block and insect repellent containing 75% DEET (enough to grow a seventh toe).

I, the eco-mama, have resorted to chemical assistance in an entirely different direction...my head hangs low,

(low enough to observe gnat carcasses under my desk.)