Archive for September, 2008



Ah Geez

Good morning!  Happy Monday!  Another glorious week begins!  Just kidding.  Mondays suck ass.  I hope yours is going well, though!  I’ll be in class all day long, counting the minutes till I can be home again, most likely to do homework.  Yippy skippy!  I know I sound like Eeyore lately and I’m sorry for that.  I promise you, I am not like that in real life, but I give myself more freedom for moping here in the internet.  I’ll try to be more fun, though.  Here are a few things you probably don’t know about me.  Maybe you don’t want to, but I’m gonna tell ya anyhow.

I am left-handed.  For some reason, I am proud of this, and always notice other lefties right away.

I graduated from high school when I was 16 years old.  With honors.  And a baby.  (No, my real name is NOT Jamie-Lynn!)

I went to school the whole time I was pregnant, until about 2 weeks before the baby was born, and returned 6 weeks after.  I did homeschooling for the 6 weeks after, then went back. 

I did this by working my ass off, with little encouragement from my school counselor, going to regular school during the day, and college classes at night in order to meet my credit requirements for graduation.  Thank God my parents didn’t kill me (or Douche) and my mother was actually my greatest supporter at this time.  I even remember her telling the counselor off once for discouraging me from graduating early!

I moved away from everything I knew when I had just turned 18, and became an Army wife.

I still looked like I was about 13. 

I was done having my children by the time I was 19.

I thought I would be married until I died.

I’ve taken classes at 5 different colleges in the past 12 years.  I still don’t have my degree yet.

I never regretted any of these things until Douche left us.  Then I was in a world of regret.

I also never thought of myself as strong until Douche left us.  Now I know I am.

I am a good  great friend.  I’ll laugh with you or cry with you, or even both at the same time! 

I’m a pretty darn good Mom, too.  My boys are evidence of that.

I adore books.  All kinds of books.  I hate that when I’m in school I don’t have time to read for fun.

My favorite author is Stephen King, followed by Chuck Palauniuk.  I devour their novels. 

Heart-Shaped Box (by Joe Hill) was the best, most engrossing book I’ve read in a very long time.  I hear they’re making a movie.  I hope it doesn’t suck.

I love horror (not slasher) films, but won’t watch them alone because I get scared.

I love hard.  If I love someone, they know it.

I love country music (I know you already knew that).

I keep a journal and would just die a thousand deaths if anyone ever read it.

I have become more outgoing since my divorce, and also more confident.

I barely spoke before I was about 2 years old, and then it was usually only to my mother.

I used to be called Baby Doll by someone.  It always made me melt.

I get a kick out of midwestern accents, and giggle (even if it’s just inside) every time someone says, “Ah geez” or asks if I want a “pop.” 

It’s okay, because they laugh at me when I say “y’all” or “I’m fixin’ to.”

I once got a blue ribbon in a One Act Play competition.

I used to play the snare drum and/or cymbals in my school’s marching band.  My mother made me be in band, I swear!

I can’t stand it when people say “Bob and I” instead of “Bob and me” when captioning a picture.

The movie Crybaby is one of my favorites.  Johnny Depp is a god.

When I was about 7 or 8, I had a poster of Patrick Swayze from Dirty Dancing on my door.  It stayed there until I was probably 11 or so, when it was replaced by magazine posters of Kurt Cobain, Axl Rose, Sebastian Bach, Edward Furlong (the kid from Terminator 2), and other such boys.  The only one I’m embarassed about now is Edward Furlong. 

I am a middle child.

I love swimming.  There’s nothing better on a hot day than diving into a pool.

I’m afraid my boys will grow up to be liars like their dad.

I’m doing my best to make sure that doesn’t happen.

I’m scared of being alone.

I can be an incredible ditz from time to time.

When I was in middle school, I was at my friends’ houses more than I was at home.

I’m a 7 generation Texan.  It kind of makes me a little sad that Little J wasn’t born there, but in Georgia.

I’m good at driving a stick shift.  That should come in handy when I get that Corvette I’ve always wanted (riiiight).

I am interesting in “weird” things like Tarot cards and pendulums.

My sister and I share an almost psychic connection.

I love vintage pin-up photos and graphics.

I enjoy celebrity gossip.

I am a Cancer, and have very Cancer-like qualities.

For some reason that sentence reminded me of this line from Urban Cowboy:  “Daddy’s in oil, and all that that implies.”

 

Okay, way more than you ever wanted to know, right?  So, tell me about you.  Give me five facts about yourself.  C’mon…

One Last Neighbor Nightmare

 

A while back, I told y’all a series of stories about the unusually high number of horrible neighbors I’ve had over the years.  I have one more.  It’s really not my story, this one actually belongs to Honeywine, but I have her permission to tell it.

A couple of years ago, Honeywine and I both lived in Louisiana, at Fort Polk.  She was newly married, and had just moved into military housing when her husband was shipped of to Iraq.  We had been friends for a few months, after meeting at a party where we were the odd ones out.  We got together every once in a while and just hung out and watched movies and stuff.  It was all good.

Then HoBag came along.  HoBag lived in the apartment underneath Honey’s.  She had a daughter who was 3 (if I remember right), and stayed home with her all day.  She was from Guam, or one of those other islands out in the Pacific.  She seemed nice enough, and before long, she was included in our “girls nights.”  There were times when she’d say something and I’d think, “what the hell is wrong with you?” and times when I felt that she was jealous of the friendship Honey and I had, but she was okay.  More and more, though, HoBag was around.  Her husband was deployed shortly after Honey’s was, and Honey felt like she had to look after HoBag and her young daughter. 

Not long after HoBag came along, my family and I moved to Georgia.  Honey and I still talked at least once a week, though.  Along with HoBag, Honey was able to meet more ladies through her Family Readiness Group (they help families during deployments…and as far as I can tell, give the wives something to do outside the house once a week).  Honey started to get out more, and she seemed to have a pretty good group of friends.  They all had young children, and since Honey loves kiddos, she didn’t mind watching the kids here and there.  As time went by, HoBag was depending on Honey to babysit.  A lot.  For long peroids of time.  This child was still in diapers, for crying out loud.  Honey decided she needed to distance herself from HoBag since she was being taken advantage of.  Once HoBag realized she couldn’t walk all over Honey, she turned completely against her, and also ruined all of the other fragile friendships she had made. 

It started as just little slights.  Everyone had a MySpace page, and some of them deleted her from their friends.  No big deal, but she felt like the high school girl tuba player who had become the target of the homecoming queen.  One of the girls in the group had not deleted her, though, and HoBag was using her page to get to Honey’s.  She and I had commented back and forth about the situation, and HoBag used it as fuel. 

Apparently, she spent all of her free time scheming about how to ruin Honey’s life.  First, she turned the other girls in the group against her.  Who knows how she did it, but it was done.  She would play her surround sound television set at all hours, knowing that Honey could hear it upstairs.  She would have the other girls over, knowing Honey would be hurt.  One afternoon, military police officers knocked on Honey’s door.  Now, if you are a military spouse, the scariest thing you can imagine is to see 2 men in uniform at your door, especially if your husband is in a war zone.  They were called for a noise complaint.  By HoBag.  She told them that Honey was playing her music really loud, even though the MP’s could hear that it was very low.  They told Honey just to make sure she kept it down, and left.

A week or two later, MP’s were at her door again.  This time, it was the middle of the night.  Honey was awoken to pounding on her door.  When she opened the door in her nightgown, they told her that her neighbor had called and said she was making all kinds of noise, banging on the floor, playing music really loud, etc.  She assured them that, no, she couldn’t have been because SHE WAS ASLEEP! 

Then, HoBag even came after me.  Me, who lived 700 miles away.  Bitch was crazy.  After the second MP incident, I was so angry and frustrated because I was so far away and Honey was down there dealing with this all alone.  Her husband was gone, and she didn’t know what HoBag was capable of.  So, in my frustration, I posted a blog on my MySpace page about what was going on.  The next day, one of HoBag’s friends (and Honey’s former friend) left a terrible comment, laced with f-bombs and other not-so-nice words, basically saying I didn’t know what I was talking about and should shut up.  I had never even met this person. 

After this, Honey pretty much stayed inside her apartment all the time.  It was scary.  She even got notified by the MP’s that HoBag came in and told them that Honey was harassing her online, and had brought in print outs from comments we had made on OUR pages about her.  To be honest, we never used her name, and we never said anything too bad or threatening or anything.  The MP’s knew she was a quack, but they couldn’t really do anything, so Honey just tried her best to avoid her. 

As soon as Honey’s hubby got home from Iraq, he was done with his active duty service, so they moved back out to the country and far away from HoBag.  She heard through the grapevine that HoBag moved to Washington state.  I think Honey learned a very valuable lesson about being friends with your neighbors.  Especially when your neighbor is a crazy psycho hose beast.

Put On Your Boots

I love country music.  Yeah, I said it.  And I ain’t ashamed, neither!  Growing up in Houston, I would listen to the radio with my dad, and it was always turned to 100 KILT.  I’m not even sure if that’s a country station there anymore, but for my entire childhood, it was.  I can remember hearing George Strait, The Judds, Tanya Tucker, etc.

George Strait was, and is my favorite singer.  I was even lucky enough to see him play at the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo at the Astrodome once.  When I hear his voice, I think “home.”  It doesn’t hurt that he seems to be the embodiment of a cowboy.  A true gentleman.  When we lived out in the middle of the ocean, I would play Amarillo By Morning every time I got homesick.  Even now, four years later, I can so clearly remember driving through the mountains of O’ahu listening to that song, and every time I hear it now, it brings back memory upon memory.  Good and bad, but I still love it.

I love classic country music, like Johnny Cash, George Jones, Dolly Parton, Willie Nelson, and don’t EVEN get me started on Jerry Lee Lewis!  I don’t really listen to country radio much anymore, because so much of it sounds like pop music.  There are some exceptions, though.  Dierks Bentley rocks.  Alison Krauss has the voice of an angel.  For the last week or so, I’ve been playing Lee Ann Womack’s More Where That Came From cd nonstop in my car.  Her YouTube songs wouldn’t embed, but you should check out “I May Hate Myself in the Morning.”  Here’s one from Alison Krauss.

Now you know my dirty little secret.  My name is Ginger, and I’m a country music lover.  Tell me, what is your guilty pleasure?

CAKE OR DEATH

This bit always makes me laugh, and someone’s put it to lego action.  Woohoo!

Dirty Mouth?

Woke up this morning feelin’ fine….NOT!  But, my girl, Penelope gave me a great idea for a post!  She has been stressed to the max lately, and said that swearing helps her feel better.  I agree, it does feel good, on the whole (10 points if you get that reference).

My absolute favorite swear word is fuck.  As you probably already guessed from earlier posts.  It’s a good, all-purpose word.  You can use it as a noun, an adjective, and a verb!  I don’t say it in front of my kids, but in private or amongst adults, you bet your sweet bippy I do.  I have also found that I say goddammit a lot.  I’m not sure when this happened, because when I was younger, I was sure God would strike me dead if I ever said THAT WORD.  So, in order to get some chuckles today, what are your favorite swear words, and why?  I won’t tell…I promise.

Fuck, Fuckity, Fuck, Fuck, Fuck!

I called HUD this afternoon to try and get information, or perhaps an appointment for this week to discuss what’s available.  I had to leave a message, and it took about two hours to get a response.  The lady just called back and said, rather bluntly, that it is not likely that I will be able to get help from them.  She told me that even IF I was eligible for help, I would likely remain at the bottom of a very long waiting list.  Why?  I’m not sure, maybe it’s because I’m a student?  Her office was actually for the rural community, so I am going to try to call the right office tomorrow and hopefully get some more heartening news. 

If a single mother can’t get help like this, then who is it for?  I’ve paid taxes, right?  I worked and took care of my family and this situation was not my choice.  It wasn’t like I just picked up and moved here because I wanted to take advantage of the welfare system.  FUCK!  I am so pissed right now.

Need. To. Get. Out.

More and more in the past few months, I get the urgent feeling that I NEED to get out of this house.  I am not happy here.  I have no privacy, no rights, and am treated like a teenager who can do no right.  I cook every week night, and clean the kitchen after we eat, and make sure that the kitchen is clean (whatever my step-father has left in the sink, on the counter, or elsewhere) before my mother gets home in the afternoons.  This would include whatever dishes and silverware she has left out on the counter from her breakfast.  Still…not good enough.  The one weekday this past week when I hadn’t had time to get the kitchen clean before she got home, she bitched as she put away dishes that were in the dishwasher and loaded the three bowls that were in the sink, banging everything loudly the entire time.  My step-father had been home all night the night before and all day, and had been awake for about an hour and a half, but her anger was directed toward me.  I was downstairs in the basement with the boys, doing homework.

I only wash our clothes during the week, because the weekend is when mom does her laundry.  Ok, fair enough, but sometimes I will go to wash clothes during the week and there will be clothes in the washer that are not mine or the boys.  That’s irritating.  Especially because it would be a shitstorm if I did that during the weekend.  For this, and many other reasons, I am feeling the urgent need to get the hell out of here.  Right. Now.

Last weekend, I was sitting at the dining room table, books and papers spread out all around me, laptop in front of me, doing homework and studying while the boys played outside.  This way, I could make sure they stayed quiet if they came in the house to get a drink or go to the bathroom, and keep the dogs from barking at the kids outside the windows.  I was at that table for about 5 hours.  Clearly doing school work.  As soon as my step-dad got up, my mother was just as loud as she could be in the other room, not even trying to keep it down.  Then, she came into the room I was in and interrupted me about 4 times in an hour.  Do you know how frustrating that is?!?!  She should, she’s a goddamned teacher, for cryin’ out loud!

My step-dad started working nights again last week, so during the day, I have to make sure the boys are quiet so he can sleep.  That’s not easy.  So today, Big J went to do some volunteer work this morning (he volunteers at the College Football Hall of Fame), and Little J and I took off to go get him at about 11:30.  I had planned to take them to a movie or something, and try to keep them out of the house most of the day.  When we got there to pick up Big J, Little J decided he’d really love to go through the museum there, so we did that for about an hour and a half, then headed for lunch.  By this time, we had missed the movie we’d planned to see, so we checked out the two Halloween shops in town and ran through Tar-jay.  We got home at about 5:30, which is about the time step-dad gets up, so in theory, the house was quiet all day.  No one could blame sleeplessness on the boys.

It didn’t matter, though, because as soon as we walked through the door (tired from window shopping all day and driving through college football traffic), my mother told me what she had gotten do eat for dinner.    I told her we had eaten lunch at about 2 (it was only 5:45).  I had to ask her three times what she said because she was talking so low.  So, she got pissed off because I couldn’t hear her.  I said, “yeah, that’s kind of like when you ask me something three times and I get annoyed.”  I guess that was the wrong thing to say, but I just went downstairs to put my stuff up in my room.

As soon as I grabbed my laptop and sat down, she yelled down that my dog was scratching at the door.  Oooo-kay.  Jumped up to let him out, and she said, “I asked you if you guys were ready to eat!”  All pissy-like.  I said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you ask that.”  To which she stormed out of the house saying something about how all she needed was a yes or no.  This all happened within 5 minutes of us walking in the door.

Sometimes, it would be nice – not every day, mind you, I know that’s too much to ask – but sometimes, it would be nice to hear something good about yourself or your kids, and not negative all the time.  Honestly, the only nice or complementary thing I can remember her saying about the boys or me recently was something she said during our first therapy session months ago.  It has been a year of this, and I am tired. 

I know that if I leave here, I will be on welfare.  I know that if I leave here, it will be hard.  I also know that I can’t take much more of this.  It is hard to be the mom when the grandma treats your kids like annoyances.