Tuesday, April 24, 2007

No Gnews Is Good Gnews

Generally speaking, I don't like to spend too much time stewing over the heaping piles of moldering crap I read in the news everyday. I mean, there's only so many times you can say, "You've got to be fucking kidding me!" before you start to sound a little simple and slow on the uptake. They keep repeating themselves day after day after ever-loving day, so clearly, they're quite serious. I get that now. I accept it. I no longer allow myself to get too riled up about any of it.

Everyday, I read the headlines at CNN and The New York Times. I check a few of my favorite leftist-leaning, newsy type blogs for my daily dose of anit-Bush bile, followed by a disproportionate amount of time trolling the celebrity gossip rags for the truly griping news of the day. It's important to be informed, right enough. But knowing how the Supreme Court is positioning itself to reverse Roe v. Wade, or lamenting the lax gun laws that allowed a mentally ill student to purchase weapons that would be used in a senseless, shocking massacre doesn't get the kids fed, or the laundry folded. Alec Baldwin may be an ass, and the students at BYU may have a tougher brand of moxie than I had previously given them credit for, but EM's got homework and Missy hasn't pooped for two days, so best not to dwell on any of it too long.

And so it goes. Easy-peasy.

Until I happened upon this wee item: The Vanishing of the Bees (article).

I can't stop thinking about it. It's seriously freaking me out. I've lost sleep over the where, and the why, and the whatever could it mean of it. It's just not right. It MUST be explained! I mean !PEOPLE! They're just disappearing! Poof! Gone! So long, and thanks for all the pollen. Why?

But I read something today on one of the open threads at The Daily Kos that greatly put my mind at ease. I'd link to it directly, but I can't seem to find it again. I hope it's okay if I paraphrase here, because I don't want any of you to worry, as I have, over this perplexing and troubling apiary mystery. One wise contributor said:
They've been Raptured. We're left with the unbelievers.

Wednesday, April 18, 2007

Grovel, Grovel

Cringe, Bow, Stoop, Faaallllll

So now you know. JEDA 202--I like Andrew Lloyd Webber musicals, can quote from pretty much all of them at will, lip sync a mean Jesus Christ Superstar (in its entirety) when drunk, and even found stuff to like about the regrettable Aspects of Love. Not exactly something I advertise, but all too true. Judge me if you must. Whatever. Not what I came here to talk about.
* * * *

As most of you already know, due to some rather bullshit power politics and money mongering, Missy did not get accepted to pre-school at The International School of Bergen next fall. They'll tell you, "No, no. It's just because we're such a damn fine institution, and everybody wants to be us, see...record high number of applicants...record low number of students leaving. Blah, blah blah." It's all a lie. It's all about oil, and they thoroughly screwed me over just because my husband isn't one of their corporate whores.

I'm sorry. Do I sound bitter? Am I not explaining myself very clearly? Allow me to speak more plainly. The school's board of trustees recently decided that they want the student body to be comprised solely of rootless transients and gypsies children of temporarily relocated employees of large oil companies. The tuition for corporate sponsorship is more than twice that which we mere mortals in the private sector are expected to pay. So it makes sense in a greedy, world-gone-money-mad sort of way, that the school would seek out these higher fees to the exclusion of the actual citizens of the community in which the school is located.

The upshot of all of it is that, despite having been loyal to this school for the past 5 years, paid my tuition in full and on time every month; despite even, Boy being currently enrolled there for Kindergarten next year, Missy is persona non grata--wait-listed. And, in case you hadn't picked up on it, I'm pissed.

I know from my many, many conversations with the secretaries in the office that there are, in actuality, still a few places available. Rumor in the hallways has it that these places are most likely being held open for corporate sponsored students who may or may not drift in through the course of the year. Though, from what I can gather of various things the secretaries have told me, whether or not to grant one of these open spots to someone on the waiting list is up to the director's personal discretion. She may yet decide to do it, and I know that Missy is rather high up there on the waiting list--not first, apparently (though she bloody well ought to be), but close enough that she's got a shot if Madam Director is feeling generous.

To this end, in a last ditch, all too blatant, more than likely too little too-late effort to raise my seemingly sub-terranean profile at the school, I showed up at the monthly PTO meeting yesterday. Fucking hell--make that four amendments to JEDA 101! I am shameless in my desperation.

Spring fairs, family outings, collect this, organize that, bake two cakes, and don't forget to courtsey on your way out the door. I HATE COMMITEE WORK! And none of it--NONE OF IT--is going to help get Missy enrolled next year. But I have to do something.

I want to remind someone of the 7 years worth of National Geographics I donated to the library last year, but how do I bring it up?

I've considered offering to pay the entire year's tuition in one lump sum, but we can only afford to do that for Missy (or Boy, but not both), and I've been reliably cautioned that it would be unwise to remind them that this is all really about money.

So what?

I wait, is what. I'm making some calls on the possibility of getting her in somewhere else. But I'm dragging my feet. I don't want her anywhere else. I want her there--with Boy. I want what's right, and it pisses me off that I have to beg for it. But it may literally come to that.

Also--oil is evil! Seek alternative sources of energy NOW!

P.S. Jilly. Baby. No offense, eh? You know I love you even though you're one of them. Right?

Tuesday, April 10, 2007

.....the Mountain Lies Ahead.

Mister says I'm ready to mount this monster.

It's called Malmangernuten.

In May, as soon as the snow's off it, I'm going up.

12 years ago he told me he'd take me up there some day. I looked at him then, and laughed, "Dude, are you high? Is that some sort of threat? Is this Hell, and is that why it's so fucking cold here?"

I've changed a bit since then. I'm actually looking forward to it.

Friday, April 06, 2007

Personal Hygiene

"Mom, why do boys' voices change and girls get boobs?"

"Ah. Well EM, eh.......well let's see. It's to do with something called hormones. It's just one of the many ways boys and girls are different."

"And boys get hairy too, don't they?"

"Yes. Yes, they do."

"But girls get hairy too, don't they?"

"Well, yes. But boys generally get more hairy than girls."

"But girls get hair down there on their pee pees, right?"

"Ahem. Yes, EM. Both boys and girls get hair there."

"But I can cut it. Right?"

"Well, yes. I suppose you can. Some girls do, I guess."

"Oh good! Because I don't want it hanging down to my knees!"

Tuesday, April 03, 2007


I am pleased to announce the following revisions to the curriculum vitae JEDA 101:

7--I can't parallel park. This is no longer true, for I can, and have several times now, in fact, executed flawless such parking maneuvers outside The Boy's school. Yey me!

62--I'm pushing at a size 12 and it's killing me. Also, now, false. All the long, dark winter--through pissing rain, and grueling cold--I busted my ass out there on the pavement. I shaved 4 minutes off my 5K, I added an additional 2.5 kilometers to my overall endurance. I'm back into a comfortable--roomy, even--size 10 with genuine hope of seeing a size 8 once again in my lifetime. I know you already know how much I rock, but I need you to take a moment to really feel it with me.

78--Nothing makes me happier than watching a toddler try to dance. I never much liked this entry. It was hasty filler, sentimental fluff, grossly exaggerated nonsense that, frankly doesn't ring true. There are many, many things that make me happier than watching a toddler dance. Off the top of my head--putting that toddler to bed, for example, never fails to gladden my spirit in a way that the awkward bump and swagger of her diapered derrière simply can't. However, rather than try to pin down and label the one thing which makes me happier than all other things, I wish to amend #78 entirely so that it now reads: I actually kind of like my crappy Kia.