Saturday, July 26, 2008

Proof that your haircut sucks

As you all know, I am trying to grow my hair out in its natural color. Yes, I realize that you're sick of hearing about it. I'm going to tell you anyway. In order to grow it out without looking ghastly (say it with an British accent. Go ahead, it's fun...GAWstly) I had to cut it all off. Short. So I walk into the salon today, a salon called Heaven by the way. Which is really cool.

Sam: "Where are you going today dear?"

Me: "Oh, I have to stop by Heaven on the way home."

Sam: "uh HUH. Alrighty then"

So I walk into the salon, out of breath from climbing the stairway to heaven (har) which is TWENTY TWO steps!! and let the receptionist know I'm there. The shampoo boy comes to fetch me for my "cleansing experience" (this is a fancy salon) and then sits me in my stylists chair. While I'm waiting for her, the owner walks by to his station. Now keep in mind I've been coming to this salon for over five years. After about two minutes he looks over and says "well Shania, girlfriend, I did NOT recognize you! What happened to your long, luxurious hair??" He is in a snit of outrage at this point, one hand on jutted forward hip, the other pointing and waving furiously while his head is in danger of detaching from his neck from the force of the bobbing.

My stylist, aghast (aGAWst) at the thought that her boss might think she committed this atrocity, rallies to my defense, stating that the only way to grow out the color was to cut it off.

I smiled at Geoffrey and said, "it's a different look for me, no?" This was the response:

So, yeah. It's pretty bad.

Wednesday, July 23, 2008

Updates on Very Important Situations

Important to me, at any rate.

My legal woes have come to an end for now. (It's the 'for now' part that scares me) We dutifully went to court where I insisted that the charges against Sam be dropped, expessed my dismay that the wrong person could be arrested and charged when the evidence so clearly exonerated him, threatened to bring the entire justice system to a screeching standstill with my myriad of lawsuits, and generally made an ass out of myself. The charges were dismissed. The prosecutor, after seeing my stunning display of verbal prowess, declined to re-charge me, and let me pay restitution. So that's over. Like I said, for now. Because I am seriously contemplating a suit for recompense. I think Sam deserves compensation for missing work and having to spend a night in jail. I'm debating the pros and cons ie: more drama vs. a probable pittance in awards.

Silas' injuries have healed nicely. A small red line for a scar, and an aversion to trash cans are all he has to show for his tumble.

I have shown no further proclivity to burny hands and feets.

I would give you a growing out the grey update, but it's just too depressing. My hair looks awful. Just nasty. I'm getting it cut tomorrow, so there is still hope. Just not very much.

With that, I leave you until more things of import happen.

Sunday, July 20, 2008

A deconstruction of the implications of lifestyle choices on the future of the world

Like the title? I just wanted to be fancy. This is really a movie review (with spoilers!).

We took Silas to see Wall E over the week end. I don't understand what all the fuss is about. I found no hidden agenda, no overt discrimination of large people. Certainly nothing to drive anyone to tears. Actually, I found the people on the axiom to be a frighteningly realistic representation of our future if we don't take action. Unfortunately the morbid obesity, bone loss, and inability to focus on anything not on a computer screen sounds like me now, not in the future. I didn't find that the movie blamed the destruction of the earth on fat people, but that the result of having to leave the earth because we trashed it was that everyone got fat. I'm sure floating around in hover chairs (I'd buy one) and eating from a cup had a little to do with it. Another way to interpret the humans is that they have regressed to an infantile state, unable to walk or feed themselves and entirely dependent on the computers to care for them. I didn't find the movie offensive in any way, other than the cost of our tickets.

Let's forget all of the drama and focus on the kids. Silas was mesmerized from the first screen shot until the credits rolled. And the first 20 minutes of the movie only included two words. *use creepy ET voice here* Waaaaalllleeeeeeeee and Eeeeeeeevvaaaaaaaa. That's it. The complete dialogue for the first part of the movie. And it was great. A wonderful love story with a touch of environmental guilt for those willing to shoulder it. But no discrimination, in my opinion.

Saturday, July 19, 2008

For my peeps

I must admit poppets, I had a bit of posters remorse after THIS. I mean, I had never uttered those words aloud before. Molested, raped. Never. Not to anyone. And I told. Do you know how huge that is? I told. And guess what? The world? It did not end. The skies did not darken to purple and rain fire upon the land. Actually, the world marched on just like normal, except for a bit of post publish panic.
Except, and this is a big except, I feel free. Unburdened. And for that I thank YOU. For listening, for not judging, for supporting. You are awesome and awe inspiring and I will be forever grateful that I had you to tell my story to. Thank you.

Sunday, July 13, 2008

I wonder

I found this image on Post Secrets this morning. And I wondered. How would I be different? What other choices would I have made and how would they have affected my life?
What if as a child I had felt safe in my own home. if I could have fallen asleep at night not terrified that I'd be woken up in the dark by roaming hands. if everything I did, said, thought didn't revolve around no one knowing. and fearing that everyone knew, and worse, yet, didn't care. What if the one person who was supposed to protect me actually did. Instead of turning away and pretending not to see, not to know when it would be impossible impossible not to. How different would I be?
Would my self worth have been a little higher? Would I still have thought that the only thing I was good for was sex? That I didn't deserve to be treated nice, that the people who actually tried to treat me nicely were shat on. Would I have been such an easy target for the 29 year old married friend of the family who lured me out and raped me at 14? And said that I had it coming because I "exuded sexuality". When the only thing you've been taught from your earliest memory is that your purpose is sex, I guess "exuding" it can't be helped. Would anyone have believed me if I had told or would I have been blamed because I was easy? Would his wife have still accused me of seducing her husband?
Would my search for love have involved so many men? Strange men ever eager to validate my self worth by having sex with me. Surely they must at least like me if they fuck me, right?
When finally finding the one man who does actually love me, and value me, and is good to me, would I continue to push him away because I don't deserve him and the love and the hope and the future he has given me? I don't think I'll ever know. But I will always wonder.

Wednesday, July 9, 2008

The Sound of Silence

Listen....Do you hear it? Me neither! It's quiet and I rejoice. Silas is gone to his grandparents for the day. SweetieDarling is out doing things I'd probably rather not know about. Sam is working. Moi? I am lounging. Relaxing, resting and recuperating. Which I intend to continue ad infinitum. Or until someone gets home.

I believe the cycle just may have broken. I've had one entire drama free day. The fates tried their best but I persevered. I may not be standing, but that's by choice. And now I shall shut up and not boast lest I tempt them to try again.

That sound you hear now? That's the sound of the biggest time suck ever invented eagerly inhaling all of my day. I have discovered (dun dun dun DUH) ...the statcounter. How cool is this thing? Did you know people come and read your blog and don't comment? Me neither! Whoda thunk? And that you can find out where these people are from? I haven't figured out how to see who they are yet, but I know where they're coming from. Much coolness.

AND, someone came to me from a weird search term! It was "22 year old hairy Christine". I wrote a post on my gray hair and Watch Me Christine commented on it, but I don't think that's what the hairy Christine searcher had in mind because they only stayed 5 seconds. Ooh, that reminds me. I need to do a "growing out the gray update". You've been dying to ask, but have just been too polite, it that it? Didn't want to be pushy? You are too sweet. Well, don't worry. Pictures tomorrow. (awkward return to original subject follows)

My bloggy mother , who took me under her wing as a newly hatched bloglet, taught me that it's good manners to respond to your commenters. So I'm hoping to use this miracle of technology to find email addresses for those who comment and don't have one listed on their blog. Of course, if commenters don't have an email listed on their blog, could that be a hint that perhaps they don't want an email? Hmmm, perhaps some advice is in order for this. What do you prefer, not as a blogger, but as a commenter? An email response? A response in the comments? To be left alone to comment in peace? Please let me know. Meanwhile I'll be hunting down the Romanian who stayed two and a half hours and still didn't have anything to say.

Round Four (in which I get my mother of the year award)

Thanks to everyone for your good wishes. Can I call ya'll for bail if I need it? Seriously.

Round four in the "let's see just how much more she can take" beatdown occurred last night. Silas had just finished his bath and was about to brush his teeth (teefs). We have a stainless steel pop-top trashcan in the bathroom that he likes to stand on because it puts him at the perfect height for teef brushing. Yes, we do have a step stool. He likes the trashcan, shut up. As he leans over to get his toof paste, the can goes out from under him. In a matter of what seemed like ten minutes two seconds he slams his chin on the granite sink top, goes ass over teakettle onto the floor and cracks the back of his head on the toilet. Much screaming (his, not mine) ensues. Much blood ensues also.

His little system was in such a shock from the pain, he was bucking around like he was being electrocuted. My first thought was "oh god, he's seizing". Once I got him settled down to check for damage, it wasn't so bad. Bump on the back of the head, gash on the chin, cuts to the inside of the mouth.

If this had happened only a half hour earlier, we could've gone to Urgent Care. As it was past 8pm, we had to utilize our esteemed ER. How dare my child inconvenience me by injuring himself at a late hour? We spent four hours waiting to get a 1 inch gash looked at. And then, thankfully, he didn't need stitches. Because it was a straight cut, it could be glued shut. (I asked about the possibility of glueing his mouth shut too (my child? he's a talker) but no go). So Durabond is my new favorite thing. I was so grateful he didn't have to be sewn. SweetieDarling had to have stitches in her chin at his age and it was awful. They strapped her down and everything.

Silas was a real trooper through all of this, charming everyone in the ER with his nonstop chatter. I'm sure all of the sick people waiting to be seen were quite entertained. Me? Not so much. With my burned looking hands and feet, inability to walk properly because of said feet hurting on the bottoms and general grumpiness because I had just injured my child by letting him stand on a trashcan, everyone kept their distance. I didn't mind.

Here's the tally so far. Husband, jail. Kid, hospital. Me, sickbed. When's that mothering award coming?

Sunday, July 6, 2008

Gloom! Despair! and Agony! on me

Oh poppets, where to begin? It's been one thing after another. I'm usually one to roll with the punches, but I believe I may be down for the count. I have been thrown for a loop, or is it through a loop? I've been looped either way. I don't consider myself to be better than anyone else, or above anyone else. At least I don't think I do. But if I don't consider myself better than anyone, why do I feel the need to caveat the following story by telling you that we are upper middle class, hard working, law abiding, contributing members of society? That none of us has ever spent time in jail or has ever been charged with a crime? Because I do feel the need to point that out.

And I need to point that out because last week the state police rolled up in my driveway and took my husband to jail. Because of me. And I am so ashamed. And horrified, mortified, embarrassed, and any other adjective of that ilk that you can conjure. The look on his face when they cuffed him, cuffed husband who has never raised his hand in anger to anyone, in handcuffs. I have never felt so helpless in my life. All those years of law school, trial law, striding confidently into the courtroom, fearing nothing. All for zip when it's someone you love getting pushed down into the backseat of a police car.

Two years ago I wrote a check as a deposit on a new insurance policy for our company. Let me emphasize that I printed, I signed, and I delivered this check. I also signed for the policy. I also own 100% of the company that owns the checking account that the check was drawn off of. I am the one who didn't verify that all checks had cleared before I changed banks. When the insurance company called me, I didn't follow up. When they turned it over to the police, I spoke with the officer handling the case. I asked him how to pay it without having to come in to the station. He said he would find out and get back to me. I didn't follow up. The result of my failure to follow up is my husband facing a felony charge of uttering. The result of my failure to follow up is my husband spending a night and half of a day in jail, jail, waiting to be arraigned for something he knows absolutely nothing about. He doesn't know what to plead, he doesn't know what he's being charged with. He knows absolutely nothing about a check for insurance because HE DIDN'T WRITE IT!

I begged those officers to double check the warrant. I explained that they had the wrong person. I pleaded with them to take me. I showed them my copy of the check with MY signature. I used all of my wiles and charms (there was cleavage involved) to no avail. They had their warrant and that was that. One thing I'm very grateful for is that Silas was not at home. That would have wrecked me. As it was, I spent the night in abject terror. How angry will he be? Will he leave me? Will he make me leave? Should I just pack now? Not very rational thoughts, but in the middle of the night, when your husband is in jail for something you did, reason tends to be scarce. And I do know that if the tables were turned, I would be one pissed off puppy. I would probably be petty enough to use it to my advantage, i.e.: What do you mean "What's for dinner??" I went to jail for you!

I got him bonded out at around 11am. I was waiting in the truck when he came out and I was so ashamed I couldn't look him in the eye. He got in and I braced myself for the well deserved smackdown I was sure was coming. He cracked a grin, gave me a wink, and said he wanted some breakfast. I was gobsmacked! You're not mad? I said. "No, they told me how hard you tried to get them to take you. I know it wasn't on purpose." Sigh. Now I feel worse. It would've been easier if he'd been livid. Round one is over.

Round two begins almost immediately. He bonded out on Friday morning. The paperwork said he'd have a preliminary hearing within twenty days. Monday evening the bondsman calls and says he missed his court date that morning. The magistrate put a capias out when he didn't show up. A capias is a warrant that sends you straight to jail with no bond to wait for your hearing, which can take up to, wait for it...twenty days! The bondsman was amazed that they got a hearing scheduled that quickly. I'm wondering about a little technicality called notice, otherwise known as letting someone know they have a court date. So off to the courthouse we go. Thankfully, the magistrate realized the error, rescinded the capias, and we went on our merry way. Poor Sam was so hyped up, the adrenaline had him shaking for an hour after we left. I didn't get quite so upset, but I wasn't the one looking at going back to jail either. There's a sentence I never thought I'd be typing! Round two and I'm still standing.

Round three has me on the mat, literally. When we left the courthouse, I noticed that my feet were burning, kind of an itchy burning. That afternoon while at the bank doing a wire transfer, my left palm was itching so bad I thought I'd dig right through it. Unfortunately the old "itchy palm means someones giving you some money" saying is a lie. By Tuesday night, my hands were so swollen and red that I couldn't close them. My feet looked like I dipped them in fire. These alarming symptoms were quickly moving up my legs and arms. The itching!! There are no words. I went to urgent care, where they asked me what chemical caused the burns! When I explained that I hadn't been in any chemicals and gave the sequence of symptoms, she determined it was an allergic reaction. To what, who knows? Maybe if I posted more than once a blue moon, I'd have a better recollection of my travels. My course of treatment was to be a shot of adrenaline to "break the reaction". Alrighty then, if you say so.
She proceeded to inject a liquid taken from the fiery depths of hell into my arm. Twenty minutes later, with my heart racing, my blood pressure up, and dizzy, she decides that it's helped a bit, but not enough. More adrenaline, stat! The other arm gets the liquid lava. Then the fun starts. Heart rate is irregular, blood pressure spikes, an ambulance is summoned. Apparently, I'm allergic to adrenaline! After much deliberation, it was decided that my allergic reaction was caused by my body being in such a state of "fight or flight" for the past five days. The adrenaline used to break the reaction exacerbated it. So I am, for now, down for the count. Don't count me out yet though.

And ten points for whoever can place the song reference in the title.