clarifiedchaos

Professional Ladders

2009-01-16T08:32:00.001-08:00

. so Ha Ha Ha Mr. Bobby Mestepey. Na Na Boo Boo! the only thing that gets me through is knowing my husband has been wrong about me for the last 12 years, 7 months, and 9 days. So Ha I say as I wallow in self pity eating bonbons, and playing bejeweled.

Bobby has always said its HIS fault, if he was higher up on the professional ladder, I would be more relaxed about life and would magically turn into little miss sunshine. DO I LOOK HAPPIER? I don't think so.

So after a tough go and much hard work, my husband has earned a pass to move 3 steps up the professional ladder. And do to some technical difficulties, I have completely fallen off the ladder. Thankfully my ladder was like a step stool so the only permanent damage is my pride.

I was trying to end this blog on a happy note but that would imply I'm happy. Sure my wonderful, brilliant, husband will probably try to shower me with gifts this year like a new-used van, a pop up camper, and two trips to see 2 of my bestest friends so they can slap me out of my funk… and a kiosk at the mall… but would that really make me feel better? Probably not but its certainly worth s try 

The weird thing about me is I can only be in a depressed-state-of-funk for so long before I get bored and create a new project for myself. Although ya know if I got more junk food and get hooked on a tv series on demand, I bet I have another week of good wallowing in me. So I'm sitting on the fence. Wallow or start pounding the pavement again… I need a junk-food-delivery-service.

But we pinky shook. Bobby & me. If I don't give up my $10 a month dimphotos gig, he won't give up his 5 zillion dollars career. That's sounds fair. So here's my plan, I'll send more flyers and emails out and work on my book. Right after I finished my game of bejeweled… and eat… and watch something…

And for the record, I'm really not a bitch, our van is on his last tire, we've been wanting a popup camper for three years. We've planned a Colorado trip since last summer. Ok, I may have slightly exaggerated my importance in seattle at D's house warming party but…(who knew Bobby would believe David needed me to come and cook… But whatever gets us there..) ok the kiosk demand borders on bitchyness but it's better than demanding jewelry I guess. (I got it in my head that if dimphotos just had a kiosk in the mall, I could be huge! But the funny part is its unbelievably expensive, Bobby and I had a price we would consider, it was like tripled our "magical doable range)

But anyway the one and only important message is to tell Bobby that he rocks! And I knew he'd survived his first two weeks. And I'm sorry I got it in my brain that I need to be a productive member of society… I need to stop it and realize I married rich and just like go shopping. And if you believe that, a hot, home cook meal made by me will be waiting when you get home tonight. (yep, outback take-out please.)

It ain't easy being crip

2008-10-03T09:04:00.001-07:00

Its always amusing to initiate new members into the crip club. I say initiate but I guess its more a revelation on their part. Getting pass my odd looking outside, pass the sweetness most people think I am and getting to the core of my true quarky-but-bitchy-self. This moment came at the zoo. Sunday. The 2 newest members mumbled “don't you HATE people like that? Why do people stare at you? You should run there asses over.”

This is how dumb I am. I had to run down the list in my head of what they were referring to. Was I having a bad boob day? did they hate my smile? Were they pointing at my boy, thinking he belong with the monkeys? Or did they know my deepest darkest secret, I’m gonna fail to meet my 38-year-old-goals which will eventually lead to my insanity. (If you recently got a promotion, sold/lease a house, where a robe to work, own a bowling alley, or are going to school to double your current income, no lectures please unless its includes a face to face drinking session. But damn, I keep good company!)

Handicap? What? They are staring at my handicap? Oh shit, I thought it was something important, like my poor career choices or questioning my hotness. Who cares about the crip thing. I can't decide if its sad or hysterical that I was stared at like a animal at the zoo. Oh the Irony of it all. I wanting to yell: I AM NOT A ANIMAL. (one person is laughing their ass off and you are so going to hell. hehehe) Wouldn’t it be funny if I could take pictures of people staring and publish a book called like staring at the face of weirdness or something.

So this has got me thinking about the crip thing. Stupid things bug me lately. I thought I decided to have my birthday party at sugarland pizza something. It’s like a chuck-e-cheese without the scary oversized animals. The food’s not great but here is why I thought I had to. All of the birthday games are rigged. Hello! The birthday person wins everything, like limbo and that freeze statue game. And since most of my friends are competitive brainy gaming types their heads would explode when I won the limbo contest just because that’s physically impossible. Sweet! But at last another dream is shattered because of two cripisms. The money slots on the video games are super low so I almost toppled over twice. And the gateway to the go-cart line has 27 steps. Yes I counted.

Another thing that is depressing is my husband got a ps3 and for like 3 months I’ve been looking for a crip-friendly controller. So I finally find one and I realized that it only has one joy stick, which means in most games I can only move from side to side and if I have to go forward or backwards, I’m screwed. Its crazy, I say, I’m even handicapped in cyber space. But in full disclosure there’s one game I can kinda play and it is the most idiotic game on the face of the planet but I’m totally obsessed with it. I forbid Bobby to show me how to pull it up on the ps3 because I know myself, if I could play when no ones home… Although, I’m trying to get it on my computer but thank goodness its not available or I’d be playing pain instead of writing this. But seriously, if anyone knows of a overgrown ps3 controller please let me know,

The other thing I found amusement with is I’d rather cut out my tongue with a dull knife than go to physical therapy, but for some stupid reason, getting a personal trainer is hip and fabulous. And I wanna be hip and fabulous so I got one. I’m gonna ease into it, but I have my first “training” next Thursday. And we are starting our walking/biking Wednesday.

The coolest thing is: next time someone stares at me at the zoo, they’ll be staring at my fabulous arms… (yea… ok, but I’m happily delusional)

Careers moves

2008-08-26T12:36:00.001-07:00

Here’s the problem. I don’t think things through. I understand things that are happening, I just don't always comprehend the repercussions. For example, before Bobby started Ultrasound school we went to dinner with our friends. We ate at Chuys. I even remember what we all ordered. We had this really cute conversation about how cool it would be to perform ultrasound on the opposite sex and to get paid for it. And I admit I freely participated in the conversation. But I guess I thought it was hypothetical. Like our “5 people list”. Like if Bobby’s ever stuck in a elevator with Jennifer Love Hewitt. Or I’m stranded on a desert island with Benjamin bratt…

So Bobby starts school and every week he tells me about the scans on the throat he does and 50 other things he does that I don't understand but his face is happy so I assume it is good. so last week he comes home all excited because he did his 1st scan on the heart on another cute well endowed student.

I took rocks for jocks in college as my science. So it was cool to learn you can do a scan of the heart through the throat. Yup. Yup. I need to believe this because if you actually had to do a scan above the heart that means Bobby would actually have to touch non-throat areas and I’ll have to break his hands. Bummer.

I’m Kidding. I'll just make it about me, like I always do. He has to “intern” for my brother for a while so surely my brother only has elderly male patients. Surely. And if that doesn’t work, I can be bought off. An hour with phil and his warm rocks every week. Phil gives massages! Geez… And I’ll pretend when the boys are on the porch smoking stokies, they are evilly grinning about wonderful surprises they plan to bestow on us. and not listening to Bobby's "ultrasound" story of the week. Whatever gets me through the night right.

The other problem I didn’t see coming is on a more serious note. After years of sucking at many business ideas, (although in my favor I think my seminars can be huge but I don't know how to market it.) I think my dimphotos shows the most potential. Yesterday I got my first “contract” of steady work. and it kinda pushes my little toe to the door of potential opportunities. If I get several contracts maybe I could even hire someone part time to do a little delivery, some errands… ya know.

I can't even say what it is because its too… Bobby and juliebeth have talked me into it. (when I call you in tears…) It’s making slideshows of love ones who have recently passed on. Am I the only one who thinks this is wrong to make money at this? Hello? From a purely ethical standpoint it seems wrong. To profit from death. Not to mention sad and a little creepy. But I had to laugh because this could only happen to me because the lady who contacted us was surprised that my price was like ¼ of what she was paying. And I thought we overpriced it. We’ll see.

I can’t end on such a depressing note so I’ll end on a morbid one. I’ve decided that David can do my slides when the time comes, with Michael Bolton music. (trust me, its funny. Isn’t it nice to know I plan to annoy you from the great beyond?) But here’s the problem. You’ll have to use pictures from like the 90s and your wedding. I looked good at your wedding… I discovered I have a new compulsive in which I choose nothing to do about. last week I needed a ugly picture of myself (that’s another story but…) and I realize, I had none! Because I sorta… deleted all the bad pictures of me. Ain’t that cool? Bobby takes pictures of like weekend trips, downloads them & kinda forgets them and I go in and “edit” them. Its amazing Bobby & Nicholas are never deleted. Weird huh?

Bobby is never downloading pictures on my computer again. teeheehee.

Career Moves, Bob up, Claire down

2008-08-25T08:05:00.000-07:00

Bobby is never downloading pictures on my computer again. teeheehee.

the good, the bad, and the idiots

2008-08-13T10:33:00.001-07:00

So last weekend I was invited to see the new movie Tropic Thunder the next time we had babysitters for the kids. I wasn’t completely sold on the movie because the invite came like 5 seconds after seeing an intense, dark, good, dare I say great movie. But I’m game for anything with our new click so I’m like hell yeah.

Imagine my astonishment the next day when I read that some disability groups are protesting Tropic Thunder. Sadly it only fueled my need to see it. Because if it causes the disability community to be up in arms, it must be offensive and it’s gonna make me laugh my ass off. Their complaint is Ben Stiller character is referred to as retarded, I think that was the gist of it.

No its not nice. And I admit I am very hypercritical about that stuff. Don't call my husband a ass, don't call my girls hoes, and don't call my homosexual best friend a fag, but I do, on a daily basis.

But come on. It’s a movie. Equal opportunity offender. If you’re sensitive, unlike myself, don't go to the movie. Because, news flash, the people who see it probably already have an opinion of the word. I prefer not to use it. And seeing the movie won’t suddenly make me want to use it. Although I still do say “oh my god” from the 80s movie Valley Girls so…

There are such bigger fishes to fry. Like the “ugly” Chinese girl. did ya’ll hear about this? Now that just chaps my hide. In short ugly girl was replaced with cute girl to lip-sync to hidden ugly girl voice at the Olympics opening ceremonies. This is offensive to ugly girls everywhere, including myself. The worse part is I wanted to see what she looked like. If she was deformed or crippled or had hideous acne or wore glasses or had bad teeth or drooled uncontrollable. (3 people are laughing. Stop. Asses. Teeheehee) but she was absolutely gorgeous!

Bigger fishes to fry, like idiots who park in disability parking. Ok this is usually Bobby’s pet peeve. I have so many other things to grip about. But this one guy left me speechless. We were trying to park at the mall. There was 2 crip spots and a none-crip was just parked, hanging out in one. That was the one I needed with the strips on my side so I could transfer to my chair easier. Bobby asked him to move, and at first he hesitated, pointing at the next slot, but then yelled “calm down man”. And backs out, making room for us to pull in.

So Bobby is cursing under his breath but I’m just relieved because I think it's over. Nope. There’s more. The guy has the nerve to repark next to us. In the other handicap spot. Bobby is absolutely livid. Like those cartoons with the smoke coming out of his cute ears. It was actually good to know other people cause him to do this, not just me. But I could tell he really really wanted to confront the guy. I’m trying to calm him down. Because A) Nicholas was with us. and B) I hated the smell of fresh blood before shopping. So he and Nicholas finally go unload my wheelchair in the back. And I realize I’m mad, and like I said, I don't usually care. But this guy seemed to be just wanting to be a pain. So as I get out of the van I try to make eye contact with this guy while looking just as pathetic as I can, legs extra twisted, left arm higher in air. He never looked at me. Bastard… the bad kind. (as opposed to the good bastards I play board games with.)

So what have we learn today? Calling a real girl ugly, bad. Parking in disability spaces when you don't need to, bad. Seeing a movie that might make us laugh, not so bad. Go see it and say your favorite crip sent you.

Best damn vacation ever!

2008-07-14T14:43:00.001-07:00

First as a overall acknowledgement, my Vegas Vacation was awesome. I spent time with my boys and one of my bestest friends. So that in itself is wonderful. But you know me, I need stuff to bitch about because it’s just my nature.

Before we left I was trying to sell two big highlights to Nicholas. One, there’s an awesome pirate show that you’ll love. With swords, explosions, and sinking ships. Every boy’s fantasy right? Secondly the grand canyon will just take your breath away. Not so much.

Bobby and I saw the pirate show 5 years ago and I was just heart broken that Nicholas wasn’t with us. This time I was heart broken that nicholas was witness to it. For 20 minutes my son glared at me. The show kinda changed y’all. now there was a girl ship and a boy ship. Half naked girl kipnaps half naked boy, ties him up… slowly… he didn’t seem to be putting up much of a fight. I’m just saying… Then the battling ships proceeds to a dance off instead of a sword fight. Than there was an explosion or two which Nicholas sorta enjoyed but I think he was too far in denial zone to appreciate the destruction. And that was that.

I don't consider myself to be a prude. Ok Bobby might but I’m not. I flirted with a Klingon. Hey it wasn’t like he got paid to fraternize with customers. Oh. Oh! Damnit, guess I shouldn’t have bought those 50 jugs of klingon wine. (two people are laughing their asses off the rest, nevermind…) I took a picture with a cipendale dancer, kinda (next yall will tell me he WAS WORKING TOO. Whatever!) so there. I’m not a prude. But this pirate show was questionable at best. Bad dancing. Bad acting. And way too much skin. Nicholas was offended. Bobby was baffled. And I couldn’t believe I’ve just seen a pg-strip show, and a bad one at that.

But I still knew grand canyon would be awesome for Nicholas. One or two things would happen. He would have a amazing revelation at how beautiful god creation is. Or, even more astonishing, that I love him so much that I dragged my ass out of the casino to take him. Now that’s truly a miracle! So we cross the dam, cross the desert, 5 hour drive. I refuse to pee because we were in my friends van and putting the wheelchair in was a pain so I just decided not to pee. We drive. Clouds forming. Raindrops appear, which didn’t help my peeing protest. But I was a woman on a mission. Once we get there and i raced to the restrooms, We had a lovely picnic and as we begun our hike the skies clear, and for a moment, perfection. It truly is beautiful. And then this lovely little boy I gave life to, looked into my eyes and said “Mommy.” I love it when he says mommy. “mommy, where’s the arcade?” clouds reappeared and I chased his ungrateful ass all the way back to the van in the pouring rain. Little brat!

Of course these 2 events were minor in overall the best dam family vacation ever! Nicholas had so much fun with his buddy Samuel. i just enjoyed hanging with my peeps, and hitting it big on the penny machines. And I’m wearing Bobby down. 1st vegas trip he was like gambling is evil. 2nd, he watched me, this time he actually sneaked away to gamble, and wants to go back next year. Yes! Finally I’ve corrupted him. I take great pride in that. My work has just begun. Did he know there was a casino exactly 149 miles from our house? I’m just saying… all of the pennies, none of the airfare!

But if you know me. I’m a simple minded gal and as long as I’m with my girlfriends, I giggle at anything. The best dam thing that amused me was Julie & I started playing the dam game as we crossed the Hoover dam. It’s the game where you can shout dam as long as it’s a legal phrase because dam is not a bad word. At first Bobby thought it was cute… but on the 35th dam, he started giving me dirty looks. Dam him.

The only bad thing about a vacation so wonderful is the bit of depression afterwards. I’m lucky because I have a bunch of best friends who I truly love, regretfully most of them aren’t in Houston. And sometimes when I don't see them for a while I worry we won't click. You & me still click jb. And I’m truly sadden when we are separated again. so there’s just one thing to do, plan our next excellent adventure of course! (actually Bobby says we should do all vacations with yall because Nicholas has sam, I have you & he gets peace with Dewey. and we all love little miss jess. I’m sure Bob's eagerness to vacation with friends is a backhanded compliment about my neediness but what every gets me to you…

Talking Font and Magical Signs...

2008-06-17T13:18:00.001-07:00

If Bobby really loved me he would sit me down and tell me to stop. Just stop. But my newest obsessions leave little time to nag him so he seems to encourage it.

A few weeks ago a my new bff (I just wanted to say that…) my new bff suggested I put all my blogs in a book. I thought this was a cool idea. I’m hooked on trying to design different kinds of books. It’s sorta fun and it’s a new service my business is offering so my rationality is the more experience, the better the books will look.

So I finish the inside layout and at first I decide just to slap on a simple cover. No problem. Title, author, wam bam Thank you mam. Then I thought about it and I think it needs a little funk. No one will ever probably see this book, but it needs funk. I can do funk.

Do you know the minute hand on a clock make 60 clicks per round. Just an observation I counted as I waited for my funk to kick in. then inspiration struck. Either that or it was the first idea that popped into my brain. And it sounded simple but than again everything in my head sounds simple. It’s the follow through that always bites me in the ass…

Just make the cover full of words describing me and or my blog. Cool. I can do that. Then my best friend from Seattle seemed to take possession my body. Didn’t even buy me dinner first! I say that because he’s very good at layout and design. So I hear him in my head, you need a pattern, you need color, there must be a pattern for your randomness… That just pisses me off, if he can possess my brain, at least can't I have his manual dexterity too?

So my husband walks by and I prayed he would say something like “don't you have something better to do on a Saturday afternoon?” but he has to be supportive and shit and said “That’s cool, but you forgot the word, squeal.” which is a very important word in the crip circle. And because I had all the words almost laid out, everything had to be moved 1 cm over. And because David was still in my head, like a obsessive compulsive fool I did it. Bobby asked to see it again after i painfully moved all the words over, I threw him out of my office. (he would of added a word just to watch my head explode!)I smiled with satisfaction about an hour later as I proclaimed it done. I promised myself to publish my cover after our evening activities.

I must have had to much to drink that night because when I returned, my final draft now seem to look like a rough copy, each word screaming they wanted individual fonts sizes and maybe different angles slants. I quickly closed photoshop as if it was Pandora’s box and have avoided looking at it since. I’m on my 97th game of tetris, cool huh?

The other bad thing I did, I sorta embezzled family fun money to buy pretty magical signs and ended up on a corner begging friends to buy my movie tickets babbling that I’ll pay them back with my magical sign money. Ok, that’s not what happened exactly, just my creative perception.

My company dimphotos is doing quite well because of Bobby. he brings me home work. so I got to thinking, if he can get me work, I’ll advertise a little and wow him with my brilliance.

So I decide to order this signs, you know the signs in the median you really don't wanna read but you do anyways. That’s me. Pretty gosh darn high tech huh? And just to annoy Bobby, I started calling them my magical signs. For when we stick them, customers will come.

Two weeks… I got one inquiry, no work. fantastic! I do have 5 left, I’m debating whether we should put them up or make a pitcher of margaritas, get a few darts and just get out my anger…

Magical sign and talking fonts, yet Bobby still let me out on weekends. The other annoying thing is, I can’t let things go. I must close now and attempt to finish the book cover. The bad news is all of the members of the crip club is getting this book for Christmas. Not because the content is that good, I just need to justify my madness. But it might make a funky doorstop. No, wait… We can make it like a fruitcake, and just pass it around. Now that’s funny!

Pet Peeves

2008-06-04T08:38:00.001-07:00

I thought I’d share my newly developing pet peeves which could drive me to madness but oh no, too late!

The first one is called fishes fishes everywhere but none for me. So we go fishing Saturday night and everyone on the pier is catching fishes but me. This may be a slight exaggeration but it was really a good night and I know for a fact that the two families on both sides of us were catching them two by two. It was really crazy.

And I make Bobby buy a form ice chest because I had no doubt I’d be bringing my mommy fish that night. Two freaking hours I caught 2 tiny ones. (Bobby was kind, he didn’t point out one was “illegal” because I hooked his gill.)

What made this horribly unbearable was we were with kids. And I was trying to teach Nicholas how it was a great night and we were with our friends, enjoying their company, so who gives a @#$!#%^& about catching fish.

The good news is at this point in my life, I can rationalize anything. I know, it’s a gift! If I sucked, Bobby sucked more because he only caught 4 and the lady besides him caught like 20… Why oh Why?

My next annoyance happened at Dave & Busters. It’s like a ritzy arcade. The only game I could become addicted to is on a platform with a high bar stool in front of it. Bobby helped me upon the great throne once but it took me like 7 minutes to find my balance and the game only last like 2 minutes. Fantastic. I’m not embarrassed at all. I need one in a dark corner, at the normal height, I’d be so happy. Just drop me there and pick me up on your way out.

My last trauma caught me off guard and I wasn’t expecting it. I am so excited because we are going on our first vacation we’ve been on in years. Before I get hate mail. Seattle was too short and I love love camping but occasionally a crip needs indoor plumbing & room service.

ANYWAYS I’m planning this fabulous trip with my college roommate and we are deciding what days we would do what. And she said something that registered about a hour later (I’m slow…) and I shrieked in pure horror. Pool? Kids? Lay out we can? But that would entail… oh shit! I’ve haven’t worn a swim suit for public people watching in years. And might I say the world has thanked me for that contribution to keeping the world beautiful.

I need a way to let go of my minor obsessions. Let’s see, we can plan another fishing trip so I can redeem myself. I really don't need to get hooked on a silly arcade game. Besides, the more tickets I win the better chance Nicholas will want to get another air horn thingy. By the way Tim, since you were so generous and helped get Nicholas the horn, I must buy lexy a equally… how should I say? Equally “entertaining” toy.

I even got the pool thing figured out. Think, long flowing sundresses. Cute. Functional. Perfect.

And once again, my world is happy.

What color is your cheese?

2008-05-12T12:51:00.001-07:00

So we are having lunch at Hooters. Why we were having lunch at Hooters is not really important to this fable except just know it’s not our usual “cup of TEE.” (yes, I stayed up late thinking of that one.) But to Bobby’s dismay, it is now.
We are seated at our table by our hostess and I get lull into a false sense of security because a nice looking waiter takes our drink orders so I think, cool, no boobs waitress. Hot waiter guy even cooler. Of course he takes our orders, disappears, never to be seen again and a very hot waitress shows up.
I need to add a sidebar here. I do not hate hot chicks. From a very young age I decided that if I couldn’t be a hot chick, I should surround myself with them and just try to blend in and maybe their radiance would reflect my non-radiance. Sure this is shallow but it’s working for me so far.
So I do enjoy hot chicks. And my hot chicks are brilliant. That being said, I entered Hooters with an open mind that many of the girls are probably just using their outer beauty to fuel their thirst for higher education… Plus it was the closest restaurant to our hotel and I was starving.
She takes my order as I point at the roast beef sandwich on the menu. Visual aid is a plus in my world. The next thing that happened changed my life forever. Bobby wishes he had my face on a large screen tv because my look was that intense. As god as my witness, she looked directly at me, smiling from boob to boob and asked.. “white or yellow cheese?” then looks at Bobby and asks “would she like American or provolone Cheese?” in 12 years of marriage, my husband has never been speechless. He was.
He swallowed hard and finally answered in a weak, broken voice, “provolone.” She leaves and we both die with laughter. It had to be the best line I’ve gotten since the guy who bitched that my seminar sucked because of my speech
I’m sure she meant well and I’m the first to say I don't look smart. Well I don't. It's just a fact. But still, come on, “white or yellow?” What a bizarre question to ask anyone over 11.
I guess I should have been offended but I found it one of the funniest questions I ever heard. So I think we should go to hooters more, just for the sheer entertainment value. White or yellow? What a fraking hoot.
I have to write a short side message to my hot chicks or Bobby will whine, “you only tell them when I do dumb things, you never tell them when I’m sweet." Blah blah blah. Bobby surprised me and took me on a belated anniversary trip to Galveston. One big collected “aw” please…
I should let it go and just focus on my sweet husband but, that's just not how i'm wired. So, no, i'm not over it… white or yellow… I should color code my frig… and my sick thoughts keeps going on and on. Friends are coming for dinner Saturday. I think I’ll ask Bobby to make brown soup for us this weekend? With white fluffy stuff? And if Christopher comes, he’ll want that yellow stuff. (what sad is my friends probably know what my colors are referencing. Scary huh?

Reality Check

2008-01-17T11:44:00.001-08:00

I have decided that I hate being poor and I’ll stop being artsy fartsy when I turn 40 and get a real job.

My husband’s forehead is throbbing because he thinks I just offended his manliness. And I guess I did if in fact the world revolved around him and if I was locked in a dark basement for the last 30 years. We’ve had this argument for years and he just needs to acknowledge that I’m right, he’s wrong.

First I need to clarify. “we” aren’t poor. Bobby makes a good living that keeps us clothed and very well fed. His distorted perception is that if he made more “I” wouldn’t feel poor. And his argument is so flawed it could be used as a colander.

Ok here is the correct reality. (fact 1) My siblings are independently wealthy from there spouses. Like really successful. (fact 2) I was raised with them. Given the same and/or opportunities as them.. Therefore I should be as independently wealthy as them. Its not like Lynn is prettier and more charming or mike is more brainier… (lets disregard that last thought and move on…) But based on these facts, I win. Bobby loses. And life is good.

So with this revelation, I have given myself a deadline. If I cannot eat at the Tokyo Gardens once a month on my own merits by the time I’m 40, I’m a loser and I’ll go back to school and be something grown up. Like a lawyer or an accountant or something… Just as a side note, I’m still dreaming about that meal… ya know, Valentines day is coming up boys. (oh hell yeah, I still believe charity begins with your favorite crip…)

What’s sad about this situation is I should get off my ass and just get a grip on reality. Start now. registrar for 1st summer session and begin my new path of grown-up-yuppiness. But here is my theory. If 40 is the new 30, then 30 has to be the new 20, therefore, mentally I’m 27 and I’ve got 3 years to screw around.

Claire’s rational thoughts. Few understand it, almost never when they are sober. But to prove that I'm actually giving thought to my future I made a list of occupations I could do.

Lawyer- pro, you get cute clothes. My favorite lawyer looks so hot. Con, you have to be like smart and shit.

Doctor- pro, they are filthy rich. Con. I don't do sick people. First cough heard around my house, they’re off to my mom… pisses Bobby off but hey.

Computer geek- nevermind, I have too many surrounding me.

Architect – Pro, i think I have great vision, Con, I have the equivalent drawing skills of a 3 year old…ok 2 year old, thanks for that reality check.

Teacher – at least the kids will be too busy bullying me to bully other kids,

Jezz, I’m screwed. maybe sponging off of Bobby isn’t all that terrible. Besides I have three years to try to think of something I wouldn’t totally suck at. It can't be that hard right?

Until then, I’m off and running on my newest bright idea. I think this is my 8th business plan. The scary part is this one seems to actually be paying off. Go figure. And since in my heart, I like to see myself as the creative artist/writer type, (at least for 3 more years) I can sorta put an artist spin on this, even if its via computer. And that’s kinda cool. in a non-mature-way of course.

Three or four more gigs and maybe I'll even treat my little posse to like olive garden… (I gotto work my way up to Tokyo.)

Stuck Stubbornly in the Sandtraps

2007-09-25T10:40:00.001-07:00

Saturday night we decide to go play put-put then grab dinner. It was two of my college friends, Nicholas, Bobby, and me.

A little known fact about me. I love put put golf. I suck at it but I love it. Growing up, my grandparents lived by a little course so my cousin and I played often during my early teens. In fact I think that’s where I started cussing.

Anyways. We get there and it’s a beautiful little course, standard 18 holes, 5 shot maximum. I go first and I sink the ball in five strokes. I yell five and my girlfriend who was keeping score yells back, “did you say four? I think I understood four.” So that became the joke of the night. I got mostly fives and they gave me fours, I guess for good behavior.

Everybody’s having fun, so I thought. Then I started to notice that Nicholas' strokes were getting more eractic each time. And his face became longer at every stage. I finally pressed him to tell me whatwas wrong.

“You’re cheating mommy.” And he stormed off. At first I honestly had no idea what he meant. I couldn’t have sucked more if I tried. And like I tell all my friends I’m not smart enough to cheat. (although I think we need signals in miles borns, you know who you are)

I stare at Nicholas while he’s digging a hole to china because he’s pressing on the putter so hard. I am kinda offended, kinda hurt, and kinda felt sorry for him.

Ok, here’s my opinion, for a crip mommy in a wheelchair I’m pretty cool. I camp. I fish. I bike. I help organize his cubs scout. So if my friends wanna give me a few points for me trying to play a game I have no chance of winning, charity begins at home so he can sulk all he wants. On the other hand it was in fact cheating. And I’ve always told him you play to have fun with your friends it doesn’t matter if you win. (shut up my three nerds… Haven’t yall heard “Do what I say, not what I do…”)

Nicholas finally calms down and the rest of the game was lite-hearted and fun. Until Green #13. It was one of those three-tiered, can't see the hole for nothing. So I ask Bobby to go find the hole, as if it makes a difference, whatever. I hit the ball, it starts rolling, drop one tier, two tiers, three and Bobby starts giggling. Then yells “one.” And we started arguing, I yell. “no way.” He yells. “Come here.”

Well I’ll be damn, I got a hole in one. And I get ready to do my happy dance production and I look up at my son who looks totally offended so I quickly yelled “one,” at my scorekeeper and moved quietly on.

As a mother I probably did the right thing, if I did my dance it might have scarred Nicholas for life. But may I say as the competitive bitch that I shouldn’t be but am. Its just my nature. May I be frank, getting a hole in one without doing my happy dance is like doing you know what without the know what. Nice but unfinished.

So I’m going finish it now because Nicholas can't read this blog til he’s in his late 30s. I GOT A HOLE IN ONE. NOT BAD FOR CRIP GIRL. IN YOUR FACE MESTEPEY. (its way cuter with visuals.)

The other dumb thing I did, Juliebeth already told me it was dumb and I expect lindy and pam to tell me too after they read this.

Bobby and I had a little tif. And he says (I’m summarizing.) if he didn’t have chores he could woe me more and do more with Nicholas. So the dumbass that I am, I banned him from the kitchen for a month. (I can hear his friends calling him, can we come over Saturday just to be entertained by Claire’s cooking? We won't actually stay for dinner but…Bite me.)

So last night I’m washing dishes and it occurred to me the depth of my stupidity because as I’m finishing up I see him on the porch, smoking his pipe, playing on his notebook, probably chatting with Chris, “hey guess what cool thing Claire did?”

But I’m going down fighting girls. I’m serving tofu on paper plates every night til he begs for mercy. then I'll just eat my mom’s leftovers after he goes to bed…

There’s just no way I can win this one huh? I should just suck up my pride and tell Bobby I’ve seen the errors of my ways. I just beat an eight year old at putput do you wiggy think that’s gonna happen?

So… Can you actually nuc tofu?

Bob's a Nerd, His friends are Nerds, Won't i wanna be a Nerd too? No! Well maybe...

2007-08-21T12:47:00.001-07:00

I think I sorta did a bad thing. When I first met Bobby I felt like I had to compensate for my lack of beauty so I told him I was smart. Who the hell knew he was dumb enough to believe me. Yeah Bobby I’ve thrown every strategic game we’ve ever play because I just like boosting your ego…

But for 11 years I’ve been able to fake it. That is, until now. So I’m mouthing off, Shocking huh? And I tell Bobby he should teach me how to fix computers, ask he’s new boss to give me a internship, since to know me is to love me. after the internship, he'll beg me to stay. They do a lot of remote work so it’s a plausible plan. I’ll do this, I’ll do my seminars, I’ll get the other Mio job I really want and everything will be good. (I really don't need to sleep juliebeth!)

Ok, here’s what I thought. Bobby would try to work with me a few evenings but between, dinner, biking, Nicholas’ school, Nicholas’ cubs, Nicholas cce, Nicholas’ drum lessons, and the fall tv season, it just won't happen. And I could blame him when he has another crappy gift birthday. (his birthday is right after Christmas and Nicholas’ birthday so he usually gets a homemade “coupon”. Very cute the first year I did it, not so much now…)

But if he got a coupon this year, it'll be his own damn fault. Because I begged him 4 months ago to share his knowledge but he blew me off. Damn, maybe I won't even give him a coupon this year. How could he blow me off. Stuck up computer nerd, kiss my…

Oops, There goes another plan up in smoke. Bobby left a book on my desk this morning. A very thick book. I’m sure I had the same look of disgust Nicholas had when I gave him the third Harry Potter. There’s a lotta pages.

“Windows XP Operating Systems.” And there’s a bonus. There’s even a test. oh yay! Yay yay freakin yay! I was kinda hoping for more of a hands on approach, Bobby, me, fondling the keyboard. But a book would require reading and thinking. That’s just, like work and shit.

And, here’s the kicker, my husband has said a hundred times “I just can't learn that stuff from a book.” But I can? Whatever! Freak.

You know I could be a grown up about this, and just open the book. If I can lift the cover, or I can just procrastinate til I get my part time gig and accidentally spill a Coke on the book. Working is so overrated!

but Yes I will. Just to prove to him I truly suck at all of my employment endeavors. Won't it be hysterical when I apply for a job with him and he has to say “you’re not qualified!”

For those of you who know me, you know I’m just writing to say I wrote all day for you know after I post this, I will be tempted to learn px, xs, fx… what the hell was it. Oh, XP. That’s like a program for adobe right?

Good thing I’m so adorable…

Life sucks, then I Ride

2007-07-12T09:37:00.001-07:00

It just occurred to me that I can, indeed suck at everything I try. And I should embrace it and just become a couch potato and buy more lottery tickets, because right now those scratch off may have a better chance at daily income.

My family is riding bikes more and I figure this is probably the only physical activity I can beat my boys at. (as i laugh evilly) Guess I missed out on the nurturing mother thing. But surely I can ride faster than a little eight year old and a fat old man. (no hate mail, he refers to himself as fat, old is just reality which I feel the need to point out constantly. Oh, I’m teasing… Besides now I can smack him at his personal self reference because he’s all skinny and cute.)

But back to my drama. Bobby hasn’t ridden a bike since the late 70’s. (y’all get my “old” reference now huh?) so we start riding and I was actually slightly concerned that he might fall or become winded or something awful and I would have to nurse him back to health. And as you can tell from this, I’d suck at that.

So we start riding and Bobby turns into the energizer bunny. Our son is right behind him, whiny the whole time but keeping a good pace. I, on the other hand, am like a mile back, cursing more and more with every wheel rotation. Bobby doesn’t even break a sweat. How is that possible? So I try to comfort myself. I just need time, the more I ride, the better I’ll be. Ect. Ect

We’ve been riding a month and I think I’m getting better. Bobby and Nicholas tells me how much better I get each ride which is sweet in a condescending patronizing way…

In the middle of our last ride I hear a voice in my head, He asked if I thought I was riding better? I grinned “yes I am.” He replied,” yes you are, but so are they. Mahaha” (yes I often hear voices in my head but they aren’t normally that cruel. Damnit!)

It never occurred to me that If I get better the more I ride, they are too. Damn. Damn. Damn. I didn’t think of that. So bottom line, I’m screwed.

All my life I been saying I don't want special treatment but with two floundering businesses and hearing “Mommy, your riding is getting better.” I’m going over the edge people.

I now believe when biking my boys should treat me like the delicate flower that I am and throw all future races. I don't care how. Ride in the grass. Take up jogging, ride with one leg behind their back. Ya know, anything to flatten the riding fields.

I decided that someone should hire me and pay me an obscene amount of money to do nothing. Not because I’m qualified or talented, just to meet their status quo. Just because I’m handicapped. And they should seek me out. I’ll be on my couch eating bon bons watching reruns of 24. Bobby just lets me rant because he knows tomorrow something will happen and I'll snap out of my pity party.

And of course the next day is better. I ride 5 miles in a hour. It aint no lance Armstrong but kinda cool. I sell a few more manuals than I did the previous day with our side business. And for my "career" it's another long shot but someone told someone told Robyn that their boss is looking for a speaker for a school district. I think I have one good toe let that I can shove in the door, hoping for a chance to prove myself.

And just like that, my goals that I’m striving to meet by the time I’m 40 seem reachable again. It’s too bad I won't be able to reach Bobby and Nicholas' goal. Bobby wants a better bike so he can ride longer. Nicholas wants a bike with more speeds so he can ride faster. Gee boys, I’m sorry I don't think we can budget for that… I’m too stubborn to give up my goals but I aint stupid, buying them bikes would be self-confidence biking suicide. I can hear it now..

“Mommy you bought all new appliances but I can't have a hundred dollar bike? One pedal is broken and I have to readjust the chain every 34 cycles.”

“Life’s rough kiddo.” as i yell to him on the bike trail... behind me... a mile back.

My Gigantic Ass

2007-06-05T09:08:00.001-07:00

There’s a few things I could talk about today. Like how thankful I am that my husband didn’t leave me during my dental surgery recovery. Ok, here’s the thing. Not being able to eat was an irritation but not being able to use a straw was the kiss of death. I said 389 time “just shoot me and put me out of my misery.” On my 390th whine, Bobby agreed that would be best for everyone. I’m kidding. I’m kidding. He was sweet and bit his lip a lot.

Or I could gush about the best weekend I had in years. I was sorta hesitant the week leading up to the trip because (A) I was still recovering from surgery and (B) felt kinda guilty about not taking Nicholas. But it was one of my best friend’s wedding and to be blunt, I wanted the option of drinking. Maybe once every 3 years I get the hankering to drink. Of course I didn’t, just needed the option. And (c) I felt a little weird that I didn’t know any of the other wedding attendants. What if they ridiculed and hated me? And of course, as it turned out they were awesome. And the only one who mocked me was David but I guess its his right. (yes you did, first intro, even before we finished hugging our hellos, “Ask Claire what her major was?”) But there’s some sick comfort in knowing he still has the timing down after all these years.

But seriously, it was a fabulous weekend because it passed the house test. Bobby and I usually sigh with comfort as we enter our home after a weekend away, not so much this weekend. We both agreed that two more days in Seattle would have been better. So I thank Nick and David for including me on their special day. and we’ll visit more often because now I got stuff to bribe Bobby with. Like we could go sailing… And the other “thing”. Poor Bobby, goes out for a smoke and I… There are incriminating pictures but sadly we have to pick them up in person. Or are there? Do you know how easy it is to start a rumor about yourself?

But instead, I have something horrible to discuss. A realization that I just refuse to accept. For Mother’s Day, Bobby ordered me a beautiful trike. It cost him a pretty penny so I insisted on getting the smaller one. The brochure said, and I quote “for users 125 pounds or less and for persons under 5 foot 4 inches.” Hello. I’m 5’3 and a few pounds under 125. It’s perfect and it’ll save my honey $300. Hell yeah.

My butt engulfed the seat and my legs felt like they were in a can of sardines. Hello. Everyone knows I have a big mouth but a big ass? Pam or Lindy? Someone should have told me about my ass. So I’m testing this bike for midgets, pissed off because I did this whole song and dance about how I saved him money. And because I’m slightly stubborn, I was determined to make this work as Bobby and bike guy commented how strange and in pain I looked. I kept yelling “I’m sure I’ll get used to it…” praying that when I stood up, the seat wouldn’t be permanently attached to my ass. Thinking if I just wore parachute pants there would be less friction between my knees.

After 11 years of marriage Bobby knows I’ll choose my stubbornness over the greater good any day. He bought the bigger trike without discussing it. And now I appreciate it and I love my trike. We rode 3 miles Saturday. 4 Sunday. I know it doesn’t sound impressive but I haven’t exercised in two years so I’m kinda proud of myself.

The sad part is I’m still pissed that I wasted $300 because of my big ass. But I truly love my trike and I shall shower my husband with gifts and gadgets as soon as criply possible.

Stream of Consciousness

2007-04-20T13:50:00.001-07:00

This will be my last blog for a while because between now and the end of May I have:

2 rotary speeches, and 2 seminars. The speeches are short and sweet. 1 of the seminars will be easy. The other I’m nervous about. It’s a new setting and is 4 hours long. But its ok, Bobby doesn’t know it yet but he’s going to teach a 30 minute section on sign language. He does know a few words so it's not totally inconceivable. This is personally amusing because we have a friend who is deaf and we taught him all the bad words. And maybe the sign for “beer”, ya know, the essentials…Should be a interesting class.

1 anniversary and 1 wedding weekend. The Anniversary is ours, the wedding is not. Thank God. I mean. Never mind. (2 people are laughing and they adore me and that’s all that matters.) Weddings are good. Good are weddings.

1 major dental appointment- This sucks because the longer I wait, the bigger the monster seems to grow in my imagination. Like I’m now thinking maybe the fact that I did so good last time was a fluke and something will go bizarrely wrong next time. So I’m thinking if I just smile with my upper teeth and to learn to drink all my meals I really don't need this last appointment. Plus we could go to DisneyWorld with the savings.

1 demo to edit, - no I’m not finished because I’m too dumb to upload it, but thanks for asking. But I stare at the raw footage tape everyday thinking if I just concentrate hard enough, it shall appear on the screen.

And 1 major pain in the ass project that I thought would take a month at the very most. We're going on three months. What’s worse is he has my next 3 projects line up. Hello? Pay for first one please. Or at least a letter of intent? Geez he thinks because I’ve been unemployed for the last decade and I sleep with him I should do it on blind faith. Oh, I guess I should huh? Damnit.

So why am i writing this? Because I deserved a break. And I have more stuff running through my brain. Like what you ask?

Important stuff like should I get a perm? I’m letting my hair grow out and it looks good in a pony tail but kinda stringy down. But if I get a bad perm do i wear a hat at the wedding? or should I do something totally insane and dye my hair. but it’s a slippery slope because i don't think you can dye it just once. (Bobby, Do You REALLY think I’m gonna grow gray gracefully? Silly boy, gray hair is only for men.)

Like… I need clothes and suitcases for our trip to Seattle to the wedding. I should shop. Yes I have a suitcase Bobby but I’m thinking I want a cute one with wheels for all of our future trips.

Like… can I beat Nicholas into sweetness? A few weeks ago his mouth got him into a lot of trouble at school. (just a note, not like detention but it was a huge deal around here) And since than I’m wondering where did I go wrong. God made him healthy, Bobby made him smart. And I thought I could make him kind. So where the hell did he get that freaking temper and smartass mouth? Nicholas is a sweet kid. Every night at 8:45 on the dot he jumps into my lap and tells me how much he loves me and kisses and hugs me… and his bedtime is 8:30. And. Oh. Ohhhh. Little *!@#$%^&*

Like… Am I fat or not? Three weeks ago at a family function, my aunt called me fat. It’s a Vietnamese family. Its not rude, it’s “loving constructive criticism.” And that’s my sweet aunt. (if you haven’t seen me lately, don't go spreading rumors, I’m not like the Pillsbury dough girl or nothing. what makes this funny is 3 days later, my mom says I’m too skinny. I’m serious. So which is it folks? Hello?

Like… has my husband finally trained me? Say it isn’t so… We each have our own teeny tiny fun accounts. And we can do whatever we want. Yesterday he told me to look for a package coming in the mail. I assumed he could either shoot or smoke it? Neither. Hello. Really? Seriously? I’m still confused. This is like a marriage shocker. what a very odd purchase. It’s a GPS software map for Europe and

OH MY GOD our anniversary is in two weeks. HE’S TAKING ME TO Europe and is trying to worm out of taking me his beautiful wife to the international festival so he can finish filming our project because he has a contract that will pay for our trip… and for my next fantasy I shall run the new York city marathon in a bikini. Yes he has a master plan for his strange purchase but I’m still not grasping the concept. It just threw me off.

I guess while these random thoughts run through my brain I should try and get some work done… ooo pretty high boots, I need pretty high boots for the trip. Yup gonna get tons of work done today.

What's Spring Break without Sexual Harashment?

2007-03-20T10:54:00.000-07:00

I was resigned to the fact that my days of spring breaks were over. You know those crazy college spring breaks. Certainly nothing as untamed as Girls Gone Wild but they always included a beautiful setting, good food, and friends.

I’m glad to say these camping weekends are making a comeback. It was especially nice because along with Bobby and Nicholas, we camped with friends so I wasn’t outnumbered with the boy factor.

Bobby and I have toyed with the idea with buying a popup camper for a few years now. Including this trip, we have rented them about 5 times, each with fabulous outcomes. If Bobby would just stop screwing around and get a real job we could buy one. Oh hell that’s me. Oops, renting is good too.

Anyway this weekend has sealed the deal for us, we really want one despite the oops's. Among the inconveniences of the weekend, the bathroom was a trek away and it was quite chili at night. I admit it, I thought my honey was getting fresh. It took him about 15 minutes to convince me the less clothes you wear in a sleeping bag, the warmer you are. I’m like sure, I heard that line before.

So after I got warm and got the timing of the bathroom runs down to a science, I deemed this was a great trip and that buying a popup would be a great investment in family time and not a impulse buy.

I could go on and on about the food, our good friends, the crisp evenings by the fire, the fun boat ride and the awesome fishing but I won’t. it’s just not in my nature. I have to tell you my dumb ass story.

About midnight on our first night I have to go to the little girls room. So I go with my flashlight and I suddenly realized I’m totally night blind. It’s bad y’all. I ended up calling Bobby on the way back because I almost drove off a small cliff, ok, not a cliff but it would have hurt.

Anyways I get to the restroom and there are 5 teenage boys blocking the ramp. As I’m driving up one yells, “hey jack, there’s a girl you can finally do.”’ (I cleaned it up a bit.) That just pissed me off. I’m not easy, just ask my husband. But worse was what I did. With a full bladder I went wee wee wee home.

I should have kicked there little asses, punks. If there were just two, I’d just speed ahead in my wheelchair and aim at toes. But I didn’t. And of course after the fact I thought of a great comeback. “My husband is a member of the NRA and see my best buddy over there? She has a blackbelt so I suggest you think of something while I’m screaming. They’ll be here in 5 seconds.”

Wouldn’t that have been awesome. Sure they wouldn’t have understood my speech but I would have felt better. But no, I went wee wee wee home and to add insult to injury, tried to drive off a cliff. Great.

So another spring break for the memory books. Thankfully in a few days I’ll choose to forget about those punks and the let the memory of fishing, boats, and friends bring grins til the next trip.

But I got another 24 hours of anger in me. Damn I should have ran them off. I could. I just know it..

All i want for Christmas...

2007-01-23T10:05:00.000-08:00

Last night as I stared at my husband sleeping, I wanted to scream “do you not know me?” and smother him with a pillow. But I didn’t because I love him, and he thought he was doing the right thing. And quite frankly, he’s bigger than me.

Yesterday I had my first dentist appointment on the road to a beautiful smile. I was very nervous because they made me take a pill an hour before to mellow me out and I hate being out of control. But I took it, after Bobby shoved it down my throat. I’m kidding I took it.

Damn it worked good because 5 hours later I’m on my couch, with my mom staring at me. I Don’t remember anything after checking in at the dentist. To Bobby’s dismay, I was a sleepy boring drunk. He says the only thing I did slightly amusing is that on the way home, I was trying to sit up. And I spent five minutes trying to reach the grab bar above my seat. I finally reach it and was to weak to pull myself up.

Bobby said the appointment went great. They wanted to make a good mold of my mouth. Did it. I had two teeth that were just killing me. They pulled them. Everything was good. But there was one slight misfortune. It seems that during the procedure they asked me to bite on something and I just bit the shit out of it, loosening my front tooth.

So they asked Bobby, my next of kin if they should leave it or pull it. And if they left it, they worried I might choke on it. But if they pulled it, they’ll have my replacement by next Thursday. Bobby told them to pull it. Do you remember the scene from moonstruck where Cher slaps Nicholas Cage and yells "snap out of it?" Yeah…

For 14 months I’ve been looking for a in-town camera person to help me shoot a demo. Finally met one that I absolutely love. And we are/were/are/were… We were planning to shoot it Monday, like in 6 days.

Let’s see, run the slight possibility on choking on a tooth or ruining my professional dreams forever. Thanks. (now that was being dramatic.) but I’m so pissed, not at Bobby, but the timing just sucks.

And my husband is sweet. He’s like, just shoot the distance shots Monday and close-ups later. So I pull out a mirror, left it at one end of my house. staring in the mirror i slowly backed up until I looked normal. My house isn’t long enough to make me look decent.

So there’s my toothless life. And ya know this week I’ll try to hide at home, and the one night I go out I’ll run into everyone I never wanted to see. Exboyfriends, old favorite professors, potential clients. It’ll be fun. Oh hell, I’ll bet the admissions reunion is this weekend too. Sneeze. Oops. Can’t go. I’m sick. Don’t invite me y’all.

I have this funny saying. I’m too handicapped to be anal and too ugly to be vain. Guess I was wrong. It’s gonna be a long 9 days folks. Because remember Bobby – vanity always trumps choking.

Happy 2007!

2007-01-02T09:10:00.000-08:00

In my previous life, my New Years Eve always seemed to suck. Even though I had my fair share of boyfriends, I felt cursed during this holiday seemingly made for lovers. 4th of Julys were good. Had a few descent valentines. And between us, I did very very well on birthdays. But for 25 years I've longed for that perfect New Years Eve. I swear to God the 1st time I met Bobby I knew two things. He was the one and no more sucky New Years Eve. I was right about one thing. he was/is the one. The no more sucky New Years Eve, not so much.

To be fair, I should list Bobby's many many adoring qualities. He's kind, caring, loyal, brilliant, cute, sweet, and adorable. He loves cooking for our friends every weekend. I knew this was true as we were cleaning up from this past Saturday's party and he asked what my friends wanted him to cook next weekend. See, Bobby is just too cute. (it's will be bob's party part 2, he has so many friends, we have to do it in shifts. haha) but this one, low on food in honor of the incredible shrinking woman, ya know who ya are.

But he does have this one quirk. He absolutely hates going out New Years Eve. If a gunman gave hima choice, threatening his life or forcing him to go dancing on New Years Eve, Bob would probably ask if he can check his will before he got shot. To add insult to injury, New Years Eve is his birthday so to force him to go out is like a deadly sin to him.

the 1st five years we were together, we'd have knock-out-drag-out fights, at home of course. Next 5 years I just refused to talk to him from 6 to midnight, which didn't seem to be the effective punishment you might think. In fact 6 hours with me not talking kinda added some bounced to his step…

Sunday, I was too sleepy to wind up for a good fight so I made him feed me cheetos to silently comfort my wounds. No it's not a kinky innuendo, I love cheetos but hate getting that orange stuff on my hands. Sadly, this appeased me.

But I had a thought. Maybe this is just a case of misunderstanding. Maybe I need to be more specific with him. His eyes glaze over when I say I wanna go out. That's too general. Maybe I need to be more detailed in my request. Like I wanna go to a steak house, a Broadway play, and a quaint bar afterwards. With the wonderful plan, Bobby will surely want to go out Next New Years Eve. And maybe tomorrow, I'll be cured of my Cerebral Palsy. A girl can dream

Thank goodness everything looks better New Years Day. And 2007 looks to be a promising new year for our family. May my husband get the dream job he deserves. And I'm not JUST saying that so I can stop working and eat Cheetos all day long. Really.

Anyways may 2007 bring you love, health, and prosperity. And good friends and family.

p.s. Bobby- My New Years Eve plan also works for Valentines, just fyi.

Reinventing Claire

2006-12-04T10:40:00.000-08:00

About seven weeks ago I had a moment of professional clarity that was so empowering I actually set professional goals to meet by my 40th birthday. Of course my dreams were shattered by two people who think they know me oh so well. Do you believe they claimed my ambitions are moving targets and I will always up the stakes, therefore I'll never feel accomplished because I blow myself off. Ha! Just because they have more than 25 years of claire's crap between them doesn't mean they know me.

I'll show them. One seminar a week is all I want. It's my goal. Then I'll be happy. I swear. Besides if I had to actually dress more then once a week, it'd be too much work. Of course if I had 2 a week, I could hire someone to dress me. Oh leave me alone.

So everything is going well. But I have this one thing I need to take care of before there's smooth sailing. Long story short, I tried a new medicine to relax the effects of my Cerebral Palsy, didn't do anything but dry my mouth causing damaged to my already ugly teeth. Great.

It took me a long time to decide to have it fix. Then even longer to find a dentist who would actually work with me. Something about drilling on a gal with spasms. Go figure.

Many of you must be thinking oh she's afraid of pain. Not true, although I do try to avoid pain as much as possible. I'm deathly afraid of being put to sleep. Its irrational I know but look at my record people, I was late to my own birth causing my Cerebral Palsy, and I walk around in a Nyquil fog for a week after I pop one green pill. Very happy, but in a fog none the less

But there comes a point where I just want to get it over with. The funny part is I'm brainwashing myself. dentists are good. They can make me pretty. And I have a few events coming up that I wanna look really hot for. (I know they ain't miracle workers but whatever gets my chicken shit butt in the chair.)

On the flip side, if I just don't wake up, I'll win a bet with Bobby. And y'all know I love winning. We have these silly playful spats, "I can't live with out you, I'm going first." blah, blah, blah. And it would just piss him off if I went first, mostly because he says I have to handle Nicholas til he's accepted into a college.

Looking at it that way, there's no losing. Look pretty or have the last laugh on Bobby. Sick but cool. Yes I know there are medications to help me think clearer, but this is so much more fun.
I'm going for my treatment plan next week, then probably start procedures in January, I'm sure it'll be fine. Just fine. Really how many people suffer from a medical oops? Shit, nevermind,

Can't think about this anymore, I'll go back to my other obsession, work. Like I was saying, when I could meet my goal of 3 seminars a week, life will be so good.

Halloween 2006

2006-11-01T10:45:00.000-08:00

Last night I had one of those "how the hell did I get here" moments. Ya know when you wish you could freeze time and reevaluate the forks in the roads that led you here.

I'm remembering a particular Halloween. If you wore a costume, you got in free. My two best friends and I decided we would go as two ladies of the evenings and our pimp. What sad about this was except for a hat mr. pimp had to find, we were dressed way before we decided to do this. More mind-boggling, we weren't questioned about what we were at the door.

Flash back to Halloween 2006 and I realized I had become a carni, and a sucky carni at that. Nicholas is in cubs scouts and they had a carnival. Our den had a booth. Carnival was two hours, the boys shared shifts, worked one hour, play the other. It's all good.

For some reason our booth wasn't planned out very well. We ended up with a bowl of candy, 6 bean bags, and one of those cheap ass plastic pumpkin. The boys are chanting "no work, must play." My adorable husband is chanting "bean bag throw- get your bean bag throw" at passer byers. A little too well I might add. That was when I wanted to freeze time and scream "I'm too good for this, I was once a whore ya know." But I thought that might be inappropriate.

Don't get me wrong. We ended up having a blast. When not annoying the boys are very sweet and the parents all get along. But I just longed for a cooler booth. Running the bounce house would be fun. Selling sausage would have greater perks. And man I got booth envy when I saw the smash-the-tar-out-of-the-old-car booth. Bobby enjoyed that one a lot. A lot. Can't believe he spent 45 tickets on just that one booth. I'm kidding. Actually I refuse to do it because I, on the other hand, would need more than 3 swings. But no, we had the lame booth: a bowl of candy, 6 bean bags, and one of those cheap ass plastic pumpkin. I know, I know, every carnival needs a bean bag toss. Whatever. And being picked last for school sports doesn't permanently scar you either. sure.

Nicholas proclaimed it the best Halloween ever! and except for my second of self-actualization, I must agree. we did have a blast at carnival and Nicholas had the best costume to date, although I think I may accidentally run over his voice changer… oops. (its like chatty nicholas mode, really loud.)

Friday the 13th sucks

2006-10-16T15:46:00.000-07:00

Our son Nicholas asked me if he found a penny was it truly lucky. I laughed because he asked on the morning of Friday the 13th. I told him if he thought it was lucky, it was. I was proud that my answer was so zenlike.

For the rest of the day I mocked people on tv who cried about their superstition of Friday the 13th. I never paid much attention to the date. I never had any disastrous events on this day so big woop. Its Sunday and I'm still tasting my foot in my mouth.

Bobby came home from work and he's pale white, which is bad because one of my pet names for him is white boy. He had bad news. Of course my first worry is someone was hurt. No. ok. I can breathe again. But he sure looked devastated.

Now the bad news is not mine so I'm not going to publicly share it. But I finally figured out what it felt like. Go with me on this metaphor we call life. Let's say, we finally saved enough money to redo the kitchen. We spent the whole morning picking out appliances, tiles, wallpaper, ect. We get home and a tree had fallen through the roof and now decorated our family room. This is an unexpected semi-tragedy. Freaking great. What a pain in the ass. Will it destroy my life? Naw. Complicated it? you have no idea. It'll take weeks to clean up the mess, and probably even longer to feel safe. And I sure as hell can kiss my new refrigerator goodbye for 6 month.

My first instinct was to write one of my infamous angry letters to my best friends, venting how horrible life was and how this tragedy was somehow related to my handicap. Because when I get in this frame of mind, my handicap is the root of all evil. I resisted my first temptation to do this and ended up just texting one for a quick bitch session. all I wanted was someone to agree that this just royaly suck. (i'll email the crip circle soon with this news. i'm being lazy but we are all healthy and bob like didn't run away and join the circus or anything.)

I think Bobby is sneaking happy pills into my drink because I'm unusually perky these past few days. I had a lovely dinner with friends. I'm busy preparing for my biggest seminar to date. If all goes well, the giant elephant sitting in my living room might shrink a bit. Life should feel worse but I just don't have the energy.

My closest friends have accused me of being a self fulfilling prophecy. In the past I have had the power to predict several failures in my life. Pretty cool huh? So I was thinking maybe I should turn over a new leaf and try to use my super human powers for good.

So this prophecy will be. I'm gonna kick ass in my seminar, getting a contract for 12 more. we are gonna get an offensively huge amount of insurance money to restore our budget. And my first Disability Insights employee will work for me 80 hours a week and wear really sexy suits. There ya go.

(bob just got a flood of calls from the crip cirlcle, asking if I'm high.)

It's just wood...

2006-10-02T14:05:00.000-07:00

If I don't screw up in the next few weeks, I'll probably will be able to buy Bobby and Nicholas one sorta big "gift" each. And my friends think I'm negative. I'm just kidding. I probably won't suck. See, I'm growing, I'm adding all kind of positive adjectives like "probably" and "fifty-fifty".

It's not a surprise for Bobby. Actually he already picked his out at Fry's. He visits it every Sunday. Strokes it. Brings it roses. Come to think of it, it's a bit disturbing. Ah the love between a nerd and a supped-up new notebook. Who am I to judge?

There was more debate on what we'd get Nicholas, if I don't ya know. I think we've decided on "remodeling" his playset outback. The one he currently has came with the house and I think is on its last leg. Nicholas gets so testy when we make him and his friends sign consent forms every time they go outside.

So I'm doing research. How much can a playground set be? I have a huge budget. 500 big ones baby. I figured it out $500 will get me the chain for the swings, the canopy, and half of the foot holds for the climbing wall. Great. We'll just call it the "imaginary playground paradise." One of the things I love about our son is he's very creative, but I think this maybe pushing it.

I'm thinking about our options while channel surfing and it comes to me. I stopped on a show about the coolest tools of 2006. ooo look, a pretty nail gun. I want one. And they had this funky saw that actually cuts circles. I know I lead a pathetic life. I cannot tell you the correct length for skirts this fall, but I can tell you the top ten popular tools. By the way I don't think minis are in, are they? No, I would have heard stories. My husband likes pointing them out to me. Can someone tell him this is a bad practice. He thinks it amuses me.

So I'm making a list of all the cool tools I need, like the wrench that automatically tightens when you press a button. Sure, laugh at me now but when you need it, you just need it. and it occurs to me, a playground is just a bunch of wood nailed together. What a great fall weekend family project.

Go to Home Depot, buy like $500 worth of wood, $300 worth of pretty tools (my donation, tools are better than those dumb old suits I was going to treat myself too) and there ya go. The funkiest playground set in the neighborhood. Can you picture it, Bobby and I building a playground set… What do ya get? A very expensive hop scotch maze, because between my balance and his procrastination. Not a single piece of wood will be higher than 6 inches above the ground.

That x-box is looking mighty good to buy. We could always let him play with it on the patio and pretend he's enjoying the great outdoors Whatever we decide, I still want the nail gun and wrench.

Inspirational My ...

2006-09-22T13:28:00.000-07:00

I had a friend in college. That sounded awkward. I have a friend who I see every Christmas whether we want to or not. I'm kidding. She moved to the other side of town and we keep missing each other. I need to email her. I call her "mom" but I consider her like an older sister. Always shot from the hip. She once told me, the older you got, the less you liked people. Oh… oh! That was the last time I saw her… guess I won't be sending that email… I'm kidding.

Don't get me wrong, I still like people. I just don't go out of my way to kiss ass anymore. (yes, I'm still co-dependant on my crip circle, I've gone mean, not mad.) But now a good Friday night is watching six feet under with my husband and my favorite gal pal. A great Friday includes fondue. (yes, that was a cry for help.) and I still try to be nice. (shut up bob… please.)…

I'm not proud of it but I think my college friend would say "that's my girl." Yesterday I went to the grocery with Bobby and this lady begins to stalk me. First of all, why can't I ever have a male hunk stalker? See if a male hunky stalker called me inspirational, I could find a way to accept it. But no…

So this lady, I've never met walks up to bob, touches me on my shoulder and tells Bobby how special I am. And she leaves, going into the store. In my "nicer years" either I'd cry or I'd try to laugh her off.

I turned to bob and I say, "I'll give you 50 bucks if you go up to the lady and say, ya know, looks can be deceiving because my wife is actually a real bitch and my son is terrified of her." So. Only half of that statement would be a lie, no we will not discuss which half is false. Even more disturbing, I think I was serious.

I'm not special, I'm certainly not inspirational. When I think of someone inspirational, I think of a selfless giver. Now really does that sound like me? Please keep your comments to yourselves, especially the Crip Club. Its one thing to acknowledge I'm not inspirational. It's another to hear just how not I am.

Of course Bobby didn't do it. because he… well, I didn't have the cash on me and he isn't taking my paper iou's anymore. After my "under water basket weaving flea mart" idea…

So I spent the next 30 minutes zooming around Krogers trying to avoid my stalker. Because I was trying to speed up the process, I knew she would catch me with an odd assortment of stuff on my lap like toilet paper, syrup, and frozen peas. And ask why. And I would want to explain that it is two hours past my son's bedtime and I'm just trying to speed up the shopping progress. But of course all she would understand is "blah, blah, blah." Reinforcing how truly “special” I am.

I just love happy endings. I'm glad to say this story kinda frizzled out. The lady disappeared and we drove into the moonlight with two weeks of food.

And I realized, "mom" was right. I am getting meaner and blunter in my old age. Damn, she'll be proud of me. She taught me good

vacation thrills

2006-09-11T08:05:00.000-07:00

The other day I sent a happy birthday email to one of my best friends. He responded by saying he was having a great day with his husband in the wine country.

“bastards” I muttered, turning hulk green with envy. I wish I could say I couldn’t remember the last time I was in the wine country but I can… October 22, 1995.

I seem to be suffering from vacation frustrations. Last Christmas we decided we would take a small vacation in the fall. Hello Fall.

So I bring it up to Bobby. Ya think I’d asked him to sacrifice his son. That painful expression, “yes dear, just plan what you want and I’ll go.”

I remember in college we used to spend hours at this coffee house, surrounded by books, planning trips. My husband lacks the “planning is part of the romance” gene.

Orlando. We’ll go to Orlando. I boldly announced. He grunts. To tired for a fight. I didn’t really wanna go but every kid should go to Disney world. Our kid too. And he’ll probably love it when he’s not crying about trying another ride. Or pissed for the 45 time I denied him a 48 ounce drink in a Mickey’s head glass that cost the price of my favorite steak at Outback… Shit, maybe family vacations are overrated.

I’m kidding. Kinda, and I do wanna go to Orlando, just maybe when Nicholas is a little older. He’s going through a weird phase where he think he’s scared and every ride has to be negotiable, him being almost in tears. It easier when he has a friend, if not its almost like pulling teeth.

Then for a second the spotlight shined on me. In reality Nicholas went on 3 trips this summer alone. With his cousins and grandparents, ya know, people he actually likes. And he didn’t know we are planning a vacation.

What if, for instance, I had a meeting regarding my seminars in say, Las Vegas. Bobby has to be my interpreter. I could set up a meeting for Wednesday. We’d had to leave like Monday morning, just to be sure we got there ok. We could leave Thursday but Friday would be better, ya know incase the 10 minutes morning runs over, a little. And because I’d be nervous, Bobby would have to distract me with shows, gambling, and meals.

I happily sighed for a second, before the guilt hit me. I couldn’t do that to Nicholas with family funds, my money hell yeah, but not family funds.

Man I was pissed. Mad at Nicholas that he was wishy washy about rides. Mad at myself that I was wishy washy about our destination and really pissed at Bobby that he doesn’t share my joy in planning a freaking vacation damnit.

After my anger subsided I realize maybe I was making this too hard. Nicholas never really asks to go to Disney but he always wants to go to Sea World. I want 20 minutes on a penny slot machine. And Bobby just hates the hassle of flying.

Sea world, a doable weekend drive. Friends there. Friends who can force Nicholas on rides. And because we would save money on airfare, I’d probably buy the 48 ounce drink in a shamu cup.

Another fall weekend we’ll send Nicholas to his cousins, and sneak across the border to a casino. I’ll get my casino fixed for a year and Bobby will be less-pouty, realizing this was the lesser of the harsh punishment called “vacation” I could have inflicted on him.

Until these weekend happen, I’ll second guess myself about Orlando or any exotic place I dream of. Then there will be a second, probably at sea world at the shamus show when Nicholas’ face will light up and Bobby and I will look at each other, amazed that we ever considered anything else.

Of course 25 minutes later we all are fighting about where to go next. But for that split second…

P.S. when dates are scheduled, I’ll email invitations, what good is a family vacation without friends to share my… “joy”

Hip... By Association

2006-08-24T10:42:00.000-07:00

The other day we were on the road and I start screaming, "It's a bus, it's a contiki tour bus. Look, look, that's the tour company Pam and I took on our European adventure, when we were young and hip." I sighed falling into a slightly altered remembrance, in this daydream Mr. bus driver was obsessed with me. <sigh…>

My daydream was interrupted by rude laughter. Ok, if bob was like "Superdaydream Man" with powers of seeing into other's fantasies, he'd had reason to laugh but there was nothing unusually humorous about my statement of facts.

What the hell was the man laughing at? Was Pam my best friend a figment of my imagination, hello? No, Bob adores her. She was in our wedding. He knows we went to Europe. There's a

picture of us on the shelf. I was very confused as why Bobby was laughing. So I mistakenly ask.

"You thought you were hip." He said while laughing and beating on the steering wheel. Big talk coming from the poster boy for "Middle aged d&d playing computer nerds" of America." (I still can't convince him that's not necessarily a compliment.)

I resented I had to justify my hipness to such a low life. My hipness just is. I had friends who worked in museums and raced motorcycles and spoke 5 different languages. They were (are) hot. And if that's not enough, I was a Fag Hag. That fact alone guarantees I'll always be hip at some level.

"So, you were, let's see, hip by association." He howled, laughing even louder. Laugh it up nerd boy. In two years I'll have my first board meeting in Vegas. With all my hip board of directors. and oh look, Bobby's seat is an elected position voted by, my hip friends. You might be able to buy one of the six off, that is until I copyright my tortellini recipe then you've got nothing... mahaha.

There I found my happy place again. I waved as the contiki bus drove in front of us and started pulling forward. My dreamy grin suddenly turned into sheer horror as I quickly turned away from Bobby to hide my single tear of heartbreak. As the bus pulled away from us, I notice the tagline, Contiki Tours, for the 21-35 year olds…

Hell yeah I'm still eligible. For like 61 more days. NEVERMIND!

Voice of a Dying Cow

2006-08-14T10:42:00.000-07:00

Sometimes reality sucks. I don't usually air out my dirty laundry but Bobby has been downright cruel lately… said I had a voice like a dying cow. He did…

The majority of you are just flabbergasted that the love of my life would say a comment that cruel about my voice. I am too. About five of you are mumbling, how did you provoke him, oh ye of little crip faith. Shame.

I did nothing, I swear on. I swear on my drivers license. So am I saying he just blurted it out one day? Yup. Yup. Ok, maybe it ended a discussion but those words did come from his mouth.

So I'm working on a big power point presentation. The person who requested wanted audio with it. yeah right. But it's a very important deal so I decided I'd buy a cheap microphone and at least make an effort. I didn't even tell Bobby because if it totally sucked I just tell the guy my audio on my computer is out. And Bobby would never be the wiser. Because if he found out I loss this gig because I didn't wanna do a voice over, he'd divorce me. Naw, but he'd honestly would be furious.

So I did the freaking audio. It was the most painful 8 hours of my life. I don't like hearing my recorded voice in passing, having to purposely work with it is just obscene. When I finally got it as good as it was to going to get, I decided that I should show Bobby so that he knew the exact date I committed professional suicide.

He absolutely loved it. More than his "that's great dear." He wanted copies, he's rethinking our marketing plan. I'm listening to the presentation as he is watching it and I start screaming I sound like a dying cow. I follow him around the house screaming my new battle cry. He's cooking, I'm muttering, he's hiding in the bathroom, I'm yelling outside the door. He's outside, I'm mouthing the words through the glass. Finally he ended my rant. "You do sound like a dying cow but we're going to be rich." I walked behind him muttering "Gee, don't you think that's harsh?"

But the funny part is this was an 8 minute presentation. He thinks I'm going to do a 4 hour one. I think not. He'll come home one day and I'll have a microphone shoved into my vocal box… I have a better plan. Everyone wins. One of my bestest friends can do a impersonation of my voice. Send him two airline tickets, buy a keg of dark ale. We'll have a good old weekend. Pretty peas honey. Teeheehee.

I Miss You... Kinda

2006-08-07T09:55:00.000-07:00

For the first 6 years of his life, Nicholas best friend's older sister babysat him occasionally. This set up was sweet for him. for him it was just a glorified play date… he encouraged us to go out… Suggested we get drinks after the movie… No rush.

About seven months ago they moved. Bobby and I really don't go out that much and I can usually pawn him off on my mom. She usually offers more then we need so I wasn't in a rush to find a sitter.

Lately we're having more evening errands. So I thought it'd be a good idea if we found a sitter who was close that we could use as backup. Across our street there's this sweet girl. A little younger than Nicholas' beloved first babysitter, but very responsible, and her parents said that they are always home. Nicholas even plays basketball with her. This is perfect.

I told Bobby let's just test it. He and his evil twin buddy found a new hang out so I invited myself along as Bobby rolled his eyes. For political reasons with future networking opportunities, I'll just say it was a lovely experience but yall can keep the "No girls allowed," banner…

We were away from Nicholas 2 hours and 17 minutes. Now let me explain Nicholas. He wants me if he's sick. He wants me when he's scared. Otherwise, he's exactly like his father, as long as I'm where I'm supposed to be, he's happy. To show affection he now wrestles with me and gives me nuggies. I've never found physical proof but I honestly believe when he goes on trips with our families, they pay him to call me to tell me he misses me.

So we get home and the boy tells me he misses me about 5 times in a 45 minute span. First two times it was enduring, 3rd and 4th times it felt as if it was politically motivated. By the 5th I'm like get a grip boy…

Here is my theory, he sees her as a peer not as a sitter plus he's going through a "I hate girls stage." If you ever wanna wind him up, point out his mommy is a girl… I'm hoping he'll get better because with my business we really do need to go to more networking stuff… If not, I do have a no-fail backup plan, bribery. Started with his daddy, passed in his DNA, a trip to Walmart makes anything bearable.

For those Nan Sayers who don't know him and thinks oh maybe he just really missed ya. It's a nice dream but I have proof. He's been at his MawMaws in Dallas for 23 hours now… I talked to my Mother-in-law about four times, (a little about him but other stuff too, like update on sick relatives.) Has he asked to talk to me? To IM me? Survey says the big NO.

Damn, I should have tape his "I missed you." it's ok… he'll call by Friday. Because he will want us to bring something when we go up Saturday… and I'll ignore the background voice reminding him to say "I miss you mommy."

Lions. Tigers. and Allerigies

2006-07-25T10:19:00.000-07:00

fWhen I was little I remember going to the circus and thinking one day when I grow up, I'm going to come back and buy everything my parents denied me. Popcorn, pretzels, hot dogs, cotton candy, ice cream… and that was just before intermission, food wise. I won't even go into the list of toys, gadgets, and posters I wanted.

Saturday we took Nicholas to the circus and it devastated me to realize I'm 50 times meaner then my mom ever was. Before we left the house I gave the lecture. No eating, no drinking, stay together, one restroom break at intermission. Got it? they stared at me like I just beat them… "oh yeah.. Have fun…" I tried to sound up beat as they marched soberly to the van.

First and most importantly, Nicholas had an absolute blast. And we did buy him popcorn and a drink. I'm not such a horrible mother, I just thought if I growled a lot, he'd appreciate what he got more… another theory shot to hell but… this is the boy who had 3 trips, one camp, and swim lessons this summer and is bored.

Anyway… the circus. It's not my favorite thing. The clowns have always kinda creep me out, like why are they always smiling? But the animals were cool and the acrobats were great… but I admit it, I'm a huge cirq-de-solis junkie so it takes a lot to impress me now. Sure you can stick your head in a lion but can you fly through the air dangling off of a red silk ribbon?

So we get there early because there's a preshow and an area where you can visit the animals. I knew Nicholas would just go nuts seeing the animals but I also knew I was taking a risk. Its not documented but I think I'm allergic to some bizarre combination of animal hair, dust, and hay... on a good day, nothing happens. Sometimes on so-so days, my nose will run. And 1% of the time, I'll have a asthma attack or my face will blow up and my profile makes the elephant man's nose look slim…

Nicholas is skipping through the animal section. Bobby's running behind. And I'm following them, trying only to breathe when I really need to because I really believe I'll be fine if I don't inhale or touch my face. Laugh at my preventive methods but it worked. I only suffered a few powerful sneezes.

Our biggest complaint was it was loud. Not just loud but incomprehensible you know what it was like? The Peanuts character no one could understand.(I'm ignoring the irony) it was so loud Bobby and I took breaks…

But overall the torture was worth it.
Cost of tickets: an extremely good meal at Papaduex,
Parking, drinks, and popcorn: $30
Nicholas look of amazement: Priceless

Tolerate thy neigbor

2006-07-17T11:25:00.000-07:00

Before I start today's column, I like to update my perm saga. I have to laugh, I'm blessed with a handful of best friends, about half girls, half guys… and I'm amused that the guys are like egging me on... just let Bobby do it… send pictures… my gal pals sent discreet emails, all starting with "you know I love Bobby but…"

As it turned out, I did let Bobby give me a perm yesterday. My favorite buddy and I gently directed him and I think it turned out great. And if you aren't looking for it, you won't notice, except for a little more puff. (not big hair.. :p )

Moving on. Something happened this weekend that totally freaked me out. To protect the innocent, I'll say it happened at party O's house, someone I'm extremely close too.

I don't know how to explain it but the short version is for about three hours on Saturday a man in his birthday suit hung out on Party O's front porch and towards the end he was getting violent, banging on doors, throwing flower pots. We don't know if he was mentally ill or what…

The good news is no one at Party O's was hurt. The police had to sedate the guy and he was taken away. If that was that, I'd call it an unfortunate event but its not the end of the story.

As it turns out the guys lives across from party O. The weird part is I was considering going there Saturday. I don't think I even told Bobby. I was weighing the options and I think I decided we'd go in a few weeks…

If we had gone Saturday like I was tempted to, we'd get there about noon. And by 1 Nicholas would be running with the neighborhood kids in front of the house. And even as I type this I get goose bumps. When Nicholas was 2, we used to joke that if we let him he'd try to befriend an axe murderer. Not so funny now.

A few weeks ago we found out there was a house broken into in our neighborhood. So we took a refresher course on reminding ourselves to lock the door, and strangely this is the first time I thought about the break in since the locking the doors lecture. but I've been consumed with Party O's dilemma.

It's a great house in a kid friendly neighborhood. We hang out on the porch watching the kids play. Nicholas is going there for a week in august. I'm still letting him go of course but I'll worry an ounce more. but if I didn't let him go, that's opening Pandora's box. If I decide not to let him hang out in a upper middle class neighborhood. I certainly can't let him hang out at my mom's resale shop in the crappy part of town, where I've been mentally preparing myself for something like this to happen for 25 years… You'd expect bad things to happen in bad areas, not safe neighborhood.

Its just a weird feeling. Party O was asking for suggestions. One is calling a realtor. One is pricing bullet proof windows, steel proof locks, body armor… Of course Party O has vetoed both extreme ideas but it does make you think…

If he was just like a friendly well-buff nudist, this would be so much easier…

It's only Hair

2006-07-13T12:55:00.000-07:00

Wasn't there some freak philosopher that said stuff like every moment in life should be cherish… blah blah blah… Whatever!

But I do believe there are life changing moments. Some you are aware of, like my wedding, the birth of Nicholas, the first time I added extra sugar in a strawberry magaritas… And then they are those you don't realize until years later.

I think I'm going to have one of those moments soon. And that's a very good thing. It'll hopefully be a professional step up. So I'm excited and I'm stressed but mostly I want to be insanely rewarded by Bobby because god knows when I'll ever do good again.

So yesterday in honor of my upcoming moment, I made a life changing decision. I know I should of shared it with my husband first but I needed my mother's support and blessing. She of course looked disappointed. I begged her to try and understand. I wasn't going to hurt anyone. Nicholas would get used to it… she finally gave in and consented to my change… yes consented, not blessed.

I told Bobby and he was just thrilled. He asked how I wanted to do it. I gave him a couple of options… He of course picked the wrong one…!@#@$^*&% lovely…

For my new business, i am in the mood for a new look, not that I have a lot to work with. For 99% of the population, this isn't an dramatic discussion, but with a mom and eight opinated aunts. Hair is a big thing. And they really like my short straight hair. And they have always made it known their feelings of how they think I look with a perm… trust me, not positive. And the saying "If you can't say anything nice…" doesn't quite translate in our family.

So I'm mouthing off and I say I wanna do a home perm…I also said I wanted my buddy to do it. I also said I wanted to go the galleria and pay an arm and a leg for a ritzy perm. Bobby heard home perm. So he bought a home perm and went to three stores to find the rollers. He was so cute, like a puppy bringing a discovery home for total adoration, love, and approval.

That's just great. My loving husband made this most wonderful gesture and I just want to… I just want to… run screaming… call me an ungrateful bitch but afterall, they are called PERM-anents… not DAY-nets, not UNTIL-YOU-CHANGE-YOUR-MIND-net. Permanents. Hello?

I'm going back and fourth on it but I think Sunday after Nicholas' hockey I'm going to just let him perm me… maybe make a party of it… watch a little six-feet-under, do a little grilling… perm the hair… have alcohol on hand if we need it and everything should be ok….

The good news is that I'm so beautiful and so hot and always dressed in heels and makeup that even a bad perm would look good on my perfect body… Yup, I'm getting delusional in my old age… if anything, hope they're good smelling chemicals. At least we'll be happy for a little while.

In the end, i guess its only hair... and it'll grow back... eventually, and its not like I have a bunch of meetings coming up...

the really cool part is i view this as a marriage trust exercise... i'll let bob perm my hair than like he'll let me shaved his beard into a go-tee... There's the shaving cream... where did I put that darn razor... yes liz, bob will be making a appointment with you to get my hair perm soon...

The Bumpy Road to a Perfect Afternoon

2006-06-20T09:31:00.000-07:00

It was a confusing weekend leading to a big fight. You'd think after 10 long years of being married, it would be smooth sailing from now on. You'd think…

The original plan, about 4 revisions ago... was my folks were taking the 3 youngest grandsons, or as I refer to them the three stooges, camping in a rented rv for a week and we'll meet them for the weekend. Their original destination was up near Dallas. About three days into their adventure dad decides to head to our favorite park near Corpus. Even better.

So I tell bobby what a perfect weekend this would be. We'll get there about 4ish Saturday, we'll have dinner, reunite with our son, fish til about 1 in the morning, and the next day head to Corpus to have lunch at Pappaduex and the beautiful water, Maybe an old friend in Corpus can meet us too.

We stuck to my plan about 5 seconds. We did reunite with our son, although he would have been good, say another month, without seeing us. We had a excellent mom cooked dinner. Then we spent an hour debating whether it was going to rain or not… Outvoted, they decided we'd go to bed early and just fish in the morning…

From the second my head hit the pillow, I realized I was wired. I could not sleep to save my life. By two in the morning, I was playing hand puppets on the wall pretending the sheets hanging from the upper bunk bed was hiding management. 3 people are laughing their butts off. I'd try to explain it but its one of those things. (it's a television show reference I swear.)

We "woke" to the sounds of rain. $!@$% Great. More debate. We decided to pack it up and just go on. Nicholas wanted to ride home with his grandparents, we'd pick him up later.

So bob and I begin our travels and ya know the old fork in the road… one leading to Corpus, one home… My husband took the one home. Bob's friends are like so?… My girls are like UMMMMM, She's gonna kick his ass.

Granted it was still a yucky day. And my friend who I wanted to meet had to work. But still I wanted to have lunch with my honey by the stormy sea. Moreover, I wanted him to see the romance in it all.

I'm fuming as we are driving down the road. And he's fuming because I'm fuming but doesn't quite know why I'm fuming. He just knows there's a Pappaduex 5 miles from our house and refuses to drive 90 miles out of the way on a weather iffy, non-meeting-Janay day.

20 miles later, I'm still cursing under my breath and I see a pier. I boldly announce I was going fishing. I'd desperately hoped he'd stop the van to check out the pier but in my frame of mind, I wasn't above tucking and rolling and hoping for the best. I called my mom who was a few miles behind our van to meet us at the pier. Partly because I knew they wanted to fish too, partly out of self preservation… Long pier over deep water, and oops, short circuited electric wheelchair accidentally going over the rail in tragic bizarre death. Who would question it… he just seemed a little to eager to stop.

We agreed on a truce. And we tried to stay at odds just on the principle of being in the middle of a knock-down-drag-out fight but it was just too nice. We immediately started to truly enjoy the cool overcast afternoon, both knowing this was the unplanned perfect day. The fish were biting. My folks were in good humor. And I knew this was a day Nicholas would always remember fondly. And Bobby had a perfect picture-postcard Fathers Day,

Vicarious Love through Playpen and Washers

2006-05-17T11:27:00.000-07:00

First I'd like to congratulate one of my bestest friends, I'm still squealing. She & her wonderful husband are expecting. I'm not sure why she let me rant for two hours about stupid non-life-changing stuff before yelling "Stop. Can I share now?"

But as usual I have to make this about me. You guys so owe me! Remember 9 years ago yall had a fight. What was my advice? "All men are asses but he's a lesser degree of ass plus he's way cute." And now your gonna have the world's most beautiful baby. Because as racist as it sounds when a Vietnamese chick marries a white guy, 99% of the time the baby is unbelievably gorgeous. A few of us know what happens to the one percent. But it's ok because I have a great personality.

So after she tells me we decide to walk around a baby store and I just go nuts. I want to buy this baby everything. First for my male readers, don't warn Bobby. I like being a hockey mom. I am so far past my own wanting a newborn I'm questioning my womanhood… but I did absolutely fall in love with the cutest playpen. And Bobby would much rather I bought it for you then for myself… So that'll be my first purchase after my next seminar… I don't care if the kid's 7. the kid can use it has a laundry hamper damnit.

So I'm still on a natural high from this and I get a email from another of my closest friends and she had an embarrassing confession. As Murphy Law would have it, her washer broke on Mothers Day and they had to buy a new one so that was her "Mother's Day" gift. And wasn't she a freak for liking it…

Yup. What a freak. Crazy freak. I don't care... who wants details about a washer? but I felt I needed to carry on the conversation, just to be polite. Because if anything I am polite. Did she buy the set? Cool. I mean whatever… its not like Bobby and I got in a fight whether or not we could buy a dryer first without buying his pretty silvery washermate at the same time. …(but its not as esthetically pleasing you dork…)

Was it the front loading washer thast washes 16 pair of jeans? And the dryer that dries a full load in 43 minutes… the one at Lowes. Did she buy the pedal stools? They look prettier up high and the storage look great…

Yup. She's a crazy… crazy girl…

Do you think it was wrong not to tell her I was asked to leave Lowes a few days ago for drooling over a dryer? and i might have sorta asked if like I could book some alone time with her new appliances? What? If a washer does 16 pairs of jeans I could probably do a week's worth of laundry Plus dunk Nicholas in one load…

I need a lawyer to write my prayers

2006-05-08T11:20:00.000-07:00

Without bragging, most of my prayers are always answered, ok other than the obvious… But I don't think "If you cure my cerebral palsy, I'll go to Africa and work for the Peace Corp for the rest of my life." is still applicable. Although my husband and his little playmate are hooked on this new game so they'd probably loved to blow each other up in peace.

You don't believe me? In high school, I prayed guys would like me. Til this day, about half of my bestest friends are males. I got smarter in college, I prayed that a guy would love me, I just didn't say how long he should love me for. It only took me nine years but I got my prayer right and I found Bobby. And I even messed that up, when I said a rich man, I didn't mean when he turned 90… oh, I'm kidding.

So lately I've been praying for a part time job. Something at home to tide me over until my business takes off. By the way Bob, I'm still as passionate about my seminars as ever but I'm going to shut up til checks are cashed…

Last Wednesday I got a job offer. It was perfect. Check emails. Transcribe Audio messages. And forward them. I'd be paid by the number I did. Perfect. They gave me an "average" number of calls. It would not pay for a summer vacation in Tuscany but maybe a few nights out. Still I was excited.

They said I needed to check emails every 30 minutes, That's cool too. From 7-4 weekdays I'm working at home… Oh, those aren't my hours? 4-8 weekdays 8-8 weekends… oh. Sure… I'll try for a week…

After being unemployed for 8 years, bitching about it for 7 years 364 days… (I cried for the first 24 hours after I was laid off) it is with much regret that after being gainfully employed for 5 days I quit. Oh look Bobby's calling his lawyer…

Here's the thing. Bobby & I came up with a number of calls a week that would make it worth my while. Of course we spent 3 weeks of my future income on wireless network (which we wanted anyways…)

That being said, the number was way lower than told… I figured it out. My week earnings won't pay for a typical movie night. 2 adult tickets, 2 drinks, popcorn & twlisters. And poor little crip girl couldn't workout on weekdays… Bobby said he'd dropped me off, stay on email duty, drop me home when I finished swimming, than he'd return to the gym to workout. Hell the gas alone would put us in debt.

Sunday was just a pain work wise. It's our family day. Nicholas has hockey. And we went bowling & to dinner with friends. We would get messages at the most annoying time, or was it at the loudness… at hockey practice… in the middle of cheering for a strike… ordering dinner. Because I'm totally anal, if they say 30 minutes, I'm antsy at 25.

So there you go. I was gainfully employed for a week. I actually pity Bobby. Not that he is married to a crip, but a freaking psycho. It's all good. I'll just revise my prayer and a job will appear in 5 to 7 years… Great. I'll be poor but my thighs will look good because I'm working out. This time my shallowness even astounded myself.

My prayer as of tonight: And please god, find me a part time, at home, on the computer, 7-4, weekday job that I wouldn't suck at, preferably minimum wage. Thank you.

A gym membership for my fat ass

2006-05-04T11:07:00.000-07:00

On this day in history:

1776 Rhode Island declares independence

1847 Jack Slade joins the army

1864 Army of the Potomac crosses the Rapidan

1916 Germany agrees to limit its submarine warfare

1920 Miller issued race-car patent

1948 Norman Mailer's first novel, The Naked and the Dead, is published

1977 David Frost interviews Richard Nixon

1979 Margaret Thatcher was sworn in

1996 crip marries nerd

I would like to wish my wonderful husband a happy 10th anniversary… Ya lucky boy you… What a wonderful wife you have… I cook, clean, obey and fulfill your every whim… oh shit, that's not me, I'm watching a rerun of Leave it to Beaver. June Cleaver, what a freak.

Anyways you will get your huge anniversary gift as soon as I sign my California contract. Stop crying. Those ain't tears of joy… It gonna happen or I'm not as beautiful and as talented as I brainwashed you into thinking I am... Why does my husband look so depressed on this joyous day?

Oh don't pity the boy. Sure he married a unemployed crip but hey I'm easy. And ya know what he got me for our anniversary? A gym membership. The bastard. Implying I'm fat. What the hell is he gonna do for our 15th? Remodel our kitchen with pretty green granite countertops and sparkler-ly new appliances. Go on Mestepey, I dare you.

See I can't do a sappy column. It just ain't my thing. So thank you Bobby. Being married to you for a decade hasn't totally suck. We have this down pretty good. I think its kinda sickening that I'm still infatuated with you after all these long long years. And Nicholas is amusing enough. Maybe life is pretty good. Being married to you is pretty good too. And despite what I said, I'd marry you again. Wiggy. Your laughter inspires me, your patience amazes me. And no matter how awful the day is, when the last thing I hear at night is your rhythmic snoring, I know all is right in our world.

Blah Blah Blah Whatever. ok my wedding party, Can I collect the pool now? I told y'all I'd last 10 years…

Happy Anniversary Bobby.

P.S. Bobby's used to being in hot water with me and as much as it tickles me, I don't want him to get in trouble at work. I've wanted to join a gym with a pool for like 8 months but stuff kept coming up. So I was thrilled when Bobby got me a membership, to me it was like being given a gift certificate to a spa. I had no idea it could be an offensive gift. For the marital record, I really do love it… But I'm glad the girls pointed it out, it does make great copy. A gym membership for my fat ass wahhhhhhhh

Go go go, Go Granny Racer

2006-04-18T11:16:00.000-07:00

I don't like airing my marital problems online but I just can't let this go. It ruin a really awesome weekend because its stewed in my brain. Bobby said something to me that is just untrue, unforgivable, and just cruel.

Without this "incident" I couldn't have planned a more enjoyable weekend. We drove to Dallas Friday. Went to Six Flags Saturday with friends. Did the Easter thing Sunday. And came back Monday.

Six Flags was a total blast. Bobby went under silent protest. He suffers from "chosen amnesia" He can have a blast anywhere but he forgets. it took 3 rides for him to stop staring at me like we were at the dentist. by Saturday night he was talking season passes and staying longer. Next time I suggest going, he'll look at me like I'm an alien freak. Because he'll honestly swear he thinks he hates theme parks. But I do thank him for being cooperative, that is until…

So we are driving back to Bobby's mom and we're playing what was your favorite part of the day. Nicholas loved the water rides. Bobby enjoyed riding Mr. Freeze Rollercoaster. And as lame as it sounds I just enjoyed the beautiful-not-to-hot day with wonderful company.

Speaking strictly from the rides aspect, I loved the go-carts. And that's saying a lot because the go-carts cost extra and anytime I ride go-carts I get the "look" from all the workers. The "I don't think you can even wipe your own ass please don't drive my go-carts" look. I pretend to ignore them as Bobby puts me in the cart.

Light turns green and I take off. And I'm feeling good. Wind in my hair. Adrenaline flowing. B52's in stereo in my head. It was such a gorgeous day. I was absolutely high on life. The go-cart boys even started to smile at me as I went round and round. Bobby asked if I needed a cigarette as my fantasy thrilled ride ended.

What a perfect day. Within minutes of driving back to mom's Nicholas was out cold. Feeling good, I wanted to playfully flirt with my adorable husband. "Next time you have to be my passenger in the go-carts."

All that good-Samaritan-shit bob built up all day, exploded in his face in that millisecond. I was ready for all kinds of comebacks like you're a crazy driver… you drive to fast… anything. But what he said hurt to the core… he said "You drive like a granny."

Excuse me? Oh no he didn't. first of all, that's just wrong… And… Mean… And… Mean… Mean Bobby. Maybe something's wrong with my old man's bifocals. Because I was kicking it. Maybe I was going so fast that I was caught in a slow motion earth time warp.

I had the pedal to the medal. I had the accelerator to the floor baby… on the straight-a-ways I was led foot… I might have been a little cautious around the curves but… it's not my fault that the track was mostly curves… Damnit.

But I looked good? Right? Sigh… giggle giggle giggle, A legend in my own mind...

The Talking Scissors

2006-04-13T10:45:00.000-07:00

I caught myself acting strangely yesterday, ok stranger than usual. And it really bugged me.

Nicholas, our seven year old son, told me he lost his scissors at school. No big shocker. If its not permanently attached to his body, he will inevitable lose it. Without asking, he digs through our junk drawer, pulls out a pair, silently looks at me, asking for permission as he sticks the scissors in he pack back, and goes about his day.

Sol I’m alone in my leaving room, and the scissors start talking to me. “better put me in a envelope.” Ok, no biggie. I get a envelope. I put the scissors in, I put the envelope in the pack back, zip it, and throw it on the chair. There. I feel better.

About 5 minutes later the scissors call to me again. I look around thinking this is weird even for me. Sure I talk to an occasional spirit every now and then and the peanut gallery in my head, but I’ve never have formed a relationship with scissors. “You forgot to seal the envelope.”

This is crazy. I’m not going across the room, get Nicholas back pack to seal a perfectly good envelope. I got up, got a fresh coke and went back to my desk. As I tried to answer a email, the orders of the scissors echo in my head. 3 minutes later I’m on the floor pack back ripped open with the disgusting taste of envelope glue on my tongue.

“Happy?” I mumbled, maybe a little too loud. “Not really, do I really have to write my spelling words five times?” my son with bionic ears answered from his room. He assumed I was talking to him. I didn’t correct him… He’s too young to know mommy has officially gone mental. “You really do…” I yelled to him, believing my little episode with the scissors was over.

I sighed, but before I could stretch, again scissors. “You need to write a note for Nicholas to take me to school.” I laughed. The scissors are talking to me more than my husband did the entire last week. I wonder if the scissors would buy me coffee and talk to me about Sex, Politics, and Religion. Just a thought…

Ok, this has gone from weirdly amusing to border rubber room obsessive compulsive. Stop Theriot. Get a grip. Bobby will be home soon and he can slap you back into reality.

He gets home. And I carefully explained that Nicholas needed a new pair of scissors at school and I was afraid to let them take them to school because I wasn’t sure the definition of zero-tolerance. If I know Nicholas he would take the scissors out on the bus to cut out dinosaurs and get expelled. I kinda left out the talking scissors. Bobby might have gotten jealous.

Then I wait for that look from Bobby. That “I adore you but you’re really a dipsy blonde at heart ain’t ya?” look. “You should called his teacher tomorrow and ask if we have to drop them off.” He was dead serious. My paranoia is spreading. How cool is that?

I don’t like discussing politics because I can always see the other side. I just think it odd to worry about my sweet seven year old son being expelled for taking a pair of scissors to school. If that what it takes to keep Nicholas safe, I’ll do it. And I will always ber a little sad that kids are losing their innocence at such a young age.

Bowling: skill or attitude

2006-04-06T09:50:00.000-07:00

Bowling. We used to go a lot when we lived in San Antonio. I'm not sure why we stopped?

Saturday I was inspired to take my boys bowling despite their rolling eyes. I figured Nicholas was old enough and it might be a good rainy day / hot day non-electronic family activity.

So we get there. I go first and I knock down eight pins. I'm satisfied. A strike would be better but I could live with eight. Nicholas bowls next. As expected he rolls a gutter ball. We cheer the parent cheer and he sits in my lap, still very hopeful.

Bobby's next. First roll, 3 pins, second 6… And I'm ready to howl. I'm ready to talk some smack. Bobby is an above-the average bowler. So this wasn't his best turn, and he did this bizarre thing that made him look like his feet were glued to the floor. I open my mouth, ready to heckle him shamelessly, but before I could…

"Oh daddy, you were great, you got nine." Nicholas screamed running to his daddy as if he had just saved the world. Bob hugged him, while staring at me, silently daring me to talk some crap. "Wasn't daddy great?" Nicholas asked me. "Yup." I said, hoping my head wouldn't explode.

At that moment, I had a revelation. In San Antonio, we did go bowling with friends a lot. However, our priorities may not have been totally focused on bowling. We ate. We chatted. We sang badly to the loud rock-and-bowl music. And tried to remember what ordered we bowled in so we wouldn't be smacked upside the head by the next in line after us.

Of course strikes were great but when you get right down to it, it didn't matter whether it was a spare or a gutter ball, it was all in the attitude.

Right or wrong, I have a very "do what I say, not what I do" parenting philosophy. I'm stressing hard science in school and when playing games its about having fun yada yada bs bs.

I estimate maybe I've bowled 50 games with Bobby through the years. You know how many he's won? 49. That's right. I won one. I won Saturdays first game by two freaking points. But could I do my happy-eat-my-dust-dance? No. And Bobby just ate it up. I had an eye twitch the rest of the day.

Of course Bobby found his rhythm and stomped my ass the second game. We also decided to use the bumper rails and Nicholas entertained himself, enjoying the later game much more.

Because I'm stupidly stubborn and can't stop even when I know it'd be a hell of a lot easier, we agreed that bowling may be our family thing for a while. Not only am I forced to keep my attitude positive while playing. I have to face one of my most puzzling mysteries, when I bowl I use a bowling rail. Simple concept, place ball on rail, aim rail, shove ball off. Hypothetically, I'm thinking, it might take three rolls to find the "sweet spot", than you should rolls strikes from then on. The variables are far less then a normal bowler… Reality, not so easy, and that's driving me crazy.

So I guess the days of smack bowling are over… At least until I can teach Nicholas the fine line between trash talk and obnoxiousness. I know… I know… but what's that saying, those who can't teach…I was thinking, to keep games interesting, Bobby & I ought to play for stuff.

I issue a challenge to my husband. Museum or Toy Tank day. Best 4 outa 7 games. Bring it on. I slap your face with a white glove. Saturday high noon. Be there. If your not, you forfeit :p

Do I really wanna play seven games? Naw but he's got skill, but I got the attitude and stamina

Guardian Angels...

2006-03-24T12:40:00.000-08:00

I believe in spirits. I always have. I'm not sure spirits is the right word. And they sure ain't ghosts. Ghosts have creepy implications. Maybe guardian angels, some with crooked halos? I like that. I should abbreviate that, my G.A.C.H.S.

My GACHS are loved ones that have passed into the greater beyond. Please don't judge me, they don't exactly fly around my house chatting with me. So far they haven't whispered the loto numbers or anything important like that. And they suck at stopping the slot machines one click early… But ever now and than they help.

I truly believe they are always with Bobby on traffic watch. Either that or I really do have super human powers. Occassionally a bad driver will try to nail us and I'll stick out my arm out and yell. Why? For that second, I honestly think I have the power to create a force field around the van. Don't know how, Don't know why. But it does work. Bob says its the silliest thing he ever seen. So what is easier to believe? GACHS protect us or my force fields steer away unwanted accidents?

My GACHS perform other duties. They control signal lights. They can even control the rain. Don't get me wrong they aren't all mighty but usually even in the worse downpours, there is almost always 5 seconds where I get less wet.

But finally, I got the proof I needed. I have GACH's. yesterday I did something very dumb. When I went to pick up Nicholas from the bus stop I didn't realize how cold it was outside. Come on folks, it's late march in Houston, I'm ready to buy a swim suit this weekend, not wear a jacket.

So its freezing. Nicholas and I are racing home. All of a sudden he hops on the back of my wheelchair, I'm giggling, or were my teeth chattering? Maybe both. Usually I don't let him ride but I got this new heavier wheelchair. and if i wanted him off, I'd have to stop to yell at him … besides, we were almost home. Blah blah blah.

Sidewalk ride was smooth. Crossing the street was a snap. I hit the driveway full speed and I feel myself falling backwards in slow motion. I scream at nick to get off because if the wheelchair fell on him, bones would break. He must of sense the urgency in my voice because he immediately hopped off, unharmed.

I felt a millisecond of relieve knowing Nicholas was safe. But then it occurred to me that I was still falling backwards. A million thoughts went through my mind. This is gonna really hurt. I hope bob rents a pressure steamer to wash the blood from the driveway. Nicholas is such a good boy. He'll just go in and call 911 and his daddy. That is unless… Oh hell I think the tv is on. If it is, and its on cartoon network, I'm dead. Nicholas will be sucked into the tv and I'm gonna bleed to death…. Then I thought, ya know, I should lean forward… my last ditch effort before I… I closed my eyes and…

"Mommy can I have chocolate? I got a purple." I opened one eye as Nicholas tapped his fingers on my knee. Oh my god, my wheelchair was upright. The only thing more puzzling was how unaffected my son was by our near death experience. I was still stunned as Nicholas rattled on. "if you don't say no in three seconds, I'll take it as a yes." Where the hell did he get that mouth?

As I live and breeth I swear my GACHs gave me a push forward because with the angle, slope of the driveway, weight of my wheelchair, I should have flipped. Bottom line.

So thank you my spirits. Tonight I'll leave milk and cookies out for my sweet relatives, and a swig of whiskey for the questionable ones… and a thank you note… with extra paper… incase they wanna leave me a love note… or like lotto numbers…

Self Motivational Slut

2006-03-13T13:00:00.000-08:00

I'm starting this new seminar stuff. And most of the time it feels like 4 step backwards, 3 and 7/8 forwards. But my husband likes it because it keeps me focus and when I'm busy, my nagging decreases.

I'm trying all these ways to promote myself. One "gimmick" is I'm offering a monthly seminar at the college to surrounding businesses. So far I had three, 1 successful, 2 a burst. Bob thinks I should keep doing them til the cows come home…yeah, he supportive and stuff but bottom line, if I'm busy doing a thousand letter mail out, I don't have time to smother him with my attention.

At first I thought no. I can't. its too depressing when no one shows up. Then I thought, I work better with a deadline, sad but true, stems from my newspaper background. If I don't have a date, I’ll probably end up procrastinating. But still, three weeks of work and no one shows up sucks majorly.

So there are my options, More deadlines and painting a huge bull eye across my forehead for rejection or murder because I go psycho when bob leaves the seat up. Which "normal me" laughs at, are women incapable of putting the seat down? I never understood this great battle between the sexes…

I'm debating and debating this. Then it occurred to me that I usually have my seminars in the mornings and Bob usually takes the day off. Maybe I could make this work for me. I'll do the huge mail out, make the calls to the 4th follow up, put my heart soul, and paper cuts into it. And if the seminar is successful, sushi for everyone. And if it fails…

If no one shows up, I'll blink away my tears, Bobby will asked what will make his wife feel better… With some thought, not too long or he'll suggest some action movie, not too fast or he'll know it was a set up. "maybe lunch and magaritas in Kemah" in a weak, fragile voice… I wonder if this makes me a self-motivational slut? If it does… COOL.

So here I go again. Wednesday I'll ask Bobby to schedule the next seminar and I'll get busy contacting folks. Why Wednesday? Why not tomorrow? Tomorrow I have to plan out my next 12 "failure days." First Kemah… We like Kemah, Then maybe lunch at the Black Lab & a walk through a museum… I wonder how far I can push this? Bbq lunch in College station… a trip to the factory outlets in San Marcos… a Night at our favorite Bed & breakfast…

This could work. My career my still be in the toilet, but I'll have a monthly date with my husband to look forward too.

Smart Pills

2006-03-08T09:54:00.000-08:00

Lately I've been a little frustrated. I don't feel I'm as successful as my siblings. Bobby would argue that maybe it's our lifestyle or maybe he's not working enough. I mean he only worked 48 hours last week, slacker.

And as shocking to him as it may be, the world doesn't revolve around him. My siblings are independently successful from their spouses. Their spouses are just eye candy. And since I was raised in the same house as my siblings, I was given all the same opportunities as my sibling, or so I thought. Deductive reasoning says I should be successful. Someone please explain this to my husband. I just married him for his looks and computer skills, it's public knowledge.

Last Saturday I had a revelation about my life. Growing up we lived all over the world. I think I was about two when we lived in Africa. Every now and then my dad will tell strange stories about our short but memorable time there. My favorite is that he had to commute on this tiny plane with farm animals…

Anyways, Saturday he told a story that I've never heard before. He said while we were there we had a house boy. And one week my mom tried to pay him, he politely declined and asked if mom could pay him in smart pills. My mom looked extremely confused and upon further questioning, he explained to my mom that he had heard that foreigners took "smart pills." Sad but a true story…

At first the story sadden me. Then a huge beam of light came on in my head, disturbing the dust and grey matter. What if he was right? What if there were such things as smart pills. What if in the early 70s there was a shortage of smart pills, only 2 per household. I'm not blaming my parents but if they had to pick… My siblings were already school aged… They probably prayed I'd just catch up later…

So there you go… Its not my fault I'm a almost-middle-age-unemployed-bad-at-military-games-depressed-freak. It was those smart pills, or lack there of. And this explains why my brother never cracked opened a book a day in his life…Spooky…

A minute after my husband reads this he's gonna call me and say "now that you finished ranting for the day don't you have 4 projects to finished?" yeah, yeah, what the hell is he gonna do? take it out of my paycheck?

It just amuses me. And y'all know its my new slogan. The guys are anxious to teach me a knew game. If I suck at it, "its not my fault… no…smart…pills…"

The Magical Number

2006-02-01T11:51:00.000-08:00

Bobby's gonna kill me. And I must admit this murder may be warranted. I have finally decided I've gone off the deep end and I'm trying to take Bobby with me. Y'all know I hate being alone.

I'm working on a huge business project and like any good business woman I set a goal. Bobby sighed, not really wanting to ask but felt obligated to ... So, what was my magical number. The one that would a) bring me a sense of accomplishment and B) bring him quiet if only for a second.

"I'm thinking of a number." I flirted very cutely. See ten years ago he would of thought it was cute. Now he mumbled "Shoot me now, ok I'll play, what's the number?"

It was a good, solid, single digit number. He agreed it was a good number but then I was perplexed. Why did he like that number? It was kind of low. Did he think that's all I could do? What an ass!

Preliminary reports show I exceeded my goal 10 times over. Most of you are congratulating me. Five of you are thinking yay, but what's the Crip Clause?

Ha! Y'all are wrong… There's no Crip Clause. This is a good thing. I'm thrilled. I'm ecstatic. Period. Sure I'd have like the project to be more spread out… To assure me more work in the future instead of one big boom. But this is still great… good… fine… Damn, this sucks.

I had a favorite professor in college who once told me that 90% of the people in the world are afraid to fail. 10% of the people in the world were afraid to succeed because they were brilliant but kinda like hiding in the crowds where it was safe and where they could sorta fly under the radar. Because the more they succeeded the more people would push them toward greatness. Did I mention this professor became a personal friend after graduation and she was tipsy when sharing this theory?

I had a inspiration. Bob and the crip club are gonna be so proud of me. It's the first step towards accepting that I may not suck at everything. When I get paid for this gig, I'm gonna spend every dime on myself! Because if I'm truly on the path of greatness there will be hundreds of future checks to like buy my boys toys… remodel the kitchen… buy food… Pay the light bill…

Oh look! My husband is continuously banging his head on his desk… Ouch, that's probably gonna leave a mark. (So bob… Bet ya stop bitching about how I keep raising the magical number :)

My work here is done. I'm going back to pouting and analyzing why I only…

Just one more

2006-01-16T11:26:00.000-08:00

My name is claire and I have a new addiction. I am not alone in my new obsession but I'm not sure my co-dependants are ready to admit they have a problem so until then I must use the royal "we".

It started out as a normal Saturday night. We decided to go out for pizza. Everything was fine. Then we debated whether to go to the movies or something else. This was a fork in the road that would change our lives forever, ok maybe not forever but at least the next few foreseeable weekends. If we just stuck to the plan and went to the movies, it would be ok…

He suggested we go by walmart and he would buy the night's entertainment. I figure since it wasn't a liquor store we were safe. When he revealed the surprised, my co-heart was excited, I was tempted but I had my doubts…

Yet I wanted the cool kids to like me…I silently promised myself I'd try 2 and if I didn't feel anything, I'd play games on my notebook and watch them enjoy the entertainment…

The first one was tempting, I was hooked by the third. By the 6th I knew we would spend all of our free time watching this til we were all caught up. My name is Claire Theriot Mestepey and I'm officially addicted to the television show 24. I blame one person for buying the first season and I blame the other for making me watch this season simultaneously. Now all these questions rattle in my head, the only way I'll find peace is to watch the 87 shows in between…

This show is so addictive that We even vowed not to do it on weekdays and never alone… but Y'all, Friday is so far off… Can't we sneak a couple in? and I thought about it… if I had a coke per episode I could stay up all night… I need a hit, I hear the "dink dink" in my head.

Oops I was trying to turn the tv on and accidentally turned on the dvd player. Damn my spasms… hell it won't turn off… Look, Hi Jack Bowman… I missed you…

I'll just ffinish my ccolumnm tomo….

p.s. oh don’t get in a twit, I’m not watching it. But hypothetically if I was would you take 3 seconds to kick my butt then realize hey, since we are here… I’m just saying…

My Announcement

2006-01-04T10:59:00.000-08:00

For the last few years, I’ve been hiding a secret. Especially from my family and my closest oldest friends. I have 2 new friends who have never known me any other way so that helped but could my best friends handle it? Would my mom feel disgraced? At first it made me sad, then mad, them embarrus. Would I lose their respect if I admitted my true feelings?

As the months passed, I secretly embraced my new lifestyle. It even excited me. I no longer felt confined. And I finally decided this was the Christmas. I would announce to the world this is who I am.

The reactions were pretty much as I predicted. All my college friends said they saw it coming but as long as I excepted it and they still got crip parking, I was still tolerable. My family had a harder time dealing with it. My dad was proud. My siblings understood. My mother had the worse but the most predictable response, if I truly loved my husband and son, I’d never let it go this far… There are hospitals…

I feel a great relief has been lifted of my shoulders. I can now enter any friends house proudly without them looking horrified. As for mom, she’ll get used to it and in about 8 to ten years I can parade my new lifestyle in her house.

And now I’d like to come out here. I, Claire Theriot Mestepey, am a… a full time wheelchair user. I like it. I go faster. I do more. (oh come on, what did yall think?)

May this year we all are healthy, no matter if we are marathon runners or happily racing around the camp grounds in electric wheelchairs. May we all have a little more money in our pockets. And may we have endless Saturday nights of playing with each other hair. Because it in my kitchen, surrounded by friends I truly am myself.

So I wish all of you a very happy new years. May 2006 be a year filled with good health, much laughter, and endless possibilities.

Maybe sports are overrated

2005-12-07T09:25:00.000-08:00

Due to the constant ridicule of my husband, I'm forced to write a column. However, as a clarification, unlike my usual writing procrastination, I've been doing stuff and making head way and am almost ready to proclaim myself as a productive member of society… Kinda cool.

Aside from my newest business obsession, I've been struggling to accept my child's newest kick. I guess I should have seen it coming but naively I just didn't...

Nicholas is a smart kid but admittedly Bobby and I are couch potatoes, and as they say the apple didn't fall from the tree. So for a few years now, I've been on a quest to find Nicholas a "thing" he could feel passionate about.

First there was Soo Bak Do, a Korean martial art. Nicholas nick named it "My play hour with Marc…" yup, there was motivation. Just the wrong kind. So he had a scheduled play date twice a week for a year… but I got two close friends from it so what the hell.

Then there was piano… He loved going… just not practicing. By the end of the 6th month, Nicholas would walk by me, pull down his pants and say "just spank me mommy because I'm not going to practice and I'm meeting Jenny in 8 minutes to ride bikes." But may I say our house looks much more cultured with an unused piano in the corner…

Then there was soccer. Like ffp soccer… fun & fair or something. Soccer was good. He loved it, although he tried using his brain power to make the ball gravitate to him. but the seasons were short and I wanted a year round thing… Besides you couldn't curse, keep score, or drink… I just got bored…

So I, the idiot that I am suggested that he take a 5 week introduction to ice skating. What's the harm? The boy absolutely has taken to it. He asks to go everyday. It is the first sport he really works at.

My dad was over the other night. And Nicholas announces to his father and grandfather he wants to learn ice hockey. They just beamed because they too have been with me on this long quest to find a sport. In passing my husband whispers "Ain't that great, you love hockey."

I love hockey… I love hockey? Maybe that wasn't quite the truth. It is right that the year before I met Bobby I had season tickets to the San Antonio hockey team. So I sorta see how Bobby made the assumption that I loved hockey… I never lied to him. he asked if I loved going to the games and I said yup. ummm… and I loved the dogs at the game…

Ok, to be honest, when 3 single hot male co-workers ask you to be the 4th in a package do you really have a choice? I think not! Did I like flirting with the boys while a hockey game was taking place. Oh yeah. Did I enjoy the occasional fight on the ice? Shamefully, yup. Do I enjoy the actual game of hockey? not so much. Who knew playful flirting over a decade ago would come back and bite me in the ass.

Do I want my only child to play a contact sport which risks his teeth, bones, and blood… NO! And how the hell did ice skating turn into hockey? Usually I see shit coming but this blindsided me.

I'm going back to my happy place now and try to ignore the inevitable. And if all else fails, I'm not above bribery… and what's so bad about being couch potatoes…

Help spread the madness

2005-09-07T12:38:00.000-07:00

I'd like to think I'm above using my blog to beg for help but obviously I'm not. So here goes, I'm looking for help. And the peanut gallery goes wild… I know all the hecklers comments, There is no help. We'll come see you at the funny farm. Blah. Blah. Blah.

First of all is my disclaimer, this is not a freaky pyramid scam or one of those marketing things: I'll tell two friends, and they tell two friends, and soon 6 former friends show up at your house to beat the crap out of you because they are now on some call list.

Short story short, I'm starting a company teaching disability etiquette to large corporations / customer services driven businesses. STOP LAUGHING CRIP CLUB… I can play nice and be polite and politically correct. I just choose not to 99.9% of the time.

I'm looking for a few folks to make follow up calls after I send them brochures. And if you help me book something there's a commission. That's it. Sounds kinda hokey but big corporations are always looking for these feel good "bonding with their employees" classes…

My new website is http://www.disabilityinsights.com/ If you think the site is too simplistic, you are more then welcomed to redesign it. And you my darling know who you are… I ought to have a good reference from my first seminar in two weeks, either that or I'll just spontaneously combust. I think there's a pool if you are the betting kind, I personally am leaning towards the explosion.

Give me a scream if you're interested or if you know someone who is. I'm aiming for one seminar a month. Any more may cause personal problems. My husband thinks I should do this full time and hire him as my personal ass… I mean asst. I haven't had the heart to tell him, I just don't like him that much. oh stop boo'ing, he'd probably jump in front of a moving train after a month of All Claire, All the time.

New Orleans

2005-09-01T09:35:00.000-07:00

On my first night of my college freshmen orientation I meant and fell madly in lust with this Greek God named Michael Levvit. He had this great opening line. He heard I was a Newspaper woman, he was starting a new department on campus called OVO, and wanted me as a writer.

Looking back my advisor probably sent him to me to make sure I adjusted to college life. Four years later and my putting off basic math 5 semesters in a row, I'm sure she regretted that, I may have adjusted a little too well. Who knew you weren't supposed to plan your classes around extra curricular activities.

Long story short, I soon learned OVO stands for Office of Volunteering Opportunities. And Michael could sell an Armanti Suit to a nudist. For two years I practically lived in that office. It was the first place in my "new life" that I felt I belonged.

I wish I could say I did great things but I probably didn't. I ate the cold pizza that always seemed to be in the refrigerator and I wrote a weekly column about other people doing great things, usually Michael was behind it. Michael Levvit died tragically in October of 1992.

In my life, I probably made four big ass life alternating mistakes. I'd say trying to be born feet first was kinda dumb… can you say permanently brain damaged? Another was, the week after Michael died I resigned from my column at OVO. And I "moved" out. I know he'd wanted me to keep spreading the word about volunteering but I just couldn't imagine going in the office without getting my daily bear hug.

There's nothing I can say about New Orleans. I grieve as a human being. And I grieve personally as we are just now learning what my family members have lost. Michael has been on my mind because he wanted to save the world. If I know him, by now he probably would have rented a canoe and paddled the streets of New Orleans, saving one family at a time.

I wondered what he'd tell me to do. Would he tell me to go to New Orleans and rent a canoe? Hell no. Although he'd probably get a good laugh at the thought of me trying to paddle straight. Through our two year earth journey, he became an overprotective big brother so that's definitely out. Michael would tell me to try to donate a little to the Red Cross. http://www.redcross.org/ . Michael would tell me to donate can goods to the food pantry. And Michael would tell me to write something, no matter how insignificant it seems to be…

Mall Rat

2005-08-29T09:45:00.000-07:00

I admit it. I’ve been acting strange lately, that’s bad when I admit it. Maybe I’m just evolving.

Saturday I went to the Galleria, voluntarily. We go about once every two years, usually involving out of town guests. Or that Christmas when Nicholas turned three and I was hell-bent on showing him the Christmas Lights. We spent three hours looking for a parking space and Bobby growled at me dirty looks for a week. Another treasured family memory gone horribly wrong. Surprisingly Saturday, Bobby tagged along without too much opposition, although I think he thought he’d be rewarded for his good behavior at the pipe store… Sadly it was no longer there. I was choked up about that to. Did you know people stare at you when you do a happy dance on the 3^rd floor of the Galleria… No sense of humor.

So we go on this day trip for two reasons. One, it’s too hot to do anything else. And Two, I wanted a new look. I have some stuff coming up I wanna look less-ugly for. I almost said “look hot for” but I’m not completely delusional. Bobby is just excited I might actually wear something other than shorts and T-shirts.

Part of me knew I ought to go to my mall instead of driving downtown. But I thought the Galleria would inspire me to… to… I’m not sure now. The Galleria, what a strange place. It takes me about a year to forget how much I truly dislike it. It’s crowded. Overpriced. And crowded.

I guess we had fun looking window shopping. Although both Bobby and Nicholas groaned every time I threatened to buy them clothes. They both rather have toys. We did have lunch at chic-fill-la… It was much tastier then the one at “my” mall… Ok, Maybe not but ya know.

The irony to my story is Sunday I went to my mall. The one that is 2 miles away from my house… I put like five outfits on hold equaling the price of one shirt I liked at the Galleria. Yes, another Saturday well spent. Bobby’s praying for cooler weather. I become this insane mall rat only when temperatures are above 95 degrees.

Bridal Insanity

2005-07-27T09:08:00.000-07:00

I always say that anything can be fun with the right company. This theory was proven Saturday. I attended the Houston Bridal Extravaganza. I think I attended one long ago in San Antonio. I must have mentally blocked it out or something. Because I certainly did not recall the sheer chaos.

Bobby dropped me off at the gate to wedded hell. I teased Nicholas. He has never been to a wedding. I don't think he fully grasps what a bride is. But I told him, come with me and I'll buy you anything in there, thinking he'd say ok. Nicholas grabbed his daddy, tried to hold back his tears, and begged him to make mommy go alone. So much for raising a sensitive male. No I didn't make him go… but it was funny torturing him.

First the good stuff. My son's godmother found the most beautiful wedding gown. Although that was annoying because no bride-to-be should look good in every damn dress she tries. Lindy did. I started mentally nit picking so I could leave without a crushed ego. So we got the dress, the dj, the photographer who was a college buddy which is very cool.

Does anybody remember the book Where's Waldo. Lindy, her sister, Lindy's future mom-in-law and I played Where's the chocolate fountain. There were 6 chocolate fountains booths spread throughout the convention center. May I brag? We found all six. Have you seen these fountains, just like Champaign fountains, just spuing warm chocolate. They are awesome. I'm going to rent one for Bobby's 50th. I know it's a ways away but it'll give my poor husband something to look forward to. Anyways that was a fun game, but boy those booth people start getting testy after your 5th, 6th sampling. And trying to fill up an empty cup with chocolate, is a definite no. incase yall were wondering.

We had fun and I'm honored I went and all that. That being said, it was almost like visiting another planet. It was packed, I honestly can't remember the last time I was in a people's traffic jam. There were many beautiful brides but I was surprised to see how many teeny-bopper brides there seemed to be. You could always pick them out. They were the ones bitching about the "open" dressing rooms. Come on, it's a convention center, not Neiman Marcus.

You forget how many things you can get for weddings. I'm sure there were at least 500 booths filled with dresses, musicians, bakeries, photographer, dj's, florists, caterers, center piece makers, limo rentals, make up folks, hair dressers, tux rentals… lions and tigers and bears… I'm definitely eloping my next marriage… oh I'm kidding!

I'm very excited about this wedding but I think the bride's gonna kill me. I'm thinking about taking Nicholas to the wedding, than ditching him. but he's her Godson. Blah. Blah. Blah. This reception is like the event of my year, which shows how pathetic my social life is. I plan to get the cutest black dress ever. Maybe even, God forbid go shopping at the galleria… Get my husband drunk at the chocolate fountain. And dance all night. <squeal>.

As I walk through the valley of writing rejection...

2005-07-25T09:13:00.000-07:00

I apologize in advance. Two or three people will appreciate this column but I cannot write anything else until I ponder my delinma in writing. It was easier when I could share my deepest, darkest, questions at The Gingermen. They were never solved back then either but the atmosphere was intoxicating and so was the company. The column tomorrow will be a hoot. It's how I came close to taking out 47 bridezillas over the weekend. til then let's see if 30 hours of college philosophy has taught me anything. I doubt it.

A few questions have been stuck in my head lately. Is there a fine line between using your assets (some brains, some boobs, my cripness,) and completely selling out. And if I'm selling out, what is my price? A pitcher of magaritas? A new computer? A used camper? A new van? A vacation home on the beach?

Are we allowed only a certain amount of happiness in life? And can God sue you over a oral contract? 4 years 63 days ago we had a family crisis. Which is very different from a personal crisis because I have those maybe once, twice, an hour. Anyway I prayed, harder then I ever have. And I told God if he made my niece well, we would be even on this born handicapped thing. So was that my big miracle? If it was, it was worth it because today my niece is beautiful, smart, healthy, and tall… although I could do without her tallness. I'm just thinking God should like smack me And say "Hello? Remember? You used your big Miracle.. now leave me alone and please, I'm begging… Stop setting yourself up for the miracle job you so ain't getting." And I'll stop driving myself crazy with harebrained business ideas and get a hobby I can obsess about like golf. Yes, my God has a sense of humor. I think I'm living proof.

I'm at a professional crossroads, no I ain't going to jinx it. Although knowing my luck, I just did. But that's fine. Because I think almost everything in life is a whole lotta work, a little bit of timing, and a ounce of luck. And if I used up all my luck on finding my husband and having such wonderful family and friends, so be it.

I'm sure I can return my new notebook, the popup and the new bedroom set I bought yesterday… ok, I just got them "mentally." Watch, Bobby and I are now going to have a theoretical fight. I can hear him now. "A bedroom set? You'd waste money on a bedroom set when there are other toys we want, you're pathetic." If y'all wanna see his head explode, threaten to buy him clothes. I can buy clothes. I can buy Nicholas clothes. But if I offer to buy him clothes, them are fighting words.

As I walk through the valley of writing rejection, I do feel better even though this was a weird column. I do apologize. I'm just in one of those wacky moods… Can you believe Bobby accused me of obsessing. I don't obsess. What a nut…

I don't. obsess. Do I? Naw… Gotto go check email for my rejection and the final nail in my writing coffin… Good thing I don't obsess at all.

Everybody's a loser!

2005-07-22T10:00:00.000-07:00

Allegedly there was this little league coach who paid a kid $25 to throw a ball at another teammate so his teammate couldn't play. It was a big game and the kid who they wanted to sit out had a disability. Here's what I'm thinking… I'm thinking, the hitboy should have gotten at least $50, $100 if it was in the playoffs. Hell, give crip boy $100 and everybody's a winner! Yes, I'm growing cynical in my old age. (Seriously, if the coach did this, he should be fired, at the very very least. It's so offensive, it's funny)

On the other side of the coin, Nicholas started playing soccer this spring. My college roommate came with me to one game and kept whispering "You're head's gonna explode…" I'm a yeller… I'd say I was competitive but I'm just not skilled at any one thing to be. Every few weeks we have a game night. Bobby and his evil twin, as I like to refer to his buddy, are twice as smart as I am. I figure the only way I'll win is if I yell and talk trash til they get a headache and quit. Aside from my 5 or 6 black eyes, which I probably deserved, I can feel I'm wearing them down… I should win a game any day now.

The organization that Nicholas plays soccer with doesn't believe in competition at all. "Hello?!" I screamed… then whispered as Bobby smothered my mouth. You can't keep score. You must make everything a positive statement. There's even a rulebook for parents. Talk about appropriate bathroom material. On their behalf, the games were well run and I liked every single parent. Nicholas had a blast. I was just thrilled if he ran the right way.

We are hoping he'll play again in the fall. He has fun, gets his heart pounding. So here's what I'm wondering, should I look for something in the middle? I don't want a hitman taking him out if he misses a kick, but if he's picking his nose and misses a goal, I think its my god given parental right to yell at him… Hypothetically of course.

All kidding aside I would much rather a friendly game for Nicholas then a high stung, must-fight-to-the-death coach. But it's rather unrealistic to teach Nicholas everybody wins all the time. Damn, do I know this from personal experience.

Now I'm all wound up. I'm so happy we called a last minute small game night. Bob will be distracted by a half naked Starbuck on Sci-fi. I'm taking him down! (If Evil twin & beautiful girl are free… Hey, did you know Starbuck is a girl? a silly girl... who smokes cigars...) And so begins my trash talk :

The Ten Year Tick

2005-07-21T11:32:00.000-07:00

A recent survey shows that most couples break up after 10 years together because the cuteness factor wears thin and all that is left is socks on the floor. Most people find this survey depressing but not me. I’m a glass is half full kinda gal. I’m impressed if anyone thinks I’m cute for longer than a week. I guess those pills I’m slipping Bobby every night are working.

There must be something in the water because my girls and I have been snippy all week. This is bad because we usually like to take turns flipping out. We always need one girl rational or for like 3 minutes we really believe that us girls are moving to Alaska... Hey it doesn’t have to make sense, we are temporarily insane… just a few minutes, a whole bunch of times…

(don’t worry L, I’m sure I’ll be over it by the bridal show… If not, won’t I be a frackin joy!)

I got to thinking that we have to renew everything from our driver’s license to insurance policies. Hell I have to even apply for a new handicap parking plague every few years, which is cool. I always think maybe the Texas Department of Transportation knows something I don’t. and sometimes in July 2008 I’ll be healed.

Wouldn’t it be funny if we had to renew our wedding vows every ten years? Not a big thing, pay your $5.50 at the courthouse and receive a gold star. Although next year I do wanna renew our vows as it should have been. In Vegas, Elvis, 3 matrons of honor and my best guy-man… all in short dresses. We had a beautiful wedding. Now I want a zany one.

Everybody talks about the 7 year itch but is there also a 10 year tick? Or are we looking for an easy explanation. And is fighting always bad? Because let’s face it, making up rocks. and isn’t anything that is great worth the work?

Carebears, Girls, and Satan

2005-07-19T14:48:00.000-07:00

I'm trying to raise Nicholas to be very accepting, all races… Creeds… Religions… Homosexuals… Republicans… (Yes, that's a slam against one particular gay and one particular republican…) so imagine my horror when he told me he hated… GIRLS!

And the boy is already in denial, he's like, "but mommy I'll make exceptations." I always tease him because every night he rides his bike with this cute older chick named Jenny. She's 11. I feel the need to repeatedly remind him that Jenny, in fact is a girl. He just rolls his eyes and ignores me… like all good males in my life do.

I keep pushing it because Nicholas's cute when he's all worked up, just like his daddy. Every night about 8:45 he gets super lovey with me. I ask him if he's afraid of getting cooties and he says "mommies don't have cooties." And he continues kissing me. I fool myself into think it's because I'm an awesome mom. And Nicholas tries to resist me all day but the affection builds up until he just can't stand it anymore… Kill joys, I know he's know its bedtime and I can't be mad when he's hugging me. Thanks for bursting my bubble.

Another thing, the boy seems to have a deep, hateful prejudice, against… Carebears. Where did it come from? You know how they say prejudice is pass down. May I say that's crap. From the age of 9 months to 4 years old, I told Nicholas, Barney was Satan…. Still he worship the purple devil once a day, twice if I allowed it.

I never pushed Carebears one way or another. But about 7 months ago he came from his cousins all uppity, younger Dylan was watching Carebears and Nicholas was totally offended. I thought a cute story would help so I told him Carebears made mommy smile because the only nickname that my friends call me… that I can share… was Clairebear… this of course sent him over the edge.

Nicholas actually told me he'd rather be spanked then watch a Carebear Movie. So what did I do? Ran out and bought a few… just incase he is ever really bad. Sigh ~ There's such a fine line between cruelty and creative parenting.

P.s. I just had a deep revelation, holy shit, if Barney is a dinosaur and Barney is satan and Nicholas wants to be a paleontologist… Think about it.

Oh no, she's gonna blow

2005-07-18T15:18:00.000-07:00

I'm writing under protest today because I'm in a really bad mood. First I just found out in 12 weeks, I'll be in a new age group. I was filling out this form and was asked are you 25-34 or 35-49? What's that about? The good news is I'll be drunk the entire month of October so it won't matter. Ok, my friends know I'm lying. I'll drink vicariously. I'm too wild sober, you can't handle me drunk, Got a rocking bridal shower, the renaissance fest. And a trip to New Orleans which Bobby owes and if he doesn't put out, I'll have "people" who can make him see the travel light. Its good to have girlfriends in the martial arts.

Last week I'm watching tv and I see this thing on Government grants. It's gets into my head. Ok here's what pisses me off. If the government is dying to give money to a 6-ways-to-Sunday-minority like myself. (crip, woman, asian… I got it all baby) Why the bloody hell do we have to pay for the info? I've been on 400 websites and every single one wants $29.99. Hello? It all seems too hard.

I know that's pretty reasonable but I'm just not ready to make that commitment. Because I should have an idea first. Do I want money to promote my book as an "understanding Crips"? open a game store? Promote/help teach the disabled self defense… (Actually I just thought of that…) My head hurts with half-baked ideas.

And then something happened Saturday. At first it was flattering then it became weird. Bobby's Aunt was flying back to Dallas from visiting family in Kentucky. She had a layover in Houston. We went to the airport looking pitiful so she would buy us lunch. Have yall eating at the airport lately? Good stuff. Anyway we have a family friend working at the airport. She got us passes so we could see her off in the terminal.

I haven't flown tons, maybe a handful of times since 9/11. No security problems. Bobby walked through, Nicholas hopped through. No biggie. I get pulled over, which is normal. Usually one woman pats my thigh and sends me happily on my way. This time, not one, not two, but three people were searching me. I hear my husband laughing hysterically. As he puts it "What's a 95-pound-cripgirl gonna do?" which I just realize was an insult and now I have to kick his butt… after he goes to sleep tonight.

I'm not upset about the search. One of the security folks was a guy. Very friendly. I thought he was flirting with me. Oh, it's ok, Bobby and I get flirted with so rare, it becomes a family holiday, high-fiving each other… Pathetic maybe but that's a decade of being together.

I smile because I think security guy is flirting with me. He has all these corny lines like: "Body searched often?" and "I am not always this thorough." Then he gets very serious and goes, "I need to swipe you for explosive…" The boy wasn't flirting with me. He was scared of me…

Now that I think about it, how cool is that? If my boys only feared me that way, life would be so much easier.

The Amazing Thing-a-ma-jig

2005-07-15T10:15:00.000-07:00

Is there anyway I can mute my inner voice for a while? I really need to. I found a thing I want to buy. Being a crip, I'm always looking for stuff that will simplify my life and those helping me. If it's under $100, I don't usually have to clear it with Bobby, not that he cares. I just like telling him. There's about a 50/50 chance that the invention works for me. In my backyard, there's a deep, deep, grave of broken "thing-a-ma-jigs"…

I found the coolest thing ever… Bobby and I have been going fishing a lot. It's fun and it keeps us out of the malls. So I started to think, which Bobby strongly advises against because thinking usually gets me in trouble. But in a fleeing thought I pondered how awesome would it be if I found a thing-a-ma-jig that helps me cast my line…

Thank god for the internet where naked guys, unlimited shopping, and expensive thing-a-ma-jigs are just a google away. Within 2.3 seconds, I found my newest obsession, and his name is Jon Luke, no I'm kidding…

It's called Van's E-Z cast. It claims it attaches to any wheelchair, Cast and reel work independently even with no wrist or finger movement and casts 40 feet. How cool is that? Now if I can find a hook that lets me stab the bait instead of having to thread it on a hook, I'll be virtually an independent fisherwoman. And I just heard my husband scream "No Claire, don't even go there"… from his office… 20 miles away. He gets so negative when spastic me plays with sharp things, geez.

So here's my dilemma, Van's E-Z cast is a little more than my fun money. Van's E-Z cast is slightly more than one weekend spending if we really played hard. In another words, its pretty damn expensive for a experiment. But did I mention its wiggy wiggy cool. (crip dictionary: wiggy = really when I'm trying to be cute and irresistible.)

Bobby never tells me no, which is ironic because sadly, that's all I tell him. He just offered a warning that it may not work and he knows he and my friends don't mind casting for me at all. And since they automatically bait my hook… (at least for now.) casting is no biggy.

After carefully processing his thoughtful explanation I must confess, I still wiggy want this. If it shows up at the door next week Bobby will just shake his head, I'll be extra friendly before bed and it won't cause any major fights.

Here's where it gets sticky. I figure we will fish maybe twice a month til late November, that's about 10ish more times. If my thing-a-ma-jig works, time will fly by. Now if it doesn't work, I'm screwed. My beloved will never yell at me but with every messed up cast I try I can hear him asking, "How's that $300 rod working for ya sweetie?" and because I'm stubborn beyond belief, I'll grin saying its way cool even if we are 20 feet above the water, and the dumb thing only release 17 feet of line.

If I was smart… well, I should say if I was less dumb. If I were smart, this column wouldn't exist. If I was less dumb, I'd wait til late October to buy this. That way on the off chance that it doesn't work out as I imagine, it can be "misplaced" as we store fishing gear for the winter.

Did I mention it's really really cool… just three clicks on my computer and it could be here by Friday… yup…

Eating Jellyfish

2005-07-12T11:21:00.000-07:00

Saturday Bobby, our friend Theresa, and I decide to take Nicholas to the beach. I had planned to sit in a lounge chair by Bobby. The beach isn't really my thing because it's difficult to get around on and for weeks after the fact I find sand in the most particular places. But when friends go, it's all good.

Bobby is a different story. He hates the beach. Married 9 years, together 10, I think this was our first real trip to the beach. About once a year we would drive by a beach, I'd suggest we get out and Bobby would hold his breath til I said never mind. The only reason Bobby went was because a beautiful woman asked him too, regretfully the woman wasn't me. Hell no I'm not offended. She's gonna use her charm to get Bobby to drive us to florida next year. Hey whatever non-smoking method that works, but that's in itself is another column.

Theresa and Nicholas ran in the water as Bobby and I sat in the sand. I don't know if it was the beautiful day. The intoxicating sounds of my little boy's laughter. Or just wanting to hang out closer to Theresa, I wanted in that murky brown water.

"I'm going in." I said.

"You forgot your life jacket. I'd prefer you didn't." he said, not taking his eyes off of Nicholas. My first thought was that's cute, he doesn't want me to drown… Yup, pretty darn cute… maybe just a tad arrogant… then I let it stew in my brain. 10 minutes later I could feel my olive skin turn bright red. Voices in my head were screaming. I married a bastard. How the freak did I wind up here? Oooo won't mom be proud, I just realized, I married God. He'd prefer I didn't. What is that? I don't want to swim a mile offshore. Two, three inches in the waves. The only thing that might freak me out is if I got stung by a jelly fish… But that won't happen.

"I'm going in." I finally snapped. Bobby knew I had made up my mind. He extended his arm and guided me to the water's edge in pissed off silence. I did a knee drop from his arm… I hit the water and I swear the second my butt touched a incoming wave, I hear this blood shrieking scream. Nicholas.

Looking back, maybe I was married to god because within 7 seconds he had swoop me back to my chair and had reached where Theresa had brought Nicholas out of the water. My poor baby was stung by, let's all say it together a jellyfish. I'm not sure what hurt more, his arms or my ego. 20 minutes later we were relieved to see Nicholas' smile again. 15 minutes after that he was using his injuries to get chocolate milk, which I gladly bought. I am so lucky we weren't near a toy-r-us.

Man when shit comes around it sure bites you hard in the butt. Although technically I wasn't verbally horrible to Bobby, just slightly feisty in my head…so I guess I only kinda owe him an apology, here's goes, as I grind my teeth.

Bobby… Bob… Sweety… I sorr… I sincerely apolo… oh hell you lucky bastard, thanks for not leaving me in the water. You don't completely suck as a husband, although I still think you're dead wrong about the jet ski and go-cart I want… And I'll prove it soon. No worries babe!

(It's because I'm cute and utterly charming when I'm not trying to drown myself… for those of you men who were wondering why Bobby puts up with me.)

Just Add Water and Poof!

2005-07-01T10:31:00.000-07:00

Does anyone know anything about these websites that advertise earn $1500 a week filling out surveys? Hell if you do, and you hook me up, I'll give you my 2nd paycheck, after my first check clears. I'm dead serious.

After vacation I'll start a search on the net for a new gig but I can't help but wonder about these surveys for cash offers. I've always been taught that if its sounds too good to be true, it probably is. I guess for $49.98 I can find out. Because that seems to be the going rate to buy the top secret information for this amazing career.

Three words come to mind, Roll-N-Grow. Or is that one word? Anyway, I shamefully got hooked on an infomercial. You'd think I'd know better because in a former life, I produced one. It was for one of those computer dictations systems. I'm not saying the product was less than perfect, but when the cutting room floor looks like a sea, ya gotta wondered.

But this one was surely different. Roll-N-Grow was pretty. And only $29.95 + shipping and handling. Although after seeing my final charge on my credit card I'm curious as to why they are handling plants with silk gloves?

I was too lost in my fantasy to worry about it. Hypothetically Roll-N-Grow would solve all of my gardening problems. Short summary: looks like green carpet, you lay it out on flower bed, water daily and poof! It's a weedless English Garden. Bobby was kind enough to lay it out, Nicholas watered it religiously… and absolutely nothing happened. Not even one single droopy flower… I was devastated. My boys were amused to say the least.

So pardon me if I'm not on the phone telling my favorite lawyer quit your job girlfriend, we'll buy two cheap computers, fill out surveys, eat yummy flat noodles, and get filthy rich. My husband is probably wondering why I wouldn't make that offer to him first. Can you image us together 24/7? I didn't think so.

That being said, I'm off on my vacation. If any of my buds are thinking of surprising us but are worried that we want to be alone… We really don't. Trust me. Really really don't. We have enough food for an army and Bobby will be grateful for any adult conversation other than me.

I hope he likes my first surprise. I sorta had to rent an Uhaul for all the stuff... Yup, gonna be a long 10 days for us…

Claire, the Amazing Tightrope Walker

2005-06-30T11:44:00.000-07:00

Today I'm pondering the question how responsible are we for our significant others happiness? I'm not talking about taking out the garbage, I'm talking about the inner peace, Zen, I've arrived thing.

For some reason my happiness is directly connected to my career choices. And I've made a few really bad ones over the years, therefore I'm not feeling that inner peace man. And what brought this on is stupid. I made Bobby a deal. On this vacation, he'll pay for food and shelter and I'll pay for the bells and whistles. And it's driving me insane that I'd had a slow month so we're looking at rusted bells and mini-whistles.

The sad part is they didn't know I was planning to shower them with trips to amusement parks and water parks, And other stuff… like… I sorta cannot think of anything but trust me, it was a long list of over expensive crap I wanted to do with my boys, Damnit. The irony of my pain of not being able to do all the touristy things is Bobby hates everything I mentioned above. He's probably thanking the ebay gods I had a sucky month.

Maybe it's the beginning of my mid-life crisis. Maybe it's because I have three friends in the hospital. I'm not talking about a friend of a friend. I mean three people I have direct connections to. And life feels too short to pout over something I intellectually understand, I had no control over, I'm thinking I need a career over haul.

So that's it, as soon as we get back from vacation I'm joining the circus and becoming a tight rope walker. Dang, I feel better all ready. Yes, I'm still taking those little green Nyquil pills.

Ok, maybe not a tight rope walker but at least I'm opening myself up to other careers. There must be thousands of jobs for a smart-ass, cerebral palsy, blurred speech, bitch like me. And when I find it, I'll support my honey, send him back to school so he could become a history professor with those sexy elbow pads. And I'll be the responsible bread winner for once.

Bob, you're turning blue… Breathe baby breathe.

War of the Vivid Imagination

2005-06-29T09:36:00.000-07:00

Can someone please email me the ending to War of the Worlds? I want a written guarantee to a happy ending before I shell out $40 for an evening out. $40? Yup. Between tickets, drinks, and popcorn there you go.

I hate to admit it but a few movies have scarred me for life. When I was ten, I was at a cousin's church. They showed a very graphic movie about the end of the world. Til this day I wake up checking to see if my head is still attached to my body.

What's worse is Bobby believes that the handicap get a "go directly to heaven, avoid rolling heads" free card. This just pisses me off because if this is true, I wasted my twenties being sweet and can't rebel again until I'm 46, the day after I send Nicholas off to Yale, I'm buying a hog. It's true I won't be able to drive it but at least I can sit on it.

The other movie that ruin me forever is Poltergeist. Bobby thinks I'm being nice and got cable just for him. Not true. With cable I lower the chances of running into an off-air channel and that hellish static noise. On rare occasions the cable goes off line and when I turn on the TV its of course extra loud with the static. I have to quickly turn it off, take a few deep breathes in preparation to battle the TV for control of the cable.

Rereading this, I'm amazed I get out of bed in the mornings. I have blocked out the movie that planted the seed in my brain that dolls were just frozen monsters waiting for a dark and stormy night to attack. Needless to say the whole early 80s cabbage patch craze was just hell on earth for me.

I was so thankful to have a son. A daughter would have been fine, but I worried about two things. One, doing her hair. And two, having all those dollies around. Although no one warned me about Nicholas' strange boy noises which Bobby seems to take great pride in.

Needless to say, I don't need another creepy movie to encourage my vivid and sick imagination. I assumed people will die in this thriller. That's ok. I would pout about it but I can even live with Tom Cruise dying as a mortar. But bottom line Dakota Fanning has to live and be well. And the world must be exterminated of the alien creatures. If the creatures needed humans for experiments, just take the men, leave the women and the shops on 5th avenue untouched and we'll call it even.

Oh heck, I think I will go see it. I'll just sit 2 rows and five seats over from Bobby. Or he'll try to breath down my neck during the creepy parts… and not in the good way either.

Pretty Green Capsules & other Mysteries

2005-06-28T12:42:00.000-07:00

Pretty computer screen. That's the deepest thought I have had all day. Other then look mom, I can move my neck. Cool.

That's right folks, I'm drunk. Ok, I'm on Nyquil but to me it's the same thing. Talk about a cheap date, I can get a buzz just by glancing at a margarita. Saturday night I started coughing, by yesterday it had grown to a full blown head cold. Normally I'd just ignore the sick elephant in the room until I either get better or Bobby gets tired of sleeping with a hacking machine and shoves medicine down my throat. I need to get ready for the camping trip, I refuse to let this end like the neck trauma of 2005.

As much as I hate to admit it, I'm exactly like my mommy. With any ache, we assume it's a cancerous tumor. Unlike my mom, I embrace suffering in silence, whereas mom shares her pain.

A few days… weeks… months… let's say a while back I got a pain in my neck. At first I thought I just slept on it wrong. Then I blamed too many hours typing on my computer. Then I blame the disappearing ozone. And finally with my brilliant non-medical background, I concluded it was a tumor…

"My neck hurts." I finally confessed, months after it started. Bobby offered to massage it. Ouch. Stop. You can't massage out a tumor, you sick freak. Ouch. He was really hurting me. Ouch. I thought man, when he stops I'm gonna wack him, and I'm going to aim really low.

"Stop." I finally screamed because it really did hurt. I drew my hand back ready to attack when I realize I was staring at him… with my neck turned. "Thanks," I mumbled. Walking away, I let my head freely bob for the first time in a long time. Who knew it was just a tight muscle.

I'm gonna nip my cold in the bud. By Saturday I should be ready for camping. But I really have to close now. It seems I took the wrong drugs. i just read the instructions, the pretty orange ones are for daytime, probably non drowsy. The pretty green ones are for night time. Well hell I didn't know. I thought the drugs manufactures were just extremely color conscious. And everyone knows I love green.

But I'm sure I can fight the drowsiness. Look, pretty blinking cursor. Oh hell, G'nite.

What goes up, May not come down

2005-06-27T15:29:00.000-07:00

Nicholas is going to Science Camp this summer. This is why I'm not going on a wild weekend with my honey, but let's stay focused on the positives.

We have been so pleased with the program. Nicholas has really enjoyed it and I think it has been a brilliant solution to the summer time slump. Ok, he's learning and is not sitting on my head. Science Camp is four weeks, 9 to 4, a different topic each week including physics, rocketry, robotics, and pirate treasure. I am amazed the projects they build everyday. A few could be passed off as middle school creations, but than again I have a Bachelor of Arts… Bottom line, they build cool stuff man. Today starts the Pirates so I'm hoping all my questions will be answered when Nicholas gets home. Pirates seems like a strange leap from physics but we'll see. As long as he doesn't come home with an eye patch saying "ay mommy," it's all good.

I'm always looking for the next great family hobby. Anything that will keep Nicholas and Bobby away from the boob tube. No, I not referring to myself, I'm not shaped like a tube. We are working on a few but can't find one that we are equally passionate about. Nicholas and I love bicycling. Bobby would rather have a stick up his rear, it's quicker and less peddling. The boys love swimming, me, not so much. We all love games, just not the same ones. Nicholas loves Operation. Now there's a fabulous one for an uncoordinated crip. Although I was thrilled to see the nose doesn't make that obnoxious buzzing sound anymore. It just vibrates. Bobby likes these 10 hours war boardgames, no comment required, refer to my chosen degree. I like uno. With anything more then seven cards I get confused.

Last week Nicholas came home with a beautiful model rocket. Of course Bobby turned into a ten-year-old and my boys immediately decide model rockets should be our new thing. Cool. Fine.

They were very cute. They spent an entire Saturday painting and cutting and… painting… built three rockets. We all were abuzz on the way to our launching party. 20 minutes to set everything up. The first one was awesome, all five seconds of it, shot up, parachuted down. Second one shot up… and disappeared. Third one followed the second. My boys are high-fiving each other. And I'm still staring at the sky, waiting for my 15 bucks to return to me. They searched for 15 minutes as I'm still waiting for my lost money, I mean rockets.

I guess they are worse hobbies, believe me I've vetoed a bunch. The most fascinating was suggested by Nicholas, roller blading. Has he ever taken a look at his parents? Even from 100 yards away? So I'll support this rocket hobby, yet I can't help but make comparisons… 8 long hours of prep. 2 seconds of bliss, and an hour of clean up… Hmm

Forget Paris, I need a bookstore

2005-06-24T10:42:00.000-07:00

At first glance, people probably pity me. After getting to know me they definitely pity Bobby, wondering if insanity was a side effect of my cerebral palsy or do I just come by it naturally. But when all is said and done I've had some awesome times with my dearest friends. I've snow skied, tried martial arts, traveled, went on a hot air balloon ride on my 25th birthday over Napa Valley. Which by the way is a thorn in Bobby's side because how is he going to ever beat that? Cool. Maybe he'll take it as a challenge. Naw, he'll except defeat and drown his sorrows in another episode of combat. Damnit…

It struck me as very odd that yesterday I caught myself doing a happy dance when my Nicholas' Godmommy suggested we go to a book store. My happy dance used to be reserved for trips and exciting weekends. We've eaten at the finest restaurant, she was proposed to in Paris. We are planning a fabulous girl's getaway. So the act of going to our favorite bookstore shouldn't be the highlight of my week, sadly, I'm squealing with glee just thinking about it.

We'll go Saturday. No I promised Nicholas it was his day. How about Sunday? She said no, must work in yard. Says the weeds were almost to her hips. I'm thinking, that's not so bad, she's a beautiful petite, it's only really bad when the weeds reach her neck. Yuck. When did we become responsible? Next weekend I'm outa here. She's gone the following one. Then starts the bridal shows season. As its sits we are going to the bookstore in early 2006.

That's right, I can't wait to go to the bookstore where we will gossip and forget about real life. That is, except for flipping through the wedding, relationships, career, and how-to books…

But at last I can dream a little dream of hanging out in my favorite bookstore with one of my favorite people. Do I dare include having a leisurely lunch at our Vietnamese restaurant in my crazy fantasy? Some say it's too much to ask but by damn I think I will.

Until then, we'll always have email Baby…

The Compulsive Camper

2005-06-23T09:57:00.000-07:00

I have decided I'm banding myself from Walmart as I prepare for our first real family vacation. We are going camping for a week. It's going to be great. Friends are stopping by. My mom is even reserving a few days for tent space. With Nicholas' bike and some good fishing, a good time will be had by all.

I joke that I live in suburbia hell but truthfully we live in a nice house in a nice area. We have a lot of stuff. Yet I'm a wreck because I feel the need to fully furnish a 100 square feet pop up camper. Intellectually, I realize that if I have everything in my house that I need, I should be able to pack the same stuff. But let's face it, packing sucks. Shopping is more fun. Today Bobby is thanking God I cannot drive other wise he might come home to 200 square feet of stuff. No technically it's not too much junk, haven't y'all ever heard of stacking?

Bobby is from the old camping school. All you need is a toothbrush and a can of beans. I'm literally taking a break from trying to unscrew the kitchen sink. It's stainless steel, wouldn't you feel silly if you were in the middle of the woods and you needed a stainless steal sink? It's all I'm saying.

I figure if Bobby doesn't kill me in the next week as we prepare for this grand adventure, we'll be good to go. As for my Walmart fetish, I decided to compromise. I'll let myself go crazy in a dollar store and see if that takes the edge off. If not, the dollar store is right next to Target and Academy Sporting Goods and…

The Accidental Tourists

2005-06-22T14:52:00.000-07:00

I absolutely hate going downtown to the medical center. The traffic. The Construction. And even though my niece is a beautiful healthy teenager today, I can't help shiver from the haunting memories of her cancer. But when a friend asks you to go to see a mutual friend, you suck it up and go. I told myself to think of it as an adventure. Dullness is so underrated.

We get to the medical center and I laugh hysterically at our monorail system. It cost 50 billion dollars and goes 2.3 miles. Ok, I'm exaggerating a little but not a hell of a lot. Every time I pass it, I think I'll probably win the loto before I ever ride this.

We drive pass the hospital and its parking lot is full. I don't know what we were thinking but we decided to pick another parking lot, any one. Somehow we ended up in China. Robyn's pushing me in my wheelchair. I'm carrying two vases. Roses up my nose and a leaking vase so I look like I just couldn't wait. She's laughing so hard that she doesn't remember to look for curb cuts.

Somehow we emerge from a side street a mile from the hospital. We decided to hop on the rail. Nicholas has been fascinated by trains so I always thought I'd take him for a ride, like next time we were at the zoo. As nice as it was, I didn't see planning a Saturday around this.

The ride changed our luck, or so it seemed. Found the hospital, found the friend, had a nice but short visit. That's what happens when you involuntarily tour the medical center, street by street. Still we were amused by our actions and after the visit were thrilled with ourselves when we found the correct parking lot. Hey small minds, grand accomplishments.

Robyn pays for the parking at one of those automatic tellers. Pushes me into the elevator, and then hops off for no apparent reason. A normal person would quickly press the open door button on the elevator and yell "What the hell are ya doing?"

I have cerebral palsy. Ignoring my friends, I think I have pretty normal thoughts and with a 5 to ten second lag, my body usually response to my commands. So I'm in the elevator praying that when my finger gets around to it, it will push the right button, not say like the alarm. It was definitely a toss up. Luckily the elevator was slow and it was before rush hour, or I may still be stuck alone on the 8th floor.

I find her, in silence she waves the receipt as if to say, see say thank you, without the receipt we couldn't get out of here.

"Shut up, just Shut up." She says five minutes later as I grinned trying not to laugh. Robyn's a martial arts instructor so I should have because she could kill me with two fingers. We didn't need the receipt, we needed the other thing the machine spit out. Another 10 minutes gone waiting for the parking attendant.

Other people might have deemed this trip as disastrous. We were thoroughly amused with our many minor calamities. And we accomplished our objective, visiting Master A. So all's well that ends well.

We do wish Master A a speedy recovery because quite frankly I'm scared to go downtown again.

I'll forgive you Tom

2005-06-21T12:36:00.000-07:00

I have decided Bobby and I have been married too long. Last night I glanced over at his computer screen and two gigantic breasts were staring me in the face. Ten years ago I would have gone berserk. I was still pissed but not because of the boobs. I'm thinking, if he has the gulls to leave me watching TV by myself to go look at naked women, he should have at least left the remote. Geez, inconsiderate ass. I'm kidding, it was one of those joke porn sites, which he immediately pointed out the instant he felt my eyes on him. But he has to admit I've come along way baby.

That being said, I'm happy to announce Tom Cruise is back on my list. Ya know, the list. Those five people we would… let's say, have drinks with, and our partners could not hate us because we had a prenuptial agreement. To love, honor, and obey… and if Robin Williams invites me to dinner, I'll be home by 10.

I have to admit that Tom is the only "all American" face on my list. So my heart broke when he announced his feelings for Katie, over and over and over. Don't get me wrong, there's nothing sexier to me then a man madly in love with his woman. But even if he was jumping on Oprah's Couch screaming "Claire," I'd think I would have to pull a Cher in Moonstruck, slap him, saying "snap out of it." That was annoying, even for a romantic like me.

But my guy redeemed himself by his response to the punk reporter. Bottom line I think my Tom's just that nice, just that madly in love. How many of us would beat the hell out of the reporter who squirted us in the face with a unidentified liquid? I'd probably would have, most certainly if they squirted Nicholas. He was calm, assertive, and in control.

So my world is happily back in order. Tom on my list. Bobby on my computer. And I hope the saying is true, there's nothing sexier than a man in love. If it is, I'm pretty damn lucky

Your walker is unforgetable...

2005-06-20T10:03:00.000-07:00

Bobby always teases me because I am recognized everywhere, me and Paris Hilton. Usually I'm waved at by former high school mates. I don't have the heart to point out that when you live 4 miles from your old high school, you're bound to bump into one of the 700 seniors of your graduating class. It's not amazing, just unavoidable. Gee, he's supposed to be the intellectual one. I'm also still recognized at a few pubs around town… But we probably shouldn't look at that phenomenon too closely.

We all have little lies we tell ourselves. Occasionally when I'm pointed out, I tell myself they remember me because I was so brilliant or had an amazing wit. Or my favorite, usually only thought of after visiting the local pub, I am recognized just because I'm that hot. But let's face it 99 out of 100 people remember my cripness. I think out of all my accidental meetings through the years, only one counts. A few years back I was attending a sporting event and was yelled at by from across the gym. You know you’re screwed if someone from your past calls you by your full name, especially if it’s of the opposite sex. I quickly introduced my adoring husband.

This morning I stumbled onto an old friend/mentors blog. I was tickled pink so without thinking I immediately emailed him. He was a director of a camp I attended. Great Claire, you expect a poor guy to remember you from like 5,000 campers… Yup! I'm kidding. He also chaperoned my first skiing trip and visited a few times at the house so I'm not totally deranged. Just a tad...

So there you go, this will settle the argument, do folks really remember me? I figure if he doesn't respond in the next 43 minutes, he doesn't remember who the hell I am. I win. It also maybe that yes, indeed he does remember me, That's exactly why he's not responding… I swear I had nothing to do with your boxers up the flagpole.

Love you, Mean... Whatever

2005-06-17T09:10:00.000-07:00

I’m very depressed because my portable dvd player recently died. This means I cannot watch my Sex and the City season three on the way to Dallas. I absolutely love this show. The nudity. The sex chats. But mostly it reminds me that I should have dinner more often with my girlfriends.

I have decided that besides sleeping, which Bobby encourages because if I’m sleeping on the drive, I’m not nagging, I would try to solve this week’s top two things that bug me.

First, Why don’t male rockers age gracefully? I’ve been hooked on that show “Hit Me Baby One More Time.” Its on NBC, where one hit wonders compete. Goofy I know but it’s like a blast from your past. But here’s my question, why does it seem that the female performers has grown old gracefully. Sophie still looked hot singing “Damn I wish I was Your Lover.” Yet it seemed odd when a middle age Lover Boy belted out “Everybody’s Working For The Weekend”. Bobby was getting a little ticked as I screamed “just show me one hot middle aged rocker.” At the tv.

And secondly, the rumor is the hottest catch phrase in Key West is “love you, mean it.” Its trite, its puzzling, yet I find myself wanted to put it on everything I sign.

I’d love to stay and share more things that baffle me but I am off to spread sunshine to my family in Dallas. Ok, they put up with me because I deliver Prince Nicholas…

Have a good weekend. Do something wild because even my vicarious lives are in a slump. And remember, Love you, mean it…

I'll write and workout later...

2005-06-16T09:59:00.000-07:00

Today was the day. I was going to search the net, find a fascinating article that would provoke deeps thoughts, but I’ve got nothing. Nada. Zip. Totally clueless. I considered toying with the idea of not writing anything today. Honestly who would know? My three wise-ass men. And you know who you are. Big freaking woop. I can take them… ok, maybe not but I got Nick, Diana, and my mother-in-law to protect me…

Then I thought it might be like skipping the gym. In early January we joined a gym. Believe it or not for two months Bobby and I lived at the gym. I guess this would be more amazing if you knew what I looked like. Just trust me. It was an amazing run for a self-proclaimed “middle-age fat guy” (he’s words, my description is “ancient cute guy”) and a crip.

Then April, early May I tried going to physical therapy. I wanted them to teach me to run. They wanted to teach me my name, how to fall and make sure I could wipe my own ass. “My name is Bitch. That’s capital B.i.t.c.h. I fall very well, that’s why I’m here. And the last time I noticed I wiped my own ass,” Needless to say I was asked to leave therapy… Again.

Of course I wanted to return to the gym right away. I know it’s the same thing as therapy but at least I feel in charge and let’s face it, the scenery is much nicer. But I decided I should take a week off to recover from my hellish experience. A week turned into two, the butt indentations on the sofa grew deeper… It just spiraled out of control from there.

So I decided I’d try to write a little every weekday, even if I had nothing to say. And it’s not because my beloved promised if I keep up my writing pace I’d get a big surprise. I’m not all about reward… just kinda.

You’d also be happy to know Bobby rented a crane this past weekend and pulled me off of the sofa. I went to the gym Tuesday. It’s felt so great I can’t wait to go back tonight. After we take Nicholas to the pool. And after we go shopping. And after we grab dinner. Tomorrow? We are leaving for the weekend. Like I said, can’t wait to go back to the gym next week…

P.s. On a personal note Bobby and I send all of our positive thoughts to Master Addison who I love and worship from afar, because I’m terrified of her. J

Nicholas, go blow your horn

2005-06-15T10:05:00.000-07:00

Because of my cerebral palsy, I startle easy. To me, this is horrible. It’s the main reason why I don’t have a driver’s license, I morn this every day. However not everyone shares my depressing views. The members of the Crip club view my startle reactions as a sport.

The Crip Club is made up of seven, eight perverts who tease me. The newest member discovered I jump when I receive text messages on my phone so she sends messages just to make my cell ring. What can I say it’s a bizarre but loyal group, although I can’t remember the benefits of my membership anymore. The funny part is if you tease me without being a member, they will beat you.

I have really tried to hide my jumping from Nicholas. I knew he would be the worse. He absolutely loves teasing me. (This is NOT a challenge Bobby and Chris, just a disturbing fact.) This weekend Nicholas found an old bicycle horn. May I just say, when squeezed right, its startles the shit out of me. All day, honk, jump, curse, honk, jump, threaten, honk, jump, beaten boy. Yet he couldn’t stop.

He finally decided to take a break from torturing mom and went to ride his bike. Bobby gave me the disappointing stare as I took the damn horn. I didn’t care. Mocking a handicap is fine, but stealing a horn from a six-year-old brat is wrong? I think it’s time to take a step back and look at your morals mister.

I hid the horn and I was proud of myself. Nicholas would never find it in a zillion years. Here’s what I thought would happen. Either when he found out I hid it he would A) pitch an ugly, loud fit, therefore taking away the guilt I may have had. Or b) Look for it awhile, then become distracted by something else.

Nicholas looked absolutely heartbroken. Like I had just taken away his best friend, which if you’ve been reading my previous columns, I might have. I sighed loudly, guilt ridden that my boy looked so pitiful but the sound of that horn was still resonating in my head.

I needed to think fast. I had the perfect solution. I’ll give him a hint, however cryptic it may be. He would like the thrill of the hunt, slowly lose interest. “The horn is under water.” I announced. Peace at last…

Here is where I get pissed off. I thought it was a brilliant hint. The hint was factual but come on, he’s six. He’s going to look in his kiddie pool, maybe in the bath tub… That’s where I would begin my search.

Bobby says my jaw dropped 2 stories and my face turned white. “Oh, mommy hid it under the sink. He finds the horn in less than a minute. Bobby’s laughing his ass off. I’m in shock. Very proud that Nicholas use deductive thinking but I really hate being defeated by a brat.

As I sit in my empty house, Nicholas at science camp, Bobby at work, it occurs to me Nicholas probably hid the horn under his bed and today is trash day. I can almost hear the horn’s dying blows as it’s being crushed by the compacter.

An hour later P.S. Bobby, sweetie… yeah, um, can you pick up a new horn on the way home…

Thoughts to Slumber on... Alone!

2005-06-14T11:07:00.000-07:00

Unless you live under a rock you know that Michael Jackson was acquitted yesterday of all charges in connection with accusations that he molested a 13-year-old boy in 2003. I’m sure there are many boo’s, maybe a few cheers. But the bottom line is, in the eyes of the law he is innocent.

I can’t help but be disturbed by this. My husband always jokes that he’s glad we don’t have a daughter. I think its partly because he was once a teenage boy but also that society has publicized awful crimes against girls, shying away from the hideous crimes against boys. I truly believe that a girl is more likely to report a sexual crime to her parents far more then a boy. Whereas a son might be afraid his father might not believe him. Because society tells us things like that only happens to girls. And this terrifies me, because I have a boy, a pink color-hating, mommies have cooties boy.

All this has gotten me thinking, where do I stand on slumber parties. A few months ago Bobby and I had a late night out and Nicholas’ best friends’ mom invited him just to stay over, more out of consideration for us. It still bothers me that I said naw, we’ll just skip dessert after the movie and pick him up. Was I worried that a couple of six-year-olds were going to play doctor? No. but eight-year-olds might. So what’s the cut off?

The neighborhood was all a buzz this prom season because it seemed that all the “in” seniors were invited to a co-head slumber party, sponsored by I think like the quarter back’s parents or something. All I’m thinking is man, I wish we had that in high school. It’d sure saved us money on prom night hotel rooms. I can’t help but wondered if they had condoms for party favors. Sadly I’m dead serious. Think about it, if you’re hosting a slumber party for ten couples on “the most romantic night of their lives” wouldn’t you at least want to know they were being save? What? Hosting a co-ed slumber party is perfectly normal but supplying rubbers is just a little too embarrassing?

So Michael Jackson is innocent, that’s great. But I can’t let go of the fact that the bottom-line, there’s no denying it, he enjoys sharing a bed with boys. Even if he spray paints a line down the bed and never crosses it during the night, I would still find it inappropriate. As much as I hate it, kids will inevitably make choices, some good, some bad. But I think it’s my job as Nicholas’ mom to warn him in the future of the consequences of the average teenage temptations, and to protect him from things that are beyond the norm… for instance… Grown men fascinated with young boys.

I have candy, therefore I am

2005-06-13T11:04:00.000-07:00

Many years ago a friend and I had an alcohol induced conversation about not existing. I don’t think it was anything like a suicide pack, just the left over thoughts from a two hours philosophy midterm, Does God Exist? I’m still leaning towards most likely although he certainly lacked in his divine inspiration on my exam.

Every now and then I toy with the thought. Wouldn’t it be strange if I just didn’t exist? No one would be sad because if no one knew me, no one would miss me. I think everyone feels this way sometimes. I am the self-proclaimed bad guy in my house, which is ridiculously ironic because I hate nagging. Clean up, hurry up, take baths, we have to go to the gym. And the worse is the foods. My mother-in-law told me she used to hide cookies in the dryer because if they were on the counter they would be gone in 8.9 seconds. What a strange woman, hiding cookies in the dryer… That was many years ago. Since then I’ve learned my mother-in-law is brilliant. I only wish I was. Do you realize how hard it is to wash melted Toll House Chocolate Chips Cookies from a white towel?

I hate being the bad guy and sometimes I wonder if my boys, my husband and my son, day dream about what if I worked in Alaska 11 months of the year. I’m certain they love me but even “hurry up and eat your salads so we can clean the house,” sounds disgusting as the words flow out of my mouth, in my mother’s voice.

I recently was reminded that mommies don’t always suck. Saturday afternoon the house was full of gaming friends. Nicholas was playing in the backyard and he got stung by a wasp. Bobby was first to his side and quickly doctored him. Being his first bad encounter with an insect we were relieved to see Nicholas had no allergies.

My son does not frighten easily. But he was still hysterical even after Bobby finished cleaning him up. I decided to put him in my lap and may I brag that within 5 minutes he was back outside. Yup. Damn I’m good.

What? True story. I have witnesses. They can testified, in between screams Nicholas And I whispered secrets, then he was fine… What were we whispering? Oh…

Because I’m not allowed to hide cookies in the dryer anymore I have a goodie drawer… and we were sitting by it as Nicholas had his meltdown.

“Give me 10 gummy life savors and I’ll stop crying.” He whispered, pretending to kiss me in between shrieks of terror.

“Five.” I mumbled as I kissed him. His cries grew louder. Everyone assumed he was having a flashback. “Oh come on, there’s barely a mark.” I groveled. He leaned against me, crying even louder in my ear. “Fine. Ten.” I sighed. He carefully dug in my drawer. From the way that we were seated, no one could see the drawer. All they saw was a mommy with a son on her lap, his hands reaching to the side.

Nicholas carefully put 10 in his hand. Taking an extra, he secretly shoved a red gummy life savor in my mouth. I think he pitied I gave in so easily. As a peace offering he gave me a big hug. Everyone ooo’d and aww’d how great I was, amazed that I had convinced him to go outside again. I didn’t have the heart to explain he was running to his fort to sort his loot…

For what ever reason Nicholas sat on my lap, for that moment, I’m certainly glad my goodie drawer and I existed.

Sorry Brad Pitt, i'm hanging with my honey

2005-06-12T09:35:00.000-07:00

My girls and I tease and male bash our guys shamelessly in front of them because it’s fun. We would never admit it to them but behind their backs we pity them. However dingy they may be, we know we are ten times worse. At least I am.

A few weeks ago Bobby was invited to this thing. I’m calling it a thing to protect the innocent. I told Bobby I’d do a small thing but I’m uncomfortable doing a big thing. Of course when I said that the thing grew and as it grew I became more leery. Oh get your minds out of the gutter. It’s just a thing where you have to be half way understandable… Hello? Little miss freakish speech here…

“If you tell me to I’ll cancel it.” Bobby would say each night. My male readers are calling Bobby pussied whipped. However the girls know this is a trap. If I say yes, I’d be the wicked witch of the west for a month.

“Do whatever you want sweetheart.” I said. Girls what does that mean? Cancel the freaking thing and you shall be rewarded. Does he cancel? Of course not.

In the beginning of our marriage we were passionate fighters. The bastard left his sock on the floor, I’m leaving him. Between growing a little wiser, a little mellower, and just too damn busy, we don’t fight that much anymore. We snap and go on.

Occasionally I find myself blowing things out of proportion. Old habits die hard. Trying to be grown up I told Bobby you go to your thing and I’ll do a movie day. He’s not god. I don’t need to spend every second with him. Besides he’ll never do this, he’ll be miserable without me.

“That’s perfect.” Damnit bobby. Can’t he hear the voices in my head screaming at him, for they really do love him. “Danger Bobby James danger.” “You should take Theresa or Lindy with you.” He said. You big silly Prick. That was the wrong answer, beg me to go with you.

“I think Lindy has a wedding thing and Theresa has a Soo Bahk Do thing.” I said. I didn’t know this for sure. But I couldn’t invite them because if I did it would foil my plan. If I went out with my girls, I wouldn’t be miserable. It might even be a blast. If I was having fun, I could not teach Bobby a lesson. Although now I’ve confused myself so much, I forgotten how exactly this would punish Bobby… Hey two out of the five voices in my head say I make sense.

As lame as it sounds I still like hanging out with my honey. I know he loves me, but every now and then it would be nice to be reminded he likes me too. I screwed up. I should have asked him to cancel a week ago because I honestly feel uncomfortable at this thing and its not something he feels passionate about… I’m sure to his buddies faces he’ll whine how awful I am. Never admitting instead of doing this thing, he had a fabulous day in Kemah sailing with his lovely wife.

But this is a mute point now because its too late for Bobby to cancel. It’s really is, no traps. I’ve sloppily made my bed, I should just lie in it. I guess there are worse things then spending the evening with Brad Pitt. I made such a big deal about if he can have fun without me, I can have fun all by myself. I can’t change my mind now. Yup. I’ll go. All by myself. If I back out now I’d be one of those wives I hate, you know the kind, they can’t live without their dorky… funny… cute… cuddly… oh just shoot me.

Red Light Signal on Hilcroft

2005-06-09T10:23:00.000-07:00

Did you hear what Russel Crow said on Letterman last night? Sounding very apologetic he explain he had to call his wife. At first I thought this was sweet After all, I have fantasies of Bobby beating up a bellhop just because he misses my voice. Isn’t that the act of true love? Then I thought about it, Crow went on to say it was his duty to call his wife every single night to tell her he was sober and alone, I’m guessing this is opposed to drunken and with someone? Now there’s a marriage.

This got me thinking. Bobby, from now on I need you to call me at 6:37 in the mornings so I’ll know you’re alone and weren’t seduced by the Hilcroft Hookers.

I offend myself by laughing but this is true! Not Bobby being tempted but yes Virginia, there are hookers hanging out at my husband’s work exit in the mornings. The truly scary part is for some bizarre reason I’m thoroughly fascinated by this. Is this really the root of Houston’s traffic problem. Should wives worry when husbands say “No thanks honey, I’ll pick up breakfast on the way to work.”

Bobby raised an eyebrow as I interrogated him. Not because I was checking his collar or any other body parts for lipstick, but because I seemed a bit too curious asking hundreds of questions. How many are there? Do a lot of cars pull over? Wonder what they’re getting? Do you know? Bobby screamed no and looked at me like I had finally gone mad. He wasn’t worried I was accusing him, just the opposite. Ya know after nine years of being unemployed… Just a passing thought, gee put the chastity belt away…

In my mind prostitutes are hot. Like the surreal experience in Amsterdam. Like everyone, I’ve seen films of hot babes in windows winking to possible johns, and even a few Jills. Yet nothing prepares you for the real thing. Being in Amsterdam, being 20 feet from sex windows… Very strange. Yes I was in Amsterdam. Does that shock you? I was once young, cool, and hip…

My friend would say yes, you were once young, cool, and hip… You just didn’t take those qualities on our trip to Europe… I figure in another 5 years, we’ll be able to laugh about it. I still get eye twitches when we pass a grey hound bus.

But anyways… This is the romantic “beautiful window very sensual” image I had when Bobby first told me about the new scenery on his daily drive to work. He seemed to be afraid to tell me these women of the mornings weren’t “all that.” “They’re sorta… ugly.” He admitted… I smiled, relieved. Now that I think about it, Bobby likes ugly… hmm…

Doesn’t it make you kinda wonder? Bobby says they are out there every morning so they must be “popular”. Prostitution is legal in several countries, I think even in Nevada, as Bobby must point out every time we are in Vegas.

About once a month the police chase away the Hilcroft Hookers and for about a week Bobby has no scenery to amuse himself on the drive to work. Poor guy. But like weeds, they return. Do I like prostitution. Not really. But it’s not one of my hot buttons. To each his own and I’m more worried about Bobby forgetting to buy milk on the way home then anything else.

It would seem to me that if prostitution was legalized, and ran like a business maybe it would put a dent in the aids epidemic. It would give the police more time to focus on missing children and unsolved murders. Let the Lorraine Bobbit’s of the world take care of wandering spouses.

-30-

Nevermind common sense, we have zero tolerance

2005-06-08T11:16:00.000-07:00

A friend was telling me that her son almost missed his graduation ceremony because he was wearing shorts and tennis shoes. Luckily he found good ol dad and they made a clothes switch. Can you imagine how heartbreaking it could have been if they didn’t let him walk and his only crime was ugly shoes.

Recently a senor was denied becoming valedictorian because she missed too many days of school. It didn’t seem to matter that the reason that she was absent was she checked herself into an treatment center because she identified she had an eating disordered. Decided to treat it, all the while maintaining a perfect GPA. Now I’d consider that inspiring, worthy of a valedictorian. The principal was sympathetic but could not make a decision without meeting with the board. It was unfortunate that the board was not scheduled to meet til after graduation. Guess we wouldn’t want to be accused of making a decision.

It seems ever since the tragedy at Columbine and 9/11 the country is walking on eggshells. Since I work at home alone during the day I usually have the tv on, just for noise. There’s nothing worse then hearing that breaking news music. I remember when I associated that music as oh, it must be a talking head longing for some attention. Now my instinct is to make my boys come home because it might be something bad.

My husband and I are about as opposite on political as two people can get. He thinks he’s changing me but look making up was just more fun when we were younger, so I just bite my tongue. I used to ask him if my handicapped embarrassed him. He’d say no, but your political views do. Now I don’t care about either.

Its ok, I was embarrassed to tell my friends you are… shit I’m still embarrused, a member of the NRA. But Bobby is really cute and I guess we all have our faults. The only reason I’ve come to terms with this is because if the NRA had a poster child for gun safety. My honey’s face would be plastered on that poster.

When we had Nicholas, we made a deal. Either Nicholas would play with toy guns or he would be taught they were a tool and would respect them. Bobby has done a great job. Nicholas knows dad loves guns and if he’s ever curious, daddy will unlock them and show him.

We have never bought Nicholas a gun. Now water guns are a different story… Them are good things, especially super soakers…

Occasionally Nicholas will make a lego gun and if I see it, he says something silly like it’s the letter L. and I’m secretly amused as he runs to his room making his “L” go bang bang. He doesn’t do this very often so it’s really not an issue. I sometimes even think he does it to wind me up. Because he understands daddy loves guns and mommy truly believes if all the guns in the world disappeared tomorrow, the world would be a better place. But I’m also a realist. If the bad guys have guns, I’d rather my good guy have one too.
The other day we were driving and Nicholas asks me to look at him. You could tell he was proud of himself. “Look Mommy, I bit the chip and made a gun.” I tried to keep a straight face as I said, “Just eat your gun boy.”

But that got me thinking. Could this act of silliness get my son suspended? 10 years ago you’d think I was off my rocker but seriously think about it. Nicholas is at lunch with his buddies. Nicholas finds a chip gun. His buddy thinks it’s way cool, takes a carefully place bite out of a ruffle and there you go, a great chip shoot-out in the ol cafeteria. His school has a zero tolerance policy…

Is zero tolerance replacing common sense? Is this the ultimate form of passing on the buck? Could a chip be considered a weapon?

I’d like to tell y’all the answers but I have to go throw away all my chips. Hell, Nicholas isn’t coming home for hours, I’ll just eat them. Hmm… Wonder what shape I’ll bite them into…

try not to Hate thy neighbor

2005-06-07T09:57:00.000-07:00

Let me first say that my column’s whole mission is to make you laugh. And if on accident I discourage one abled body princess from parking in the handicap section at the mall, I’m doing a good thing. And it’s ok if I poke fun at my friends because the next time we’re at dinner, they’ll find away to punish me. They won’t cut up my steak until I apologize or something horrible like that. So it’s all good.

I promised myself that if I wrote a column today it would be my view on some latest event, because there’s not usually drama on a Monday night in my house. Big drama last night…

This is a bit of a challenge because I’m trying to find the sacastic humor in this event without permanently burning bridges… But then again its hard to worry about burning bridges when it exploded.

People are odd. I’ve been very lucky because I’ve made instant friends who have been with me, most thirteen years or more. In fact it strange to think about but on a timeline, Bobby would be considered a newer relationship, coming in at only ten years. In the past 5 years, I’ve made three new friends, one just this year. I mean I made a handful of buddies who I adore, but I don’t use the word friend lightly. When I call you my friend it means I expect you to shoot spit wads at my funeral. And all my friends just had the same reply: “but Claire, Why wait?”

I suck at a lot of things. But I think I’m a good, loyal friend. And the two things I hope to leave Nicholas is the thirst to always learn and the importance of having a handful of friends who will always have your back. So imagine my horror when I got a phone call saying Nicholas’ best friend of 4 years would be unavailable to play anymore.

I would love to bitch about every detail of the call but I won’t. It was just odd and I was accused of being a burden. I’m a catholic and live with guilt on a daily basis. I’m so good I could probably think of a reason why global warming was my fault… and believe it!

I was up all night wondering what caused this unfortunate event. And I’m totally bewildered, a tad depressed, and just plain angry. Nothing unusual happened last night when they played together.

I’m sorta leaning towards believing the parent was having a bad day. Because by accident over the years I’ve gotten to know their older kids, I think I even love them as nieces. I refuse to say I love them as daughters because I’d feel 100 years old, but its true. And they tell me stuff. But I’m sure Nicholas will refer to me as the satan a few times before I croak. So I’ve taken there complaints with a grain of salt. Teen Drama stuff.

Even though I felt shell shocked, I sorta always expected it, just further in the future. As mad as I am, I refuse to bad mouth Nicholas’ best friend’s parent in front of Nicholas. And I’m about 85% sure this will blow over. But how can I ever let Nicholas play with them again without worrying is this the last time? Do I tell my adopted girls they can’t grab a coke? This is really tearing me up. For Nicholas’ sake, I’d even consider apologizing but I have no idea for what.

Aside from Nicholas being scarred for life can we get to the real problem. Because the world does, in fact, revolved around me. This whole freakish incident is gonna cost me a trip to toy-r-us and Chuck-e-cheese. Damnit.

Wildest dreams

2005-06-06T10:27:00.000-07:00

On a recent drive to Galveston, Bobby and I discussed our wildest dreams. No, not those kinds… We stumbled onto this because I was telling him about Oprah and her wildest dreams bus. How people write her compelling letters and she shows up on the bus, waves a wand and poof, there’s your dream.

Bobby asked if Oprah showed up out of the blue, what would I asked for. I know I have a better chance of waking up cerebral palsy-less then seeing Oprah but it never hurts to dream.

Let’s see, I thought it might be cool if I had a total home make over. Oops, wrong show. Bobby was hoping I’d say to cruise around the world in a yacht. That ain’t going to happen. I’d start hyperventilating at the first thought of a storm. Have we not learned anything from Giligan’s Island. It was supposed to be a three hour tour… A three hour tour.

I toyed with the idea of taking all the members of the Crip Club and their significant others on the most fabulous vacation. I think aside from just asking the big O for a blank check, this would be my wildest dream. Hell, I might even take Bobby and Nicholas.

But reality got the better of me. That’s right, as I sit on my bench on my front porch waiting for Oprah’s bus to save me, I know exactly what I’d asked for. damn I hope these wood imprints on my butt aren’t permanent.

I’d ask for a job to write a column. I couldn’t tell from Bobby’s expression if he was surprised by my dream, if he was proud, disturbed, or disgusted. You could almost hear his thoughts, “Has 9 years of balancing pennies in Claire’s personal income bank account taught her nothing?”

That’s right, I’d ask for a writing gig. He asked if I thought I could write a monthly column? Sure. A weekly column? Yup. A daily column…. Freakin A… I fell into his trap.

He misunderstood me. I bragged that I had my game store so organized, it could run itself. He understood it that as now I’ll have more time I could write a daily column. Hypothetically I guess I could. But see, I have so much housework and cooking those nightly gourmet meals is very time consuming. Oh shit, lightening just struck my house.

How can I say this without the Crip Club members holding me to it. Ok, on the days when ebay is slow, when Nicholas isn’t driving me crazy, when I’m not mad at Bobby, when the movies on lifetime are reruns, and when I’m not taking any medicine for my allergies, I’ll probably try to write a column. If you think that’s bad, you should have heard the amendments to my wedding vowes.

That’s right people, Clarifiedchaos is now… a da… will be published more then once a year.

Wake up Boy, Mommy’s Scared!

2005-06-01T08:15:00.000-07:00

I’m not claiming I have bad luck but the saying “shit happens” runs through my head on a daily basis.
Two months ago I decided enough was enough. I’m taking my boys camping. Let’s go Memorial Weekend. Friday through Monday. Rent a Pop-up trailer. It will be great.

Reality hit me Thursday night. I secretly Yahoo IM’d my college roommate in a panic. “When I reserved the camper it was 65 degrees, today I could fry an egg on my ass. They are going to whine and I’m going to end up killing them. I’m not even sure if I like them enough to spend four days in the woods with them.” And her words of wisdom were… “teeheehee, you said ass…”

Surprisingly and to my sheer delight, it was the most fabulous camping trip ever.

Ok, time out. I need to do a disclaimer. Fabulous camping trips do not replace the 2 trips to Colorado, 1 trip to Seattle, 1 cruise, 1 trip to New Orleans, nor the 2 weeks in Europe that I am owed. Sorry but I can see my husband doing the white men’s happy dance thinking if he plays his cards right he may never have to leave the state of Texas again… WRONG.

And now back to our story…

The days and evenings were perfect. And I don’t usually do perfect. We fished. We beached. We played games. Nicholas rode his bike. The day time weather was warm enough to keep drenching Nicholas with the water hose but the breeze kept off the sweat. I even wished we had a few more days out there. Don’t get me wrong, I look forwards to the weekends but there’s nothing more satisfying then my Monday 7 am sighs after Bobby leaves for work and Nicholas waves bye from the school bus. Peace at last.

Oh you nayers, some of you are saying stop blowing smoke up my ass and get to Claire’s Calamity. What? Can’t I tell a happy joyous story without any bitching involved. Your damn right, this column ain’t called clarified chaos for nothing. I did say the weather during the day was perfect and I stand by that. However the night time skies were a different story.

About two hours after we went to bed on the first night, it started lightly sprinkling. That was fine. Maybe even kinda romantic. But 20 minutes later when the strong rains followed with the close lightening, I was fit to be tied. On a scale from 1 to 10, I think the storm was a 6, but being in a flappy trailer pushed it to an 8. The bright lightening and loud thunder made me nervous, but it was ok. I had a plan.

Ever since Nicholas was 9 months old, he’d come a running when a single rain drop hit the roof. Surely any minute now he’d wake up, bob would turn on the lights. We’d share comfort food and ride out the storm.

My son never woke up. Two freaking hours in a horrible storm and Nicholas was dead to the world. Bobby drifted in and out of slumber, mostly out because with each lightening strike I poked him… “Remember,” I yelled each time over the loud thunder “Don’t worry about me in case of a tornado, save Nicholas.” I heard him mumble, “Keep poking me and that’s exactly what I’ll do.”

The last lightening bolt shown my watch to be about 3 am. Proud that I withered the storm, lonely had it may have been, I lied back down. I tried to cuddle with my honey, but by then, his body developed a reflex to jump away from me, fearing another morbid message accompanied the touch. Still I was pleased with myself. I rolled over, I closed one eye as the last raindrop hit the camper’s flaps, I then heard the words I no longer wanted to hear… “Mommy, I’m scared. It’s starting to rain. Can I sleep with you and daddy?” And for the first time ever, my husband begged “please!” immediately dropping him between us…

The fresh morning air seemed to have blown away any left over hostile feeling irrationally shared during the earlier storm. We were all in good spirits and enjoyed the gorgeous day.

They always say lightening never strike twice. The second night as we were battening down for night, the rain started again. Some say I’m too stubborn to learn from my mistakes. But I did. I poked Bobby once more, repeating my national weather advisory alert: S.O.B. save our boy. And let the rains lull me to sleep.

It was such a great weekend. I know I shouldn’t push my luck but I’ve always been a gambler… Three hundred bucks to reserve another camper in July down on red… Place your bets please…

Hi, My name is Claire

2005-05-26T10:35:00.000-07:00

Hi, My name is Claire. Although I’m not sure why I’m introducing myself. I have 3 readers and they probably know more stuff about me than they ever wanted to.

But I guess it’s like going to a support group. Hi, my name is Claire.

Hi Claire.

It’s been two… Three years since I have written anything descent…

Its ok Claire, we love and support you. And it’s not like you’ve wanted to be a writer since you were six, begged you’re folks to earn a liberal arts degree, promising you’d be a success by 30 and as of being 34 to date, have never actually held a full time job as a writer…

Never mind.

So this is my column, clarified chaos. There’s nothing subtle about the name. I’ll write about stuff that confuses me. If that’s my only criteria I should be writing for the next 75 years. I have cerebral palsy and use a wheelchair. My six year old son recently told a friend that “My mommy is not as dumb as she looks.” My husband Bobby & I was amused by this but then I started thinking… Bobby says I think too much. I started thinking, how long can I fake it? For one day soon, Nicholas will indeed realize that mommy is, in fact as dumb as she looks.

I’ll write about why I disagree that men are from mars, and women are from Venus. I think it goes much deeper than that. All I’m saying is I think we should look into the possibility that we are from different galaxies. For if we had the Mars Venus thing going on, wouldn’t we at least share a universal language? Don’t get me wrong, I love men. My husband is a manly former military, cigar loving, man. Two of my closes friends in the world are men. My son is like a mini-man. I know this because he will stand in front of me, just beyond smacking range and make strange body noises, then runs for his life, giggling all the way. So I do love men. I just think life would be easier if they just did what I say and not try so hard to form their own opinions, because they are usually wrong.

And I’ll write about my trying to reinvent myself in my mid-thirties, god that’s depressing. Early thirties sounded much hotter. Nothing major, I can’t afford anything like a boob job… not that I spend my days thinking and researching it, $4,987, B-cup, 1 inch lift…

I mean writing more, really trying to expand my business, being more active with my boys on the weekends. And stop doing things out of guilt. I’m a people pleaser and sometimes I find myself doing stuff so that my neighbor’s mother’s brother’s dog will like me…

That’s right folks. I’m going to stop kissing ass. Well except for my parents, because they cook me yummy lunches. And my husband’s, just because it’s fun. And my son’s because when he’s not making strange body noises he’s kinda adorable. And my closest friends’ because not that you can tell from this charming column, I may be a tad bitchy. Go figure. But I mean it, besides these people, no more sucking up. Oh yay, the yard guy is here. Shoot, I can’t remember if he likes 2 or 3 cubes of ice in his coke. I better go ask…

Ahhh yes, Reinventing myself. It’s going to be a long trip, but I’m sure going to try to have more fun along the way.

Moving in

2005-05-20T19:03:00.000-07:00

Wow, that's a shitload of white space...