The Way Things Are






Ha HA! It’s working
2005-05-10, 10:29 a.m.

Ha HA! It’s working. The plan for Lil Guy’s continued success in school is working. The plan whereby he WRITES HIS SHIT DOWN IN HIS AGENDA AND KEEPS TRACK OF ASSIGNMENTS AND TESTS. Yep, it is that revolutionary, that it merits all caps.

Thanks to the new plan, LG knew about his science vocab test today, and although he forgot to bring home his book to study, he damn sure studied for it after I took him back to school and had him get the book. HA, I say. Why are boys so difficult in this manner?

I am sure that a girl, if she received the same direction, assistance and support that LG gets from me, would be the valedictorian of the 6th grade, and would be voted class president and most beautiful. LG is doing good not to forget to study, and it’s a good day if he remembers to comb his hair and put on deodorant.

And confidentially, between you and me and the internet and the universe, deodorant is not optional in this boy’s case. He may look young and cute and sweet and innocent, but his armpit is a rotting, stinking onion.

He gets good grades and is very popular and even has a girlfriend (who I’ve seen him very studiously ignore when they walk by each other in the halls) but he is considered on all fronts to be an underachiever. Oh, no. Not that. I wonder where he gets that.


I may have mentioned in the past few days that it is apparently white wing dove mating season around here, or I may have just been thinking about it and thought I wrote about it. The line blurs, y’all. Anyway, the white wings keep getting into territorial fights on my little office balcony, and now nestled in the eves is a very nice twiggy nest with the most beautiful little dove just sitting and sitting, all long-suffering and patient. Her thought bubble says “Bastards. Go get me something to eat, and rub my feet.”

I’m guessing she’s with child, and I’d bet Kevin Federline is the baby daddy, although I have yet to see him tussling with doves on my balcony. Give him time. He’ll work his way around.


Y’all, I want to know how reality tv has positively impacted your life. Here’s how it has had a positive influence on mine. I strive to be known as a “hard worker” after last week’s Apprentice. In yet another mind game that I play with myself, I hear The Donald’s voice telling my superiors that I am a hard worker.

Talk about the line blurring, it may be reality tv, but it causes me to sometimes live a little on the edge of unreality. For instance, if The Donald walked by my office right now, he’d hear me typing typing typing tapping and tappity tapping at 90+ words a minutes, and he would be mighty pleased.

And well, what am I doing? I’m writing an essay about NOTHING for my imaginary friends.

Just for the record, just to prove how hard working I can be when it’s not my job, I got up at 5:00 a.m. yesterday and did the Sweat workout (and that’s hard because I am not a fan of living room aerobics, despite their considerable benefits) and got up again this morning and did Sculpt. All of this on top of a 30 minute family walk with the Dog From Hell – her new name is Mrs. Beans – yesterday evening.

It was really cute…Lil Guy wanted to walk her, so he takes the leash, and decides he’s going to run with her. And he ruuuuunnnnns down to the end of the block, his long spider-monkey legs churning and flailing, and Mrs. Beans is just skipping casually along. Like Pepe LePew, when he skips lightly along, feet barely touching the ground? Gling! Gling! Gling! Gling! I guess you had to see it – it was funny. Her thought bubble said “Bring on the running, little man. I’ll take you down.”

OK, I don’t want Donald Trump to find out I’m not a hard worker, so I’m going to get at it now. Property taxes. Bah. Don’t you wish you were?

Oooh, and right this very moment, I got served with YET ANOTHER FUCKING LAWSUIT. It doesn’t help that I’m registered agent on about 30 different corporations (all under one umbrella), but still. I don’t even get nervous anymore when I see sheriff’s deputies or bounty hunters, or anybody who’s a process server. It’s gotten to where they are more nervous (anticipating my hysterical reaction, no doubt) than I. Am. Than I am. Than I. Whatever.

In fact, I think I might have to see what’s involved in getting certified or qualified to be a process server. I should start dishing out a little of what I’ve been getting. I’ll bet Donald Trump gets sued every day, too.

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