why I'm a fucking idiot.

By: Fucking Idiot...I mean it was 35 this morning. I'm wearing a short-sleeved sweater-with a JEAN JACKET. Like a jean jacket has EVER kept anyone warm. Just like when you wear jeans. However, the legs are different. They stay warm-er than your arms. And you can't wear boots up to your elbows on your arms, helping the jeans out. No. I just walked 2 blocks with the wind crystalizing every ounce of my body. Thinking to myself..."I am a fucking idiot"...my nose is running, my hands are frozen and it's all my own fault. 

My goodness.

Hold music.

I just called one of the JP courts and was placed on hold for a brief moment or 4...the music was eeerily similar to that of the Revenge of the Nerds song that the dudes played on stage with the synthesizers and clapping hands...."now clap your hands everybody...everybody, clap your hands"...

I need a joint. (not really, more like an apple)

The Laws of Birthday Parties

Took Jez to Chuck E. Cheese for his little friend's 3rd birthday party. First of all, you should see this little girl. She is a doll. White-blonde, short hair and a pout that won't quit. Way to go, buddy! He loves her. Anyway, I've never had a reason to go to CEC whilst Jez has been on Earth. 

We have all been in our lives. Back when I was little, it was...shit. What was it called...hold on...SHOWBIZ PIZZA. Yes. Over in Pasad-get-down-dena. Wow. I'm old. I remember Billy Bob...and some rat chick cheerleader thing that swung around pom-poms...they put on a whole skit and everything. It was mind-numbing. Now...there's CEC, by himself, creepily being moved by some person hiding behind the wall, staring at you through the beedy eyes of a mouse. (at least, that's what it seems like). I'm proud of Jezek though, when the "real" Mr. Cheese came out, Jez went up to him without me telling him to, and hugged him. Jerk-tear. He was also 1 of 3 boys at a girl party. Right on! He didn't want to play much, just watch the train thing go around and watch Mommy play basketball. He loved that...for...whatever reason.

I'm leading myself away from my main question: what's up with the kids who come up to you while your kid is playing a game, or riding a ride, who take over, push buttons and look at you like "move your kid"...? The socialization of kids at this place is quite hilarious. Jez was like "no dude" with that look on his face. The kid then looks at me, tells ME he has no more tokens...like I'm supposed to give him more, and then won't go away. He was a random kid. Not apart of blondie's party. 

I ALSO didn't realize that you have to feed your tickets to this machine that eats them and then spits out a voucher. How tech of them. I proudly and smugly figured it out without looking like a total fucking idiot to anyone, thank goodness. 

I know, CEC is old news to many parents...and it's a great little place for the kiddos to "hang" but it gave me a headache that I can't get rid of.

Onward.

Couple of things I'd like to point out before I go...

OJ Simpson is finally going to jail. 

We all know what he is REALLY going to jail for. Turd.

I put my Christmas tree up. It lasted all of 4 days before ornaments were crushed, limbs were bent and spirit destroyed. Little Ike (kitten that he is) made his home in the tree. Spec.Tac.U.Lar.

I had to take it down and explain to my son why. That was a lot of fun. When he's 34 and sitting in his therapist's office, perhaps memories of his mom taking down the tree whilst yelling at the cat will come back and he'll ask "why me?"...poor fella. The best is yet to come.

Well, I had more, but I'm really distracted and trying to work while not working. I'm going to come back when I can do a better job. I suck.

If I had a gun. Or some numchucks.

Holy. Crap. 

I can always count on my own mind to make myself feel better about, well, just about anything. I don't need to consult a psychiatrist, or talk to a therapist, no. I just need to have that little conversation with "me" and all the stars seem to align. Perhaps that is how crazy people are born.

My friend in the office who shall remain nameless for the sake of, nothing really, but just being nice - has a 15 year old son who likes to walk the dog. A lot. Apparantly there is a girl in the neighborhood that meets him between houses at the A/C unit to give him bj's. I friggin' love it. Of COURSE she's teen-angst ridden and wears really thick, black eye-liner and crams her ass into skinny jeans (which are so not cool if you're a normal adult) and drops to give him 20. Actually, it's probably more like 1.5 min. But I digress. 

None of my fucking clothes fit me. All my jeans hang off my non-existent ass which my husband must remind me daily, that I don't have. I don't know where I have gone. It's disturbing on many levels. I always look at the really crazy stick-like folk around here and think one of two things: quit doing meth....and....quit doing meth. There are some nasty ass people around the square. You can't go anywhere without someone looking like they just rolled out of bed, forgot that they had court, smell like booze, cigs, etc. It reminds you of all the stupid things you did when you were younger...makes you wonder how nothing ever happened to you and ESPECIALLY makes you wonder what would have happened had you kept on being. Stupid. 

I really have PMS today. It's a fire ignited within and I can't fucking help it. I really want something but I can't put my finger quite on it.