oh, no...she did NOT

yes, she did.

the bitch next door dumped her trash on our property.

so I called the fuzz.

the fuzz talked to her. she lied. he left.

today...her old kitchen counter is still on my property.

...so I called the borough.

the old supervisor used to swing by and pick up the trash (he's now in the police academy. I'm glad. I'm gonna like him). the new guy...won't.

so her shit is still outside of my house. turns out I'm going to need to buy a permit for a special trash pick up.

I plan no revenge, whatsoever.

I mean it.

duck and run

I probably shouldn't find this so funny...

but today several hundred elementary school students had to be hastily invacuated (whatevs. its not a word...but I couldn't be buggered to look up an antonym for evacuated)...

due to a gang fight and drive-by.


are you kidding me? I mean...

COME ON!

I'm not particularly opposed to you jack-asses offing yourselves. much like the new york maffia in the 80's (was it the 80's? hell if I know. I'm only 30)...kill yourselves quietly and we'll just go about eating our pasta...

but OUTSIDE OF AN ELEMENTARY SCHOOL???

huh? these reerees (the gangbangers, not the kids this time) are lucky enough to pop off a successful point blank shot with their shoddy, mis-firing, but OOOOH so cool Glocks and ever so ineffective, but totally street mandatory sideways shooting.

let alone to hit a moving target...
from a moving vehicle...
with several hundred moving human shields squirming about.

thankfully, the reerees (the gangbangers, not the kids this time) cleared the area and hopefully offed each other in private somewhere...

and we (the teachers and kids this time) avoided a full out lock-down.

but, seriously...I HAVE to keep saying this:


do I live in fucking compton or something???

why can't these dorks just have a good old fashioned fist fight or pants each other?

let the "punishment" begin

the monkey asked for a note to get out of track practice today...

I wrote this:

Coach U,

My daughter is a sissy and asked for a note to get out of track practice today. She says she doesn't feel well...I think she's just mad because I made her break up with her 16 year old juvenile delinquent boyfriend. Feel free to make practice EXTRA hard today.

Thanx!
Teh Suki

ps. she's also grounded and disallowed to speak to Julie.


(and on the back in teeny tiny writing)

pps. She really isn't feeling well today, but I felt the need to torture her with this note. She does have my consent to miss practice.


it should be noted here that her track coach is NOT a nice guy and isn't particularly fond of my daughter.

grood.

I hope he makes her practice in jeans and vomit up blood.

then I can justifiably kick BOTH their asses.

in other juvy related news:

apparently "mikey" was sooooooo devastated by the loss of his new girlfriend that he did what every horny, retarded, dishonest, piece of shit 16 year old criminal would...

he immediately got himself another one.

even better.

he's done. she's grounded (to the extent that oqui won't even let her walk to school with the bad apple, anymore. he's driving her...and we live 3 blocks from the school). and my house will never be cleaner than its about to be in the weeks to come.

I'm also going to take this time to teach her how to cook.

I'll be having a baby soon...and take-out is expensive.

it's about time this child earns her keep.

let's just hope her cooking doesn't suck.

no 16 year old juvies were stabbed in the making of this blog....YET

last night...my sweet little innocent doll of a (physically developed) 12 year old daughter came home with something to tell us.

it took her 53 mis-starts to finally blurt out:

this weekend Mikey asked me out, and I said yes.

oh no, she didn't!

firstly, we tried the whole "boyfriend" thing on for size last summer and I permanently vetoed it. it was nothing but trouble and pressure for her to kiss some slimy little pre-teen.

not on my watch.

soooooooo...the fact that she said yes (Mikey, by the way...was one of THREE boys to ask her out last weekend. school dances can suck a fat one) is reason enough to chuck boogers at her.

the fact that he's 16...well, that's reason enough to STAB him.

add to that the fact that he's on house-arrest (wtf?wtf?wtf?wtf?)...and that's got oqui and the monkey's dad dressed up in hoodies ready to throw some 'bows.

sooo...he got a little phone call from the suki. I started off slow.

hi. I'm b's mom. so I hear you guys have some good news for us, huh?
(he grumbles)
well, so anyway...since you're part of the family, now...I just have a few questions for you.
(he squeaks)
so, um...yeah. what school do you go to?
(he lies)
now, now, mikey. I know you don't go to her school. let's try this again without you being a little lying piece of shit (oqui says in the background "that's it, I'm going to kill him") no, no, oqui....you can't kill him...yet.
(the little shit hangs up)

soo...he's getting stabbed.

in the course of the evening long lecture that followed I extrapolated certain other information.

LIIIIKE...

he's on house-arrest (wtf?wtf?wtf?wtf?)
he smokes
HE'S SIX-FUCKING-TEEN
she saw him this weekend (she INSISTS he had a 'day pass' to get a haircut and walked by her friend's house)
did i mention he's six-fucking-teen?
he's best friends with her best friend's boyfriend.

^ and THAT is my biggest problem, thus far.

we've had problems with her best friend before. she's an incredibly smart but extrememly misguided kid with two druggie parents who use her as a weapon against each other.

so, basically...she's a major fucking pain in my ass.

I was tempted to disallow the monkey from hanging with this kid a few weeks ago when she tried to convince her to skip out on track practice to go see these boys. my child refused. this pain in the ass called her a punk. my child still refused, and I narrowly avoided cutting someone's hair off.

meanwhile...at the very next meet, her best friend is running (the ONLY race she ran, btw, cause she's academically ineligible. real winner, I know), her ponytail slips and I see hickies.

wtf?wtf?wtf?wtf?

she was at her loser boyfriend's house until 9:fucking:30 the night she ditched practice...and came back with hickies.

like I said...I wanted to ban this girl indefinitely right there and then...but knew if I push too hard, my kid'll act just like her. instead, I SUGGESTED that my daughter limit her time with the bad influence crowd and focus more on the less rebellious kids.

and I thought she did.

I was wrong...and now she's got two choices:

1. stay away from this band of thugs at all cost
2. rot away in her room

we do not struggle with money to keep her in a good district so she can up and choose to hang with juvies. I made it very clear that if this is the crowd she chooses...despite the abundance of good available nerds...

there is no reason for us to stay here.

I mentioned "home schooling," "antarctica," and "mountain top cabin."
(I also mentioned "bald, plaid pants and bobo sneakers")

I hope to god she realizes I'm not playing.

it is now time for our regularly scheduled

annual tribute to pollen.

but...since I'm feeling like dookie it won't be nearly as eloquent as last year's.

it goes a little something like this (like this):

---------------------------------
Dear Pollen,

eat a bag o' dicks.

teh suki
--------------------------------

along with the pollen, however, comes the beauty that is the ONE good week of the year for my yard. I'll post some pics (minus where the dogs have destroyed any and all grass) tomorrow.

by then, the 'pah's spiffy new ultra-zoom should arrive.

oooh, how nice it'll be to have a decent digital in the house, again.




...even if it will be covered in headache inducing pollen.

an ode to stabbing

its all so clear.

I know now who I'm meant to stab. just as oqui and I were discussing the merit of long-range stab missiles...

my destiny hath been laid before me.


my neighbor...is going to die.

this bitch was (thankfully and decidedly) absent for a month or so...and I almost forgot how much I detest her. I woke up this morning (every ten minutes for 3 hours) to the sounds of two very irritated and unhappy dogs.

they sensed her presence. they hate her, too.

in fact, they hated her first. from the minute we moved in here...they couldn't stand her caustic, obnoxious, bitching voice.

and now...she's back.

since she hadn't been state-side for a while...I was willing to forgive her evils and flashed her a smile, and gave her a 'hello' when I let the mutts out (to bark and slather at her through the fence. they really hate her).

she replied with:
jhou. jhou need clean up leaves. cigarettes from street. fire. you clean up, now.

me:
excuse me? we don't smoke. who's putting cigarettes in our yard??? (she knows full well its her fat, sloppy, wife-beater wearing absent 83% of the time son-in-law).

her:
men from street. they put here. you clean.

me:
(trying hard not to say: ok. I clean 4 leaves. you clean 3 sinks, 2 couches, 8 cars, broken bed, 27 boxes and rest of your shit. ok?)
yes. leaves. men from street. I guess we ALL have a lot of cleaning up to do, huh?

she is, at this very moment, raking the side of my house and bitching loudly about it in arabic.

I'd prefer that she was removing her upholstered furniture from her front porch or disposing of one of their many disabled vehicles, but we can't always have what we want. now, can we?


so now...

I have to stab her.

another beautiful day

we're planning on hitting french creek with the mutts (and his bike. I'm not mad. why would you think I'm mad????) later today.

which means I'm resting.

resting, resting, resting.

I'm tired of resting.

we had a little spat last night.

me: you don't appreciate what I do.
him: you don't appreciate what I do.
me: great! NOW we're getting somewhere.


we're stressed. the house. money. change of lifestyle. health insurance (that's a totally different blog. I'm one still too angry to write)...

but the truth of the matter is...

we're going to be under SOME sort of stress for the next several years no matter what.

we're looking at massive lifestyle changes across the board. we're going to be down to one income (most of which is absorbed by the cost of health insurance, but again...too angry to discuss that). we have to move. we're going to have some difficultly doing the things we love. the things we fell in love doing for quite some time (I can't foresee hit the fireline trail or trail 12 with a baby seat on the back of either of our bikes).

we have to change not only WHERE we live...but how.

its going to be rough, but its what we've planned. we're working towards a goal (of a slightly larger but still as cozy and happy family)...

and that should be sufficient knowledge, shouldn't it?

and I think it would be if I felt like I was working at all. instead I just feel lazy, useless and vulnerable.

its really hard for a woman who considers herself tough and strong to be relatively incapacitated...and almost entirely dependant on others (ok. well...I've mastered the dependant thing...but at least I used to be able to climb shit).

I've realized that I'm so tired...that I can't even picture myself being capable, again. and that's where the problem lies. how can I trust that I can handle this...do all this juggling when I'm not sure I believe that I'm going to feel better?

how 'tough and strong' is that?

hormones make me a sissy. and I don't like it.

oqui told me last night that its hard for him to see me so depressed. depressed?

I once heard that depression is just anger without enthusiasm.

if that's the case...I'm most certainly NOT depressed.

because I'm fuming mad...and ready to stab things (<---there's no lack of enthusiasm in that statement).

I HATE that if I'm up to cooking a meal...I'm definitely not up to cleaning up after it.
I DESPISE that after 4 hours of working...I need to sleep 14.
I'm PISSED that I'm not helping more around the house to get it sold.
I'm ANGRY that I don't feel comfortable looking for summer work...because I don't trust that I can handle it.

last night (in the midst of our 'argument') I said, "i know for certain...I'M NEVER DOING THIS AGAIN!!!!"

by "this" I meant getting pregnant.

and I felt instantly evil for saying it.

this isnt' the sprout's fault. nor is it oqui's. (shhh. don't tell HIM I said that)

its just an unfortunate couple of months to endure...

then I can move on. forget I ever felt so shitty...

and hopefully make some progress with "the plan."



...if not. I'm stabbing something.

blessed be this glorious weather

(I wanna climb)

not too hot.
not too cold.

juuust right for capris and a 3/4 length shirt...which is, amazingly enough, precisely what I happen to have on.

(I wanna climb)

I'm almost ashamed to admit that both of those items ^ are maternity clothes.

*le sigh*

my normal clothing aren't TOO TOO tight...they just...

touch me.

and it's yicky.

(I wanna climb)

so I'm rocking out the low-rise super stretchy waist-band...

and the top...well. it's just cute.

(I wanna climb)

I still wish I had all those dresses that were in my dream the other night.


AND the hello kitty roller skates.


(I wanna climb)

NOW I remember

taught a "full" day today.

hated almost every second of it.

NOW I remember this sucking.


a disproportionately high percentage of these children are...for lack of a better word...straight up fucking losers. it used to inspire me to try harder...

now it just tires me.

respect? ha! forget it.
follow the rules? not a chance.
being able to sit still and quiet and actually LISTEN to direction?

nevah.

and it all becomes crystal clear why; standing in the hallway during parent teacher conferences.

if half of these mothers weren't ACTUAL hookers...they certainly shop at the hooker store.

the dads...yeah. homemade prison tats are all the rage.

the parents are louder in the halls than the kids. rude. ignorant. assinine.

just plain lame.

why on earth do these fucking people have children?

gak!

(almost) the worst dream EVER

hormones are some trippy lil sum'n'guns.

I've been having...shall we say...strange dreams almost nightly.

last night's...SUCKED.

I drempt that I was pregnant (go figure), living in the home I grew up in (which is smack dab in the middle of a drug block replete with hookers and wandering crackheads, now), and could not, for the life of me...

remember who oqui was.

I couldn't even remember that I couldn't remember him. I spent the majority of the dream rummaging through all my summer dresses (I REALLY wish I had those dresses) not even aware that one becomes pregnant through the assistance of another...

til a woman rang the doorbell at 2 in the morning to say happy birthday to me. she said she was very happy for me (I have no idea who she was), and that she could see my name written all over the baby's father's smile. he was that in love with me.

then I tried to figure out who she meant.

was it Arrian? no, it was my daughter's father Scott. won't he (and his live-in girlfriend) be surprised to find out I'm carrying his child...

I came to the conclusion that I was ALL. ALONE.

I had flashbacks of being left alone on the playground at age 4. being ditched by my friends in junior high. of forgetting my father's name...not like I needed to remember it, anyway.

I drempt of every time I felt abandoned in my life...and still could NOT remember oqui.

I woke up staring at the dark ceiling...still feeling very much alone. I put my hand to my belly to see if it was real.

yup, there's a peanut there.

but how?

it took several minutes of racking my brain, staring into nothingness to figure it out...and it doesn't surprise me that it was a PHYSICAL memory that finally clued me in.

I knew that this child was planned. I knew that we wanted it. I could remember crying with relief when I found out...

then I remembered a laughable moment while trying to make it.

I remembered 'him' making a joke about tying my legs to the ceiling to get the right angle...then I saw his face. I reached to my left and felt him there...

I almost cried as I said his name.

oqui! thank god you're here.

and your little dog, too.

vicious. very very vicious.

we took the mutts out to the marsh yesterday for a little r&r.


mishaps, ensued.


The Great Nandino pulled one of his infamous disappearing acts. well, it was his first, and there wasn't anything particularly infamous about it...but I sat on the shore waiting with Cookie (the good dog) listening to oq crash through the woods, cussing up a storm, trying to catch the little shit.


then they got too far away for me to hear. I started to believe that we might be going home with just one dog. oddly enough, I wasn't particularly upset.


I guess I knew the little fucker would come back.



and so he did.


oqui was covered in scratches, brambles and bruises and SOOO not in a good mood when they returned...but, thankfully both my boys came back.


Cookie seemed unimpressed...

this is a hedgehog, but it was in with the dog pictures.

and was also not yet over her near-drowning incident of a week ago (that's when both the dogs swam out TIED TOGETHER to get a piece of driftwood and, of course, ended up getting stuck on it. needless to say, an unhappy suki had to roll up her pants, wade out and free the flailing beasts before they drowned. can anyone say amebic dystentary? that water was GROSS!)

anyway...the dog has a nice long memory and REFUSED to go out far enough into the water to actually swim. she loves to play fetch. you can throw a stick into the water a zillion times and she will willingly bound after each and every one...


and go out only as far as she can walk...and come back empty jawed.


we took pity on the mutt and started tossing it about ten feet out to give her a sense of accomplishment. she's so cute when she's happy.

I am tipsy as fiz-nuzzle here

near-drowning incident aside, our very best misadventure occurred as soon as we pulled in. I always keep the dogs on lead. even if their leashes are just binered together and they're dragging them...I've always got a handle on 'em (unless, of course, Nandie is taking off Into the Wild...in which case the most menacing thing about him is his ability to completely ignore you).


other people don't.


as soon as my guys jumped out of the car...some little rat shit terrier comes tearing across the field to get at 'em.


the woman chasing it was screaming hysterically. her husband was yelling something (not very nice) about pitbulls...and I very calmly lifted their leash and said, "don't worry. they're friendly"


her little piece of shit wasn't.


this 18 pound sack of bullshit ran right up among my two WAY bigger (not to mention STRONGER) dogs...and their two way-aggressive owners...and promptly attacked my cookie.


at first I kinda laughed. this thing was all fuzz and fury and was doing a pretty spectacular grizzly bear imitation...then I realized:


uh oh. it might actually hurt her.


my 75 lb, uber scary, frightens children and their parents, beast of a pitbull did absolutely nothing. my other one...did the same.


GOOD DOGS.


oqui and I, however, were both trying our damnedest to punt the little fuck who was attacking them.


it finally caught our drift and backed off a bit...only to make another run at my dogs.


I very calmly said, "you're quite the little fucker, aren't ya?"


oqui...went off.


"lady, I'm gonna kill your fucking dog! get that thing outta here...leash...fuck...kill...fucker...punt...ass..."


I was like...oq, settle down. she's not hurt.


at which point the rat-dog's owner felt it necessary to add, "well...I TOLD you he was mean."


ohmymotherfuckinggod.


I simply stated that if OUR dogs were also mean...she'd be taking home a ball of bloody fur and she should be thankful that at least SOMEONE had leashes on their pets.


she persisted.


I told her that informing someone post attack that your dog is unfriendly does not excuse it and asked her to kindly remove her pet from my kicking range.


oqui...well, he went off, again.


I'm not sure exactly what he said, but I can say for certain that the phrase, "look! I have anger management issues!!!" escaped his lips.


ha! no shit.


soo...he's working on his blood pressure and I'm training cookie to attack rat dogs on sight...


ya know...just in case.

pitbulls make great pets.

body by...

last night oq was stretching out in his boxers and realized just how incredibly long his legs really are.

and his feet.
and his arms.
and his fingers.

(strangely enough...our toes are almost identical in length. his just LOOK bigger)

so I started wondering what it would be like to spend 24 hours in his body. I thought of all the things i would do.

first, I'd throw on a harness and see what's its like to climb with an extra 12 inches of reach. would I trip all over myself? how the hell would I use those gigantic feet? could I match on tiny little crimpers?

would I feel stronger and be better in his body? would I keep my strength/weight ratio...or would I suddenly feel heavy?

I know one thing for sure...not having a uterus or a sprout...I'd lead everything ridiculous, hard as hell climb I could get near...and not squish the bebbie while doing it.

THEN...I'd get on his bike. oh, yeah motherfucker. he's legs are WAAAY better conditioned than mine. would I crank up a climb in one gear and laugh at him at the bottom of the hill flailing around in my little frame?

yup. most likely.

I'd probably shave his nads...just to see what it felt like, and go for a run with his healthy strong knees.

I asked him what he'd do for a day in my body...

if he'd climb, ride, run, dance, etc...

he said he's be too busy exploring the vag to get to any of that.

ha! so he thinks. he'd probably be too nauseous to even bother.


if you had 24 hours in your significant other's skin...

what would you do?

I know I'm a little rusty, but...

seriously.

how hard can it be to kill a roach?

I took another afternoon assignment today (this is six hours of work this week. can you tell I'm feeling better?)...and 'round 'bout 12:30 I'm sitting quite contentedly (I like to sit) at the teacher's desk...

when a full grown, and extremely RUDE, roach strolls right by me....and heads for my orange.

nuh uh, chief. that's MY orange.

so I squash it with my shoe...

or so I think.

the would be produce thief lays low for about 15 minutes...THEN FUCKING REANIMATES.

yes. the squashed roach starts waggling its antennae and makes another run for my orange (which btw I was too disgusted to eat and generously donated to other teachers).

so I whacked him, again.

I swear to you. this roach would not die.

finally...after my entire body started to itch and I completely lost my appetite I decided to call in some skilled help to finish this fucker off.

I had the students kill it.

one of the girls said with disgust, "Miss. You're afraid of a roach???"

yes, bitchlet. when something about .3% of my size refuses to die when I repeatedly knock its brains out...

yeah, I'm a little intimidated by that.


so afterschool, I decided to face my fears head on and get dinner at a puerto rican restaurant in town.

catfish - no.
pig's feet - uhhh...no.
boiled something or other nasty - no.

but I did get enough pastelios, rice and beans (I'm taking a chance with those beans), and steak and pork chops to feed an army...

of humans.

no roaches at the dinner table, please.

in other news:

the monkey ran the 200 without suffocating yesterday. she's COMPLETELY new to the sprint game (ie. tripped outta the blocks and actually turned around and went back thinking she false started it..only to play catch up for the rest of the race), but finished third in her heat. if my voice had offered her any assistance she would've won it.

me: get her bayl! get her! get her!!! you're so close! kill her! kill...oops. too much?

she was overwhelmingly proud of herself...and so was I.

she says she's going to ask the coach to keep her in the 200...AND put her back in the 800.

fucking a. this kid is awesome.

ps. there were no roaches at the meet. this is a good thing.

rulezen

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that's it

I'm never...

ever.

evereverever.

(ever).

eating beans, again.