Truly Baleful Regards

I am stealing this from a variety of folks who have used it...Elizabeth, Feral...

But as I am in a suck ass (oh yes, a double shot of donkey ass for me, thanks!) way, I would like to address the various and sundry things that have conspired to piss me off this week.

1. Upstairs Neighbors

Now, if he shared the ganga, I may be kinder, but DUDE what the fuck is up with your kid who runs around wearing some kind of metal implement on his feet until 11 p.m. at night and then gets up to start it over at 7 a.m.? SERIOUSLY. I want to wring the little fuckers neck EVERY MORNING! And the Furniture moving at 11:30 p.m.?? And the fighting! and the flat wierd stare the wife gives me everytime I try to talk to her... I mean, granted, I am a little odd myself, but if I am smiling and maintaining eye contact with you and trying to establish "rapport" about how hard it is to be a working mom, may I suggest a smile and attempt at conversation rather than an odd explanation of nothing related? For real.

2. My Husband

For leaving me on Monday night until 6:00 P.M. tonight while he went to New York. and slept alone, and ate alone and generally complained about how tired, and sick...and sick and tired he was. Ahem. Fuck you and your silent hotel room. You can tell me how much you love me a billion times and I could give a rats ass. I know you want to have sex tonight, cause you always want to when you've traveled ( like some strange primal mating ritual in which he scent marks me) but HELL, NO. Unless you kill the kid upstairs.

3. My daughter

For being a wicked bad ass during the time her father was away. And touching me constantly. And shrieking and pretending she was "singing" , but wasn't. For licking and kissing me when I clearly don't want to be touched. For stomping her foot and bursting into dramatic sobs this afternoon when I warned her that I was going to KILL her if she didn't knock this shit off. For talking non-fucking-stop for five days and asking for DESSERT from the moment she wakes until the moment she is forced to fall asleep. For waking me up at 6 a.m. to tell me she isn't having "breakfast",but "just a snack of 2 apple bars, cause you're going to get up amd make me eggs... right Mama?" For taunting and poking at the cat until she is scratched, and wanting me to be empathetic. Hell to the Nizz-o, honey.

4. The 23 year old women in my class

Because they have never worked a real job...for pay, with real children or families, nor has a one of them squeezed anything out of their cootch larger than a used condom, I salute you, Oh masters of all things to do with Children and Families. Your insight into parenting and children is a wonder to behold. Last week when one of you raised your hand and asked "How come they do all these experiments with animals and then say that they same thing happens in babies brains? I mean, babies are People, not animals!"

and you respond "Cause we're not allowed to test this stuff on human babies - it wouldn't be ethical" - but do it louder than you intended and make the professor laugh? I fight the urge to seriously bitch slap each and everyone of these girls - every day.

4. 12 oz coffee cups

Is there a fear that MORE coffee might make me Happy? Is there an impending coffee shortage of which I haven't been notified? A paper cup embargo? Who ONLY drinks these tiny cups of coffee?

5. Textbook Publishers

You can all suck my bunghole for making me buy a little book for $75.00. You people think you're clever, dontcha?

6. Suckass Therapists

Even though I found one Thursday who I like. The test? I tell her really awful shit and see if her expression changes. This one didn't even bat an eyelash. Me Likey Ruth. The other two remain on notice.

7. My Hormones

I think I am pre-period...But DAMN. I alternate between wanting to shove my face in a vat of lard frosting and kick puppies as I walk down the street. Mean...you know....Cheney Mean?

There is a martini calling me. Go in peace, bitches.

Conservation

So now, in this stage, I have reached the "Conservation of movement" stage of my re-immersion into school.

I seek ways to blend work into other classes. Can I do the same project for more than one class? Yes? Maybe? Please?

The nice thing about being an adult in school is that I am happy to re-use old things. Thanks God no one here saw any of My Wheelock presentations, cause they are making a strong ass comeback at McGill.

Oh...and Terrance is gone to New York for the week. I'm still not sleeping, I interviewed one therapist this week (meh), and have another on Thursday. Oddly, the therapists all seem a little surprised that I am interviewing THEM. They look surprised! I suppose after 17 years, I have a good idea what I need. I'm not exactly hung up on my Mommy issues...usually.

I hope in the next week to catch up with you all. I know You know that it isn't for lack of love that I have been missing in the Blogosphere....My pleasure has had to take the back seat to the reading, and writing, and reading. I'm happy to report that this weeks readings actually made sense. My new favorite word to say? Hegemony!

P.S. Did I mention that I am writing this in my "Cognitive Development" class? Conservation!

Where in the Hell is Dawn???

I suppose that's what you may be thinking..Did she trip over the gnomes and knock herself unconcious while drinking cheap wine?

While that is, in many ways, an excellent guess ( and one I may attempt late on tonight) the sad truth is

Homework.

I'm swamped.

Take a look:







And this ain't exactly light reading. The stuff that gives me the most trouble? Curriculum Ideologies! The IRONY!

If I have to read the word pedagogy one more time, I might actually die. Of Hypothetico-deductive or Phenomonological. Then I have to write papers on this - critical analysis. With intelligent questions. The best one I have come up with is "What the fuck is this talking about?"

ACK.

Now, I am a smart, smart woman. But this stuff puts me to sleep. I now remember why I napped so much in college, it was the fucking, cocksucking reading.



Help me.

I clearly missed my language era...

Why the fuck didn't anyone tell me how awesome Deadwood is/was?

Cocksuckers.

Jardin Botanique de Montreal

We spent yesterday at the Botanical Gardens. Poor Emily...dragged to these things by her over-educated parents for some quality family time...

I think my depression is creeping back up. I have a new appointment with a NEW therapist next week. I cried through the intake session with the therapist who makes sure that you are crazy enough to accept. I passed. But, the numb feeling is returning. That not quite inside your body feeling, but there enough to be irritated with everything. AND my sleeping has been off, so that doesn't help my mood.

I decided to add the Wellbutrin back into the mix. I also told the people at the therapists office that I was taking an extra Prozac everyday to stave off the encroaching depression. And now trying with the Wellbutrin to stabilize this before it jumps off into something bigger.

So All I got for you is pictures from the Botanical.

Aftermath

Hi everyone.

We're fine. I am sure many, if not all of you have heard about the shooting in Montreal at Dawson College.

I was actually leaving downtown Montreal on the 12:15 train to where I live, and was most likely rolling past the college as the gunman began shooting. I never knew anything until later in the day when I was getting ready to drive back to McGill for my last class of the day. That is when I drove back into the middle of it.

Montreal is a large city, but nonetheless. As with any city, colleges can be a mere block away from each other. McGill - where I attend - is in the heart of downtown on the corners of Sherbrooke and McGill. A couple of blocks down is Ste. Catherine.

As you leave the city heading west on Sherbrooke, you will come across Dawson and Concordia, in very close proximity to each other and blocks away from McGill. There is a Metro station right next to the college. In fact, it is the train stop before mine. I rode in that morning with many students Going to Dawson.

I said in my class last night that as an American, I fear that I am a bit ...numb. While the people here in Montreal are genuinely shocked and appalled, I felt like it was just something that happens. Maybe this comes from living in an American society that comes to expect violence...I don't know.

But the fall out for this will take Montreal some time to sort through. This is not a society that Expects violence.

I don't have a tidy ending for this. It is just sad. Sad in the way that all violence is sad. Sad that someone feels so disconected that he decides to inflict this kind of terror and death on others. Sad that a girl who just went to college that morning is never coming home to her family. Sad that many others are in the hospital, same critically wounded because a a seemingly random choice by someone. Sad that this society now is forced to look at their institutions through a lens of "Security".

All I can leave you with is this:

Next - My underwear on Ebay! (not)

All right. This is a shameless post. I am going to admit right up front that I feel all wierd about posting this...but I am succumbing to pressure from the "Man"...or should I say the "Mom"...Club Mom.

See, they give us these little "Contests" to make us work for the duckets. I rarely participate, cause I am all anti-establishment like that. Usually, I roll my eyes and rationalize how I will not try to compete with my other clubmom'ers. Seriously. Have you seen these women? I am SO not trying to get into it with them. Plus, I LIKE them. I don't want to Beat them at things. This is why I hated school. The bizarre competition. Give me something I have a chance in, like drinking martini's, or doing yoga while intoxicated, or saying uncouth things in public venues. I ACE that shit. ACE IT!

But, the shameful thing is...that when I see my little gimlet at almost the bottom of the list of the clubmom blogs that are getting hits and subscribers...It pisses me off. I do good stuff on that blog. I stick mostly with mothering things, but still. Good stuff.

So. Would you consider going over to ClubMom and signing up for a subscription to Gimlet? You can delete it when it comes, I won't be offended...but GAH, I hate being at the bottom. Especially when I can't dress in black and smoke clove cigarettes and mock the others in an existential way.

Now I need to go shower and wash the consumerism from my body. Maybe I'll get to flash some workmen. That should put the universe to rights again.

Delicious Beef Balls!!!

On a Cold and Rainy Day, one feels called to eat a giant bowl of Vietnamese Soup at the aptly name "Soup and Noodles"




No, I could not finish it. Yes, It was delicious. Cilantro, fennel, garlic and ginger in the broth...and noodles.

And here is the quilt that I have almost finished. Cause I have homework to avoid now. So what better time to finish a massive quilt? Begone "Cognitive development Past, Present ad Future". You can not hold me down. You can not breaka my stride.

Seriously. This thing is so big that it is laughable. I have since put two of the three borders and it is growing unmanageable. I fear trying to put the backing on it.

This is the sister quilt to the original one I finished early last year. These are the left over squares - 2056 in the main body to be exact. So yeah. It is easy to see that I am quite motivated by work avoidance ( witness the birth of TWC!). If only I could harness this power for good.

Ways to NOT be my new therapist

10. If my appointment is at 1:45 p.m., make me wait until 2:10 to be seen. I love to wait in waiting rooms. LOVE IT!

9. Don't apologize for making we wait when I do get into the room.

8. Fiddle around with a bunch of papers.

7. Call me by the wrong name.

6. Try to flatter me by saying "You can't possibly be 36! You look so young!".

5. Interrupt me to tell me about your vacation to Maine.

4. Suggest that I should come back for a more "thorough" history.

3. Say the words "Wow! You've achieved alot for someone with your history."

2. Cluck and shake your head when I describe the history of mental illness and addiction in family. Say "That's a shame!"

and the number one way to insure that I will never come back to see you, but instead immediately seek a Different therapist...

1. Suggest that I might be bi-polar after speaking with me for 10 minutes, in my annoyed state.

Portrait of the Artist as a Middle Aged Student

8:45 a.m.
Walk and Drop Emily off at School. Give her a kiss and pry her off of my leg. Tell her to "take care" of the little girl who was mean to her, "if she knows what I mean". Get puzzled look from daughter.

9:00 a.m.
Miss second to last train into downtown Montreal

9:01 a.m.
Run over to the wall and attempt to decipher the French schedule. Pretty sure it says that there is one more coming at 9:09. Attempt to look non-chalent, fiddling with my earphones and trying to balance the "growing heavier by the second" laptop.

9:08 a.m.
Thank God. I see the train. That would have sucked donkey ass gelatin.

9:19 a.m.
Arrive in Downtown Montreal. Decide that The Beastie Boys "Solid Gold" CD KICKS ASS, for walking briskly up hills. Remember to thank Julie, cause it was her bike ride with "Intergalactic" which reminded me of said CD. Laugh heartily at "Brass Monkey" and mouth the words to "Hey, Ladies!" Think to self how fucking cool I am for age 36!

9:30 a.m.
Arrive on campus. I don't look Too out of place. Plus, I am wearing a Fussy shirt. HAH! Walk with purpose to the admin building, cause I was there last week and know where I am going! I do not need no stinkin map!

9:40 a.m.
Arrive at Admin building. What's up with that line over there? That can't possibly for Id's, right? Besides...Don't I get to go to the special "you are an advanced degree seeker, not a lowly undergrad" line? With a lounge? And fresh complimentary coffee?

9:42 a.m.
Smile and make eye contact with man in tie guarding door. Explain my "unique" status. He point me to the back of the huge ass line. Sigh.

9:48 a.m.
Get to back of line. Decide to switch to Ben Folds Live CD.

11:02 a.m.
Ben Folds Finished awhile ago and was replaced by another CD. Batteries low. CD stops spinning. Dawn is getting testy, but closer to the front of the line. Realizes that people in line are LITERALLY half her age. HALF. When she was an undergrad in 1988, these twerps were being BORN. Now they are ahead of her in line. There are baleful regards thrown about. Observe squirrels. Really aggressive Squirrels. Think to self that a movie could be "Squirrels on a Bus", and could star these mo-fo's - cause they are MEAN.

11:10 a.m. FRONT OF THE LINE - WHOO, HOO!!!!

11:11 a.m.
Since when did being "front of the line" mean I have the answer to every fucking question regarding the Admissions and registrars office. Even putting my headphones back in does not dissuade these young people from running up to me and asking questions. I get surlier by the second. One asks "Can I go in and ask a question?"
to which I reply "I suppose you could try". Another asks "What are these numbers for?" holding out a paper number. How the fuck should I know? I have been in this line for almost two hours.

11:20
AH HA. I get inside. In front.Well, almost in front. In back of a young man whose increasingly complex series of questions makes me want to bludgeon him to death with the stack of pamphlets. Dude. Could you have figured this shit out BEFORE you got into line? Shouldn't these questions about how you were going to PAY for your education have been decided prior to Day one of class? Realize that blood sugar is dangerously low. Rethink decision to bring laptop. Your back in in agony.

11:30 a.m.
Get picture taken for ID. Pray hair doesn't look at bad as you suspect it may.

11:33 a.m.
Free at last. ID in hand. I rock!!!! Now to go and get health cards....

11:45 a.m.
Get health cards for family. Feel really accomplished, for you are the Queen of the world, with an ID and health insurance again! Decide to forgo food to catch last train until late afternoon. Hustle your ass, bad hair and aching back towards the train station. Put Gorillez CD in. Re-establish cool factor. Seriously, I am never carrying the laptop all day again. This sucks.

12:20 p.m.
Sit on train. Close eyes. Ponder the enormous headache that is throbbing through your cerebellum. Get phone call from spouse asking if you checked into a gym membership for him. Reject "Fuck off, you sorry ass motherfucker" as a response. Simply say "No" instead. Tell him to pick you up at train station, cause your back is in bad shape. And your head hurts. Discover in book they gave you about insurance that a family plan costs 3 times what you were originally told. Really consider losing your shit on train and sobbing. Decide against this.

12:40 p.m.
Meet spouse at train. Glare at him as he asks "What's wrong with you?" Tell him to take you home.

12:47 p.m.
Come home. Take Advil, lots of Advil. Crawl into bed. Take 2 hour nap.

Awkward

Um, Hi Mom.

The cat is out of the bag. The secret has been revealed. The woman behind the curtain has stepped out and is grinning awkwardly in the direction of her mother.

I told my mother about the blogs today.

On one hand, I knew that if she simply typed my name into Google, she would get the surprise of her life. And who doesn't google themselves or family members ( or ex-boyfriends - not that I would KNOW or anything)? That was not a phone call I wanted to get, because it would have come in the middle of something - like sewing a complex costume for Emily's play, or open brain surgery..or me trying to bake something edible.

It may seem odd to you all that I, mistress of self exposure, would hesitate to reveal her blogs to her mother. And, honestly, I am not sure why it took me over a year. Well, maybe I do.

At first, I was writing my way back to life from last years depression. I didn't know what I wanted the blog to be, or even What it was, let alone inviting my Mom into the fray.

Then, I got embarrassed. Why would she want to know these details? Would she be a little freaked out by some of what I talk about here? Would she read something that would cause her undue worry? Was this really any of her business? Would she attempt to interject or edit what I said on the blog?

And time wore on. And I failed to mention the blog. Then it became two blogs, then three. And other stuff. Speaking at BlogHer. ClubMom. Nominations.

Over the past month, I have come to terms with the Blogs as being large parts of my current life. These aren't going away any time soon. In fact, if the past bears into the future, the blogs will get larger. I will be unable to pretend like they don't filter into the other parts of my life.

My relationship with my Mom is a reasonably good one. Being her first child, born when she was 19, I got the majority of her energy, as well as the closest observations of who she was, is and continues to be. We broke each other in as parent and child. We are similar and dissimilar. She marvels at my wit and strength. She has always been proud of me and I of her.

But we are not the same. This is the lesson I have been learning with my own daughter. As much as I can love and support her, she is not me. I am not her. Just as my mother is not her mother, nor am I my mother.

When you gain an understanding, as a parent, that you are someone's child the world shifts a bit. It was the first time that I realized that my mother was a woman - like me. That she was a working mother, trying to raise children, like me. That she may have wanted to lock herself in the bedroom and not make any damn sandwiches for any damn meals. That many of the things I blamed or resented her for were products of our genetic disposition towards depression, or exhaustion, or simple fallible humanity.

The inverse is true. My mothers image of me was one that I thought I controlled. To allow her into the inner sanctum of Dawn-ness was short circuiting the cord I had been trying to cut from my 13th birthday on. I had so carefully hidden who I was, out of habit, that not sharing the blogs made sense to me. It was easier this way. There were no conversations to be had, and my defense mechanism of withholding information was intact.

(Yes, internet - That is my power dynamic with my Mom. She asks a billion questions and wants to know detail, and I react by not telling her anything!)

So, the walls are down. The citadel is unguarded. Come on in, Mom. Sit down. Have a glass of wine. Hope you like it. Thanks for helping to build it. Love you.

Big Vlad on Campus

AH-HA!

You did not expect to see me here. The display of raw meat drew me as a moth to the flame. It was as if the Woman was calling to me. "Come, Vlad", she said, "Feast and then take me as your next conquest! Let me give you another son!"

I, Vlad, have been very busy watching the woman in the past several weeks. I take care that she does not see me as I shadow her on the train...and up the hill to her building. I also impale the pitiful 18 year olds who attempt to make small talk with me, or the formerly alive worm who yelled at Vlad with a devil sent voice box that Vlad should do something called "Pledge". They were the last words that the ex-peon screeched before I ripped his tongue out and replaced it with his now unattached genitals.

The sacrifice's friends recognized the force that is Vlad the Impaler and wisely took flight. So I slashed their achilles tendons and laughed at their screams of agony. There is nothing that Vlad enjoys more than an early semester slaughter! I arranged their bodies carefully to please the woman, but she walked down the hill on a different path, so my gift was unseen.

Vlad is very happy in this place. There are many virgins to be defiled and peasants to slaughter. Did Vlad mention the shops where women are clad in garments of black leather? The manly shaft of Vlads nether region lifted at the sight of such beauty.
If the woman does not consent to give me a son, I shall surely find a worthy wench here. Plus, as I will have to kill her once she delivers my seed, Vlad will be sad to have to end things with the Woman in this manner.

I would rather impale the woman with my flaming sword, heh, heh, heh. The man should watch his back.



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A love one fears to name

Is it wrong to love Sausage this much?