Up, Up and Away

The Ireland Trip is finally here. I leave the house tomorrow at some ungodly hour to fly for ten hours – actually, eleven (flight to Boston 4 hr 49 min, flight to Shannon 6 hr 5 min) with barely time to walk in between. That’s a lotta time in a little cramped tube. And I found out that I can’t check in online because it’s an international flight. Poo.

It will be the first time in my ten years with DH that I have been any length of time alone with his family… and the though petrifies me. Anytime we have been with his folks, it’s always at least three hours… and then not that long ago (COUGHCOUGHlast FebruaryCOUGH) I swore I’d never travel with my MIL ever again. Well, dammit, so much for that.

Note to self: PACK iPOD. BUY EARPLUGS.

I at least get the first leg of my flight by myself. I’m flying what used to be America’s Worst, an airline I’d worked for at one point. I know their cattle car routine. The second leg is Aer Lingus, and I’ve only heard positive things about that airline.

We land very early Saturday morning, and I will touch down back here in the desert at 11p next Saturday. I’m going to put the good face on it and think the best, but the people I’m traveling with can be so freaking self-absorbed that I’ll want to shoot myself, I know it.

And if US Air is anything like its predecessor, they’ll overbook to the hilt. I’m hoping for that on the way back. I’ll be the first to go to the counter and volunteer if they lodge me somewhere on their dime on either of my two US stops on the way back. A night of solitude will be necessary by then.

Ireland, here I come!

(RRRRRUNNNN!!!)

~~

And yes, I did change the header in honor of the trip.

Supermarket Stupidity

This post was prompted from my reading of this article this morning over coffee.

There’s a local grocery chain here called Basha’s. I think it’s the last remaining locally owned one. Hmmm… envisions the neighborhood… Fry’s, Fry’s, Albertsons, Fry’s… and Fry’s, which used to be local, got bought out years ago and in its current form, is a Kroger affiliate… Alpha Beta/ABCO’s been long gone for decades, so has Smitty’s (which was Canadian anyway), and Safeway’s the same ol’ California company. Yep, Basha’s is the only local one left.

I also can’t recall the last time I set foot in one. I got tired of their inflated prices. I got tired of their shelves never being restocked in a timely manner, and then from there, their selection on said shelves went downhill. I got tired of the stores having that heavy reek of the fryer that has been theirs since I was a kid; it slaps you in the face as soon as you walk in the door. I got tired of their meat section, just awful (and it used to be pretty decent). I got tired of their crummy bakery with tasteless cakes and foul little doughnuts, and a nasty produce section with poor quality fruits and vegetables. What I got REALLY tired of were their cranky, indifferent employees. For those reasons and others, I stopped going to their stores a long time ago. I think it’s been about three years. The last time I was there, I returned some Mother’s cookies that had – wait for it – some sort of spider webs or whatever inside the package. Ew.

I prefer having my wallet raped at Safeway over walking into a nasty Basha’s store.

More This and That

DH was listening to the idiot Octomom 911 tape when listening to Howard Stern last week. I haven’t heard it yet, but DH said that is was maddening to listen to because she was completely off her rocker. Screeching and wailing, freaking out, but the worst was when the idiot said that she was going to kill herself… in front of the other children! The 911 operator had enough presence of mind to tell her not to say that in front of her kids. What a freaking nutcase. Those poor children!

 

~~

Why do people ignore their dogs? Barkbarkbark in this neighborhood for hours on end, all over the place. WTF? And I don’t get mad at the dogs—not their fault—but their stupid owners’ fault. Stupid people.

~~

I hiked for nearly an hour in Pima Canyon on Thursday morning, about elevenish. I was astonished that so many people were there. More importantly, I don’t believe that the South Mountain trails are really too kid-friendly. Lots of jagged rocks poking through the surface after all the rains this winter, a constant incline, no shade, etc etc. Are parents really so stupid these days?

 

No, wait, don’t answer that.

~~

I got my hockey pants in the mail today. I have to return them. They just won’t work; my ass is just too fat and they’re made for men who put the waistband of their pants below their beer (or Warcraft) bellies. Not surprised.

 

Today, I went to the hockey shop (Behind the Mask) near my house and a really nice guy helped me size a helmet and adjusted it for me, and even gave me the proper size of face cage. I also bought gloves. I’m about ready to go.

 

While we were chatting and he was adjusting my helmet, I asked him if the new facility in Queen Creek has been good for them. He said yes, actually, it has. There’s been more movement, more demand, more interest in this area. I later told him that for me it was a wash – I’m dead between the two facilities (see previous discussions of) and CSC has the baby leagues I need for now.

 

I said that it should be looking up – I see more and more kids and adults blading around, more than I’ve seen for years. Sports associated with inline skates invariably follow.

 

My clinic starts Tuesday. I’m excited but apprehensive. Am I ready? No. Am I anywhere near the shape I need to be in for this? Hell no. Doing it anyway.

~~

Earlier this month, The Young Victoria premiered in London. In this movie, the real life Queen Victoria’s great-great-great-great granddaughter (hmmm wait *mutters* Victoria, Edward, (g) George, (g-g) George, (gg-g) Elizabeth, (ggg-g)Andrew, (gggg-g) Beatrice… OK, good), Princess Beatrice–colloquially “of York”, properly “of Great Britain and Northern Ireland”–had a cameo as a lady in waiting. Princess Beatrice has the bug eyes of the Hanoverians and actually very strongly resembles a portrait of Queen Victoria done when she was in her twenties. Anyway, there was good reason for this royal kid to be there.

 

Here are Princesses Beatrice and Eugenie flanking their mother at the premiere:

 

 

 

(Photo: Entertainment Press/Splash News)

 

These girls are the granddaughters of the Queen of the United Kingdom, nieces to the recently-awarded Best Dressed Man (Prince Charles), and have access to the finest stylists and clothes in the world.

 

So WHY IN THE HELL ARE THEY DRESSED LIKE CRAP???

 

This isn’t the first time, and for criminy sakes you would think they’d learn. These young ladies are twenty and eighteen, supposedly somewhat sophisticated, and old enough to know that you don’t wear crappy off the rack items (or things that look like them) that fit poorly and/or make you look decades older than you are. Eugenie’s too young to wear something that makes her tits look like they’re already migrating south like a sixty year old, and Beatrice looks ghastly in that shapeless piece of crap. Their mother has learned to dress well, and their Wales and Phillips cousins dress beautifully. So why the horrible choices? Damn.

 

~~

 

 Check out my recent entries at Meant to Be, my sister blog. Things are moving along.

Shift of Gears

At one point in my elation yesterday, I realized that when one blogs about an adoption journey, one should not have in the title “fail” or “failboat.” So, after much consideration, I decided that further discussions on this topic will be held in this venue. When I write there, I’ll notate it here, and vice versa.  Here’s where I’ll blather about the other topics of lesser gravity than this all-important journey.

Go to Meant to Be to see what happened yesterday.

~~

President Obama  is in town today. Big whoop. He’s going to Dobson High School–a stupid place for such a high profile visitor, since its fields are right off of a major thoroughfare. Someone didn’t think their cunning plan all the way through.

Instead of traipsing around here, why isn’t he in Washington, doing his job? What good does an expensive visit to the armpit of the valley really do?

GBTW, sir.

~~

The reservations I’d had in accepting my SIL’s offer for the Ireland trip are starting to rise to the top of the simmering cauldron. She’s given a directive that everyone shall only bring one carry-on, and when her mother said she was checking her bags in, SIL said something to the effect of  ‘then you’ll have to find your own way to the hotel’ because she isn’t going to wait for anyone who checks bags.

I shook my head when this exchange reached my ears. I’m usually the last one to defend my MIL (she drives me insane), but this is ridiculous and rude. SIL is determined to make everyone miserable before any of us steps on the plane.

I’ll bring it up at the dinner this weekend, in front of everyone. That way I have witnesses and she’ll have to control herself. Someone has to.

Why make it miserable? It’s going to be a make-or-break trip as it is.

~~

Back to work. More later.

Getting Ready to Jump Into the Deep End

For the past several weeks, I’ve been loath to bug DH about finishing up the adoption paperwork. He’s now a head honcho and trying to unravel the mess of things to do in his new job. Now that things have settled down, we sat down and went through all the paperwork and got all the 178650 pages that needed to be signed. Now all I have to do is copy things and send the packet off.

I left a message with the social worker attached to the adoption agency we’re working with, telling her that I had a question of definition on one thing, and that on Tuesday I’d be dropping the packet in the mail. When I hung up, I couldn’t help but smile.

At dinner, I couldn’t withhold my glee. Now and again I’d grin and quickly clap my hands in suppressed excitement. Finally, things have settled down enough to actually DO IT.  Elated and hopeful, I’m scrutinizing the paperwork to make sure we didn’t miss anything. I’ll make copies tomorrow and YEAH BABY! WE’RE ON OUR WAY!!

YEEHAAA!

*SPLOOSH!*

~~

The hot topic of these two weeks has been that trainwreck who has 14 kids via IVF so that she’d “have someone to love me.” On welfare and food stamps, dependent on her parents, she’s had plastic surgery and is banking on the media frenzy to finance her piss poor choices in life.  And you know what she’s going to do if (when?) she gets money? More plastic surgery and more IVF, and therefore the increase in both her Angelina Complex and more litters of children. She’s apparently quite proficient at doctor shopping. She also appears to be adept at fraud.

She doesn’t care for the six she already had, the grandfather has to go back “to the Iraq” (ha) to finance the care, and the grandmother is tapped emotionally and physically.

What pisses people off from all walks of life the most is the fact that the taxpayers are paying for this completely screwed up chick and her children.

I’m elated that the gravy train hasn’t reached her! She needs serious mental help (a chronic liar with security and other issues), and her children need to be placed with families–yes, plural–who can actually care for them.

I really don’t want to type her name; she disgusts me. Octomom’s nicknames include Octard and Octopussy, and there are other rude nicknames floating around out there. I don’t think there’s a word strong enough in the English language to fully reflect the negative backlash in this situation.

I don’t think there’s a single person out there dealing with infertility and loss whose nerves aren’t humming with indignation and rage. I certainly don’t have the money for one, let alone how many she’s had (allegedly financed through a workplace injury settlement, but since she’s incapable of keeping her stories straight, who knows), so between her and her unethical doctor I know I want to fire them both out to outer space.

 

There is only one party I feel truly sorry for, and that party is those poor children, every single one. Not only are the older ones’ formative years completely screwed up, the octuplets will always be a curiosity and the recipient of all sorts of opinions, good and bad. I hope CPS gets involved, pronto.

~~

So a new week is here. Tomorrow is a half-day, a compromise with the boss. I’m going to go for a nice long walk and enjoy this wonderful weather. The system is finally moving in from California and the temps have dropped to levels appropriate for February. We’re supposed to get rain and up north they’re supposed to get more snow. It’s looking like it will be a great week!

The Hellish Road

It has been a little over a year since a series of events that shattered my faith in my fellow man (with a few obvious exceptions, natch). And, as I’ve mentioned before, I haven’t been to Mass since. It’s not a matter of a problem with the Catholic Church, her priests or her teachings, but of my aversion to seeing people who wrap themselves in the name of Christ and/or a charism and don’t practice what they preach, and who lie through their teeth but have convinced themselves that they speak the truth.

I’m finally getting to a point where I’m not trembling as I think about it, shaking with suppressed rage; I’m learning to let God handle it. Surely He will.

Hell Hath Frozen Over

The Cardinals–referred to as the “Tards” in this neck of the woods–have made it to the Super Bowl. Satan needs a goose-down quilted jacket.

No, I am not thrilled. I despise that organization. Although I like Kurt Warner and Larry Fitzgerald personally, the franchise is a joke. I mean, jeez! They got kicked out of St Louis, fer crissakes. Then they come to Phoenix, butter up the idiots at Tempe City Hall and at ASU, and foist themselves on this town. The untold amounts of money the city of Tempe has dumped into the Bidwells’ flights of fancy was rewarded by yanking the Tards from the city. The only thing the city could hold on to and enforce was that the team may NOT leave the multi-million dollar practice facility at the southern end of town–so yeah, listen to this: they practice at the facility that is off of I-10 and Warner Road, but they play at the stadium that is at a minimum 45 minutes away. I wonder if the players get mileage reimbursement.

The location for the new stadium was a study in idiocy: one site was to be right in the flight path of Sky Harbor (you can’t have the blimps and other aircraft or fireworks in the flight paths, you morons), then they were going to put it at the junction of the 101 and 202 in Mesa. The problem with that was it was right in the river bottom, and the high water table there would have pumps running 24/7. See what kind of idiots they are? In the end, they brokered a deal in the west valley. The next folly was when the Bidwells bamboozled the taxpayers into paying for that monstrosity. Then they gave the bid for the stadium name to the worst and most screwed up for-profit education institution in the nation. What a comedy of errors.

At least with my team, the franchise paid for the new stadium. Jeezum Criminy, the Cards didn’t even have a) a winning team, b) a consistent fan base and/or c) enough attendees to ensure games get played locally–they didn’t need or deserve a new stadium. Hell, before last week’s playoffs, the franchise still had to beg the public to buy tickets so they wouldn’t be blacked out. That is a fact, ladies and gentlemen.

Despite the happy bleatings of the Repulsive and other media in the Valley (who have swung back and forth between blistering insults and rapturous praise all season like manic-depressives), there is quite a lot of indifference regarding the Tards despite their accomplishments these last couple of weeks. Really: look around the Phoenix metro area. When the Suns (hoops) or the D-Backs (baseball) are kicking ass, the valley is inundated with team colors and painted messages on car windows, and the team is on everyone’s tongue. Especially for the Suns–the town just gets slathered with purple and orange.

But for the Cards? The occasional window-held team flag, the runner at the top of the buses, the billboard on I-10 below the Buttes. People who don’t have a favorite team are just generally happy they’re in the Super Bowl. Anyone who is ecstatic–other than the dozen or so true-blue fans in town– haven’t attended a single game this season (I’m betting that the majority of the people at the stadium last night had not been there at all this season, if ever). People indifferent to football are happy because the team’s appearance in the SB is good exposure for Phoenix. However, the bottom line is that this town is not painted red and white for them. There is not that level of excitement here, and that’s a fact.

I know–Shut up! The forty millionaires watching the game at home joke refers to your Cowboys, too, pal–but the Cards in the SB is some kind of cosmic joke. I actually said once the game was over, “Hell hath frozen over.”

~~

The Pittsburgh/Baltimore game was definitely more to my liking. That was some freaking brutal football. There is a debate whether Clark initiated illegal and/or intentional helmet-to-helmet contact on Willis McGahee, and I don’t think so. Watch the replays: Clark dropped his shoulder to knock McGahee back–McGahee tried to get the lower position in reaction… I honestly think it was an unfortunate combination of split-second decisions by each of the players. There should be no fine, no suspensions. This is football, after all.

Best wishes for a speedy recovery to Mr. McGahee.

GO STEELERS!!

Quandary!

Since the day MIL pulled her guilt trip, I have had a hard time being civil to her. Not happy with the FIL, either, since he was her running dog. I’m fervently praying that Ma Nature thwarts her crap by sending a nice snowstorm to Denver on Christmas Day so it delays our flight home. That would just be delicious.

 

~~

 

There was a day, about six months ago, where my SIL and I were discussing Ireland. It evolved into a talk about a trip to Ireland, and then it became a trip for me and SIL to Ireland.  In the ensuing months, it became SIL, Princess Entitlement and me, then SIL, Princess Entitlement, MIL and me, and in its final form is now SIL, Princess Entitlement, MIL, Honorary Aunt, and me.

 

Oh boy.

 

Okay, I’m Back from Cloud Nine…

On Tuesday morning at about nine thirty, the phone at work rings. “Good morning, law office.”

“Hi babe.”

“Hey baby, how are you?”

“The eagle has landed.” Cryptic talk like this means that walls have ears.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. They want me to start on the twenty-ninth.”

Excitement was building. He was deadly calm, but being married to him, I know suppressed excitement when I hear it. “Oh, that’s wonderful. How much?”

He told me how much.

“WHAT?!” I screeched in surprise.

“Yeah.”

I think my eyes were blown right out of their sockets. I know that I spent the rest of the day trying to locate them and place them back into their orbits. Without advertising numbers, let’s just say that a) we’re hardly starving, but he was initially underpaid for his position where he is now, and hasn’t had a raise in two years because nobody there has any idea how to run a business and the business probably won’t exist by this time next year; and b) he not only jumps substantially to six figues in this new job, but also he has the potential of doubling our current income.

O. M. F. G.!!!

After about two minutes of fractured sentences punctated with “WOW,” and oblique references to benefits, my sweet husband says, “and now we can go forward with the adoption stuff because we can afford it now.” I melted.

After the phone call ended, I screeched with glee and clapped my hands. Then I sat in my chair, stunned, for about five minutes. After that, I maniacally stalked the office for about two minutes (good thing Boss was at court and I was alone). Finally, I had to share the great, wonderful, miraculous news; I called my friend in Indiana because he had kept me sane throughout this stressful period. Called his work, it went to voice mail; called his cell, went to voice mail, and I left a message. Then I emailed him. He finally popped up on Facebook’s chat and typed, “?” He was wonderful and I thanked him three different times for being there through the crisis.

I went to lunch, but I didn’t know initially where I was going. Didn’t matter; I was thanking God aloud repeatedly, tears streaming down my cheeks, as I tried to drive. The relief is that profound. Talk about depths to the heights!

I wound up at Sonora Brewery, the first person there. I entered, stopped, stared, and I said to Cindy and Liz, “A miracle has happened.” Then I did something I never have done before: I had a lovely hefeweisen with my lunch in celebration. I texted the husband and said I was having a beer with lunch; he texted back, “a day to celebrate indeed!” We went to Chinese for dinner in celebration.

Oh, praise God. Thank God! It’s only this evening, Thursday, that I have come down from the high enough to type a thing. Granted, the next six weeks or so we’ll still have to mind the pennies, but God, it’ll be so nice to not have to freak out at the end of every pay period.

~~

Naturally, the first thing we discussed once the first excitement wore off was the agreement that our spending habits can’t change. Let’s get the car paid off, then my student loan paid down, and we can go from there. Of course, we can pick up where we left off on the adoption application.

The relief for both of us is huge, financially and stress-wise, we can relax. We can enjoy the hell out of Vail, and not have to watch every single penny spent. We can enjoy and know we can pay the Visa down by the end of January when the statement comes.

I love it. The feeling is wonderful. It’s a miracle indeed.

Procrastination/is silly/you go around/willy nilly…

I’m pretty much doing everything except the Motion in Limine I’m supposed to do for my legal writing class, and then after that I have to start piecing my legal memo together. I did the depo summary earlier this afternoon–really an abstract, but my instructor is weird that way: she doesn’t know the difference between an abstract and a summary. Whatever; the abstract is a hell of a lot faster and easier, and I did a fine job, thank you very much.

Three weeks to go. It can’t go fast enough.

~~

I came home yesterday when DH poked his head into the garage as I opened the trunk. “Baby? I have a surprise in the living room.” He was even solicitous in helping me bring in the bags, which he rarely does. He was supposed to be out scouting for things, not buying. He looked awfully guilty, like a lil kid who has done something in contravention to what his mother told him not to do.

I was not surprised, therefore, to find a 42″ flatscreen in our living room. He got a screaming deal with an appropriate side story to go along with it (rude people who wanted TWO flatscreens at the center of it… who needs TWO flatscreens??)

He is not allowed to bitch about finances for the next year.

~~

Princess Entitlement came home for Thanksgiving (hub’s niece) from her snooty university. Long story short: if I were the parent paying $50,000 a year to attend said snooty school (not even Ivy League, mind you), I certainly would want to see my child being academically challenged. Princess said she’s bored and the classes are easy. Holy God. No wonder the kids are so useless when they get out of college.

Add to it she’s probably going to go Poli Sci as a major… and I have forgotten what foofy thing she’s doing for a minor. It’s not French, not even International Relations. I have a feeling she’s going to fizzle out.

~~

Plans for Vail are skimming along. The only bump in the road that made me fly out of the Radio Flyer wagon is that DH’s mom pulled a guilt trip on him, resulting in his arbitrary decision that we show up for Christmas Dinner. Um, no: two hours from Vail to Denver; sit in the airport for God knows how long; another hour (at least) in flight back home; another hour from there to get our crap and get to the house to let the cat out. And from there we’re supposed to drive another hour and a half up (and back) to listen to the b.s. of the aforementioned Princess and the weirdness of MIL’s niece? …God, no.

I didn’t take it well. I dread the day when concrete plans are in the works to move to NC. What is she going to pull then? I don’t dare think about it for fear of driving myself mad.

~~

I refuse to punish my nephew for the stupidity and weakness of his mother, so we sent him a combined birthday/Christmas present. She called to say thank you, but Hellboy has made no mention of gifts. Then, over the weekend, after four months of not really talking to me, Sis has decided to play nice. I’m not really interested. Until she straightens out her priorities and knocks off being  nothing more than a pawn, then yeah. Until then I have nothing to say.

~~

A couple of weekends ago, we went to lunch with some friends and their small children. The children were well behaved and enjoyable. “S” is a friend of DH’s and mine from hockey days. “J” is the wife he courted long distance. She does not like us (although she had an embarrassingly huge crush on DH to the point that we both felt sorry for S), and even DH is saying that enough is enough. There have been several incidents over the last few years, most especially the dinner where she had the shittiest attitude: she would not let me go and talk to the guys–I had to stay with her in the kitchen. When she went into the restroom, I slipped into the other room and had a moment to say hi to dear friend S. She came back and pretty much herded me back to the kitchen. That was not a good night, and similar incidents all night left a sour taste in both my and DH’s mouths.

But at lunch that day, she sat there, staring into space moodily, rebuffing any effort to break the ice, and she most obviously wanted to be somewhere else. She refused to join in the conversation with DH, S and I. This is not the first exposure to her rudeness, but it will likely be the last. Poor S gets to eat it; sorry, babe. It’s just not worth it anymore. It’s sad.

I do not believe in putting a choke chain on my husband; to me, it is the hallmark of distrust and disrespect. I know who I married and I trust him implicitly. As an example, if he wants to go to a titty bar (who has money and time these days?), I’m secure enough in myself to be good with that. I don’t really care. I encourage him to go and play with the boys–movies, pool, squash, mountain biking, whatever. DH has so many friends who wistfully sigh and opine that they wish their wives would allow them to do such things.

To watch our dear friend S go through this emasculation is sad. She’s the breadwinner; he runs his company out of the house around the children’s schedule. He cannot have any outlets without a) her express approval and b) some method of caring for the kids while he plays. She won’t just stay home with the kids now and again for his sanity; instead, he’s tethered to the children (while she’ll go out and play). It’s a shame, really, and the change in S is pretty obvious.

When I brought up hockey at lunch that day, his eyes lit up and the discussion following was animated. J was miffed and when S asked me to send the link to where I’m considering playing, there was a glint in J’s eye I didn’t like. I hope I didn’t cause any difficulty for him, but it just came up in conversation. I’m willing to bet that the thought of playing roller hockey again has him excited (his nickname when we all used to play was “Yzerman” lol… and yes he was that good)… but I think if J has anything to do with it and he tries to insist on returning to hockey, she’s going to cut his nards off and put them in a jar.

I feel so bad for the guy. Poor baby.

~~

This past Wednesday, I went to Dad’s and did Phase One of cleaning the store room. I was naive enough to think this would be a day project-oh hell no. Mom had stashed stuff in there from the forties and fifties, including my uncles grade school report cards. There’s a large pile of letters to and from my grandparents… and I had absolutely no time to read them. I will sort, categorize and go through them one day.

I found some letters and diaries of my mom’s that I discreetly stashed in my pile, and read when I got home. All the way back in 1965, she was gutted by the division and bullshit games in her family, and their apparent indifference to her and her huge responsibilities. “I might as well be dead to them,” she had written.

Sad to think that forty-three years later, her daughter knows exactly how she felt then. Some things never change, and patterns in families really do repeat.

~~

All right, back to work. I’m slacking and I know it. One assignment down, two to go.

More later.