The Curse of Mothers EVERYWHERE

Back to School. It sends a shiver down my spine. Why? Allow me to elaborate, hmmm?

I'm sure all mothers know what I'm going to rant about today. I'm sure of it. For ME to rant about this, SHOPPING, is a major and rare thing. Although today wasn't too bad, cause I went alone. It's ALWAYS better when I go alone.

All the schools here wear uniforms, thank GOD. Ok, in a way, thank God. In another way, this is a fucking NIGHTMARE. Arianna happens to go to one of the MANY private schools here. There is ONE, count em, ONE Uniform shop in the whole of Bahrain that until last year had only one location, on a small extremely BUSY street with 5 parallel parking spaces which it must share with the beauty supply shop (also the only one) and some other shop or other. The shop is so small and crammed with racks upon racks (I MEAN CRAMMED) and counters, and sales staff and PEOPLE with their UMPTEEN children and their respective maids. It gave me a bad attack of claustrophobia which led to a anxiety attack. It wasn't pretty. Anyhow, do you all get how damn small it is? Good. ie: when they run out of your kid's size of the pre-made ones, you have to special order a custom one, which takes about2-3 weeks due to the backlog of all the other parents as stupid as you obviously are to wait till the last damn minute. (This happened to me once a few years ago. NEVER AGAIN) Anyway, last year the geniuses that own it opened another branch (AMEN PRAISE JESUS!!!!!!!Halleleuja!) in my favorite beautifully designed and laid out, but not overly busy mall not 10 minutes from my house with sh*tloads of parking! This shop is HEWGE, extremely brightly lit and spacious. I want to kiss the feet of the owner for opeining this branch. They saved my life and my sanity. Surplus of uniforms. YES! and white PE shorts (or SKORTS, whichever you prefer), and the SPECIAL DAMN T-shirt with the school logo on it (I got in trouble for this, but I'll go into this later), and the other special PE t-shirt of which I don't have the slightest clue what color to buy yet so it will have to wait. and the school ties, and cardigans... and ... and... and... and... (also, this place has maid and nanny uniforms, and medical staff uniforms- which is totally unrelated to this post, but I just thought I would toss it in for background info).

Now here comes the part where I might get pounded on by my readers (but most of you are women so you will probably TOTALLY empathise). Ari's cousin Juju (nickname for her real name, Jawaher, which means JEWELS) is 3 years ahead of Ari in the same school. This is N's youngest daughter. Juju gave Ari a couple of her old, but like new uniforms last month. Does she wanna wear them? Hell no. Why? Cause they are the "old style" uniform and since LAST year the girls have 2 options. Ok, mind you, I think the old style is waaaaay cuter. It's a square neck jumper style, with an attached pleated skirt. (bear in mind the goddamn pleats, will you?) When I say pleats, we are talking about 25-ish pleats here in the skirt. It falls just above the knee. The waist is cinched. (BTW- her uniform is a deep beautiful baby blue solid cotton with the logo patch on the left.) It looks beautiful on her with her figure especially now that she has a smaller waist and some hips. The NEW style (Juju's new uniform also) is also a square necked jumper style, but more like an A-line slim cut dress. Sleeveless also, but there is ONLY one pleat in front and NONE in back. It also has a seperate belt that goes in loops. (more 60's style) Both styles wear either long or short sleeved white blouse underneath and a Blue tie same material and color of the dress uniform. (Duh, white socks and black shoes) (Cardigans MUST be white. Anal freaking schools, all of them)

I have been swearing left right and center that I would NOT give in to the whole "new Uniform style" thingie. Guess what? Today I folded. I gave in. She got lucky, actually. There was ONE left in her size. (It's only worn 2 out of the 5 days of school, so one will do fine) Of course it's appalingly long, so I have to get it altered at the tailor, but that's not a biggie. Know my deciding factor? The wonderful lack of pleats. The other uniform is so cute, but do you have ANY IDEA WHAT A PAIN IN THE ASS it is to be ironing all those pleats so they are all crisp and even?? NIGHTMARE. (I actually like ironing,but that is pushing it BIGTIME) One big pleat in the front vs. 25-ish? SO, I got the freaking new uniform for her, new shorts and a new PE Tee. I got all happy and noticed the new design for the PE shirts and thought I'd get one like that for her. You know, a big surprise. uh huh. I was doing ok up till then.

Anyway, today, I also had to go hit a big store that is as close to a Costco as I'm gonna get here since I had to get her lined notebooks and miscellaneous things needed. I also had to buy the clear adhesive bookcover rolls. (THAT took me an hour and a half to cover all her damn books. WHAT? I'm meticulous!) I had already hit this store 2 weeks ago with Her Majesty (Ari) to get some basics that I knew she needed before I got the actual list provided by the school. Pens, pencils, music books, art supplies (basic) (OK, I stocked up on the colored construction paper, cause you can never find it when the art teacher issues orders to bring it in TOMORROW!) blah, blah.bleeeeh. Ari drove me up the freaking WALL that day. Next school purchase excursion was for her book bag, since she couldn't decide the day she made me pop Xanax. In this, I triumphed! A really cute bag, and inexpensive. Actually, I love .. love.. LOVE this bag! Got her the matching soft lunchbox. It looks like Denim and has pretty Red and fuschia stars all over it. BRATZ Girls for those of you with kids. It's very cute. Lovin it. I was all smug with the inexpensiveness of it too. (Still am) The day of the schoolbag purchase I girded my loins and drug her to buy trainers. Shit.

Here again, the freaking school is anal and precise. A-N-A-L. Must be white. No color allowed on it excecpt the same baby blue of the uniform. A-holes. FINALLY I found some that she would put up with that didn't cost as much as her school books after much coaxing, pleading, whining and begging... on my part.

I bought a damn mountain of white socks. Why so many? Cause somehow, they go missing. Maybe the cats? I dunno. (Scarlett the Calico-tabby kitty DOES have a weird shoe and sock fetish, maybe she's the culprit?? Could be Angel also, since she worships anything to DO with Arianna. Whatever Angel finds that has Ari's scent on it, she rolls on it and purrs real realll loud. (She guards Ari when she sleeps by sitting like the Sphinx on her pillow next to her head and watching over her, or at her feet, facing out. She follows Ari all over the house like a shadow wherever she goes also.) Although, I DID catch monster wearing Ari's casual socks, the new ones I had bought her for the cooler weather which pissed me off to no end. Not as much as it pissed Ari off tho! Hahahaha. I sicked her on her grandmonster. (Me: Pssst! Lookiee, she's wearing your new socks you were lookin for!) heh heh heh. Have you seen two tomcats fighting? That's what it's like when Ari finds out Monster has swiped some of her stuff. We ended up not finding black shoes we could agree on. That I will leave for DADDY to do. (Cause I'm beat, frankly)

See, Z went and picked up her new school books for this year last Thursday. 5th Grade. We have to buy those too. I have a problem with this. Know why? Cause I spent only slightly more on my books for COLLEGE. $240.00 for the school books only. Not to mention all the other supplies. Thank GOD she is in the British Curriculum school. It's a good school. I wish I could afford to put her in one of the 4 American Curriculum schools, but the damn tuition is so bloody high its rediculous. One is run by the Pentagon (Bahrain School). One by Z's Auntie (where I taught for a year) and their is one owned by a Sheikha, and one other. The two worse of those is the Pentagon-run school and the Shaikha's school (which is only for girls) Bahrain School is about $16,000 a year. The Sheikha's girls school is about $8-9,000 a year PLUS BOOKS. The books for all of those American schools are much more expensive since they bring the textbooks from the US. My other neice, Mimi is in the Auntie's school and her school books are $800.00 I'm sorry, but that shit is just SICK. So, British Curriculum it is! The tuition is much more reasonable. A fraction of the other fees actually. We pay about $160.00 a month including bus transport to and from school (we only gave in to the whole bus thing from this year). That breaks down to US$ 1,600.00 PER YEAR. Plus books and the usual crap. Big difference, no?

2 months ago, I happened across a big fat sale on school blouses and excercise pants, etc.. so I DID stock up on the things for this next school year in that way. (I'm waiting for you all to pat me on the back.... it was a 50% off sale)

Today, I even stocked up on goodies for the lunchbox. I'm racking my brain trying to think of anything I might have forgotten to get (excecpt for the black shoes) OH SHIT! The hair stuff. Must be school colors also or the teachers NAG.

Soooo, I crawl in shortly after 6pm bag laden. I mischeviously wave the House of Uniforms shopping bag in front of my gonna-be-10-in 7-days pre-teen daughter. She starts squealing with joy. Ahhhh music to a Mama's ears. Uniform: WOOHOOO! Fits, just waaaaay long. I swear I will get it fixed properly and not let monster near it to alter all crooked herself. (I can sew, but this is major) New PE shorts. She loves em. Then we get to the new style PE shirt. Remember that?

I fucked up apparently. She went from ear to ear smiles and hopping up and down to a truly irritated and angry grumpy face. Ugh. "Mommmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm! EVERYONE HAS THAAAAATTTT!" Guess what my response was? Come on, guess! I said.... "SO. WHAT. The logo is much smaller and the shirt will stay nice longer and WHY ON EARTH AM I EXPLAINING MYSELF TO YOU? YOU'RE WELCOME!", and I walked out.

School starts Wednesday. Yeah, THIS Wednesday. Wheeeeeeee!

PS: The weather today was fucking NASTY. 100% humidity. God but I hate the humidity. I felt totally lightheadded from the heat. ewwwwwwwwwwwww. Stupid weather. Have I mentioned that the humidity stays at around 100% from now through Mid -late October? (ie: my hair becomes like Chaka Khan in this weather no matter how much Frizz Ease I use. *SOB*)
Plain or Special??

I made old fashioned 'cooked' iced tea today. Also known in the South as "Sweet tea". YUM.

I haven't done this in a while. I don't remember when the last time I did it was either. I'm really the only one that drinks Iced tea in my house. Arianna occasionally does also, but not enough to help me finish the whole jug anytime soon, ya know?

My cooking tea apparently FASCINATED my daughter. She kept coming and going, not saying much of anything (very VERY unsual), just looking with interest and then leaving. I would enquire "What's up baby?" of her every now and then receiving "nothin". Finally, it was done and cooled. Well, cooled enough to put in the big ass pitcher/jug thingie anyway. Finally, curiosity got the better of her and she asked me what the hell I was up to.

A: "Mama? What ARE you doin?"

ME: "Making iced sweet tea honey."

A: "Oh..." starts to walk away, stops dead in her tracks and comes back. "YOU MADE WHAT???? How'd you do THAT??? I don't see any can or jar or..... "

ME: *shudder* " You know I don't like instant Iced tea too much honey! I cooked it. Just like Nana does. *points to pile of Lipton Teabags* This is how they make it where Nana is from."

She watches me transfer from the cooking pot to the jug in fascination.

A: "Mama?"

ME: "Yes?"

A: "Is it plain or special?"

ME: "Whaaa?"

A: " Does it have taste? You know, like peach or something or is it plain?"

Me: -----------

A: "you know, like in the can in the stores where it's ready made" (gives me "DUH!!" look)

ME: "Um, it's plain. No Peach."

A: Gives me look of disappointment "OH......"

ME: desperately "But I can put lemon in it! Hows that?"

A: *brightens considerably* "Yeah, I guess that would be ok! You're cool mama. I didn't know you could do this!"

ME: *big satisfied grin*

Anybody care for a nice tall glass of iced tea with lemon????



Could It Be Any Worse?

Naaaw, I don't think so. Not really. The Presidential Candidate is a good friend of mine. He's a GENUINELY good guy. Also? I've just recieved confirmation today from the Vice Presidential Candidate (in the Blogsphere) that when (I"m so positive, aren't I?) they win, I can have Condi's job.

Hot damn!!!!!

Personally, I think I'd do real well in Condi's job, don't you? I mean, I know I don't have a supertanker named after me or anything... (yet), and I'm not a gizillionaire, but still.... can I really botch things up any worse? I don't think so.

See, for instance, if I had seen the memo that she testified about, (you know, the one that didn't have a clear enough subject line-faugh!) back in August 2001? Hell, I would have thrown a major hissyfit (and you know I would have, too) if nobody gave it the proper attention. HELLO!!!!??????!!!!!! Jeez. Anyhoo.....

You know the best thing? All the scandals that the gossip rags would want to sniff out are pretty much already here on my blog! hahahahahahahahahaha. That takes the wind out of their sails, now doesen't it?

(I tried to post the lovely button they've made up here on my blog, but apparently BLOGGER.COM doesn't like it much.)

Just remember Vote Genuine/Buzz in 2004!!!!!!!!!! A vote for Genuine is a Genuine Vote!!!!!!


Feelin the LOVE

I just want to say I love my readers. (Even you that don't post, it's ok, sorta, I know you're lurking. Y'all are just voyeurs, aren't ya?)

No really, I do love and appreciate all of you. Thank you for your support and suggestions for my quandry. Actually for all of your support. Period. It means a lot to me.

Maybe I don't have the gizillion hits or comments like some of my friends have, and they know who they are, but I love the ever growing faithful,loyal readers I do have. I'll take QUALITY over QUANTITY everytime!

"Thank you for your support!" (a la, Bartles & James. remember those commercials?)

Update on the Shayda Incident: I think I will nail them tomorrow (Friday) if I can get them together. I will of course let you all know how the "shit" hit the fan. haha. Why am I laughing? Now where the hell is my Kevlar suit of armor and helmet?

PS: How do y'all like my new outfit, hmmmm???? Tell me I'm pretty.

Do You Think I Should Start Charging??

Oh come now… get your mind out of the gutter. (Ok, I realize being in the gutter is awfully fun, but for now, pull it out!)

I was talking about relationship advice. Or advice in general. See, I’m beginning to think I missed my calling. I should have been a psychiatrist or therapist. Even my counselor thinks I’ve missed my calling. He says I’m damn good. Hmmm. That’s sweet, don’t ya think? Well, either that or a stand-up comedienne. Allow me to clarify.

One of my male friends called me to talk to me about his girl problems. I get these calls from him from time to time. He is such a sweetheart… we have so much in common, and I consider him the little brother I never had. (He’s four years my junior) So, my “kid brother” needed some advice from his “big sis”.

Actually, I’m quite flattered. My “kid brother” is one gorgeous piece of man. He also has quite the reputation as a ladies man. Ok, some people think of him as a “ho”. But that simply isn’t true. If people ONLY knew!! I think it’s just rumors spread by jealous people. It’s just that he has so much going for him… looks, education, family ties (here a BIG thing!), money… and oodles and oodles of CHARM. He oozes charm. He is a true gentleman. His situation reminds me of the stories I have read about “The Season” that used to be held in England up until about a hundred years or so ago. (I mean for all I know it still goes on… but not with the same finesses as in days gone by.) The Season was an occasion that Society would pamper, preen, and parade their sacrifices-ahem!- I meant to say their daughters of marriageable age before the eligible men of the Haute Ton. Its affectionate nickname was “the Marriage Mart”. Prime Male Real Estate would be such a man as my “Kid Brother.” The ambitious mama’s trying to shove their daughters in front of these men to try and gain their notice and hopefully make an advantageous match. Anyhoo… there is one slight problem. He can be such a dork when the relationship is going well, the chickenshit.

So he calls me for advice. We talk for about, oh, 30- 45 minutes. And this makes me experience a hidden memory….

The first night I met Z, he was …well, talking about his relationship that just ended. Blah blah blah. The whole damn night. Endlessly. All the while checking ME out.

That week had been MY week. I had a record five male friends coming to me looking for relationship advice. Five of them came to me. God alone knows how many times each, asking for advice on how they had managed to forget EVERYTHING I had EVER told them previously.(I guess I’m the voice of reason to them? I dunno.) Anyway, so here I sat, the first night I met my friend C’s (my male friend) from college’s brother, listening to his relationship’s downward spiral, wondering to myself, “What IS it about me that makes people confide in me?”

Don’t get me wrong, please! I must admit that I like it that people feel they can confide in me. That something, whatever it is, about me makes people, men or women trust me with their confidences and that they know or sense and trust my advice or opinion. That is really wow, ya know? I’m honored, actually. And if someone tells me to keep it a secret, I will, guaranteed.

Which is a nice segway into the next part of my post.

I, for once, find myself in a bit of a quandary on how to begin, on how to start to broach a subject that is rather sensitive. I’m open to any suggestions you all might have.

I mentioned earlier how I met my husband. His baby brother (who is almost 3 yrs younger than Z) and I were friends in college. I knew “C” for about 8 months before I ever met his brother. C and I had some classes together and were, are, great buddies. If it wasn’t for C, I wouldn’t have my daughter. Ok, granted, I also wouldn’t be the wreck that I am today, but still.

C and I get along so great. What is great, is that we can just sit and laugh like hell together….for HOURS Even when it comes to disciplining Arianna, C has always backed me up, supported me, more so than his brother, my husband, ever has. He has felt I was in the right, when my hubby and MIL were interfering, he would help me put my foot down. We have a great relationship, always have. I don’t remember us either exchanging negative words or angry with each other. If we were angry, we’d just kind of stay out of each other’s way till we got over our respective huffs.

Some of you may wonder why I didn’t end up with that brother instead, if we clicked so well. Well darlings, the fact is, C is gay. I’ve known this, sensed it, way before he ever admitted it to me. And he was NOT some effeminate flaming gay either. A more manly man – and gorgeously exotic- you’d never guess that he was gay! Beautifully chiseled features like a statue…. Great bone structure, square masculine face, high cheekbones, luscious full lips, and strong brow. Great blinding smile and an infectious laugh. His mother, and 3 of his 6 siblings DID NOT KNOW HE WAS GAY. STILL DON”T, in fact. Well, monster knows NOW. Like as recently as a month ago.

When I got married, we lived together with C and their monster, erm mother. We lived together for a few years before he moved off by himself to New York to pursue his career. Ok, enough with the background.

My quandary. Well, C, after some long, hard soul searching came to a conclusion that he was just not satisfied living his life as a gay man. In the whole gay scene. He was sort of in limbo. This was about 2 years ago, I suppose, maybe a little less. He did the whole psychological evaluation in two different countries… USA and Iran. (Just to keep things orderly and cover his ass, pardon the pun) Both came up with the same conclusion HE had come up with.

He is a heterosexual woman trapped in a man’s body.

So therefore, he eventually began taking hormone replacement therapy, and the steps required at the beginning of the transition from male to female. Yeah, that’s right, he is in the process of becoming a she. (Yes, Costrina, this is who you think it is.)

First time he visited after starting the hormones (didn’t tell anyone about it, BTW), I noticed, when we were swimming, that his chest was completely different. Before he always had amazing Man Pecs. Now, they were completely different shape and, well, bigger a bit. I noticed, he had a slight flaring of hips also. Nothing real obvious, but it was there. (Oi! Look, I’m just real observant. Honest. I notice EVERYTHING and store it away like a squirrel stores nuts for winter. A friend of mine said I have a mind like a steel trap!) So. Next trip, two months later, I really noticed some differences, and he confided in me when I mentioned my observations to him what he was up to. It was a relief, believe me, for him to tell SOMEONE. He didn’t tell my husband, his brother, which they are so close and always have been. He told me. ME! Wow. Dayum.

It became my duty to tell my husband. To break the news, because frankly, C was scared of his reaction. Not that Z is the Macho man older brother or anything. That is the Firstborn and oldest brother. He is a wackadoo. Nice, but… a wackadoo. Anyhow. Later, after C left, I got around to telling Z. This is how I did it.

“honey, you know how you always said you wished you had a little sister?” he said “yeah” I said, “um, well, sometimes, you should be careful what you wish for, cause your wish has been granted.”. He looked at me and then I said “C is and has been taking medications for some time now, female hormones, and has decided to change his gender to be a woman. He is happy and at peace with his decision”.

Now, Transexuals, (what C is) is totally different from Transvestites and Drag Queens. Ok? Transvestites and Drag Queens want to look like women and live as women, but never actually BECOME women. They are gay men that like to look like women. Transexuals were born the wrong sex. Even when C did blood hormone work, he had more female hormones before starting hormone therapy than he should have. Mentally, he was a hetero female. Got that? Good. Now then…….

My Fucking quandary now? Apparently, I did such a good job with my husband, and fixing the botch up job that my husband did telling their mother last month, that C has asked me to break it to the two sisters here. OH Shiiiiiiiiiiiit!!

Ok. I’m flattered that “she” (referred to from now on as she or Shayda, her new name when she is done, cause, well, everyone calls her “ma’am” now and “Miss”) trusts ME to break this news to her family. Really. But this is where it gets interesting.

See, there are a few, itsy bitsy snags. I told her sure, I’d do it when she’s done her gender reassignment surgery (translation: when she has removed some of her male equipment and turned the rest into FEMALE equipment) ie: when it’s too late for her family to bitch and nag and do anything about it. NOW she has decided she wants them to know now, before, cause she plans to hopefully get it done in the next 6 months or so. They are nagging for her to visit here, and she won’t come again. She wants them to understand why, I guess, which IS fair.

Regarding those “snags”. The elder of the two sisters, apparently is aware that Shayda is gay, she THINKS. This sister, “S” is also quite intelligent and now that she is older, more open-minded. She is also well traveled and wise. (she is also not a DAMN thing like her mother and is proud to say it.) I don’t honestly foresee a problem with this one. I can talk frankly and openly with her to some degree. She won’t like it probably, but I don’t think she will go apeshit and lose her mind.

I wish I could say as much for her younger sister. Younger sister, ‘N’ is exactly 1 year younger than “S”. N is 10 years older than my husband. She is also extremely narrow minded, ridiculously so, not very “quick”, stubborn, self-centered, and, well, a more friendly version of her MOTHER. Yup, Monster’s mini-me. N is a ball of laughs though, usually. She also has severe panic disorder. One more thing. She is EXTREMELY HOMOPHOBIC. (are you beginning to see my problem now?) I mean, she HATES and doesn’t understand this at all. (To give you an idea: when she heard Z wanted to marry me, she was against it, cause she thought all western women were whores and slutty, like what she sees on tv and what she has heard.. I didn’t say that, I’m just repeating what I was told. Ok? People that don’t know, judge our country by shows like Jerry Springer, Rikki Lake, etc... and Melrose Place and those kind of things, understand? They just don’t know better. Just like a lot of Westerners think all Arabs live in the desert in tents and ride camels, while in fact, they drive Huge Mercedes’, BMW’s, Hummers, Rolls Royce’s, Jags, Ferrari’s, etc… and live in HUGE freaking OPULENT mansions with servants up the ying-yang! See what I mean?)

About N. One other little problem. Due to the fact that in her eyes, her mother is next to God and is never wrong, she believes every little lie she hears about me, and, well, needless to say, hasn’t spoken or even LOOKED at me for a year now. You know why? Cause the first day of school, (her daughter goes to Ari’s school too) she had agreed to pick Ari up from school (we live in the same compound also), but no one had bothered to tell me. I thought Z would get Ari from school that day. Needless to say, I got a call from the school nurse teling me that she was feeling very ill, and nauseous and to come get Ari from school. I went and told this to my then new boss, and he let me go. On my way, I called Z, and told him I was going to get her and take her to the Doc. He said nothing). He also didn’t call his sister to tell her that Ari was already gone home early cause she was sick, apparently. By the time I finally got Ari home, I had just sat down, exhausted, N called me SCREAMING. I was confused. Why didn’t anyone tell her Ari wasn’t there, she had been waiting in the parking lot for 15 minutes, etc.. Shriek, shriek, scream. Me, confused. I tossed the phone at Z after talking to her didn’t work. Apparently this all became my fault. Great. Since then, no talkie, no lookie. This is the woman that when her foot was broken and she was HOUSERIDDEN, I would go over every day and keep her company, entertain her, make her laugh, dance for her, and bring her special treats. When I went on vacation, I brought her a shitload of gifts. I kept thinking about her stuck in her damn chair with that cast, with her leg elevated while I was on vacation, and would find myself buying things for her that I thought would cheer her up.
N has no idea that Shayda is gay. How the HELL am I gonna tell her, when she isn’t talking to me, that her brother will shortly become her sister?

Ideally, I want to get them together and spring it on them at once. Get it over with. Shayda wants them to know… like NOW.

How the hell do I tell N that her brother, her baby brother is the very thing that she loathes, despises and doesn’t understand?? That it is too late to turn back now, even if Shayda wanted to, which she doesn’t.

Shayda told me that if they cannot accept this change, then she is ready to cut them out of her life, and to make sure they know it. She also knows, since I have told her, that no matter where I live, wherever my home is, she will always be welcome in it. She knew it without me saying.

How do I tell both sisters that the person is the same, just the packaging is different? (Other than saying just that?)

Somebody help me! (Sooner, rather than later, please!) I’m really open to suggestions. And I will answer whatever question may be in your mind too. I might have to do this tomorrow night. Or Friday.

I just know N is going to freak out on my ass. I just know, KNOW it. Ugh. I’m SO not in the mood for her shit, either.

Hell, I DEFINETLY need to start charging.



Ah yes, I have achieved one of the many goals I have set for myself in my life. Not a big goal by any means, but a goal nonetheless!

The realization that I had done so quite took me by surprise. It was sudden. Perhaps it will seem silly to you, but to me? It’s quite the big deal.

I vowed to myself at a young age that when I have kids (hah! Plural, YES! KIDS), that I will be the “cool” mom. I always wanted to be the cool mom. Not the stuffy "SHE NEVER LETS HER KID DO ANTHING" mom. The mom that the kids don’t mind having around. The mom that the girls hang with and talk to, even my daughter's friends. The Kool-Aid Mom. Ya know what I mean?

So, yesterday I realized something. Arianna’s friends are coming over every day….and hanging out with me in the kitchen as I cook!! Or if I’m watching TV, they come sit with me and chat and watch with me. Ari keeps calling them to come to her room and play. They still stay with me in the kitchen or living room. Finally Ari joins us. This has been going on for a while lately. More and more. They talk to me about EVERYTHING. You name it! We laugh and joke around, and then I talk to them seriously also. I actually entice them to stay and have lunch with us. Yes, even the picky eater, Sophie, the littlest sister with the dimples that slay me, loved the lunch I made the other day and woofed it up!

Finally, I have to shoo the girls to go play and they go shuffle off. Even when I’m sitting here blogging on the computer, they come hang out and chit chat. Even when I get angry at finding the room looking like a tornado has come through it and have to put my foot down, I am fair and nice about it. They know I’m being fair. And if they prove themselves to me, I lift the “restriction”. Maybe that’s the difference? They know I’m all about being fair? They even come across the street to help me settle their “disputes”. (Come on, all 5 of the gang are pre-teen hormonal!)

Before the three sisters went to a wedding the other night, they came to show me their outfits. Then it hit me! I’ve become the cool mom!

Yaaaaaaaaaaaay! It is such a good feeling. Really. I’m the cool mom! I’m the cool mom! Wooohoooo!

Maybe it is a simple enough thing, but it’s important to me.



Well, after my last post, it would figure that what was needed STAT to cheer me up was a dirty little ditty. I wouldn't say it cheered me up, per se, but I DID laugh my ass off... and sing it about 4 times out loud!

SO.......Clear your throat and sing out loud! LOUD AND PROUD!!!(cause you KNOW I did!)

I dare ya... actually I DOUBLE DOG DARE YA!!!!!!

I Will Survive

At first I was afraid, I was petrified..
When you said you had 10 inches
Lord I almost died,
But I'd spent oh so many yrs just waiting for a man that long, That I grew strong, And I knew that I could take you on. .

But there you are,
Another lie,
I was ready for a big mac and you've bought me a French fry,
I should have known it was bullsh*t,
Just a sad pathetic dream,
Should have known there was no anaconda lurking in those jeans.

Go on now go,
Walk out the door,
Don't you promise me 10 inches then turn up with only 4,
Weren't you a prat to think I wouldn't catch you out,
Don't you know we' re only joking when we say size doesn't count.

I will survive, I will survive,
Cos as long as I have batteries, My sex life is gonna thrive,
I will always have good sex with a handful of latex,
I will survive, I will survive. . .hey . hey

It took all my self control not to laugh out loud,
When I saw your little weiner standing tall and proud,
But to hell with all your ego's ,and to hell with all your needs,
Now I'm saving all my lovin for a cordless multispeed,

Go on now go, Just make a dash,
Last time I saw a prick that small was I watching Gladstone run nude hash,
I should have asked for confirmation,Should have asked for referees,
Then I wouldn't have you waving that wee winky thing at me.

Go on now go, Just hit the track,
Don't you bring me home no tiddlers,
Cos I'll always throw them back,
The only thing that I could do with a prick as small as yours,
Is to stick it with a toothpick and dip it in some sauce.

Go on now go,
Get out of my sight,
I'm going back to my appliance,
Cos I know it's length is right,
And if I ever see your tiny winky at my door,
You'll be counting up your inches as you pick them off the floor.
Here We Go AGAIN


There is some sneaky stuff going on around here and my whole day has just been ruined. Maybe my whole week.

Monster arrives back – YES, I SAID BACK! - Tomorrow. Monday. August 30. Guess when I found out about it? Guess HOW I found out about it?

When: JUST. Fucking. NOW. How: Well, I had made Iranian food called Kotlet for supper. Z came home early. We ate. As I was clearing the table he walked in and said it was good and thank you. THEN, he got his typical sneaky look on his face and said “Mom will love this tomorrow”. I dropped the platter in my hand on the counter in shock and I looked at him with my mouth gaping open, eyes popped wide in disbelief and said “WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY???” Z repeated it, with a BIG ASS SMILE ON HIS FACE, loving the look of misery that stole over my face. I asked him “are you serious?” as my shoulders slumped as he said “yeah!!”. Then he started LAUGHING at me. (for those of you wondering, yes, he yet breathes, but I can’t make any promises for how much longer if he keeps this shit up)

My God, I feel like I’ve been hit in the head with a sledgehammer. It’s as if a huge dark cloud has encompassed my whole head. The wall of depression that descended on me was instantaneous.

Here we go again…. Dammit all to hell.

Her spying on me, reporting my every move (I shit you not, y’all. A blow by blow from the second I get up (time) until Z gets the hell home from work, where she is waiting with her report. How long I take a shower what I ate, drank, (in minute detail- yes, even quantity)how many phone calls I get, make, how long they lasted, who it seemed I was talking to, how many times I left the house, where I went, if I came back with shopping bags, from where (no, she can’t read, but she knows the logos or the color of the bag)and how many of them. What I said, what I did. IF I watched TV, for how long, if I read, if I listen to music, if I sing. How many times I might change clothes and what and WHY? Every.damn.thing.I.do. Every.move. I.make. (Cue the Police song “Every Breath You Take” here)

You think I’m joking, don’t you? Well darlings, unfortunately, I’m NOT. I wish to GOD I was. As a matter of fact, I feel seriously nauseous. Now my ulcer will start acting up again and Acid Reflux. Gah.

The report, by the way, is NOT only for Z. It is also given as Breaking News Updates to my two sister-in-laws that live in Bahrain, by telephone throughout the day. “Az” (mom of the triplets and her hubby), AND my damn NEIGHBORS. Yes, my neighbors. And whomever ELSE might just happen to dial her phone number.

Oh yes, tomorrow also marks the return of: her stealing my belongings, (and now Arianna’s also since they wear the same shoe size for now, but I’ll get to that later.) hiding things from me, purposely “accidentally” breaking my things, throwing food I cook in the trash. Heaping curses on me (fucking great, and my allergies are acting up, which means with every sneeze, I will get to hear, not “God Bless You” but “Inshallah bimerree” (translation: “God willing, you die”) among many others. If I just walk past her room through the hallway, saying nothing.. I hear any number of things in Persian: “stupid bitch”, or the translated to English “ hope they take you to the undertaker soon” or “Hope they throw dirt on your head(once you’re in your grave) soon”… always soon. I must say, Persian curses are quite creative. This is just a sample…. There are many, MANY more that I get daily. I get at least 10-15 per day, on a SLOW day. Lets see, that’s say, 10, @365 days in a year, that comes to: 3,650 curses a year, times 15 years, that comes to 54,750 curses. That isn’t counting when she is in one of her rant moods, which is often, I’m just giving you a low idea here. I can get as many as 15 in a matter of minutes sometimes… so the actual number is actually HIGHER than 54,750. damn.

More of her talking shit about me to my child, my husbands relatives (and there is a LOAD of them in this country) , neighbors, again… TO MY CHILD.

The only bright side to her coming back tomorrow? Arianna will get her sandals back. See, MY mom had sent Ari her “Summer Care Package” with shorts, tank tops, etc… and flip flops and sandals, and of course, the other Nana type stuff… candy, hair stuff, blah blah. I had been telling Ari to wear one particular pair lately and she said, “THEY AREN”T HERE!” I looked and looked everywhere for them. No. Then I got C, (who was in Iran with Monster at her house) Z’s younger brother/sister (He is currently in transition from a male to a woman) on IM one day and asked “her” to look for these particular sandals that were BRAND NEW and that Ari had worn a total of: ONCE. 2 days later, Z got the IM from C that yup, said sandals were being worn in Iran. (this burned my ass, let me tell you. IS NOTHING SACRED?)

The family here is just now all starting to get along again, and now she will come and start fights between everyone. Sigh.

I need a damn job ASAP so at least I won’t be here with her very much.

And she talks NONSTOP about nothing at all. If I’m on the computer, she comes and talks incessantly and tries to see what I’m doing staring at the screen. Ditto for when I try to read (which I usually give up and go hide in my room and read now with the door shut) or watch TV. And no, earplugs don’t work. I’ve tried. She still follows me around the house. Yap. Yap, yapppppp.

As is, she has driven “C” to the point of nervous breakdown in Iran. (Hah! Wimp. Only after 2weeks!) He/She has said so… countless times. They’ve even been in massive fights. She went so far as to change the locks on the house and not GIVE him/her a copy of the key so that when she leaves, it can’t be used. C and Z helped her BUY the damn house (for her to fucking LIVE IN , but she doesn’t want to) and the furniture and stuff in it. C bought washer dryer, TV, satellite dish, computer, beds, etc, etc, etc, for the house. Now she’s locked him/her OUT!? C has been paying the phone bill, elect, water, etc… while living there, and leaving enough paid in advance for when gone working. THAT’S her kid!

Z just walked by, still laughing and snickering. Grrrrrrrrrrrrr. This is not funny. Why the hell does he think my unhappiness is amusing? I don’t understand at all. I just don’t get it.

I will admit. I have had at least 6 complete and total breakdowns (not joking here) in the past 10 years directly related to her. Not treated, not seen by a doctor. No medicine. Just I had to somehow “heal” and deal from them on my own. Z has been present at each one. So yes, he knows and is aware they have happened. Damn, but I’m so tired of all this. The thought of it exhausts me.

Well, at least now I have some “happy pills” to numb me.

If I were a horse, someone would shoot me in the head, wouldn’t they?