Wednesday, November 30, 2005

Ooooh, i'm not a very nice person

Ok, so... one interesting thing about me/my family (well, everything's about me, really, hee hee) is that my husband is not originally from here. He was born and raised in the Republic of Georgia, former USSR. He's actually going to become a naturalized citizen (finally, Hallelujah) in about three weeks, and has been here in the states for almost ten years. I met him in high school when he was a foreign exchange student and we've been together ever since.

Anyway, allll of his family is overseas, we've visited twice since we've been married. His brother speaks fairly good English, and his dad communicates well with a version of charades that we do together (it's hysterical, i tell you) and the little Georgian that i speak. Georgian is, ah, a complicated and difficult language. If my husband were even Italian, i'd be in good shape, as i do speak some Spanish, but hot damn... Georgian is a bad mofo of a language to try to learn if you don't live there. It is not related to a single other language system in the world, not Russian, or Turkish, or fucking Czech even, it stands alone (typical of the culture, i tell you).

I know this story is dragging but stick with me, there's so much history we haven't shared yet (dear lord, who the hell am i talking to anyway... probably myself). AAAAnyway, when G and i were first married, and i was desperate to please my in-laws and show them that he had not in fact married a flighty and irresponsible American hussy, i worked my ass off to learn some Georgian and talk with them as much as possible. I would fumble along and try to make sense with MIL, most of all, because let's face it, the boy's mama is the number one person a woman has to impress, bar none. Well, as time has passed, i have, um, slacked off in this department, you might say. And now, i have a horrible confession to make: I hang up when MIL calls or pretend the connection is bad. Yes, i'm going to hell, i know it. I like her, don't get me wrong, but it is SUCH effort to dredge up conversation that i just don't bother anymore. I suck. Ugh. I really have to stop doing that.

Tuesday, November 29, 2005

"When I grow up i wanna be a hockey player"

Says Sophia, who is three, lol.

I ask, in response: Honey do you know what hockey players DO?
S: 'Yeah, they hit round things with sticks'
S: 'So, would that be ok with you?'
Me: Of course, baby, you can do whatever you want to do.
S: 'I'm gonna teach daddy how to play hockey'.
Me: Stifling laughter, That sounds like a great plan, kiddo.

Later on:
S: After I play hockey, would it be all right with you if I married Nicholas (a little boy who she goes to school with who is passionately in love with her, hee hee).
Me: Now choking on giggles, You know, Nicholas is a great kid, Sophia. I would be very pleased if you married him.
S: 'Yeah, he's nice. But sometimes he says bad words and doesn't listen to the teacher. But I don't say bad words, mommy.
Me: I am so glad, honey, that makes me very happy to hear.

And that's nothing. You should hear the amazing things she comes up with! And her memory is, like, freakish or something. I worked at a gym daycare from when she was about 7 months to 2.5 years old. One of my coworkers would bring one of those vile chicken nugget frozen 'meals' (high fructose corn syrup and partially hydrogenated oils, mmmm good) EVERY day. Every goddamned day for her own kid who was a little younger than Sophia. Well, sometimes the girls would share their food and Sophie would score a chicken nugget. Today, a YEAR since we've set foot in that joint, we were driving past it and she says, i shit you not: 'Mom, you remember that lady, with glasses but not like your glasses, with the little girl? She used to give me chicken nuggets. 'Member her?' I almost wrecked the car i was so stunned. I love our conversations, sigh.


Want to know what bugs the living piss out of me? Do you? I looooathe, with every fiber of my being, people who are fake. Specifically, people who take on accents and mannerisms of another country or culture. For example...

Every Monday night, i go to this coffeehouse/pub place downtown with a group of friends. One of THEIR friends was there, a guy I've met once before and found to be pleasant and funny. Well, last year, this guy spent a grand total of a WEEK, yes only seven days, in London. A vacation. Not on a job for six months or as a foreign exchange student for a year. But my everloving lord, this guy? Apparently he affects the tiniest hint of an accent, not too much but i can hear it. And what's worse is that he constantly drops little British-isms into his conversations, little words and phrases. Ooh, oh, and what's worse is that he'll use a British turn of phrase and then stop and tell you, most pompously, that that's how they say that in London, sorry if he confused you.

I was very proud of myself and did not smack him on the back of the head and say 'Look, fucker, i know what your stupid little game is. I am onto you, dude. I am the original Anglophile from way back, asshat, and i get every dumb little word you throw in there, and also? The fake accent is like grease on water, so cut. it. OUT!'. Nope i didn't do that, but damn if it made me not like that guy any more. Not to mention, he is gay (lurve gay people, am tiny bit queer myself so shut it if you're thinking of spitting on me and telling me i'm bashing someone) but really like cloyingly queer and smarmy and not surprisingly FAKE about it. I know he's truly gay, not questioning that for a second, but it's just his way about him that rubs me the wrong way. Urgh. Anyway, there you have it. One of the number one things a person can do to make me snarl and roll my eyes at them, pretend to be something they're not. What about y'all? What makes you screech with frustration about people?

Monday, November 28, 2005


Today i taught my three year old daughter a new word. Fat. Yep. I didn't call her that, mind you; she's not and i would never ever EVER do that in any case, no matter how heavy she could ever be. But, this evening i was getting dressed to go out, and in a fit of hormonal pique i blurted out 'Ugh, i just look so fat and horrible'. Now, normally, even though i am about fifty pounds overweight, i don't feel that way about myself. Sincerely, i love myself and the body that i find my soul in, these days. But the one time i didn't censor myself, she picked it right up. Of all the unfortunate things my daughter has ever heard me say (and believe me, to my shame, there have been plenty), this was one i thought i could always keep myself from letting out. We work really really hard at encouraging her to understand that everybody and every body are different but equally as wonderful and special. She, being the age she is, often points out with painful accuracy that a person is dressed 'funny' or that they have a physical disability. It bothers her when men have long hair, even though we explain over and over that both men and women can have long or short hair, whatever they choose. Anyway, i digress.... but my God, i never wanted her to learn that word from my mouth. She immediately understood that it was an ugly and insulting word. I told her that mom shouldn't have said that about herself, and i never EVER want to hear it come out of her mouth about anyone at any time. Who wants to nominate me for mother of the year, hmmmm?

welcome to my world

Ok, so, i've been told that i should get a blog. I am by nature a writer, but honestly, i find the idea of keeping up a blog very daunting. I've never been good at regular journaling, but i will do my damndest to keep up with this. And, because my life will soon be turned upside down and inside out when my husband goes to boot camp in a couple of months, i figure i need some place to pour my soul out. I promise to try to be witty and clever and interesting, but sometimes? This might be a place for me to just vent, and that's a good thing (oh dear me i just quoted Martha fucking Stewart!) Anyway, here goes.