Oh Halloween

I love Halloween. It has always been one of my favorite holidays. Though lately, it hasn't been what it used to be. First off, when I was a kid, I took so much pride in making my own costumes. I never bought the mass-produced packaged sluts-in-a-bag. When I was in 5th grade, I went to school as a baby. Yes, I said it, a baby. At the time my sister was taking care of our 30 year old mentally retarded cousin. She wore depends. So I "borrowed" one for my costume. I really wish I had pictures though. I wore just the diaper, a t-shirt, my baby bonnet and a huge pacifier. It was pretty rad. Then when I go home I costume changed for trick or treating into a zombie cheerleader. Now-a-days, my kids only want the pre-packaged costumes which is disappointing.

What's a girl to do. Throw a party, of course. I used to throw the best kids Halloween parties. Last year though, due to my break-up, I didn't host one and it was a big disappointment to the kids. So this year, without a loser holding me back, I planned one. Half-heartedly, but planned nonetheless. I proclaimed to Kendra that Saturday what a nerd I was because I stayed home regardless of the invites out I got, to stamp Halloween images onto the goody bags. I ran around all day Saturday to get ready. I borrowed Kendras house, made the food (with the help of Kendra and Nila) and decorated. The kids had a blast. We bobbed for apples, had a costume contest and they ran around like little maniacs.

That Justin's a surly little one...just like his mama!

Did I mention I got a pinata?

The genius was pissed because, being the tallest kid, he was last in line for the pinata and didn't get a chance to hit it. Poor guy, he's such a gentle giant.

I think this was E-dawg's 15th apple bobbed. He was obsessed. "Aunt Mal, Aunt Mal! Take a picture of me again!"

Best Costume:

Most original costume

Coolest costume

Everyone

Supergirl

Partied out

I'd say it was a good time had by all.

After the kids were partied out and went home, Kendra, Kristin and I got ready for our adult party. Although I was pretty partied out already. Kids sure do have a way of wearing you out. We had fun, drank too much...the usual.

But it was a good enough weekend.

Now on actual Halloween night, now that was tiring. The ex and I went along with Kendra and Justin to trick-or-treat. I cannot wait until they're old enough to go by themselves. After the extensive walking, the ex and I took the kids to The Haunt. A local haunted house that's been around for 8 years. We waited in line for WAY too long. After about an hour in line, the genius and I wandered up to the front to check out the wares for sale. As we were walking, I heard a gaggle of oh's and whoa's when all of a sudden I felt something peg me hard on the back of the legs. At first I though it was a rock because, well, it stung that bad. Then I felt it. Wetness dripping down my hand. It was egg. I let out a string of profanities and looked at the genius. He had been hit too, but he was wearing shorts and the egg was running down his legs and into his shoes. I. Was. Pissed. These a-holes drove down the street throwing eggs at everyone, cars included, but of course, the genius and I were the only ones hit. Just my luck.

As much as I love this holiday, I'm glad it's over. All this build-up and then, bam, it's over. Just like that.

Adventures in Whoreland: webdating wednesday

SWM SEEKS SWEET CANDY KITTY FOR HALLOWEEN BOBBING FOR FEMALE ORGASAM - m4w - 32

Reply to:
Date: 2007-10-31, 8:29AM MST


SWM attractive seeks some Halloween fun during the day looking to go bobbing for an orgasam.Love to please women open to all races... Love sexy prego women. So are you going to give me a trick or treat?Ihave pics.Will be waiting.

This lovely, articulate ad was posted in the "Casual Encounters" section on Craigslist this morning. Happy Halloween, right? I do have to give the guy props for trying to come up with some semblance of a witty subject line. I also love how he adds in the "love sexy prego women". I mean really.

It's funny because there are a lot of ads in the "casual encounters" section where men are whining that no one ever answers their ads. I'm pretty sure it's because you posted a picture of your dick, you're married and are looking for no strings attached sex with someone you've never met, looking-for-sex-in-all-the-wrong-places-guy. Women...wait, let me rephrase this...decent, well-adjusted women don't reply to ads like that. From the men I've talked to, they either don't get responses to their million ads on there, or they end up in shady situations with women that are less than desirable. Oh, the humility of internet dating.

Some people just shouldn't breed

Another child dies in a car. In breaking news today, a mother of a 17 month old boy followed her usual routine on her way to work at a local Hooters...the only difference is that this time, she forgot to drop the baby off at daycare.

On the one hand, I feel bad for this woman. I can't even begin to imagine what it's like to loose a child, and I hope I never have to feel that pain. On the other hand, how could you be so irresponsible as to leave your kid locked in a car for a whole shift at Hooters?! I'm not just passing blind judgement, trust me, I know the trials and tribulations of being a young, single mother. I have two kids and a "double", extremely busy life. Once a mother, its not hard to become scatter-brained. Especially while trying to juggle jobs, homelife and a baby. But come on. NO ONE can be that absent minded as to leave their child in a car for a whole Hooters waitressing shift.

I STILL to this day, check the backseat of the car before getting out. My youngest is 6. And boy, am I always running on Chicano time. I'm always late, to everything, have to run between mine and the ex's house to cart them to and from school...I pretty much live in my car. Much more so when I'm in school. However, I always manage to SOMEHOW get my kids to where they need to go no matter how late I'm running. Or how many things are on my mind. Even when I was a typical teenage mom. Trying to balance a new baby, new marriage and working a full-time job so the ex could finish high school. The concept of running around like a chicken with its head cut off is not lost on me.

Sometimes I just think that some people should not reproduce. Sterilization may not be the perfect solution, but it's the first that comes to mind.

Malice, mistress of the dark

I'm watching a newish reality show Search for the next Elvira, and I just have to say that I could blow more than half of these girls out of the water. Big boobs...check. Love of the dark...check. Valley girl speak...check. Bubblegum sense of humor...check. If I would have known about this beforehand, well, I still wouldn't have tried out, but its nice to know that I would have wanted to. I have watched her show and movies since my dad first introduced me to horror movies when I was the tender age of five. One can only hope.

Web-dating Wednesday

So I have decided that Wednesdays will be a day of web-dating phenomena. Since I have a multitude of e-mails for my book and I still forage the "scene" for material, I thought I'd give you little snipets for sheer enjoyment. I know they make me laugh, so why not share the love. This week, I found what has to be my favorite ad posted on Craigslist. This is an actual ad posted. I couldn't make this shit up if I tried. Enjoy:

Many women consider bimbos to be the worst of the female stereotypes; a giggling, vacant-eyed sexpot, who is obsessed with make-up and clothes and, of course, with men. Bimbos cater to men's sexual fantasies, usually at the expense of their own... or they allow the man's fantasies to become their own! Blonde hair, big tits and revealing clothes along with a slutty-but-dumb-and-helpless personality, the bimbo makes herself into a man-magnet, landing as many sexual partners as she can and eventually landing a husband - or better yet, a "sugar daddy"- to take care of her financial needs.

But do men really prefer bimbos? According to a recent study at the University of Michigan, the answer is YES. Men appear to prefer "less accomplished" women as possible mates - and women who are "relatively subordinate" to them.

Another study, from four British universities, found "that a high IQ is a hindrance for women wanting to get married while it is an asset for men." To quote this article:

" The study found that the likelihood of marriage increased by 35 percent for boys for each 16 point increase in IQ.

But for girls, there is a 40 percent drop for each 16 point rise, according to the survey by the universities of Aberdeen, Bristol, Edinburgh and Glasgow.

The study is based on the IQs of 900 men and women between their 10th and 40th birthdays. "

So, in other words, the dumber a girl is, the better her chances at landing a man, something I already knew. But being a bimbo isn't just about finding a guy to marry. Consider these other wonderful bimbo benefits:

• Bimbos are happier than most people!

• Bimbos only concern themselves with things they enjoy (which usually boils down to MAKEUP, CLOTHES and SEX).

• Bimbos get to have sex. A LOT.

• Bimbos have fewer inhibitions, which leads to a more fun, adventurous lifestyle!

If some or all of these things sound appealing to you, congratulations! You just may have what it takes to be MY bimbo!

But at this point, you may be saying to yourself "Oh no! I'm a smart, accomplished career woman! Is it TOO LATE for me?!?" Don't worry honey, I am here for you! Stick with me, and we'll have you turned into a dumb, blonde, giggling bimbo slut in no time! It may take a lot of work, or just a new attitude, but you CAN tap your inner bimbo!

and Remember "FAKE TITS ROCK!"

Boy, if these statistics are true, then I know I'm screwed. Too bad I don't feel the need to dumb myself down for men. I just don't think its worth it. Although I do know, from interviewing a lot of different people that guys ARE less intimidated by not-so-sharp women. One guy told a friend that the reason he doesn't date women like me, for example, is because "she seems too cool and really smart. That would make me feel dumb."...who knew that men were so insecure. Oh wait, from my experience with dating, or lack there of, I've KNOWN that men were that insecure. Hello, only the insecure ones break up with you through e-mail. I'm pretty sure that the ex-husband is one of the few men I know who is NOT so insecure and intimidated by smart women. Not that I'm a genius (read: damn close) but we did practcally grow up together.

Well, this ad made me laugh, and I hope it makes you laugh as well. It's really the simple things in life that I find amusing.

Get under my skin, why don't you

I admit it. There are a lot of things that irritate me. For the most part, I'm pretty laid back and, well, meh. But for those who know me best know I'm easily irritated. One of the things that has been getting on my nerves lately are those guys that walk around asking you if you want them to do some body work. Insert clever pun here. They're always dirty, transient looking type men. Granted, they're out trying to make a decent living rather than taking the easy way out on a street corner, but really? I'm not going to pay a man that comes into my shop at 9 p.m. on a friday night asking if that's my Honda out there. "I can do body work right now. Sixty dollars", he says. There has been an onslaught of these propositions as of late. Every where I go, every where I turn, there they are. The most recent ambush was yesterday afternoon while I was at the Auto Zone buying a new battery. I was standing by the registers awaiting the return of my knight in shining armor, aka the man switching out my battery, when an unkempt foreign man, while perusing a hunting magazine, shouted at me from across the store. "Hey, is that your Honda out there?", he asked in broken English. Yes, I replied, that was my car. "You want, I do body work. Real fast, I fix it." I thanked him kindly and told him I didn't have any money for that. He gave me an odd look and went back to reading his magazine, but not without mumbling under his breath in some undecipherable language, probably bad mouthing me. He then put the magazine back on its rack, shot me a dirty look and stormed out of the store. I mean, really? He's going to play it like that? THAT is NO way to get good business. He really ground my gears.

The other thing that has been playing my grumpy chord is people that don't know what personal space is. A woman, tellingly drunk, waltzed into the shop. She rambled on about how she kind of sort of wants a tattoo and/or piercing, but wasn't sure what. It was slow and I was bored of cleaning, so I chatted with her a bit. She then noticed my unfinished quarter sleeve on my left arm. She walked up to me and before I could move away, she reached out and started STROKING MY ARM! I know, I call for attention with all my adornments, but that does not in any way shape or form mean that I want strangers, probably with dirty hands, touching me. She literally stroked my arm with BOTH hands. Up and down and all around. Ick. I get nauseous just thinking about it. Don't people KNOW about the bubble? "Come one, come all! But ladies and gentlemen, please DO NOT touch the Incredible Tattooed Woman! She is very tempermental and may bite your arm off! I repeat, DO NOT touch the circus freaks!"

A very weird nutshell

1. Last night I got tattooed! There's nothing more that I love than a fresh tattoo. I mean, besides my kids. I got it on my knuckles and boy, did it hurt like a mother...Here are some pictures of my loooooong night with Jason Kralovetz...he pretty much rocks at tattoos:

2. Today I got pierced. Yeah, I know, I should a. slow down and b. I probably don't need anymore holes in my face. But you know what? I WANT more holes in my face. One thing that people close to me know is that when I want something, I get it. It's just how I am. I was pretty much raised like an only child considering Nila got married when I was only 12...needless to say, after that, I got everything I asked for. Including a tattoo when I was only 16. But I'd persistantly asked...and I got it. Yay me. But I digress. Here is a picture of my new piercings. One thing I do have to say though is that they're not that cute yet because the barbells I have in are very long. The very second I can change them out, I am. The barbells are very obtrusive and I'm pretty sure I'm going to lose weight from having these. It's very hard to eat...one liquid diet please. So, here it is...my newest accoutrements:

3. With newly tattooed knuckles and ugly silver barbells sticking out of my cheeks, I made my way to the Sunridge learning center for the kids' parent/teacher conferences. It often gives me a slight (usually irritated) joy to see the other parents' faces when I walk by. Their surprise that someone like me has kids...their disgust at my many body modifications...the surprise that not only do I look too young to have a 10 year old, I actually take an interest in their education and attend such inane things as parent/teacher conferences. The genius' teacher is used to me. We get along well, so that went well. I am ecstatically happy to report that he is doing great thus far. Last year was a constant struggle and string of groundings because he wouldn't do his homework, bring things home, blah blah blah. But now? Now he's doing everything he's supposed to do and I'm stoked. So far, I don't have to be mean mommy. I think it helps that the princess is under duress as well about doing all her work. She brags about how good she is at science and math and how the teacher gives her accelerated works. It seems to be a competition. Which hey, if it gets him doing well in school, then compete away kids, compete away. The princess' conference went well also. Her teacher said she's real mature for a first grader, she's bright, a fast learner, popular...but she talks and socializes too much. Flash back to my school days. This is the first year we've had this teacher. I explained to her that we are a family of talkers. Every. Single. One of us. She half giggled. I don't think she really gets my sense of humor. All in all, her report was excellent as well. Sigh of relief.

4. On a totally unrelated note, there are some commercials that really bug me. But there's one in particular that really grinds my gears. It's a diet pill ad. Their logo is "We couldn't say it on tv if it wasn't true". I'm sorry, but the last time I checked, television was a cornucopia of finely weaved lies...not only in sitcoms, but in commercials as well as the news. Go figure.

On that note, I'm going to call it an early night even though I'm supposed to go out to celebrate a friends graduation. I'm strangely exhausted and just want to sleep, sleep, sleep. Sleep has been a foreign subject for me lately, and I would very much so like to get reacquainted.

Out of the mouths of babes

E-dawg (nephew 1): "Do you know who created the world and everything in it Aunt Mal?"

Trist (nephew 2): "Yeah, Bob Marley."

Made me laugh so hard, I'm almost tempted to write the texting slang for 'laughing my ass off'...ALMOST. That is the lesson of the day. Learn it, love it, live it.

I rule

I rule
My poem, Severed Vision has won the editor's choice award...yeah, I pretty much rule. What does this award get me? My poem published in some hard-bound "anthology" book and also read on a cd of poems. Yeah, I'd rather have money. But, poetry.com and the international library of poetry deemed my poem good enough for these so-called publications. Yay for me. Here's my poem, enjoy:

Severed vision

Eyes don't see what's really there
Always blind to everything
Bumping into walls, nonexistent
Bruises and scars galore
With nothing to heal them but pain
Catching flashes here and there
Everything's now in disarray
Searing hot is the chaos,
The words,
In the burned retina

Mal Nolan

The couch ate my daughter

A few things

Just a few things that are currently occupying my already over flowing mind.

1. This morning as my sister and I were o our way to breakfast, she. Called. Me Britney! As in Britney Spears, the shitty mom. *gasp* Its a good thing she was just kidding. It's funny how people have taken to referring to bad parenting and/or going pantieless as a "Britney". Damn that girl needs help.

2. I have a date on Sunday. With a guy I really like. Its weird for me to say that since, get ready for it, I haven't actually met him in person. We've been talking on the phone a lot. Crazy, I know, but what's a girl to do. And no, this was NOT a Craigslist hook-up. We all know how terribly wrong that went with me. But I digress. I do, however, have to admit that the butterflies are back in full force. It's a love/hate thing with me and the butterflies. But I feel them. And I'm not really sure what to think about it. Of course, my wall has gone up, but there's bricks poked out here and there for a little something, something. We'll see how this budding relationship goes. When I told Kendra about him I was giving her his details. He's 37 and has three kids that don't live with him. His oldest is 18. Kendra says to me, "Are we really at the point in our lives where we're starting to date guys with 18 year old kids?!" Apparently, I am.

3. Today is my nephew Tristan's birthday. He is now 11. Nila and I were talking about how its so weird that in only 5 short years he'll be old enough to drive. Scary. I was telling him this morning how I remembered the day of his birth. My mom woke me up at five in the morning. I was, at the time, about a month pregnant with the genius, so not in the best of moods. Especially considering that she'd had about three false alarms previously and I was convinced that this was one as well. I went back to sleep. Now here he is, growing up before my very eyes. Precious indeed.

4. I went out last night and drank way too much. Well, I don't really think I drank too much as I hadn't eaten anything since my only meal at 2 and I was drinking on an empty stomach. Bad idea. I actually managed, though, to wake up early, have breakfast with my sister and do a little shopping. All while extremely hungover. I'm getting too old for this. I most definitely plan on minimal, if at all, drinking this weekend. The sober life: for me? We'll see.

I guess that's it for now. It's so hard for me sometimes to get everything in my mind down at one time. I'm easily distracted and have the memory of an 80 year old with alzheimer's. A.D.D. may not be the right disease, but its the first that comes to mind.

Meeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

Oh. So. Tired. I worked today during the day. I normally work at night. I prefer the night. I wore a pair of new Vans slip-ons. With thick socks. Bad idea. Feet hurt. Made the mistake of going out last night. Damn piercers and artists. They make you drink shots of Patron. Ick. Bad idea. Cutting hair tonight. Bad idea. Dinner date. After dinner date. Might be bad ideas. After all, its a week of bad ideas so far. It's only Tuesday. Wonder what the rest of the week holds for me. Hopefully the end holds a trip to San Diego. IF I get the check I'm waiting for. If not, I'm stuck in Hellzona for who knows how long. At least the weather is waaaaaaaay nicer. But still...would like to get away for the last time this summer.

To tired to write anymore. Rest until the client calls. There is most definitely NO GOOD REST for the wicked.

Never judge a book by its cover

Raising kids these days is real hard. I'm not gonna lie. Especially considering the fact that kids are doing things earlier and earlier than ever before. I know, besides my short-comings, I am a fully capable young mother. But honestly, I don't like kids. I like my kids. I like the wife's kid. I even like my nephews (sometimes one more than the other). Kids in general, however, not really my thing. The other day I mentioned to my sister how I hated kids. She said I was mean. I laughed and told her that, OBVIOUSLY, I liked our kids, but other kids, just bug the shit out of me.

Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net

One thing is for sure though. My kids are two of the smartest and well behaved children. I'm not just saying that because they're mine. One night the wife and I took the brood out the Chuck E. Cheese's. Normally we get stared at...tattoos, piercings, studded belts. We're used to it. Although this night was particularly irritating because the looks were judgemental, at best. Most people think that since we're young and "alternative" looking, we can't possibly be good parents. Our kids were the best behaved ones there. Kids running wild, ripping shit up, knocking shit down, screaming, breaking shit...granted we were at a kids restaurant, but I believe that there is a certain decorum that even the little ones can follow while out in public. My kiddos have a very structured life. Yes, sometimes (read: a lot of the time) things get crazy or I get lazy, but for the most part, homework at the same time every night, the same bed time for sure and baths every other night. Blah, blah, blah. You get the idea.

I'm used to getting dirty, curious and straight up confused looks. But the looks that really grind my gears are the ones when I'm out with my kids. Yes, I not only look too young to have a 10 AND a 6 year old, I also have numerous tattoos and piercings, but that does not mean I don't know how to take care of my mini-me's. Chances are my kids are smarter, cooler, funnier, radder, more well behaved and tougher than your kids. So there. Discrimination isn't the right personality flaw, but its the first that comes to mind.

Ode to school picture day

Yesterday was school picture day for the kiddos. Back in my day (gawd I feel old saying that) you brushed your hair, wore a clean shirt and mom gave you a check to order prints. Then you went to school where you sat in front of a generic background while the photographer barely gives you enough time to smile and say cheese. Now, they have, not only different colored backgrounds to choose from, but four, not one or two or three, but FOUR poses to choose from. Relaxed, traditional, close-up and standing. It took her a while but the princess finally chose the relaxed pose. And by relaxed, they mean hand under chin. Yeah, cause I pose like that when I'm relaxed. Oh, with the violet background...because she thinks it'll make her eyes look pretty. The genius could care less. He didn't even want me to order prints. I told him I had to buy some so I'd have blackmail for when he's older. There really are some good benefits to having a child.

Since I'm going to be embarassing the kiddos when they're older, I might as well practice what I preach. So here's my high school yearbook photo. I'm pretty sure its my junior year. Too much weed makes those years kind of hazy. One thing's for sure, I may have gotten older, wiser and fatter, but I don't think I've "changed" much, so to speak. After all, redheads have more fun.

Oh, those were the days.

The vicious cycle

I can't sleep at night. I sleep all day. I'm sick. I can't sleep at night. I sleep all day. Boy is it going to suck when I start school again and actually HAVE to be awake during the day. Ok, I guess I'm exaggerating a little when I say I sleep all day. Its hard to sleep all day when you've already been up for 2 hours making breakfast, getting kids ready and driving them to school. I guess I should say I vapidly lay in bed and blindly stare at the t.v. all day. I try real hard to sleep at night. That usually just turns into me tossing and turning. Peeing. Drinking water. Tossing and turning. Peeing. Are you seeing a pattern here, because I am.

Though sometimes while I'm trying real hard to sleep, I get things done. Kind of like a crack head. While normal people are sleeping, I'm...not. A couple of nights ago, I completely cleaned my room, closet included. I ACTUALLY got rid of half the clothes in my closet. That shit never happens. Usually I'll get rid of a pair of pants and maybe a couple of shirts. Not this time. I succeded in getting what I'd put my mind to done...without procrastination. Even better, I took the four huge, overflowing bags of clothes and one bag full of shoes and purses to the donation drop off bin. Trust me, if I had waited, those bags would have stayed in my room for days, weeks, maybe even months, thus negating the cleaning. I feel good about it. There were clothes in there I hadn't worn for years. Pants I'd kept because, well, "I might magically lose 3 pants sizes". Shirts I didn't even like, but kept just in case I decided to start wearing color.

I guess there is one good thing to not sleeping. I can already tell I'm not going to be falling asleep anytime soon. It's been a while, so I think maybe I'll paint. I bought a bunch of art supplies about a month ago and they are STILL unopened. Painting, cleaning and no sex...that's mi vida loca.

::sigh:: I think I need something new and exciting in my life right now. What? I don't know. I'm sure that when I find it, I'll know. Because my life as of late (read: sick in bed) has been boring, to say the least.

Its like magic

This is my favorite Post Secret for the week. I've always wanted to send in a secret, but I figure that usually there's one a week that is something eerily close to one of my own "secrets", so being the lazy ass that I am, I just wait every week instead of taking the time to make my own. I guess a lot of people have the same secrets.

What's a mother to do

She's 6 going on 20...I better lock her up.

Muse to my ears

I think I'm suffering through another case of 'writers block'. It's frustrating. I couldn't even think of a witty subject line. Merely a cheesy one. I've decided its time to clean house though. That might help. My room has been the recent area to a war devastation, so to speak. The war of my clothes, hair products and shoes. I have a really bad habit of, while deciding what to wear for that day or night, throwing unappealing outfits onto the floor, instead of back in the closet. Oy, and the closet, well that's a small nation on its own. I have clothes that I haven't even worn in years. I tend to hold onto things in the hopes of using it again. It never actually happens though. As for the hair products, since the termination I've been doing hair out of my house, but I have absolutely no where to keep my growing collection of hair colors and combs and shears, oh my.

Take some deep breaths. Meditate. Clean room, clean mind, clean soul.

You are SO not African

Is pretty much the reaction I got from the ex when he saw my newly, inch cut ears. The ex tends to get a little preachy with certain all things, so he went into some form of a tirade where he went onto explain to me (sometimes I swear he thinks I'm a 4 year old retarded kid) how some tribes in Africa stretch their lips and use big, wooden plates...and how some Aztec and Mayan tribes do the same, but that's ok, because Aztec and Mayan is part of my ancestry and blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. I usually tend to zone out and think about other things when he talks. For instance, I was thinking about what color I wanted to paint my finger nails and how I did such a good job on my toes. Its not that I don't think he has anything valid to say, its just that he manages to bore the socks off of me. One reason we are now divorced.

I love my ears. I think it adds to my eccentricity, as weird as that sounds. Most people, my family and friends included, just think I'm crazy. Maybe. But what's my life worth if I don't do what I want. I can't just pick up and move out of town becaue I'm basically shackled to my so called life here in Hellzona, but I CAN modify my body any way I choose. My kids don't mind it. Although the princess did express her distaste at the thought of me getting MORE tattoos, she doesn't mind my stretched ears. And that's fine. My kids don't have to adorn their bodies like I do when they grow up, that's their perogative. Often lately, I've been asked why I do "this" to my body. And when I explain my reasoning I'm asked what I would do when my kids want to get tattoos and piercings when they grow up. Pshaw. They ask in a tone of voice which suggests I would encourage such a thing. As if I'm going to take them to one of my artist friends and have him permanently ink my child. As if.

People are so retarded when it comes to things that aren't "socially acceptable". This topic was also brought up in Rock star mommy's blahg when asked why she would choose to give her son a mohawk and *gasp* temporarily color it blue when he is so young he can't choose for himself. Why? Why, I ask, must people be so naive? If it's not something they would do themselves, well then, its just wrong. Stupid is NOT as stupid does.

While Rock star mommy is dealing with creepy readers on a less extreme topic, I'm dealing with my mom on a "she can't look at me when we speak to each other" situation. I'd been hiding my ears from her by covering them with my hair. Not because I think its wrong, but because I knew she'd freak and I didn't want to hear it. When mi herana came by the other morning, she, of course, noticed within seconds of seeing me that something was different. "Your ears look bigger. Did you stretch them again?!" I showed her my ears and she expressed her shock and amazement. Mi madre mosied on by and overheard Nila saying that I was crazy. She immediately looked at me, then looked back at my sister, "What'd she do now?! Did she do something? What'd she do to herself now?!" I sighed, tucked my hair behind my ears and showed her. Needless to say, she was not happy about it. My mother is the queen of off-handed comments. Yesterday morning as I left to take the kiddos to school, she told me I was destroying my body. "Well mom, I believe that the beer I drink, cigs I smoke and pills I take are what's essentially destroying my body and NOT the stretching of my ears." If only I was quick witted enough at 7:30 in the morning to have actually said that. If only. Another dramatic comment made was for me to cover my ears while I was talking to her. That's new. She took my face tattoo in stride and thought it looked cute. But holes in my ears bigger...well now, that's just crazy. I think SHE needs to take a few drinks. A couple of pills. Repeat.

I'm not sayin', I'm just sayin'

I'm not one to call myself a feminist in any way, shape or form, but sometimes there are some issues which I feel need attention. In some past and recent events, there has been argument over whether breast feeding is "obscene" or not. OBSCENE. In the recent past MySpace itself has deleted a users pictures of her breastfeeding claiming obscenity. Most recently, this has been an issue with Facebook.

I normally am not one to want to sit and watch a mom sit with a baby stuck to her tit. But I wouldn't call it obscene. It's a natural part of life. No, I'm not saying everyone has to enjoy it, in fact, a lot of women choose NOT to breast feed their babies, in large part, due to ickiness. My best friend, for example, chose not to nurse for that reason exactly. I, on the other hand, took the other road for the reason that I believed that would be the best nutrition for the princess in her first nine months of life. That's not to say I did it in public because I also alternated with a bottle, but I am not opposed to other women making that choice.

I just think its ridiculous that on an almost tri-weekly basis I get accosted by men whose Myspace profiles hold the "requisite" penis picture asking me to do naughty things to them, yet a woman can't have a picture on her personal "space" of her doing something natural. Literally. Icky or not, women HAD to breast feed their offspring in the beginning. They didn't have the luxuries we women now have today...breast pumps, formula, bottles, wet nurses...how do we think we were actually nourished 100 years ago.

The ironic thing about all this is that Facebook is host to approximately 350 pro-ana groups. For those of you that don't know, pro-ana is a community in support of anorexia nervosa. How can we conciously house the idea that females and males (yes, there are male anorexics), young and old alike should purposely destroy their bodies in the name of "skeletalism" while we are calling the nourishment of a baby "obscene"?

In this young mothers' humble opinion, society needs to take some time and let the ridiculousness of some issues marinate in its collective minds. Step one to a societal utopia (so to speak): grow up.

**Edit** One thing I forgot to mention about the whole "obscene breast feeding" debacle...We use women in obectifying ways to sell products for the sake of consumerism. Tits are for selling, not for feeding babies. Go figure.

I can't even think of a witty subject line

I'm going to keep this short and sweet. Saturday I went into the shop for some jewelry for Ambular. I came out with very sore ears. Why sore, you ask?

Well, for a while, I'd been thinking of stretching my ears from 7/16 to a full inch. There's a way to do it quick, but painful. Being that I'm all about instant gratification, I chose to go the painful route.

As much as I love my newly stretched ears, it hurts like a motherf***er. I am currently laying in bed, not able to sleep due to excruciating pain, with a frozen Go-gurt behind each ear. I know that in a few days (read:weeks, but I'm sometimes an optimist) this will all be well worth it. As for right now, I'm hating life. I would like nothing more that to be able to sleep rith now. Here is the result of my pain though:

Take A LOT of drinks. A ton of pills. Repeat.

Boredom town; Population: Me

This has been the longest week in the longest of weeks in history. I actually thought it has been two weeks since the termination, but in fact, it has been exactly 1 week and 2 days. That's right, not even a whole week and a half. This realization just hit me about an hour ago.

I mean, I knew that my days seemed longer and more drawn out, but this is ricockulous. I feel as though I'm stuck in the twilight zone or the outer limits and I'm just going to be stuck in this week with the never ending days for eternity. Not to mention the boredom. I am bored beyond belief. I have DirecTv with, like, 400 channels, and...nothing. A new computer and...nothing. I can't even think of what to write in this blahg today. My mind has gone vapid.

Shot by Mal Vicious at 2007-09-15

See? Vapid. Take A LOT of drinks. A ton of pills. Repeat.

Clarity is underrated

*DAD WARNING* Sex talk contained in todays blog. You have been warned.

Lately I've been really preoccupied. Not even able to write more than two sentences in one week. I just figured out what it is that has been plagueing my mind as of late. I have turned into a man.

Not physically, of course, but mentally. It's been two months since I last had sex. My days have been filled with sexually frustrated thoughts. The first two weeks, I was bitchy. Frustrated. Irritable. But after that, I thought, "Well fuck it! I can handle not having sex for a while. After all, it's not the most important thing. And people deal with no sex all the time." That school of thought lasted for about a week and a half. Why. Why. Why. I am literally accosted by these thoughts on an almost minute by minute basis. I don't know how men do it. It has often been said that men think about sex every 7 seconds, though this has been sited as an urban legend. Urban legend or not, I most definitely HAVE been thinking about sex every 7 seconds. At least it seems that way.

My retainers have been unavailable lately and, for once, I'm not desperate (read: morally inept) enough to just go pick up some random stranger to use meerly for sex.

Well, maybe the longer this proverbial dry spell goes on, the less I'll even think about how my hymen has essentially grown back and, with two kids, am a unintentional born-again virgin. Take a few drinks. A couple of pills. Repeat.

The times...they are a-changing

One of the things that has come up often in conversation and has been marinating in my mind lately is how fast kids are growing up these days. When my class first started color, nay had a 12 year old client. She talked about oral sex like it was eating candy and I'm pretty sure she thought she was real cool talking about it with me. When I told her I did NOT think that was cool and that I hadn't done any of that until I had a boyfriend at the age of 17, she was shocked. She revealed (read: bragged) about how she had recently gotten kicked out of school for giving a classmate a blowjob on a school bus. I absolutely could not believe what I was hearing! I know, I know, this kind of shock coming from someone who got knocked up at the tender age of 17 while still in high school. The difference, however, is that I didn't lose my virginity UNTIL I was 17 with my first real boyfriend after we'd been dating about eight months.

When I was 12, my mom dropped the p-bomb. If by p-bomb, I mean she told me she was taking me to see a psychiatrist. She told me she was concerned that I was not a normal child. I spent the majority of my days reading, writing and watching scary movies. I hung out with my friends a lot, but I didn't really like them that much. I hadn't lived here in Arizona that long, and while I was still interested in doing "kid" things like swimming and riding bikes, most of the other girls were interested in having sex with their 18 year old boyfriends and drinking. While I did dabble with pot from time to time, sex and alcohol just didn't interest me. Not like it does now. With a C-cup bra size at 12 I got offers to date, but I didn't want to deal with the pressures of sex. So I stayed home and read. I much rather enjoyed delving into a good book, vicariously living through someone elses adventures in life. And often times writing my own stories. So I went to see the psychiatrist. I was a precocious pre-teen and in just two sessions told him that he and my mom were crazy if they thought I needed to be more like a "normal" kid. I told them both that I could really go out and get a boyfriend, start having sex and drink alcohol f they really wanted me to be "normal". What IS normal anyway?

What worries me the most though is that the genius is 10. He'll be 12 in two very short years. While I have an inkling that the princess is going to be more to worry about, the genius is closer to the woes and qualms of adolecsence. What's a mother to do.

On one hand, I want to keep them both kids for as long as I can. Though more knowledgeable than most kids where certain things are concerned, they are sheltered and I am strict. On the other hand, I know they have to grow up and learn the ways of the world on their own. It's just a lot harder than I ever imagined. I guess its true what they say, "You take the good, you take the bad, you take them both and there you have the facts of life. The facts of life."

At a loss

For words, that is. I don't know why, but I'm sitting here in front of my laptop and can't really think of anything to talk about. A lot had happened lately, but I just can't seem to find the words to descibe anything. Nothing witty, sardonic or clever to say. Writers block isn't a disease, but it's the first that comes to mind.

Materialism at its best

Student loan money came in. Yay for school. Yay for all the new toys I just bought, including my new Mac. Blog world beware, I have the internet at my disposal.

Funtime is OVER

I'm back from paradise. It was a short trip, but super fun. It was great to see Darren, I love that gay. And it was fun visiting Shawn at Warped tour. It was even fun singing karaoke at a different bar in a different state.

Some little tidbits about the past few days...
My black eye...excuse me, black cheek...I don't even want to talk about it.
Hot and ready...$5.
"I'm lusting after those motors."
"I need to make a mobile out of hubcaps."
"That cat's a bitch, I'm gonna call her Bitch Kitty."

The wife and Heather are amazing and always a good time on road trips. We always come up with the funniest shit and I'm always entertained. Hooray for beer. One thing's for sure, I most definitely needed this. Even though it was a short trip, I had loads of fun and got to forget about all the crap I've been having to deal with lately. How do you spell relief? S-a-n D-e-i-g-o.

And now back to my regularly scheduled life.

Completely amazing

I am currently sitting in the cutest little house in 70 degree weather in San Diego...and I couldn't be happier. I needed this. All the shit I've had to deal with lately...yeah, I most definitely needed this. We are getting ready to go to Warped tour...beer, hot tattooed dudes...I'm pretty much having an 18 year old moment.

On another note, my baby sister had her baby this past Monday. A baby girl. I need to make my way out to El Paso to see her and the bundle of...joy? No, really, I'm happy for her.

So off I go to do the wife's hair and to get as cute as I possibly can for my day of fun in the not so hot sun. I will send a postcard.

Pet peeve for the day

When people don't tip after getting their hair done. Even just five dollars. Hair is NOT easy to do. Granted, I'm spoiled and used to getting very well tipped, but still, those in the service industry now what it's like to do a bunch of work for someone and not get anything in gratitude. I'm in such an "I hate people" type of mood. Thanks no-tip lady.

"Welcome to the loser for life club"

The tattoo artist says as he tattoos the first star on my face. "Are you sure you want a tattoo on your face? You won't be able to get a job."
"Well, it's a good thing I'm a hair stylist and work in a tattoo shop..."<p><p>It's a big step, I know. I've been thinking about it for quite some time now. And no, I didn't get the idea from Kat Von D. Though I will say this, she did inspire the 'constellation' on my face. Originally, I wanted one or two stars right where my eyebrow ends...but about a week and a half to two weeks ago I happened to catch an episode of Miami Ink on...I normally don't watch reality t.v. simply because it pisses me off, but there was nothing else on and I was bored. So I was watching when the famed Kat rolled onto screen. Up until this point, I'd had absolutely no idea who she was. As I disinterestingly watched the show, I noticed she had something on her face. A gaggle of faded, multi-sized stars on her face. I'd decided that in this case, less was not more, and I called a friend. Next thing I know, I've got a bitchin' tattoo on my pretty little face.

The ex freaked. Of course, he doesn't even really like the other tats I have. The kids love it though. As far as my mom, I thought she's freak. She freaked everytime I got a new one. "How come you just got ANOTHER tattoo and I'm still waiting to get my second?", was her response. Oh mom. Most everyone else thinks I'm crazy. Including the artist at my work who has 'SICK FUCK' tattooed on his knuckles. Heh.

Really all that matters though is that I. Fucking. Love. It. Really, I do. What makes me laugh though is that a couple nights before I got it, a Wal-Mart cashier told me that tattoos were permanent. Wow, it's a good thing he told me, or I would never have known. Hallelujah, he saved me. Or, how about he made me THAT much more excited about my decision to tat up my face. Yeah, I'm hardcore like that.

On a different note, I finally got a little closure regarding my retarded breakup with that weasel. This will mos def be the last you'll hear from me on the topic. Interesting how someone you never met can put you at ease about something that was so irritatingly stupid just by confirming your suspicions. *Deep Breath* My hands are now officially washed of that little "life experience".

Time to go to bed. As per usual, I can't sleep. But I'm going to try real hard. Though before I do, I'll leave you with this: be bold, be proud.be real.

My week in a nutshell

Here are a few highligts from my week thus far.

1. "Mom, thanks A LOT for embarassing me in front of all my new friends at school. Don't put notes in my lunch box anymore, it's embarassing!"
2. Space mail from a chick who knows the weasel ex who wants me to do her and her friends hair...they are on 'Team Mal'...didn't even know there was such a thing, but it pretty much rules.
3. School, work, no sleep, school, work, no sleep
4. Fully booked days...bitchin' clients who tip me WELL
5. New tattoo...pictures to come...it's on my face...my madre liked it and I'm pretty stoked about it.

That's pretty much it...in a nutshell. My face kind of hurts right now. The ex freaked out about it. Good thing we're divorced. Speaking of divorced, the new client I had on Thursday told me, after I did her cut and color, that she just got divorced that morning and I made her day...then she gave me $20...yup, I think I'm going to like this job allright.

Always a random thought

Today was the kids' first day of school. The princess' first day of ALL DAY school. As per usual, I cried. But only a little. I started to tear up while I was watching the princess glance nervously around her new classroom, but the sister suddenly appeared next to me and started talking, so that put me at ease a little...just a little. I had, however, put a little note in the princess' lunch box today telling her to have a good day and that I love her...to which she responded at the end of the day, "Thanks for embarassing me in front of my new friends MOM." She said it with such an attitude, I'm pretty sure I just got a glimpse of the future. Scary<p>Tomorrow is the first day of my last term at school. Yay for me. I'm technically only supposed to have two more months left, but with some of my absences and lates I've added on an extra couple of weeks. Now the pressures on. The whole point of this last term is to prepare for the state board. I'm nervous as hell. I also need to start scoping out salons. Since I don't want to assist, I have to find a rental or commission salon. I also need to start on my portfolio. Here's a crappy before and after preview...p.s. I need a camera for this kind of shit

You may not be able to tell here, but her hair is totally damaged, yellow bleached blonde hair. Horrid. Not to mention her mom was a pain in the ass and only left me a three dollar tip, but that's a whole other story. Here's her after I worked my magic.

It's not much, but it's a start. When I get my student loan money in, among other things, I plan on getting myself a digital camera so that I can take more before and after pics. I get a lot of makeover clients. I also want to have some 'models' (read: my friends, family and whoever wants) come to me so that I may take some cool fashion type photos. I want my portfolio to be somewhat nice.

I'm rambling now. It may be because I'm still awake at one a.m. even though I have to be up at 6:30. C'est la vie. My life as an insomniac.

Ain't nothin' but a love/hate thang

I have a salon project for school due on Friday. And true to form, I'm procrastinating. I have most of the supplies necessary to making my miniature salon, but no motivation to start it. However, I do usually come through in the end with something amazing. So here's something I've come up with instead of starting...I'm in this kind of mood right now, and here it is:

1. I love, love, LOVE the weather right now. It makes me want to curl up in bed and watch a scary movie, preferably with someone special, but I'll settle with my dolphin.
2. I hate that my driver side door won't open with the key so I have to open the passenger side door to get in...straight ghetto.
3. I love that the genius was waiting outside for me to pick him up and that they were both excited to see me.
4. I hate that the kids were so excited to see me...it means I have to actually switch to mom mode and take care of them pshaw
5. I love that if I pout enough I can get what I want
6. I hate that some people refuse to give in to my demands.
7. I hate that there is a tiny bug flying around me and won't go away.
8. I hate that my madre is so irritating.
9. I love my brand new shoes I got at the mall for 7 bucks.
10. I hate that I won't be there to see my new niece being born
11. I love all the thunder and lightning right now.
12. I love that I get to take the kids back to school shopping soon.
13. I hate that I've had insomnia for the past month and a half .
14. I hate that it's Ultimate Fighting Championship in the kids' room right now.
15. I love that I get to talk about tattoos and piercings at work all day.
16. I love that I get to play with hair all day and put my creativity to the test.
17. I love, oddly enough, my life.

Weird, I know, that I would end my love/hate list like that, considering the majority of it is hate. I mean, who really loves their lives? Not many people. I have friends who are way better off than me and they hate their lives. I hear it all the time, too. Listening to all the griping (yes, I do my fair share of griping) and can't help but think, why? Why does their life suck? I have two proverbial balls and chains strapped to my ankles for life. Baggage. No money. A mother. No "special someone". Yes, from time to time you'll hear me say my life sucks, but that's just usually in a fit of a tantrum because I didn't get my way. Oh, and also in a fit of estrogen blow-out when I'm a typical girl, at best. But for the most part, it's actually quite allright.

Any help I can get, however, is key. Take a couple drinks. A few pills. Repeat.

Then came the rain

I got completely caught in the huge rain storm yesterday. As I got ready to pick up some art supplies at Michaels, I put on a dress. It's a light, cotton white and blue striped number borrowed from Lornzilla. I decided to wear it even though I had to work because I was so freakin' hot that I wanted to wear as little clothes as possible.<p>As I was driving towards work to pick up my paycheck so that I might cash it and get food before my shift, it started to rain. Just a few big drops at first. Then it came. Sheets and sheets of buckets of water pouring down. It came as fast as a virgin boy.<p>I ended up stuck on Apache in horrendous traffic. Construction plus pouring rain plus flooded streets equals no cashed paycheck for Mal. I was able to, however, stop at CVS for some much needed agua and Monster. This is what the rain looked like before I got out of the car to sprint into the store.

I literally had to run into the store. But to no avail. My dress still got soaked and the white parts...well, let's just say I was not dressed PG for public at this point. I had no choice though, I didn't have time to go home and change, I had to get straight to work.

A trip that would normally take me less than 10 minutes, took me almost 20. It was near impossible to see out the windshield, not to mention the fact that no one could drive in the right lane since it was flooded. It was fun times for me. The fun continued once I got to work. The Rural shop was closed due to a power outage, so on what is usually a ridiculously slow Monday, we were crazy busy. Floods, leaks, tons of walk-ins...I had my work cut out for me. But I got it done like a trooper. I should probably get the counter bitch of the year award. I'm not sayin', I'm just sayin.

Despite the leaks everywhere, including in my room, I wish it would stay raining. Then maybe it wouldn't be so muggy and retchedly humid out. One plus to the humidity, I practically have a fro'. Talk about bitchin' hair.

Speaking of fro's, the genius wants to grow his hair out. I think he wants an emo/skater type of do...though I think it might just turn out to be one big poufy mess. The longer his hair gets, the bigger his head looks. Maybe he'll cry himself to sleep tonight on his huge pillow.

I know this blahg is sporadic, but I'm in babbly mode right now. I keep thinking things, so I write them down.

It was my dad's birthday on the 21st. I'm an asshole...and I'll tell you why. That Monday after, the sister and I went shopping. As we were looking through random cards, she asked me if I'd called dad for his birthday.
"No," I replied, "his birthday isn't until the 26th."
"Or it was on the 21st. Where'd you get the 26th from?"
"I have no idea. Maybe I just made it up because deep down I know it was the 21st and I'd missed it that way it just looks like I was late and not forgetful."
*whew*
So hopefully when my DADDY reads this, he'll find the humor in my misstep and forgive me.

Add daughter of the year to my mom of the year awards. I'm a winner.

My 15 seconds of rock stardom

Last Thursday, I decided that I wanted to hang out with the wife before she ditched me yet again to go to Vegas. I only wanted to go out for a minute and have one, MAYBE two beers. Usually when I say that, I end up getting shitfaced and staying out way too late. I think you can see where this is going.

I though we were going to hip up Jupes or Pub n Grub, a couple of our usual haunts. I got the text that we were heading to O'Kelleys. My karaoke haven. I've gotten to the point now where I can sing without having drank a lot first. I sang my first of the night...Patsy Cline's Walkin' after midnight. Next was Billy Ocean, which was more of a fun song being that Lornzilla and I barely knew the words. As I was waiting for my next song, the dj made an announcement. O'Kelleys was holding a karaoke contest. I pshawed...there's no way I'm good enough to win a contest...especially since I currently sound like a tranny, what with my consistently deepening voice. Then she announced the grand prize. An all expenses paid trip to Cabo. F'n F'yeah. I entered. It's an 8 week dealio, but I wasn't paying attention, so that's about all I heard. I submitted my contest song, Belinda Carlisle's Heaven is a place on earth. I was first on the list. Angela told me I needed to engage the crowd, but I just started singing by myself and can only have fun with the crowd while drunk. One shot of liquid courage please. I sang my little heart out. 11 other singers later, she announced the winner. You guessed it, me. Lil ole' me won the karaoke contest!

Needless to say, I was pretty stoked. Watch out for the Mal world tour, coming to a town near you.

The way it goes

Lately I've been in somewhat of a feisty, savage sort of mood. Saturday, as per usual, we were sitting at Casey's. Generally I just sit and make fun of people and their stupidity and/or their stupid outfits. But this time, I was in the mood to fight...sort of. I'm pretty much too old for starting fights, but its not to say I won't finish one. One girl in particular was getting on my nerves. Not because I could hear her acenine stories. Or because she looked at me wrong. But because of what she was wearing. Tied around her head was a headband that looked sort of like a silk tie a hippie threw up all over. This isn't the bad part (at least in my eyes). It was tied around her head old-nerdy-fat-guy-trying-to-look-cool-at-the-gym-circa 1984 style. It looked ugly. And in my drunky stupor I had decided that someone, if not me, had to bring her attention to this horrid fashion DON'T. At one point, on my way back to my table from the bathroom I walked behind her. My hand reached up. I was actually going to pull the atrocity off her head for her. The wife pulled on my hand harder and sped me away. Damnit. So close, yet so far away.

I'm just over everything right now. Is it possible for me to get any more cynical? Why yes. Yes it is. I think a lot has to do with all these dreams *ahem* nightmares I keep having about the little ex-bf. Ugh, why can't exes just die when you're done with them, then they can't have a life after you. And you won't have to think about them ever again. Once again I ask, why is it the ones that you were too good for and were wrong for you are the ones that fuck you up the most?

Oh well, I'm doing new things. I'm in the process of finding a house. Yay to living on your own. Also trying to procure and keep some writing jobs. I'll see how that goes. Trying to get some supplies together to make and peddle my wares at some local shops/boutiques. We'll see where that takes me.

Everyday though is a little closer to the end of my tenure at school. Thank gawd. I'm so over it. Tomorrow we have resumes due. Fuck it. I'm so not in the mood to do it. My instructor PISSED me off today. I am currently in fiery passion hatred mode for her.

When I'm president of hell...and I know I'll get it because well, those of you who know me know also because I'm student body president and that helps...she is SO going to be the minion who wipes my asshole with her hand after I drop a deuce. And I don't mean with toilet paper. With her actual hand. And she can't wash it for eternity. Let's see her be a bitch to me now.

Miss Kitty Fantastico? More like Miss Kitty Bitchtastico. Take a few drinks. A couple of pills. Repeat.

Oh you know...whatever

It's almost that time again. Yes folks, back to school. There's just something about back to school. The promise of fall. Of leaves turning sunset shades of orange and yellow. Leaves crunching under your feet as you make your way to new beginnings. Wait, for a second I thought I lived in a state where there are actual seasons.

Back to school for me always meant new things to learn, new things to experience. New books, new paper, new school supplies. I LOVE school supply shopping. Back to school also meant new clothes. And not hand me downs. Not yard sale clothes. But department store clothes. It was the one time a year where we got to rummage through BRAND NEW clothes. Where we got to try on, and pick out, brand new shoes.

Now, it's all about taking my kids shopping. Though it seems that I am way more excited about it. Especially where the genius is concerned. I have two choices when it comes to him: 1. I can pull the mom card and force him against his will to spend hours in a boring store trying on countless outfits, pairs of shoes and embarrassingly holding pairs of underwear up to his waist to see if they'll fit his ever growing ass. Or 2. I can be the cool mom and just go buy him one outfit, make him try it on, and from that, buy the rest of his back to school wardrobe. I think I'll opt for number one. My life as a teenage mom would have been for naught. I mean, if I have to have kids and somewhat conservatively mold them into good little citizens, I'm going to have fun. Hey, I have to entertain myself somehow.

Random randomness

First order of randomness: I don't know why, but I've been thinking about an ex a lot lately. Not THEE ex (read: my baby's daddy), but the mistake ex. Why is it that the ones you know you're better off without are the ones that fuck you up the most? I know, KNEW, deep down that I deserve better, and he deserved his kind, but still, as I'm driving down the road singing along to Patsy Cline, I find myself getting a little sad. Maybe that's my problem. I've been listening to too much Patsy. That's it, I'm changing cd's. Maybe that will take care of that problem. I sure hope so. Because these feelings of inadequacy for being dumped by a w.t. rep isn't good for my soul. Patsy, you're out, Pixies, you're back in.

School, school, school. I am consumed. And right now, I'm behind. In my book work that is. So what am I doing about it? Blahging. Currently we're learning about anatomy and physiology. Last I checked, I was in beauty school, not med school. Skeletal system projects. 27 pages of detailed notes. Extremely hard tests. Smack my bottom and call me Dr. Kitty Fantastico. No more miss.

On more school news, I know I've said it before, but being the student body president is hard...and a little stressful. Everyone comes to me with their "suggestions" (even though there is a suggestion box) about this or that, and frankly, contrary to popular belief, I'm a softy. It's VERY hard for me to say no to someone. I just want to make everyone happy. Trust me, that school of thought has gotten me into more trouble than it's sometimes worth. ATTENTION STUDENTS: Mal is a pushover. Don't get me wrong, if the situation calls for it, I can gather my balls up off the floor and take control, but in general, I aim to please. Just ask my retainers. Though honestly, I probably wouldn't trade it for anything.

In other news, I have reached new heights in my hair coloring abilities. I'm really pleased with myself and will, on the reception of my financial aid leftovers, be buying myself a fancy new camera so that I may take before and after pictures of my clients for my portfolio. I'm fortunate enough to get the type of clients who pretty much let me do what I want with their hair, so I need to take advantage of the experience. Sometimes they'll have certain colors in mind, but as far as the end result, no exact clarity. So that's where I come in. For me, it's like painting. I love cutting too, but color's where it's at. At least that's how I've built my clientele. I even have stolen clients from the school. Clients that have been going to that school for years, are willing to follow me to whichever salon I choose. Big pat on the back for me.

That seems to be it...for now. And by for now, I mean, that I can remember. I now leave you with these words of wisdom: live and let live...at least where I'm concerned.

Some people just shouldn't breed

This is seriously some fucked up shit. I don't even have anything sardonic or amusing to say to this. But I will say this, some people just shouldn't have babies. I think a dumbass sterilization bill should be developed. F'n idiots.

The thing of it is

Boy has this been a week. I've been non-stop crazy. May I still request my padded room with a view?

Not only have I been non-stop crazy, I've had a massive headache (read: brain tumor) and half insomnia. And by half insomnia, I mean that I get good sleep...the times that I actually DO fall asleep. Maybe that's why I have the massive headaches (read: brain tumor). Speaking of tumors, I have to have a conoscopy in two weeks. Basically to see if I have cervical tumors. Fun for me. I'm not really stressing about it too much, but it is something that has been on my mind. I just don't really want to do the procedure. I hate doctors, hospitals, dentists. Ick. We'll see what happens. The doctor said that it may not be anything, but we have to make sure. I guess that's what the giant camera that's going to get shoved up my vajayjay is for. Talk about a good time.

Besides all that, I like my job. It's fun and everyone is nice. Although it is hard work and my legs are STILL a little sore from work on Monday, but I'll get used to it. School has been even more busy for me, too. This Friday I'm double booked all day long. And they're all requests, so I won't refuse them. I guess everyone just wants a little Mal magic. But who doesn't, really.

I figured out today that I only have seventy days left of school. Can't. Even. Wait. Vacationitis isn't the right word, but it's the first that comes to mind.

The thing of it is

Boy has this been a week. I've been non-stop crazy. May I still request my padded room with a view?

Not only have I been non-stop crazy, I've had a massive headache (read: brain tumor) and half insomnia. And by half insomnia, I mean that I get good sleep...the times that I actually DO fall asleep. Maybe that's why I have the massive headaches (read: brain tumor). Speaking of tumors, I have to have a conoscopy in two weeks. Basically to see if I have cervical tumors. Fun for me. I'm not really stressing about it too much, but it is something that has been on my mind. I just don't really want to do the procedure. I hate doctors, hospitals, dentists. Ick. We'll see what happens. The doctor said that it may not be anything, but we have to make sure. I guess that's what the giant camera that's going to get shoved up my vajayjay is for. Talk about a good time.

Besides all that, I like my job. It's fun and everyone is nice. Although it is hard work and my legs are STILL a little sore from work on Monday, but I'll get used to it. School has been even more busy for me, too. This Friday I'm double booked all day long. And they're all requests, so I won't refuse them. I guess everyone just wants a little Mal magic. But who doesn't, really.

I figured out today that I only have seventy days left of school. Can't. Even. Wait. Vacationitis isn't the right word, but it's the first that comes to mind.

A funny thing happened to me on the way to adulthood

The genius just turned 10 on Monday. You know you're getting old when you have a ten year old. It's really weirding me out. I know I'm almost 30, but I never in the planning of my life did I imagine myself having a kid who's almost taller than me and who's going to hit puberty soon. Weird.

Me, the woman-child, with a kid in the double digits. I guess there are weirder things. I still remember the day he was born. My water broke at about 5:30 am and we headed to the hospital. The ex was disappointed because he didn't have to rush. He really wanted a movie moment where we speed race through red lights and such to get to the hospital. No such luck.

That day was probably one of the worst and one of the best days of my life. One of the worst because it was the most excruciating pain I'd ever felt...EVER. Ladies, if anyone ever tries to tell you it doesn't hurt, they're lying. It pretty much feels like your vajayjay is on fire and your insides are being ripped apart from within. I screamed bloody murder. And I'd never hated the ex more for putting me in such a horrendous situation. But when it was all over and I got to hold my huge 9 pound 7 ounce baby, it all seemed worth it...for a minute. Then the memories of the pain wash over you again. I still have flashbacks. It's like I was in 'nam.

But now here we are. A weird, giant kid whom most people think is my little brother, ten years later. It's weird to see him growing up. I wonder what he'll be like 10 years from now. I wonder if my parents were as weirded out by me growing up. It's all just weird.

Think I've overused the word 'weird'? Ya, me neither.

The ick factor

I'm house sitting for my sister this weekend. She has 5 dogs (two of which went camping with her) and I have to take care of them and their fish and their turtle.

So I arrive at her place tonight after an especially busy third day of work. I ran through the house to let the poor little guys out back (before taking off my shoes...don't tell her it's a secret).

After a few minutes I got up to let them back in. No one is allowed to wear shoes in her house. So there are a couple pair of their crocs at the entrance to the dog room. I put my left foot in one of the brother-in-laws' crocs. Next came the right foot. As I was stepping in, I felt something tickle my foot. Thinking it might be a hair or something similar I shook my foot...you know, to shake it off. I then felt the "hair" tickle up my ankle. I look down and see nothing, so I keep shaking my foot. It crawls up my leg. I frantically convulse my leg to shake off whatever is causing my panic. I feel wings flutter. Finally, it's off. I look down and see it. A big. Huge. Cockroach. It was the ick heard round the world.

I didn't know what to do. I absolutely HATE...and I mean hate with a fiery passion...cockroaches. The are disgusting little freaks of nature. Usually I make the closest boy kill it for me. But alas, I am all alone. I jumped up and down for a second or two trying to decide what to do. I decided I had to take action because there was no way I was going to be able to sleep with such a creature in the same house as me. I picked up a croc and very quickly, very forcefully smashed the roach.

I slowly lifted the shoe to make sure that I had, indeed, successfully killed it. It was smooshed to the ground. Although creepily enough still moving it's little head and antanae. I strategically placed the shoe back over the remains. There is no way I'm cleaning it up. I guess I'm just going to have to find a big, strong man to clean it up for me. Helpless isn't the right word, but it's the first that comes to mind.

Irritatedsville, population: Me

When I painstakingly write out an entire blog that's longer than five sentences (which doesn't happen often) and all of a sudden, it's gone. Poof. Just like that. I guess I wouldn't really say poof. I guess I would say that the cursor was on the 'x' from closing a second window and my finger grazed along the touch sensitive pad and closed the window. Meh, what's a girl to do. Nothing. Because hell if I'm going to write it all down again. Stupid apple iBook.

Whistle while you work

I got a job. Hallelujah. You are now looking at (reading?) the newest counter bitch at Club Tattoo. Save it, I know what most of you are thinking. You know who you are.

I'm excited that I'll finally be making more than $5 a day. Mama needs a new pair of shoes. Not to mention that I get free tattoos and piercings. I've seen a few of the artists custom work and it's really good. So irregardless of all the tattoo snobbery I'm surrounded by, I'm excited. I get to see my old best friend, money. Oh how I've missed him.

My not-so-great adventures in Horrorland

You can call me a bitch. You can call me a mom. You can call me bitchin'. But one thing you can't call me is graceful.

When I was in high school, when the ex and I had just started dating, I went looking through his backpack. Not for anything in particular, but just because I'm nosy like that. Besides, he was sitting right there, so I don't count that as snooping. As I flipped through the loose sheets of papers in his English folder, I glanced my name. I pulled the paper out and realized it was an essay (read: three four sentence paragraphs) written about yours truly.

I read through it against the ex's wishes and thought it was the sweetest thing anyone has ever written and/or said about me. Although one thing that caught my eye which I knew to be false was his analogy of me and the gracefulness of a cat. I laughed so hard when I read it and asked between fits of giggles if he even knew me at all. When asked to explain my utter lack of appreciativeness, I explained that I, in fact, was not as graceful as a cat. In all actuality I have the gracefulness of a bull in a china shop, so to speak. Maybe even worse, because while a bull in china shop merely breaks and ruins everything in its wake with clumsiness, I tend to hurt myself, usually pretty bad.

Severely sprained ankle. Sprained wrist and thumb. Busted knee. Torn meniscus. You would think all these injuries occured while doing roller derby. Or maybe some other sport. Well, you would be wrong. With the exception of the wrist. Everything else, in addition to an endless list of other such disablement, was the cause of me simply being alive. Sometimes, and I'm not even making this up, I fall over from just a standing position.

With all that said, here's a gander at my day. Upon waking, I got up to pee. I ran into the wall. That doesn't sound so bad since I had just woken up. As I was peeing I reached for the toilet paper...and hit my hand on the counter. Hit at just the right angle, it can bring tears to your eyes. Fast forward to my afternoon theory class...the aestetician doing a demonstration on facials wheeled her chair over my big toe...twice. Now there you would think that wasn't my clumsiness but her mistake. I assure you this would only have happened to me. This evening as I was walking out the front door in my platform flip flops, I stepped on and fell over three pairs of shoes...I ate shit. Now I sit here with a throbbing big toe, two scraped knees, a cut on my elbow and foot rubbed wrong by the canvas material on my flip flops. That's gonna leave a mark

Cumbersome is as cumbersome does, some might say. And by some, I mean me. Futile isn't the right word, but it's the first that comes to mind.

Sidenote: The genius has, in fact, inherited my gracefulness, or lack there of. Gawd help him.

An ode

"Daddy, how did you know I was a girl when I was born? Did I have tiny earings?"
How my dad laughed at that. Ask him and he'll tell you all about it. Over and over and over again. He'll also tell you how I used to say "I wanna do it my byself". If you can believe it, I was stubborn. Well read and well spoken by the age of three thanks to my pops, and I was still dyslexic when it came to certain phrases and naive as to the ways of the world. But he was always there to softly giggle and humor my beliefs.

Growing up, he was a columnist for the El Paso Times and the El Paso Herald Post, respectively. About twice a year he would write a story or other about me, his, at the time, youngest. Most children would shy away from and be embarassed about said articles. But surprisingly enough, not me. I read his column every day. And if there was even a smidge about me in it, I would rip the article out of the paper and take it to school waving it in the air for all to see and admire. "My daddy's a famous journalist!" I would say, chest swelled with pride, old articles crumpling with sweat in my little hand. "He likes to write stories about me on my birthday! I'm special!" I would brag to all who would listen, friends and strangers alike. I pretty much thought I was the shit.

An accomplished playwright, poet, opinionist and published author, he was recently named El Paso's very own journalistic icon. Using his words to paint pictures about a life in Mexico, to support Chicano Activism or simply to entertain. He is my dad. And I was, AM, proud.

Being the literary lothario that he is, he had high expectations for my sister and me. Though at times, they seemed higher for me. I would get grounded if any of my grades dropped below a C. However, C's were just as unacceptable as F's. He always told me I was smarter than the average kid. That I could do anything I wanted. Granted I attend college. Preferably an above-average university. I'd hoped of attending his alma matter Colombia. I wanted to be just like him. Traveled, relaxed, an intellect in his own right. Hearing about all his adventures and travels, I'd decided at a young age that I would travel. Experience life before I got tied down by the proverbial travails that are suburban America. My dad shared in my future dreams for me. He often told me that he always pictured his baby girl traveling the world, writing poems and basically just enjoying life.

Then came the day I found out I was pregnant. At the ripe young age of 17, I was terrified to tell anyone. Though completely lax in attitude, I still felt pressure from the expectations my family had of me. After telling my mom and sister, it was time to tell my dad. I. Was. Petrified. I cried and pleaded with my sister to not make me tell him. Or worse yet, for her not to spill the beans. We argued for about 20 minutes. "You have to tell him!" she said, "This is not something you can keep from him, he's your father!" To which I redundantly replied, "Why?! I can just be pregnant and he doesn't have to know. Ever. He's in El Paso, we're here! Don't make me tell him, please. He's gonna be so pissed!" I eventually relented at the behest of my sister. She dialed the number. "Daddy, I have something to tell you," I said somberly. When I broke the news, the floodgates opened. "How could you get pregnant mija?! You had so much going for you. Your life is going to be so hard." I involuntarily received a new ass hole. Four years later the second pregnancy wouldn't go over so well either. Lectures about how now being a mother of two and a housewife would make it even harder for me to go to college, get a degree, be a writer like I'd so wished. " I'll go to college daddy. I'll be a writer. I promise."

Twenty-eight years later, his baby girl is all grown up. A mother of a six year old girl and a soon to be ten year old son, I've somehow reached adult hood, no matter how immature I may seem at times. A writer in my own right, a soon to be licensed cosmotologist and most importantly, still a dreamer, I owe a lot of my wit, charm and sardonic humor to him. Granted, the other players in my life who made me who I am today are my mother and my big sister, but in different ways. Every time I talk to my dad is like sitting with Plato, Socrates, Chuck Pahlaniuk. At least in my eyes. So tonight I'll raise my glass to him. A little late on the sentiment, but you know me, better late than never, right. Happy Father's day daddy. Now I get to write stories about you.

How strange

The past few weeks have been strange, at best. Nothing too bad, but a little surreal, to me at least.

First we have the whole situation with the ex-psuedo bf. He's called me a couple of times, nothing too bad. Last night he woke me up because he "wanted to see" me. It was 1:30 in the morning and I had been in a very deep, drool inducing sleep. I caved and had him come over. We just talked, but we talked until about 2:30 or so. Needless to say, I overlept. Right through my alarm. I was so late to school. No more late night visists for me.

Today I ran my first student council meeting as El Presidente. Ambular (whom I miss severly) got terminated for two months and I moved up in student council rank. I think it went pretty well. After wards, I went into the new class to make some announcements and they were damn quiet. I made a joke and laughed. They stared. I asked if anyone had any questions. They stared. I made fun of someone. They stared. It was a little awkward. But hey, I remember what my first couple of days were like. Speaking of which, I have approximately only four more months to go. F'n f'yeah. Move over Sally Hershberger, make room for Mal Vicious.

That's all I can think of for now. My bladder is so full right now, it's about to explode, thus making it hard to concentrate (read: i'm doing the pee-pee dance right now).

Aneurysm bop

Stressed out. There's really nothing I can say right now that won't launch me into a 5 page long rant, so I won't say anything more than this. I'm not taking a 2 week leave from school like I so hoped. Hate my instructor. Presidential duties. Miss my sbff. Kinda don't wanna be single right now. Poop.

Take a few drinks. A couple of pills. Repeat.

Update on my so-called life

School: school is slow. I need clients. So if you know anyone who wants a bitchin' hair style, send them my way. As much as I like to sit on my ass and do nothing, the day drags when there are no clients. Not only that, but my tip quota goes down.

Boys: I told the psuedo bf that we should just be friends. I'm kind of high maintenance. And he doesn't have room for me in his life right now. But of course, in true fashion, I'm jonesing a boyfriend. Go figure. Seriously, and any other boys I find are married. What's up with that?

Job front: I just had a job interview with Club Tattoo. I hope I get it. I needs to get paid.

Kiddos: The genius is going to be 10 in less than a month. TEN. Weird. I still can't get used to the fact that I have a kid so old.

I think that's pretty much it. Besides my random thoughts on racism, sexism, stupidity and idiocracy, its pretty much the same shit, different day scenario in my little horrorland. Take a few drinks. A couple of pills. Repeat.

A brief history in Whoreland

Last week, my pants ripped at school. It could only happen to me. And I'm not talking about a little rip...I'm talking about a huge, from-the-top-of-the-pocket to the bottom of my ass rip. Were the pants too tight for my fat ass, you ask? No. They just decided to rip. Renee said it was a good thing I was wearing cute butt covering underwear. I said it was a good thing I was actually wearing underwear.

I've been super busy at school. SUPER BUSY. I'm tired. Oh so tired. So I've decided I'm going to take a two week leave of absence. I need the break. I had to try real hard to hold back tears on Thursday after my frustration over the perm I was doing took over. Maybe considering I'd already done a relaxer that morning, all the chemicals were getting to me. Cause I was stressed. So I' taking the couple of weeks to:
1. try and find a job
2. find somewhere for my kiddos to stay for the summer while I'm in school, and
3. try and find a place to hopefully, maybe move into by July. I have some shit to take care of. Plus, being uber stressed at school is making me not want to be there. As much as I love it.

And speaking of embarrassing things happening to me. This last Thursday, I was rocking it at karaoke. Angela and I were singing a duet, of course, on stage. As I jumped off the stage in my platform flip-flops, I landed on Angela's shoes, and in front of the whole bar, ate shit. But, being the graceful klutz that I am, I stood back up and kept singing while shooing an old man's hands from my ass. It was funny. Although my ankle is currently throbbing with pain and is swollen. Meh. Wouldn't be the first time.

I'm going to now try and finish off the week without embarrassing myself any further. A girl can dream, right?

As it goes

I am currently hanging out in my actual Horrorland. Things could be worse...I'm exaggerating a little...but I am choosing to be irritated by this list of woes.

1. I ran out of toothpaste and am having to use kids Colgate with Spongebob on the package...ick x 10
2. The mosquitoes (those bitches) are STILL feasting on my oh so sweet blood...it's no wonder I'm anemic
3. My bottom lip is still swollen...not too bad, but bad enough to be bothersome and hinder my speech

That is all I guess. Ya'll know me though, I'll find something to bitch about soon.

On a kid-note: This morning as I was getting ready for school, I heard the kitties go out to the backyard. As they came running into the room to brush their teeth, I noticed that the princess' hair was wet. I thought nothing of it...she sometimes wets it down or puts massive amounts of product to spike her hair. A few minutes later I saw her again and really noticed how wet it was. I asked her if she'd wet it down. The genius, of course, is quick to tell me that "she got it wet in the sprinklers! I told her not to!" I then noticed her shirt...sprinkled with water all over her shoulders. She stood there with a sheepish look on her little face as I asked what would posses her to do such a thing. She shrugged her shoulders.

Sometimes I wonder about my kids. They're funny. Obnoxious. Weird. Tall. Silly. Irritating. Cute. And maybe just a little crazy. I often find myself wondering what I got myself into.

Today was the last day of school. The genius will be in the 5th grade this fall. It still weirds me out to know I have such an old kid. And speaking of old kids...the princess will be in the first grade. FIRST GRADE. I no longer have any babies. I have two kids that will be in school all day very soon...too soon...and who will be taller than me, at least the genius, within the next year. Surreal isn't the correct term, but it's the first that comes to mind.

Eaten alive

I am officially a feeding ground for mosquitos. They. Are. Eating. Me. Alive. I may not have any blood left. I believe I am AB positive. Get those blood transfusions ready. Im just saying.

A smile is worth a thousand words

I've been holding the ex's laptop hostage the past few nights. And since I've been all alone at the wife's while I'm housesitting, I've had not much else to do other than cruise the net. Since I've been working (read: procrastinating) on my book, aptly titled "Adventures in Whoreland",I thought I'd cruise the infamous Craigslist to get other people's experiences, good or bad, with the whole net dating thing. Namely, men's experiences. All the research I have so far is female related, so I thought I'd gain a different perspective.

I started by posting an ad asking for anyone's tales in the sometimes unforgiving, sometimes scary world of online dating. Some of the responses I got. Man, some men are so desperate, it seems. Right off the bat, I got a always welcome (read: funny) cock picture. I simply replied, "Thanks for the cock picture, but I am in fact, actually just looking for stories. I have a boyfriend, thank you." That was just the beginning of it. Along with the ad, I posted a picture. Just me smiling. Just my face. Just to show that I am not some weirdo just looking for sex. Apparently that picture said more than that.

It's been interesting. Fun. Something to do while I sit here today, absent from school. But alas, I have to give the laptop back so now I'll have to sit here and watch t.v. instead of having random people entertain me.

The research is going on swimmingly though. I have a lot of very interesting, very funny stories and I can't wait to start compiling them. Now it's time for me to switch to mom-mode and go pick up the kiddos. Leading a double life sure is exhausting.

Right now...

My lip is swollen...I guess that's what I get for sticking a needle through it
I'm starting to get a migraine...I may have a brain tumor
I'm sleepy, but can't sleep
I'm bored and lonely, but don't want to hang out with anyone
My lips are really dry because my bottom lip is so fat I can't close them all the way
My right eye hurts
Am full of nothing but complaints right now
What else can I say, other than I'm a pathological complainer. Lather, rinse, repeat.

My life as a walking contradiction

I am in love with the weather right now. As I sit outside in my underwear typing away, I can't help but think about my cabin fever. The weather right now is reminding me of the beach. As most of you know, I absolutely love love love the ocean. Not man-made bodies of water. Not dirty lakes littered with half naked underage girls trying to get on the next installment of Girls Gone Wild. I mean the Pacific Ocean, to be exact. Sitting on the beach, for me, is next to gawdliness.

I get bored easily. I get restless. I like to get away from it all, if just for a tiny while. Right now is one of those times. In this big city, where I can't even see the stars, where everyone is moving fast, no time to stop and smell the roses, where there's time limits, expiration dates, it's hard to find any kind of clarity. Yes, I know, if I really want it, I'll find it. But that's not really how I work. And I know that going somewhere else, running away if you will, doesn't get rid of your problems or make them better...but for me...for me its about gaining the ability to see the answers as the clouds are lifted. Some of you get it, some of you don't. Just like me...some of you get me, some of you don't.

It often amazes me when someone gets me. Though I myself do not think I'm all that complex, many find it hard to understand me or where I'm coming from. Oddly enough, I've run into that a lot lately. I admit, sometimes I'm a walking contradiction. But I'm just a woman. A woman trying to find peace of mind...trying to avoid conflict, though let me tell you, conflict does NOT want to avoid me...trying to educate my kids on how not to be complete assholes...basically just trying to get through life as best as I can for myself and my kids to be happy. Though at certain times of my life that may seem impossible. But as they say, nothing's impossible, only...oh, I can't think of the word here...help me out here.

With all that being said, I should probably be going to bed. I have school in the morning, even if I haven't been wanting to go lately, and I need to actually be there. After all, the new Vice President of student council cannot shirk her duties as the President's "bitch". Yes, that's right, I got voted into the vice presidency. What were they thinking?

I'm getting eaten alive out here by mosquitoes, but of course, outside is the only place I can get the net...go figure. Oh, and more new...I got my lip pierced. I'm not that big a fan of facial piercings for myself, and yes, I know I have my septum pierced, but I can tuck it away if needed. The lip ring is not something you can just hide, especially since it takes about 6 weeks to heal. But, it was something new to do. Besides, the kids think its cool. Then again, they think everything I do is cool...oh, except for walking them to their classes now. The genius likes to get dropped off and doesn't want me holding his hand anymore either. It's a sad day when your kid is too old for that. The princess still lets me do it, but only after I asked her why she was embarassed of me, to which she replied, with a heavy sigh, that she wasn't and that I could walk her to class still...but I'm pretty sure it was only out of guilt. Guilt that she'd made mommy feel bad. ::sigh:: I never thought they would get too old for me or too embarassed of me. I know I don't look like the other moms and some might think that's why they would be embarassed of me, but that is not the case. Me looking like this is all they've known. Tattoos, colored hair, piercings and all. Alas, I guess there comes a time in every kids life when they grow to a certain kind of independance that keeps their mother from holding their hands...walking them to class...I don't think I was ready for this quite yet. They're still so young. Hell, I'M still so young. That's life I guess. Resulting from the path in the fork in the road I chose to take. And to think, I still have AT LEAST 12 more years of this to go through. I. Can't. Even. Wait.

That is if...and it's a big IF...I don't have any more kids. The truth is though, that I've been going through a patch of "baby fever". For those of you who know me, and know me well, you know I DO NOT get baby fever. And yet, here I am, reaching to hold any baby within my grasp. Scary, I know. However, as rash and impulsive as I may be at times, this is not to say that I want one now. I refuse to have a baby out or wedlock. Ironic, I know, being that I got knocked up in high school, but I'm somewhat older and wiser now. This is not to say I want this for my future though, necessarily. As I've said before, I get bored easily...I change my mind at the drop of a hat. Maybe this too will pass. With me sometimes you never know what you're going to get. Bipolar isn't the right infliction, but its the first that comes to mind.

Malice the Wonder Girl

My week has been better. Thank gawd. Yesterday was actually busy for me. As was today. And I'm booked all day tomorrow. It's about damn time. I was about thisclose to taking a leave I'm so bored with school. And yes, I know it'll probably be shitty at the beginning of next week again, but I'm hoping that with summer coming it'll pick up a little more before everyone goes on vacation.

Speaking of which, I've been possessed by the green monster. I'm completely envious of the wife and her impending vacation in Prague. She leaves in 5 days. And that sucks...well, for me. Now who's gonna buy me beers? At least I get to house sit for her so that means 13 days of peace and quiet from the madre. Gawd knows I need it.

So I finally talked to the bf and things are better. Though I have to remember not to drink that much ever again. Not only for my own sanity (i hate not remembering), but for the sanity of everyone I love. Especially Ambular who ended up having to take care of my ass. But enough about that. I'm trying to forget.

For those of you who know me well, ya'll know I HATE commercials. Especially those commercials wherein the sponsor is trying to sway you to one side or the other. For instance; the anti-smoking commercials. Granted, smoking is a bad habit, I know because I smoke a pack every two days and I do not want my kids to smoke, but let people make their own choices. Those ads make me want to smoke more out of pure rebellion. Cigarette companies aren't allowed to put out ads promoting their merchandise for fear that susceptible young minds will want to start smoking based purely on the commercial. I call bullshit. I know kids are stupid, I was once, but society should give them the benefit of the doubt...at least a little.

Another one that bugs me is the anti-abortion ads. O.k., I don't necessarily think that abortion is a good thing, but hey, to each their own. Who am i to tell someone not to do it. And for that reason mostly, I wish their were pro-abortion commercials out there in t.v.-land. "Abortion:it's the right thing to do when your life is turning to shit". But no, only one side of religiously-fanatic right-wing corporate America is allowed to express their "opinions" openly anywhere they please. That is what really grinds my gears.

Thank you for listening. And I'm out *clap*

My life in a shitshell

This week has been pretty retarded for me. And it's only Wednesday. I pretty much want to just crawl into bed and not come out until it's over.

Let's start with me getting so completely wasted on Sunday, I blacked out. At which point I yelled at the boyfriend about his c-bag roommate/ex-girlfriend (while blacked out), yes, he was officially my boyfriend for like two days, and I harked a lot. A LOT. Damn jaeger. Now the boyfriend won't talk to me. Why is it, I keep asking myself, that I keep dating cowards that don't know how to communicate? Seriously, it's like I have a radar for these people. I'm almost tempted to scrap the boyfriend (that is if he hasn't already scrapped me) and go back to 'no-fuss, no-muss'. That seems to work out for me better. No messy feelings, no broken hearts. We'll see though. I'm sometimes rash and impulsive and I change my mind at the drop of a hat. To top off my fabulous week, I just got rear-ended. On the way to the wife's with the kiddos, some dumb bitch decided that she wanted to drive even though the light was red and there were about 5 cars in front of her. Being that my drivers' license is currently suspended and I'm not supposed to be driving, I just drove away. Even though it was not my fault I wouldn't be able to do anything with the insurance information. Add that to my uterus falling out and you've got a not-so-happy Mal. But, that's nothing a little beer and time with the brother can't take care of.

A good thing about me being in reclusivity this week is that I started a 2nd draft of the first chapter of my book...an even better one than my first draft. So I'm pretty happy about that. Suffering really does bring out an artists' best work. Ya, I know I'm not REALLY suffering and there are worst things that could be going on right now, but ya'll know I like to be happy and hate conflict.

::sigh:: I guess things can only get better from here. I have about 22 1/2 weeks left of school. Let the countdown begin. I just have to get my shit together and not get terminated. After all, I don't want to be in school any longer than I have to.

Que sera, sera. Well, this is officially the worst blog I've ever written, but considering my shaken state from the accident, I could've done worse. Oh, and side note, my three middle toes are a little red and swollen. That'll teach me to drive barefoot. Pshaw, who am I kidding, I'm still gonna drive barefoot.

Come on

Here's the thing. If you go get your hair done, tip your stylist. Whether you're at a school or not, that person is spending at least an hour of their time with you to make you feel and look better. I had two client's today, one color and one cut. And...nothing. The thing is, that they both LOVED their hair when I was done with them. But still...nothing. That's my gas money. That's my lunch money. It's not that hard. $5 even, for my time, patience and hard work. It shows gratitude. Not only that, but it IS a service. Grrrrr. It really grinds my gears to work my ass off to make someone look better and to get nothing in return. It's just what you do. You tip for services rendered. Thank you. That is all.