Mommy Dearest

It's been a while, I know. Truth of the matter is that between moving, working, having another two surgeries on my pelvis, and moving at the speed of frozen molasses at damn near all times has left my normally energy-stricken self absolutely drained. Regardless, Avery has made me take a day off and just sit around, and even though I've longed for the day that I could not use crutches for strategic mobility purposes, I'm sitting here longing to be at work. Odd, aye?

Anyway, I'm sitting here bored out of my mind pretty much couch-ridden and awaiting the next dose of Oxycontin which will put me in yet another narcotic analgesic coma for a few hours, and I ran upon a news article that struck me as absolutely representative of what will inevitably be the downfall of this country, if not just the downfall of any company that acts in a manner that warrants someone running to some form of a media outlet in a non-justified outrage.

The gist of the story is as follows: A woman in Arizona was about to fly from Phoenix to Baltimore for a family gathering and she was bringing her one-year-old twins. It's common fact that a baby under the age of two can travel in its mother's lap and the women decided to call Delta in advance to explicate and ask about a special condition. What's the special condition? Her children were in fact conjoined twins whom share a heart yet have separate respiratory systems, therefore linking their bodies at the chest. In response, Delta told the woman that she would have to buy two seats on account of the fact that she would require three emergency masks in the case of emergency. Accordingly, they said "Look, we're sorry but we're just trying to protect your twins in case of a pressurization failure. On a crowded flight there wouldn't be enough masks to protect both of them if you don't buy the additional seats."

Naturally, this wasn't good enough for the mother that obviously cares so much about the safety of her children. No, no! Outraged, she contacted local newspapers and news programs to get her story out there and to stand up for penny-pinching parents everywhere who expect something for doing nothing more than being a parent. What absolutely annoyed her the most was, as she stated, "the audacity of Delta to tell me to contact the Red Cross to ask for help in paying for the additional ticket." The media exposure, though limited in scope, was enough to send Delta's damage control team in to smooth things over because it's pretty well common knowledge that the airline industry, and Delta in particular, is flailing and already on the population's eternal shit list. Delta, thus, told the woman she needed the additional seat but said they would pay for that additional seat.

Wait a minute! Are you fucking kidding me?! Is it just me, or is the logical end to this story that completely lacks any form of poignancy and has no signs of the asceticism that is motherly love should be to have that womans ability to the claims of motherhood completely revoked? What kind of mother would make an absolute mockery of her children's safety simply because she's cheap? It's not as if conjoined twins are flying daily on flights, and I'd say the fact that the airlines allow a child to sit on their mothers lap is more than enough of a freebie for people who have children and choose to fly {much to the dismay of the rest of us who in turn get to hear your child cry like a fucking banshee for the duration of the flight}. I'd even understand the woman's dismay if she was traveling to a medical facility for the conjoined twins, but she wasn't. Where was she going? A family gathering, something that is completely volitional and not required in any way shape or form to begin with. I'm not saying she had no interest in going, but I am saying it's absolutely ridiculous to travel across the nation with your statistically rare conjoined twins for an event that isn't required in any way, become outraged when, for the safety of your children, the airline tells you that two separate seats are required, and then go cry about it to every media source that will listen to you so you can get your way.

If she couldn't afford it but really wanted to go, then she could do what millions of others do: Drive. Instead, she chose to take the highly dramatic route of kicking, stomping, screaming, and yelling, and instead of smacking her ass and demanding she show some respect for the reasoning behind why she said no and the authority figures right to say no, Momma USA took the woman in her arms, justified the temper tantrum, and gave her exactly what she wanted and left behind a legacy that embraces the immaturity and selfishness our real mothers literally beat out of us when we were two.

It's Emanuelle Bitches

As my better half explicated, I have a bit of a boo boo, and by a bit I mean a broken pelvis and a few broken ribs. It sounds worse than it is, or maybe the pain killers I'm on are fucking incredible, I don't know for sure.

I suppose everyone wants to know what happened to me. It's really less interesting than you're thinking, and no it had nothing to do with road head. It actually has to do with me borrowing my brothers motorcycle and becoming target practice for a Land Rover. It was my moment to show off my acrobatic abilities, and, new to flying through the air, I buggerd the landing. So, off to the hospital I went where pins and rods have ventured to places not even dicks and dildos have dared to go, and I became disturbingly obsessive with the amount of liquid my catheter would yield daily. I'm fucked up in the head, what more is there to say?

So that's that. I'm home now, I walk at a pace that would make a snail feel like a speed demon, I have to intravenously dose myself with an antibiotic twice daily, and I've experienced quite the role reversal with my beloved wolf-hybrid Alex. It seems he is now the caretaker and I am the baby. Since I've come home he hasn't left my side, not even to eat. I guess that means he really, really loves me, ay? As for Avery, he's been the picture of amazing in dealing with all this, he even stayed the night in the hospital with me the first two nights I was there. I suppose he really, really loves me too!

I will say there is nothing more depressing than spending two weeks in a hospital room. You'd think they'd at least offer you full cable and not just a menu of 25 channels to entertain yourself, but no, and to add insult to my very lovely injuries the TV's they have don't even have adapters to hook up a DVD player or a video game console. Least my father let me use his PSP while there, because I shit you not I would have gone nearly as bat shit crazy as my mother naturally is just sitting there, bed ridden, with nothing to do but stare at whatever bullocks show basic cable was televising. Lucky me did get to watch the train wreck most commonly referred to as the VMA's, and I bore witness to the end of musics most fabricated creation: Britney Spears. Honestly, I don't understand the buzz concerning her being fat. Should she have worn that? No. Is she fat? I'd say most women would want to look like that period, let alone after machine gun child births and whilst eating as much junk food and crap as she does.

Right. That's the update, and Mrs. Dangerdoll I will try to get you good scar pictures but I'm not sure that's possible unless the shots are rated X.

Messenger Me

I've been sent by Zee to add blogging to my epithet to inform those of you whom have been wondering where my baby is.

The short of the matter is that she was in a fairly serious accident last week and has since been in the hospital. Fear not, she is attached to a morphine pump which she self administers and is, thus, doing absolutely fine. She should be home early next week.

And so ends this update.

In Case You Care

While at the movie theater last night, Avery and I saw the "Bourne Ultimatum," a movie I wasn't absolutely thrilled to see. I got bored, started to fall asleep, Avery yelled at me for falling asleep, and I decided it was time to entertain myself by doing what the young'n's called "going down."

The totally interesting part is that he chastised me for giving him head because he could not pay attention to the movie at the same time. Oh yes, the man I have chosen to procreate with happens to go far beyond being a dish of the short bus special. He also just kissed goodbye to ever getting the road head he so desperately yearns for every time we go road tripping.

Recap: My boyfriend didn't want his dick sucked in a movie theater because he was watching a movie.

Trollop

It seems my beloved boyfriend has, contrary to all my beliefs, taken to reading my blog. I don't particularly care because it's not like I have anything to hide, but his silent observation of my life that he has a front row seat to at all times has become not so silent. He came home last night with a smug look on his face, and over our lovely dinner of Mac'n'Cheese he told me how disappointed he was in me.

You see, I've lied to you, sort of. I really haven't done much blogging lately because I really do have nothing to talk about, but the reason I really have nothing to talk about is because I spend every waking moment of my free time glued to the guitar remote that comes with Guitar Hero II. I'm addicted, and it's not pretty. What's worse is that my father, of all people, is insanely awesome at the game, thus making my compulsion to totally rock out that much stronger because I am the only person in my entire family with any musical/artistic ability. I refuse to let a 55 year old engineer take me down in a video game! REFUSE!

I'm sorry I lied. I hope you can understand why I did {think ashamed}.

Jislaaik, I'm Boring

An anonymous person asked if I’m still alive and for the sake of all things dignified, I’ll assume said anonymous person is not the person who ever so pitiably went on a self-declared matchmaking spree on my comments section. Not that I find anything wrong with finding love on the internet, I just think there are better ways to go about such an endeavor and those ways most certainly do not include anonymity nor a blog comment section.

I am alive, I just don’t have anything to talk about outside of the drudgery that comprises day to day, and the network at work has been down therefore curtailing my ability to even access the web. Not to mention, the neighbor we so affectionately regarded because he unknowingly allowed us to use his wireless internet moved, thus leaving Avery and I with absolutely nothing in our apartment. Some people just have no manners, I swear! How could he just up and move like that, without giving us fair warning that our free internet was going bye-bye? Ungrateful sons of bitches!

I will say that Gwen Stefani depresses me more than anything lately. I think most chicks who were hip to No Doubt and her rather awesome ways are looking at her now and thinking “Ew! Ew! Ew!” I mean, not only does she have her own clothing line, her own shoe line, her own fragrance, but she’s also got two solo albums under her belt that make me ears want to reach out and grab a toothpick to end their own pain. If you like it, you like it and that’s your prerogative, but it just makes me want to rewind my life and take her out of the running for being a huge influence on the reason I want to pursue music to begin with.

Nurture This

Last night, after realizing we’re now going on week three of having nothing edible in our apartment other than pet food, Avery and I figured it’d be a good time to re-affirm how broke we are. We were standing in front of the wall-o-yogurt looking at fat content to price ratios when a kid went running full force into our shopping cart and then dropped like a rock. It all seemed to happen in slow motion, with the soundtrack of Avery saying “Daaaayummm” rounding out the experience, and finished with Avery and me doing the kind of laugh that sneaks out when you are desperately attempting to not laugh at all because of the seriousness of the situation. The kids mother wasn’t paying enough attention so as to realize her kid was running on a trajectory ending in our shopping cart, but she was all eyes and ears when she heard us laugh at her fallen, precious, little angel. Naturally, prior to this juncture of the evening, she was doing the stereotypical ignoring of her out of control children with intermittent pleas/yelling for the brats to stop behaving like a wankers.

The kid drops, the kid screams, Avery and I do the don’t-laugh laugh, and Mummy comes running over to the kid, then looks at Avery and me who are very obviously holding back huge smiles and barrels of laughs, scoffs, and proceeds to yell at us for running our shopping cart into her child. Not a smart move. It’s never a good thing to accuse people of your mistakes in public, and it’s really not good to accuse people who are a mélange of emotions none of which are on the side of decent or good, and Avery and I were in foul, foul, foul moods. What do you expect? We had $65.00 to feed ourselves for the next 3 weeks. And people wonder why we’re skinny.

Shitty Mum: “You should watch where you’re going. My God, I think he’s got a concussion.”
Avery: “We weren’t going anywhere, our cart wasn’t moving. We were just standing here when your kid ran into the cart.”
Shitty Mum: “Well you should have moved the cart so he wouldn’t run into it!”
Me: “Well, you should have been watching your kid.”
Shitty Mum: “I have two other kids to watch after too, what are you two looking at?”
Avery: “Your kid drop like a rock to the ground.”
Me: “They aren’t our kids, they aren’t our responsibility.”
Shitty Mum, after giving Avery the evil eye: “Well you could have a little decency, you know? To help others out.”
Me: “We already missed that opportunity, seeing as you procreated.”
Shitty Mum: “You two have a lot of nerve telling me I’m an unfit mother.”
Avery: “Well, if our opinion doesn’t matter, we can call Child Protective Services to verify your mothering abilities.”
Me: “You know what, Avery? Out of our decency and our desire to help others out, we should call them. I’m sure once we tell them she was ignoring her child until he was potentially seriously injured they’ll be very interested.”
Shitty Mum: “You two are crazy.”
Avery, after pulling his cell out and waving it in her face: “It’s a phone call, or you shut up and keep moving. You decide.”

She kept moving.