McSweeneys has declared me “too glib.” Best rejection notice ever. Also, I replied, sincerely thanking them for the criticism and accidentally called the person by a diminutive of their name, which probably looks very glib. I am not going to write back explaining this.
I am going to ban myself from doing anything for the rest of this week, because I suspect I am made of fail.
Here we go down the rabbit hole again! I have first mediation with SeaFed on Saturday, to deal with the custody re-arrangements. I have submitted about six inches of documents and I feel ready. Well, as ready as I can be, considering I have never gone to mediation. I have plans to go out to a movie with friends after, which I am excited about, because my usual MO is to go and…be flat (that’s as much of a plan as I usually have) after these sorts of things.
Last Friday I had the twice-yearly parent-teacher conference with SeaFed. Frannie presents her work and talks about what she’s been doing in class. SeaFed had very few questions. In fact, I only remember him asking one–about her math fact memorization, which he was hammering last year, too. I think math is important as well, but I had a lot of questions. I can’t judge how well I’m doing by that, but while I was talking to her teacher I brought up ongoing issues and I felt like I knew what was going on. I got a feeling from him, by his follow-up questions and body language, that he doesn’t.
I try to take some things Franny says with a grain of salt, or a bucket in some cases. But she tells me things. I know her stepmother’s been taking care of her for quite a while now, especially while he was still holding down a job. The other day she told me she’s been fighting with her stepmother over bedtime because she’s sassy and gets stories taken away (I believe she’s sassy, for sure).
“Why is your stepmom putting you to bed now?” I said.
“Oh, lately my dad doesn’t come home until after bedtime sometimes,” she said.
So I don’t know. I think my hunch about him being out of it is right on. So I am telling myself that if he comes into mediation with…himself, the way he is, and his parenting plan, things should be interesting. I’ll put the meeting up on Youtube. I kid, I kid.
ALSO, it only took me five years to get up the nerve to send something to McSweeney’s but I did it the other day. And later that night, after I sent it, I realized I used the word “Slashdot” when I meant “Metafilter.” Maybe I should have waited another five years. FAIL. Well, I’m glad I got over it and faced my fear. Today, a rejection notice from McSweeney’s, tomorrow a rejection notice from Penthouse Fantasy Forum. After this mediation thing settles down, I am going to find some other places to be rejected from. The sky’s the limit, baby!
If you have itchy writing fingers and you wish to relive the time you dumped Jello all over yourself in front of the boy you liked in middle school, I advise you to head of to my friend’s new site, Can I Sit with You? They are taking submissions about school hell, but be sure to read the guidelines.
IP Address: 67.52.15.37
Name: Wisdom
Email Address: challkhmc@comcast.net
Comments:
Jeez, that is the ugliest fucking kid I have ever seen.
moar funny pictures
A couple of months ago I compared my child to a Vulcan. Try again. This time be sure to include something about my failed marriage(s), my weight, and my mental health. FAIL!
Me: WOW! I had the best orgasm the other night, did I tell you?
Companion: Ummm…no.
Me: It was great! I was falling asleep as you were coming up the stairs.
C: That’s great…for you.
Me: Hey, what’s wrong? Aren’t you happy for me?
C: *SIGH* Yes. But you could have come to get me, you know.
Me: Hmm. I suppose I could have let you watch.
C: WATCH?
Me: Ha ha!
C: Well, have fun. And don’t act “all surprised” when you get stabbed in your sleep.
The child screamed for most of the morning. She was infuriated about something to do with her horsie tights. I wasn’t following it; it was complicated. She was left to scream in her room. Eventually she went to school.
But first she climbed into bed with us.
“Aww, were you scared? Want to be snuggled?” She nodded. I am so trusting.
We laid there for a few minutes.
“Mom!” My breasts were punched, evil, criminal things that they are. “You are in my part.”
“What? What part?”
“My part! You are in my PART!” Her hand shot out like a traffic cop: STOP. You are on my part. My part of the bed. My part of life. Quit breathing, I require that air.
I got up.
“What are you doing?” she said.
“I am getting out of your part.”
SHEESH. At least the other one only demanded sugar in her sleep.
After she was gone, there was a band saw, somewhere. Companion piled every blanket on me and even pulled the coats out of the closet. I still felt weird. My fella went upstairs to lay in bed.
Then it was “HOW COULD YOU, LUCY?” (Note: I am not Lucy.)
“Companion, do you hear someone being betrayed?” I called up the stairs. Maybe I was imagining this.
“Yep.”
“Who is it?”
“Who do you think?”
It was my neighbor, Drama King, who stands out on his patio having looooong winding conversations with his girlfriend which no one can win, including him. If someone talked to me the way he talks to her for THREE HOURS I would fucking shoot myself. They sound something like this:
Him: So do you see how you put me in a position here?
Her: Hmm.
Him: I mean, what I am trying to explain to you is, this is just like two weeks ago when the problem came up with your brother, right?
Her: Oh, I….
Him: All I’m saying is, I do everything for you. And to have you put me in a position like this, it’s just not right.
How could you do this to me, Lucy? Keep doing it, Lucy! RUN, LUCY!
Anyone know any famous furry bloggers who are “out” or blog about furry issues?
Thanks.
ETA: by “furry” I specifically mean grown people who dress in fursuits with the intention of looking like or roleplaying as animals. Sexual or not.
I am doing research and I just don’t know if there are furry “superstars” within the community.
Dear MF Diary,
October was like WHOA! And also like bam! and biff! and socko! But there were some fun parts, too. It’s weird how you can have fun in a month and still be glad it’s over. I turned thirty last month, did I tell you? It was nice. I forgot to take pictures. I drank something like three scotches and when I woke up the next morning I had Smoky Pee Effect. That’s alarming, mkay? I think I want to drop back down to the 100-level courses in pee altering, which just involves asparagus and B vitamins.
Today we went to our secret mushroom spot that only half of Seattle knows about, based on the number of snapped stems we find lately.
I found a gigando Boletus, which I’m pretty sure is a Boletus flaviporus, because the pores did not go blue when I bruised them. They are edible, but are supposed to be only so-so, so I am saving them for my last mushroom class. It’s fun to oooh over the large ones people bring in. Notice how bright yellow the underside is. It has to be seen to be believed. It’s really fluorescent.
They don’t have gills, they have pores like honeycombs.
My friend said, “That looks SO poisonous!” She’s right, of course, but I am discovering that in some cases poison mushrooms look so benign and edibles can be really flamboyant. Case in point: chantarelles.
I found the biggest chanterelle EVAR in perfect condition. Shocker.
We lost our friends and resorted to cell phoning and howling to locate them like goombas. I have never gotten so separated from people in the woods before, because we usually have the children with us.
This park is not infinite and there are landmarks you can walk toward, like a creek or the freeway, so I wasn’t worried. It was kind of fun being alone for a while, though. It reminded me of when I was a kid and I used to wander off to the forest preserve behind my house. I kept my head down the whole time then and I did today, too. Now that I know that mushroom toxins won’t go through the skin on your hand, I touch everything. It’s fun.
I have been going since 2004 now, and I am going to try and add spring mushrooming into my plans with the society here. During my long sentence here I guess I should take advantage of the PNWed and all the moldy crap that grows on the moldy ground here. Mushrooms=mushroomade.
But I am here to tell you I wrote about zombies today. AND, this is the last time I will bother you about this, because I have discovered you can RSS my posts at Blogher. I don’t personally know how to do that, but I reckon you clever jerks do. So RSS me, or not! I think you get the idea that I’m over there now!
Thank you Cleveland!
Also, there was an article on “suicide food” in my weekly alt rag. There is a blogger at blobspot who is writing a blog on the topic now. I don’t want to direct link him, because he scares me.
Oh, hell, on further reflection I should just link him. The internet is not that srs of bizniz.
Anyway, he writes about “suicidal food,” which he defines as depictions of animals on food packaging or restaurant signs that “want” to be eaten. Such as a pig licking his chops on the sign for a BBQ joint. “Mmm-MMM! I am sooo tasty!”
I can see the argument that this is a little creepy or whatever, I guess, but a sign like that says “good food ahoy” to me.
From his manifesto:
What is Suicide Food? Suicide Food is any depiction of animals that act as though they wish to be consumed. Suicide Food actively participates in or celebrates its own demise. Suicide Food identifies with the oppressor. Suicide Food is a bellwether of our decadent society. Suicide Food says, “Hey! Come on! Eating meat is without any ethical ramifications! See, Mr. Greenjeans? The animals aren’t complaining! So what’s your problem?’ Suicide Food is not funny.
The problem with this argument, of course, is that the food is not actively participating in these displays at all, or “identifying with the oppressor,” because they are drawings made by humans.
Anyway, he says in the paper article that the site is supposed to be funny, though he says in the manifesto that “suicide food is not funny.”
But, if given the chance and enough societal conditioning, I would probably eat people too, so I probably don’t have a dog in this fight. I mean, I just stopped eating crap off the ground like three years ago. Omnivores FTW.
Mmm, dog.
Update! 7:51 PM.
The owners of Epilogue Books in Ballard emailed me today, because they discovered that last year I was cranking in an entry about some bad customer service there. They said the crummy clerks had been let go and would I come back? They even offered a gift certificate. I like to get my complain on, but I felt bad. And the truth is, I stayed away for quite a while, but then I came back after the remodel. It is all warm and fuzzy there again, and it has been for a while. Epilogue Books ftw!
Devil horns!
Did I mention I am excited to have my camera’s battery working again? Yes? Sorry.
Last weekend, Frannie and I made Mexican sugar skulls, partly for fun, and partly to present to her class and let them decorate their own. Though I don’t personally identify with the culture, The Day of the Dead is an interest of mine and it was fun to go in and speak to the kids about it. I was kind of surprised how many kids had heard about it already, but maybe when I asked them they just raised their hands like lemmings. I don’t know.
The wee skulls dry out after molding.
Franny liked working with the moist sugar. It feels like very fine sand without all that gross nature stuff like kelp and crab claws.
Here is a big skull that we did for home.
Here are some of the kids’ skulls after they finished. I think it was pretty successful. The royal icing got everywhere and dries like cement, and when I asked Franny’s teacher if I could ever some back she just laughed. Hmm…
I was going to wear my devil horns out tonight, but I think I’ll be dignified for once and let the kids have their fun. I will just go as my normal self.