Category Archives: Strudel

F-Bomb, F-Bomb F-Bomb

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Dear MF Diary,

The best thing happened today. Franny POCKET DIALED me while at school. I answered, assuming she was ill or needed something.

“Hello?” Silence. I could hear her laughing. I tried a couple more times. “Helloooo Franny?”

Then I heard her talking.

“Yeah, she’s got WAY better style than Kylie.” More laughter. More gossiping. Everything sounded normal. A boy walked up and greeted them. “Oh HEEEY Michael…” Then: more conversation, punctuated with about 27 f-bombs. More people laughing at something she was saying.

She sounded a lot like she does at home. It was nice to hear her with her friends around her. I took the stance a while ago that I am not going to be a drawer rifler or a diary reader. I was raised like that, and I did not feel like my room was my own. Which, I get it. Technically it’s not, but it’s nice to feel you have your own space.

I am planning to take Franny to the mall tonight alone as a reward for making up the homework she missed on her father’s solid week with her.

Strudel is bummed, since she loves the mall too, but I promised her some special mom alone time on Sunday. She had some good news of her own yesterday–the school has finished examining half of the advanced placement test she took in October, and they saw her in the office and blurted to her that she did very well. She was a smug and beaming Strudel after school yesterday.

My good news is that I am taking the last two weeks of December off work, which will make school break MUCH easier. I think we will all need some cozy nesting.

I have had high highs and low lows in the past couple of days. Seeing my mother’s testimony as evidence on his side saddened me, but did not really surprise me. I felt pretty happy last night, which may not have been conveyed well by what I wrote yesterday. I just feel determined, but there’s not hopelessness. I wish I could show you the court paperwork. It’s very dull but there’s also an elegance that shines through there. I admire economical, persuasive writing.


Me and Franny at Stanley Park, B.C., 2003

There is One Red Herring and Zero Lies

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HEY GUYZ! Since I am such a gracious hostess I’m going to pretend that you DID NOT crash my photobucket with your rubberneckery of “what is even going on with that asshole character anyhow?” Thanks for checking in. I have not seen my bucket crash since Jezebel linked me for reviewing that My New Pink Bullshit labia dye stuff.

Q: You are ghetto for having all your pictures on Photobucket.

A: HEY THAT’S NOT A Q! I am on to you. Anyway, yes, this blog is old and held together with scotch tape. My tech elf is super busy with school and we never quite got the server/photo issue worked out…soooo. And I cannot be one of those assholes who is all IF YOU REDESIGN MY BLOG I SHALL LET YOU TOUCH THE HEM OF MY GARMENT. I need to pony up and pay an artisan for a new design or something. And umm pics will be back tomorrow and I guess I should sack up and pay for a professional photobucket account. SIGH. Professional photobucket is like dick costumes.

Q: It was your tenth blog anniversary in September, and you DID NOTHING.

A: I’m still alive, does that count? It’s true, I did nothing. I was hoping to roll out an amazing tenth anniversary banner that someone cool was drawing for me, and then it did not happen. So I think I need a new banner. I CAN DO IT MYSELF. Alone alone, Poe in a room by himself and some crap. Weeping ravens and shit.

Q: How are you, anyway, weirdo?

A: Uhhh. This is awkward. I am increasingly annoyed at this Q & A format that I am asking myself. No offense, ok.

I saw my consulting lawyer last week. She and I have a relationship going on years now. It’s sad when you have a savings dedicated to the possibility of being litigated on. Imagine a giant ceramic pig whose side reads “WE DONE GETTIN SUED DOG” on.

Lawyer is never therapist and I always make a point to never waste time with the emotional crap since I have real questions. However, she expressed surprise that I was going back to court with such a positive attitude. “I never like to throw this word around,” she said, “but I know you were justifiably overtraumatized by court the first time.”

It was kind of nice to be validated like that. It did not like, make my day or anything. But it is nice to have a professional opinion of the degree of fuckery. And you know what I realized in the end? When this is done, I will be able to write whatever I want for the first time in a few years.

What else is new is that I got a letter from the school district saying that Strudel should be tested this fall (diagnosis: lazy-eyed psycho-itis) and on Saturday, she was. I spent some time talking to her about it and how important it was to pay attention and do a good job with it, if she wanted to have a chance to get out of first grade, which is boring the peas and carrots out of her. I thought maybe it would be a situation like when I took the GRE where it gets harder until you start fucking up and then it gets easier until you know you have fucked up royally. Anyway, I thought she would hit some kind of ceiling with it like when I did advanced placement testing in the eighth grade and the test ended with a bunch of math they had never even taught me before (uh…maybe, unless I wasn’t paying attention).

“How was it?” I said, when she came out.

“It was TOO EASY!” she said.

“Tell me everything. Tell me every single question. Go.”

“Mom, I am not going to do that.”

“Ok.”

“The hardest question was like ‘You have 6 pennies and add 2 more.’ THAT IS NOT EVEN HARD.”

Hmm, no, it is not. Supposedly there will be MOAR testing soon. Stay tuned. I am going to be so proud when she builds her first freeze ray.

And I am going to see my imaginary boyfriend Spank Rock later this week in which I will dance my face off. This is my stress reduction method. I’m ok. Thanks for all your comments.

OH YES, I dyed my hair white on Saturday. Pics when they are back up (very soon).

XOXO,
Asshole Girl

Sick Day. Current Mood: Krav Maga

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Strudel, holding a doll: SHE HAS TO DIE, THIS ONE HAS TO DIE!

Me, attempting to edit soups: No one has to die.

Strudel: THIS ONE DOES! THIS ONE IS GOING TO DIE!

Me: No one has to die.

Franny, to Strudel: You have to die.

Me: No one has to die.

Strudel: No, I don’t, do I, Mom?

Me: Yes, you have to die.

Strudel: *SCREAMS*

Franny: I’m going to glue your mouth shut. *Approaches* This isn’t toxic so it won’t taste bad.

Strudel: Do you know what Mom’s going to do to you?

Franny: NOTHING. She wants you to be quiet too.

Me: Don’t feed your sister a glue stick.

Presently: pants are flying off and there is leg wrestling.

Summer Strudel

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This morning I dropped Strudel off at her summer camp. I had to fill out the metric ton of paperwork they make you fill out every year, so I was standing at the counter for quite a while. A fancy business-type lady walked in with her small daughter, who was clinging a bit.

“I don’t WANT to stay here,” the girl stage whispered to her mother, who was writing a check for the week and making sure her paperwork was all in order. The girl had huge eyes, taking everything in, and was spattered with freckles that were a lot like Strudel’s. “Mommy, there are only BIG KIDS here, no little kids.”

I could feel waves of her tiny panic wafting over to me. I have a soft spot for kids like this. When I was her age I remember getting ditched at an in-home daycare where the resident toddler, a bruiser at three who probably weighed as much as I did, pinned me down and bit me daily. I remember the daisy dukes-wearing babysitter who answered our newspaper ad and smoked in the house, putting her butts in her Coke cans, and entertained her visiting tow truck-driving boyfriend after my mother said “no visitors.” How exciting it was to have a giant truck with flashing lights in our driveway! The only words I remember coming out of her mouth were “Don’t tell your mom, okay, kid?” I always wondered if people who called me “kid” knew my name. I had one babysitter who saved my immortal soul from burning forever by talking me into accepting Jesus, whom I was only vaguely familiar with. I remember the babysitter who had my mother good and snookered for a long time but showed me movies like “The Thing” and “Creepshow” at night while my parents were at movies or in vice dens surrounded by mountains of cocaine, I don’t even fucking know. What do parents do when they go out? Who knows.

“How old are you, six?” I said to the little girl waiting with her mother.

“I am five and three quarters,” she said, turning sweet eyes up to me.

“Well! You’re in luck,” I said. “My daughter is here, and she is six. She loves making new friends.” (Okay, that was not totally true. Strictly speaking, Strudel adheres to a “do not make me cut a bitch” policy.) Strudel bounded up from reacquainting herself with the upstairs. I had overheard the girl’s name, so I took the opportunity to introduce them.

“Olivia, this is Strudel. Strudel, this is Olivia and she is almost six and is new today. Do you think you can show her the ropes?” Strudel said “hi” and nodded.

“See, Olivia, you have a new friend already!” Olivia’s mother exclaimed. When I was six I always thought syrupy moms like this were total drips and highly suspicious. They reminded me of something my own mother would say, who never really knew how to talk to children in situations like this as if they were real people, and instead acted like it was a bad TV show or something. Who makes friends after just being introduced? No one I wanted to know. The girls looked at each other. They knew they weren’t friends just yet.

I picked up Strudel in the afternoon and she told me long stories about the highs and lows of her day. Winning a trivia game had netted her seven M&Ms, but she lost a game that sounded like a cross between dodgeball and Quiddich.

“Did you hang out with Olivia today?” I asked. “Were you nice to her?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Are you guys friends yet?”

“NO! She’s mean!”

“What did she say to you?” I asked.

“She told me she didn’t want to play with me and she didn’t want to be my friend.”

“Hmm, I’m sorry, people are like that sometimes, eh?”

“Yeah,” Strudel said. “It’s okay, though, because she got stuck with the girl who cried all day.”

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one

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Off to Portland for the weekend…it’s not happy. Strudel’s grandfather died very suddenly. He was just here two weeks ago taking care of the girls and I am so happy for that. The skipping record theme of my life is that family is what you make of it, or unmake of it, I guess. We’re going to be with his partner of ten years, who was never a mother but has become a grandmother-type for the girls. It makes me boggle a little that of all blood relatives in Portland the person we want to cleave to right now is an “unrelated” person, but nevertheless a person we have spent many happy hours with, and whose house we’ve spent weekends at. The girls are looking forward to seeing her.

The number of people who I have loved but am not actually related to certainly surpasses my actual blood relatives who I love. (Do my children count? I made them.)

I guess I am a big raw wound this week. I am also mentally willing P.’s brother to CALL HIM BACK ALREADY. Please don’t let the living dangle.


Strudel DESTROYING her grandfather at Uno last August.

Unhappy Zombie Jesus Day

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I told the girls I would not be extorted for Easter baskets any longer, and offered to make a cake. I didn’t get suckered into providing Easter baskets until Franny’s dad started doing it over at his house, having been freed from my Satanic Communist regime of not feeding the girls waxy crap candy in the morning, relating to a holiday we don’t even believe in anyway.

Whew. I really need to look into periods, since I seem to be using up all the commas.

ANYWAY, I haven’t made a Grand Canyon cake in a while, which I thought would be fun.

You make different colored layers.

Then you stack them all up.

Then you split the cake gently. BEHOLD A CANYON. EDUCATIONAL!

Also you pour in the whiskey sauce and let the canyon sop it all up. Don’t forget to have a short snort of Jack before going out to plant herbs and alyssum.


“Happy Zombie Jesus Day”

Then Chewy comes along and knocks it onto the floor.

BRAP BRAP.

We are having Thai sticky rice for dessert.

Checking In

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“My teacher says that most kids start kindergarten at six,” Strudel said, who was eating First Breakfast of sliced bananas, cinnamon, and cream.

“Really?” I asked. “That seems kind of late.”

“Yes, I think most kids should start around five because their parents don’t want the kids to bother them anymore.”

“WHAT, really! No, I think it helps for kids to start school so parents can work more. Parents feel relieved that their kids are in school because their kids are learning, and parents can make money to pay for a house and food and can care for their kids better.”

“Oh,” she said, and speared another banana slice. I watched the cream dribble down to her chin. This one never cared about her face being messy.

“Do you believe me?” I asked. She nodded.

“Did you want to have me?” she asked.

“Of course. You were a choice I made happily. I’m glad you’re here.”

“Okay,” she said.

I think she asks these questions because she’s not afraid of the answers.

You Move So Fast, Makes Me Feel Lazy

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I took Strudel to Port Townsend last week. She is SIX now! I used to take her sister places and she asked why I never took her anywhere.

Internal Voice: Because you’re INSANE.

Out Loud: Because you are not quite old enough.

Strudel: How old do I have to be?

Internal Voice: 37.

Out Loud: Ummm, six?

She held me to it, too. Naturally my goofball gets into the car and when we arrive, I discover that in spite of reminding her two or three times, she has not packed or taken her coat.

“You did not remind me ENOUGH, Mom.” Christ on a fucktaco crumpet. So we bought a fleecy windbreaker thing since I knew downtown and the beaches are crazy windy. I took her to see “Rango,” which was really cute but she started crashing around 8:30 or so. How fun is it to see a movie out of town, anyway? I love it.

We had to leave the movie, but that’s okay. She was so tired she told me I was ruining the WHOLE TRIP, but she slept it off. Then I turned the news on quietly and saw Japan and cried a little.

My sister moved in with me. WOW! BIG NEWS! COOL! CHANGES! I am happy I have one last member of my dysfunctional family that I did not actually make with my own body standing. It’s not a yardstick or gold star, but it’s nice. I think she was feeling really good about her decision until she came home on Saturday night and I was wearing cat ears and kicking Memoirs of an Imperfect Angel, LOUDLY.

Pastry Injustice

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A couple of weeks ago Strudel came home with a SAAAD tale of how her reading buddy came along as she was minding her own gosh darn business, grabbed her backpack, and pushed her DOWN. Well, did you ever? No, never.

I asked Franny about it, since he is in her class.

“What do you think about this kid, is he on the up-and-up or what?”

“Yeah, he’s nice, Mom. It seems really weird to me that he would push her down,” she said.

“Will you look into it?”

“WHAT? Really, Mom?”

“Yes,” I said. “You’re the big sister. You have to let him know he cannot perpetrate turkey actions onto YOUR little sister like that. Just ask some questions, and tell him that if he messes with her again, he’ll have you to deal with, see?”

“What does that even mean, Mom?”

“Nothing, it’s called an ’empty threat,’ sweetheart.”

Some time later we were rolling around shopping for shoes, Franny and I, and I asked her what happened with the reading buddy.

“Oh, HIM,” Franny said.

“Yes, WHAT?”

“I talked to him. He said Strudel slipped and started falling, so he grabbed her by the backpack to help catch her, and she turned around and started kicking at him and cussing him out.”

“Oh dear. Did you threaten him first?” I asked.

“No, because I was pretty sure if anything happened, it wasn’t his fault.”

Franny is getting very good at making audible italics.