Feh

Finals this week. Be back soon.

ATM

Crack Me Up

A few of weeks ago, I was encouraging THD to get in touch with his birth siblings (he's the second youngest of 6---none of whom were ultimately raised by their biological mother who died of a drug overdose a couple of years back).

His medical records are sketchy and incomplete, and not only did we think that it would nice for him to connect with them on a social level (despite their rocky beginnings, the oldest 4 are doing tremendously well), it would be helpful to find out if any of them have experienced any medical issues that might have a genetic cause.

Right now we're in the middle of having him completely medically and psychologically re-evaluated, because he'd previously been "diagnosed" ::koff koff:: and is currently being medicated for some conditions that seem to be absolute bullsh*t. More on that soon.

Also, as a fellow adoptee, I talked with him about some of the neat/funny aspects of connecting, and we touched on the nature/nurture debate. Learning about some of the amazing parallels I have in common with my biological mother and family piqued his interest, and he's thinking about writing to his siblings this summer.

So I wanted to write about something that totally cracked me up recently.

Couple of years ago, I wrote about finding my biological mom after a really long search. While navigating this new relationship we discovered that we had a lot in common. We had some odd parallels in our lives. We shared the same thought processes. We had the same off-beat, demented sense of humor.

I was delighted. I no longer felt like some weird alien being that had been dropped off in a field after my planet exploded. My adoptive mom was delighted as well.

She had always feared that maybe she screwed me up because she didn't breast-feed me. It was nice to know that it was somebody else's fault. ;-)

Anyhoo, understandably, my mom felt a little left out and insecure (something that has worked itself out over time) in the beginning while I was getting to know my birth family. My birth mom and I were trying to go at our own pace, while my adoptive mom---a compulsive micromanager---was busy trying to plan family vacations together for the next 10 years. It took her awhile to "get" that my birth mom wasn't interested in co-parenting, and that I certainly wasn't looking for another mommy. I was 35, fer chrissakes.

I tried to keep her included without letting her get in the middle and direct my reunion. It was like walking a tightrope. So whenever she asked if I had talked to my mother, I'd share. Maybe not the wisest decision, but one made with the best intentions at heart.

One day I relayed to her a conversation we'd had that ended up being a 30-minute snickerfest about blow-jobs and fart jokes.

::crickets chirping::

Dead silence.

Finally, "How come you never talked about blow-jobs and fart jokes with me?" Mom complained.

Waaaaaa? Are you nuts?

First of all, my mother is a retired minister. I'd as soon joke with her about blow-job techniques as I would to my son's elderly girlfriend (sarcasm alert!). It just seems so wrong on so many levels.

Second of all, my mother has been notoriously humorless on any topic that even smacks of sex since my dad seems to have shagged every female assistant he ever had before their divorce 30 or so years ago. In fact, although she's a wonderful woman who I love very much, she's always seemed to be somewhat humorless period.

And last of all, let's come to the obvious. Can I see a show of hands? Who wants to talk to their moms about blow-jobs? Any takers? Duh!

On Easter Sunday, Mom had holiday dinner with her new beau and his grown kids. And my brothers.

Now let me say that my brothers aren't too taken with Mom's new beau. They're protective boys and worried that someone might take advantage of her.

They really don't need to be worried. She has absolutely no intention of marrying again or taking care of any sick old men. She's been there, done that. In fact, the second new beau comes to a point where he can't drive any more or asks her to marry him, she'll toss him faster than Lorena flung the Bob-bit in the trash heap. She's become a car and driver tart. ;-)

Understandably, beau's adult children are worried themselves about someone taking advantage of their 84-year-old dad. So this dinner had the makings of a war council of the mafia with the two families on either side.

Mom and beau were highly amused.

As my brother relates it, beau's son asked with studied nonchalance (like he was interviewing a prospective employee), "So, Attila's Mom, tell us about yourself."

Very sweetly she replied, "Well, I've married and buried quite a few men in my time."

Beau's kids gaped like fishes.

Then Mom went on, "Didn't you have a minister at YOUR wedding?"

hehehe.

Okay Mumsy, you win. Next time I have a juicy blow-job joke, you'll be the first one I call. LOL

Screw You, Jenny McCarthy

You don't speak for me. Or for these people either:



Thanks so much to the ABFH for passing it along. To read more about the "No Myths" project, drop by her blog for a number of handy dandy links.

Leave the old stereotypes behind.

P.S. I just received an email from a new reader who asked what my connection to autism is. Sometimes I forget that people pop in and out of each other's journeys online and miss the back story. For those who don't know about our connection to autism, you can catch up here if you like.

Cheers!

Busted!

Guess who got busted trying to sneak a lick or two of the Easter prime rib that was thawing on the kitchen counter?

Oh the humiliation!

These two are sulking because they didn't think of it first. Oh, and because they're too short.

Hope you all have a wonderful holiday!

A Little Bit of Joy and a Little Bit of Oy

I found a scrap of paper on the floor the other day. I glanced at it and the top said, "THD's To-Do List For Monday". Listed were:

Look around!
Is the bathroom clean
Are the dogs fed
Does the trash need to go out
Are there dishes in the sink
Tell the manager you need more hours at work for school credit
Finish reading assignment
Hint that you need your own cellphone

Bless his heart. LOL

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On Saturday, Hubby took THD out on his errands to acquaint him with the geography of our town and to introduce him to whatever friends or associates they might run into. As I said in my last post, the phone has been ringing off the hook since THD has apparently given our unlisted phone number to every person who has asked for it (not that there is anything wrong with that). So while they were gone, I got to play social secretary.

When they got back, the Dood asked if anyone had called. I looked at my list.

"Ashley, Amber, Alyssa, Andrea and Azure called. And some girl who wouldn't leave a message."

Thanks! He grabbed the phone and raced up to the loft to start dialing.

Hubby looked at me. "Is it just me, or does it seem like he's working his way through the student body alphabetically? How many weeks do you think it will take him to get to 'Z' ?"
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I feel like breaking my foot off in my brother's butt. He went on a bender shortly after THD's arrival, and he hasn't checked in to my mother's house for the last 5 days. There are several items of mail there from the Department of Family services from the state THD was in. Including, I'm supposing, THD's medicaid transfer. The kid has 3 days left of medication, has a mental health intake next week and a doctor's appointment. But no medicaid card. Mom won't just open the mail or forward it to me, even knowing it's regarding THD (because that would be wrong), and my brother isn't returning anyone's calls. Grrr.
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Last night I was up to my elbows in meatloaf mix (you know, where you have to squish all the ingredients by hand) when the phone rang.

THD and Hubby were outside splitting wood, so I said to Little Guy, "Why don't you answer it?"

Little Guy is a bit afraid of using the telephone. Mostly because it involves spontaneous conversation, and he isn't very comfortable talking to strangers without having a rehearsed set of comments ready. Although we've practiced good phone etiquette, he was nervous.

"You can do it!" I encouraged.

So he clicked on the button. Hello? THD? He's outside, hold on. Wait. Can I tell him who's calling?

Suddenly his mouth dropped open. I'm not allowed to say that. That's not very nice.

I grabbed a towel and started wiping the glop off my hands. "Who is it?"

He pulled the phone away from his ear.

It's a VAGINA! he exclaimed in a fairly loud stage whisper.

"A what?"

He said it louder. IT'S A VAGINA!!

I took the phone from him. We've had our share of crank calls and I can verbally blister someone's eardrums with dispatch. What kind of idiot would make a nasty phone call when everyone has caller ID nowadays?

"Who is calling please?" I asked crisply.

A scared little voice said, "Is this THD's house?"

"Yes, and who are YOU?"

"Could you please tell him Regina called?" Then she hung up.

R-E-G-I-N-A. Rhymes with....

Oy. Poor kid.

Checking In...

I haven't fallen off the face of the planet, but have had such a busy week! Wanted to check in to let you know that we're all doing great, and will post more very soon.

The Happening Dude has been here a week, and we've been caught up in getting him settled in. He started school and his job, and has been making friends all over the place. The phone has been ringing off the hook---mostly girls (little hussies---snark!) with invitations for the weekend. I think he feels like the last $10.00 leather skirt at a Loehmann's sale. ;-) Fresh meat!

As always, the sad comes with the happy. He's a much more subdued kid than he was a couple of years ago. And he's so damn-uh-grateful, and feels the need to tell us constantly.

"It's like I'm dreaming!"

It's heartbreaking to hear, because all the chaos has been caused by the adults in his life who disliked each other more than they loved him and it was so unneccessary.

Hubby and I finally sat him down to tell him how very fortunate WE feel that he wanted to come and live with us. And we're going to keep telling him, and telling him and telling him.

Maybe one day soon he'll truly begin to believe it.

The Adventures of Attila and the Screaming O

I really debated over whether or not to write about this, but in the end, I just couldn't stop myself. What's a little humiliation between friends?

Hubby has been back east all week and will make it home in the wee hours tonight just in time to greet THD when he gets here tomorrow. But while he was gone, I had a little adventure of my own. ;-)

Back before the doctor cleared me for--er--moderate exercise, I was complaining a little bit about it to a friend of mine. Being the thoughtful person that she is, she sent me a gift basket with a bunch of "pamper-me" items---bath bombs, lotions, neat stuff like that.

And a little vibrator. Snarf.

Not being very familiar with those kinds of appliances (hey! no snickering in the peanut gallery!), Hubby and I had a big giggle over the name of it---The Screaming O---as we marveled over all the features ("Wow, it's got a strap to stick your finger in! Look! All you have to do is push on the bottom to turn it on! It's so small I could pick my nose with it! I could pick YOUR nose with it!)

Then we turned it on, stuck it under the sheet on the bed and laughed our heinies off as our dog kept pouncing on it and snarling in fury as she attempted to kill it.

We are easily amused.

I don't really remember what we did with it after that, and I was a little surprised to find it under the couch yesterday as I was picking up stuff before vacuuming. It had some teeth marks on it, so I suspect that somehow the dog had finally gotten a hold of it and dragged it under there to chew up. When it didn't fight back she gave up.

I stuck it in my pocket (didn't want the Little Guy to find it, because then I'd have to explain it, and he'd probably tell everybody at school and wouldn't THAT be embarrassing) and finished cleaning.

A couple of hours later I walked up to the mailboxes at the top of the road to get the mail. Ran into an elderly neighbor of ours who was walking her dog. I chatted with her for a minute and reached into my pocket for my mailbox key.

That Screaming O fell out onto the ground.

Not only did it fall on the ground, but it landed on the end where you turn it on and STARTED VIBRATING!

If that wasn't bad enough, my neighbor bent over and picked it up! While it was vibrating. I almost died.

She looked at it curiously and said, "I had no idea these came in blue!" Then she pushed the bottom and turned it off.

Before she handed it to me, she examined the teeth marks and said, "Looks like it's time to get a new one, Dear."

I can't imagine what she must have been thinking (especially the teeth marks). Worse yet, I can't believe she knew that it came in colors and how to turn it off.

I think I'm going to become a hermit. For the rest of my life.

I mean it.

Why I Heart Judge Judy

'Cause she's the Boss, Applesauce!

This is kind of long, but I enjoyed it!

Happier Than a Pig in Sh*t

This has been quite a week in our house! Lots and lots to smile about!

First of all, the Gilbert Unified School District Board met and it looks like Kevyn Barton will probably get to walk in the graduation ceremony with his classmates. My most heartfelt thanks to all of you who read my Asshat post and sent an email to the district in support of Kevyn. I'd like to think that it helped. You guys are the best!

Next on the list----very early this morning I went in to have a few more tests done on my heart to see if I need to have an electrical device implanted in my chest. I've really been stressing on this, and hardly slept at all last night.

Tried to keep a cheery attitude during the echo, but kind of dozed off for most of it. The machine puts off a lot of heat, and it was almost like being in a cacoon. Then the tech said, "Bear down really hard like you have a constipated bowel movement."

Huh? Are you serious?

"We need to see how your heart functions when you press down hard."

You mean like Elvis (who died on the pooper)?

He looked at me blankly. Ok, he was probably 10 years younger than I, and I was only about 7 or 8 when Elvis went to the Grand Ol' Opry in the sky. Tried to think of something relevant.

You mean like that mobster who burst a blood vessel on the crapper in The Sopranos?

His face cleared. "Yes. Just like that!"

Thank God I didn't rip ass. With my current diet that includes a boatload of fiber, he would have been REALLY sorry. My butt smells like a bunch of peanuts gone wild.

A couple of hours later I was completely flabbergasted when my cardiologist came into my room and said, "Congrats! All of your heart functions have regained normal levels!"

Waaaa?

My resting heart rate is at 70 (down from 136), my blood pressure is normal, the echo showed good flow and no more electrical issues, and I have no blockages. The doc thinks that I must have had a virus that attacked my heart considering that the left side was only functioning at 30% a few months ago (but admits that a "virus" is sort of a catchphrase for "we don't know wtf went wrong for sure"). I'm no longer considered to be in heart failure.

If I hadn't been wearing that shorty little wrap-in-front-barely-covering-your-hooters thingy, I prolly would have jumped up and smothered the little guy in a huge hug (he stands about boob-high to my Amazonian self and I definitely could have poked his eye out) . Visions of Kim Cattrail in Porky's restrained me.

Instead I broke down wept uncontrollably. When my guys picked me up later at the hospital, Hubby cried a little as well.

Little Guy said, "Are you guys happy crying or sad crying? Can I cry with you too? Should I be happy or sad?"

I'll most likely need to continue the meds for the rest of my life. The hypoxia/oxygen deprivation/altitude thing is a completely separate issue and so I'll have to continue with the oxygen at night indefinitely and manage that with my family doc.

Now I'm celebrating with a bottle of scotch, a pack of cigs and a gram of cocaine. And bacon. I'm eating a pound of bacon. With cheese and butter on top. Just kidding. LOL

Thank you all so much for your loving emails and supportive comments during the last 5 months. We've been very very frightened about this whole crisis, and I can't tell you how much sharing this with you and your kind responses have helped me get through it. I mean it.

Last and certainly not least, we had our last conference about THD late this afternoon. He's all ours and will be arriving in a week. Bless his heart, he's already gotten a job down here. He applied online, had a phone interview, and they asked him when can he start? Hubby picked up the application for the details and faxed it, and they want him to start as soon as he's ready.

It's just a fast food place, but we're so impressed and delighted with his initiative.

THD has been so afraid that something will happen to mess this placement up, so I kind of caught his paranoia and didn't want to post too much for fear that it might jinx it (and you never know who is monitoring the blogosphere ala Dooce).

But now the date is set and he'll be joining us very shortly. Everything is in place---school, doc, therapist and probation (yes he's still on probation for running away). He's going to get here in the middle of our spring break so he'll get a chance to get acclimated and decide what color he wants his room painted and pick out his comforter and room accessories.

I know that's all very basic, and we need to address and be on top of all of his other issues.

But just for tonight we're going to bask in the anticipation of THD joining our family and feeling very blessed for so very many reasons.

Hope you guys have a wonderful weekend. Like I said before, you're the best!

ATM

Life's A Drag

I've always been a huge fan of RuPaul. Not only is he more beautiful than I am, but I like his message about loving yourself as you are and accepting others as they are, and if you hang onto your dreams anything is possible.

Hubby, on the other hand---while he thinks Ru is a fabulous showman/woman---is a bit uncomfortable with drag queens in general. I think the gorgeous ones disturb him. I KNOW the "tucking" thing makes him cringe.

He likes drag queens of the Jack Lemmon/Tony Curtis variety. You know that they're really guys underneath and you'd never be drunk enough to take one home with you by accident.

So last week I was folding clothes in front of the tube and clicking to find something mindless to watch. I came across "RuPaul's Drag Race" on the Logo Channel which I've never seen before. Wooboy! It's a drag queen reality show contest that seems to be a mixture of Project Runway, Survivor, American Idol, Dancing with the Stars, America's Next Top Model and Queer Eye all rolled into one. I was fascinated.

The episode that I caught happened to be the "Girl Group" episode. The challenge for the contestants was to split into two teams, and perform (lip sync) a Destiny's Child song. They had to do everything----sew costumes, choreograph, use unfamiliar wigs and make-up (provided by the sponsor), etc within a limited time.

Hubby had been doing something manly out in the garage and strolled through the living room while one of the groups was performing their final product. "Whatcha watching?"

They're lip-synching, I said distractedly. And they had to make their own costumes from scratch. Aren't they beautiful?

He watched for a moment, agreed and went off to whatever destination he had originally been heading.

After the performances, RuPaul and the judges critiqued them. Then Ru asked each who they'd vote off the island.

I simply don't remember all the names, so I'm making them up. But it went a little something like this:

Ongina (ok I DID remember that name): Since I'm the team leader, I couldn't vote any of the other girls off. This challenge was my responsibility so I'll throw myself under the bus and vote myself off.

Cinnamon: I don't want to vote anybody off! I love everybody! I'd vote off Clara because she has immunity.

Clara: Do I have to pick somebody? I love everybody too, and I don't want anyone to go!

RuPaul: Yes you have to pick somebody. Who would it be?

Clara: Uh, uh. I guess I'd pick Shanelle. (Shanelle looks shocked) I'd pick Shanelle because she's so beautiful and talented and I know she's going to be fierce competition and will probably win, so if I HAVE to pick anybody I'd pick Shanelle. (turns to Shanelle) I'm sorry sweetie! (the two give each other a big warm hug and air kiss).

My mouth was just hanging open. A couple of minutes later, Hubby came through the living room on his way back to the garage.

Wait, wait, you have to see this! I rewound that portion of the program.

After it was done, I said, Can you believe how caring and supportive they were instead of clawing each other's eyes out?

"I wonder where they found so many kind girls, " he replied. "They're not like those ferocious b*tches on The Bachelor".

snarf.

I didn't have the heart to tell him they were doods. ;-)

Well at least not for a couple of days.

________________

Weee! I found a clip of the performance. The whole thing is about 5 minutes long and it's near the end.

Random Aiigghhh!

I used to think that eyeballs were the creepiest thing in the world.

Now after my foray into heavy-duty diuretics and the world of public restrooms, I've changed my mind.

It's a toilet seat that's been warmed up by someone else's bare butt. Aiighhh!
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I've been putting together a rotating chore schedule for when THD gets here (Little Guy is thrilled that someone else will get to take a turn emptying the dishwasher) and it occurred to me that this "citizen of the household" thing is kind of stupid. The theory behind it is that since we all contribute to the mess in communal areas (we all eat, track in dirt, generate garbage, etc) as opposed to personal messes (the only one who cleans Hubby's bathroom is Hubby), we all take turns cleaning it up as "citizens of the household".

This is something we've done as soon as the guys were big enough to empty a bathroom-sized trashcan, so it's nothing new. I've never been June Cleaver---following my family around with a Hoover.

I realized that all the guys (even Hubby) expect effusive thanks and praise when they've taken their turn, as if they're doing me a huge favor. Has anybody ever said, "Thanks Hon for doing a nice job on the dishes"? No. But if I'm not there with the "atta boys" I get treated to pouts and pointed silence.

You've come a long way, Baby! Not! What have I done? Aiighhhh!
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A few weeks ago I reached under my pillow to pull out the end of my nose hose (I tuck it in there to keep it from falling on the floor) while I was getting ready for bed. My hand closed around something crackly and I pulled out a ginormous squirming spider.

Now I have to tear the entire bed apart every single night before I get into it. Aigggggghhh!

Got Aiiggghhhh!!!? Love to hear it!

It Could Always Be Worse...

Yesterday a friend sent me a really funny website. I think its been around for awhile (tons of readers and contributors) but it's the first time I've ever seen it. Wasted about an hour on it laughing my heinie off.

It's called "F*** My Life", and no, not safe for children. People write in anonymously and tell about an awful experience they've had and readers vote about the horribleness of it all.

A few cringeworthy and funny ones that caught my eye?

"Today, I was a TA for a history class and the class was taking a test. About halfway through, I noticed one kid had a small piece of paper in his hand. I ran up the row, grabbed his test, and ripped it into four pieces. Then I took the note from him. It said "I believe in you, -Mom." FML"

"Today, I went to get a condom because my boyfriend and I were going to have sex for the first time. When I opened the drawer, I saw that every single condom had a Jesus pin stabbed through it, and a note on top of the box: "love mom." FML"

"Today, my brother joked that our dog was more attractive than I was. I looked to my mom for support, and she said "Well, she is pure bred." FML"

I think I'm going to save this just for bad days. Then I can be reminded that somewhere out there, there is somebody having a crappier day than I am. ;-)

My FML moment(s)? There have been plenty, but one stands out:

When I was in high school, I was in the cast of Grease. We were having a dress rehearsal, and some classes from the middle school came over to watch. During the slumber party scene when the character "Marty" was singing "Freddie My Love" I slipped off the bed during a tricky bit of choreography. The audience roared. I thought it was because of that impromptu bit of sketch comedy. It wasn't.

My jammie pants had caught on a bolt that was holding the footboard together and had gotten yanked down a bit.

I wasn't wearing panties. FML

You got any moments you want to share?

Breaking News...

The former Richard Cranium award contender wrote a lovely apology and has removed the offending post.

I figure I'd be a real dickhead myself if I didn't do the same. :-)

Hope you guys have a great weekend!

We Interrupt Our Programming....

I know I've been totally off the grid this week, but things around the Attila house are happening much more quickly than anticipated.

It looks like we'll be getting THD within a few weeks instead of a few months. So, I've been running around like a doof who lit a fart on fire trying to get everything in place. Paperwork, paperwork and MORE paperwork.

Will fill you all in during the next day or two. :-)

In the meantime...

If you're in the east, have a little extra room in your house and a little bigger room in your heart to host a child---the Fresh Air Fund people sent me this and asked me to post it on the blog.

Asshat of the Week

This week's Asshat goes to Gilbert Unified School District superintendent Dave Allison.

Kevyn Barton is an 18-year-old student who has disabilities in the Gilbert School District. This May, when his peers walk down in their gowns for commencement, Kevyn won't be with them. Why? Because he's in the transitional program for special-needs kids and will receive services until he's 22.

What a crock of doody.

Here's how it works. Although Little Guy "could" have graduated with his peers, the state offers transitional services until he is 21. With those he is learning life skills such as money management and job training. Although he still goes to the high school, he doesn't participate in regular classes any more except for choir (which entailed some extra finagling on our part).

He goes straight to the transitional room and from there either to his apprenticeship job or to the van that takes him into the city to life classes not offered in our particular district. In the transitions room, he is usually working on things like meal planning, balancing his checkbook, navigating the transit system, etc. He has very little interaction with other high school students at all.

They are not his peers.

At any time, we can accept his diploma. When that happens, we are telling the state that their job is done and that Little Guy no longer needs educational services from them. It will be over. Ta-da.

Even though we refused his diploma, as a senior, Little Guy was allowed to participate fully in graduation with his class. The only difference was that the diploma case he received was empty. He got to walk down the aisle with the students and friends he was raised with---the ones he shared birthday parties, school dances and even chicken pox with.

When his name was called, all of these blessed children gave him a screaming standing ovation, sharing their love and recognition as one of their own.

Tomorrow they are going away to college and jobs and their new lives. Graduation night is their very last chance to celebrate as a class.

Gilbert School Superintendent Dave Allison has the discretion to allow Kevyn to participate in this magical rite of passage. But he has refused.

He is "upholding a board policy that exists for consistency's sake and often is enforced with students who, for example, have failed a final exam or a course."

"It wouldn't be fair to say 'yes' to Kevyn and 'no' to the other kids."

So what? What do you think the term "special" in "special needs" means? It means there are extraordinary circumstances.

And who gives two poops about "fair"? Do you think that it was "fair" for Kevyn to be handed these extra challenges in his life that necessitate his participation in a transitional program?

Kevyn will never have another opportunity to experience this rite of passage with his peers.

And yes I say his peers, because these are the kids he has grown up with----not the kids who will be graduating 3-4 years from now. When he is "allowed" to participate in graduation exercises then, who of them will know him? Who will recognize or care about how hard he has worked to get to that day?

Who will be there to give him his ovation?

That's why you, Mr. Allison, are this week's Asshat.

Anyone want to share their feelings with the Gilbert District, you can do so at PJ_Sessoms@gilbert.k12.az.us

I'm going to go kick something now.