Fun With The Kids

I found myself trading comments with my son on facebook today. There was a time when I could out talk, out think and out wit my kids. This time seems to have passed. I find that they are every bit as skilled at twisting words and their meanings as I am. Their thinking is just as skewed as mine and then some. Their thinking challenges mine. Altogether, I think this is a good thing since it keeps my thinking processes from going stale.

Of course, I'm not saying or admitting in any way that they are correct in their thinking. Obviously, I am still right when it comes right down to the bottom line but I will give them this, they make me work for my inevitable win. They will contest this foregone conclusion that I am always right, but in the end, they have to bow to the inevitable and accept the greater wisdom that is mine.

My only regret about all this is that I have never been able to take the repartee that goes on daily in my house and translate it into a book. It comes out flat and unbelievable when you write it or the kids sound disrespectful because you don't get to see the humor and the body language that goes with the words. I think this is my fault because I haven't created characters with depth to them. It's truly unfortunate because I'd love to share with the world the insanity that is my living room when the kids first get home from school. I laugh more in that hour than I do at any other time.

So, for now, I'll just say that Dumas is a famous writer not a dumb ass and gaffe is evidently an archaic word that only I use because I originate from before dirt was created. I'll leave you with those two thoughts.

Apologies and Hair

Note to self: use some self control and don't blog after a long day when you're too tired to think properly. Apologies to all who were thrown into depression from my last blog. However, there is an upside. This one can't possibly be worse than the last one. Yeah, right.

I've come to the conclusion that because I wanted to be a cosmetologist when I grew up, I somehow engineered a gene that both of my kids have inherited which gives them too much hair to deal with. There is the normal amount of hair a person should have and the average person has the normal amount of hair. However, my kids have so much hair on their heads that there's no room for scalp. It's simply a huge mat of hair.

My daughter's hair is thick and wavy but she wants it straight. What the hell? You try and straighten that mass of hair in the ten minutes she allows before she has to go out the door in the morning to catch the bus. Impossible, I say. We could surgically remove half of her hair to make a wig for some needy bald person and she'd still have more than the normal amount of hair.

Then there's my son. Ho-ly-Mo-ses! That boy has more hair than a third world country. Chewbacca is bald next to him. Seriously. Not only that, it's curly and long and every girl wants it. DISGUSTING! Not that he's girly, he just has this great hair. Thank God he isn't a dog because the shedding would be a killer. I might have to buy one of those tape roller thingies to follow him around the house and pick up behind him. Or a flowbie.

What brought on this diatribe, you ask. Well, I was combing my hair this morning and its just hanging there, straight and normal, and I realized that I am cursed. I dreamed of taking care of hair to make my living and I'm taking care of hair free of charge because my kids have so much of it. This really sucks.

Losing the Creativity

This is the second edition of this post. The first one was getting too melancholy and I had to ditch it. That's such a cool word, melancholy. It sounds so lonely and sad. I love words like that.

Quirky is another word like that. Odd, offbeat, different. Yep, I like quirky, too.

Harangue, prude, gargantuan, and persnickety are more words I love. Feel free to add words of your own in the comments if you wish.

The question of the moment is, why do these words fail to inspire good fiction in the creative part of my brain? I think it's on strike and the management isn't talking to the blue collars. Or, it could be that academic writing kills creativity. Nah, that can't be true. It must be those darn teenagers who have squatters' rights in my house. Two teens are enough to sap the creativity out of any brain.

Speaking of squatters' rights, why is it that one of those teens feels she needs to re-paint her room every six months? She's in an Invader Zim mode right now. For those of you who don't know who that is, all I can say is, lucky you. Em has decided she wants the box set for Christmas and since the toon is no longer being made it is now a collectors' item and that makes it expensive. But that's beside the point. She wants to paint her room purple and green just like Zim's. Don't get me wrong, I don't mind the colors. The ones she chose are just fine. It's all the work involved in the painting. If you have ever seen her room, you'd understand. She's a "collector". She doesn't hoard. There are no stacks of things from the day she was born. No, she just sees collections in everything that crosses her path. I've had to limit her collecting. If she starts a new one, she has to eliminate an old one. It seems to be the only way of keeping any kind of control of the mass of stuff in her room. Still, moving all the collections is a pain in the butt.

So, I love odd words, they don't help me write, I have teen squatters in my house and my daughter has expensive tastes. Yep, that about sums it up.

A Series Of Mini-Disasters

I put my son on my car insurance. Big mistake! I just got off the phone with the insurance people and they assured me there was not a fatal computer error when they printed my bill. I knew my insurance was going up, I even shopped around for the best prices, but when the reality of it hits you, well, damn! The first bill is for two months since you pay a month in advance with insurance, so I know it won't be so high from here on out. However, it's a good thing I don't have a heart condition because seeing that number would have been the end for me. I told them I might have to take him off my insurance because I'm not sure I can afford him and they said he'd have to prove that he'd surrendered his license for that to happen. Hah! Fat chance of that happening now that he has it in his grubby little hands. Damn!

As for my writing, the main writing group I belong to is going through a state of flux. I'm waiting to see what happens when all the dust settles. From what I've seen so far, I'm probably going to have to leave the group. This group is very talented and I've been happy to be part of it but I can't produce work worthy of being seen by anyone let alone this group of talented people as often as it looks like they want it. I just have too many other things happening. I suppose if I were as dedicated to my writing as I evidently need to be to fit into this group, it wouldn't be a problem. But, my life is so much more than writing. So, maybe I don't belong with the group. That doesn't mean I will quit writing, though it will be a serious loss. I've enjoyed friendship with a couple of the members. The others are nice enough though they're stand-offish to newcomers. Most of them have been there for years and years so its hard to break into the established friendships. I was just feeling like I had made some connections with a few of them and then this. The timing is off for me, I guess.

Yesterday was my sister's birthday. She's 26 and she acts like she's turning 87. She's actually stopping her birthdays at 22 and remaining that age. How incredibly retarded. She's young and she's full of life. I say celebrate your age. Its just a number but those changing numbers mean free meals and gifts and cards and whatnot. Hell, I'd have a birthday every other month if someone took me out to eat because of it. Duh! LOL! Happy 87th birthday, Kati.

So, to sum up my life for the last few weeks, I've gotten the shock of my life with the addition of my son to my car insurance, I've pretty much decided to leave The Writing Bridge, and my sister is still turning 22. Yep, life is full of happiness. Can't you hear the angels singing?