Audit this (grabs crotch)

We had our annual HOA meeting the other night. I missed last year’s meeting because I was away. When I think of silly days throughout the year that I look forward to way more than I know I should, Annual HOA meeting comes up near the top of the list. Others, if you care, include: Fantasy football draft days, fantasy baseball draft day, the first 2 days of the NCAA tournament. This, of course, excluded holidays and birthdays. I’m talking about random days that are just too much fun to ignore.

Unfortunately, turnout was piss poor this year. I was sad. I had hoped for a bunch of drunken rednecks to show up and start screaming that the dues were too high or that they hated everything.

Instead, we were subjected to an evening with BigSexyGlenn. Of course, knowing this would happen, I made up a list of things he (or others) would say at the meeting and passed said list out to people at the meeting. It was fun to sit there, knowing that he had already demanded we do an audit and that, any moment now, “I have a degree in property management” was coming. When it did, I looked at a few people who were nearly in tears from laughter.

I leaner that BigSexyGlenn didn’t like the fact that we tried to grow 3 corn stalks behind our house this past summer. Apparently that detracted from the curb appeal of our homes. Mind you, as you would expect, the curbs are in the front of the house and the corn was out back. BigSexyGlenn is all about consistency of house appearance. He wants everything to look the same; that’s how it works in a townhome community. Noting that, I emailed the board a list of inconsistencies at his house. I wonder if they’ll do anything about them. Glass houses, asshole…glass houses.

Otherwise, the meeting was dull. There weren’t enough people there to start any fights. The biggest uproar was over BigSexyGlenn’s insistence that we have an audit done. When the treasurer asked him what he thought would be involved, he could not answer, but countered by asking the Board if they’d read the NC state laws on townhouse management. One person finally said “You just want us to say ‘no’ to feel better about all this, don’t you?” That was beautiful.

He also chided the board for not breaking into a house that had been in foreclosure to fix their blinds. Again, they asked “Did you want us to break in?” He said they should have done something. “You mean break in, right?”

It went on like that for some time. I applaud the Board. I know what they go through and they’ve had an especially hard time of it lately. Last year, they lost over $10,000 in income when 3 houses defaulted on mortgages and stopped paying dues. That’s a lot of money. They managed to keep things afloat and continue the improvement projects I started. Kudos to them.

I bought a big exercise ball last weekend. It’s quite fun. I sit on it for about half the workday. I had realized that I was slouching while I worked and would end up with a stiff neck by about 3:00. Now I have a big orange ball to bounce around on. Since I couldn’t get to the gym today, I took the opportunity to exercise during a particularly uninteresting conference call. People babbled about something; I did these nasty sit-up things. JewelrySlut and I have to find a way to work the big ball into our love play. Because that will be awesome. Shockingly, there’s some site in Australia devoted to finding ways to exercise while boning.

The internet is awesome.

With weekends like this…

Saturday 6:20 AM: BEEP BEEP BEEP

Ugh. We’d only gotten to bed a few hours before. Friday night, our Canadian pal, Michael Buble, played the RBC Center. We knew going in that we were going to pay on Saturday for the fun of Friday night, but what can you do? The concert was fun, but we decided that it’s not worth sitting in shitty seats. You miss too much of the fun. And, you end up sitting next to smelly people who eat horrible-smelling food all night. Darling, there’s a reason you have to rest your arms on your boobs, it’s that fried slop sandwich you’re inhaling.

Anyway…we had to be at a local pool for 7:00 warm-ups. This meant a 6:45 departure. JewelrySlut stayed behind for a few minutes. She’d have to leave the meet early to go get Chicken from my parents’ house. So, we left and stopped at a local Dunkin Donuts for breakfast. We fuel the child with donuts before her early AM meets. I needed coffee.

15 minutes later, we left with 2 donuts and a coffee. Thanks DD, you suck taint. You really should have more than one asshole working there in the morning. The pool jerk was stupid to begin with but was also manning the counter and drive through. He was pitifully overmatched. My sternly-worded note has been sent to DD. I want me a gift card!

Anyway…we got to the meet and settled in. It was already about 80 and the humidity was just as high. I felt miserable. The kids warmed up and they started lining up for the first relays. Shmuppie was told that she would not be swimming in the first relay. As it is, she swims up with the 9-10 year old girls every week. She used to be on the #2 relay and, this past weekend, moved up to the #1 relay. Of course, the rest of said relay bailed on the meet. Seething, we told her to sit down.

Meanwhile, the coach was pleading with some remaining 10 year olds to swim up in the 11-12 relay. They’d have to be willing to swim a 50 though. They’re used to 25′s. I told the coach that Shmuppie would do it. So, the 8-year old swam with the 11/12 group. She led off the relay and swam a respectable backstroke. In fact, she was leading the race when she finished her swim.

She then went out and won her age group in the Free, Back, and Fly. Her free relay may have won.

On a related note, we recently had her evaluated for the Y’s year-round team (You can’t say “try out” because that may hurt feelings).
Afterwards, I spoke to the coach:
So…what’s the commitment really like on the Green Team (the lowest level)?
Who’s your kid?
Shmuppie
(He laughs). Oh no…she won’t be on the green team
(Head hanging). You’re gonna put her on the White Team, aren’t you?
There’s no need for her to be on the Green Team.

Blerg…The white Team is 4-5 practices per week. From 6:15 – 7:45. We’re not sure how we feel about it for a few reasons.
1: It’s a big commitment and she may not be ready to make it
2: We may not be ready to make it
3: That’s the end of weeknight family dinners. Call us old-fashioned or, if you read the NY Times, trendy, but we believe in sitting down to dinner. As it is, we only get do it maybe 4 times per week because of activities and whatnot. We like meal time, even if, lately, it’s punctuated by Chicken spitting mashed up food at us.
4: Did I mention the commitment? The last thing we want is for Shmuppie to do what I did; give up swimming at age 9. There’s a thin line between fun and burn out. We’d be edging up to it. With this program, if she progresses (and I’m not saying she necessarily will), the goal of the team is to either get you a D1 scholarship or to qualify for Trials. Will she do it? Who the fuck knows? But, that’s the path we would be taking. They’ve been eyeballing her for a few seasons now and she’s only 8! Good Lord help me.

Back to Saturday: We got home from the meet, dead tired and hot. The 4 of us all tried to nap, but Chicken was not in the mood. There were places to explore and things to eat.

We did some shopping and had a swim. The bottom line is that by the time the evening rolled around, we were dead. I hadn’t felt that tired in years. I wanted to cry I was so exhausted.

Chicken slept from 7:30 – 9:00AM
Shmuppie slept from 8:15 – 9:00AM
JewelrySlut and I slept from 10:00 – 8:30AM.

That’s a lot of sleep.

Sunday:
It’s amazing what a good night’s sleep can do for your well-being.

We had breakfast, did the grocery shopping, and all felt better. Shmuppie and I went to the pool while Chicken slept. While there, some neighbors started discussing wine. This, naturally, led to someone running home for 2 bottles and some plastic cups. Sunday at the pool turned into Wine Day.

Then the fun started.

A guy about my age and his daughter had come into the pool as someone else left…the gate had been politely held open.

Well, the Annes (Drunk and Crazy) asked him where he lived. When he waved off in the direction of someplace decidedly not in our community, the fun started. Crazy explained that he really didn’t belong at the pool because it was for the townhouses and not the local apartments. Drunk started yelling. It was explained that this was a private pool and that he didn’t live in the houses that supported it and that he really needed to leave. He responded as we’d all expect: That sounds racist.

Yup…it’s racist. We don’t want you in the pool because you’re black. It’s not because you don’t live in our neighborhood and knowingly snuck in. That has nothing to do with it. We’re all a bunch of white folk looking to keep you down. So, with a fanfare of swearing, he took his daughter and left.

We had more wine.

We left the pool and went home to eat (I’d been slow-cooking pork all afternoon…mmm…pork).

Sometime later, we heard noise from the pool. It seems some people were trying to break in and s few of our neighbors were rebuffing their advances. When told that they could not break in, they, naturally, decided that was the case because we’re all racist. Yes…we’re not letting you bust through a gate because we’re racist. It’s not because you’re trespassing. It’s because we are racist. So, the cops were called by 2 different people, and, hopefully, Antoine was arrested, or if nothing else, spoken to. On the bright side, I’ve figured out how they’re getting in and the gate will be fixed today.

On the bad side, that just makes me so sad.

I hate that the response from these assholes is always “You’re racist”. We’re trying hard this summer to crack down on people sneaking into the pool. It’s 1: not safe (when you see how they behave) and it 2: leaves the pool a mess afterwards. But, you have to be careful about when to call the cops. It can’t turn into “Call the cops any time black people are at the pool”. Unfortunately, the only people misbehaving happen to be black…and not from our neighborhood. I know several neighbors who’d love to call any time anyone with dark skin is at the pool. We can’t do that. But, when the only people who sneak in and trash the place happen to be black, it’s hard not to look twice any time you see dark skin at the pool. And, to knowingly break in and then play the “You’re racist” thing, just makes me sick.

Shmuppie started school last Friday. As I’d mentioned, we’d had it with her old school. Unfortunately, it got to the point where, as I say, the “social experiment” was over. It’s time to get educated. So, she’s at a school that’s about 80% white. Her old school was 80% non-white. Sorry folks, but she was not getting educated at the old school. She was getting babysat for 6 hours a day. So, we did what we had to do, and, in the end, you can call us racist for doing so. But, my kid comes first.

I like to point out to my neighbors as often as possible that class knows no color. Lately, it’s been a hard point to get across to them.

Christmas Afetrnoon Part 2 (because WordPress is being a Douche)

Now it’s time for us to open gifts.

Mind you…with the exception of last year, I have thrown out, unused, nearly every gift I’ve received from my parents since I moved out of the house. If I didn’t throw them out, they went to Goodwill. Why? Because my mother buys me clothes that don’t fit. They’re bought under the whole “It was on sale” premise. That’s great that you paid $2 for this pair of jeans. A: I don’t wear hip hugging jeans and 2: I don’t have a 28″ waist. Last year, we got a bunch of cookware…good Calphalon stuff (I know it all came from TJ Max or someplace, but it’s still good stuff). I was almost hoping that this year would go better.

Right

I got a Panini press. It’s fine, but it’s huge and is a unitasker. What I really wanted (when she bought me a waffle iron) was one that did both things. One with reversible plates. No…

JewelrySlut got 2 sweaters and a wooden box. I think the explanation for the box was that it could go in the bathroom. (??)

We also got a set of sheets.

Yup.

Of course, we got my parents a leaf blower. Apparently, my mother had told my brother that they needed/wanted one. So, the kids went in on a fancy leaf blower. My poor father was not happy. More yardwork for him!

Then, rather suddenly, my father realized that he’d forgotten all the wine at home and packed up Shmuppie’s doll crap and left.

Bye, dad.

He returned an hour later. He then started fixing drinks for JewelrySlut. This is where things started going downhill…fast.

At this point, JewelrySlut had consumed her wee bottle of champagne, the last of the punch from the night before and a glass or 2 of wine. Then the chocolate martinis started. She had 3.

M&K arrived some time later to much shrieking and yelling. K is 8+ months pregnant and was not feeling well.

I was getting dinner all ready and to the table when I noticed that I hadn’t seen JewelrySlut in a while. Where the hell was she? I wandered the house and found her in our bathroom…puking. Yup…she was hammered.

We sat down to eat and she emerged for 5 minutes before going back upstairs and passing out.

Merry Christmas!

We ate and then my father started wigging out. He needed to get home to feed the dogs and wanted to leave. They (my parents and Shmuppie) had decided to drive to DC on the 26th to surprise my brother for his 30th birthday.

(Side note)
I totally win the 30th birthday game. I spent it on Tortola, drinking beer at 10:30AM. Js did well; a weekend in Cape May, but my brother certainly loses. A surprise visit from our mother. Anal rape is a better option
(End side note)

So, they left and M&K hung around for dessert. JewelrySlut emerged after a long winter’s nap and sat with us.

Then, they left and I think we went to bed.

It was, all in all, a good Christmas. And, for once, I wasn’t the drunken puking one!

(Rant)
As they all decided to go to DC, my father’s plan was to drive up and back in the same day. Sure…what’s 10 hours in the car for fun? I immediately went to Marriott and saw that I could use points to get them a room at the hotel right near my brother’s house. After much wringing of hands and gnashing of teeth, my father decided that 2 of the dogs would be OK if we promised to go care for them and that the other 2 dogs would go. In the end, my parents sent my brother and Dear SIL to the hotel. He used MY POINTS to get laid on his birthday. 20,000 points. I didn’t offer HIM the points; I offered them to my parents and Shmuppie. I’m still fuming. It takes 4 trips to earn that many points. Sure, I still have 150,000 left, but in 2009, my parents used them to stay a night in Honolulu and my brother used them to get laid. We didn’t use any.
(End rant)

This is what they all talk about

10:00: Hook up the kid. She eats until about 10:45.
10:50: Lights our
12:50: WAAAAAAAA
1:30: Back to sleep
2:30: WAAAAA
3:30: Back to sleep
4:45: WAAAAAA
5:15: Back to sleep
6:00: WAAAAAAAA
7:00: Back to sleep
We were due for one of these. Last night, we got one.

To pump or not to pump: I keep offering to take a feeding or 2, but Chicken drains JewelrySlut during the afternoon and we’re trying to avoid formula at this point. However, should tonight go like last night, I wager I will be taken up on my offer to do anything to get the kid to sleep.

Regarding dog shit: It’s gone. And, as I put it yesterday, I can’t be angry with these people; just annoyed.

FHPM (mother): I got your note
Me: Yea…sorry about that, but it was bad
FHM: I had FHK (Kid) clean it up. She’s been babysitting for the last 3 weeks and she shouldn’t be neglecting her chores.
Me: Thanks

OK…This is why I can’t be mad…just annoyed. This woman is a total idiot. She’s not nasty about anything; just a clueless idiot. Her kid, as you may remember, does not go to school because she’s apparently allergic. And Mom may or may not work. The bottom line is that neither has a clue what the other is doing. So, if FHK says she’s cleaned up, Mom does not check. That, I guess, is what really annoys us the most. I’ve had to ask her a few times about this. Each time is the same type of excuse “She told me she cleaned up”. Well…if I’ve had to come to you 3 times now, don’t you maybe think she’s not doing the job? Shouldn’t you maybe check in on her?

Ugh.

JewelrySlut’s BFF bought a new bathing suit. You’ve all see pictures of me. Imagine someone with my figure in a bikini. Yea…it would not be good. I pull off a bathing suit well enough for a 35 year old balding bundle of stress, but I should not be in a bikini. Either she found it on sale or is trying to enjoy her last 2 weeks of what she must think to be her reign as best looking mother at the pool. Wait until May, sweetie. Someone’s coming back to reclaim her title.

Redefining Saturday

It’s funny how someone so small can have such a large impact on things around the house. And we’re not even talking about all the stuff; the pack and play and swing in the living room, the car seat and feeding seat thing in the dining room. Or the bassinet and changing table and clothes and stuff in our room. Or the bathtub in our room or the newly redesigned spare room.

I’m talking more about sleep patterns. I’m not really impacted by much at this point because, while I have nipples, they’re more or less useless to Chicken. So, during the night, there’s not much for me to do other than sleep. JewelrySlut gets up overnight to do the feedings and, while I usually open one eye to ask “Is everything OK?”, I sleep. Don’t look at me that way, what the hell else is there for me to do? Stay awake in an act of solidarity? That’s stupid.

So, this morning, I woke up at about 8:20 and the ladies I share a room with were both dead asleep. They’re still there. I’m happy that Chicken, so far, is a good sleeper because Shmuppie was not. The extra hour+ of sleep that JewelrySlut can get in the morning seems to be what’s keeping her sane at this point. So, Shmuppie and I are downstairs…her watchint The Disney Channel, me puttering away on the laptop. I was trying to overcome my HTML-tard skills to make some edits to this site, but, as usual, failed. So…same old look for now.

A quiet Saturday morning is an odd thing. It’s not that I don’t like the company, but the ability to sit here quietly, listening to the neighbors do their insane things, is kinda nice.

Speaking of neighbors…here’s a good one.

This is an email I sent to the FHPs (Filthy Horse People)

Hi FHP,

I’m sorry to bother you through email but I never seem to catch you at home. I was just out watering my plants and the smell from Sweetie’s poops is pretty bad. I peeked through the fence to make sure I wasn’t going crazy or anything and the flower pots along our common fence have poop in them. I think that’s what we smell when we sit in our little “grass” area.

Would you mind sending FHK (Filthy Horse Kid) out there with a shovel to clean it up? I hate to be such a bother about this but the smell is quite strong out back.

I Sent that 3 days ago and the dog shit remains. I’m not happy. Is it so much to ask a person to clean up after their dog? It’s especially bad because these turds are right along the fence that we share. When we put in the deck, we had to make a decision: put the deck by BigSexyGlenn or by the FHPs. We chose the former for reasons I don’t remember. I think it had to do with the smell. We figured we’d sit on the deck more. then, the sod failed and the garden didn’t take on the FHP side. So, the fake grass went in and the garden switched to the deck side. Now, we like to sit in the grassy side, but have to contend with the smell. I’m pondering my next move. It’s either dump bleach on all their plants in order to 1: Kill the smell and 2: Kill the heirloom bulbs or show up at their door with a shovel and request entry to their yard. I know I’d be horrified if I received an email like I sent…I’d be really horrified knowing that it’s like the 3rd time I’ve been asked to clean up.

This may have to get ugly between us because, as things stand, we can’t sit in our yard. I can barely open the doors to the basement because the odor of shit is so strong.

That’s it for now. Time to go find the baby backpack thing and remember how to use it. Chicken’s making a trip to the Farmer’s Market today, and assuming I can fit her into the backpack, that will be her mode of conveyance.