Sometimes, Words aren't Enough

So, I just got this handy reference brochure in the mail from the public school system for which I am employed...

Great!  A new employee assistance program!  How thoughtful.  But wait- let's zoom to the fine print on the back...

Brilliant.  Thank you, public school systems of America. 

On Jesus and Drool

I'm not a particularly religious person at this stage in my life (I'll stop and wait for the audible gasps to subside...)  I believe in a higher power and the Greater Good, but I don't want to be one of those douche-baggy people who say, "I'm not religious, I'm SPIRITUAL."

I grew up hardcore COC (Church of Christ, for you lay people), and then immediately rebelled against it upon being subjected to daily chapel and Bible classes at Lipscomb University.  To be fair to Lipscomb, I was already leaning away, but that was the Jesus-straw that broke the proverbial camel's back.

Now that I'm a mommy, I am revisiting the whole religion thing.  I have fond memories of church as a small child (it's when I became old enough to ask questions that things went sour), and I think it's good for kids to grow up with that moral compass and community.  Therefore, I'm trying to find some happy medium for A.  You know, somewhere in between Sunday pagan sleeping-in rituals, and Shoving-Jesus-Forcibly-Down-Your-Throat-Old-School-COC.

So the question becomes, what kind of church fits my little family?  It needs to be strong enough for Austin, yet pH-balanced for Mommy.  Liberal enough to accept that I'm an unrepentant single mother/ recreational alcoholic, but not so liberal as, for example, the Unitarian Church fairy walks (no joke- a teacher down the hall from me last year did that shit.)

I actually tried a new church today, and it was ok.  You can click here for the full review.  I didn't burst into flames, so that was good.  A was also super-smiley when I picked him up from the nursery, so that was good, too.  I didn't rededicate my life or anything this morning, but at least I had A mingling with a morally superior group of tots.

So far, so.... so...

e-Dating.

Interesting.

I feel like I can't give an impartial review, and here's why:

• I tried it on a whim,  
• I really don't give a damn if I meet someone or not, and 
• My ulterior motive is writing material or a funny story or two for dinner parties.

That being said- I can't decide if I am awesome or the biggest loser ever (in the improper noun sort of way- not in the Capitalized/ Jillian Michaels And Allison Sweeny Just Handed Me A Grand Prize Of $250,000 sort of way.) I hear complaints from various friends about not receiving enough matches, or not getting any dates from the 2 particular sites that I have joined (the other shall remain nameless to keep my last shred of dignity somewhat intact-ish).  Me, however- I get plenty of matches.  These matches have included gems such as:

• A cattle farmer
• An avid self-help book reader and collector (Grrreeeat)
• Men who I consider "geographically challenged"
• A couple of guys who, judging from their pictures, I am pretty sure had parents who were related
• Fatties.  eHarmony clearly didn't listen to my particular deal-breakers.
• And this one guy who sent a message to introduce himself with the subject, "Let's F@ck."  Except he didn't use a euphamistic symbol.  And he didn't actually introduce himself.  That's all there was to it.

Between these 2 sites, there are 3 or 4 guys that I find interesting (But one of those is un-datable- he's overweight, has a creepy beard, and lists his profession as "the pursuit of happiness."  He also included an FBI "person of interest" picture.  He's hilarious, though).  Of the potentially datable ones, one seems a little too young, one is a little too old, and one looks just right (and he's hot!), but he uses bad grammar.

My initial screening process is twofold:  once through where I am too nice, and then through the list again later, armed with chardonnay and a girlfriend to make the harsher but inevitable cuts.  I haven't met anyone yet, but I am working on being less judgmental.

On Dating (and Drool)

I hate dating.  Hate, hate, hate it.  I always have.  Perhaps that's why I habitually date guys I work with- because I already know them, and I get to skip the whole awkward, "You like horses? I like horses, TOOOOO!" part.  However, I am growing increasingly concerned about the level of co-dependence that my roomie and I seem to be slipping so easily into.  She fixes things while I cook dinner.  I take out the trash while she does dishes.  Yesterday, I ordered for her before she got to happy(ish) hour.

One of my BFFs, Misty, has been in a co-dependent relationship with her roommate for about 4 years now.  They are an old married couple- I swear it.  D and I have not been cohabiting long enough for this.  It must stop now, before it is too late!

So, now that I have taken a good hard look at my current life, I see pretty clearly that my most likely future includes me, D, and about 20 hairless cats.  I'm not math-savvy enough to run the actual statistical analysis, but I'm pretty sure that the odds aren't good.  Although I love my roomie dearly, I am not quite ready to give up yet (after my recent for-real 29th birthday, I consider it a waste of my last good trophy-wife years).  On that note, I have decided to do the unthinkable...

I am going to consider the possibility of dating.  Like, really dating.  And on that note (and also on Ambien), I have signed up for 3 months of eHarmony at a "limited time special price."  I never thought in a million years that I would be at this point:  yet another single mom on a dating website. Stay tuned for results-  I expect hilarity to ensue.  If nothing else, it could make for good blogging, no?

"Are You My November Daddy?"

I have officially found something that sucks more than dating as a single mom- breaking up as a single mom.

So now, on top of the suckage that automatically ensues in a breakup, I have the added guilt of potentially causing my child psychological trauma.  Sure, anyone who knows me knows that I could never be truly happy forever with a man named Larry who lives on Bland Drive (no joke- and his dentist's name is Dr. Downer), but my kid doesn't understand that.  All A knows is that he is around a lot, has really cool toys at his house, and has way more follow-through than Mommy when it comes to disciplinary action.

How do people do this?  How the crap does this dating thing work with a kid?  There are so many new levels (and it's not like dating wasn't hard enough before.)

The way I see it, here are the options:

A) Keep a steady stream of men around so that A is accustomed, but not attached (November Daddy, anyone?)
B) Settle for a man with good bone structure and a W2 (hey, I've done worse)
C) Give up entirely, -or-
D) Win the cosmic love lottery and have Mr. Right show up on my doorstep, sweep me off my feet, and turn  me into one of those women who actually live in dual-income households (without making A get a job making Nikes or sewing for Kathy Lee's clothing line)

I'm thinking 'C'. 

Bitter, Party of One

So I just watched this birth slide show by some Orange County photographer on Facebook, because one of my friends posted it, and then about 30 of my other friends commented on how beautiful it was, and how they all cried. 
  
 Here is my take on it.

 This gorgeous chick and her super-attentive husband had a natural home birth, complete with midwive, grandma, and expensive photographer (who set the slideshow to a musical background of Enya).  I can only hope that mom's legs and body were photoshopped, because no human being is that hairless- even the tiny one that she pushed out in her inflatable birthing tub, set upon immaculate yet really cool hardwood floors.  This really good-looking couple's hip tattoos would lend one to believe that they had crappy jobs, but at least they had each other- but their Orange County home, apparently remodeled and filled with understated modern artwork, screamed otherwise.  They have money, too.  Bastards.

So let me recap:  Gorgeous couple, trendy enough for me not to hate, nice home, apparently head-over-heels in love, perfect naturally birthed baby with cool name- all set to aforementioned musical backdrop of Enya. 

And yet all I, with my overly cynical mind and chubby Baby Daddy who doesn't want to pay child support, could think was this- Haha, I had an epidural, biotch.  Who's in labor now???  Mwhahaha. Epidurals are better than world peace.  My epidural kicks her lovely and thoughtful birthing present (a probably really expensive necklace with the baby's initial as the centerpiece)'s ass.

Maybe I'll have my upcoming child support hearing photographed by someone artsy, and set it to a musical backdrop of Yanni (or some such nonsense).  Stay tuned- and please try to post on how beautiful it was.





    

Men who Want Minivans and the Women who Love(d) Them

     Mom friends, countrymen, suburbanites, lend me your ears:  I come to call your attention to a hidden U.S. epidemic-- More and more men are secretly wanting mini-vans.

     But are these men- our husbands, fathers, and businessmen- caravaning in suited droves to the local Dodge dealership?  No.  No, they are not.  Instead, they are trying to seduce us, their women, into the test driver's seat of Siennas and Odysseys.  They are luring us into believing that we need a minivan to properly fulfill our suburban destiny.  They casually drop amenities like "extra cabin space" and the "convenience of sliding doors" into any and all auto-related conversations.  And be sure that every time we bitch and moan about some trivial problem with our sensible mid-sized sedans, these men latch on, minivan wheels spinning in their heads.

"But why are all these men suddenly wanting minivans?" you may ask.  I have no idea. But alas, it seems that the days of domestic bickering over mid-life crises and sporty convertibles are soon to be long gone.  And as they go, so too go oversized pick-up trucks and chest hair.  It's simply un-American.

What I do know, however, is why these men are trying to fulfill their minivan fantasies vicariously through us, their unsuspecting female companions.  It is simple: Pride.  They are ashamed to admit that inner longing and drive, that desire for extended drive-train and sensibility.  We, ladies, are the cover.  This way, they can play the "I had to appease the wife" card over the water cooler as their masculine friends snicker at the new purchase.  But be sure when it is time for the next family outing, your man will "offer" to take the wheel so you can relax.  He can always nod to you if another man driver casts him a condescending look at a traffic light.

I ask you this:  If our men are too good to be seen driving mini-vans, aren't we? I submit to you that we are. Beware the closeted minivan wanter.  The next time hubby casually leaves out a copy of Motor Trends opened to the latest review of the Chrysler Town & Country, close it, or better yet, cover it with Cosmo.  The next time he looks at you with that baby-making gleam in his eye, ask yourself exactly where he plans to have you put the extra car seat.  Check out this gem from a popular minivan manufacturer's website:

"Sure, function led you to Grand Caravan, but when you change from errand clothes to evening clothes, it's nice to navigate shiny chrome and a crosshair grille up to the valet with pride."  

Who wrote this?  A man did.

 Resist, reach within, and seek out that sexy inner you- the one before salaried jobs and mortgages, when the souvenir from a hot date was a hangover, not a balloon for the kid.  What will it be- MILF or mom jeans?

Stand for what you believe in, or else go ahead and proudly don those jeans in all their high-waisted glory.
I say we leave the minivans to caterers and home-schoolers where they belong.  It's a little thing called dignity. It's time to rise up and fight for womankind- and for manhood.