Because it really is personal…


Lord, who is this child?
October 26, 2006, 3:02 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized

#3 came home from school a bit ago. He was all excited because….He was voted 9th grade member of the Homecoming Court. An honor typically bestowed on some rich girl who’s daddy buys her stuff.

My son, the Homecoming Princess.

He got the most votes…143. A couple of weeks ago he was all in a lather for being nominated.

I told him he could borrow a dress if need be.

He wants to wear his work boots and this huge cowboy hat his great-grandmother bought him. Maybe he should wear a denim skirt. I have a pretty western style shirt that has big roses on it.

*sigh*

My son, the Homecoming Princess.



Probably falls under "TMI" but so what, it’s Thursday
October 26, 2006, 1:15 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized

And another thing, why is it a certain faction of feminism takes such immense pride in their hairy legs? I don’t do around announcing that I color my hair, so why is it so all fired important that these women don’t shave their legs? It’s no skin off my teeth if they are hairy and wear a miniskirt, or cargo pants and flannel shirts. Big whoop. I was raised that announcing such personal information is in poor taste. I can’t help but wonder if that is a bit of factoid that they inject into their first conversation with someone. “Hi, I’m Claire. I don’t shave my legs or pits. Do you?” Then there’s all sorts of condemnation and superciliousness when the questioned party gives them a funny look and wanders off. Obviously, they’re threatened by the AlphaFeminism evidenced in the hairiness.

So, to make it perfectly clear to whoever needs to feel superior in their activism, these are my grooming habits (I temporarily suspend my moratorium on personal info):
I shave legs and pits.
I color my hair, and occasionally indulge in foil highlights.
I very rarely wear makeup, but when I do it’s Ardonne, and I’ve had lessons.
I wear a properly fitting bra.
I wear earrings occasionally, and a gorgeous emerald ring.
My car is feminine to the point of being ridiculous. It’s so feminine my kids won’t ride with me. (boohoo) It looks like a bubble.
Occasionally, I let my fingernails grow out and I paint them palest pink. Not when the sculpting muse is in town, tho. Hard to sculpt with long nails.
I pluck my eyebrows. I swear to you they’d look like wooly-bear caterpillars if i didn’t. Unibrow. God bless my Armenian great grandmother.

I think that covers it for what I do. Here’s what I don’t do:
Shave other parts.
Wear fake boobs or bras that approximate fake boobs.
Wear high heels. I can’t, due to a congenital hip deformity. Wearing heels of any sort cause great pain for several days.
Wear perfume, but only because the only perfume I like is Chanel #5 and it’s too expensive.
So, I’m not entirely a pawn of the Patriarchy. Except that I’m a housewife, which to many feminists makes me a traitor of the First Order.



HowManyOfMe.comThere are:34people with my namein t…
October 26, 2006, 1:05 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized
HowManyOfMe.com
Logo There are:
34
people with my name
in the U.S.A.

How many have your name?



Li’l birdy, fly away…
October 26, 2006, 6:30 am
Filed under: Uncategorized

#1 called at 5:30 this morning (it’s ok, we were up). He wanted to know if I’d like to take him to breakfast, since he didn’t get paid until tomorrow and all he had to eat was 3 frozen ravioli. Well. How sweet. So I decided, since I only have $3 and the bank doesn’t open until 9, that I’d bring him back here and fix him something.

Frustrating, really, because I would dearly love a short stack of buttermilk pancakes from IHOP, with a side of bacon and a quart of orange juice.

Alas, no. I’ll scramble him some eggs and maybe make some hashbrowns.

I really think he’s trolling for me to take him to StuffMart to get some groceries. Ain’t gonna do it. He wanted to be on his own and on his own he will be.

I will, because in spite of all my hardassedness, which isn’t really much at all or I’d have told him to eat ravioli, send him home with some chili and cornbread left over from last night. I have some chicken soup, as well. If he’s really hungry for real, he can eat that and be grateful for it.

You know, the only way he is ever going to be truly independent is when he (or we) move an hour away. It has to quit being convenient for him.

Don’t get me wrong, I am thrilled he has made these 3 months without eviction or starvation. Surprised even, as I wasn’t sure he had it in him.

He announces frequently that he is much happier now than he was living at home. Amen, and Amen! It’s a very good thing to see a child leave the nest with such vigor and enthusiasm.




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