The sign in to town should read "Welcome to Sanford: Where Tapered Leg Jeans and Trailers Are the Lifestyle of Choice."
What a complete shit hole that town is. I've never actually been to Sanford before yesterday, and I'm quit certain that I won't be going back any time soon - at least if I can help it. The town has wonderful stores lining the streets like "Roger's Supa Dolla," and "Cigarette City." It really speaks to the caliber of people that make it their permanent home.
And yes, unfortunately, the "r's" are actually left off of Supa Dolla sign intentionally.
Friday, March 28, 2008
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Approaching Middle Age
As I creep closer to 31, and thus creep closer to "middle age," I've noticed some pretty distinct changes going on. These are not visible to the naked eye or my friends and neighbors, but I've noticed them. Prime examples that I'm no longer in my 20's:
- Cotton boy shorts have replaced cutsie thongs.
- Redbook and Family Circle sit on the bedside table because Cosmo has nothing for me.
- I know that the John Tesh Radio Show is on 94.9.......this is so scary that I almost couldn't print it.
- I'd rather sit home and read a book while drinking tea than go out with the girls and drink martini's.
Excuse me while I go mourn.
Saturday, March 15, 2008
Clean Sweep
It is a snowy Saturday morning here on the East Coast. While the boy is out plowing, I'm trying to get my About.com site ready to go live, and flipping through the channels - realizing quickly that there is absolutely nothing on Saturday mornings.
Anyway, I landed on TLC and started watching Clean Sweep - that show where they basically put you on national television and tell you that you're a filthy pig.
Typically, this show isn't so bad, but today they're clean sweeping a family in the MidWest. They're probably in Michigan. The reason I say that is because a) they live in a subdivision with no visible trees, b) the woman is a bleached blond and wearing too much foundation, c) she has made the unfortunate decision to get inked with the face of Hello Kitty, and d) she's named LaShondra VanderSomething.
Yes, you heard me, she has a Hello Kitty tattoo. What's better, she's wearing black stretch pants and a red, sequined Hello Kitty t-shirt.
On this show, they make you sell your stuff as part of the clean-out. As a participant, you get to compete to keep your favorite item that's in the trash pile. LaShondra VanderSomething's choice? A Hello Kitty Toaster.
There's something wrong with this picture.
Anyway, I landed on TLC and started watching Clean Sweep - that show where they basically put you on national television and tell you that you're a filthy pig.
Typically, this show isn't so bad, but today they're clean sweeping a family in the MidWest. They're probably in Michigan. The reason I say that is because a) they live in a subdivision with no visible trees, b) the woman is a bleached blond and wearing too much foundation, c) she has made the unfortunate decision to get inked with the face of Hello Kitty, and d) she's named LaShondra VanderSomething.
Yes, you heard me, she has a Hello Kitty tattoo. What's better, she's wearing black stretch pants and a red, sequined Hello Kitty t-shirt.
On this show, they make you sell your stuff as part of the clean-out. As a participant, you get to compete to keep your favorite item that's in the trash pile. LaShondra VanderSomething's choice? A Hello Kitty Toaster.
There's something wrong with this picture.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Big Love
Last night, a friend came over. This is the same friend that had the bad break-up a little over a year ago, and took off to meet her perfect Internet love match; remember the used car salesman? Ah, yes.
So, she showed up with a bottle of wine last night, and we sat at the kitchen bar talking a bit. She told me a story that solidifies her place in the land of "Embracing Dysfunction, USA."
See, she happens to be quite good friends with her 1st ex-husband - a feat I haven't quite been able to conquer as of yet. She also happens to be quite good friends with her 1st ex-husband's 2nd ex-wife. In fact, they're so friendly that the 2nd ex-wife bought her a dog. And my friend, the 1st ex-wife, cooked dinner for the 2nd ex-wife and her kids the other night.
It sounds like a bad reality sitcom where the two ex-wives suddenly develop the lesbian love affair, doesn't it?
Anyway, while the relationship is definitely dysfunctional, it certainly works. In the words of my friend (ex-wife 1) "It's completely hilarious."
So she tells me that her 1st ex-husband is dating again. And, while his new girlfriend is Caucasian, her name would indicate that she might be African-American**. Let's, for the sake of argument, give her a name: Aieshya.
And she says "OK, ex-husband is out buying condoms the other night, for his date with the new girlfriend. Apparently, the girlfriends BFF walks in to the pharmacy and the ex-husband tosses the condoms and runs out of the store; I'm not sure why.......so, who goes to pick-up the condoms for the big date? Ex-wife number 2."
Dear reader, I'm hoping at this point, that you are recognizing this as a complete train wreck. Unfortunately, the story doesn't stop there.
"So, as we're all sitting down to dinner the other night, ex-husband 1 shows up. As he stands at the head of the table, he passively mentions that he feels like he's living in Utah, or maybe he's on that show, "Big Love," except he's not having sexual relations with either of us; only the new girlfriend that ex-wife 2 is buying condoms for."
"We're both giving him a hard time about his new girlfriend's name, "Is it Shequanda? Or was it Chinequa?" H (the 15-yr-old-son of ex-wife 1) pipes up and says, "So dad, when you're bangin' Oprah......"
Because I was a glass-and-a-half into the bottle of red, I found this completely hysterical. And it really is. But reflecting on it over my cup of Green Mountain this morning, I'm wondering if maybe I should re-evaluate some of my friendships.
**Please note: I've tried to write this as PC as possible, without offending any particular race. However, the story is just not as damn funny without the mention of such details.
So, she showed up with a bottle of wine last night, and we sat at the kitchen bar talking a bit. She told me a story that solidifies her place in the land of "Embracing Dysfunction, USA."
See, she happens to be quite good friends with her 1st ex-husband - a feat I haven't quite been able to conquer as of yet. She also happens to be quite good friends with her 1st ex-husband's 2nd ex-wife. In fact, they're so friendly that the 2nd ex-wife bought her a dog. And my friend, the 1st ex-wife, cooked dinner for the 2nd ex-wife and her kids the other night.
It sounds like a bad reality sitcom where the two ex-wives suddenly develop the lesbian love affair, doesn't it?
Anyway, while the relationship is definitely dysfunctional, it certainly works. In the words of my friend (ex-wife 1) "It's completely hilarious."
So she tells me that her 1st ex-husband is dating again. And, while his new girlfriend is Caucasian, her name would indicate that she might be African-American**. Let's, for the sake of argument, give her a name: Aieshya.
And she says "OK, ex-husband is out buying condoms the other night, for his date with the new girlfriend. Apparently, the girlfriends BFF walks in to the pharmacy and the ex-husband tosses the condoms and runs out of the store; I'm not sure why.......so, who goes to pick-up the condoms for the big date? Ex-wife number 2."
Dear reader, I'm hoping at this point, that you are recognizing this as a complete train wreck. Unfortunately, the story doesn't stop there.
"So, as we're all sitting down to dinner the other night, ex-husband 1 shows up. As he stands at the head of the table, he passively mentions that he feels like he's living in Utah, or maybe he's on that show, "Big Love," except he's not having sexual relations with either of us; only the new girlfriend that ex-wife 2 is buying condoms for."
"We're both giving him a hard time about his new girlfriend's name, "Is it Shequanda? Or was it Chinequa?" H (the 15-yr-old-son of ex-wife 1) pipes up and says, "So dad, when you're bangin' Oprah......"
Because I was a glass-and-a-half into the bottle of red, I found this completely hysterical. And it really is. But reflecting on it over my cup of Green Mountain this morning, I'm wondering if maybe I should re-evaluate some of my friendships.
**Please note: I've tried to write this as PC as possible, without offending any particular race. However, the story is just not as damn funny without the mention of such details.
Godsmacking the Minivan
As I dropped the kid off at school the other day, I pulled up behind a fellow carpool mom and her mini-van. Now, I have issues with minivans; although I am not sure when it started. It could have been any of these particular moments:
1)Halloween, Sophomore Year :: A group of friends and I had borrowed someone's parents minivan. We had splendid ideas of smashing pumpkins - and no, I'm not referencing the band.
I can't even remember what driveway was our target, but I know the back of that van was full of carefully carved pumpkins that we'd spent hours snatching off of people's porches. What I remember vividly was someone careening far too fast around the last corner of the subdivision, and the minivan door flying wildly open; we lost most of our pumpkins. I almost think that the door came completely off the van, but if that were the case, I don't think we could have figured out how to put it back on. As a result, I feel that minivan's might be dangerous.
2) A few years ago, my brother bough a minivan. To hell if I know why. He said something about needing the space, but when you've got one kid and a girlfriend, I can't see how that's really necessary. Even now, with two kids, I can't see the reason. What I do know is that his minivan has tinted window's and a NASCAR license plate; he may even have some sort of loud stereo system in the back. Did I mention he's only 27? As a result, I feel that minivan's give people the license to act retarded.
3) New minivan's come with all sorts of little treats. DVD players, swiveling seats and tables. Minivan's are becoming small versions of motor homes. And if your minivan has all the comforts of home, your kids are going to want to be in it, which means more time driving them around, listening to them argue about stuff. At least at home you can lock yourself in the bathroom with a bottle of wine and a good book.
So, it should come as no surprise that I took issue with the soccer mom ahead of me. Who had ever so perfectly placed a "Godsmack" bumper sticker on the top of her back window. Why? Why do that? Godsmack bumper stickers do not belong on the back of minivan's. On a cute little Jetta? Maybe. The 1990 Mazda that the neighbor kid can afford? I'll give you that. The '94 Honda Accord? For sure. But on a Honda MINIVAN? No.
Here's what belongs on minivan's - if you're going to drive them. A PAYSA sticker. A "I'm the proud parent of an honor roll student." A "Hillary 2008" sticker. But Godsmack? Come on! Putting a "Godsmack" bumper sticker on your van is clearly a desperate attempt at being cool with your high school aged child and their friends.
Here's a newsflash: Parents are cool until kids become about 9. Then forget it, you're not cool until they're in their mid-twenties. Unless, of course, you let them smoke pot and drink beer in your basement; then maybe you're cool.
So please, if you're going to insist on driving a minivan, at least acknowledge that you've ventured down a road you can never get off of. Do not try to make your minivan cool. Don't try to make it hip, or young. It's not. Take off the Godsmack sticker and just let your kids cover the windows with Barney stickers instead.
1)Halloween, Sophomore Year :: A group of friends and I had borrowed someone's parents minivan. We had splendid ideas of smashing pumpkins - and no, I'm not referencing the band.
I can't even remember what driveway was our target, but I know the back of that van was full of carefully carved pumpkins that we'd spent hours snatching off of people's porches. What I remember vividly was someone careening far too fast around the last corner of the subdivision, and the minivan door flying wildly open; we lost most of our pumpkins. I almost think that the door came completely off the van, but if that were the case, I don't think we could have figured out how to put it back on. As a result, I feel that minivan's might be dangerous.
2) A few years ago, my brother bough a minivan. To hell if I know why. He said something about needing the space, but when you've got one kid and a girlfriend, I can't see how that's really necessary. Even now, with two kids, I can't see the reason. What I do know is that his minivan has tinted window's and a NASCAR license plate; he may even have some sort of loud stereo system in the back. Did I mention he's only 27? As a result, I feel that minivan's give people the license to act retarded.
3) New minivan's come with all sorts of little treats. DVD players, swiveling seats and tables. Minivan's are becoming small versions of motor homes. And if your minivan has all the comforts of home, your kids are going to want to be in it, which means more time driving them around, listening to them argue about stuff. At least at home you can lock yourself in the bathroom with a bottle of wine and a good book.
So, it should come as no surprise that I took issue with the soccer mom ahead of me. Who had ever so perfectly placed a "Godsmack" bumper sticker on the top of her back window. Why? Why do that? Godsmack bumper stickers do not belong on the back of minivan's. On a cute little Jetta? Maybe. The 1990 Mazda that the neighbor kid can afford? I'll give you that. The '94 Honda Accord? For sure. But on a Honda MINIVAN? No.
Here's what belongs on minivan's - if you're going to drive them. A PAYSA sticker. A "I'm the proud parent of an honor roll student." A "Hillary 2008" sticker. But Godsmack? Come on! Putting a "Godsmack" bumper sticker on your van is clearly a desperate attempt at being cool with your high school aged child and their friends.
Here's a newsflash: Parents are cool until kids become about 9. Then forget it, you're not cool until they're in their mid-twenties. Unless, of course, you let them smoke pot and drink beer in your basement; then maybe you're cool.
So please, if you're going to insist on driving a minivan, at least acknowledge that you've ventured down a road you can never get off of. Do not try to make your minivan cool. Don't try to make it hip, or young. It's not. Take off the Godsmack sticker and just let your kids cover the windows with Barney stickers instead.
Thursday, March 06, 2008
Breakfast Conversations with The Kid
Sometimes, the exchanges between myself and my child blow my mind. Mostly because I think that I fail to recognize just how grown up she's getting. Here is my most recent conversation with mini-me. It involves the recent wins that Mrs. Clinton has chalked up......
Me :: Hey Syd, did you know that Hilary won Ohio and Texas?
Syd ::Yeah mom, that's old news.
Me :: Oh, well it just happened like two days ago.
Syd :: Uh, yeah, well, I read it in the Times, like, yesterday. It doesn't matter though; Obama is still ahead.
Well holy-freaking-shit. Did my soon-to-be-nine-year-old just say she's reading the New York Times???
A quick glance at the boy confirmed it as he shook his head and said, "yeah, she made me buy a copy yesterday when she saw it on the cover."
I think we may have our own version of "Alex" from Family Ties on our hands. Christ.
Me :: Hey Syd, did you know that Hilary won Ohio and Texas?
Syd ::
Me :: Oh, well it just happened like two days ago.
Syd :: Uh, yeah, well, I read it in the Times, like, yesterday. It doesn't matter though; Obama is still ahead.
Well holy-freaking-shit. Did my soon-to-be-nine-year-old just say she's reading the New York Times???
A quick glance at the boy confirmed it as he shook his head and said, "yeah, she made me buy a copy yesterday when she saw it on the cover."
I think we may have our own version of "Alex" from Family Ties on our hands. Christ.
Monday, March 03, 2008
Hate & Discontent
I'll start by saying that, if you're of the male persuasion, you may just want to click away. For the last week, I've been in a hateful mood, which is primarily why I haven't posted. But as a new week begins, and my mood stays just as crappy, I'm starting to notice a trend. Instead of bitching about how much life sucks, I'll just break down the last 7 days.
Monday :: Boy is still sick and lying on the couch refusing medical treatment. I leave to take the kid to school, only to discover that I have a flat tire. The last person to drive the car? The boy. So, I call the boy, he ignores the ringing phone the first 7 times I call him. Not deterred, I continue calling until he picks up. I inquire about the flat tire, he insists he doesn't know. When I question further, he hangs up on me. I call my dad. Consider moving in to a hotel until boy is on the mend.
Tuesday :: Work at part-time job until noon. Go to meeting related to real job from 12:45 to 2:15. Arrive 45 minutes late to PTO meeting that started at 1:30, only to find that they are just finishing up. Drive like a bat out of hell to get home and pack the swim bag that the kid forgot to pack the night before. Find the boy still lying on the couch, but with antibiotics and a $600 Emergency room bill. Apparently he did not realize that there is such a thing as a PCP. Go do the carpool thing, go back to part-time job until 5. Haul kid to pool for swim practice and realize 1/2 way there that I've forgotten to pack her clean underwear. Kid is pissed. She then realizes that I've packed snacks she doesn't like. Kid is more pissed. Get to the pool, get settled, and kid approaches with smirk on her face. "Don't get too comfortable, you forgot my swimsuit." Now kid is close to hysterics, I race home, across town, grab a swimsuit and come back, only to find her already in the pool in someone else's suit. Thanks for calling to let me know you little shit.
Wednesday :: Try to catch up on my normal job. Furnace quits working. Furnace repair guy comes over and replaces a fuel filter and tells us that we need a new oil tank. Oh, and by the way, "your chimney isn't drafting properly either. You'll want to call a chimney sweep." Great.
Thursday :: Someday sister-in-law calls to see if it might be okay for her to take the dog to Bethel for the weekend, and leave her in a strangers house while she goes skiing. I say that no, I don't think that will work, and ask if she needs us to make other arrangements for the dog since we will be out of town. She assures me that everything is fine. Again, try to get my writing together. Book outline due soon. Review with the New York Times Company coming soon. Can't work fast enough. Swim practice at 5:30. Even though I'm crazy busy, it does not occur to the boy to take the kid to practice. Apparently I have the ability to be in 7 places at once. 7:30 phone call from someday sister-in-law. Oops, her plans have changed, so she'll let the dog out tomorrow night and then her mother will be by the next day to let her out. The dog will be okay home alone, overnight, right? Since she left me a voicemail, I didn't get the opportunity to tell her that, "no, actually, the dog won't be okay home alone overnight because she has ridiculous anxiety and attachment issues and she'll eat the holy hell out of our house. But don't worry about it, because you're going skiing and you've given your mother permission to come in to our house and go through all our shit while we're not here. Great. I hope you have a fantastic fucking time skiing with your friends." Get home, bitch to the boy who cannot understand why I'm in a pissy mood. Kid is having a meltdown because she now thinks that the boy is going to stay home with the dog rather than go watch her swim. Try to get bags packed for State Swim Meet in Orono over the weekend.
Friday :: Go get my fat ass weighed in at Weight Watchers. I loose nearly a pound, although I'm not sure how that's possible considering the fact that I've been in a pissy mood and eating nothing but Ring-Dings and potato chips for the last 5 days. I take the 8/10th's of a pound. I finally get around to calling my someday sister-in-law back, since she was kind enough to leave me another message, just to make sure I got the first one, to tell her that she doesn't need to be bothered with our dog - we've made other arrangements. While I refrain from saying too much, I do let her know, ever so nicely, that her last minute bail-out on us nearly fucked up our entire trip. Leave for the 2 1/2 hour drive to Orono.
Saturday :: Up at 6 am so the kid can be in the pool by 7:30. Spend the entire morning screaming my heart out for my girl. Just like every other parent. Leave UMO with a ginormous migrane. Walk out in the parking lot and realize that we're going to be driving home in white-out conditions on the turnpike. Stop to have lunch and spend the entire meal listening to a woman, who was also at the meet, talk on her cell phone about how it was so packed that had there been a fire, everyone would have perished. Nice. Saddle up to the steering wheel because the boy was tired and white-knuckle my way home. 5 hours later, we arrive back in Portland. Again, the boy cannot understand why I'm tired, or in a bad mood. I begin to say that it might have something to do with the fact that I didn't get a 5 hour nap on the way home, but think that it must be so obvious, it doesn't need to be stated. Apparently, I was wrong.
Sunday :: Spend the day taking the dog to the beach and grocery shopping. While I am not a grocery Nazi, I do not buy shitty things. My normal grocery bill runs somewhere around $150 for the three of us. Yesterday, when I brought the boy shopping with me, I spent $225 and came home with a car full of Cocoa-Puffs, ice cream, and cookies. In the afternoon, I broach the subject of finances and how, I really need the remained of his tax return that he's hoarding to pay off the $850 cash advance he took on our credit card - remember? The one he didn't bother to mention to me? Ah yes. He just cannot see why it needs to be paid off right now. Somehow 30% interest doesn't bother him. I get pissy and spend the remainder of the day in my room watching DVD's.
Monday :: Thank God. The week from hell is over. Oh no! It's not. Go to the car to take the kid to school. Keys (both sets) are locked inside car. My car is blocking the boys truck in the driveway. Kid is missing her basketball game and is going to be late for MEA testing. End up dragging kid to shool via foot, getting her there just in time. AAA comes and saves the day. Go to the p/t job, spend the day pissy, come home and find that, while the boy has been home all day, the dishes are not done, the laundry is all over the bed, and he's had time to take a nap.
Explain to me how exactly that works out.
Monday :: Boy is still sick and lying on the couch refusing medical treatment. I leave to take the kid to school, only to discover that I have a flat tire. The last person to drive the car? The boy. So, I call the boy, he ignores the ringing phone the first 7 times I call him. Not deterred, I continue calling until he picks up. I inquire about the flat tire, he insists he doesn't know. When I question further, he hangs up on me. I call my dad. Consider moving in to a hotel until boy is on the mend.
Tuesday :: Work at part-time job until noon. Go to meeting related to real job from 12:45 to 2:15. Arrive 45 minutes late to PTO meeting that started at 1:30, only to find that they are just finishing up. Drive like a bat out of hell to get home and pack the swim bag that the kid forgot to pack the night before. Find the boy still lying on the couch, but with antibiotics and a $600 Emergency room bill. Apparently he did not realize that there is such a thing as a PCP. Go do the carpool thing, go back to part-time job until 5. Haul kid to pool for swim practice and realize 1/2 way there that I've forgotten to pack her clean underwear. Kid is pissed. She then realizes that I've packed snacks she doesn't like. Kid is more pissed. Get to the pool, get settled, and kid approaches with smirk on her face. "Don't get too comfortable, you forgot my swimsuit." Now kid is close to hysterics, I race home, across town, grab a swimsuit and come back, only to find her already in the pool in someone else's suit. Thanks for calling to let me know you little shit.
Wednesday :: Try to catch up on my normal job. Furnace quits working. Furnace repair guy comes over and replaces a fuel filter and tells us that we need a new oil tank. Oh, and by the way, "your chimney isn't drafting properly either. You'll want to call a chimney sweep." Great.
Thursday :: Someday sister-in-law calls to see if it might be okay for her to take the dog to Bethel for the weekend, and leave her in a strangers house while she goes skiing. I say that no, I don't think that will work, and ask if she needs us to make other arrangements for the dog since we will be out of town. She assures me that everything is fine. Again, try to get my writing together. Book outline due soon. Review with the New York Times Company coming soon. Can't work fast enough. Swim practice at 5:30. Even though I'm crazy busy, it does not occur to the boy to take the kid to practice. Apparently I have the ability to be in 7 places at once. 7:30 phone call from someday sister-in-law. Oops, her plans have changed, so she'll let the dog out tomorrow night and then her mother will be by the next day to let her out. The dog will be okay home alone, overnight, right? Since she left me a voicemail, I didn't get the opportunity to tell her that, "no, actually, the dog won't be okay home alone overnight because she has ridiculous anxiety and attachment issues and she'll eat the holy hell out of our house. But don't worry about it, because you're going skiing and you've given your mother permission to come in to our house and go through all our shit while we're not here. Great. I hope you have a fantastic fucking time skiing with your friends." Get home, bitch to the boy who cannot understand why I'm in a pissy mood. Kid is having a meltdown because she now thinks that the boy is going to stay home with the dog rather than go watch her swim. Try to get bags packed for State Swim Meet in Orono over the weekend.
Friday :: Go get my fat ass weighed in at Weight Watchers. I loose nearly a pound, although I'm not sure how that's possible considering the fact that I've been in a pissy mood and eating nothing but Ring-Dings and potato chips for the last 5 days. I take the 8/10th's of a pound. I finally get around to calling my someday sister-in-law back, since she was kind enough to leave me another message, just to make sure I got the first one, to tell her that she doesn't need to be bothered with our dog - we've made other arrangements. While I refrain from saying too much, I do let her know, ever so nicely, that her last minute bail-out on us nearly fucked up our entire trip. Leave for the 2 1/2 hour drive to Orono.
Saturday :: Up at 6 am so the kid can be in the pool by 7:30. Spend the entire morning screaming my heart out for my girl. Just like every other parent. Leave UMO with a ginormous migrane. Walk out in the parking lot and realize that we're going to be driving home in white-out conditions on the turnpike. Stop to have lunch and spend the entire meal listening to a woman, who was also at the meet, talk on her cell phone about how it was so packed that had there been a fire, everyone would have perished. Nice. Saddle up to the steering wheel because the boy was tired and white-knuckle my way home. 5 hours later, we arrive back in Portland. Again, the boy cannot understand why I'm tired, or in a bad mood. I begin to say that it might have something to do with the fact that I didn't get a 5 hour nap on the way home, but think that it must be so obvious, it doesn't need to be stated. Apparently, I was wrong.
Sunday :: Spend the day taking the dog to the beach and grocery shopping. While I am not a grocery Nazi, I do not buy shitty things. My normal grocery bill runs somewhere around $150 for the three of us. Yesterday, when I brought the boy shopping with me, I spent $225 and came home with a car full of Cocoa-Puffs, ice cream, and cookies. In the afternoon, I broach the subject of finances and how, I really need the remained of his tax return that he's hoarding to pay off the $850 cash advance he took on our credit card - remember? The one he didn't bother to mention to me? Ah yes. He just cannot see why it needs to be paid off right now. Somehow 30% interest doesn't bother him. I get pissy and spend the remainder of the day in my room watching DVD's.
Monday :: Thank God. The week from hell is over. Oh no! It's not. Go to the car to take the kid to school. Keys (both sets) are locked inside car. My car is blocking the boys truck in the driveway. Kid is missing her basketball game and is going to be late for MEA testing. End up dragging kid to shool via foot, getting her there just in time. AAA comes and saves the day. Go to the p/t job, spend the day pissy, come home and find that, while the boy has been home all day, the dishes are not done, the laundry is all over the bed, and he's had time to take a nap.
Explain to me how exactly that works out.
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