What a weekend this will be. I’m going from being a two-child household to being an empty-nester … all in one shot.
Not only did the girl child move – filling far more bags for Goodwill and more trash cans in the process than ever expected from a girl who, upon learning I’d sorted her clothes and culled them to a measly 21 different outfits, replied, “But, Mom! That’s only three weeks!” (She was 8.) – but the eldest son has moved out as well.
Not just moved out, but moved into an itsy-bitsy two room (or possibly two-bedroom, details not being his strong suit) 3rd-floor walk-up with his on-again off-again girlfriend. Both of them went out and spent money on “things for the apartment.” He rented a 32″ plasma-screen TV; she bought a new down-filled comforter with matching sheets, pillow shams, and dust ruffle. Both are angry at the other for wasting money, especially since they now have no food and no money. She’s also mad that he wasn’t paying attention when she asked him how something looked. He’s mad that she’s hanging curtains while he (and friends) are hauling her furniture up two flights of steep and extremely narrow stairs in a building old enough to have been God’s first apartment.
Yeah, this has all the earmarks of a Bush-style “success.”
On the plus side, no one’s pregnant and, after Monday, I’ll have two new housemates who will actually pay their share of the rent and utilities – and pay it on time. Not to mention they’ll probably keep their rooms clean. Woot!
So, while I
celebrate my newfound freedom scrub the bathrooms and vacuum the cobwebs so my new roomies don’t run screaming, y’all read this week’s round-up of interesting blogs, remembering that I dodged all those trucks along the Internet toobz just for you. Don’t you feel special now?
The Book Bitches — Copy protected or something, so no quote. But, definitely a fun read for those who love romance novels and smart-ass bitchy women.
I’ve always wanted to tell stories. As a child, most of my friends played hide-and-go-seek. I read Harriet the Spy. Inspired by Harriet, I would walk around the neighborhood with my Lisa Frank notebook and ask my neighbors if they had any news to share. As an 11-year-old, this was my idea of spying. Intrigued by my inquisitiveness (and the binoculars I wore around my neck) my 74-year-old neighbor, Mrs. Irish, would update me on her children’s lives. Mr. and Mrs. Graham always filled me in on how many cars had sped down the street. Mr. Moore updated me on Esmerelda, the stray cat that often brought mice to his doorstep. Though not exactly breaking news, their stories gave me the opportunity to do what I loved: write and report. My neighborhood was my beat, the place where I searched for people and ideas, the place where I realized how many stories are left untold. Read it all.
So, there’s this thing called the Internet. You might remember it from “that thing you logged into to read this, right now.” Ring any bells? Hello?
Anyway, like every other piece of technology, people have found various ways to use this “internet” to do sex to one other. (I’m sure that ten minutes after they invented the telegraph, there was a guy tapping out dirty messages in Morse Code and whacking off with the other hand.) Read the whole thing.