MFA Mama

quandary

   I was just talking to Dr. Anon on the facespace and asking her if she thought Hotter's particular brain damage might cause him to act stupid about money and/or reality. She reminded me that she is no neurologist and volunteered that neurology isn't her strong suit, but said that "Looking at the location generally though it's a sort of relay station area, which suggests that putting clues together might not be his strong suit." Hmm. I speculated that maybe I ought to make Hotter an appointment with his neurologist just to ask him about it, and then I remembered that we already spoke to his neurologist about this once. The Unbloggability I'd been wrestling with in the weeks prior to that appointment was similar to what we're dealing with right now (Hotter being generally absentminded/clueless about money and then lashing out at me and generally being a huge penis-head). At that same appointment, the good Dr. Brain pointed his finger at Hotter like he was a bad dog and said "I know you're bitter about this, but you do NOT get to take this out on her."

   That is exactly what happened the other day, and it is not okay. At this point Hotter has worked through "YOU ARE A LYING LIAR WHO BEGRUDGES ME DENTAL TREATMENT" (I am paraphrasing, since Hotter likes to correct my phrasing when I quote him on the blog, but that is the gist of it), on through "here is a list of things YOU have done wrong, Ms. High And Mighty," to "drive carefully on the way home, I love you!" and "I hate arguing with you, I'm sorry I called you a liar." Which to be honest sounds less like "I was wrong, I acted like an asshole, you didn't deserve that, I apologize," and more like "I would very much like for you to not be pissed at me anymore," at least to me.

   And then there's the fact that I got home from work today, from whence I had texted Hotter the information on his new individual dental insurance policy* (thank you, JMJen, for the suggestion!) and asked him to make an appointment, to children asking me to order pizza to celebrate their snow day (which is excusable, their thinking that was an option, BECAUSE THEY ARE CHILDREN) and Hotter offering up that he hadn't started dinner, you know, in case I wanted to do just that. 

   Which is what caused me to wonder anew whether this was brain damage in action or I'd just married a monumental asshole (again), because SERIOUSLY? I bought dental insurance I hadn't anticipated spending money on today, worked while in pain (I have done something to my t-spine and I do not want to talk about it), we still have to pay the very large co-payment to fix the goddamn tooth and YOU WANT TO KNOW IF I WANT TO ORDER PIZZA? I just...it's like he constantly thinks that I've won the lottery and simply forgotten to mention it. And then if I display any annoyance I am the asshole, because "what is wrong with just ASKING?" (hint: it starts with "Hotter is not a child" and ends with "I am not Hotter's mother")

   I have to remind myself at times like this that on the whole I love Hotter, a lot, because every time this happens, his cluelessness, his taking his bitterness out on me, THIS**...it makes me look at him and wonder if this will be the time I don't go back to feeling good about him again.

 

 

*   Which doesn't mean the crown won't be hideously expensive, just that it will be less a matter of "someday if we win the lottery we'll get Hotter a crown" and more a matter of "Peter watch your pocket, because the dentist's name is Paul." We can't AFFORD the crown even WITH the insurance, but if I work my ass off and the van doesn't blow up we can make it happen within the next couple of weeks.

**   Yeah, this happens a lot in January, doesn't it? I have, in fact, considered whether Hotter might be bipolar; on one hand he certainly has it in his family, but on the other hand I'm not sure any psychiatrist would touch him due to the seizure issue and the brain damage. They might just punt him back to the neurologist. In any case, the treatment of choice is both an antidepressant (which Hotter is on, and which makes him MUCH more pleasant) and a mood-stabilizer (which Hotter is ALSO on, because his seizure meds are used for that), so this may be as good as it gets, or at least the matter of whether Hotter is bipolar or just a jerk is largely academic.

selective

   Hotter is doing that thing he does where something goes wrong, I can't fix it right away, and as a result he is a total asshole. It's GREAT.

   See, shortly after dinner tonight, one of his teeth just randomly disintegrated (it's not QUITE as weird as it sounds--prior to his transplants Hotter had really bad gastroparesis due to diabetes causing neuropathy in his gut and would throw up dozens of times per day, and that went on for quite some time, which damaged all of his teeth pretty badly; I don't think there's a single tooth in his mouth that doesn't have multiple chips, cracks, or other issues, and at any given time he needs $500-$10,000 worth of dental work done according to MFA Dentist). So that sucks. A few minutes later he came up to me and said "well, it doesn't hurt or anything, but obviously I'd like to get it fixed as soon as possible." I pointed out that that would mean a crown. "Well yeah, MFA Dentist says I need them on all four of those teeth," he said, pointing. "Crowns are $1,200," I reminded him. "Yeah, and?"

   Things are much better here financially since I started working at Eclecstasy, but they are not "$1,200 in the bank" kind of good. You'd think Hotter would grasp that without my pointing it out, but you'd be wrong. He also didn't grasp it WITH my pointing it out, and said that if it was MY tooth we'd get it fixed no problem, but he guessed since it was HIM he'd have to wait.

   I think he's got kind of a selective memory, because I that is actually not the case per history. I mean, mayyyybe if you count the time a few months ago where a crown of mine fell out and MFA Dentist was able to just glue it back in the next day, you might think that was the case, but on the whole, no.

   I pointed out that one of my FRONT TEETH fell apart in 2011 and I walked around like that for six months before I was able to get it fixed, and then only because a company stepped in and generously helped me out. (HOLLA to the fine folks at Brighter.com!). And he...called me a liar.

   So I think we're at an impasse, in that he apparently doesn't remember that whole miserable debacle AND thinks I fabricated my blog archives, I guess? Maybe he and Stalky can get together and vent about what a lying liar who tells lies on the innernet I am. I don't fucking know. I mean, what do I even do with this (the Hotter-calling-me-a-liar-about-my-life thing, not the current dental situation, I know what I'll do about that and it involves getting a second job again and not seeing the kids for a few weeks except for when they get to watch me work for Temp Agency #3 online until I pass out)? I debated whether or not to write about this, since it paints Hotter in kind of a negative light, but if he's going to be a jerk like this I'm going to vent about it, and if he doesn't want me venting about it then he shouldn't be a jerk.

   At least I'll miss him less while I'm working nonstop for the next little bit?

   Tell me something good.

dinner for three

   I am off today, and the two younger MFA Children are at the XY's house tonight working on their Pinewood Derby cars for Boy Scouts, so it was just Big Child, Hotter and me for dinner. I decided to take advantage of this fortuitous combination and make something my two younger, PICKIER children would hate, while also teaching Big Child a few things about cooking and giving Hotter a night off from the relentlessness of dinner preparation. So the boy and I left Hotter gaming away and retreated to the kitchen with a sockeye filet, two pounds of fresh asparagus, a bag of organic potatoes, lemons, butter, garlic, salt, pepper, and various implements of destruction.

   About an hour later we had a delicious meal of broiled salmon, asparagus in lemon-butter sauce, and garlic-mashed potatoes. Big Child helped throughout the process, and I think he actually absorbed some information on carmelization, how to mince garlic, the best way to juice a lemon (spoiler: microwave it briefly before squeezing), and how to locate and remove pin bones in filets of fish. I think the main end-result is that after leaving the nest, the kid will dine out if he wants fish :)

   Skeeter is in chop-licking fish-skin heaven.

   In other news, I've been suffering from dry, itchy skin lately, and broke into full-blown bullshit eczema on one elbow. Remembering that I once asked a doctor for advice on this and that they suggested liberal applications of CeraVe cream* fresh out of the shower (but that I then priced it at the drugstore and said "FUCK THAT"), now that I am in a better position financially I wasted no time in ordering a tub of the stuff, and PEOPLE. Doctors occasionally know things! If you (or your kids) have dry skin, go and get you some. Seriously, my elbow improved by half after just one application, the stuff isn't greasy or scented, and my skin just slurps it up. I am very pleased, and after seeing how much it helped my problem spots have started applying it to my entire body, because YOLO. It's been great for the skin over the Virginia Woolf Tramp Stamp, which is still dry and raised-up (as tattoos are for a bit while they settle in), too.

   I also ordered some organic, pre-soaped, disposable washcloths for Skeeter after seeing another Sphynx owner recommend those online somewhere; kitty's gonna get some HYGIENE! Speaking of That Goddamn Cat, I finally figured out the cause of some aggression he's been displaying toward me when I'm lying in bed recently. Today he came up and sank his little fangs into my foot, and because I was trying to type something I just whined "come on, man!" and moved my legs a bit (instead of evicting him from the room or attempting to deliver some negative reinforcement). To my surprised, he ceased his attack, biscuited the plush blanket my legs had been on, and settled into the loaf position. IT'S THE BLANKET (the one pictured in the previous post). He loves it and doesn't want anyone else on it! Jerk-hole cat.

   How are all of YOU?

 

*   That there is an affiliate link, which means that if you click through and buy the product, I get a nickel or something. I LIKE NICKELS!

three-day staycation

   I had all weekend and today off work, thanks to some schedule-juggling on my part, with the idea in mind that we'd make a trip up to the Arctic Tundra. Hotter hasn't seen his mom in ages, and I worry that something will happen to her and he'll end up resenting me. We were all set to go, and then suddenly he changed his mind. Which put me in an awkward position, because I would rather have done ANYTHING else than drive six hours to spend three days driving long distances in an iffy vehicle, eating out of a cooler (being gluten-free plus Hotter's mom being broke and funny about food to begin with would mean taking our own food with us), freezing my arse off (they have oil heat and can't afford to keep it turned up very high), sneezing (indoor cats), and listening to Poppy and Skeet (who would've had to come with us--Bumpus could stay with The XY and the boys) yowl in their respective crates. Anything, that is, besides have the fight Hotter and I will probably have if/when something happens to his mom. So there was some back and forth, but eventually we stayed home.

   Once the decision to stay or go was past us, the weekend was delightful. We napped a lot, and went out for barbecue, shopped for new flannel sheets, and napped some more.

Figure One: Skeeter approved of the way we spent my time off.

items, assorted

*   I had a birthday, and it was grand as far as birthdays after thirty go (which is to say that there were lots of naps). Middle Child got to me first, presented me with a handful of crumpled bills, and said "I know it's not vewy much, but I wanted to give you FREE dollars just to spend on you, one for each son you are raising, in case my bruvvers forget." Little Child is very much into paper snowflakes lately, and crafted a special one with numerous tiny heart-shaped cutouts radiating from the center. Big Child wrote me a poem, which I'd love to share with you because it's hilarious but it's too identifying; in it he names, among other things I do in life, my hatred of The Undertoad, which has become the stuff of household legend (that damn toad!). And Hotter, oh Hotter, he baked me the very saddest and crookedest of dried-out gluten-free cakes because I said I wasn't baking my own damn cake this damn year, and after I'd added a layer of flesh-colored vanilla buttercream it looked regrettably like a confectionary rendition of a big crooked boob. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, it said, HERE IS A REMINDER OF WHAT AGING IS DOING TO YOUR BODY, and I had to laugh. It was actually kind of perfect. That and all of the naps combined with the outpouring of love and well-wishes from various social media made this quite possibly the best birthday I've had so far.

*   Aging still sucks; we had an ice storm and I knew before I even opened my eyes by the rigor mortis that had set in overnight. *sigh*

*   There is no delicate way to put this part, so look away if you're secretly a coworker of mine or estranged biofamily or anyone who doesn't want to hear about my sex-life, but here is the thing: I had some...and I will attempt to be circumspect in case my children ever end up reading this and just go with "body modification to help solve a very personal problem"...done at the same-ish time as I got the Virginia Woolf Tramp Stamp, figuring that the end of a year when I'd already met my deductible and maxed my out-of-pocket was a good time to do it, and there was a requisite thirty-day healing period wherein abstinence was necessary. At the time I was all cavalier about it, because hey, perfect timing since I would want to stay off my back for a bit ANYWAY, amirite? RIMSHOT! And well, we didn't quite make it the full thirty days but apparently after this kind of procedure SOME people find that The Sex is extra-glorious, and to say anymore than that would just be bragging so we'll leave it at "I think part of my recent funk was related to celibacy, with which I apparently do not deal well, and things are looking MUCH brighter now."

*   Work is going really well, Crazy Coworker aside, and I actually haven't had to work with her since the last time I mentioned it. Apparently she's changed her availability in such a way that it'll be very easy for me to avoid her for the most part, too, so that's nice. The whole Crazy Coworker debacle has brought it to my attention that things at Eclecstasy are not QUITE as perfect as they initially seemed, but that is kind of a relief. I was starting to feel like maybe the company was just too good for me, and finding out that there is the odd steaming pile of bullshit amidst the roses makes the job less stressful, weirdly enough.

*   Having ceased to drink my feelings, which was becoming a rather too-frequent coping method, I have started to take Poppy for walks when I would recently have had an adult beverage. It's pretty okay as far as stress relievers go, and Poppy is delighted in her sudden good fortune.

*   How are all of YOU?

it gets tedious (and gray...)

   Today went well from a job-performance standpoint. Everybody up to and including the GM said I did a good job. That part was nice.

   The part that wasn't so nice was the part where Crazy Coworker harassed, taunted, snubbed, and provoked me, and I asked Management for their advice on it, and they were all "our goal is to move PAST this, and you are not helping by continuing to speak up about it." I pointed out that I wasn't the one to bring it up to Management, and they acknowledged that, but then waffled and said that Crazy Coworker "had been held accountable." I call bullshit. They have pretty much said that they wash their hands of it, which would be fine, except that Crazy Coworker isn't letting it go.

   I am not sure what to do here. Hotter is dead-set against my leaving Eclecstasy, because as he (quite rightly) points out, I won't make as good a living anywhere else. The thing is, though, if someone is legit fucking PSYCHO and won't let it go, I don't know that any amount of money is worth exposing my family to that kind of crazy.

   In other news, to those of you who (either publicly in the comments or privately, via e-mail) pointed out that there are worse things than going gray, such as going gray "downstairs"...why do you think I have started waxing EVERYTHING? There really is no dignity in aging...

   And how are all of YOU?

it gets interesting

   So Crazy Coworker is (allegedly) leaving Eclecstasy of her own accord. 

   Or so she says. We'll see. I think it might just be a big mindfuck to make me think things'll be okay and then BOOM! Just kidding! Haha.

   Today she was at work making a big histrionic deal out of telling people how much she'd miss them and promising her uniform bits and pieces to various people when she was gone. Whatever.

   Tomorrow is my first day on duty in my new capacity as a supervisory-type sub-middle-management occasional figure of (not much) authority. I'm kind of nervous about it, mostly because I want to do a good job and I'm being thrown in at the deep end, kind of (Sunday brunch is A BIG DEAL in the restaurant industry). We'll see how it goes. I talked to my boss about it and was like "are you punishing me for something by having me start on SUNDAY BRUNCH?" She was like "no not at all, I just think you'll be really good at it and can handle it! It's a compliment!" I said I was worried I'd fuck things up. "You're not going to fuck things up. It'll be fine! Seriously though, don't fuck things up." Good talk, boss!

   I'd have a better feeling about tomorrow if I hadn't somehow apparently hurt my back today. I have no idea what I did, and kind of blame my shoes (my feet have been hurting a lot lately, too). I'd been hesitant to invest in new ones given the whole Crazy Coworker situation, but yesterday I went ahead and ordered a new pair, because the old ones in addition to being not-so-cushy-anymore are less leather and more eleventy-seven layers of polish on top of a pair of beat-down soles and I actually take pride in being one of the people Management points to as an example of what the uniform SHOULD look like. I even double-starch and iron my shirts.

   I don't know what is going on with my blog, y'all. I went from writing about divorce and single parenting, to writing about teaching and a blended family, to poverty and organic gardening, and now it's turned into sporadic updates about Eclecstasy. I'm kind of struggling lately, to be honest. I drank my feelings for a little while, then woke up one morning spooning the Bumpus Hound and decided that was enough of that, and now I'm just kind of...I dunno. Going gray at an alarming rate, for one thing. Maybe it's just the January pre-birthday blahs? This almost feels like what passes for a calm before a storm around here, and March is just around the corner...

   One the bright side, the chickens have started laying again (a little bit).

   How are all of YOU?

the early present

   Tonight, my (raging homophobe) ex-husband's voice-to-text app caused him to inadvertently text "I love you!" to my current husband. We knew what had happened as soon as Hotter got the text; this isn't the first time that app has made a fool of the XY, just the best one to date. I grabbed Hotter's phone and texted back "This is MFA Mama. I know Hotter brings out feelings in you that you don't understand, but please explore your bicurious leanings on the innernet or with someone else's husband."

   And my birthday isn't until next week!

It gets worse

I dunno y'all. Eclecstasy virtually promised they were getting rid of Crazy Coworker, and gave me a (small, no more money, actually LESS money but more responsibility plus brownie points) promotion. Then today they informed me that witnesses had corroborated my version of what went down, but per Corporate/Legal, all things considered, Crazy Coworker had been suspended, not fired, and is coming back tomorrow. So...I don't know.
I had A Moment over it, because...well I promised I wouldn't tell anyone what exactly went down but it was BAD...but Hotter is dead-set against my leaving Eclecstasy. And really I don't WANT to. But...I really don't know. I wish I liked Beta Job more. I think I'll start looking for something else? I really like Eclecstasy, aside from Crazy Coworker. This isn't what I'd expected at all. I feel like Management lied to me, but...I love the job aside from this one person.
Crazy people suck.

Sent from The Precious

gifts

*   I was kind of waiting to update until the situation with Crazy Coworker had played itself out, but due to a combination of corporate machinations and Crazy Coworker ducking management for the past week there is not yet any news to share. Last Saturday night at work I set my keys down (in my apron pocket) to go to the employee ladies' (health code forbids us to wear our aprons into the loo itself, which is probably a good idea, and the area right outside is also right outside the management office, so generally a combination of managerial presence, video surveillance, and the honor system means you are safe to set your things down for three entire minutes), and somehow they disappeared entirely, which left me standing outside the bar across the street from Eclecstasy at 2 a.m. coatless and swearing mightily as I broke into the MFA Minivan with a wire hanger to retrieve the registration (I only have one key, and my license, bank card, etc. were in the card-case attached to it so I wasn't sure how to convince anyone with actual lock/key skills that the effing thing was mine to begin with). It turns out my coworkers as a whole are super-good eggs; two of our dishwashers stepped in and lent their criminal backgrounds to the endeavor, the very nicest FOH manager let the closing kitchen manager know what was going on, and he offered to run me home (a twenty minute drive). I'd been planning on just waiting until my BFF got off work at the local strip club at 3:30 but Management pointed out that it probably wasn't optimal for me to hang out outside the bar where the local service industry roughnecks go to party after closing, in the cold, in formal attire and no coat, with a large amount of cash on my person in the wee hours of the morning. I got into the kind kitchen manager's car and saw a familiar array of warning lights and empty indicators come to life in the dash. "Sorry about my car. I'm kind of broke because my dumb ass didn't pay taxes right and got garnished right before the holidays. I hate to ask, but I don't think we'll make it out to YourVillage if I don't put like five bucks in her..." he said, and was delighted when I handed him a twenty, exclaiming that this was actually really helpful to him since gas to get to work was a major worry until payday. Yesterday at work I went and found him and said a cab home would've cost me eighty with a decent tip, and gave him another twenty. He tried to demure but I told him he'd saved my ass and I was trying to express some fucking gratitude, so don't shit on it, Happy Holidays. I mostly work with some really good people, and while I know I didn't leave my keys anywhere in or around the bar across the street, when I called them in the morning to ask that they not tow the MFA Minivan while I figured out how to get a key made they turned out to have had my keys (and all cards, etc.) turned into their Lost and Found. YAY, GOOD PEOPLE! (boo, Crazy Coworker, I mean SERIOUSLY)

*   I shot the BFF a text letting her know I'd found another way home, and in the morning I called her for a ride to get the keys and the minivan. Crazy Coworker was supposed to be working that day, and I was not looking forward to facing her after the key debacle, so when I found I'd gotten a nice voicemail from Nice Manager offering to help in any way she could with the key thing and telling me it was okay if I couldn't make it to work or needed to come in late (it is NEVER acceptable to not come to work at Eclecstasy or come in late) I read the writing on the wall and said I'd found the keys and that was all good but was thinking maybe the universe was telling me to take a day off and finish my holiday shopping. The effusive enthusiasm with which Nice Manager agreed told me I'd made the right call, and the BFF and I went and had lunch at Beta Job and planned our unexpected day together.

*   Naturally we ended up at MFA City's most notorious tattoo parlor and body-piercing studio after shopping for our respective significant others. The BFF gifted me $100 worth of ink and got some of her own; there's a particular tattoo I've wanted for years and years that's always been in the "someday when I'm rich" category in my mind (a page from Professions For Women). Just out of curiousity I asked them to price it, explaining that once I started I'd probably go a hundred bucks at a time until it was done; I was contemplating using my gift to get started. "In $100 increments, I'd say ten sessions, minimum," said the artist. "Although most of that is because I have to set up, make and apply a stencil, do the work, and break everything down each time. If you have a wicked pain tolerance, three hours, and $300 I'm willing to do it all at once so I can finish my own shopping." A quick loan from the BFF and a handshake sealed the deal. I told the artist I wanted the ink to fit between my bra strap and panty line. He said no way, unless he wrapped it around my ribs. I said no problem. He said he wasn't sure he could even do a stencil that size in that shape. I suggested changing the orientation of his page layout. He cursed and grumbled and told me I'd have to be able to sit for three hours bent double. I said I was double-jointed, so we were good to go. The secretary laughed. He warned me that what I was asking for would REEEEEEALLY hurt. I said tattoos didn't bother me and he would need a break before I did. Those turned out to be some of the dumbest words ever to leave my mouth, because when he started at the bottom (to prevent smudging of the stencil), going from right to left like Hebrew (this tattoo is not in Hebrew, although the one on my arm is in Yiddish) across the sacroiliac joint I realized I had spoken hastily and possibly made a terrible mistake. THAT TATTOO WAS TWO SOLID HOURS OF PAIN WORSE THAN UNMEDICATED CHILDBIRTH. Having already opened my big mouth and willingly signed up for this, the only thing to do was mentally disassociate from my body, sit there with my face mashed into my kneecaps, and sweat profusely from the palms of my frigid hands feeling like a jackass while the needle moved from the jiggly-ticklish skin over my ribs, to the uncushioned flesh of my back, over my spine with a sickening amount of vibration, across the other side of my back, and over some more ribs. While this was going on, my friend got a tattoo the size of a pack of cards, with color and shading, and swore like a sailor, the artist sent the laughing secretary to buy his girlfriend's Xmas gift (he got her a WeVibe, and I mentioned that I'd gotten one for free in exchange for writing a review and they were pretty cool and the secretary stopped laughing and said "THIS bitch!" and we discussed its merits, a conversation I have zero memory of except that it generally happened) and took one smoke break, and it got dark outside. Then my friend and I went out for ribs, because it seemed like the thing to do, and I came home and dressed my back and changed into the "I ain't afraid of no ghosts" t-shirt I bought back when Stalky was harassing me via g-mail as "The MFA Gatekeeper" (at the time it was terrifying, but now I can look back and laugh at Hotter's suggestion that I be all "I'M THE KEYMASTER, BITCH!") and then never wore because it reminded me of Stalky. That shirt may not have been afraid of no ghosts, but it was VERY afraid of Virginia Woolf by morning, when it symbolically went right in the trash:

*   The MFA Children had a good holiday, by which I mean that lights were lit and latkes eaten, they got their Steam.com wish lists, and while they can conquer entire worlds in-game my children cannot follow simple installation instructions so the house echoed with whalesong this morning until I went and helped troubleshoot, but then it was good. Hotter really likes his gift from me, and I am calling my crazy day off with my friend (and another one tomorrow, in which I am picking up an old Hotel California friend, a.k.a. my big gay boyfriend, and we are doing happy hour) my gift to myself.

*   It feels like 2014 might just end on a good note, but I'm scared to jinx it by making that call.