I had a post....
but my classmate ate it.
Seriously. I was all ready to come in here and rant and rave this disgusting, rainy (AGAIN) Friday morning about my insanely busy week and the fact that my eyeballs are playing jumprope with my hair follicles because even when I'm ready to pass out, I haven't been sleeping so well.
I was gonna tell you how Monday, Little A had her last official dance class for the year.
Tuesday...class with teacher on crack no less, who skips ahead about 5 weeks and monologues at 90 mph for 70 minutes about DNA. Hello people, BIO 101....2nd week??
Wednesday....Little A and I both had friends over.
Thursday...class after spending two hours searching my corner of this rainy fucking planet looking for TAN tights in a girls size 8. Right. After hitting 6 stores in two hours we bought the smallest size women's pantyhose and I promised I would sew up the toe a little. I won't of course, it was only a ploy to make her wear them. They fit (ish). At least when she's standing still. We'll have to re-open this issue after she's tapped for 10 minutes in them.
And then class AND the first science test that I've taken in FOURTEEN years.
Tonight Little A has dress rehearsal and by the time we get home, JMom should have arrived for a weekend visit. My apt is a disaster as all living areas become when you only have time to run in, throw in the stuff you have, grab different stuff and run out again....over and over again.
So yeah, I was gonna come in here and complain about all that and of course whatever other little annoyances I could scrape up.
Then I went to class and walked in to this conversation:
Classmate: So, I had to go to the police station today and file charges against him because the girl is only fourteen. I have no idea what she's going to do with the baby...she's already had one abortion.
Me: What? Oh my god! How old is the father??
Classmate: Fourteen. It's my son.
Soooooo....nevermind. Tights....impregnating fourteen year old....dance class....police station. Yeah...just nev. er. mind.
Seriously. I was all ready to come in here and rant and rave this disgusting, rainy (AGAIN) Friday morning about my insanely busy week and the fact that my eyeballs are playing jumprope with my hair follicles because even when I'm ready to pass out, I haven't been sleeping so well.
I was gonna tell you how Monday, Little A had her last official dance class for the year.
Tuesday...class with teacher on crack no less, who skips ahead about 5 weeks and monologues at 90 mph for 70 minutes about DNA. Hello people, BIO 101....2nd week??
Wednesday....Little A and I both had friends over.
Thursday...class after spending two hours searching my corner of this rainy fucking planet looking for TAN tights in a girls size 8. Right. After hitting 6 stores in two hours we bought the smallest size women's pantyhose and I promised I would sew up the toe a little. I won't of course, it was only a ploy to make her wear them. They fit (ish). At least when she's standing still. We'll have to re-open this issue after she's tapped for 10 minutes in them.
And then class AND the first science test that I've taken in FOURTEEN years.
Tonight Little A has dress rehearsal and by the time we get home, JMom should have arrived for a weekend visit. My apt is a disaster as all living areas become when you only have time to run in, throw in the stuff you have, grab different stuff and run out again....over and over again.
So yeah, I was gonna come in here and complain about all that and of course whatever other little annoyances I could scrape up.
Then I went to class and walked in to this conversation:
Classmate: So, I had to go to the police station today and file charges against him because the girl is only fourteen. I have no idea what she's going to do with the baby...she's already had one abortion.
Me: What? Oh my god! How old is the father??
Classmate: Fourteen. It's my son.
Soooooo....nevermind. Tights....impregnating fourteen year old....dance class....police station. Yeah...just nev. er. mind.
Copyright 2005-2006 by Spells With...All rights reserved
Speak to me, 9 already did
9 Comments:
HOLY FUCK. I would have walked back out and brought a bottle of Jim beam and started handing out shots.
Cause, I don't think there is any other response to that last conversation.
Man, that's scary! I have a 16yo and a 13yo. They're boys, but still. I had the 16yo when I was 16, and let me tell you; we talk about everything here. EVERYTHING! At least when my daughter is a teen, the boys will be grown-up. (I hope) Like I said they are boys. Hope things slow down a little for you and your daughter, so you can have more time to knit.lol
Wow. She filed charges against her own son? Wow.
Yeah, makes the Tan tight dilemma a little... uh... tan.
(But seriously, your week? Damn!)
Jeez that sort of puts things into perspective doesn't it?
I hope things are going a little better for you too.
Damn, if I was there with ya right now, I'd be handing YOU a shot. Hang in there, kiddo!
It is moments like these that make you appreciate your troubles and chores. Your posting says a lot about our struggles to juggle and the difficulties that others have to shoulder...
Cheers.
Dang. That's just.....nuts. Maybe start carrying a flask?
Damn and blast accidental deletions!!
I had a witty response all planned out but then re-rea the "impregnating fourteen year olds" line and my finger accidentally slipped and deleted it!
Sheesh!
I totally hope that the girl your classmate was talking about was not his/her daughter. That would be just too sad.
Hope you did well on your test.
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