A Beaner, A Navajo, a Cracker, and a Honky

Oh, boy, what a weekend. I tried to keep my eyes open for blog fodder, because I have a hard time pinpointing things about which to write. My reasoning is simple: my brain is so full of wildly varying and extremely intellectual thoughts about everything that is is a lesson in futility to try to pinpoint just one. Yeah, right, whatever. So here is a little bit of everything that went on at my house over the weekend.

Saturday: It was the day of Eli's birthday deal with his friends. Took the two little boys to their granny's house at 9:30, where I was greeted by a very surly and rude (to me) grandpa. Rude in the sense that he wasn't planning on letting me into the fucking house to say goodbye to my boys. NOT happening; I walked right past him into the house (and I am sure there will be repercussions later for that one) to say goodbye, then went home to call Owen's dad to cry about how hurt I was. I am such a pussy.

Off to pick up the one friend of E's who wasn't already at the house. The other two boys with us know me, so are well used to my, um, personality. Also, they have both inadvertently seen my tits (because Eli forgets to tell me that someone is there, and I inevitably walk out of the bathroom in my bra), which has created a bond. We got there, I was listening to Sarah Brightman sing Andrew Lloyd Webber (and April, I know you hate him but I love the music. So there!), and poor W. looked at the car full of boys, me, heard the music, and he never said a word for the next 1.5 hours. However, we stopped to let R. pee, and I decided I like W. See, we call R. the Beaner, J. the Navajo, E. is the Cracker, and finally, W. decided it would be okay to be the Honky. Only amongst teen aged boys are racial slurs an acceptable form of affection, and since all but W. adore me (or my tits), I also get to use them. Note: Do NOT walk into the convenience store and say out loud, "Damn it, you beaner, how long does it take to pee?" I got a few dirty looks, while R. laughed hysterically.

But THIS was really cool: We were all at the counter waiting to pay (soda and candy for them, cigarettes for me-because dude, a two hour car trip with four teen aged boys calls for something more than chewing gum!), and I was basically just herding them along and we were all laughing and chatting, and then I said, "Ok, boys, get out of here and get in the car," and the checkout lady was in something like awe. "Are all those handsome boys yours? They are so sweet!" "No," I told her, but I do have three more of my own at home," and she said, "You are so nice for someone who has four kids!" I thought it was cool, even though of course it is all an image. I am SO not nice that anyone who knows me would have heard that and busted up laughing.

Dropped the boys off at the place they were swimming, then went to have lunch with my sister and my niece and my sister's boyfriend. After we ate, we went to his house, where he was showing me all of these little projects he has going. He is a great guy; he and my sister ended up together over a year ago out of tragic circumstances for both of them. K. came home one day to find her things packed, having been kicked out of the house unbeknown st to her. J. woke up to a gunshot on a Sunday morning to fins his long-term girlfriend had killed herself in the spare room. So we all thought maybe it was a "Let's get each other through this" deal, but it seems to be growing into something far more real and positive; I am so happy for her. He is not odd in the sense of "Eeew, gross," but just-different, in a good way. At one point during the afternoon, he was strolling across the yard with a little dachshund (AKA Yappy Fucker; I HATE little dogs!) under one arm and a broom in the other, yet still managed to look manly. They are a good fit.

Sunday: Didn't do shit. It was almost 80 degrees here, so we just played and worked outside all day. I did have one moment of panic when I sent all the boys home and went out to the tent to get some of the blankets out. In the corner were three rolls of toilet paper, a bottle of lotion, and a slightly risque photo. I am hopefully correct in assuming that because the rolls of TP were still wrapped, they didn't actually go out and TP someones house; haven't gotten a call yet, so I think we are okay. The lotion and photo? I don't want to know. Really.

Good to be back at work. For those who have visited over the weekend in the hopes that I might have some wonderful words (yeah, right), I don't blog on weekends. No Internet at home(something about a twelve year old boy, some unsupervised time after school, and porn), so I have to wait until I get to work AND get a break in my day.