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Remember to shout at the bitches

October 21, 2016

Yeah, I know I don’t blog much anymore, but, in my defense, James Bowie and William Travis died at the siege of the Alamo – they probably didn’t blog much either while their communications were cut off and they slowly starved in need of reinforcements while they were being surrounded by enemy forces. I remember Texas and my days there fondly, as I am sure the Texas patriots did even while they were under attack and while they drew their last breaths defending the ideals that brought them there. They were left to twist in the wind and probably shouted obscenities in defiance of the devil himself in defense of their ideals, so I will follow their example and I am making my last stand with words, and not a Bowie knife….

alamo

Remember the Alamo? #realworldstruggles (random internet photo) 

Lots of wonderful moments of time and small victories have happened, but today, I figured out that my cries for help and my pledges of allegiance fell on deaf ears. To abandon the historical reference – here goes (and I will bring it back to historical context in the end).

My oldest child, my one and only true larger-than-life-Texan, is a 6’1″ varsity volleyball player in addition to being a 4.0 student; a four event medalist at state track; a top 10 award winner in Forensics (old people like me call it Speech and Debate Team;, a top 10 FFA judging winner; a Student Council rep; a cheerleader; member of the drill team; Scholars’ Bowl participant; Art Club member; a main actress/ singer in the all school play; and held a job (or did until her boss was diagnosed with cancer) for four years. She has (mostly) purchased her own clothes, mostly her own food, and paid for her own fuel for two years straight. She also hates – HATES – for me, her only parent, to attend her events because she doesn’t want to let me down. So, out of respect, I stay away from watching her in sports or any other event where spectators are a normal occurrence.

sky-vb

The hitter is mine and I would rather try to catch a cannonball in my teeth than be on the other side of the net from her… 

Today – by accident – I found out that the “pillars  of the community parents” planned to have a party to make signs for Sub-State Volleyball. The tournament is this weekend. They inadvertently had two separate group messages going. One of the pain-in-the-ass- constant-group-messages was for the breakfast, and the other for their private get-together to make the fancy signs to put on the sides of the road for the players to see on their way to the big event. Well, not all the mommies from the “good families” were on the same page, because one of them let the cat out of the bag and I found out that I was obviously, purposely, personally excluded from the cool-bitches’ gathering.

I could shout about this and claim special snowflake victim status, but I doubt (or at least I hope) that they didn’t do this on purpose, but…. when it comes right down to it, I struggle financially, I am a single mother, and I wasn’t raised here. I have a job with unpredictable, and unconventional hours, and none of the Mean Mommies have  bothered to ask why I do not attend games to watch my child participate in sports, cheer, or dance. I have very minimal community ties except for law enforcement (which is well known) and I changed my own, and my childrens’ names for reasons that seem suspicious to these catty, hateful bitches. (Oops… I typed that???!!! for you to read and I didn’t delete it, dammit)

The school guidance counselor refuses – yeah – refuses to assist my Junior in High School  in scheduling her college entrance exam even though all the kids from “good families” have already taken theirs with her assistance (or, more correctly – at her insistence) , but, yet, I have college recruiters breathing down my throat from over a dozen different schools trying their best to offer her a scholarship for both athletics and academics. Despite – or in spite of – my begging for instructions or assistance the counselor keeps blowing me off and not in the happy-fun way.

flat tire

Meanwhile, I dealt with this bank-breaking mess. (P.S. Don’t drive down Schroyer Road (one of the top ten most-haunted places in America) 

As it turns out, the hateful sign-making mommas had nothing to worry about when it came to trying to keep from inviting me to their party. I got the call today with one-hour-notice that I needed to come to cover a shift at the bar where I work. ( I make over $25/hour on a regular basis so fuck off, it is a job that usually has flexible hours so I have plenty of weekday free time to take care of my kids’ needs.)  My job pays well for the time I have to put in (100-mile commute excluded) but I am the lead bartender and that means that I am basically like a substitute teacher  if subs have to go in to work at the last minute with a classroom of kids with behavioral issues and serve them alcohol all day.

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 Yeah… I also bought a classic car out of a barn….. and, guess what, bitches? This big block is about to outrun the glitter on your hateful, bitchy VB signs (Also, I ruined a good pair of jeans with the awful hot pink soap at the carwash.) 

Yet, it still chaps my skinny ass that I wasn’t even invited to participate in the little private Volleyball Mommy Party. No one has ever asked why I am not at games – none of these entitled-helicopter-mom twatwaffles has a clue about the effort that goes into maintaining a household ALONE  – and I pray for them every single day that they never learn about it firsthand. They just think I am an un-involved beer slinging bitch. (None of them know that I have an advanced STEM degree – not do they care that it is useless in this tiny town.)

one

Yep – that is really, truly, little-ol’-me at work this Summer… photographed by Dirty Ernie… the #1 photographer for Easy Rider Magazine in the 1970’s

Meanwhile, I have two other kids. One was bullied to the point that I decided to send her to school in another state. She is absolutely flourishing in a bigger school district with more diverse opportunities. Cross country, swim team, tennis, drama, and a part time job – with the support of extended family and without living in the shadow of her older sister in this small town. … the youngest child is my other little over-achiever who I spend several hours a day encouraging in her passion to learn and grow.  I am so busy with work, paying bills, and taking care of the business of the household, that the baby of the family uses most of her free time either doing household chores or researching history to get ready for her latest performance – either on a stage or on the court for sports. (Still an almost straight A student, but she sucks at doing dishes and folding clothes – oh, well – I know when to admit defeat.)

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Tell me #3 can’t play at being a ghost or a dead girl for a local Historical Society event!!!

Tomorrow morning I will be up at six to see #1 and #3 off to school. I will pack up the things that #2 (the out-of-towner) needs to pick up from me in the town where I work and, before work I will meet with three business owners who help me make things happen for the Historical Societies and the Veterans’ organizations that I volunteer for before I go stock beer to serve to the patrons at my paying job. After work, I will spend my tip money one dollar at a time (the same way I earn it) so #1’s team has the juice and milk I promised to the Team Moms for HS VB.

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Think I forgot to mention that I was teaching #3 to restore bikes… 

In the morning (about three hours after I get home from work) I will take the drinks to the HS then shower, then take #3 to her last two little-girl VB games, and then come home to finish sewing our period-correct clothing and do final preparations to our carefully prepared scripts for the Fall Railroad Historical Society run.  Somehow, in the midst of all that, I will hit up the bank to pay the mortgage, buy groceries, follow the score or the HS Sub-State Tournament, check in with #2, and do period-correct hairstyles for the evening performance, knock out a couple load of laundry and check my tire pressure because my sensor light came on while I was driving home tonight. After all that, I can figure out how the hell to pay for the renewal on the license plates on three vehicles and buy Halloween costumes in the next ten days.

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One of the biggest steam engines ever made…. photographed between VB games…. Yep, shitty Momma that I am, I managed to take #3 to see this history made after a 12 hour shift. 

But, at least I will be able to do it all while wondering why the ever-loving- fuck I wasn’t qualified to be invited to sprinkle glitter on signs with the Cool Mommies who got invited to the party, but at least I am not being fired upon by Santa Ana, right??? I thought this was gong to be a safe place and a defensible position. Have mercy and bring a Bowie knife to put me out of this misery, please.

Remember the Alamo, and remember small town Kansas.

Best wishes,

Sadie

(P.S. unaccredited photos are mine-all-mine)

 

 

 

 

 

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One Comment
  1. Bike Boy permalink

    It is good to see that the four of you ladies are still making your own way. Be proud, you are all so very strong. -Bike Boy

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