Rabble rabble rabble rabble

I tried to post last night but couldn't squeeze anything out of my pathetic tired little brain. Yesterday was my son's first birthday party. Whooo... just as good as a workout at the gym. Best part ever... as my son was digging in his electric blue and green iced cake my second cousin's white-blonde headed daughter walked by and my kid, used to sneak feeding and petting the dog from his high chair, saw her walk by and figured she was the right height with some sort of fur on the top of her head and swiped his iced fingers through her hair. I said to my cousin, "You guys are going swimming after this, right?"

All and all it was fun. But now what to do with all these Christmas toys and birthday toys. I suppose I'll hide the X-mas toys until he gets bored with the new ones and bring out the old ones like they're new. Hopefully, he'll still be young enough to fall for it.

Other than that... well, nothing. Yes, I'm enjoying watching my son grow and learn the things I teach him. Coming from someone who used to think children were only spawned for sweat shops, it's a great feeling and I'm content being here with him. But... there is always a but in life. Nothing is perfect. I can't believe I'm about to type this.. I miss working. Ahh! Yep, I said it.

Having a kid is quite a 180 from where I was at before. I'm old though... at least too old to be staying at bars all night and coming home at noon with strange foliage in my hair. It was time to have a kid. For me anyway. All the puzzle pieces are fitting nicely. So amongst all this cabin fever shite I've decided to go back to massage therapy school. Yeah, I have to go to Haney and not Blue Cliff in New Orleans like I desperately want to but there are no other steps I can take for providing for my little family without becoming a food stamp whore for the rest of my life*. I need a skill that will make me more money than slicing and boxing pizzas for pennies. Next step, school. Learn skill. Graduate. Make the working world my bitch and be proud of myself. That and I'll have accomplished something. Not that I don't feel accomplished molding my son, but I need to do something with myself and Haney is the only place here for MT and it has a daycare so I can check on The Kid between every class. I wonder if they let you do that? Probably not, but at least I know he's close and if I did feel the burning urge to bust up in that bitch it'll be only steps away.

On a good note. I did a lot of writing last night. Just poems and a smattering of words that make sense to me. I need to do this more. Submit my stories. Get it out there. I also want a rejection letter from the New York Post or somewhere equally unobtainable for a female Bukowski. Yes, it'd be nicer for them to print it but hey... let's be realistic.

Side note... I don't post any of the good stuff like I used to. I don't know exactly how many people on Facebook read this and I have a lot of family on FB soooo... I'd rather not subject them to what they would consider a complete horror. These are church goin' folkses here we're talking about. I've already got blocked from my sister's husband, who is a local preacher at a rather large church, block me because I referred to the staples from my C-section as my Frankenpussy. Now I'm blocked from commenting though I've never commented anything rude or sarcastic. I respect all religions. Even the ones that are annoying.

* No, I'm not knocking anyone on food stamps. Hello? Meeee. I am knocking those who leach the system with cash assistance, food stamps and get to sit on their butts all day squatting out babies [the ones who I assume belong in sweat shops]. A little help from the government isn't a bad thing when you need it. Even if you need it for a long time. As long as you aren't bein' a ho.