Monday, January 5th, 2004 09:24 pm
head or tales of child and fandom
News With Child
Sister's Potential Stepson and Child played rockerstars. My sister dressed them, and I didn't pay that much attention, which was possibly a mistake.
It was kind of like Marilyn Manson meets Green Day. With Child in vinyal thigh high boots of Sister's, six inch and platform, that looked like pants, and little vinyl shorts that disturbingly fit Sister's waist as well as Child's. Red highlights in his hair and black eyeliner on his face complimented the entire ensemble. Potential Stepson of Sister wore plaid boxers and a wife beater and played guitar. Child was frontman.
I had flashbacks to Rocky Horror Picture Show, and not in a good way.
My sister taped the entire nightmare while my life flashed before my eyes, and then we all watched it together and laughed ourselves sick while Child wailed into a microphone, and I quote here:
"You don't know what it's liiiikeee..
To be left alone
In the *dark*
All alone.
I'm just a little kid."
(accusing look at camera--I try to remember leaving him alone in the dark)
repeat
repeat
(child does weird hand motions and capers about. In platform boots. No, capers, really, in six inch platform boots. I can't even *walk* in six inch heels)
(Child: can I use the b word?
Sister: no
Child: please?
Sister: No!)
So you just get out--baby.
Baby you just get out.
Because you don't know what it's like....
repeat from above
And people wonder why I've stared a psychological counseling fund for Child's teens.
It's probably terribly boring to be this fascinated in my offspring, but seriously, this kid just blows my mind sometimes. He's picked up a creepy habit of speaking in platitudes.
Case in point.
"Nick, get off the cabinet door. You're going to break it."
"Jenn (he calls me this. I don't get it) is a cabinet more important than your own son?"
"I have medical insurance on you. The cabinet doesn't."
The thing is, he does this *all the time*. He has a platitude for every occasion, and it's freaking me out, because I have this sneaking suspicion he's doing it to see if he can actually make me start grinding my teeth faster each time. I really, really need to watch Nickelodean with him and see what horrifyingly moral show is dirtying his mind and stop that educational nonsense right off the bat.
Plus, he takes a fiendish delight in telling my parents about what Mommy watches on TV. He somehow zeroes in on the stuff that we all know disturb my parents most--Carnivale, Queer as Folk, certain Buffy episodes. What I can't figure out is how he's figuring this stuff out--I've moved everything, and I mean *everything* not G rated or already approved--to the top of my closet. My computer is locked down when I'm not home, after that Unfortunate Discovery He Knows How to Use a VCR. He's heard me talk about it to my sister or some friends, but that's about it.
It's not necessarily to upset Mommy--he just loves my parents looking horrified. I should probably put a stop to it, but as a kid, I was very, very good and never shocked or horrified my parents. My youngest sister always did, and I find this kind of unfair. So it's kind of a warm fuzzy glow when Child can do it for me.
Fandom
A five day soft block, two day hard block, broke lightly yesterday, and I ended up writing about five thousand words or so throughout the day on three separate stories. The thing that annoys me is, the one I'm writing the most on is the one that shouldn't interest me at all, but I have this really improbable scene that I have to write. I just *have* to, it hits my funny bone in all the right ways.
jainieg is killing me. Just for reference.
Also, sisabet called me a gateway fandom drug. *squints* If I were just a little more egotistical, I'd so iconize that, just to cheer me up on hard block days. It's nice I'm not that egotistical today. I'll just giggle to myself and think happy thoughts. Because today, clients were annoying, I worked forty minutes overtime, and my new haircolor wouldn't wash properly and stained my skin a little and I had to damage skin to get that crap off my shoulders.
But. Gateway drug!
I'm so easy.
Sister's Potential Stepson and Child played rockerstars. My sister dressed them, and I didn't pay that much attention, which was possibly a mistake.
It was kind of like Marilyn Manson meets Green Day. With Child in vinyal thigh high boots of Sister's, six inch and platform, that looked like pants, and little vinyl shorts that disturbingly fit Sister's waist as well as Child's. Red highlights in his hair and black eyeliner on his face complimented the entire ensemble. Potential Stepson of Sister wore plaid boxers and a wife beater and played guitar. Child was frontman.
I had flashbacks to Rocky Horror Picture Show, and not in a good way.
My sister taped the entire nightmare while my life flashed before my eyes, and then we all watched it together and laughed ourselves sick while Child wailed into a microphone, and I quote here:
"You don't know what it's liiiikeee..
To be left alone
In the *dark*
All alone.
I'm just a little kid."
(accusing look at camera--I try to remember leaving him alone in the dark)
repeat
repeat
(child does weird hand motions and capers about. In platform boots. No, capers, really, in six inch platform boots. I can't even *walk* in six inch heels)
(Child: can I use the b word?
Sister: no
Child: please?
Sister: No!)
So you just get out--baby.
Baby you just get out.
Because you don't know what it's like....
repeat from above
And people wonder why I've stared a psychological counseling fund for Child's teens.
It's probably terribly boring to be this fascinated in my offspring, but seriously, this kid just blows my mind sometimes. He's picked up a creepy habit of speaking in platitudes.
Case in point.
"Nick, get off the cabinet door. You're going to break it."
"Jenn (he calls me this. I don't get it) is a cabinet more important than your own son?"
"I have medical insurance on you. The cabinet doesn't."
The thing is, he does this *all the time*. He has a platitude for every occasion, and it's freaking me out, because I have this sneaking suspicion he's doing it to see if he can actually make me start grinding my teeth faster each time. I really, really need to watch Nickelodean with him and see what horrifyingly moral show is dirtying his mind and stop that educational nonsense right off the bat.
Plus, he takes a fiendish delight in telling my parents about what Mommy watches on TV. He somehow zeroes in on the stuff that we all know disturb my parents most--Carnivale, Queer as Folk, certain Buffy episodes. What I can't figure out is how he's figuring this stuff out--I've moved everything, and I mean *everything* not G rated or already approved--to the top of my closet. My computer is locked down when I'm not home, after that Unfortunate Discovery He Knows How to Use a VCR. He's heard me talk about it to my sister or some friends, but that's about it.
It's not necessarily to upset Mommy--he just loves my parents looking horrified. I should probably put a stop to it, but as a kid, I was very, very good and never shocked or horrified my parents. My youngest sister always did, and I find this kind of unfair. So it's kind of a warm fuzzy glow when Child can do it for me.
Fandom
A five day soft block, two day hard block, broke lightly yesterday, and I ended up writing about five thousand words or so throughout the day on three separate stories. The thing that annoys me is, the one I'm writing the most on is the one that shouldn't interest me at all, but I have this really improbable scene that I have to write. I just *have* to, it hits my funny bone in all the right ways.
Also, sisabet called me a gateway fandom drug. *squints* If I were just a little more egotistical, I'd so iconize that, just to cheer me up on hard block days. It's nice I'm not that egotistical today. I'll just giggle to myself and think happy thoughts. Because today, clients were annoying, I worked forty minutes overtime, and my new haircolor wouldn't wash properly and stained my skin a little and I had to damage skin to get that crap off my shoulders.
But. Gateway drug!
I'm so easy.
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From:Him: "Don't you know that little kids have to have a *lot* of attention so they feel good? I'm just a little kid, Jenn."
Me: "Mom."
Him: "Mom."
*buries head in hands*
It's like he's reading parenting books behind my back or something. It's got to be Rugrats that's doing this. Or The FairlyOddParents. I'm *so* going to check on this one. Stupid cartoons.
*sighs dramatically* I'm scared of his teens.
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From:Your kid is smart. And clearly reading parenting books. But if he's doing the teenage "Mom obviously needs guidance from me to tie her shoes" thing already, maybe by the time he hits his pre-teens, he'll have a nest egg and a mortgage plan, and you'll be able to retire in comfort. Right?
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From:My hairdresser told me to try using nail polish whenever haircolor gets on my skin. It actually works too.
Also, I ended up writing about five thousand words or so throughout the day on three separate stories. Might "How It's Gonna Be" or "Stumble and Fall" be two of those three?!?! *puppy dog eyes*
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From:And The Jainieg Tricked Me Into Writing story.
Okay, nail polish remover. My method left a *lot* to be desired. getting this stuff off my scalp required three post-wash treatment conditioners. I'm usually so careful, but this stuffis suppoed to be temporary.
My fingernails are telling a different story. Serial killer fingers. *sighs*
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From:Yay! *does happy dance*
You might have to rub fairly hard with the nail polish (try putting some on a paper towel or kleenex), but it shouldn't rub your skin off...lol
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From:"Oh, he was a strange kid. Used to talk in platitudes all the time."
:D
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From:People *will say that*.
*shocky*
So far, it's archeology (dinosaurs) or firefighter. The sheer amount of dinosaur memorabilia in our house is terrifying. I trip over pictures of dead things all too often. And rocks he swears are fossils. ROCKS.
Though that mechanical crocodile that scares the bejesus of anyone who doesn't expect it to be coming *is* really cool.
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From:HA, you just reminded me of this funny email a friend of mine sent me, about a real letter the Smithsonian received and their reply:
Thank you for your latest submission to the Institute, labeled "93211-D, layer seven, next to the clothesline post, Hominid skull." We have given this specimen a careful and detailed examination, and regret to inform you that we disagree with your theory that it represents conclusive proof of the presence of Early Man in Charleston County two million years ago. Rather, it appears that what you have found is the head of a Barbie doll, of the variety that one of our staff, who has small children, believes to be "Malibu Barbie."
And mechanical crocodiles are always, inherently, utterly cool. :)
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From:*falls on the floor*
I haven't laughed this much in a very long time! Priceless!
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From:This is probably wise.
However, I have to say that everyone in my family was very normal as kids, and now we turned out completely screwed up. So maybe it goes the other way?
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From:*relaxes. but just a little*
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From:I mean, really, what six year old can *stand up* in those damn boots?
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From:My son and I talked about everything, ever since he was old enough to string two words together. He was always looking for the holes in my arguments (still does actually) in order to get his way.
I had a teacher in a parent/teacher conference once tell me that when she first met Mike she was really worried about him and how he'd make his way in the world. "Then I met you and now I know he'll be okay." I'm not really sure what that was supposed to mean or if it was supposed to be reassuring or not.
The point is your child will have a unique outlook on life. Mike has a way of looking at the world that just keeps me in stitches. So strange to have a child with my exact sense of humor. But he also has an incredible heart. And while I'm not thrilled about his being a Republican, I wouldn't change a thing about him.
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From:If you get *really* lucky, maybe he'll adopt you an alien grandbaby someday. :-)
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From:Ummmmmm... I'm sorry? Promise I won't do it againeveranymore. Okay? *innocent blinkblink*
I am working on The Story, though, you know (and a big 'heyyyyyy!' to that tricking stuff - so not even!)... and I'd show you bits of it, but... well, you're not on AIM... *whistles*
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From:And how. Damn. I've read so much Clex in the past 2 days that I'm starting to hallucinate. I vid. Read a story. Go to work. There should be sleep in there someway - but there is so much porn - how can I ever sleep again?
I'm thinking the novels will be heroin.
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From:PS: i want your child. too bad he's already taken.
you should have that video sent to something about prodigies. what GREAT lyrics!!!
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