SuperGurl

The kids and I have a morning ritual. I come by it honestly, my mom used to wake us up singing. It’s all about getting a plan of attack everyday, feeding the mind, body & soul. So Monday morning, we were on the topic of women & studying. The Architect has held the honor of having the most AR points in his entire elementary school. AR points are awarded for books read and tested for understanding.

I had a sneaking suspicion that the Architect was falling behind. He gave up on “Journey to the Center of the Earth.” He said he got halfway through it and they weren’t even halfway through the planet, hadn’t even seen past the earth’s crust. In fact they only made it to Italy. He decided they couldn’t get there in as few pages as he had left, so he just turned the book in and forfeited any point possibility.

So with this in mind, I reminded him that his girlfriend was the next highest point reader in the school. I did not want him to think that just because she likes him, she will easily forfeit being known as the best reader in the school to him, as she has been in previous years. As PC as I could put it, I found myself in the precarious coded lingo of “you can’t trust a woman.” I know. How could I, right? It was just difficult, who knows how these things come about? And plus, I need your pity, not your judgment.

Just as predicted, the Architect came home that very day and confided that his girlfriend had passed him up by five measley AR points. He almost flinched as he told me. Yeah, kid, just like I said, huh? Used her feminine wiles to distract you, dumb you down. He looked so disenchanted, so down by love.

As a mom, it hardly ever feels good being right. I searched for an opportunity in the situation and found myself giving a kooky pep talk.

“Boys, ” I said, “It’s up to you to make the [family] name a good one in this town. We’re the first [family name] family in these parts, and the way you make it a good name is by striving for your best every day. And that means while you are in school, you try to be the best student you can be. You can read, work, create, but don’t allow yourself to give in, ever. Persist, knowing you can achieve the top spot. Be the best. I want you to lay waste to all those bumpkins out there and at least let them know that you’ll always be fighting to be on top,”

The Scientist, “Lay waste?”

Yelling, almost, in my best gladiator dialect with clenched fist, “Yes. LAY WASTE to them ALL!” Evil cackling ensued.

The Architect, “Does lay waste mean poop?”

I did it. I actually did it. Today I cast my vote. Today I made my mark, however minor.

I crossed over. I voted Hillary. There, I said it. I voted Hillary Clinton because I think she is the most divisive force in the Democrap Party, and as a good republican, I’d hate to see her go.

First, can I say that if she wins in November, I will be devastated knowing I played any part. I detest her. I hate her ways. I’m repulsed by all the class warfare. But she’s easy to hate. That’s why I crossed over folks, I did it for you. For the greater good. You’re welcome.

It was traumatizing for me though. I ran into several of the Republican Ladies whom I know quite well. They looked at me as though I were pulling bong hits in a federal courtroom, mouths agape and everything. I said, “I’m being the best conservative I know how to be,” and I meant it, but it felt so wrong. Like, I was begging them for forgiveness. The peer pressure unimaginable, I’m not one of them. I’m not!

I shared my talking points with anyone who would listen. It was like an open mic confessional, if you will. One, screw you, Republican party, for dictating that it all be done, decided, settled before half the country got to vote. Makes me jealous of the Democrats for having a real race. Two, since it’s McCain, I’ll do my part in expressing my disgust by pretending to be a defector this round. So, you don’t want to act like Republicans anymore, well neither do I. You had better get to work on winning me back.

And after they checked my voter registration card and let me pick my ballot vegas style, this bitch behind the table reaches down and stamps “Democrat” on my registration card. Whoa, now, Nelly, you have just really screwed up.

“How dare you?” I asked.

“What?”

“You heard me, how dare you? It’s just a primary, lady, and you can’t call me that.”

“You can cross through it”

“Yes. I can and I will. But please don’t do this to other people, it’s hateful. I thought it was illegal to deface federal documents and you are stamping obscenities all over them? What is wrong with you?”

And with my crazy lady aura still hanging in mid-air, I turned, I voted, and I exited as quickly as possible. But it hurt, it cut me deep. I think Democrats are the most foul, unintelligent folks on the planet. Today, I impersonated one.

I have seen the dark side, people. Please, forgive me.

Had a sleepover last night, at least the Architect did. There is no more disturbing sound on earth than a savage pillowfight.

I take that back. Most of the conversation was equally disturbing. Like this morsel:

Guest: “My uncle is cop and he once busted these people right as they were about to inject drugs into one of the girls.”

Architect: “Inject drugs?”

Guest: “Yes, the really bad people put drugs into their arms with needles.”

Architect: “So they have superhuman strength? How do the cops catch them?”

Guest: “They just sneak up on them and take away their drugs.”

Architect: “But don’t the drugs make them super strong and powerful?”

Guest: “No. My uncle says these drugs make them slow and stupid. They aren’t baseball drugs.”

The Architect remained a little hesitant. And I couldn’t stop fantasizing about recreational human growth hormone parties…

Hey dude, give me a fix. I’m going to shoot up and run down to the Krispy Kreme.

I don’t have much to say, just needed to post something. Anything.

I’ve been my own worst enemy lately. Suffering a recession of sorts in my cycle of suck. A pensive time. Nothing going wrong, really, just nothing going right.

I can’t seem to break my habitual negative thought processes. I just want joy. No bitterness, no anger, no pain, and please, someone, a load less stupidity. Yes, my stupidity. I can’t take much more of it.

I hate being the root of all my problems. I need healthy growth in my outlook. I want profitable thoughts occupying my mind. I need a new friend to help me take out my worst enemy. Prosperity now.

And forgive me for the vague depressive tone. There’s nothing up, no cause for concern. Just another flat tire on this ass-numbing road to nowhere. Feel free to jack me up in the comments.

This sort of thing should be outlawed. To publicize something so pure, so true, so innocent, it’s just every shade of wrong. Then again, I can’t help but dream about Valentine’s past. The doily decorated lunch bags hanging from every desk. The first fear of relationships, “Will ? give me a Valentine this year?” And the celebrated walk around the classroom, delivering homemade messages of love.

It’s wrong of me to exploit my nine year old’s first bonafide love note, isn’t it? Funny, I don’t feel bad at all. Elated, in fact. Enjoy!