SuperGurl

Hat tip to Reuters for providing a first rate gate for SuperGurl’s world. I needed a gate and a vicious dog, but the gate will more than do for now. Eeees nice, no? I thought so. French too. I do so admire French architecture.

Anyway, I picked it up yesterday morning in the fire sale over at Societe Generale. They were looking to raise some cash since they just suffered some seven billion dollars in losses. Interesting story of fraud though, if you have the time. Don’t want to spoil the climax, but it’s yet another tale of exploiting structure, using someone’s framework against them. Regulation jihad. Phenomenal money drama, I couldn’t put it down.

Had me daydreaming for another hour or so about how we (in the corporate world) build our fortresses. The safety mechanisms. The perspective dead-ends. The initiative sieve, straining us into watery remnants of real people. It is it’s own cirque fantastique. And although it’s taken me years to learn the language, I do so love it. Truly, I do.

If we treated our country with the same stern standards for profitability, security, marketability, personal responsibility, brand pride, inclusion, as well as many other attributes common in the corporate world, the news would sound so different. No one would question our leadership in the world, certainly. Face it, what we’re doing now isn’t working. Our government currently functions as a ten thousand tittied monster, pacifying the bawling howls of the colic-infested invisible masses.

Perhaps what we need is a little incorporation. Let’s start with a gate. And I’m open for suggestions on a slogan. In the comments, pretty please.

Why wait for the new year to commence? The Christmas crash is upon us, it’s a pensive retreat. Taking stock in the past and placing seed money into the future, that’s what these days are about. What the world needs now is a half decent mantra.

Seriously, kids. Too much negativity between the mortgage mess and the battling forces of change in the political arena. All this Johnny Poor Mouth talk is really taking a toll on me, and in my opinion, being disrespectful to some of the most benevolent market forces experienced in the modern age. I know your sentiment is waning. I know you’re feeling the impact of inflation all over. Those of us who live to escape can’t delude ourselves about the cost of gasoline and it’s necessity to the thriving of our lives. Hey, I’ve got a tiger in my tank too, and he’s freaking hungry–takes an arm & a leg to satiate that bastard these days.

But, prosperity now!

And because I am a charismatic capitalist and because I know that these nebulous negative attributes do have a way of permeating through the media and metastasizing into real life struggles for each of us, I wanted to remind you that opportunity always comes cloaked in risk. Please remember this, if nothing else, when troubles befall you – prosperity now.

And don’t look to the market as an oracle as the media might encourage, it’s not. It’s only an economic gauge of what was and the expectations of what might be, but it doesn’t demand prosperity on it’s own. That’s where you come in. Insist on it. And definitely, put your money where your mouth is. I think you’ll find it profitable, come what may.

Serious question: without the freedom to produce change and the volition and intelligence to exploit it humanely, wouldn’t we just be like so many islamofacist influenced nations, with no means to any ends beyond fear mongering and unrelenting evil? (Can they produce any change sans explosives?) Not so in our capitalistic culture, penny for your thoughts? I mean, if I had a nickel for every sticky situation I have had the profound shame of engineering myself into plus the profit of learning from, well then I’d be quite a wealthy individual. And you know, that is exactly what I am. Thanks to the freedom I enjoy, in care of the US Military, ultimately. Prosperity Now!

You see, I’m no stranger to these catalysts. This past year, we have had much change in our homelife. Some longtime readers might remember that I was once the bride of the Lord of all Dumbfuckery. It was a tumultuous reign, to say the least, but it produced two fine heirs in the Architect & the Scientist, so I don’t fret over it too much.

Before Thanksgiving, we stopped hearing from their father, he never made plans to see the boys at Christmas. It was tough, because like SoHoS & Count, this was my odd year, my year without my kiddos at Christmas time. So I began December with pre-depression, expecting the babes to go away for the better part of the winter break. Instead, we got the opposite. A full month of non-visitation and no contact in which I had to do all the shopping under their highly suspecting noses. All the while, holding down the only income producing venue the three of us can truly depend on, my business. It was rough sailing at times, hence the light posting.

Then on the Friday before Christmas, a most unsettling greeting in the mailbox, a summons. The Attorney General has summoned my ex to court here in our home county for child support arrearage in excess of eight thousand dollars. Oh my! Not that we’ll see any of it, but what an unexpected gift just in time for Christmas. He sees you when you’re slacking, he knows when you are late…a magical Christmas all the way around.

Absolutely, prosperity now! Ya know? Despite the funky uncertainty, it was one of our more meaningful holidays together. Still is, in fact.

But this wasn’t supposed to be about me, but about you. I only mentioned our family’s struggles of late to show that we too are vulnerable to life’s bottom-deck dealings and an occasional fold. Are you still reading? Prosperity now! That is my one and only wish for you and everyone who loves you in the days you forge in the coming year, prosperity now. No matter the circumstance, no matter the odds, whatever the situation. Think of it as the “embrace the suck” of the new year.

Prosperity Now!

Hey, y’all.

Saturday morning, the boys are gone for a three day weekend. I’m as relaxed as I get.

Received $56 in child support last month. I don’t need it. I’d be broke no matter how much income I received, it’s my way. Still, it’s hard not to feel offended by the statement of twenty-eight dollars per child for a month. Especially realizing that was probably the last money I’d see for a while. That was the first of September and we’re a week into October already.

The boys, being at a new school, are finally excited about the fall carnival. It will be the same weekend as the Architect’s birthday. They have devoted their after school time to stuffing envelopes with raffle tickets. And wow, if you forget how pure children are, sic them on a volunteer duty. It has been really cool to see them prioritize their new found drives amongst an already full schedule of robot building, reading, and video games.

Cooler still, they received their raffle tickets on Friday. The very raffle tickets they had feverishly counted out, 30 per stack, and stuffed in the self-same brown bracket envelopes. All the way home, I was pelleted with questions about how raffle sales work. It was tough explaining while driving the car, the Architect seemed overly concerned about carrying around an envelope full of money. The tearing and keeping of part of the ticket made no sense. He was certain the adults were not thinking this through. He just couldn’t imagine the cogs at work, until Friday.

Friday, they had assemblies for each grade and explained how the raffle would work. A buck a chance. Both boys were ready to hit the streets, they’d sell their souls for raffle fare. The capitalistic vibe was intoxicating. And I have to tell you, as a mother that has griped about every school fund raiser I’ve ever come in contact with, it’s refreshing to know, that every cent of every dollar goes directly to the PTA to build on the success of this event. Every dollar, since a majority of the games, food, and prizes are donated by the business community.

And this is a Power Packed PTA. Two years ago, the carnival created enough surplus funds to buy digital overhead machines for each classroom (no more transparencies!) Last year, the PTA carnival provided digital cameras and printers for every classroom. Think about this now. A fully functioning PTA that raises funds with one blow out all-community event. It’s truly a beautiful thing.

Unfortunately, their father was waiting when we got to our house. The boys were expecting their dad to be their first purchaser, and whatever he didn’t buy, they were sure they could sell in Austin by Tuesday. Sell all thirty tickets and they get thirty more. They practically swarmed him when he stepped out of his car.

It was heartbreaking. I explained to him that this was a hugely important fund raiser for their school and that the boys had been working on the raffle team for weeks preparing for these ticket sales. While I thought the conversation was friendly and way above civil, my idiot ex husband leveled us all with one telling statement, “Nah, I’m not buying any of that. Leave the tickets here and let’s turn off the sales gig for the weekend.”

What? But they fancied themselves swimming in dollar bills by Tuesday? They had to top the school in sales. How could their Dad not care? How could he demean their hours of volunteer service as if it had been telemarketing training or something? How could he not find it in his dark, empty heart to find just two dollars? It would have meant the world to them. Less than the cost of one gallon of gas? Too much to make your boys ecstatic?

But this is a man that paid $56 in child support last month. He fancies himself the only pure influence in the boys’ lives as he is NOT like me, consumed with the almighty dollar. And again, I don’t need his patchouli stinking money. I don’t. I have been gifted a fantastic situation where I am somehow able to provide without his help. I’m still affected, though. Still terribly affected, on an ongoing basis, by his complete disregard for reality and his trampling on his boys’ advanced senses of responsibility. They aren’t being raised the way their father was, and that’s a very good thing.

They’ve never been privy to the financial hazards of being involved with their father. People always told me they would figure it out eventually on their own, they’re smart. But they never knew about his reckless disregard for child support, until on Friday, when they outright asked for it themselves.

“Buy one ticket, Dad. Just one.”

Look, I need your help now.
I’ve been getting by alright, it’s not pretty all the time, but I get along.

Still, I have the same relationship woes. Just lost another one, I think. The old fade into the sunset routine. I hate that. It’s like I keep thinking the sun’s supposed to rise again. What happens to the men I date?

The last one was so perfect, albeit compact. But, hey, I was raised to believe big things come in small packages. Call it a gift, or a curse, or what have you, BUT I’m a little guy magnet. Which has not at all been good for my amazon complex. Nopes.

Guess I’m a little too fixated on my sideshow appearance. It’s hard shaking that vaudevillian feeling when all your dates look like hand puppets.

Mommy, look at the giant lady and the cute little man!

Sometimes I think people think I’ve got a ventriloquist gig or something. Yeah, I hear the snickers and I don’t know what kind of fried DNA I got ahold of, but I can’t get enough of that cute little stuff. Call it a Hello Kitty dysfunction maybe? I know not. But the little man, oh my goodness, they bring out my she-rah. They really do.

But I must go now. Must sit on my hands some more so as not to scare away any more of the little people. Gosh, I love them though, sweet timid little bunnies.

Happy Sunday, Folks!

It’s beautiful here, I slept entirely too late, but I feel fabulous. Sorry I’ve not been up to writing lately. I have been staying busy.

That post a couple before last was authored by one of my closest friends, Wonder Woman. She is currently still treading water three feet below the surface of that swamp of bullshit she described below. Please continue to keep her in your thoughts and prayers. Even your most stunning super heroes are humbled and appreciative to you for you making mention to the Ultimate Higher Power on their behalf. This I know.

I’ve had an abnormally productive weekend so far. Organized my tax write-offs for all the traveling I’ve been doing lately. Stacked up a monstrous pile of clothing to take to the salvation army. Worked on the robot room. And packed, yes, packed, for our final fling of the summer is just three short days away.

I booked the boys & I a condo on the beach in Galveston for Wednesday through Sunday. We are going to have one last hoorah of the summer. So far we are planning on checking out the new Schlitterbahn in Galveston, and possibly Moody Gardens, though I’m not sure the boys would dig it.

I’m just hoping the market doesn’t do anything significant while I’m gone. I’m a gurl, after all, and I hate to miss a sale. I kind of doubt it, though. We barreled through the almost always serene summer months posting up crazy income. My personal local economy is on fire. For a sleepy little town in the middle of nowhere, we are in a near constant state of construction & expansion. And thinking of progress always brings a familiar tune to mind…

Maybe it was the clothing, the loud clashing patterns. Maybe it was the backwoods twang. Perhaps the micro history lesson? Who knows. But this song forever remains grilled in my brain and flashes before me like a bad trip whenever my mind wanders into polarrhoid territory (which, unfortunately, is a daily occurrence.) “One thing, you will discover, when you get next to one another, is everybody needs some elbow room.”

Yeps. Still true today. Now I’m off to get me some.
Ya’ll, be good.