Tuesday, May 31, 2005

Angry, angry rant

At 4:30am tomorrow, my 17 year old niece will be “rousted out” to get on a bus to go to boot camp. She just completed her junior year of HS and will return the day before her senior year begins. What a way to spend the summer. I spent the summer before my senior year running around with my best friend, Darla, and cruising on Air Depot. I don’t even think either of us worked that summer, but for some reason my young niece has decided that this is what she wants to do. I’m terrified.

I’m not sure how many political rants I’ve had on “l’espirit d’escalier” or “Le Truth” and realize that this is probably not the time to bluster, but, suffice it to say, I’m not happy with her doing anything militaristic during the current administration. I talked to her about this for a long time. I also talked to her mother (my brother’s ex) about this, and she PROMISED me that she would not sign the papers that would allow my niece to enter the military before her 18th birthday. This is where I’ve chosen to focus my anger.

I know that it is irrational. I should be (and am) angry with the current administration that any of our soldiers are in Iraq. I know that I should be angry with my niece for signing up, but I’ve known for a while that this is what she wanted; this is her way of escaping. I’m so angry with my ex-sis because I cried to her, held her hands, and begged her to not sign the papers, and she PROMISED me with tears in her eyes that she wouldn’t sign anything – then she did. I know that this really isn’t about me but still I feel betrayed.

Here is what I think happened (a view from my angry little part of the world): my ex-sis really likes attention. I mean A LOT more than anyone else I know. My best guess is that she decided to go one on one with the recruiter thinking that she could beat him at his own game while also getting a really healthy dose of attention. My niece did tell me last night at our farewell dinner that her mom “never intended to sign anything, she was just going to talk to him a little.”

Well, great fucking job. You had your little talk. She leaves tomorrow, and you’ve already rented out her bedroom. It just isn’t right.

posted by Anonymous @ 5/31/2005 08:00:00 PM

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Wednesday, May 25, 2005

No, we aren't dead!

Sorry that we have been AWOL, but Tina and I have both been working our asses off for the last month. Tina is putting in 50+ hours per week, and today is the first full day off I've had since May 8th.

In case you are wondering, neither Tina nor I enjoy working this much. We are both pretty satisfied to stay close to home (and by "close" I mean on the couch and by "home" I mean cable TV).

Truthfully, if either Tina or I ever become independantly wealthy (which I'm kind of doubting happens since neither of us is particularly driven), anyway, if it ever does happen, we have both pledged an oath to hire the other to be her personal assistant (and by "personal assistant" I mean the one who has to get up off of the couch to pay the pizza delivery guy).

So, why is AuntieT posting tonight after all of this time, you ask? Well kiddies, she's procrastinating. (Duh! Why else would I be doing this.) I was supposed to have written my letter of resignation today.

That's right, AuntieT got a new job! I got a job! I got a job! I got a job! Can you tell that I'm a little excited?

I don't really want to say too much about my new employer, as the job and potential for advancement both sound great, and I've heard some horror stories about people getting fired for blogging about work, so, for now, all I'm going to say is that I am back in the employ of the great state of Oklahoma (where the wind comes sweeping down the plain). I guess that narrows it down a little, huh?

What does this mean to you? This means that starting June 13th, I can tell the truth, the WHOLE truth, and nothing but the truth about my current position, which will become, at that time, my former position and that, my friends, will be fun. Are you with me, Tina?

posted by Anonymous @ 5/25/2005 07:45:00 PM

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