"Wanting to be someone else is a waste of the person you are."* * * * *
The notorious and dubious custody evaluation hits news stands this week. What secrets it holds in its maws is anybody's guess. In whose favor it falls is in the subjective opinion of the beholder in most cases, but I've now read enough redacted custody evaluations to expect the light in which we are both portrayed to be somewhat unflattering. I'm no virgin on that score, but The Manny may have a bit of self reflection to consider when he sees an objective opinion on the demise of our enterprise. After the trial I will be addressing the process by which custody issues are monitored and determined in a case such as this. Mediation is the safest place for divorce and children of divorce. We'd be safe if The Manny would have agreed to any of my last 12894571829374 pleas to mediate. But he won't because he "don't have to," which is shitty but legally true. He'd rather be reasonable by order of the court. A court to which he's going to have to explain why he's made some rather unhealthy choices on behalf of our kingdom.
First non-marital witness to the stand: My shitty little sister.
Today I spent two hours with The Hook and T. Justice in front of a 6'x8' wipe board with my life mapped out in fine print before me. As a professional courtesy to my inner attorney, I'm allowed to be involved in the pre-pre-pre trial prep. A trial that is T-minus 20something days away; the moment we've all been waiting for. Mad props to both of them for recalling much of what I had presumed they'd forgotten during the horrific lag time in getting this shitshow in front of a judge.
I'm still kicking it at the restaurant on the weekends, but my days are spent mightily trying to forget the facts of my life in its current state. The only antidote to that of which I am aware, is to keep busy and focus on what I love. Since what I love most is in school all day, I have turned back to educating people on what I know best: le chong. In aid of this I am now a volunteer at the happiest place on earth, or at least in Po(r)tland, the only place where anybody's ever told me, "You're beautiful, articulate, and a master grower. Oh lord, I just met The Perfect Woman." And by the master of the local master growers himself, no less. If you want to come visit the cafe (and i highly recommend you do), you'll have to have an OMMP card. If you don't have one of those, get in touch. I can send you to any number of medical clinics that can sort that out for you right skippy.
At the chong cafe I have run into a number of my former grow class students from last year who were obscenely complimentary of my class and their growing success as a result. Doesn't take much to make me warm and/or fuzzy. All those years of BMC'ing it in Portland, I withheld the fact that I was a legal marijuana grower and patient. Not quite the usual mommyblogging fare, but more interesting than fashion tips and breast pumps, oui? It's nice to be out with it, and advocating for moms who medicate -- a subject about which you will hearing more than you ever thought you wanted to coming here soon. I have only recently succumbed to the accusation that I am a fucking encyclopedia of indoor micro-farming of boutique-grade chong and medical applications for the use of all parts of the plant, an amazing patients-rights advocate, a formidable educator, and an expert on cooking with cannabis. Name me one other mommyblogger. One. I would like to meet that bitch and kiss her on the mouth. Then we can launch a conference for birds like us called BudHer. Oh, pipe dreams -- the way you plague me.
In doing some research on an unrelated matter, I learned about a fateful sliver of tragic irony. According to nautical folklore, you should "Never start a voyage on the first Monday in April. This is the day that Cain slew Abel." April 6, 2009. The first Monday in April. The day money slew passion and The Manny slew my heart, and I was off on a new voyage. Oh, the bible -- the way you plague me.
Anyway, we're still set to meet back here for the rest of my life on my new year's day: February 25. My parents will be in and out of town over the next three weeks, so that should spark some good family fun.
In the meantime, you know my sleeves are full. But there's no telling what's up there. Not yet, at least.