Slacker Blogging Mommy

Wow!

Has it really been over two months since I last posted?!?

So much has happened to cause this lapse. I think a lot of it can be attributed to the late winter doldrums. Also, there has been family turmoil. My step-son decided out of the blue to move back with his mom. I have been researching and planning what to do with the rest of my life (after the kids are all in school, I will go back to work, but not in human resources again). I have taught myself a new skill (kind of)--knitting--after "inheriting" my grandmother's supplies since her arthritis makes it impossible for her now (recently, Grandma became very ill and we almost lost her. She has since mostly recovered, but she is still somewhat weak. I think I started knitting--because it was something she loved and when I do it, I feel close to her in a way. The clicking of the needles is the one comforting sound I remember from a chaotic childhood). I have been reading many novels, feeding my literary addiction when I can. The old computer died and had to be replaced with a new one. And I have been working, which consumes more of my energy than I realized.

Speaking of my job, I must say I love it: not because it is challenging or rewarding, or even easy or pays lots of cash (it doesn't). No, I love it because it is a scientific study in human behavior. My co-workers are mostly poor, hardworking college students or "Lifers"--employees that have made the Club their lifetime career, having worked there for 15, 20, or even thirty or more years. It is interesting to contrast the attitudes and actions of us working stiffs to those of the Members. The Members are the upper 1%: the wealthy. Included in their number are politicians, judges, plastic surgeons, CEOs, professional athletes, and trust fund babies. The contrast is striking. One thing that truly amazes me is just how cheap these rich bastards are. They will save a buck any way they can. One sure fire way is not to tip. Ever. Yep, these elite owners of most of the GNP can't tip a buck to the driver (or waitress, or whomever) even though they probably wipe their asses with 100 dollar bills. However, their cheapness is just the tip of the iceberg. You would not believe the drinking and whoring and drugs these guys do. The Members' Dionysian festivals of sheer debauchery I have witnessed (not to mention some of the stories I have heard from the older employees) are astounding. They make regular old college frat parties look like child's play. Or what liberties these guys think they can take with the peons that serve them. I recently became involved in a battle of wills with one member who tried to persuade me to be his personal chauffeur and date to the clubs. The alpha male in a group he was taking out on the town--showing a good time, he tried to impress them with his authority over peons like me by trying to bribe and bully me with the promise of lots of money to haul his drunk, pompous ass around all night (as his personal chauffeur and escort, of course, a completely official job duty, "part of his membership dues" as he put it) and became pissy and hostile when I declined and stood my ground. I walked away without a tip (obviously) but my dignity and pride intact. Another time a guy (a kid to me, at least ten years younger than me) called me "honey cakes" or something similarly ridiculous, and I had to restrain myself from puking on his feet. Sometimes, when the shuttle is overloaded with drunk basketball fans and they are sardined up to right behind the driver's seat, I can feel them "accidentally" touching my hair (it is one thing to bump into the back of my head, another entirely to run your fingers through my hair--I may not make a lot of money and be working a service industry job, but that doesn't mean I'm stupid: I know the difference.). When this happens, it is impossible to tell who did it as the shuttle is crowded and I don't want myself or the passengers injured as I negotiate the heavy downtown traffic. Many of them feel the need to touch my arm or my back as they exit the shuttle--a pat on the back or arm that lasts just a moment too long. These guys have bought a higher level of piggishness with their money, a lack of manners and class that most men will never be able to afford and can only ever aspire to, I guess. In fairness, they aren't all bad. Just some rotten apples.

Do you believe that this wimpy paragraph of a post has taken me two and a half hours to write? Yes, my boys are high maintenance today. Many fights. Many tears. Many toys banished to the high towers of the entertainment center better known as Toy Heaven.