Updates of the Various and Sundry Variety

You might want to look over to the right at my new profile picture. I think it is a particularly good one, and shows all of my best physical features. I changed pictures because I really got tired of looking at the old one with the old (two or three shades ago) hair color. This one is more a reflection of what I look like now. At least what you can see of me. . .

When I arrived home last Friday after work I came upon the following scene as I turned the corner by my house: W, N, a police officer, and another woman were all standing in the driveway. A police car and another car were parked along the curb. My heart did a little jumpy fluttery stoppy kind of thing. My first thought was, "OMG did W get in another accident?" Turns out it wasn't W the police were after; it was N. N!! My baby! My sweet son was being interrogated by the police. I pulled into the driveway, rolled down my window, looked N straight in the eye with that look only a parent can give a child, and asked "You want to tell me what's going on here?" It seems N and a friend of his had been throwing rocks trying to hit a tree across the street. Instead, one of the rocks hit a car and pitted the window on the driver's side. The officer was just finishing up and talking to N (his friend's mother came and got him before the police ever arrived, the refused to stay and talk to the police) about how important it is to pick friends carefully and not pick the type friends who get in trouble a lot. The upshot of the whole thing is that no one is quite sure who threw the rock that hit the car, but the fact of the matter is that it could have been either one because they were both throwing them. They both have to take responsibility for it and share in the cost of replacing the window. The other boy's parents are insistent that their little angel would never be involved in such things even once the police officer went to their house to speak with them. W and I have grounded N for two weeks. His friend, we hear through the grapevine, has suffered a similar fate. I told N I don't ever, ever, ever want him to do anything that will bring a police officer to my house again. I got N to 'fess up to me more than anyone else had been able to. When I arrived his story was that while his friend had thrown rocks he hadn't. I know N too well to believe that. N has a history of lying to cover his tracks. I have a history of lying to cover my tracks so I'm pretty savvy to stories that ring true and those that don't. N also has a history of following whatever fool scheme any of his buddies concocts. He won't start anything bad, but if someone else starts it he will be right there in the thick of it. I stared him down. After he walked away and had a little temper tantrum over how unfair it was not to believe him, he finally came clean and I do believe told the actual truth which was that both boys threw rocks and N lucked out because only his friend's did any damage to anything. Not the way I would have preferred to start the weekend. . .

Once the weekend started, however, it was busy. N had a soccer tournament up north. His team lost two games and tied one. The team is struggling this year. I'm not exactly sure why other than they are playing tougher teams this year as they got moved up to the premier bracket because they were so good last year. On both Saturday and Sunday they played at an unholy hour in the morning, a time when the only things I ought to be seeing are the backs of my eyelids. Next weekend is another tournament. The only good things about are that it is closer to home and his games aren't quite so early. . .

Due to my travels I was able to get away for a few hours' visit with Drama on Saturday. I love her! I absolutely without a doubt think that she freakin' rocks the world. We didn't do anything but stay at her house, have dinner, and talk. We talked about lots of things, but a lot about men and how awful they are. What?!? Everybody needs a little bitchfest now and then. Drama and I both have plenty to bitch about when it comes to men. Oh how I wish she lived closer than three hours away. Of course, it could be worse. She could live on the freakin' other side of the country like jeniangel does. It's much harder to make it to the West Coast than three hours. Then there's Val way down in the heart of Texas. Why are all my friends so freakin' far away? Oh yeah, I met 'em on the internet. . .

For a short little update this turned kind of long, not that anyone should expect any less from me. I apparently have quite the plethora of words stored up waiting to get out at any opportunity. . .