Remind Me Why We Do This Again?

Can somebody please remind me why I would think it was a good idea to pull Halloween off by myself this year?  Was it ego? Maybe. Hubris? Very possibly. Though to be fair I did ask for help...but nobody was able to...which I thought was fine, at the time.

Le sigh. Try to picture me chasing two six year olds [one of whom, English is not his native language] and a nearly three year old through the damp, dark suburban jungle shrieking  at the top of my lungs,
'No! Stay off the street. Ignore the leaves! No! Don't ring the doorbell over and over again! Stop! Wait for me! '

I'm sure I looked and sounded positively deranged. Vanity aside, I had the brilliant [naturally] idea that I would leave my bowl of candy on my steps and visitors to my house [which I was of course not at, as I was busy howling through my neighbourhood] would each take one piece of candy in an orderly fashion and proceed to the next house. Okay, so I might have been naive...

I arrived home to find two crying children dressed as mini-cheerleader-zombie things on my doorstep peering at the empty bowl while their father felt the need to explain that 'Those wild teenagers!' had just taken all the candy, and what would his zombie-cheerleaders do now?  Apologising profusely [while trying to wrangle Roo who wanted to pee and eat her candy at the same time] I hurried into the house and refilled the bowl and distributed 'extra' candy for his children's duress.

Thus ends my Halloween.  How was yours?

A St Crispin's Day A Rant in Three parts

So begins a St Crispin's rant in three parts.

First of all, the Lack continues to rear it's very ugly head. The amount of self loathing I feel about even talking about it...well, I loath in a variety of mediums...alot. Birthdays for classmates have become an issue; how many birthday parties does Goose have to go to? I swear he has one every other weekend...
His school has an 'All or None' invitation policy; heaven forbid a child know what it feels like not to be invited somewhere! They might learn that life isn't fair or something...
At any rate, having to buy gifts nonstop for other kids isn't really my cup of tea, but I hate the idea of Goose being the kid that brings the less than stellar gift...and then I hate myself on all sides. I hate the other moms, then hate myself for not being the other moms.
Secondly, I need to address that dratted Hiddleston and his antics, which are beginning to inter fear with my day to day life. That man is far too lovely for his own good...I just like to watch him...again and again.
What becomes of fangirls as we age?  Are we supposed to retire?  Or go underground? Am I now a fanwoman? Now, I'm not terrifically old, but given how young most fangirls are I feel positively ancient...and rather creepy.  I still remember my glory days of James Marsters and Michael Rosenbaum  [some of you may have to look them up...please do. They were-and still are-lovely].  
But yes, Hiddleston...too cute for his [and my] own good.  No man should ever be able to sneeze like that and still be sensual; it must be criminal.

Today I happened to overhear several of the uppers at Big Green discussing the salaries of the incoming newbies. Image my surprise to discover that their salaries match mine. Interesting considering I've slogged away in this place for nearly nine years...four of which I haven't even been granted the standard 'cost of living' quasi increase companies give you to keep you quiet.
Well, I'm not sure if I can stay quiet [like I ever could]. I have an honors degree from one of the best universities in the country, I arrive early and stay late, I take on other jobs outside my comfort and training, I fill gaps when people leave, I put up with more shit in a week than most do in a lifetime.
All for, [wait for it]
36 400 a year.  Before taxes. 
Now, please realise this isn't intended to be one those I'm edumecated/hardworking/rescuekittens type rant, but rather a flailing of hands. Eat me, Big Green. Eat me.

How old are we again?

'Hey' Tiny says nudging her friend and giggling. 'You going for donuts?' Nudge. Nudge. 'Or the dollar store?' Nudge. Giggle. Nudge. No, this isn't Junior High or even Elementary school. This is the Big Green. My workplace. Multi-Billion, World Wide Corporation. 'Sure' I reply, 'Isn't that what I do?' I'm met with unsurprisingly blank stares. 'Didn't she get that I was making fun of her?' Tiny continues braying as I leave.

To quote the immortal Charlie Brown, Good Grief.

I work incredibly hard at my job, which, for the most part probably doesn't make much difference, but I enjoy it and am capable of deriving a certain amount of pleasure from it. So I keep it up, day after day, year after year. But, really. Really?  Do I really have to do the time warp? I was twelve once, and it was enough.

Is it Thursday? Also, Porn

I don't know where time is going, but it must be going somewhere because it seems to be hiding from me. I feel like I've barely gotten out of bed and arrived at the Big Green before its lunchtime and I'm frantically trying to do errands, then suddenly its dark and I'm trying to ensure my kids are actually clean and fed before I put them to bed.
Then I read 'Avengers' porn for an hour or so before bed...okay, sometimes I branch out and read 'Supernatural' porn too.  And Hiddleston. Don't get me started on Hiddleston.
The Wog has gotten himself a job at an ultra high end steak house where people in sweatsuits and gold chains pay extra for crowding and toppling tables. This makes the lack feel like it's waiting, lurking in the corner, about to pounce and make its presence known. The house is still for sale, and the bills are still unpaid. So I read porn. Porn is simple, safe and easy. I feel like after the last two years I've earned the right for easy.
Logically I know that nothing is really easy, or simple. I know this the way I've known since babyhood that life isn't fair. But the power of self delusion is good enough for me. I'm a realist, but reality has never really suited me. Give me elves, vampires and demi-gods anyday.  Pinky and the Brain can keep their world; I've got my own.