Archive for the 'Small Town Girl' Category

Published by admin on 25 Mar 2008

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Published by Tamara on 29 Nov 2006

Have you checked the children?

A very large part of my early to mid-teens was spent babysitting for various families, much like most American girls I guess.  I was a decent babysitter.  It wasn’t my favorite thing to do, but I took inspiration and advice from the pre-teen bible of babysitting, “The Babysitter’s Club.”  Most of the kids I sat with were your typical kids just trying to test your boundaries but responding with a certain level of humanity when they found how far they could push.  Most of them.

It was a hot summer.  There were three of them.  All of them hated me.  Even though I brought books and activities.  Even though I spent 8 hours a day with them and fed them two meals and a snack.  Even though I let them do whatever they wanted.  They hated me with a passion I imagine warring tribesmen in rural Africa hate each other.  They wanted me gone.  It was a very white trash situation.  The youngest was the white-trashiest of them all and had a thing with peeing.  Peeing in the backyard to be specific.  The family was rebuilding their deck.  It was in skeleton form.
Two-by-fours stretched out behind the house in a dangerous death trap
that of course the littlest one was convinced he could conquer.  I was instructed to make sure Little Asshole was using the bathroom instead of peeing outside because the deck was so dangerous.  Yeah, you read that right.  Not because peeing in the back yard is something civilized 5 year-olds should be discouraged against, but because they didn’t want him to hurt himself getting to the great big toilet outside, also known as the backyard.  And while I didn’t go into the bathroom with him, I was feeling like he wasn’t sneaking outside across the death trap of a deck to piss in the grass.  That is until I walked into the bathroom one particularly awful and trying day of “I HATE YOU I WISH YOU WERE DEAD,” being screamed at me in three different angelic voices and found a puddle of urine not even close to the toilet.  Not even in a sprinkled fashion near by the toilet.  He didn’t miss.  He was PUSHING.  MY.  BROKEN.  BUTTONS.  I sternly told him to get in there and clean it up, I didn’t even yell.  I was firm with him.  He pushed me away, ran out the back sliding glass door and tried to balance along the treacherous balance beam network of planks so I couldn’t grab him and kill him make him clean up his own urine.  Of course, he fell.  He whined and complained and I told him he was fine, and that he wasn’t getting out of the urine duty.  His mom came home and I told her what happened.  She was pretty mad at me.   I was pretty unphased.  If you want me to take care of your children for 8 hours a day, I expect that they are going to follow rules and clean up their own messes.  Also, I expect that for their own safety they’ll listen to me when I give them instructions.  He apparently kept whining all night about his stupid arm so they took him to the doctor.  It was broken.  Little fucker.  I’m not one to say any old kid deserves to get his arm broken, but this kid, he totally deserved it.  Does that make me a bad person?  Maybe a little.  A bad baby sitter?  Maybe a lot.  I didn’t break his arm, but I certainly wasn’t sad about it.

That hideous summer (that I’ve almost all but blocked out) finally ended.  You know what I got paid?  I don’t really remember but I think it was along the lines of $75.00 a week.  8 hour days.  3 horrible children.  That’s not even $2.00 and hour, people.  I wonder what ever happened to that little asshole.  I bet he’s either a serial rapist or a crystal meth dealer.

Which brings me to the real reason I’m writing this entry.  Fussy wrote today about stalking Googling her former babysitting charges on-line and finding out what they were up to, and if there’s anything I like, it’s a good internet stalking Googling session.  I found one of the girls who was the middle child in a family of three who I babysat for a long time, from the infancy of her youngest sister until I pretty much retired from babysitting in favor of drinking and doing drugs on Friday nights, my senior year.  She was my favorite of the three.  They were all awesome though. She has a Myspace page.  She is at ASU.  She looks like she’s “having a good time.”  Since ASU has been known to turn out a good person or two *cough*me*cough* inspite of the drinking and kissing boys *cough*her*cough*, it made me smile.  And then I realized, she’s 19 years old, in college, and I’m really old.  I just hope the boy she was kissing wasn’t the Little Asshole.  Arizona is a very small state.

Published by admin on 13 Sep 2004

The Curse of Speaking it Aloud

So my sister and I were talking about our holiday plans to go to Arizona and spend some time in our childhood home that is currently on the market, and has been on the market for over a year. We were all, “It’s a good thing the house hasn’t sold. Ha ha ha! Silly house, it’ll never ever sell. No way is it going to sell by the holidays! It’s a good thing too, because that would really mess up our plans. No one wants to buy it anyway.” Oh stupid girls. Stupid stupid stupid.

Shortly after this conversation the childhood home received not one, but two, bids. My parents are in escrow and if all the inspections etc go smoothly, the house will belong to another family by November 12th.

I’m a little sad about it. My dog is buried in the back yard along with a lot of my cats. The bedroom I lived in from age 5 to 18 and then lived in during the summers is going to be someone else’s. The Mexican tile covered cement stairs that I nearly broke my shins on every day are going to bust up some new kids shins. The kitchen counter my sister and I shoved green beans under in a smooth attempt to not eat the most disgusting vegetable ever is going to get some other vegetable shoved under it by some other vegetable hating kids. The huge living room that could hold over 12 sleeping girls in Care Bear and Smurf sleeping bags is going to be the living room of some other girl who probably likes Sponge Bob and who knows what else. The balcony I used to scream “I hate you!” over to my parents and my sister and the world is going to be someone else’s balcony to scream over.

None of this really matters. It’s just a place I happened to spend a lot of time in.

Oh yeah, and Jeremy Piven is courting me in my dreams. But he wasn’t Piven, he was his character on Entourage. My world has been flipped upside down and I get Jeremy Piven as Ari Jacobs? Come on subconcious! Work with me.