Clearly I have a lot of work to do

Has anyone heard of an ACE score?  Surprisingly I hadn't until my husband mentioned it in the car on the way home from the final that shall live on in infamy.  Good heavens, did I really score a 46%.  I could have guessed randomly better than that! So we are on our way home, and I am depressed, and he brings up ACE scores.  I think he may have done it to point out that I am awesome, if for no other reason than the fact that I am not an aging, diabetic hooker in LA shooting smack into my eyeballs.  No seriously, statistically I am supposed to be an aging, diabetic hooker in LA shooting smack into my eyeballs.  For those of you who are unfamiliar with what an ACE score is I shall share a link with you. http://wellcommons.com/groups/aces/2011/jan/9/whats-your-ace-score/.  Go there, come back.  I'll wait with my Pepsi and my Baked Lays.  How are these not Xanax flakes and tequila? Hums Jeopardy music.  Back?  Excellent.  What was your score?  Mine was 9.  NINE.  Of course growing up in more than one household and being adopted twice helps boost my score.  When I looked at this, I wanted to belt my husband.  Thanks, babe, I thought.  Are you really trying to tell me that you are proud of me for not laying comatose in a gutter somewhere?  It was then that I realized why he pointed all of this out to me.  One, I love sociology, and so I could be counted on to be fascinated with this and to want to try to find a way to utilize it to save the world my corner of the world.  Two, and more importantly, he wanted to point out that I had made it so much farther than statistics could have ever predicted that I would. What does that mean to me?  It means that I am a happy little outlier.  I am not chained to these numbers and, on a deeper level, I am not chained to my past.  I may be sarcastic, occasionaly pessimistic and afraid of driving, the telephone, the dark, small spaces and voicemail, but I am educated, witty, creative, resilient and caring. Maybe I will never be more than I am today, but I will never, ever be an aging, diabetic hooker in LA.  After all, I burn too easily; I'd pick Seattle.

Clearly I hate falling short

Clearly I hate falling short, because I spent last night in a constant succession of trying to make everything better as the frustration I felt turned into an angry smoke monster rampaging through my overtired mind.  Here's how it started.  I went to Anime Central, to work the convention, because it is awesome and because I genuinely enjoy the people I work with.  Also, there is an abundance of eye candy which I enjoy.  ( I am looking at you Prison Harley Quinn and  Aladdin.  No, seriously, I am still looking at you both in my mind's eye.)  So I am working this convention and I have my kids and my sister-in-law and her friend, both teenagers because I have clearly lost my mind, and my other pseudo sister-in-law who kept me marginally sane.  I over do it because it turns out that someone who is simultaneously pregnant and nursing should apparently eat every 9 minutes and nap as many times a day as I pee.  That number is 47.  So I nearly fainted and was put on light duty for the rest of the convention.  So I bring my crippled volunteer behind home and my father-in-law comes over to explain.....at length, why he thinks he may die soon and why the world is out to get him and nothing could ever possibly go right or make him happy and contented.  Busload of naked centerfolds and cake?  He gained 15 lbs and they are trying to kill him.  Publisher's Clearing House shows up with a check?  Now the government can take 50% in taxes? He finds a cure for cancer? He is more likely to die of a stroke.  Unicorns land and sing him songs of joy?  Damn homosexual adgenda! We do this, effectively, about things in the real world FOR FOUR HOURS!  I cannot make him happy. My husband then leaves to go get our dogs from the dog-sitter, and pick up burgers since we have no food in the house since getting home and our 9 years old is also four hours late getting dinner. The (rightfully) angry dog-sitter sees me on Facebook while my husband is on his way and takes time out of her busy day to tell me that I am a lazy, disrespectful, stupid bitch who is also a bad mother (since dinner is also so late).  I cry.....a bunch. I try taking responsibility while pointing out that my intentions were honestly honorable.  No dice, she's pissed.  I end up falling asleep wondering if everyone has these days. I must not be the only one who ends a day saying, "OMG, what a clusterfuck.  I have GOT to juggle better next time!"  Last night, my balls dropped.  Ouch.  Clearly I hate falling short.