Utterly Lost

So, we've been waiting since June to have the VA reopen Andy's claim. They shut the whole thing down when he got out, and we've had weekly phone calls to the VA that largely end up getting us nothing but more confused. It's a royal pain in the ass to get stuck talking to random people at call centers who all have different information.

But today, I think we actually might get somewhere, because they finally routed us to the office in Seattle where his file sits, gathering dust, and I guess our squeaky wheel finally got some grease.

Andy's mom and her "Partner" (which is what mature couples are apparently referring to themselves as, because BF and GF is for young folk, but I just think it makes people wonder if it's a man or a woman. Hmmmm...I am going to start referring to Andy as my "partner".) Anyway, they came out from the East Coast for a visit last weekend and I crawled out of my hole (office) long enough to socialize and go to the Sausalito Art Festival. I pretty much sauntered around, looking at things way out of my budget (and I have no more room to put "stuff"...I need a bigger house so I can keep shopping) and they had booze tents everywhere. I had a few glasses of champagne (because I was looking at fine art!) and a few margaritas, which was where it was at.

And, I acquired this...most lovely thing I saw:

It's a hand-bound (like the Monks used to do it, I was informed), purple leather journal with handmade bamboo paper, and antique hardware. It's freaken gorgeous. And cost as much as a 40 inch flatscreen.

I have had it for a week, but only take it out at night to stare at it lovingly. I don't want to just put ANY OLD CRAP in it. This is a book that you would find in an attic chest with some amazing and shocking story in it about your heritage, or like the "Never-Ending Story." I was thinking I really need to get out more so that I have more stories to tell, and then I realized I have quite a few in my basket already. It's just a matter of documenting them. I want my grandkids to read it when I die and both laugh and be shocked that "Nana" was so incredibly awesome.

And yes, I shall be called Nana. It should involve a "knighting" ceremony. "I now deem you evermore..."Nana" of the family." And they touch a baguette to both your shoulders.

There are certain rules to making up what your grandkids call you. Nana's have big boobs, a little extra cushioning, and always have what I refer to as "Mary Poppins" purses, which are large and hold useful things like moist towelettes, mints, crackers and other various ecoutrement meant for entertaining children.

However, I can hopefully make it to my mid 40's before becoming a Nana. But I caught my 12 year old trying to Google search porn on the internet the other day, so that probably won't happen. I had to sit him down and tell him that we have a long standing tradition in both sides of our family in teen pregnancy, and we'd like that to at least skip a generation. I also busted out the story about me having a teen pregnancy at 16, which my kids didn't know about. But I told him that a good rule of thumb is not to start having sex until your "tiny acorn" is big enough to even fit in a condom. Which is not the case at 12. He thinks Charlie Sheen is cool. Which, I think Charlie Sheen is cool too, but I wouldn't exactly want him to be a role model for my teenage sons.

I really need to enroll him in some all-male extracurricular activities.