Did I Say That Out Loud?

Hurry. Write.

2011-02-25T20:04:00.000-05:00

Hurry. Write.

Before time runs out,

And your thoughts get lost in the madness in which they stew.

Before they consume you, like they always do.

Hurry. Quick.

Tell them what you've been meaning,

Say what you mean and mean what you say.

But you gotta do it now, you haven't got all day.

Hurry. Dammit!

Your time's almost up.

The curtain must fall.

And you've said nothing at all!

Hurry. Let them go.

Release what you've imprisoned,

These thoughts in your head,

Huddled together, waiting to be said.

Hurry. Don't wait.
The thoughts, they're fading.
Can't hold on to them all.
Not strong enough for the long haul.

Hurry. Oh no.
You've done it again.
By not sharing them outwardly,
They've become your reality.

Too Late.

Elizabeth! It's the big one!

2011-01-30T13:57:00.005-05:00

Growing up Greta.

2011-01-29T17:17:00.003-05:00

I am not sure when, but I'm pretty certain somewhere along the lines my parents knew that I wasn't going to be quite the girl they tried to raise. I suspect they've never accepted it, but that's a whole other blog or book or ten years of therapy or something and far too much for this space. I guess they just wanted a little girl, and I just wanted to be me.

Sure I rocked the pigtails and loved, loved, loved when my Oma would braid my hair like Princess Leia, but that's about the size of my girly-ness. Everything else about me was less little girl, a lot more tomboy. I hated frilly dresses, purposely NOT telling my mother that it was picture day in the 2nd grade where I was forever immortalized in a messy ponytail, my favorite red and white striped shirt, and - though you couldn't see them - my favorite pair of Toughskins jeans. I OWNED my 2nd grade pictures. They were me, the true me.

The budding scientist in me would busy myself exploring the world around me. I caught frogs, tadpoles, bugs, grasshoppers, lizards (so many lizards), and blew up ant piles with firecrackers (the little biting bastards had it coming). I would watch the bees, whistle to the birds, and I had an impressive collection of pet 'rescue' turtles through the years. And surely I was not the first nor last child to test a pet hamster's flight pattern from a ceiling fan. Right? Alright, maybe I was. RIP Petey Hampster.

I went on many a quest for Bigfoot, would decide that an out of place round watering hole in the middle of the forest was King Kong's bathtub, and was convinced that strange human-like creatures lived amongst the swamps I grew up around. On any given day I was a scientist, an explorer, an Indian constructing my wigwam out of stray boards and remnant carpeting, a carpenter building my own tree-house. The world was my proverbial oyster when I was growing up and I went everywhere my imagination would take me.

Finding someone to share in my lust for adventure and knowledge was a bit harder than finding someone to play Barbies with; so, my first best friend was the boy next door. We played football, fished for catfish with crawfish nets, and formed a KISS tribute band complete with tennis racket guitars and, occasionally, the makeup. I sincerely didn't understand why my best friend could never spend the night, it just seemed unfair. Finally, my parents gave and let him stay the night on the eve of Easter one year. I'm not sure of the reasons but his family didn't celebrate the holidays we did. So it was his first Easter and the first and last sleepover we'd ever have. We slept four to a bed - me, my sister, brother, and my bff. When we all woke up, each of us had an Easter basket, and it was his first. He was delighted. I'll never forget that Easter, and I'd have to guess neither will he.

My parents were alcoholics ... are alcoholics. Though I do harbor some bitterness still, I confess that it was probably because of their alcoholism and accompanying self-absorption that I had the best childhood ever. While my siblings got into trouble with drugs, my parents were busied by their lunacy which left me alone with my imagination, a lot. I was left to explore. To discover. To be the hunter. The hunted. A rock star. A boy's best friend.

Though I have grown up, I have never grown out of these things that shaped me. I struggle with the way most of life is spent surrounded by four walls and a ceiling, with tvs, computers, video games and never a quiet moment going uninterrupted by a call or text from a mobile phone. I struggle with the apparent consensus, though not my own, that girls and boys once turned women and men cannot be friends anymore. My imagination is stifled by realism, my exploration by lack of time, money and someone who shares with me that lust for adventure and knowledge that I've never lost.

I suppose I struggle most with being the woman that no longer just my parents - but the world - expects me to be. But still, I just yearn to be me.

Before I forget, some gratitude.

2010-11-30T00:06:00.001-05:00

So that last horribly selfish post aside, I have so many things to be grateful for so in the spirit of being grateful, I should probably spout a little bit of gratitude off for good measure. So *deep breath* here goes ...

I am grateful for:

My children. I have 2 bios and a bonus child, and oh my goodness no matter what I love the bejebus out of those little life-draining spawns.
My health. Well, my physical health.
My husband. Through all the in-his-honor facepalms I've done over the years, he should get some props for putting up with me. Or, sympathy. A medal. Something.
Al Gore. I love his internet and the way all those churning computers keep my globe warm.
A warm globe. I know it's bad for the entire planet, but I'm just 'sayin I'm happier in warm weather.
My brothers and sisters, kin and inlaws alike. They're all crazy, and I love 'em for it.
Slimming undergarments.
Chocolate.
My mother-in-law. She is a hoot and an inspiration. She doesn't let anything get her down, and her brand of bubbly is as sincere as it gets. I love having her around and hope her attitude is contagious, eventually.
Kitties. Neurotic as me, but quiet. Ish.
GlaxoSmithKline, for varied yet obvious reasons.
This blog. You know, since I can't afford therapy.
My friends, at least the ones that claim me.
My job.
Sleep.

Ciao!

Warning: this is a horribly selfish post.

2010-11-29T23:22:00.000-05:00

I have that not so fresh feeling. It smells a little like guilt. I'll apologize in a minute but first ...

Omg I'm jonesing to feel what it feels like to be someone that doesn't have a care in the world other than themselves! I mean, how does it feel to not have to take care of someone? No, I'm not talking about what it feels like to be a man, though I'd have to wager it's pretty damn close. No, I mean to be - dare I say for fear of breathing life in to any possibility of such a thing - childless?

I know, I know, what a cad that must make me seem, and perhaps I am. I get that there are well-deserving people out there that want children and can't have them and they would think I was equally as awful or perhaps worse than even I think I am. I'm sorry, really I am. I certainly feel guilty for saying it but for what it's worth, it's just the truth and if you know me well enough you know I am all about some truthiness.

But please understand, I have not really known an independent life, a life w/o someone depending on me every single day for their sustenance. I've spent my whole adult life being someone's full-time parent(s) due to the fact that one dad (The Donor) was/is a self-serving, self-important douche-bag; the other due to a long commute to work and night shift schedule. Okay, I AM the one responsible for it all; I made my bed and now I lie in it. It's all due to choices I've made in life. Karma. I get it. Just, can I get a break BEFORE it breaks me???? Why can't I make the easy choices? What did I do to deserve the hard road in life? Why me? Blah, blah, blah, a bunch of other dribble, blah.

Oh pay me no mind. I'm just being whiny and selfish, give me a few minutes and that'll go away and be replaced by a healthy dose of realism and acceptance. It's just been a long day, that followed a long week, that followed a long month, which is wrapping up a long year that's part of a long battle in what is (hopefully, I think) a long life. See, my inner pessimist, long isn't always bad!

*drumroll*

That's what she said.

So, an update.

2010-09-21T22:00:00.000-04:00

So I thought I'd put out a quick post to say hello and OMG life is so crazy right now. I have had a rare moment to myself, or even to spend with my family. All work and no play has definitely made me a dull, dull girl.

I've been juggling a full-time contract with a couple of smaller jobs; taking the house apart to get the floors replaced, which involved dealing with the stress of two not-so-detailed contractors replacing those floors, and a week between a hotel and staying with family; visiting elderly relatives, reluctantly conversing about whether or not I can assume the role of executor, getting 3-5 hours of sleep a day; fighting with my husband, who really has every right to be upset with me right now; trying to manage an extremely hyperactive strong-willed child who just wants my attention; fielding 'i want' phone calls and texts from my college student who is supposed to be enjoying college life and leaving me alone right about now but is bugging me about a new iPhone; dealing with the pain of neuralgia; and not doing housework and laundry, which takes me back to the husband being mad at me bit. Oh don't get me started - the list of what I haven't been doing is at least as long if not longer.

On top of it all, I'm trying to ward off the onset of a depression that interrupts my life every year this time of year when I am reminded that one of the only people in my entire life that got me, is gone and I've yet to come to terms with it.

To say I needed Calgon to take me away right now would be an understatement. What I really need is to be held tight - not for a moment but for a while - and be reassured that everything is going to be alright.

Then, I need to believe that everything is going to be alright.

Oh, and i almost forgot. I got another cat. Because, you know, I needed one and all.

Meow to all, and to all a good night.

In my mind.

2010-08-27T18:58:00.001-04:00

In my mind I am infinite things

I am
Organized
Peaceful
And very well-rested

I am
Loved
Missed
Never detested

I am
Smart
Funny
A bit of a clown

I am
Hopeful
Faithful
A joy to be around

I am
Productive
Progressive
And thoroughly prepared

I am
Tough
Strong
I'm definitely not scared

In my mind
I am all of these things and more
If only I could find
The damn key to that door.

Children learn what they live.

2010-08-05T00:34:00.000-04:00

Hey I got the first 4! Oh wait ...

Children Learn What They Live
by Dorothy Law Nolte

If children live with criticism,
They learn to condemn.

If children live with hostility,
They learn to fight.

If children live with ridicule,
They learn to be shy.

If children live with shame,
They learn to feel guilty.

If children live with encouragement,
They learn confidence.

If children live with tolerance,
They learn to be patient.

If children live with praise,
They learn to appreciate.

If children live with acceptance,
They learn to love.

If children live with approval,
They learn to like themselves.

If children live with honesty,
They learn truthfulness.

If children live with security,
They learn to have faith in themselves and others.

If children live with friendliness,
They learn the world is a nice place in which to live.

Dear Blog.

2010-08-05T00:14:00.001-04:00

Dear Blog,

I really like how I can tell you anything and you are not critical of me. You accept me for who I am, and you don't care who knows. I appreciate that... I wish I could do the same for you but ... it's complicated.

This is going to be difficult for me to say but I feel compelled to admit sometimes I worry about how some people will judge me by keeping your company. That sounds harsh, I know, but don't take it personal. It's not you it's me! I am very sensitive to being misunderstood is all. So, don't you go misunderstanding! I am NOT ashamed of you. I would take you anywhere (if I could). I'm just protective. People can be so ugly and judgmental when they think they know you but don't. And when ugliness rears its head and stares directly at me, or you, it hurts my heart.

I worry because you're different than I can be sometimes, and not everyone accepts different. That's why you're here in this special space. No, silly, not special like special ed. Just special. It's where you can frolic with your like-minded blogfriends and be yourself! A place in which to find an outlet, some solace, and camaraderie. You can talk about politics, religion, snot, abortion, skepticism, pms, sex - hell anything you want! You can rant, rave or just be your very, very random self. It's who you are.

Your blogfriends are with you because they either accept you or tolerate you, whatever the case may be. If they don't, you don't have to care because they don't either. No one spends too much time or energy on stupid shit like that here. Now, outside of here it's a different story altogether. If people don't accept you they focus on you and try to argue with you. Or they sit passively reading or listening and judging you on what little information they have - without ever trying to find out more for themselves. Or, even worse, they talk about you behind your back. With no block feature or close or exit buttons on the outside, trust me. You're not missing a thing.

So, anyway, long story short (too late), I thought I should explain why I stopped including you in my Facebook posts and why I don't go out of my way to introduce you to friends and family. If I did, you might feel like you had to act differently and I would hate that because I like you just the way you are. You say what you mean and you mean what you say. One day, I hope to be just like you.

Until then, I'm just,

Fun with Google Autosuggest: Social Networking is ...

2010-07-21T22:36:00.002-04:00

To sum it up:

Facebook, MySpace and Twitter are all boring and at some point down/broken/not working; however, MySpace appears to be the only one that isn't 'pointless' or a 'waste of time'. (I digress)
Facebook wins the D cup: 'da devil!, depressing and downright dangerous
Twitter and MySpace are dead. MySpace dies again in 2010.
On Facebook? Loser.
MySpace is ghetto.
Twitter is (sofa king) we todd it.
Googlers are a bunch of social networking hate-a-thon'ers!

We all came to be.

2010-07-07T23:57:00.004-04:00

We all came from somewhere you see
Some from under a rock
Others from a light breeze
There were happy beginnings
Then there were none of these
No matter whence we came
We all came to be

Whether from a budding romance
Begun in a high school gym
The product of a slow dance
Or as a seed from dysfunction
Planted well in advance
It doesn't matter you see

We all came to be

I am who I am and you are who you are

We could look for each other's flaws

Or borrow from each other's scars

We could reach out to one another

Or push the other away

It doesn't matter you see

We're both here to stay

So whether we battle

Or choose to embrace

However we weather

The differences we face

We are the same you and me

We all came to be

Everything else doesn't matter

You see?

271 days.

2010-07-07T22:57:00.001-04:00

There are 271 days until April 4, 2011.

271 days until I am 40.

40.

In 271 days, it will be Monday, April 4, 2011.

A Monday.

I turn 40 on a Monday.

FML.

25 ways to piss me off.

2010-06-28T23:13:00.000-04:00

Make any repetitive noise.
Talk on your cell phone while I'm behind you in line.
Talk on your cell phone while pumping gas. Next to me.
Talk on your cell phone while driving in front of me, slowly, under the speed limit, braking too much, while trying to find your way around.
Talk on your cell phone anywhere around me.
While noticing I'm in distress, try to have a serious conversation about your feelings.
Sing off key loudly while listening to your iAnything. Beat the tune off beat on any surface you can find while you're at it.
Send me religious propaganda.
Send me political propaganda.
Expect me to respond to your propaganda.
Call me before attempting to email or text me ... like it's 1999.
Drive up next to me and pump up the base in your ridiculously pimped out car.
Pee on my toilet seat. Really? How hard is this?
Tell me you don't vote because politics doesn't matter to you. Then complain about how 'they' don't salt when its snowing, or that 'they' don't fix potholes, or that you are dissatisfied with your child's 'public' education.
Thank god when something good happens to you and blame yourself when something bad does.
Try to validate Rush Limbaugh and/or Glenn Beck generated fear and hatred.
Women, vote the way your husband votes because any other way would be canceling out your votes.
Don't vote. Especially women and minorities. Make all the hard work your ancestors did for you all for naught.
Pretend to be someone your not.
Promise something to a child, knowing you never plan to fulfill it.
Ride a motorcycle without a helmet going 90 on the expressway like the idiot you so obviously are. Like you don't have a parent, a spouse, a sibling, a friend or a child that worries about you every time you do so we can all stare at the cross erected in your honor on the side of the road, eventually.
Run up your credit, then call yourself independent.
Keep your child from the non-custodial parent just because you want to punish them. Then go to church and tell everyone lies about it all.
Tell me to trust you, then betray me.
Suggest that I might be PMS'ing ... even if I am.

Fun with Google Autosuggest: Size matters.

2010-06-22T19:19:00.001-04:00

And the results are in ... the Google Gods pronounce that size of your weiner is more important than IQ or how much junk us ladies have in our trunk. Really? Goodness. Who uses the word penile anyway?

I would be 29. Forever.

2010-06-20T21:31:00.000-04:00

Post Hate.

2010-06-17T01:07:00.000-04:00

I feel ornery. Full of piss and vinegar. So I thought, alright, I'm just going to get all my hate out. NOW. Okay, not all of it, just some of it. Before you read, if you read, know that I am not usually one prone to hate. Things irritate the piss out of me on a continual basis - don't get me wrong - but hate is a strong emotion of which I truly rarely feel. Most of the time I'm a fairly happy person, albeit a tad on the cynical side. And by tad I mean, okay, I'll admit I can get my doubt and cynicism on. Anyway.

I hated today.

Today sucked twelve kinds of ass in all its infinite glory. Nothing went right. Everything broke at least once. I'd fix one thing and it would break something else. I finally had to give up. My mind was afog with a lack of sleep and all the stress that I've been under lately with the bomb that went off in my personal life. My body feels like twelve hundred pounds of garbling seal blubber, retaining more water than the Hoover dam. I'm hot. And not in the good way. I'm trying to be a good girl and eat well, but chocolate is winning. Damn you, chocolate. Damn you, today.

I hate the neighborhood gossip.

Everyone neighborhood has one. The know-it-all who knows everything about you and me and everyone else, but seemingly little about themselves. Well, our resident gossip hound of our neighborhood just so happens to be the woman who is the mother to my 18-year old's best friend, with whom he is currently staying because he has decided he simply can't follow the rules anymore. She is an incorrigible, self-important woman who has the nerve to attempt to proselytize my son to the blind religion she wears on her sleeve, sending ignorant right-wing conservative Glenn-Beck-induced political propaganda to my house (via my son) for me "to understand", and continuously tries to undermine my parental authority with her opinions voiced to my son and not to me. She is the woman that every neighbor loves to hate, and I am no exception. Hating her so much has even me wanting to go to confession. I guess in a way, I just did. I feel ever so guilty of saying this, but I wouldn't piss on her if she burst in flames in front of me and I hadn't peed in twelve days.

I hate my ADD.

On a good day, the ADD works in my favor. I am able to multitask like no other. On a bad day, my ADD is my worst enemy. I juggle more than I should and possibly could. It's felt more and more like one of those days lately.

Other things I've hated today, in no specific order:

..nouns, collectively (people, places and things)
..my cat at 5:30 in the morning. every morning.

..getting older

..looking older

..crushing cans at work
..crushing at work
..walking downtown by myself at lunch
..being catcalled by people that give me the heebie jeebies

..making accidental eye contact with those people

..asking for help

..accepting help

..the fact that its one o'clock, i'm tired and still up blogging about stupid shit when I really need to be working

I like that today (er, yesterday) has finally come to an end though, so there's that.

This blog has been brought to you by PMS and the number twelve.

I fear serial killers and other stuff.

2010-06-14T00:21:00.004-04:00

I've always had an active imagination. The brain never turns off, not even in sleep. I have the sleep study to prove it. So, I'm always thinking. Always worrying. Always wondering.

One of the things I wonder about, and fear, is serial killers. They're never someone that everyone finds out about and goes, "Oh, yeah, that guy? Of course! He always seemed like a serial killer to me. So obvious." No. It never goes like that... it's always all about the shock and awe. Would have never thought that about this person. But he seemed so together. Kind of quiet, but you know, never bothered anybody. Well, except for those 27 people he stored in his deep freezer...

So, you never know when you're standing next to a serial killer. I'm just saying. It could be anybody. The cute old lady that lives next to you, the one that has been widowed 3 times? Potential serial killer. You can't prove she didn't do it. The angry coworker that everyone jokes about going postal? Potential serial killer. Watch yo back. The ice cream man? C'mon, that's a no brainer. Potential serial killer. Why else would some guy elect to drive around a truck with annoying jack-in-the-box music. Because he loves ice cream? Children? Or, maybe, children-flavored ice cream????

I know. So silly. But bet I make you look and wonder yourself sometime. If you haven't already.

So I thought I'd out some other fears of mine, just for shits and giggles. (They make me do both. Sometimes together.)

Jack-in-box. Damn those things popping out at me like that!

Biscuits. They have that jack-in-the-box effect that I dislike. Insert spoon here? Not on your life.

Chainsaw massacre guys at haunted houses or anyone else jumping out at me for that matter. Again with the dislike of things popping out on me.

Spiders. Particularly spiders in my bed. You'd have to be insane not to fear that too.

Clowns. They're just creepy.

Mailboxes. The blue kind. Okay, this is not a fear per se, rather an anxiety. They're just so final. Once you put something in those bad boys, there's no retrieving it.

Little yippy dogs. They're just assholes who want to bite your ankles.

Heights. They make me sweat and fill with concrete, rendering me unable to move.

Bridges. Especially of the double-decker variety.

Earthquakes, not the shaking itself but the things that will fall on me in a quake. Like, bridges.

Tornadoes. They're out to get me.

Lightning. Reason stated above, under tornadoes.

Death. It's just so final.

Vampires not named Edward.

Aliens. I am going to have to go with Stephen Hawking on this one. Do not trust them. (Steve, don't worry dude, I'm all over it.)

Worms. Intestinal worms. Because, gross. Brain worms. It could happen. Any other worm who's function is something other than fertilizing my garden. I never trust anything that can regrow itself.

Suede. Do not bring the stuff near me.

People walking behind me, especially on stairs.

Tickling. You tickle me, you may die.

Fear that.

In between.

2010-06-13T23:49:00.005-04:00

I don't know what it is I've come here to say tonight. I'm just feeling a bit stuck.

Between a barrage of thoughts and having nothing to say.

Between reflecting on a great time over the weekend to the moment following conflict.

Between feeling like I have no one to talk to and not wanting to talk to anyone.

Between this cup of White Castle coffee and craving sleep.

Between leaving and staying put.

Between expecting more but wanting less.

Between a rock and a hard place.

Never right.

Never wrong.

Never just right or totally off.

Never just anything.

Always in between.

On luck.

2010-05-26T23:02:00.000-04:00

You ever meet one of those people that just seem so inherently unlucky? Yes? Well then you know the type I'm talking about. No? Well now you have. You, me, me, you. You've been formerly introduced. Only, I don't reallllly believe in luck.

What is luck anyway? Well, technically luck is defined as an unknown and unpredictable phenomenon that leads to a favorable outcome. But the way I figure it most people don't believe in luck, even when they think they do.

To the religious - or the religiously superstitious - luck is less luck and more fate. As in, there is no such thing as luck. It's all some big grand design either decided for by the stars or a god or gods. No luck for those practicing voodoo nor for Christians. You can't have both. Don't sass me, it's not my rules. It's all in the plan. In other words, there is no such thing as luck.

Then there are those who think luck is more of a earned thing, something you get by exuding positive vibes - the new age/The Secret sort of thing. If you think you're lucky you will be lucky! To Buddhists, its all about the Karma baby. Luck associated with virtue. I group these together because they're similar in that whatever happens is either a result of your actions, your thoughts, or your motives to those actions or thoughts. In other words, there's no such thing as luck.

Then there are those who believe luck isn't luck at all, it's just chance. An accident. A coincidence. The rationalists. "Luck is probability taken personally" (quote: Chip Denman, Stats Lab, University of Maryland) - to which Penn Jillette added, "It is the excitement of bad math." In other words, there is no such thing as luck.

So, if none of these groups believe in such a thing called luck ... who does? Though I myself don't believe in luck - I'm a bit of a rationalist - I contradict myself constantly. I often say "you get what you give" which is kind of like karma but not so much so that I'd actually call it karma. I would apply it to the simpler things in life rather than situations in which I might consider myself "lucky". I have experienced a lot of coincidences in life which seems more purposeful than chance yet never so much that I feel that I have to curse or thank anything supernatural. I'm just either in the right place at the right time or the wrong place at the wrong time. No more.

But what about these folks?

Take the guy sinking the basketball from across the court. Was it luck? Skill? God's plan? Or did he just want it bad enough? Did he visualize it, so it happened? Had he deserved it based on the actions he had taken in this life or some previous one? Or was it merely chance?

I have no answers, just a best guess.

Happy F***ing Mother's Day!

2010-05-08T18:17:00.004-04:00

It's days like Mother's Day, Father's Day, and Valentines Day that really get me all cantankerous. They're just Hallmark holidays, days of the year manufactured not for the sweethearts, mothers, or fathers but merely for capitalistic gain and nothing else.

Do we really feel loved when we're given milk chocolate in a heart-shaped box? Cut flowers that will die right along with the sentiment in which they were given? A mass-produced card with someone else's words on them? Gah.

I'm over this show of affection by gift giving bullshit. So this year, if you're my husband, just change a goddamn light bulb without prompting. There. I feel loved.

Happy F***ing Mother's Day!

Fun with Google Autosuggest: Yes, someone googled that too.

2010-05-05T09:17:00.000-04:00

What the obituary doesn't tell you.

2010-04-26T23:45:00.005-04:00

Funeral services for Jennifer Michele Shea, 36, of Floyds Knobs, will be held at 11 a.m. Friday, Sept. 21, in the Paul F. Kraft Sr. Memorial Chapel of Generations Funeral Home, 3309 Ballard Lane, New Albany. She died Monday, Sept. 17, 2007, at her home in Floyds Knobs.

She was born April 26, 1971, in Louisville to Deborah Bowman Horan and Michael P. Shea. She was an accountant with Cotton and Allen in Louisville.

That's what the obituary read.

What it didn't tell anyone was that Jennifer was my best friend. She and I had been friends since we'd been 14 - quite the pair, each of us awkward in much the same way and in our own. While everyone else was riding in cars with boys, she and I were still riding bikes past the houses of boys we liked. Neither of us were much for intimate moments between friends, but we shared a silly humor. I don't even remember how and when we first met, but we became fast friends.

Still, I can't find a single picture of us. They're somewhere here in my hectic life, but for whatever reason I can't find them. Maybe that's a good thing. It's been almost three years since her death but it feels more like three months. My emotions are still very much raw, very much buried. That's where they'll have to stay, for now. They're safe there. I don't have to explain them and that's a good thing, because I can't. I don't have to confront them and that's a good thing, because I won't. Two days of the year, however, I have no choice: September 17th, the day she died, and today, her birthday.

I think of her family on both of these days, and others. I think of her mother most often. Though she lives literally within walking distance, I can't bring myself to go and say hello. The street goes both ways, I figure. But I also figure that we both understand why the other can't cross the road.

Just before her death, Jennifer and I had reconnected. We hadn't talked in a few years, actually. Time had past, but our friendship never faded. We talked and laughed like we always did. It was like nothing had changed, no time was lost. I was looking forward to keeping up with the friendship again, because just that little bit of time together reminded me of how much we were alike, and how much I'd been missing. She left that night in a bit of a hurry, I figured she was tired. I guess she was.

"You were her best friend. Her only friend," were the words her husband told me at her funeral as I clung to him, somewhere between shock and grief and all the emotions in between. I suppose the words were meant to be comforting, but they hit me just as hard today as they did then. Like a ton of bricks right in the gut. Those aren't the words you want to hear just days after someone takes their life.

Now there's something else the obituary doesn't tell you.

She was survived by her best friend.
Her only friend.
Some friend.

Kayaks and Babies.

2010-04-24T00:07:00.003-04:00

Kayak? Baby? Kayak? Baby? Kayak it is! I will have to be content borrowing other people's babies, b/c no one will loan you a damn kayak.

OK SERIOUSLY, will one of my friends have a baby already? I want to buy it things and hold and love it and give it back when it cries and go to sleep when it won't. (Yes, it. This is a fictional baby we're talking about here, don't get all damn offended, capiche?) Especially if you have a little girl, can I borrow her? I didn't realize how much I really need one of those until I velcroed myself to a coworker's baby recently in sort of quasi-hostile takeover with a coo and a smile. I'd have own but I'm not gonna lie - the idea and risk of twins at my age scares the elasticity right out of me. You understand.

It's probably b/c I've been surrounded by boys all my life: grew up a tomboy, had to suffer through three brothers, had mostly guy friends, married a boy, had three boys of my own, chose a profession of [mostly] men ... Now, I just want to fix a little girl's hair in some obnoxious bow that I would never have worn, squeal when I see something pink - PIIIIIINK!!!! - and buy her a bikini. Oh alright I won't buy her a bikini. Probably. (but they're sooo cuuuute!)

Since my uterus is retired - emphasis on the 'tired' - I figure the next logical step is buying a kayak. Right? Alright, maybe that's not so logical but it will keep my busy - at least for that time that I take it out on the water. It will dress up my mommyvan right nice. And let's face it, that shit will look fabulous hanging in my garage. Maybe it'll make me feel a little more awesome too, even though I know that I'm not anymore.

Iunno, really. I'm just itching to get back to me. To find some reasonable level of part-time bliss. I used to be this fun, energetic, silly person that loved to hike, camp and spend time outdoors. Now I'm this meh, blah, weird person that finds comfort in the silent acceptance of a computerized social life. I'm not sure who this person is anymore, that hides behind her computer, worrying about her age. I've never been one to take issue w/the having of a birthday, and I'm even looking forward to 40. Maybe. I'm just feeling vulnerable, I guess, and that's an uncomfortable place for me to be. I'm a misfit in name and actuality. I'm not sure I fit in with people my age or older because I act more immature. Yet I don't fit in with younger people because they think (or I think they think) that I should act older. It's like I'm stuck in a sort of purgatory wasteland between thirty- and forty-something. Someplace where there's really no definition for me.

I know, I know. Age is just a number, a frame of mind. This blah shall pass. Who knew the 3 and the 9 together would cause so much sigh and reflection?

Aye. Maybe me and my kayak can purposefully paddle and enjoy a sunset or two before my youth decides to stay there.

Fun with Google Autosuggest & Rush Limbaugh

2010-04-12T23:12:00.004-04:00

Hmmm. Maybe it's time to study up on the power of suggestion ....

Happy Birthday. Let the dying begin.

2010-04-12T21:58:00.007-04:00

I turned 39 on April 4th, yes, 39. The year I am still climbing up, up and away! Come next April 4th I will be at the top of the mountain, ready to begin my descent to death, or to the average life expectancy of women in the United States, 80 (and some change).

I don't typically celebrate birthdays, but I do like a piece of cheesecake or three to mark the occasion. Next year, however, I DO get to celebrate because Patton Oswalt says I can.

I'm thinking Hawaii or Jamaica will do (no parties please!), and maybe a tattoo or two. No, not a tramp stramp on my growing derrière or a vine around my soon-to-be-sagging upper arm. I'm thinking something much more practical like a fleur-di-lis (in a place for body identification only in case I get mauled by a bear or serial killer and am found before my body decomposes) or a Yin Yang symbol on my ass. You know, to add a little bit of spice to the foreboding colonoscopies. I'll just post-it-note my rear w/a note for the radiologist technician:

... because colonoscopies aren't fun for anyone! Unless I have something to do with it!

But 40 can and will be fun, at least until reality sets in. In the meantime, I will quietly (ok, not so quietly) enjoy my hotflashes and hormone-induced migraines that I've been enjoying for a couple of weeks, just some shit Mother Nature is throwing my way to prep me for the inevitable. She can be a bitch, but I can take her.

Let the dying begin!

Easter Schmeeshter!

2010-04-12T20:28:00.004-04:00

Prelude To The Post:

I grew up Southern Baptist. I was schooled in the Bible in a believe-or-go-to-hell fashion, and you better believe I believed. I also believe that I was a born-skeptic, and therefore it was my right (and duty!) to question anything I was taught, as I oft saw fit. My mother made very clear to me was a sure path to hell as well. However, only in my late 20s did I really question the validity of not just what I had been taught as a Christian, but what anyone had been taught in any faith. Then came 30. The year I turned 30, the world as we knew it had changed forever. It had, of course, nothing to do with my age. That milestone was indeed coincidence. It had everything to do with September 11, 2001. At some point I will go into detail as to why this affected me so greatly, but I am struggling with condensing it down to blog-level reading. Until then, I suppose I think you should know that I struggle now with most things Christian, including holidays. It's less about religious significance than about how to properly approach the holidays as a secularist, self-professed humanist parent. I've decided the best way to proceed is to celebrate by taking the holidays back to their Pagan roots, which is where they all started anyway.

{End the prelude that could quite possibly exceed the post itself}

"The idea of a giant bunny rabbit hopping from house to house delivering candy is just weird." ~my precocious oldest son, at five years of age.

How does anybody in their right mind explain the Easter Bunny on Easter, primarily marked by the celebration of the resurrection of JC? "Hey kids! After enjoying your chocolate and gnawing off your bunny ears for breakfast. Later we'll have a nice ham and potato salad dinner with our family, to commemorate Jesus rising from the dead." (and I'm considered weird????) So how? How is this explained? It's not. I always thought the idea of the Easter Bunny was ridiculous, even as a Christian-infused child that could vehemently justify and defend the existence of Santa Claus. But c'mon. All that hopping, no reindeer? Absurd!!! I asked my mother what of it at some point, and she merely performed the because-the-bible-says chastisement for questioning the word of God bit. Naturally, I assumed w/o discovery that this was indeed so. What else could I do but answer the five-year-old's question in the same way?

What most people don't know, or are aware of but refuse to acknowledge is that most Christian holidays are not rooted in Christianity at all, but are Christian versions of long-before celebrated Pagan rituals. Easter is no exception. I won't go in to the detail because I don't believe in doing what someone else can do better. You can view this succinct 4-minute history below if it melts your butter, courtesy of The History Channel (one of my top 10 fave cable channels indeed).

Truth be known, I'd like to just skip the holiday all together. Coloring eggs is out. I'm the only one in my family that would eat the damn things, and I would feel like I had to eat the damn things because I'm not down with wasting anything edible. It's why I'll be fat and sassy later, just in case I forget to remind you. I know, I know, I'm no fun. I rob my children of the fun rituals! Easter egg hunts, what could be merrier? (besides twelve hundred other things I could rale off the top of my head, but I digress...)

I've never missed doing the Easter basket, even whilst seething with my nose scrunched in its salute to bitterness... until this year. You see, we were in Chicago where we spent an extended weekend taking the kids from [science] place to [science] place *laughs like Muttley*

Soooo Easter came and went w/o a whimper. So, true to my don't-ask-don't-tell style of parenting, this little one never asked ... so I just never told. I would be remiss not to admit that this did not pass me buy w/o a good dose of good Southern Baptist induced guilt. But for the first, glorious time in 39 years, guilt or no guilt, I finally got to say it.

Easter Schmeeshter

But please, by all means, pass me the ham. It's delish!

Disclaimer:
My parents did not raise me this way. You know, in case they read this and all.

Fun with Google Autosuggest: Christians don't ...

2010-03-24T23:37:00.002-04:00

WTF? They don't believe in gravity? This is worse than I thought ... However, I will agree they don't remember a guy named Jesus and his teachings - as thoroughly demonstrated at a Tea Party protest in Ohio.

It's times like these that I am so very thankful for this ability to reason that I have been - for lack of a better word - blessed with. I will never understand. Ever.

WTF Pet of the Day

2010-03-16T15:29:00.002-04:00

WTF

Relax it's just a capybara, the largest living rodent alive today.

Awwww. Who WOULDN'T want one?

Who wouldn't want one???? I'll tell you who wouldn't want one. Me!!!!!!

I give this one a long, raspy/gaspy "Sweet Hey Seuss" and one serious WTF?

I love you ... but I don't like you.

2010-03-09T22:40:00.009-05:00

"I love you, but I don't like you" was one of the stupidest things I ever remember my mother saying. She'd tell everybody that, but mostly she directed it to me and to my dad. I could never understand how you could love someone and not like them. I can remember telling her - after she squeezed an "I love you, but I don't like you" through her clenched teeth - that it was impossible. If you loved someone, then you had to like them. I'll never say that to my kids!

*thinking what kind of awful crazy person says that about their children*

{Fast forward about 25 years}

Yes. Yes I did. I said it. "I love you but I don't like you", I growled to my teen, with a very thorough, nauseating understanding of what my mother meant. And what did he say to me? What else. "That's a really stupid statement, Mom. You can't love someone and not like them."

Oh yes you can sonny boy. You just wait. With any luck, you'll eat those words just as I did - for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Bon appetit!

Other things I swore I'd never say, but did:

"Because I said so!"

"Shutup!"

"I'm going to tape your mouth shut in a minute if you don't shutup!"

"Please lord, do not let me kill this child."

"No, No and No!"

"If someone told you to jump off a bridge, would you do that too??"

"You're going to get all of this back you know."

Unsocially Social.

2010-02-16T09:39:00.002-05:00

I am totally fascinated and submerged in to a variety of social networking apps out there to-date. Which is really something considering what a closet anti-social I really am... With 2 FT kids and The Hub on a different shift, I don't have time for a social life. I have a few close friends that get face time (when they can't avoid me any longer); all the rest of my friends are in my computer.

But, I'm starting to get a little verklempt. If you make it through this entire post, you'll understand.

Facebook, ala Fb, is at the top of my list and I am unabashedly addicted. I heart Fb, at least for now. It's been great to get back in touch with people. And I actually *know* 98% of the people on my friends list, unlike some other sites. Those that I don't actually know are a small percentage of networking contacts. That said, Fb friends do not an actual friend make. I mean, c'mon. I've over 300 friends and still can't find anything to do on a Friday night. I am a professional people watcher, though, so I enjoy learning a lot about my friends by their status updates and the types of things they post. I try to be entertaining, if only to myself which is probably the case most of the time.

I have been on Twitter for some time, but not always using it actively. Most people I talk to, or hear talking about it, just don't understand why anyone would use Twitter. I enjoy reading what other people think about - particularly the mundane observations or declarations. I am a purveyor of TMI and I enjoy yours as well. I also use it for informational purposes, like following the City of Louisville so I can know its happenings, Business First so I can watch other companies in the news (in case I get laid off I will know what companies are hiring), and I search keyterms like ColdFusion - which is what I spend my days doing - so I can stay up on what other people in similar positions are getting all giddy about. I like to watch the live feed when something big is happening (like the recent unrest in Iran, the presidential election, etc.). I can't get enough information, useful or not. To quote the article 5 Ways to Use Twitter for Good, Twitter can be distracting, but it can be useful. It's up to you.

I definitely StumbleUpon which is where I go when I need to serve up a little humor or when I'm just feeling a bit like finding something new. I also stumble work topics and have found some pretty useful sites this way. But mainly, I love stumbling on new sites. As if I need to discover any more at all!

I am on MySpace. Don't judge me, I had it before the teenagers took over, and before you could pimp your site. I don't do much w/it anymore, but it's there and occasionally I will actually login.

And then there are the others ...

YouTube. I love checking out what other people are checking out.

I'm LinkedIn. *yawn* I haven't embraced this site yet, mainly because it is a pool of corporateness and I am not.

Plaxo seems like it's on track to be a great convergence of all things social on the Web, but it got annoying. I am still on there, but meh. I can't decide if I WANT all things converged.

I have a few public-facing Flickr photos, mainly of my feet on vacation, buildings and signs. I tend to get some weird feedback from people with foot fetishes. I like feet, but I don't get all hot and bothered by them. That's just wacky.

Shelfari, 'cuz doesn't everyone want to know what I'm reading??? Mkay, yea, probably not. But, you can tell a lot about a person by what's on their "shelf". What does mine say about me, I wonder?

I am on Classmates, but find it pretty worthless compared to all the classmating I've been doing on Fb. They want me to pay to see what other people are saying to me/about me? Pfff. Whatev.

And, of course, I blog on blogger. It's my second biggest time scourge after Fb. That said, I don't blog nearly enough. I think of at least a dozen things to write about in any given day, I just don't have the time to pen the thoughts out. Consider yourself fortunate. One person inundated w/all this thoughts is probably enough.

But, wait, there's more! I've registered for some I don't do much with on the social spectrum, like Meetup, Bebo, CafeMom, TripAdvisor, Live Spaces, Yelp, and Urbanspoon. I use Urbanspoon occasionally, but just none of the social aspects of it. Yet. And, I bookmark on de.licio.us.

*long exasperated sigh* Have I left any out? If so, please don't tell me. I've got enough on my plate!

When do I have the time to do this? I don't. I use de.licio.us at work. I am able tweet and update my Fb status from my IM client and my beloved iPhone. I may approve a comment or two on Blogspot, but for the most part all of this goes on at night after the littlest monster is put to bed and before I finally collapse around the midnight hour.

So, I think it's safe to say I get around the www. In my dream job, I would get paid to do this. If anyone is looking for a professional intarwebber, have your people get in touch with my people. Everybody has to be good at something.

The OY in unemployment.

2010-02-16T01:41:00.001-05:00

My last post on the subject of unemployment was a sparkly little number with as much positivity as an optimistically pessimistic person could muster. I meant every word, and still do. I can still maintain that I see no negatives about my situation, that I'm making the best out of it, still a thousand pounds lighter, all of it.

Thing is, I wrote it all before my first visit to the unemployment office (UO). While my own situation is still as it was, the visits to the UO have definitely brought out out the OY in unemployment.

I did attempt to do everything online, but the severance that wasn't really severance but "pay in lieu" pushed my eligibility date back a couple of weeks and Ms. Read Directions Over And Over And Over had no real directions to read obsessively. So, I read it while it was on screen and tucked it away in my memory bank, which is otherwise known as Brigitte's Bank of Bermuda Triangle. Aaaaand I'll let you figure out what happened with that information... So, anyway, long story short (too late) I waited to late to claim. Luckily, that story had a happy ending. After waiting in line for six hours in single digit wind chill - OY! - I did finally get it cleared up and received my first checks about six weeks after I got the boot.

For my second visit I decided to drive to Shelbyville and got to the office there, about 30 minutes east of Louisville. I'd been forewarned by fellow blogstar Jerasphere that this particular office is a melting pot of not just the unemployed but also of family services, including welfare services, the child support vixen and villains. She was right. Though the trip was painless and short (only 30 minutes!), there was an overwhelming sad feeling to the room. The smell of stale beer and cigarettes, week-old babies crying in the arms of their teenage mothers. Welfare recipients looking dejected. No one is smiling, there is no happiness to be found there. A truly sullen place. An OY.

Though unemployment has been good to me, I couldn't stay here forever. Waiting in the lines of despair, I find little commonality between myself and fellow unemploymenteers. I feel like I shouldn't be there, a sense of guilt that I am there at all. I will start a temporary contract next week, that is expected to last 3 months, maybe more. I will miss my freedom, but I will enjoy a real paycheck, and I will not - definitely not - miss the OYs.

Eat some of the parking lot and bring your children, and other adventures in eTelephony.

2010-02-15T23:22:00.000-05:00

There are few things in life that I honestly can say I hate. The telephone is one of them - talking on it, voicemail, press 1 for this and 3 for that bullshit ... UGH. In today's world, with so many avenues of communication, why are we still using the telephone? Text me. Email me. IM me. Facebook me. Anything but call me!!!!

It's not you, it's me.

My life is a chaos. I'm far too busy to accommodate you in such a spontaneous and unplanned way. I'm sorry, it's nothing personal, it's just the way it is. When I am in traffic, trying to concentrate through a verbally hyper kindergartner, the last thing I'm thinking about is wanting to talk on the phone. When I was working, and getting home from work at 6:30pm every day with dinner yet to fix, children to field/parent/manage, household duties to tend to amidst chaos and the frequent anarchy of my offspring - I really need to add holding a phone and talking on it to the equation??? No. I do not.

But if you're special ...

I will make the occasional exception as I do have friends and family that live out of town that I do not get to talk to or see on a regular basis. My bff is still computer-challenged and though she is making great strides in her eLife, we do still talk on the phone. My night-shift husband calls me every evening at 10:15 for what is typically our only conversation of the day. We talk for ten minutes. The rest of you? NO TALK FOR YOU!

Google Gods to the rescue!

Mmmm ... Google Voice. It's leading my latest telephony prevention efforts, aiding in the public execution of my landline. In the age where everyone has a mobile phone, my home phone is just a senseless forty bucks out the door every month. Google Voice will enable me to have a "home" phone to list, which will actually forward to my mobile phone. Why not just give peeps my mobile number and skip the extra step? Why, because of GV's voicemail transcription feature, of course! When I receive a call I am given an option to either accept the call or send it to voicemail. Because I do so love phoning, most calls go straight to voicemail where they are transcribed and sent to via text message and email. So? So I never have to check another voicemail ever again!!!! Sweet baby Google Jesus, I'm in love.

Google Voice can be sooo kinky!

Well, that is to say there are still a few kinks to be expected in transcription. Short messages typically get transcribed either verbatim or pretty darn close. Some of the longer ones ... not so much. I'll leave you with one such message. I did have to call to actually listen to this one - a message from my son's school about the delayed start of school. Though I did have to listen to this voicemail, at least I could do so from the comfort of my Gmail account. And I got a giggle or two out of it. Hope you do too!

Hey in the morning so that you would be able to follow a normal schedule and have your children here at when you normally would have been here to begin school horrible. We also are expecting there so I will come in a little later so we will work around that best we can have people are coming in ask you about that one hour delayed but we look forward to seeing you tomorrow, and again feature to listen to the message that is going to be delivered to 7 o'clock tonight that will give some information about some announcements for the next couple days. Be careful in the parking line charger students to be careful with using the steps we have been clear it will have the assaulted. But with the melting that's going on a little bit I 60 anything out. Even the we've cleared things said to be cautious to be careful with that. Eat some of the parking lot tomorrow and bring your children. Thank you. Have a nice evening.

Mortgage News.

2010-02-11T23:55:00.001-05:00

This was an ad featured on weather.com. Burning questions follow.

Is this guy mistakenly thinking he's not eligible, or surprised by how much he could save? How many chins does he have for god's sake? Isn't 3.62% more of a dip than a hit? Is it necessary to say the US government? What other government would be offering us a housing relief program? Why did they have to pick the white haired guy with the shifty eye? Is a seemingly demented old guy really the target market for a refinance via lowermybills.com? Why the hell do I sit here and stare at these ads and ask unanswerable questions?

Sound

2010-01-05T00:37:00.000-05:00

I am enamored by your sweet rhythms
and tortured by your repetitions
In blatant love with you, in unavoidable war
Admiration and contempt from me pour

I close my eyes to hear the ocean or a piano at play
As I drift softly, peacefully away
I jolt awake to a screaming sea of taps and clicks
The peace fading to annoyance so quick

How can a baby's cry thrill me
But a toddler's squeal kill me?
How can the beat of a drum soothe my soul
When fingers tapping the same beat bring such turmoil?

I wish I understood this complex affair
Of love, of hate, desire and despair
How you can both astound and confound
My friend, my enemy... Sound.

Unemployment. Chapter 1.

2009-12-26T12:11:00.004-05:00

Merry Christmas! You're fired.

Well it didn't actually go like that, I got laid off but ... it felt like that's how it went. It was the first day of December, after all.

Like a lot of companies in today's shaky economic landscape, ours had happened on hard times. Ten percent of our workforce had to go, and I was one of them. The official story was that we'd had an account that was half a mil behind go bankrupt on us. The real story is that the company I'd worked for - for nearly 10 years - never learned its lessons. That much was painfully clear. Is painfully clear. I mean, c'mon. Really? Was this particular account the real issue? Or, was the fact that they let an account get that far behind in the first place? It was always a place of lots of more chiefs than Indians. The ratio of VPs to employees was right around 1:10. Every product we'd pushed to market was in a gotta-have-it-now rush involving most department heads and 20 others in meeting after meeting after meeting where half the people were tapping on their Blackberry instead of paying attention. Employees took a 10% pay cut across the board while watching exorbitant amounts of money get spent on conferences, pep rallies and advertising in markets in which we have limited, if any, presence.

That all said, it was also the place I worked for nearly 10 years, where I had forged many friendships and positive working relationships despite the glaringly dysfunctional atmosphere. A place that I'd once found the support and encouragement that enabled my foray in to web development, a career that suits both my creative and slightly geeky sides. It was such a great place to work, once upon a time, that staying there was often a futile exercise in hope. Hope that it could be that place again. Alas, it was not meant to be.

Don't get the wrong idea, I'm not bitter about unemployment at all. Even with the obvious decrease in income, I can see no negatives about my situation. I am making the best out of it, because that is just what I do. My job had become mundane. I was no longer a valued team member, my skills - although appreciated by those I did work for - went unrecognized by my boss. I was loyal to the point that I remained there under the worst conditions of all chapters in my employed life. With unemployment, I feel a thousand pounds lighter. My mind is clear. Depression no longer fogs up my view. I feel it's an opportunity that I might find a place where I can again make a difference. I feel... hopeful.

Right now, that place is home. For the first time in my life I am able to be more of a part of my children's lives and I'm enjoying it. I like this new life of carpool lines and dinner by 6. I've helped out a former coworker by watching their precious little girl while her mother (who normally kept the baby) recovered from surgery, which I was delighted to do. I do so love the babies. I'm finding out that my husband can be supportive after all, and that my children are enjoying my presence. I still don't like laundry, but I'm trying! :)

As for the future, I'm not sure what is on the horizon. While I am job searching, I am also trying to build a business I can work from home. It might be a time of reinvention, though, something I like to do every few years. It's Chapter 1 of unemployment but it's also the next chapter in the budding reinvention of this former web applications developer, project manager, webmaster, web developer, web editor, training coordinator, new market development coordinator, receptionist, sales manager, office manager, reservations assistant, front-desk representative, office assistant, and fast food worker who once dreamed of becoming a doctor, a psychologist, an architect, a writer. It could be time to pursue one of those dreams, or it could just be a time of self-reflection and reinvention.

In the meantime, I'm just enjoying the moment. And holding out for the future, whatever it may bring.

I'll say.

2009-11-20T13:21:00.003-05:00

Maple Syrup and Monday.

2009-11-02T23:43:00.001-05:00

I, being one of alliteration's biggest fans, have aptly named [most of] the days during the week to indicate what we'll be doing for the night. This was a creative way for me to address the rigidity that is my youngest son, who not only puts the H in adHd but also has trouble modulating sensory input.

Tub Tuesdays and Thursdays were born out of needing a way to set his expectation that I would in fact be performing an exorcism on those nights that required I douse him with water while he screamed "it buuuurrrrrns" while flailing about.

Fort Fridays and Wii Fit Wednesdays are our fun nights where we build a fort for watching movies and compete in Wii downhill skiing, respectively. These were designated so that he would quit asking to build a fort and play the Wii on multiple days of the week: "No silly, Wii Fit is for Wednesdays." It works, don't judge me.

I have, however, never been able to come up with something suitable for Monday. Tonight, the young spawn asked why we didn't have something for Mondays. I told him that I couldn't figure anything out. He thought a moment, then declared, "I've got it. It's Maple Syrup Monday. We eat waffles today."

And so it is.

All hail the Maple Syrup Monday!

All work and no play makes Greta a dull girl.

2009-10-29T22:54:00.008-04:00

I have been super-stressed at work. Tomorrow will be the 13th day I have worked without a day off. I am salary, mind you, and I don't get paid or reimbursed for overtime. But, let me be honest ... no one is "making" me come in. They're not telling me "work the weekend or get fired", they're only moving deadlines back two-weeks with two-days' notice, that's all. That doesn't mean I HAVE TO work any more than normal. I just do it b/c I love my job. No, really. Maybe.

Those of us who are working our little fingers to the bone know why: it all boils down to The Bob.

Yes. We have a "Bob" at work. He seems like a nice enough fellow on a fact-finding mission, looking for the answers to important questions like ... why aren't we making money? Or, you know. Annoying questions like THAT. Anyway, no-one's gotten laid off (yet), but somehow he seems to have single-handedly caused mass-Melvins (aka panties in a wad, cotton in yer crack) in people that can't seem to reach around and pick it out on their own. *sigh*

His seemingly logical line of questioning has management in a tizzy. Departments are passing blame and infecting everyone with their incoherent furor faster than the Swine flu. Well, we allllll know what happens when management gets in a tizzy, right? That's right. They delegate their tizzy.

Turns out, The Bob has tickled the ass bone (mgmt) - which is of course connected to the back bone (the drones) - so the already stressed, overworked, underpaid backbone drones have to one-by-one shoulder the delegated blame and work faster than the Prozac will.

If I make it out with my job and my sanity, I will be lucky. I think.

My bad.

2009-10-29T22:08:00.004-04:00

D0MB

Apparently I had some stupid rule in place that required I approve comments on posts older than 14 days. And then apparently there was no email being sent to me to alert me of the new comments.

So anyway here I am, with my head finally out of my ass, approving comments from the last couple of months.

Ewwwww. What the hell is that smell???

Flu shot, schpu shot.

2009-10-20T22:01:00.012-04:00

<FluRant>

It's that time of year. Not flu season, but flu shot season. I get hassled every year by doctors, friends, family - get the flu shot, get the flu shot, get the flu shot. You have asthma, you HAVE to get the flu shot!

I ain't getting your stinkin' flu shot.

My disclosure comes tainted with a slightly rosy tint of shame because it creates a commonality between me and my foe on all other accounts - Rush Phlegmball. I can't believe I agree with that douche nozzle, of all people. Alas, I do. To hell with the flu shot, and anyone telling me that I HAVE to get it. I won't conform!

Each time I've gotten the flu shot, I get the flu. The medical community will offer some blah blah about how there are different strains blah blah and how the vaccine can't protect against ALL of them blah blah. To them I say BLAH BLAH. I don't enjoy this yearly pressure. When I get the flu, I don't just get the flu. I get bronchitis, pleurisy, pneumonia and about six nice long months of flat-out fatigue. So yeah, pardon me for not jumping on this bandwagon.

Plus, I'm not in the market for any more neurosis. Got a basket full, thanks.

Did you hear about the woman that now suffers from irreversible dystonia, purportedly after getting the flu shot? That's some crazy shit right there. But what is crazier is that now the doctors are going all defense - on Fox"News" of course - dismissing her claims and making claims of their own: that her dystonia is psychogenic, that it was not due to the shot. Why? Because there has never been such a reaction on record, silly. Right. Well, there has been other neurological disorders documented as serious reactions to the flu shot, namely Guillain Barre, and before the first occurrence of that one there had never been such a reaction on record either. I'm not saying ... I'm just saying. Who knows why that happened, if it was due to the shot or not? Maybe it was due to her high fever. Maybe it was just a freak occurrence. It's still scary as shit.

Oh, and double forget about convincing me to get the H1N1 shot. Too quick to market for my tastes. I do NOT want to turn in to one of these guys:

But, hey, you should totally get yours if you want (to look like that ^).

</FluRant>

A woman's right to privacy? Pfff.

2009-10-10T10:35:00.009-04:00

First, let me start this post with an address to the conservative, bible-thumping IDIOTS of the world that use God as a reason to hate, practice bigotry, infringe on our civil rights, proselytize and even, murder:

FUCK THE FUCK OFF YOU FUCKING FUCKS.

I am so enraged at the infusion of your backward ideologies into American policy in so many ways - but the invasion of a woman's basic civil rights is infuriating beyond measure. Your idiocy has been a large contributing factory to my long-since gladly-retired Southern Baptist religious indoctrination and also to my choice of a much more intelligent approach, one you are perhaps unfamiliar with: REASON.

As a reasonable person, I cannot wrap their head around this: New Oklahoma law will publicly post details of women’s abortions online.

How is this not an infringement of a woman's right to privacy?

I am so sick and tired of this "abortion debate". The fact that it is even a consideration in government politics and policy makes the separation between church and state and America a laughingstock to the rest of the civilized world. Elected government officials should in no way be allowed to make this an issue in their campaigns, if we were to truly uphold our nation's constitution.

The religious right in this country like to claim that America was founded on religious principals. They, in their ignorance, often cite such things as our currency being printed with "In God We Trust", actually only added by Dwight D. Eisenhower who, after being raised as a Jehovah's Witness but baptized in the Presbyterian Church in 1953 after taking office. It is this past president that ingrained religion in to politics by adding "One nation under God" to the Pledge of Allegiance in 1954 and "In God We Trust" to our currency in 1957, not our founding fathers.

America was founded as a secular nation, allowing for the "freedom of religion", which includes the right to practice many religions or the right to practice no religion at all. People came to America to escape religious persecution, not to incite it. Shame on the American people for allowing such behavior to persist in the rhetoric of our elected officials and in to our every branch of our government, resulting in the laws that allow for said religious persecution.

That aside, let me make something clear. I believe everyone has a right to believe in what they choose. What I don't believe, is that we have a right to push our beliefs on to other people. Doing so in conversation is one thing, making it law is quite another.

Idealistic and naive as it might be, I sincerely hope that one day women of all beliefs and backgrounds will realize of how such a law truly affects them. Don't think it does not affect you because you don't live in Oklahoma, or that it doesn't affect you because you infact do not believe in abortion. It affects you because it restricts your rights based on your gender, period.

But then maybe this doesn't bother you if you are a woman with a deep Christian faith. You are a woman, after all. You were made from a man's rib - the spawn of evil because you ate the apple, and persuaded man to eat of the apple. You destroyed our immortal existence and brought to the earth sin, pain, death and destruction ... didn't you? Perhaps you like that fact that the Bible paints you a lesser human being. Maybe you are. Personally, I don't believe that, not even of you. But, like I said, you are entitled to your beliefs and I mine.

Take the specificity of the law out of the equation. Would you support such an infringement?

"New ... law will publicly post details of women’s [private lives] online."

Of course you wouldn't. Or. Would you?

State of the blog.

2009-10-01T00:45:00.002-04:00

My absence as of late is not due to a lack of anything to say, but rather being overwhelmed by too many things to say to just choose one. My mind is racing. My heart is racing. My fingers can't keep up. So, the brain is under construction and the blog is at a bottleneck. Here's what is caught:

Religious extremists
Atheism
Humanism
Racism and prejudice
The ignorance in politics
The ignorance in people
My financial future
Plans for the future
Alpacas
Goats
Men Who Stare at Goats
Healthcare
Nutrition and supplements
Vaccinations
Reading
Thinking
Discipline
The prospect of losing my mother
The prospect of losing my father
The power of a baby's giggle
The power of a hug
Home maintenance
Friends
Enemies
Hate
Forgiveness
Depression
Oh, and, Pulp Fiction

Well there's this passage I got memorized. Ezekiel 25:17. "The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he who, in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of the darkness. For he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know I am the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon you." I been sayin' that shit for years. And if you ever heard it, it meant your ass. I never gave much thought what it meant. I just thought it was some cold-blooded shit to say to a motherfucker before I popped a cap in his ass. I saw some shit this mornin' made me think twice. See now I'm thinkin', maybe it means you're the evil man. And I'm the righteous man. And Mr. 9 Milimeter here, he's the shepherd protecting my righteous ass in the valley of darkness. Or it could mean you're the righteous man and I'm the shepherd and it's the world that's evil and selfish. Now I'd like that. But that shit ain't the truth. The truth is you're the weak. And I'm the tyranny of evil men. But I'm tryin', Ringo. I'm tryin' real hard to be a shepherd.

*AH MAN*

Land of porn, religion and gluttony. Welcome to Louisville, y'all!

2009-08-27T07:32:00.001-04:00

First, let me say how much this just tickles me to no end. Not because I don't like Louisville, I do. I've always thought it was a great place to raise a family (um, well ... until now. I think.).

Turns out Louisville is the Most Obscene city in the U.S., in a state that is one of the most obese, unhealthiest, THE most stressed, yet is one of the Top 10 Most Religious States. What's that tell you?

I"ll tell you what that tells me: Praise Jesus and pass me a Twinkie, stat! I'm planting my muffin-topped bottom in the recliner and searching for nekkid pictures of Brad Pitt. It's been a rough week!

Amen.

I grow happiness.

2009-08-10T19:01:00.001-04:00

My garden may be small.

But this space is mine.

Overgrown as it might be.

There's happiness here.

And bounty for the gardener and friends.

Massager.

2009-08-05T20:00:00.003-04:00

Massager.

Not for anyone w/a broken member or stricken brain patients.

I can't brain today.

2009-08-03T15:00:00.000-04:00

So today I called the doctor's office to confirm my appointment for my yearly well-visit/physical. Well, let me start over. I woke up today thinking that it was almost about time for my appointment to roll around, and hoping that I did not miss it because I couldn't find it on the calendar. So, I called to confirm.

Me: I'd like to confirm an appointment for a physical. I'm thinking it was scheduled for August.

She: Hmmm. No, I don't show any appointments for August. I show one for October, a follow up. Wait, okay, I show that your appointment for your physical was on the 19th, June 19th.

Me: Oh, dang. Okay, well I guess I should reschedule that - I don't know why I was thinking that was scheduled for August.

She: We can reschedule your physical if you'd like.

Me: Well... (I hestitated before I proceeded, knowing how crazy this might sound) ... Can you tell whether or not I was there? I mean. I don't think I was, but I don't remember missing it either.

[crickets ... typing ... more crickets]

She: Ummm ...

Me: (wanting to speed this up) Are there no-show charges?

She: Well, no.

Me: Hmmm.

She: No. Actually, I show that you were here on June 17th.

Me: I was? (this was one of my "did I just say that out loud?" moments)

She: Yes.

Me: (resigning to the fact that this moment was full-blown unrecoverable) Heh. Well. Odd. Okay, uh, well thanks.

She: So you do want to keep the October appointment then, right?

Me: I think I'd better.

I honestly do not remember going there for my physical. What I DO distinctly remember is my appointment on June 4th for my sleep and ... *drumroll* ... memory loss issues.

Just then *lightbulb* I recall the report of the blood work that I received in the mail, b/c of the doctor's notation: "Everything's great! Your blood work looks just as good as you do."

I think it's best for both of us that he not do my pap. Or, I hope he didn't.

So anyway, I wrote myself this note, because someone has to look after me. I just hope it doesn't wash off.

The bird.

2009-07-23T16:32:00.001-04:00

So, this bird just shows up yesterday afternoon and perches on the windowsill above my front door, seemingly to just sit there shitting. There is no nest, it does not move except to shit. I tried to figure out what kind of bird this was, but was unable to make a positive ID.

I just hope this isn't one of those birds in supernatural-ish movies that shows up to precede death. Yes. These are the things I think about. And I don't even believe in the supernatural. I think.

Happy Anniversary.

2009-07-21T00:20:00.001-04:00

Happy 7th Anniversary to the man that won my heart by writing me poetry, and whose passion caused my toes to curl.

[He no longer writes me poetry, but he can fashion up a mean grocery list. My toes still curl, just around his socks as I fetch them from the floor. It's the real world now, bitches!]

A vision of my future, a decade ago.

2009-07-20T23:55:00.001-04:00

While looking on my old PC for some wedding photos, I found something I journaled on my computer about ten or so years ago, a blog post before its time. At the time the below journal entry was written, I hadn't yet met the man that would be my husband. I had only my oldest son, from a previous relationship, and he would have been eight years old. I owned my own home, which I bought when I was 24. I had only just begun my current career in web development. I haven't edited this a drop. It is as it was ten or so years ago, right down to the lack of capitalization.

At the end I predict "if none [this] happens, i'll be reporting in another 10 years about how 10 years ago i saw myself in a completely different light..." The update follows the journal entry.

================================================

what i want out of life has changed so many times, i almost hate to put it down on paper. each time life throws me a curve ball, it seems to change something, sometimes in good ways and sometimes in bad.

20 years ago, i thought i'd be a doctor or some other profession that was mostly men (not because i wanted to be around men, but to prove women can do anything a man can do and probably better). i loved children and wanted lots of them, but i wanted to adopt them. i thought people who had children when there were so many unwanted children in the world were just selfish. since i was going to be a dr - i wasn't about to change my name!

10 years ago i saw myself completing college, acquiring a phD in psychology and working as a clinical psychologist. i wanted to be a college graduate, and one with a fancy title like dr didn't seem unattainable at the time. but that was back when i wanted to save the world, make some sort of contribution; these days, i just want to survive in it. i saw myself waiting until my degree was complete to have children, 4 of them, which would happen only after the perfect marriage had taken place - complete with a wedding in hawaii and a reception upon returning. my feminism softened a bit, but i still wanted to keep my last name.

of course, we know what happened next. i got pregnant, refused to get married, dropped out of college and began life as i know it. these happenings have of course changed me, my spirit. becoming a mother, among all the other experiences i have been thru changes your priorities, your goals, wishes, hopes and dreams. not to say for the worse. my character strengthened in ways unimaginable to me 10 years ago. but so my outlook went thru some changes as well.

on jobs, i see myself these days considering myself lucky to have made it thru a day. i don't need a fancy title to feel accomplished, although i still have dreams that maybe someday i'll get back in school and actually finish a degree. i'm happy with a job that allows me to work with people i like and do things i like to do. that's what i want out of a career these days. of course it helps when it pays enough to pay the bills.

so i had a child by 21, back when i thought i knew it all. all of the heartache in raising a child virtually alone has taken its toll, made my cynical on men and has made me rethink the number 4. i no longer want 4 kids. i'll be shocked if i raise this one right. my experiences have wilted my desire to be a supermom, having been there and done that i realize now that it's pretty thankless and pretty exhausting. and there is still so much inequity in household duties and parenthood between men and women, that i find entertaining the idea of doing it all by myself again very painful. but sometimes i think i want the opportunity to do things right, in the right order for the right reasons. i'm not sure i'll allow my cynical self that opportunity, that i'll have the confidence in myself or others to risk putting another child thru life without a dad.

on family in general, i loved being a part of a big family and wish i was closer to mine. but family is important. it's important to stay in touch, to do things together and to be supportive of one another. i think the way men treat their mothers has very much to do with how they'll treat the other women in their lives. i am trying to raise nick with a respect for me, although sometimes i wonder if i'll ever succeed. i came from a fairly big family and i miss the days we were all together.

on things, i seem to want everything. but i know that having stuff doesn't make a person, and it definitely doesn't make a person happy. if i had my way ideal home would be a 4-bedroom dark brick house, 2.5 car garage, basement, a patio off the garage and a deck from the top level. it'd have vaulted ceilings, a big kitchen, walk-in closets and a step-up whirlpool tub in my double-vanity bathroom. i'd keep things simple - simple colors, designs. i know so much about what i want because i've owned a house already and it's so not what i want. i'd love to have a swimming pool, and maybe even a boat. but the more i describe, the more i think i'd better start playing the lottery. seriously, i'd rather spend money on a home and skimp elsewhere. you spend a lot of time in your home, might as well make it your castle.

i hope to be healthy and not to have too many aches and pains to worry about.

i want to be able to travel. i would love to go back to europe. take a cruise. i want to see the grand canyon. maybe make it back to tahoe. i have a goal to visit each and every state in the u.s. before i expire.

if i ever get married, i still hope it'll be in hawaii. never wanted a wedding, would rather have the money to spend on a honeymoon that didn't have to be tightly budgeted.

but if none of the above happens, i'll be reporting in another 10 years about how 10 years ago i saw myself in a completely different light...

==================================================

Update as of July 2009:

Well, I've gotten married and did end up changing my last name (albeit a very difficult thing to do). I had a child, the right way, for the right reasons. My job pays the bills and I enjoy the ppl I work with, and for the most part, what I do; I still consider myself lucky to make it through a day. I have the 4 bedroom house I'd imagined, nearly exactly as I'd imagined. However, I still believe stuff doesn't make a person, and definitely doesn't make a person happy. I have had another child w/my night-shift husband; raising another child alone is in fact painful. I am healthy, but my 38 year old body hurts like hell; so much for the no pain! I haven't seen the Grand Canyon or made it back to Tahoe, but I have traveled somewhere at least once a year. I got married, but in Jamaica versus Hawaii, where I enjoyed a honeymoon that did not have to be tightly budgeted, just as I'd hoped. Not only do I see myself in the same light, I'm a tad bit freaked out by how accurate I was... and thinking maybe I should seriously start playing the lottery!

Into being.

2009-07-10T01:08:00.006-04:00

"All of us exist because of a series of tragedies and flukes." ~ Emily Yoffe, My Husband's Other Wife.

The words gave me pause, as did the story.

It's true. We wouldn't be were it not for each and every experience that led us into being. We can't regret our tragedies or mistakes in life, because they are what help shape our outcomes.

Do things happen for a reason?

I think to an extent, they do. I used to believe that reason was "fate". Some God planned fate that awaited all of us. It was what I was brought up to believe. My experiences in life, however, have led me to a different "fate" than anything I could imagine a higher being mapping out for me at my birth. Fate to me now is less as a planned existence and more as just a current set of circumstance or ending. If you're doing it right, things DO happen for a reason: if you're learning from your mistakes, appreciating your joys, and having no regrets.

Regrets are, in my opinion, just lessons unlearned.

We all make mistakes in life. We all have our 'coulda 'shoulda 'woulda moments, don't we? We all have our momentary feelings of regret for something we've either said or didn't say, do or didn't do. But if you hang on to that regret, you lose the lesson you should have learned.

I've learned a lesson, or two.

I could have finished college, but I became a working single mother instead. I should have visited my grandparents more, but I didn't and by the time I was 26, they were all gone. I would have kept in touch with my best friend better, had I known the burdens she carried were so heavy that she'd commit suicide. I could have wallowed, easily. And to be honest - I have, and did, for a while. But, c'mon - I raised a child alone. How resilient am I? I had grandparents for 26 years, while my husband never had one in his whole life. Losing one of my best friends ... well that one is tougher to get over - and I'm not sure I ever will - but I can say out of that, I have appreciated those remaining in ways I couldn't before, simply because I didn't know that I wasn't.

Tragedies, they did precede me.

My Opa died in WWII - or was declared MIA and presumed dead - as a German soldier whose whole platoon was driven into quicksand as they fought on the cold, unforgiving Russian front. Had he not met such a fate, my Oma would not have met the Opa that I knew, an American soldier. She would have never moved her family to the states, my father never would have never followed, joined the Army and got stationed at Fort Polk in Louisiana where he met my mother in New Orleans. My mother may have never made her way to New Orleans with her girlfriends - where she would meet my father - had it not been for her rebelling and running off to first marry and subsequently divorce a sailor.

Today - some 51 years later - I am a culmination of their happenings, adding to it 38 years of my own.

I'm married to a man that I met in a bar that I went to because my friends thought they needed to get me out, away from the blues that beset me after my prior boyfriend moved across the country the week before. We may have never found common ground had it not been for the fact that I lived on the very street in the very neighborhood that his ex and son lived at the very same time, just five or six houses down. I might have never gotten over the fact that he is six years younger than me, had I not first lost someone else due to my taking too seriously a similar age difference. And, of course, if none of that happened at all - we would have never had that cute, dimpled, beautiful child of ours that lights my darkest days.

We exist, I believe, in both spite and celebration of what could have been and what is as a result.

Just as the Dalai Lama suggests that our enemies provide us with a precious opportunity to practice patience and love, so should we be grateful to our own tragedies that they provide us with a precious opportunity to learn and grow, into being.

Self-improvement. It's all or nothing.

2009-06-25T23:13:00.000-04:00

I miss my abs. They are here somewhere, I know they are.

In an effort to find them, I know that I must make some changes. I have to get off the computer and do something. Anything. I avoid exercise, not b/c I don't like it but b/c my body hurts so bad afterwards, it's hard to want to do that to myself. I know, no pain no gain, right? I know this makes me sound like a wimp, but my muscles don't just ache, they huuuuuurrrrt. That makes me whiiiiiine.

I love yoga, but I have such a monkey brain so the meditation part - the part where I am supposed to tell myself "you can do this" - yea, failing. I need to get back in to it though and STAT. I was on a good run, but I took a short break while undergoing some my-hair-is-seriously-falling-out stress. It was probably the opposite of what i needed to do but that's the way I roll. Forever on opposite day. I am a rebel.

Here's what I do. I complicate matters. I neglect all my aches and pains, issues and tissues until they all pile up, form a coup and gang up on me, demanding attention. I suffer from generalized anxiety disorder. I have lived with that for some time now. It just lingers around on a daily basis and I'm dealing. But, add to that depression. And sleep deprivation. And chronic asthma.... Then. Then came the stress. The stress of aging parents, conflict with teenagers, marriage hurdles, and taking care of someone's life while their incarcerated. That's right. Some my-hair-is-seriously-falling-out Calgon-you-better-come-take-me-away-stat stress. And weight gain. Hiding my abs.

Abs ... come out, come out, wherever you are!

Now I'm in the "normal" range on the charts ... but I can't fit in to my clothes and to hell with what some chart says is normal for me. I'm overweight by MY standards, and that's all the standards I need.

So, what's the plan?

I went to the doctor to rule out anything obvious in regards to the weight gain and hair falling out issue. Everything has check out ok so far, though I'm waiting on the results from last week's tests. I think I'm fine. Really. I'm just a lunatic, and it's starting to show. So, the plan is avoid all medications (if possible), exercise (Wii Fit or bust), take vitamins and minerals (energy daily, b complex, rhodiola rosea, and occasionally when stress is getting the better of me - Theanine Serene), get more sleep, and start making time for myself. That one is the doozy.

Start making time for myself, and how?

I have neglected my blog, so I started there. Time to finish some posts, quit being critical and just publish the ones I'm waiting to brush up.
Tub Tuesday! Taking baths. Not just showering off, but taking a nice, long hot bath in the whirlpool tub. It would really help matters if I could get a waterproof laptop, pls and thx.

Those are the things I like to do, at least two of them. So, I start small. And, right there.

So, right. If any of these efforts work, and I start feeling better, the downside is that I will have no idea which efforts were effective and which ones just were. That's the issue w/improving things with an all or nothing kind of strategy. *sigh* Oh well, it's how I roll.

For now, it's sleepy time. Tomorrow, it'll start all over again.

You're nothing special.

2009-06-22T18:41:00.003-04:00

You're nothing special.

That's right. I said it again. To you. And, to myself. It is one of my mantras in life. While that may appear on the surface to be negative, I don't consider it so.

I believe we are all individuals, and we may have certain qualities that make up our individuality - sure. But (for the most part) we have come a long way baby. There has been plenty of folks before us to experience firsts this and firsts that, that we are left with feeling nothing and experiencing nothing, ABSOLUTELY NOTHING (okay probably mostly nothing) that someone else hasn't before us.

My point is not to slight anyone. Rather, to point out that the minute you feel special you feel alone. So quit it already.

So, you're going through tough economic times? Everyone is. You're nothing special.

Are you struggling with a chronic illness? Guess what? So are a blue million other people. You're nothing special.

So, you're getting divorced or you've just divorced. And? Over 50% of marriages end in them, so. Guess what? You're nothing special.

My parents are aging alcoholics. Like they invented it? Pfff. I'm nothing special.

My sister is in jail. She may be feeling a little special. Guess what? There's 100 other women in there just like her. None of them are special.

My best friend was facing an impending divorce. She killed herself over it, because she felt so goddamn special. We all struggle at times in our marriage, don't we? She wasn't special. I wish so badly I could have gotten her to believe it. But I didn't. Because she felt so special, and took her life, and left behind a family and friends that have to live the rest of their lives without her. Feeling like we're all special. We're not.

I have a million of these, I could keep going.

Point is, don't feel so special. Whatever you are feeling, whatever you are experience may feel unique to you, but you're not alone. You've got friends and family that care about you. They may not offer their support, because they may not know the full gamut of which you're experiencing. But, they're there for you nevertheless. If you need something, ask. Just, whatever you do. Don't feel so special, okay?

B's Last 40

2009-06-11T17:21:00.004-04:00

I haven't talked a lot about what I do. I find people give me that bass stare (open-mouth, glazed over and bored before I finish). In short, I work [read:hide] behind a computer all day, "doing" Web stuff. I mostly develop web applications that [attempt to] assist Sales with their day-to-day activities.

This is often a thankless job.

I joke that at work I am the opposite of God. When people pray to God, they attribute the good happenings to his grace, but the bad? They take the blame on themselves in a "it must've been God's plan" sort of way. I am the flip side. People ask to me to help them. I listen. I do what I can. If they are not successful, they blame me (or, my app rather) and if they are successful, I get nothing. It's alright. I am used to this relationship. I enjoy the building of things, and I like helping people out. Even if it's only acknowledged on the occasional basis. It allows me to do something I enjoy doing, and I like that most days.

I have an aversion, however, to the average sales person. I can identify more w/the females in any particular sales group, but it seems like there is always one cad in the group. There are two in my vicinity. This means I have headphones on most of the day, if not all day.

Music is my savior.

Music saves me from listening to the whining, the blaming, the bitching. Praise [your chosen deity] for music. Amen. On occasion, maybe when a Beastie Boys song comes on, or when iTunes shuffles from Beethoven to Eazy-E, I reflect on my rather eclectic tastes in music, and sometimes giggle. But most of the time, I just sit back and enjoy. It sounds better than "whaaaaaaah this isn't working" any day of the week.

This is just a sample of one day's last 40 songs played on shuffle.

1.Anything But Down – Sheryl Crow
2.19-2000 [Soulchild Remix] – Gorillaz
3.I Am The Highway – Audioslave
4.Crucify – Tori Amos
5.Paid – Kid Rock
6.Jezebel – 10,000 Maniacs
7.I Still Care For You – Ray LaMontagne
8.Found Someone New - Susan Tedeschi
9.We Didn't Start The Fire – Billy Joel
10.I Know Why The River Runs – Lee Ann Womack
11.Beautiful Homes – Chris Isaak
12.Breathe – Faith Hill
13.Zombie – The Cranberries
14.Scandalous – Prince
15.Fortunate Fools – Jack Johnson
16.Sheeps Go To Heaven - Cake
17.Wasting Time – Kid Rock
18.Small Town Jericho – Sugarland
19.On The Bound – Fiona Apple
20.American Pie – Tori Amos
21.Loser – Three Doors Down
22.A Murder Of One – Counting Crows
23.Something's Got A Hold On Me – Etta James
24.A Case Of You – Joni Mitchell
25.I Need A Girl (remix) – P. Diddy
26.The Boogie Monster – Gnarls Barkley
27.Shoop – Salt-N-Pepa
28.1st Mvmt – Beethoven
29.Stillness Of Heart – Lenny Kravitz
30.Sabotage – Beastie Boys
31.She's Got Balls – ACDC
32.Come As You Are – Nirvana
33.PYT – Michael Jackson
34.I Write Sins Not Tragedies – Panic! At The Disco
35.Long Day – Matchbox Twenty
36.A Fifth Of Beethoven - Saturday Night Fever Soundtrack
37.Ride The White Horse – The Gap Band
38.Cat's In The Cradle – Johnny Cash
39.6th Avenue Heartache – Wallflowers
40.Buttons – Pussycat Dolls (feat. Snoop Dog)

If that's not eclectic ... I don't know what is!

Yes. Boredom. You have arrived. I warned you.

Love to mah blogfriends.

2009-06-11T08:55:00.003-04:00

Without sleep I am ...

2009-06-09T11:34:00.001-04:00

A terrible mother.

A horrible wife.

A distracted employee.

No fun.

A joy to be around (facetiously yours, of course).

Fat. (apparently lack of sleep WILL cause weight gain, even if you don't eat, which I've tried in my desperation.)

Less tolerant. (usually, I am at least tolerant)

Self-loathing. (I am not likable right now, not even by myself)

Sad. (life appears to crumble around you when sleep deprivation takes hold)

But, mostly I have found that without sleep, I am just batshit crazy.

Because I got high.

2009-06-09T00:36:00.004-04:00

Mmm ... sleep. For the low, low price of $0.17 a day, I have purchased sleep. Magic pills. While said magic pills have brought me some sleep - in that I can fall asleep like a champ - I am not staying asleep so I have decided to throw caution to the wind (and underwear at the ceiling fan) by taking one and a half. Yep, that's right folks. For a WHOLE QUARTER I will wake up with six whole hours of blissful blissful sleepy goodness! *remaining hopeful*

And I owe it all to Afroman. Because I got high.

Afroman - Because I Got High (with Jay and Silent Bob)

The usual suspects.

2009-06-09T00:24:00.001-04:00

Today began our first two-week period of summer visitation with our middle son. Excuse me. I meant to say, today began my husband's first two-week period of summer visitation with HIS son. Gees, I don't know what I was thinking there for a minute. I wouldn't want to include this kid in to MY family, or treat him like one of my own children.

*sigh*

Poor mom. It kills her soul to allow such time. This will be the first year a court order states that she cannot plan things for her son during our - I mean my husband's - visitation with his son. And it's just killing her. God love her (because somebody has to, right?). She tried her best to prevent her son from having to experience the anguish, but she was unsuccessful. I can't imagine the pain she is experiencing.

Wait. Yes I can.

I can imagine it because I forget she doesn't experience pain on her own. No, she projects it. Misery loves company, and this woman is no exception. She is the head of her own little misery posse. To be sure she is not alone in her plight, over the years she has accused every member of this household of abuse, except for the five-year-old but including a 10 year old as well. Well, this visit is no exception. We have abuse allegation ... *drumroll please* ... five (? I'm losing count). My husband is on his third, which I really don't think is fair. Why can't she spread the love? I'm starting to feel left out!

Ah so, the visit begins with a visit from CPS, with us playing the role of the usual suspects. And I don't have a thing to wear! Curses!

A Snapshot of my life this week ... so you can feel better about yours.

2009-06-04T10:57:00.002-04:00

Conflict conflict everywhere, and not a drop to drink. Have a sip from my life, it's suckier than yours methinks.

The teenager.

Conflict. I have an out of control drama-loving teenager. He just does what he wants, but why shouldn't he? He's got grandparents (my parents) to tell him how good and wonderful he is and how evil and crazy I am for making him follow the rules. His father is 600+ miles away and about as useful as the gum on the bottom of my shoe. Yet, it's sticky and I can't get rid of it. So, I have to lead this expedition solo knowing full well that I have capable hands on deck that just won't lend a damn hand. I'm headed towards an iceberg. I'm tired. Tired from lack of sleep, and wilted from a lack of support on the homefront. I give up. He doesn't want me to care? Great. I'm there now. Enjoy your new carefree mommy. Weeeee.

The donor.

This guy never ceases to amaze me. I ask him for some input on how to handle the most recent issue and said father is vacation with his family in OBX and "out of range". That's right, "his" family. Have I mentioned that he's never taken his oldest son on vacation with him and "his" family? The only vacation my son has been on with him was due to his grandparents' efforts. Thank goodness for them. I am not supposed to be bitter about this, I know. I just wish he'd grow a set of balls and tell the wife (who HE personally blames b/c he doesn't have a set) to STFU and deal. Vacation with my family is with my WHOLE family. Wtf is wrong with this guy, that after 17 years, he still can't buy a clue? It is me, with the candlestick, in the study. Waiting for you to wake TFU so I can't knock some sense in to you. Grow some balls, c'mon, they're fun!

The parents.

At 38 years of age, I've finally decided to give up on my parents. Believe me, it's been a long, bumpy road that has led to this point. But, I can say goodbye without guilt. Their love is conditional. I no longer want it. It's too hard to attain. I've always competed with their love for alcohol. Well, alcohol has officially won. It'll do that sometimes, to the weak and feeble-minded. It's won, you've lost folks. Not me. I've gained some freedom, from conflict. Alcoholism is NOT a disease. It is an addiction. No more. I know. My mother is dying from it. I refuse to wallow in her conflict. She'll eventually die, and I will eventually overcome the resentment. Do I sound like a terrible daughter? Good. It must be what's meant to be, because I'm not even trying. It's just coming naturally. Watching someone kill themselves over the course of 30 years will do that to a person.

The sister.

Oh, my beautiful god-fearing sister. Wake up, drop the wine glass and the bible before you become ^ you-know-who. I'm not going to say it. I know you asked me to, but I'm not going to because you'll never believe the truth. God is testing you right now, but Jesus will save you. Don't worry. He won't give you anything you can't handle. This is all a test of your strength. If you come out of this, you'll have God to thank. If you don't, you can blame the devil. But, by no means should you ever look within yourself for the strength to get through this trying time. Don't take the credit for your success, and whatever you do, don't take the blame. No. Take another sip of wine instead, so I can take care of you when you've become our mother. Oops. I said it. You asked me to, no?

Oh, goodness, am I being negative?

Golly, am I depressed?

DUH.

No worries. God won't give me more than I can handle, right???

Random Friday.

2009-05-29T18:57:00.004-04:00

So really, my brain is going a million miles a minute and I really don't have a single meaningful thing to say but I got so much in here that I'm just going to purge. So, you've been warned. This is like mind volleyball.

Incoming.

Okay, first I had a very stressful day. The day itself was not stressful, but my innards were. I was a little walking ball of anxiety. So, to combat that I went to Whole Foods and bought two kinds of "calming" supplements (theanine serene and rhodiola rosea) and then, thanks to a random mention by a friend, I went over to the batting cages to meet said friend to hit a few balls. Now, I haven't been to the batting cages in YEARS but I highly recommend this activity to get some frustration out and I will be going back soon. It is better if you picture your stressors' faces on them before giving it a good wack. I probably look hilarious, and in fact had a little girl in the next cage whipping my ass but whatever. She has no idea this is my therapy. Even if you're just swinging, that shit feels good.

So, that had me thinking about the sports thing. No, I don't play softball. I want to. I'd love to. But, I suck. I played a long time [decades] ago and I wasn't good then either. But I had fun. My mother "let" me play softball when I was like 12 or 13, but she made it clear to me that she did not approve of girls playing sports and that she would have no part in taking me or picking me up. If I could get a ride, I could participate. Secretly, I think she assessed my tomboy ways and feared I was a lesbian (not that there's anything wrong with that... unless you're my mother). That woman, I could slap her silly. I was a tall girl, as girls go, or went back then. Nothing like the Amazons we're raising up on the hormone and steroid laden meat and dairy products today, but tall nevertheless. Oh mother. You should have encouraged me! I wish Nike had run their ads earlier, the "Give a girl a ball, and give her a chance" ads? Loved those. Disclaimer: I do think that organized sports can help some kids. I don't think all girls, or boys for that matter, should be forced in to playing organized ball. But dammit, if they want to? Let them. Give a girl a ball! Ugh. I was probably riding my bike through the trails behind our neighborhood while my sister was being crowned Junior Miss Andouille (LaPlace, Louisiana is the Andouille capital of the world and they celebrate that with a festival every year, I kid you not, see). I can't help not ever wanting to be the beauty queen. It's just not my style.

This is where I'm glad to have all boys. If I had a prissy girl, I would so not know what to do with her. "You want to be a cheerleader?" That would be where I would sob uncontrollably. Anyway, who knows if I'd have ever done anything athletic at all, even with encouragement. I've always been so self-deprecating. It wouldn't have happened. Not after Tommy Madden (my crush in middle school) told me that I ran like a chicken during a game of "chase". I so hope he is bald and struggling with erectile dysfunction. I'm not usually mean like that, but I make special case exception for that little bastage. I wish I had the patience to search for him on Facebook, through the other hundreds of Tommy Maddens. Commoner. Oh... Tommy had a lisp. I think that might be why I'm not sure about a man with a lisp. It's nothing personal if you have one, it's just that Tommy jackass ruined a bunch of shit for me with that chicken comment. I associate things. So, whenever I hear a man with a lisp, I think dammit I run like a chicken. I probably do. But still. That was so unnecessary.

Back to the day I had. Omg. Seriously? I was mentioned in an all-employee email, to no fault or deservedness other than the fact that I am from Louisiana and the guy that sent it out is from Louisiana and the CEO's grandson just got a swim scholarship from LSU ... and you see how that all ties together, right? Well, me either. But it progressed anyway, on from the email to buying cake to celebrate this joyous event, and I'm asked to help out, you know as a fellow Louisianian and all. And PoP (person without a penis). And damn you Meatbag, you with your painting of your toes on staycation. You missed the chance to mock me openly. That would have been so much fun. You're so undependable.

Here I am, on a Friday night on Facebook and here, blogging about nothing. I'm without kids and this is what I do. But, this is what I enjoy doing. How boring am I? I think I am going to try and find a friend or two to go fetch a brew with, and have some random conversation. Facebook *says* I have 224 of them, after all.

Right. I'm probably going to end up doing nothing. *sighs*

I've lost my keys

2009-05-26T09:49:00.001-04:00

"Did you lose something? You look like you're looking for something."

"I've lost my keys."

"Where did you have them last?"

"Um. If I knew that, they wouldn't be lost..."

"What were you doing last time you had them? Do you remember last time you had them?"

"Um. Yea. Same deal. If I knew what I was doing last time I had them, or exactly where I was, I would know where they were, wouldn't I?"

"Well, they've got to be around here somewhere."

"Um. Okay, work with me here. Because, really?"

"I'm just saying, you're the one that's had them last. I can't help you find what you've lost."

"Oh. You're trying to apply logic. Well, sometimes logic doesn't factor in to how or why we lose our keys. Dammit. [looking around] Where are my keys? How am I supposed to get anywhere?"

"Am I supposed to feel guilty that you can't find your keys?"

"Um. What?"

"Are you blaming me?"

"Um. What?"

"Well you're asking me where your keys are and how you're supposed to get around w/o them. Are you blaming me that they're lost?"

"Wait. Are you serious? [receives blank stare] Gees, you're serious. Okay. I was just thinking outloud, looking for some support. I wasn't implying you were to blame for me losing my keys."

"Well, that's what it sounded like."

"Okay, well sorry. That's not what I meant."

"What DID you mean?"

"That it sucks to be without my keys. That I wish I could find them. That I don't know where they are. That I wish I did. That, I'm trying to find them. The end."

"Well, it sure sounded like you're blaming me."

"[throwing a wtf glance] Are you helping me or what? Because it sounds like this is all about you. Really, let's take a moment. This is not about you. This is about me. These are my keys. I lost them. I am not blaming you. Now, forget I even uttered anything out loud. I'll try to find them myself."

"I was offering my help. Just think about what you did with them last. You've got to find them."

"Okay. Really. Honestly. Thanks, but no thanks. End of conversation."

So, that was the gist of it. A conversation - not verbatim but enough so. A conversation between me and the person that is supposed to be my biggest champion, my best friend, someone I can confide in, yada yada yada. The person that said they'd take me in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, you know the one. Only. It wasn't really a conversation about losing keys.

It was about losing joy.

It sucks to be without joy, but I've all but lost it. I wish I could find it. I don't know where it went. I wish I did. I'm trying to find it. I don't have much help, as you can see. But I'm trying.

It's tough. I'm tougher.

I'll find it.

Because I know it's gotta be around here somewhere...

Just another manic Wednesday?

2009-05-20T12:33:00.001-04:00

Sleep hath escaped me. The night before, it was the teenager waking me with a [seemingly excrutiating] pain in his eye. Today, the youngest.

Five and a half hours in to this sleep charade, a chipper preschooler wakes me from my slumber. "Hi Mommy!", he exclaims, in his usual exuberant manner, "I'm hungry!" Right. He's hungry, and has to use the bathroom. I know this well, this is the drill. But, at 6am? Ok, fine, I tell him to use the bathroom but go back to bed. "I'm hungry!", he cries.

I'm irritated. Of course he is hungry. He eats like a little bird, and it frustrates me to no end. Unlike a baby, I can't pad his bottle with cereal to ensure he's getting enough. He's not. But I have to tell myself that he will not allow himself to go hungry. No. He'll wake up at 6am to tell me so.

He was shuttled back to bed, where he did lay for another 45 minutes, talking and singing, while I ... layed listening to him talking and singing. This is where I wrap the pillow around my head, and moan, knowing I've got another day of mental fuzz ahead.

Oh B. Be grateful. Step back, think about it and stockpile the moment and moments like them. They don't last long, in the grand scheme of things. How fortunate are you to have this healthy, beautifully dimpled child smiling up at you? Even if it IS 6am.

How lucky am I that I have another that comes to me in the middle of the night with his pains, as if there's something I can do to heal them? Of course there is, it's called mothering. And they both depend on me for it.

So I'm tired. It makes for a manic day. More sleep, it's on my menu. But then, so is gratitude. I've said it before, my kids are both my greatest challenges and my greatest rewards. I can't fathom life without them.

*yawn*

I love you, my kiddos. You're each beautiful in your individual, sometimes neurotic, ways. As are we all. I just wish you'd let me sleep! ;)

Stretch. That's it. Right there.

2009-05-20T00:02:00.001-04:00

Yes, I've been doing a lot of Yoga lately, but that's a stretching I enjoy.

Lately, I've been pulled in so many directions I feel like a living, breathing version of the Stretch Armstrong doll from my youth. Damn that was a cool ass thing to have back in the day. To be like Stretch, not so cool.

I have so many things to say and never enough time to say them. Here are a few things that have been going on in my life:

Exhaustion.

I'm tired as hell. I'm not sleeping well. It's starting to make me insane, or at least my best impression of bipolar. If I don't start getting some sleep soon, I may collapse in exhaustion, after gaining 20 pounds and hating myself for it all. I'm always trying to stretch that snooze time. C'mon ... just 9 more minutes.

Guilt, I'm over here.

My parents are old. They're not aging well. I love them, but I don't like them sometimes. They're seethingly opinionated and don't seem to have anything else they'd like to talk about in life but how Rush Limbaugh is the smartest man on the planet. *deep breath, count to 10, exhale* I, on the other hand, would like to talk about anything else. I wish our visits, scant as they are, were less about who's right and who's wrong and more about trying to enjoy the little life they have left. It's just downright unpleasant to go over there any more, and yet I am compelled to visit. They're aging, my mother is for all practical purposes, homebound. I should be doing more than I am, but I honestly don't know how I'd do anything more. They don't want me to anyway. So why do I feel such guilt?

Worry, right here.

My oldest son is taking his drivers test on Friday and, if he passes, going to get the vehicle that his uncle gave him when he turned 16, a 2001 Ford F150. He is very excited. I'm a little ball of nerves. He's going to have to make his first trip from Madisonville, solo. I'm not feeling too confident about it. It's not really about his driving skills, just more about his readiness. But, I won't be there to make the trip back with him. I guess as a mother I am just worried. As a worryer, I know I am worrying excessively. But. It's what I do.

My middle son just made his first return visit since his mother's latest and greatest [and squelched] attempt of desperation to keep him from us. It was without incident, thankfully. Connor was happy to see his brother. How do you explain such things to a little one? We don't. We just kept telling him that he'll be here soon. I dread the day we'll have to tell him he won't. But, I won't spend any worry on it. We'll burn that bridge when we come to it.

Responsibility, pull to the left.

I have yet to commit to what school my youngest will be attending. I want him to attend the private school that his preschool is affliiated with, but I'm scared to death that I will lose my job and not have the money to keep him there. I would so hate to start him someplace I could not finish. I have to make a decision in the next month, no choice. I just don't know.

Job security, or lack thereof, pull in all directions.

I've a rather bipolar affair with my job. First, I am happy to have a job. I absolutely LOVE what I do and who I work with (for the most part). But... I get zero respect for what I do. I lack the brain [read:penis] that most developers have, and I am a tad right of the others on the brain-spectrum. I don't always get their logic on functionality, and they don't always get my passion for form. It's a rather insecure industry - telecommunications - and the forecast is cloudy at best. It, like many, is about as secure as a dinghy tied to a dock with dental floss. It might hold. But, it might not, and there I'll be, up shit creek, with no dinghy and no paddle. I stay up late at night trying to put off the inevitable. It's not going in to work that I mind, it's the prospect of going in for the last time that bothers me so.

At almost midnight, I realize that I am depriving myself of sleep, but I thought better to get out the angst than to take it to bed with me. Angst isn't much of a cuddler.

So bah. There it is in all its unedited glory. I'm putting these worries down, and hope I wake up with a much clearer mind, and a little less stretch.

Bathroom Fail.

2009-05-19T13:45:00.015-04:00

Oh the upstairs bathroom. It is used primarily by the soon-to-be 17-yr-old boy with his own "organization" system.

My interpretation of how he thinks:

Cabinet? Why store the towels in the cabinet when they're so handy right [here, wherever]?

Hamper? Fer what? I don't need no stinkin' hamper.

Toilet paper. Where to put ... where to put .... When in doubt, guess "C".

The five-year-old will go down a flight of stairs and through three rooms just to avoid using the bathroom right next to his room. I have to say ... I don't blame him. It's so bad, even the plant committed herbicide.

You don't EVEN want to see the toilet. *shudders*

So, anyway. I gave up trying to keep the place cleaned. I now just keep the door closed.

Judgment day.

2009-05-11T22:59:00.000-04:00

Well, folks. Tomorrow is the day that we find out if we'll be a family united or divided, our fate in the hands of Family Court and its proclivity to woman/mothers. We need much more than luck. We need a tainted judge to open her eyes, regain her wits and realize what is going on in front of her. We need a judgment to go our way, for a change. The way of our family. Not so we can "win", rather, so the child - my stepson - has some fighting chance at normalcy.

The woman at the helm of this [latest] disaster is the biomom, who I addressed in my earlier post. Her attempts to brainwash her child, my husband's son, against him have been calculated, pathetic and clearly the work of a troubled individual. I pity her, that she wakes up everyday with fears of abandonment and rejection so intense, she has to make these frantic efforts using a child, her own child, as her weapon against the alleged perpetrator. My husband. The man that just wants to love his child, to be a part of his life. I really honestly feel compassion for her. Her life is sad, to me. Biomom is obviously in a lot of personal pain. No self-respecting person would do the things she has done.

I have fantasized about some judicial intervention - perhaps to order a psych eval that would confirm these longtime suspicions. Alas, I'm not sure there is justice to be had in Family Court. Just judgments, served up after a long wait in line, a short hearing, and a minute or so of deliberation. Your life, your family, processed as if you were a component on an assembly line. Only this one has no quality assurance. The judges and proponents of Family Court say they do what is "in the best interest of the child", but as an experienced veteran having appeared on both sides of the fence, it is clear there's no one measuring the validity of that statement.

My husband is ready to throw in the towel, as am I. He is ready to brace himself to be "the deadbeat dad", which biomom has fought all these years for, wanting eagerly to profess. He is ready. You could judge him, tell him to stay in the fight. But understand, he's fought. He's fought 12 long years for the little time and influence that he is afforded. No, he will not fight any more. If he has to, he will opt to give his son the peace that this "divorce" would bring. No more interrogations by mom on the return visit home. No more feeling torn. No more worrying. No more pain. No more.

So, it's with a heavy heart that I accompany him to court tomorrow. It's judgment day. This time tomorrow, we'll either be in tears of joy or tears of sorrow. If it's the latter, trust that I'll need your help to mourn a son, and a family interrupted.

Questionnaire for Kids Part Deaux: The Preschooler

2009-05-08T21:25:00.001-04:00

The littlest one is five. Amazingly, I got him to answer these in one sitting.

1. What is something mom always says to you? "I love you Connor."

2. What makes mom happy? "Giving you a glass of water when Daddy is mad at you." (wtf?)

3. What makes mom sad? "Me saying bad words."

4. How does your mom make you laugh? "When you eat my baby back ribs." (I gnaw on his ribs to tickle him, nom'ing. But first, I start singing the baby back rib ditty and chase him around the house while he screams in delight. Good times.)

5. What was your mom like as a child? "You were uh a little bit taller than me, and you were like and this big, you were 9. Actually you were 5 and you were about a little bit bigger than me. You had one tooth missing in the back and your eyes were beautiful and stuff and you had little ears. And you looked cute and you had a little ring on, okay? Okay?"

6. How old is your mom? "Uh you're about uh 1 + 2 when you were 5. You're 38, okay?"

7. How tall is your mom? "uh 8 foot 2"

8. What is her favorite thing to do? "Watch TV with me and snuggle around."

9. What does your mom do when you're not around? [shrugs]

10. If your mom becomes famous, what will it be for? "I don't know." [getting aggravated]

11. What is your mom really good at? "Wii sports."

12. What is your mom not very good at? "Batman Lego."

13. What does your mom do for her job? "You work a lot and you get tired, right? Right?" (he's right)

14. What is your mom's favorite food? "Um, uh, spaghetti and pasta."

15. What makes you proud of your mom? "Uh ... when you hug me when I cry."

16. If your mom were a cartoon character, who would she be? "A lady in booby scarves." (bras...lol)

17. What do you and your mom do together? "We panic like this [runs around with his arms in the air screaming] 'We panic. We panic.'" LOL

18. How are you and your mom the same? "We have dumplings." (dimples, lol)

19. How are you and your mom different? "Because my hair is uh gold and yours is brown."

20. How do you know your mom loves you? "Um... because you kiss me."

Sweet. I wish they'd stay this age f'ever.

Jose has been in my drawers.

2009-05-06T08:11:00.066-04:00

Jose, from ServiceMaster (the office cleaning service) says:

Well, first, thanks Jose. Your honesty in finding and returning my three dollars is appreciated, if not refreshing.

But, really. The lecture? On a post-it note? C'mon. Jose! Give me a break. It was a long day. The change from my fabulous Piccadilly fried chicken lunch must've fell from my pocket, as I sat here typing away, unaware. I had a shit-ton to do yesterday and was focused on my tasks. Why all this guilt from you? Don't I have enough guilt? You used to come by in the evenings, smiling, saying something I could never understand but hoped was something akin to "hello" and not "I'm thinking about your panties." Are you thinking about my panties Jose? Are you? Is this what this is about? Because, I know my post-it notes weren't sitting out on my desk. Any excuse to get in to my drawers, huh Jose? I thought you were different. I thought we had something. I guess I was wrong.

I feel so violated. At the same time, I feel suddenly exhilirated. Enriched by the experience, and your honesty. I haz three bucks. It has Wendy's dollar menu written all over it. Well, right now it has "Take care of your money. Jose ServiceMaster" written on it, but I will make good of this and enjoy a small Frosty and fries.

About little ditty, about Gitty.

2009-05-06T00:02:00.001-04:00

What defines me?

As of this post, I'm a 38-year-old woman in the midst of a transformation. What I am transforming from and to is of a mystery, even to me. But I am changing. I know it. I feel it. I am a work in progress. Some of it is good, some of it is bad, all of it just is. Realizing I am so different than I was 10 years ago, I share this about me today in hopes of being able to look back in another 10 years and see how different I am, still.

I am a daughter.

My parents are Hans and Dolores, a German immigrant and girl from Lebanon Junction, Kentucky; 70 and 73, a Lutheran and Christian, all respectively. One side of my family tree has lots of branches, the other ... might be a little more like a vine. Ahem. No further questions, your honor. Both my parents are still alive, though not in good health, which makes me sad to think that it's possible for me to be parentless at the age of 40.

I am a sister.

I have three brothers and one sister to whom I affectionately call The Bullshitter, The Holy Roller, The Redneck, and The Drama Queen. They call me Banigga, Boo, and probably some other things I don't want to know. We are all about four years apart, with exception of the first two. It makes it easy to remember our ages each year. This year we are, or will be: 50, 49, 46, 42, 38. I am the baby which means I never learned how to share but if you don't share your shit, I'm telling Mom.

I am a wife.

My husband and I met eight years ago at a bar. Yea, I know. It was on my list of things I'd never do, which goes to show you (and me) that we should never say never. He is six years younger than me but about five years more mature than me so it works out. As far as being a wife goes, I'm probably a pretty bad one by traditional standards. But, I do cook a mean meatloaf and whip up a quick yet mean red beans & rice, all whilst wearing an apron. I should get points for the apron. What I don't do well is all the rest of the stuff, but mostly I think because to have too much to do, to do anything well. I am way better in some rooms of the house than others. You know, like the kitchen vs. the laundry room. :P

I am a mother.

I have two, three or four children depending on how you look at it: two biological, one stepson and a husband. I know the last one is not my child but I push his chair in after dinner and pick up his underwear from the bathroom floor, so it all runs together. I would have more children if I had the money and could stay home with them, but I couldn't bear to put another one through all those excessive vaccinations and daycare. I am good at birthing babies. Sadly, I stop at two. My husband wants more but I have to remind him that my uterus is retired (emphasis on the TIRED). With no girls to take care of me in my old age, I am exhausting myself to make sure my boys are well-educated and can get great jobs so they'll have the money to pay for a nice 'home' for me. My children. They are my greatest achievement in life, and my greatest challenge.

I've no religion, really.

I was brought up Southern Baptist, which meant no drinking, no dancing, and sermons of hell, fire and damnation from the pulpit. I went to church sometimes five times a week. I grew up in Louisiana in a climate of drinking and dancing thus learning at an early age, hypocrisy; that religion is used only when convenient (and only the convenient parts of it). The events of 9/11 and subsequent events have had an extreme impact on me. I've done a lot of personal soul searching and researching and continue to do so. The idea that there are any "peaceful" religions out there is lost on me today. Read any of their books and you'll understand, surely. I cannot, in good "faith", embrace nor teach of the brutality and misogyny within. I take a more spiritual route today, favoring more non-theistic sorts such as Buddhism, which is less of a religion and more of a philosophy. Still, I cannot adopt all teachings. I don't claim to know if there is or isn't something after this life. What I do know, is that it is impossible to know.

A few of my favorite quotes:

Believe nothing, no matter where you read it, or who said it, no matter if I have said it, unless it agrees with your own reason and your own common sense. ~Buddha

The unexamined life is not worth living.~Socrates

I never said most of the things I said. ~Yogi Berra

Questionnaire for Kids: The Teenager

2009-05-05T23:06:00.004-04:00

As answered by my eldest, the teenager...

1. What is something mom always says to you? Now!

2. What makes mom happy? When I listen.

3. What makes mom sad? Me being disobedient.

4. How does your mom make you laugh? When she makes a funny.

5. What was your mom like as a child? I don't even know, for real, for real.

6. How old is your mom? 38

7. How tall is your mom? 5'7"

8. What is her favorite thing to do? Sit on the computer and get on Facebook.

9. What does your mom do when you're not around? I don't want to know.

10. If your mom becomes famous, what will it be for? Singing. Or, nagging housewife on a sitcom.

11. What is your mom really good at? Cooking, cleaning, being a mom. Yelling.

12. What is your mom not very good at? Listening to other's opinions.

13. What does your mom do for her job? Develops web sites, writes code, fixes code, all kinds of computer stuff.

14. What is your mom's favorite food? Uhhhh. Sweet potatoes?

15. What makes you proud of your mom? How good of a mom she is.

16. If your mom were a cartoon character, who would she be? Wilma (from the Flintstones)

17. What do you and your mom do together? Not very much. Watch TV. Take surveys.

18. How are you and your mom the same? We both yell a lot. Can't handle problems right. We're both beautiful.

19. How are you and your mom different? She can't handle loud noises, but is very chill. I am very wiry and energetic.

20. How do you know your mom loves you? Just the little things, like not murdering me for all the stuff I've done, putting up with my personality every day, letting me live in her house still, not mounting me on the wall, and the fact that I can count on her if I really need her.

The budding photographer, and a few of his favorite things.

2009-05-03T14:34:00.001-04:00

My five-year-old son is a budding photographer. He loves to be left alone with a digital camera. Here's a view of his world from his "eyes".

I'd kill for those eyelashes, btw... those are all Daddy.

These are a few of his favorite things:

And, his butt. I figure I wouldn't post that one, but seriously. The butt pictures start THAT early fellas? :)

Until next time ...

I wish you were happy.

2009-04-23T21:08:00.019-04:00

“As human beings we all want to be happy and free from misery… we have learned that the key to happiness is inner peace. The greatest obstacles to inner peace are disturbing emotions such as anger, attachment, fear and suspicion, while love and compassion and a sense of universal responsibility are the sources of peace and happiness.” ~Dalai Lama

To the biological mother of my middle son, my husband's son, my bonus child,

I wish you were happy.

I wish you were free of the misery that binds your life so tightly that you have to spread it to anyone you have wrapped your legs around. Your anger, attachment and spitefulness are indeed disturbing emotions that keep you from attaining that inner peace we all so wish you would.

For if you had inner peace, perhaps you'd quit this tyrannical reign of yours. The empty accusations. The court battles. Calling CPS. The multiple attempts at EPOs. The harassment. The interference. The post-visitation interrogations. Treating psychological issues with magic pills instead of the counseling they need. The lies, the ones you tell your husband, your friends, your family, the counselors, teachers, the lawyers, judges and police officers. The fabrications that blacken our family's good times, and good name. The financial punishment of the fraudulent medical claims you "won" judgment for, lying under oath whilst providing self-damning evidence against yourself that the judge didn't see. Or didn't choose to see, since you are apparently acquainted.

What you are doing is called Parental Alienation and it's nothing short of child abuse. Emotional child abuse. You are robbing your child's right and ability to love both of his parents. You are taking away from him the security of having his father involved in his life. You are abusing him, not in a way that will leave visible scars or marks that heal, but in a horrible way that will leave marks forever.

If you had inner peace, and you so loved yourself, perhaps you would not need to drink the blood of innocents. Sucking their joy from their veins, so that you can watch their hopes and dreams die, only for the cause of feeding the hunger of your misery.

I am sorry you are unhappy. I am sorry that you had a child so young. It's a harrowing responsibility. I know. I had my first not even through college, at 21. That's where the similarities end. I didn't have the surrogate mother that you had in yours; and I didn't have a man that cared enough to be an active part (physically and financially) in his son's early life. You, by comparison, had a much easier time of it. Yet. You're more miserable than I could ever be. And how?

Do you know how many woman would give up the disinterest they deal with, the sadness in their child's eyes when daddy says he's coming but never shows up? To trade you for a man that willfully visited with his child and paid a more-than-adequate amount of child support without ever having a court have to order him to do it? One who'd buy his son clothes and toys and send them home, with no regrets.

Is it me? I've been in your son's life for 8 years, since he was 4 years old. He loved me from the start, was that the problem? Did it make you THAT mad when he came home and so innocently proclaimed that he was getting "a pretty new mommy"? Are you that insecure that you allowed a child's innocent comment make you feel self-conscious? Could you not take that moment, and do something meaningful with it besides let it fuel the anger brewing inside your belly? Perhaps you could have told him what he was feeling was nice, and taken the time to try to explain that you'll always be his mommy. Obviously, you didn't. You took that and let it feed your anger. Because that's when your hatred started. That's when the child had to hide how he felt for me when you were around, something he still does today. But guess what? You're not as effective as you'd wish. When you're not around, he hugs me, and he tells me he loves me. And I hug him and tell him I love him too. And we do it, in spite of you.

You know what else he does? He complains about you, and your mother. And how he wishes you all would back off him a little, give him a little room. He calls you overbearing. Says that you're embarrassing him. And what do I do? If I were you, I would encourage him to speak of you that way. I'd laugh, and maybe even agree. Give him some advice on what he should and shouldn't have to "take". But I am not you. I listen to what he has to say. Then I point out that moms are like that; they're just protective over their babies, no matter their age. That's teaching respect, btw. I could do and say a lot of things that would undermine you, but that's not how I was brought up. It's not how I roll. I do it how it should be done. That's how I'd want you to handle it, to treat attitude towards me. So, that's how I handle it. And you're the one that is supposed to be the good Catholic, right? You must have forgotten the Golden Rule. Do on to others as you would have them do unto you?

What you have done is teach your child what you know best - manipulation. He tells you what you want to hear, because he gets attention for it. Are you not smart enough to recognize that is what he's doing? It's not exactly an original. Maybe you should read up on Psychology. It's how the game is played. Pity you couldn't be teaching him manners, and values instead. I guess everyone has something they're good at, to pass along to the next generation.

But don't worry, we've been teaching him here. We encourage him to read, the newspaper, magazines, whatever will interest him. I've taught him how to properly hold a knife and fork, since you don't have dinner around the table, as a family, and therefore miss the opportunities that brings. He has structure here, stability. I'm not sure it makes up for all the adjustments he's had to make with your multiple moves, his multiple schools, your inability to hold a job. He does chores, not because we need him to but because he needs to understand that every member of our house has a responsibility to pick up after themselves, and pitch in.

Do you know how many other types of women you could have gotten for a stepmother to your son? And you got me. You don't deserve me. You don't deserve the politeness that is a result of my nice southern upbringing. You don't deserve my lack of involvement in your conflict. You deserve someone just as spiteful, as awful, as ignorantly confrontational as yourself. Someone that knocks your door down, trying to force their way in to your house at 11 o'clock at night when a young child sleeping. Someone that calls 911 on you because you won't answer their call to conflict. It won't be me. I can't bring myself to stoop to your level of ignorance. But, funny thing is, I don't have to do anything at all. Karma will take care of you. I don't have faith in much, but I do believe what goes around will eventually come back around. You'll get yours. I just hope you're prepared. If I was a betting one, and I am, I'd bet yours is going to be a doozy.

What I will do, is feel sorry for you. Pity you. And wish you happiness.

Pity party of 1.

2009-04-21T00:46:00.004-04:00

Omg I have a shitpile of a life right now.

The parents.

My parents are alcoholics. I've made no mention of this here on the blog yet, but I've made no efforts to hide this information either. It's a sad tale of two lives lived in a state of constant regret, drowning their sorrows in in brewed or fermented liquids. My mother is, for all practical purposes, dying from it. The folks won't divulge the specifics, but she has all the classic signs of liver failure. It's a slow agonizing thing to spectate. People, don't get all "Awwww" on me. While it IS a sad tale, I have never had a close relationship with my mother. She's been drunk since 1979, which really didn't give us much time to get to know one another. I'm less sad and more angry about the current state of things. It's not easy watching someone commit suicide slowly. There's so much more I can say about it, but why.

The sister.

Man, I love my sister. She is the littlest, prettiest, spunkiest, loveliest sister I have. I only have one. We're opposites, she the positive chipper one, I the negative melancholy of the pair. I'm used to her saving me. But, it's her turn now. She needs me. And I can't be there. Twice divorced, she has a penchant for looking for love in all the wrong places. Well, she's gone and done it this time. She fell in love w/a man who is bipolar. Unfortunately, he doesn't seem to be managing his illness well. Their recent breakup has had him stalking her at the local hangouts, stealing her belongings, keying her car, and slashing her tires. The last of which he was at least kind enough to leave a rose behind. The worst part is that he's threatened her life. I'm scared for her. I feel absolutely helpless. She's in Michigan. Nothing I can do from here, short of driving up there and kidnapping her. I just worry every day about it instead.

The blended family.

My husband and I both had children prior to getting married and having our own. Stepfamilies bring with them their own set of joys and challenges. This one just happened to come with a certifiable lunatic, the boy's mother. She's a horribly co-dependent woman who has spent most of this child's life indoctrinating her son to hate his father, my husband. We've dealt with all of her attempts at getting attention paid to her. Excessive medical treatment (Munchausen's by proxy?), unfounded allegations of abuse, counselor after counselor (dropped as soon as they disagree with her), too many refusals of visitation to count. We've spent thousands upon thousands in the dysfunctional family court system that favors the mothers, even this aberration. Sadly, the boy is about to turn 13 and I fear it is too late. Too late to show him normalcy, too late for my husband to repair a bond torn apart by this woman's psychosis. Too late. Eventually, fathers in situations like this give up and get to be called dead-beat dads. My husband won't give up. I can say a lot of things about the man, but I could never say I doubt his love for his children. He is a good father, and my heart breaks for him.

All of this has caused me some considerable stress and heartache. It's hard to be in a good place right now, to focus on the things that bring me joy, to worry less. But, I am a strong-willed person, or at the very least stubborn. I don't give up, I persist. I'm just having a hard time these days, so forgive my melancholy won't you? I know it will pass. It always does.

Note the title, it's only a pity party of 1. No one else is invited. I just felt the need to pen it all out, to get it off my chest. Maybe I'll keep it up, maybe I'll decide when I'm a little less hormonal that I should take it down. Either way, I got it out. That's all I needed to do, for now.

I lack ambition.

2009-04-11T10:22:00.001-04:00

That's right, I said it. I lack ambition. Perhaps most people wouldn't admit that about themselves, but I don't mind if I do.

am⋅bi⋅tion [am-bish-uhn]
an earnest desire for some type of achievement or distinction, as power, honor, fame, or wealth, and the willingness to strive for its attainment.

the object, state, or result desired or sought after.

desire for work or activity.

Oh the earnest desire for rank, fame, or power. It is this ambition that I lack, and I happen to like it that way.

My stating my lack of ambition doesn't mean I am barren of aspirations, that I don't want to accomplish anything or that I don't desire work and activity. It's not that I have no desire to "do" ... I just have no ardent desire to BE anyone more than who I am. I am happy just being me, as boring as that may seem to someone who is not.

"When ambition ends, happiness begins." --Thomas Merton

I don't have to be considered better or more experienced than a colleague. I prefer the camaraderie of a team, with shared achievements in the pursuit of common goals. I have never had a competitive spirit, have no desire to be the winner, and I don't seek to be the best. I am everyone's cheerleader. You can do it!

I would not want to live under the scrutiny that is fame, where someone is always on the sidelines ready and waiting to misinterpret something you've said. Or, there with a camera when you need milk at an inopportune time.

I don't long for power. As Peter Parker's Uncle Ben said: "With great power comes great responsibility." As a working mother of three boys, I've lots of responsibility. Need I really seek out more?

"Most people would succeed in small things if they were not troubled with great ambitions." --Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

I know some clearly ambitious people. They've achieved a certain success in life that is measured by money and stature. They want for nothing, materially. But, their lives seem sad to me. Empty and void of the success of the smaller, more rewarding things in life. Like, the feeling of being content. For if you're always striving for something more than you have already, you cannot at the same time achieve contentedness. Or, the experience of being there for their children's or grandchildren''s milestones in life - it simply cannot be done if jetting off to far corners of the world in the name of business. No one ever says on their deathbed, "I wish I'd spent more time at the office."

I may not have your definition of ambition. I am what I am. It's all I can be at the moment.

Imagine.

2009-04-10T22:55:00.001-04:00

It's been decades since John Lennon penned the song "Imagine" which he himself described as "an anti-religious, anti-nationalistic, anti-conventional, anti-capitalistic song, but because it's sugar-coated, it's accepted."

The words of the song are - IMHO - profound. As the current events continue to unfold in the Middle East, and the idiocy of fundamentalist so-called Christians continues in the U.S., I'm once again saddened and struggling to understand the things people do in the name of religion.

Some days, I just want to imagine a world without it.

Imagine

Imagine there's no Heaven
It's easy if you try
No hell below us
Above us only sky
Imagine all the people
Living for today

Imagine there's no countries
It isn't hard to do
Nothing to kill or die for
And no religion too
Imagine all the people
Living life in peace

You may say that I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will be as one

Imagine no possessions
I wonder if you can
No need for greed or hunger
A brotherhood of man
Imagine all the people
Sharing all the world

You may say that I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will live as one

Oooh yea baby, that really turns me on!

2009-04-06T23:43:00.005-04:00

Look, let's let me be honest. I'm nearly 7 years deep in to marriage with 3 kids of varying ages, paternal and maternal backgrounds. I tease The Hub .... you want to turn me on? Grab a vacuum cleaner, baby. And, YES, actually vacuum with it. Seriously. I don't think he actually believes me, but it's true. There's nothing sexier than a man pushing a vacuum, or *gasp* folding laundry. Somebody fan me!

Most married men I know (generally) don't realize how much they are appreciated, valued and lusted after, just for doing a few seemingly uneventful chores around the house. Listen up men. Have you got your ears on? No one likes chores. Here comes the real newsflash ... we don't like them any more than you do.

Even though you think you might - you really have NO idea how much the wife does for you. ESPECIALLLLLY if she's popped out some offspring AND holds a full-time job as well. When moms have full-time jobs, they actually have two full-time jobs. Maybe even three, depending upon how high-maintenance you are ... That shit is hard. We don't get to leave work and go to the gym, because we have the mongrels to pick up from daycare or to/from the events that comprise their busy little social lives. From there, we have a literal laundry list of to-do items before we're afforded any "me" time, which typically never happens but if it does, we damn sure had to move a piece of the earth out of the way to make it so.

Yet you wonder why it's so easy for the wives to come to look upon their beds as resting grounds instead of the playground you once inhabited. Pfff. Suck it up sister boy. Time to step up the game. Grab a broom, a vacuum, a dishtowel, some furniture polish, or even a scrub brush - WITHOUT BEING ASKED, POKED OR PRODDED - and you're likely to look like a freaking luscious piece of man pie with only one thing in question. Will that be with whipped cream or without?

38 Candles.

2009-04-04T13:17:00.010-04:00

38. That's how many candles would be on my birthday cake today, should someone be so brazen enough to actually put them on a cake (a stunt inevitably to be followed by me running the culprit down in my minivan).

Ah it's just jokes. I wouldn't really run someone down for such an infraction. Truth be known, I'm not really upset by the number of candles on my cake. At least not so far. At the same time, I'm not exactly down with the overt celebration of my birthdays either. There are a few exceptions, as Patton Oswalt points out - You Are Allowed 20 Birthday Parties.

That doesn't mean I advocate the ignoring of birthdays, mind you. I typically avoid the spotlight, that's all. I'll celebrate yours with you, I just choose the low-key options for myself. Unless it's one of "the 20" of course. Those are to be celebrated heavily, and it's okay to gift yourself. I don't wait around for someone to pick up on hints of what I want. I am an independent woman. I am fully capable and will gift myself for these occasions, thankyouverymuch.

Take ferxample, 30.

I sent myself to Europe as a 30th birthday present to myself. I did all my research over the course of the previous year, and while my original intentions included visiting about six different countries I quickly realized that I was going to have to scale back. I decided to visit Germany and Italy. I won't go in to the details now, because I already did it here (the slideshows are broke for the time being), but I spent about 12 days and $2,500 making some awesome memories.

Oh but no, the thought of 40? *sighs*

In the meantime, I have a couple of years to ponder the 4-0. I haven't decided what I'll do to "celebrate" that event, but I will start my planning next year, and there will be plans! As of now, I'm thinking a tattoo (much to my Hub's dismay) and a trip to Hawaii ought to fit the bill. We'll see. The idea of 40 is daunting, but I will be fabulous and 40 baby. I will.

Stupid optimism.

2009-04-03T19:33:00.005-04:00

I took the day off of work today. It's my birthday tomorrow and we get a birthday "holiday" so I decided, on a whim, to take the day today to attend the opening day at the races at Keeneland in Lexington, Kentucky. I thought ... oh that sounds fun! That sounds great, right? Right? I wish. Turns out, we ended up taking the two youngest kids. Right now, post-day at the races, I'm imagining the sound a blown up balloon makes when it's all blown up and you don't tie it, you just let it go? Pfffttttthhhhhhhhhhhhh. Yea. *sigh*

Man ... back in the day, I used to love love love going to the track to bet the ponies. Today? Meh. Wtf is wrong with this older even more boring version of me? I just can't get in to anymore. Maybe it's because I never win. I mean, NEVER. I don't even hit on the favorites. That's bad, folks. Terrible! Not that I could ever call myself a handicapper. Not even close. But I have been to a lot of tracks in my time, and I DO have a few wins in my past pocket. Never big enough to pay taxes - that's a goal nevertheless - but the point is I used to have AT LEAST a little bit of luck.

Oh Luck ... where have you gone? I tried to summon you. You were sleeping. Momma needed a new pair of shoes!

Of course, there were the kids. If you go with kids, the experience IS bound to be limited. I admit that the track is not the greatest place for them - that's just questionable right there - but anyway. It was what it was. Lots of people take their kids, for whatever reason. Today, I did it because of stupid optimism. I thought, Keeneland is so pretty and the lil one will enjoy the horses. I want my children there, to enjoy the day with me. The elder one surely won't be that annoying, right? Wrong. The lil one enjoyed the horses alright. The trouble was, he seriously talked all day, non-stop from the buckling in the car seat right down to the blessed end of the last race. Zomg. You really have no idea. He is, like the husband coined it, a broken record with the volume stuck on high. He's lucky he's cute. The elder one, not quite the teen, was my shadow all day. Like, seriously. Can a bad mom taking her kids to the track get a freaking break? I fled to the bathroom, not once, but twice just to get away from it all.

Stupid optimism. If pessimism were at its deserved realm, this never would have happened. Oh well. It's done. All I can say is thank goodness it is now over. I am home, drowning my anxiety in beer and spending some time with the one that loves me most. My computer. Mwa-wuh!

Oh, I'm married!

2009-03-31T23:46:00.005-04:00

I'm playing house this week. I have an actual husband, and kids that listen. Dinner is on around seven o'clock each evening. We actually divvy up the household duties. I have a warm body next to me when I go to bed. I am a princess! Okay, maybe a princess is a bit extreme. Especially considering me. But anyway, this situation is special. You get the point.

I've been a single mother for 17 years. For the last seven, I've been a married single mother. My husband works nights and I am, for all practical purposes, alone.

I am a machine. After about 6 hours of broken sleep, I get up, get myself ready. I go to work, I am there for 9.5 hours. I drive through traffic to pick up the youngest offspring, and I come home to a house that it feels like only I take care of. I am home by 6:30. I pick up shit I trip over on my way to the kitchen to conjure up some sort of dinner, which I may or may not have ready by 8. I argue with the oldest offspring to help me clean up after dinner, every day. I ready the youngest for bed, bathe, brush teeth, read stories. Shit. It's already 9:30? I'm exhausted. I clean up the rest of the kitchen, if I'm lucky enough not to have to clean the whole goddamn thing. I glance around at the mess of the house, mentally flip it off, and I sit for a few stolen moments in front of my computer. Ahhh. Release. Check my mail, blogs, sites. Bed. Next day, rinse and repeat.

I get to play house about once a year. Seven years in to a marriage that has no hugs, kisses or the meetings of warm bodies through the week has taken its toll. You can understand. I understand. It's not a real home this week, only temporary, I realize this. But, I have to be practical. And honest. I'll take what I can get and enjoy the moment. It's not a perfect moment, but it's a moment nonetheless.

A little less talk, a little more action.

2009-03-24T23:35:00.001-04:00

“A dog is not considered a good dog because he is a good barker. A man is not considered a good man because he is a good talker.” --Buddha

I am a lover of words. I love to read. I love a good conversation, whether it's a discussion on something deep or random. Whatever. I'll take it all, thankyouverymuch. Gimme, gimme!

However, when it comes to communicating intent - I'm a bigger fan of a little less talk and a little more action. [Anyone else hearing Elvis?] Unfortunately, there exists a great divide between people saying they'll do something and actually doing it.

Whatever you do:

Don't profess your love and devotion for someone in front of an audience if you don't plan on acting it out behind the scenes.
Say what you mean and mean what you say. Is this really that hard? In other words,
If you make a promise keep it. And seriously,
If you happen to make a promise to a child, then you better damn well keep it.

That last one really gets me. There is a difference between promising your friend you'll get together soon then putting it off, versus promising your child you'll show up for their ballgame when you know good and well you won't. Have the wisdom to know this difference, because if you don't your kid will grow up thinking you're an asshole, and you will have earned it.

Quit talking the talk if you can't walk the walk.

I have a good sniffer and I can smell bullshit a mile away. The younger, more patient me of yore might have merely rolled my eyes, never calling the bullshit, maybe even reckoning that deep down the giver of BS had good intentions.

Not today. The landing gear is down for 40, albeit I've got to circle a couple of more times around first. I'm less patient, and my filter between what I think and what I say seems to have a hole in it. I'm aging less like fine wine and more like bleu cheese. Some people like me, some people don't. But, you know ... my disease-to-please must be currently in remission because all of a sudden I find myself not giving a rat's ass.

In my years, I've dealt with my fair share of narcissistic assholes - the kind that believe themselves when telling a lie, no matter how big or small. They always seem to have a "good" reason for their failure. They may attempt to blame others, trying to dig out of the trench that is their blunder.

Then there are those who feel like they must look good in front of others, but are someone else entirely once the door closes and the blinds are shut.

I'm done with all of them.

There are people in the world that don't seem to mind the blowing of sunshine up their ass, so by all means if this is your thing, find those people to receive it. Just move along. There isn't anything here for you to see.

State of the blog address.

2009-03-23T22:07:00.008-04:00

I have 11 draft posts saved in my blog. That I am sitting here penning out a new post about all my posts-in-waiting is testament to the insane gymnastics going on in my brain. But, this is how I roll. That's classic B right there. Anyway and of course, I do have excuses. And today they are *drumroll* ....... time and mah ADD.

Let's first begin with this important announcement: I. Have. No. Time.

I used to make pen time on the weekend, or at least I would do the most of it then. However, I have been scowled by The Hub of as of late for spending too much time on the computer. So, in an effort to compromise and do everything his way, I have started limiting my time on the lappy486 on the weekends. *sighs, depressingly*

Weeknights, after the youngest offspring is tucked in bed, it's nothing but me, some hot tea and the lappy. However, what this means that I'm not getting something else done, the resulting feelings to include guilt trips of which will ultimately tear me away to do any of the items below, all done concurrently thanks to the ADD:

My taxes. They are *almost* done. Seriously, I'm almost done. It's just, I have separation anxiety with completing my taxes, always afraid that by doing them on my own I am ultimately screwing myself (which sounds completely more fun than reality would allow).
The search is ON for the outstanding receipts for my flex spending account for 2008, else I say goodbye to that money forevers.
There are 3 loads of laundry peering up from the couch at me, calling me lazy. It's not my fault. I tried to convince The Hub when the last washer and dryer set we had retired, that we needed a laundry service. He gave me that look, the one where he can't decide whether to merely pity me or go ahead and institutionalize me, and shortly after that we were owners to a laundry pair. Don't get me wrong, I love the pair. But, seriously, they churn out laundry at a frightening pace.
The kitchen counter of stacked crap stares at me daily, mail waiting for me to sort, envelopes seemingly mating. I sort a little at a time, but new shit arrives daily to take the place of sorted or thrown away shit. Shit!

So, anyway, I've been doing all that ^ and then some, like the two chickens in the refrigerator. Not to say that I've been doing them, but that I have neglected them. They very nearly made it to the oven tonight, but it just wasn't meant to be.

Alas, the 11 posts-in-draft will have to wait, yet another day. I have to fold the goddamn laundry. I lead a thrilling life, in case you have yet to notice.

Oh, hi! I'm in the sauna! Blab blab blab.

2009-03-16T23:37:00.007-04:00

So allow me to set the scene. I go to the gym today at lunch. I am looking forward to sitting mindlessly in the sauna, to sweat away some anxiety, tension and the lingering smell of Greek food. I get there, get all gym outfitted up and proceed to my place of serenity. Darn, someone else is in the sauna. *so hoping for solitude* Well curses, no matter. I will just close my eyes and ...

*buzzing* Super. Text message received. Tap tap tap, tap, tap tap tap. Text message sent. Fantastic. *buzzing* Text message received. Tap tap tap, tap, tap tap tap. Text message sent. *buzzing* Text message received. Tap tap tap, tap, tap tap tap. Text message sent.*buzzing* Text message received. Tap tap tap, tap, tap tap tap. Text message sent.*buzzing* Text message received. Tap tap tap, tap, tap tap tap. Text message sent.*buzzing* Text message received. Tap tap tap, tap, tap tap tap. Text message sent.*buzzing* Text message received. Tap tap tap, tap, tap tap tap. Text message sent.*buzzing* Text message received. Tap tap tap, tap, tap tap tap. Text message sent.*buzzing* Text message received. Tap tap tap, tap, tap tap tap. Text message sent.*buzzing* Text message received. Tap tap tap, tap, tap tap tap. Text message sent.

I don't typically hate, but I so hated this woman. Honestly. Why? She can't live for 10 effing minutes disconnected? Unreachable? Really? Alas, she is not the first. I cannot hate her, rather I hate the lot. Seems like every time I am in the sauna these days, some chick has her a) iPod playing music (yea! up in my serenity zone!), b) phone, texting or -worse- c)phone, talking. Incidentally, I tried making a return trip to the sauna post-workout. Serenity fail, again. This time, it's Ms. C talking about her most recent bout of being dumped. *instant disdain*

But, let's forget about the noise pollution. Do people not understand temperature ratings on electronics? Do batteries only explode on other people? Don't get me wrong, I'd love to have something to do in there as much as you would. But, maybe try shutting up for a minute and relaxing? If you are sitting next to me in the sauna on the phone or using other electronic equipment - I am judging you harshly, openly in awe of your seemingly inherent ignorance. I suppose you can't help it. Not everyone is in line when they're handing out brain cells. I understand, you got shorted.

*long sigh*

Ah I know. Apparently, this is not some grand scheme to crash my relaxation party. It is rampant everywhere, as evidenced by this actual very priceless Q&A on Yahoo Answers:

Can I go inside a sauna with my iphone for about 35 min?

NOOO!! Why would u even ask a question like that? its a stupid idea with all the moisture and heat. plus, if you are really attached to your phone that much that you cant go into a sauna for 35 minutes without it: you should just stay home. i hate retards like u who have those great phones but have the IQ of a sidewalk.

I concur.

Navel oranges disturb me.

2009-03-15T16:08:00.004-04:00

I'm just saying.

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My future in sales.

2009-03-13T00:25:00.009-04:00

My husband works in the auto industry and I work in telecom. In other words, there is a good chance we, with our children, could be selling Chiclets on the streets in the near future, not that there's anything wrong with that. Everybody likes Chiclets, right?

Why why why would someone want to hole punch their ears?

2009-03-11T10:48:00.009-04:00

I realize people do a lot of different things in the art of self-expression. But for the life of me I cannot understand why anyone would want to hole-punch their ears. Yes, I know it's called gauging but it might as well be called hole-punching, because that's what it really is.

First of all, OW. I mean, really. You can't find any other possible way to express yourself than through this type of self-mutilation? Really? I find that hard to believe. Get a goddamn tattoo for crying out loud, pierce something if you absolutely have to, just don't hole-punch your ear.

[NOTE: I know how it's done, I know it's not literally a hole-punch so save your breath on explaining the hows. I am more interested in the whys.]

Is it for shock value? Success! But, if you're doing it to garner some sort of attention, you've lost mine. As soon as I see it, I stop seeing you altogether. All I see is a giant hole in your ear that will require a doctor's help to repair, as I look away wincing.

I consider myself a fairly liberal person. I am very open-minded and I tend to accept a lot of things about people that others won't. But I have never succeeded in looking at someone who has had this done w/o flashing a horrified expression, akin to the one I display after smelling rotten milk. I am not sure anyone can explain this to me with any degree of success either. I just don't get it.

My horrification aside ... if you're a grown adult and you make this choice, it's obviously yours to live with and mine to mind my own business. I DO get that. No one OWES me any explanation, but I'm genuinely curious. I ask strictly in the interest of better understanding something I don't.

This picture was not of an adult but of a 16-year-old boy on his way to prom. His friend, my son, happens to think this is "cool". He doesn't understand why I do not. He would get this done today if I would allow it. However, my house is no democracy (Dr. Spock kiss my ass). What my child does after he turns 18 and is out of the house is up to him. What he does in mine is quite another.

Why I blog, and why you shouldn't read it.

2009-03-06T10:24:00.004-05:00

I've mentioned before that I write my blog for me, with the intended audience of none. I am really serious about that intention. A blog is, by most definitions, an online journal. That it is on-line means that it is shared, and that someone might perchance read it, is completely understood. However, I don't write thoughtfully of you, because this isn't about you.

That you might read it and get something from what I write, is an inspiration for keeping it on-line. What that something is, doesn't matter. It may even be that you disagree with me. I'm okay with that, and so should you be. If I can relate to you on any level, that inspiration has a payoff for me. If I can't, then let's be reasonable and agree to disagree.

Herein lie my thoughts, my catharsis.

There is a certain vulnerability in writing, and I don't like that part. Making myself vulnerable scares the shit out of me. It makes my palms sweat. It's a real fear, this avoidance of all things potentially vulnerable, a phobia. I know from my psych studies that the best way to address a fear is to confront it. This is my self-medication, the purging of thoughts that weigh my mind down.

But the truth is, I live for the people that "get" me.

Sadly, the most important people in my life do not. I do not count my best friend, my husband, or my sister among my readers. But I am coming to terms with this because these are people that I love and connect with on other levels, just not on a cerebral one. If you really do get me, is it too soon to tell you that I love you? Then I'll just tell you how wonderful and rare you are, and how glad I am to have you in my life.

We live in such a pretentious world. So many people are one person on the outside, and quite another one on the inside, afraid to share what others might not understand, agree with or be offended by. I myself have been that person, censoring myself not for what I might think in appropriate but for what I think others might not think appropriate. I may have to do that at home or work, still, but I won't do it here.

Here, I am what I am, and I am that way outwardly. If you don't like it, it's your opinion and you are absolutely entitled to it. You can keep it to yourself, or make it known. That's the beauty of this space.

It's the baby! It's coming!

2009-03-04T21:21:00.001-05:00

So I'm watching LOST [or enter any TV show or movie featuring a pregnant woman here] and a pregnant woman, with one hand on her back and one hand on her belly (b/c that's how they all stand right?), YELPS then she says it, with much distress.

"It's the baby! It's coming!"

And that's how her labor started. In fact, that's how a lot of Hollywood labors start. So ... really? Do only men write these scenes? Really? Because I've had two babies and it didn't happen anything like that for me. I'm pretty sure of all the previously pregnant women I know, I don't ever recall them saying it happened like that for them either. Okay, I take that back. I know one "it's the baby, it's coming" stories. That's it.

My labor started a little more subtle I guess you could say.

Damn, my back hurts. More Braxton Hicks contractions? Ugh I hate these things. Shit these hurt. Maybe that's just discomfort I'm feeling. No that's pain. I wish I could take some Ibuprofen right now. Pfffff. Tylenol. Might as well take a sugar pill. Alright, lay down. Toss, turn, no sleep, toss, turn. Should I time these back pains? No, you don't time back pain. Want. Sleep. Ah, sleep. (circa 1992)

The following morning I was scheduled to be induced, but when I got there and got all hooked up they determined I was already having *real* contractions. The back pain. Who knew? Couple of hours go by, water breaks, couple of hours of realllly crappy contractions, yay some pain medication, and a few hours after that, voila babeh.

Repeat 11 years later.

Now, I don't mean to make every labor sound like the piece of cake. I'm sure there are some real horror stories out there. But let it be known that I'd rather give birth to a baby than pass a kidney stone any day of the week. Birthing hurt, don't get me wrong. I did get to do about 50% of the laboring under the veil of pain meds. But before those, in the throes of pain still at no point did I grab myself in that familiar Hollywood pose and yell "Oooooooooooh! It's the baby! It's coming!"

In hindsight, if I had it to do over though, I totally would. It does make it all look really official. Really.

Mobile Blogging Iz Hard.

2009-03-04T19:30:00.002-05:00

Does anyone do this with any great degree of success? This mobile blogging? I need a keyboard bigger than my hand. So much to say, so little accuracy. *sigh*

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I doubt therefore I am.

2009-02-16T12:02:00.001-05:00

There's no doubt in my mind there's doubt in my mind.

While the term cynical might be defined as believing the worst of human nature and motives or having a sneering disbelief in e.g. selflessness of others, I practice sort of a self-defined cynicism. My cynicism is less about distrust or being bitterly contemptuous, and more about being slightly on the negative side of skeptical.

I am too much of a skeptic to deny the possibility of anything. --Thomas Huxley

I refuse believe the truth of something merely on the basis that someone tells me I should, or that it might be socially acceptable that I do. (I especially dislike that last reason, which I chalk up to my slightly rebellious, gooey center.) But, that said, I am not quick to deny the possibilities either.

The world is full of bullshit, but I haz shovelz.

I just don't believe everything. I don't believe everything I hear. I don't even believe everything that I know. I may not believe tomorrow what I believe in wholeheartedly today. It really just all depends on the information I seek, receive, and digest or spit out between now and then. We've all been-there-got-the-t-shirt, because let's face it ...

Santa Claus ain't coming to town.

We all believed at some point, right? One day you believed, one day you didn't. You had a belief that was dissolved by some information that made it to you by way of your own skepticism, or from that know-it-all jerk on the bus, or maybe even your parents or siblings finally fessed up because you were a little slow catching on. Any which way you finally realized the truth, got the information and squashed that belief, once it was gone it was gone. There's no resurrecting THAT guy. Let the shitty presents from the parents commence!

If you would be a real seeker after truth, it is necessary that at least once in your life you doubt, as far as possible, all things. --Descartes

Oh, and knowledge is power. I preach it to the rolling eyes of my teenager all the time: knowledge is a currency in life that no economy can touch. No one can take it away from you. Not even your ex-wife. Once you have it, it's yours. Just make sure your body of knowledge includes learning from experience.

I don't really think it's possible to obtain knowledge without some level of doubt.

But more importantly, why would you just accept that kind of knowledge? If you've only adopted either what you've read, or what you've been told or taught ... if you haven't questioned it, if you haven't sought your own answers and experiences, what else do you have but the repossession of someone else's beliefs?

“The opinion prevailed among advanced minds that it was time that belief should be replaced increasingly by knowledge; belief that did not itself rest on knowledge was superstition, and as such had to be opposed.” --Albert Einstein

Making Mondays a little less manic.

2009-02-10T17:30:00.001-05:00

I have an intense dislike for Mondays.

This intense dislike makes going to bed on Sundays something I put off until the very last possible moment, which I am aware does not help the Monday begin with any measurable amount of enthusiasm. But, it's just how I deal.

On my way back from a massage one Monday it occurred to me as if it were a newly discovered grand secret, some sort of epiphany, a riddle just solved of which I'd tried long to figure out. My idea for transforming The Monday is simple.

Maybe Mondays don't have to suck.

Make it fun. It doesn't matter how. Just schedule something to look forward to - whether it's a massage, a manicure, happy hour, lunch at one of your favorite places, time at the bookstore or even scheduling me-time at home can work (and doesn't cost a thing). Movie Monday? I'm grabbing at straws here, but you get the point right?

Maybe Mondays are just doomed to suckdom.

Could be. This could all be an exercise in futility. I think I'll reserve judgment after a few massages and manicures. It's worth a shot, right? Curses. I don't have any money. Oh well. I guess it's just going to have to be Melt Into The Couch Monday time for me, for a while anyway. Just don't let them be manic!

Project Laundry Room, Annihilated.

2009-02-02T23:28:00.000-05:00

Omg hell yea. I finished painting and organizing the laundry room. Not only did I do it, I did it with minimal bitching and only one Facebook update whining about it. Go me!

One down, several hundred more to go ...

Me and projects, unlike Jerry Maguire and his woman Dorothy, DO NOT complete each other. I have wonderful intentions. And actually, I have an extremely organized person inside of me, I just can't figure out how to bust her out. The ADD force is strong in this one.

A project-in-progress for too long, the laundry room has become one of many banes of existences in our home (aka The Money Pit). The laundry room is the room I walk in to every evening. The one that greets me after a long day at work, the trip to preschool to pick up the chattering offspring, and the mundane traffic that I navigate through, as if on auto-pilot each day. There it is in all its ... glory? No, horror. There it is in all its horror. It's been partially painted for some time now, a room that suffers from multiple personality disorder. It's a laundry room but it's also sometimes the mud room, time-out space, altar for the laundry pair* and a portal to/from the garage. Really, to call it a room at all is a bit of a stretch. It's really just a hallway with doors. Whatever it is some of the time, it is chaotic all of the time.

How apropos, really. I have wondered whether this little laundry room is a bit metaphoric... If the space I walk in to every day is in chaos, where do I expect to be other than right there in the middle it? I = Chaos. I often tell people I am like Pigpen from Peanuts ... only instead of a little cloud of dust following me, it's a little cloud of chaos. Wherever I go, chaos is there. Waiting for me. "Oh hello, chaos. We meet again. I took a different route today, thought I lost you, heh ... you're a clever one, chaos. I'll give you that. You're a clever, clever pain in my ass. Oh, chaos. One of these days, I'll be rid of you! You mark my words, I will!"

I'm not there yet, but today I stand one step closer. I realized that I have to work smarter than chaos, not harder, in order to be rid of it for good. What THAT really means - for me - is that I have to fight not only the distractions but also the inner perfectionist in me and just get the job done.

Completing this mundane task may sound trivial to some, but to me it feels like I single-handedly disbanded one of my clouds of chaos, with nothing but a little bit more perseverance than usual. The job - it wasn't perfect - but it IS done.

Completion is a new feeling for me, and it feels pretty damn good. But I have to admit, the best part was telling my inner perfectionist to shut the hell up. She's a noisy little bitch.

*Front-loading laundry appliances are a little slice of heaven and may NOT be referred to merely as washers and dryers. They are the gods of clean fibers and must be worshipped as such. Anyone who has bought a pair knows exactly what I'm talking about. If you don't yet have a pair of your own, save save save. Seriously. I have 3 boys and a hard-working blue-collar man. Best home appliance investment EVAR. Hands down. Fingers uncrossed.

A word on TMI (or 363 of them).

2009-01-02T13:53:00.001-05:00

As I go on and on and on lamenting about my sinuses, snot, surgery, blah blah blah, I DO oft consider the boundaries of TMI (too much information). I am aware of the potential TMIishness of snot. However, it's a fleeting consideration that usually ends quickly with a giggle and an "Ah, wtf." I figure, hey if you're reading what I'm writing, who's fault is this? Hmmm? Certainly not mine. I just write the stuff. I'm cannot be responsible for the shit you choose to read. And let's let me be honest. Writing, for me, is more about mental regurgitation than any real endeavor. Not that I really needed to say that or anything.

Everyone's TMI filter is a bit more or less meshed than the next, some (like me) don't really have any filter at all. I am no longer the shy girl of my youth that hated being the center of attention. The one that begged people not to vote for her for Homecoming Princess but who, somehow, won anyway despite those efforts AND the mullet. Hth? I still look back at that with a big OMG. Mortification station. That's what that was. There are people that wanted that attention. Not me. I didn't even like speaking up in class. I am definitely not that girl any longer. Don't get me wrong, I still deride pageantry and I still don't like being the center of attention. But shy I'm not. These days I will talk to perfect strangers about anything. Nary a subject is off-limits.

I enjoy a 98% unfiltered existence. The only time I filter is on religion and politics, and mainly because whenever these topics are brought up it's typically to be argumentative and I have learned not to accept the hook. I have found that most people are not capable of discussions on such subjective topics, which is a shame because I do so enjoy an objective discussion on both accounts. It feels wrong to have to filter myself like that, but as a Class A conflict-avoider, I must digress.

So, you know what they say. What's one person's TMI is another person's treasure. Or something. Enjoy, but at your own risk of course.

Septoplasty, Aisle 3.

2008-12-27T18:21:00.000-05:00

So I did it. I had my septoplasty/turbinate reduction done, which I went in to detail about here, basically because sleep is important to me and spending half the year with sinus infections sucks.

The surgery was scheduled for 9:30 in the morning but didn't actually get going until just before noon. It seems like everyone was in for the Septoplasty Special that day - it's either becoming a very popular surgery or maybe it always has been and I've just avoided the ENT (evil-nose-torturer) so long, I just didn't take notice.

I spent most of the morning awaiting my surgery being annoyed by the woman next to me. She was impatiently waiting for her husband to be taken in to surgery, late as well. I've never heard anyone complain as much and as futility as she. I glanced over at my own husband and wondered if he knew how lucky he was that he didn't have a wife like that, yet.

They finally took me back around 11:30. The operating room was such a cold. bright, uninviting place. I don't know what I expected exactly. Wallpaper, wood floors and a four-poster bed? Of course not, but sheesh. This place looked ominous. Cold stainless steel, bright fluorescents above, large desk-like task lighting at the table, the tray of tools. I just remember thinking that if I was going to be checking out of this world, I didn't want it to be from this address. I'd been put under before, but I had something to relax and prepare me. This time, no one said a thing. They just transferred me over to the operating table, I waved at the doctor, laid my head in some contraption and that was it.

I'm told the procedure was to last 30-45 minutes. I woke up 3 hours later, grabbing at my nose, trying unsuccessfully to breathe out of my nose, tears streaming from my eyes and a headache to rival all headaches. Once I got my bearings, I was a little surprised that there was no pain (per se) originating from my nose, ever how stuffed-up it was. But my eyes were still streaming, the assault of the fluorescents on a headache of that magnitude was nearly unbearable, and my mouth was dry. Though there was no pain, the per se part was that my nose was burning. You know that burn you get when you accidentally take water up your nose when swimming? It was just like that only it didn't come and go, it was there to stay. Sucked, but for all practical purposes, and in my most optimistically-pessimistic way, I figured it could be worse.

I hardly remember the moment my husband came back from the waiting room, but I remember trying to listen intently to the nurse's instructions. The time between my waking up, getting a drink of water and being ushered out to the parking lot in a wheelchair seemed to pass swiftly. The nurse asked me if I wanted to wear a "drip pad" home, so I asked her what all the other cool kids were doing. I didn't want to be the only wimpy jackass walking out of there with a pantyliner contraption on my nose, though I fully expected I would be. I wasn't. She crafted one out of gauze and taped it like a hammock under my nose and sent me on my way.

The days of recovery since then have been a bit challenging, though for different reasons than I had expected. I'd prepared myself to be in pain, the kind that comes about when a scalpel is involved. Instead, what I dealt with was more of what I would consider a horrible sinus infection - the headache, burning, stuffed nose, drainage, etc. The worst part of the surgery wasn't the surgery at all... it was the lack of care and compassion that I received at home, being dropped off and left to pick up my own pain medicine, somehow. Though the home-healthcare got worse before it got better, it did eventually get better. Aside from that there is the sleep deprivation. I couldn't sleep at first because I couldn't breathe through my nose. Now it's because I still can't lay on just one pillow, because of the pressure.

I know that those things will improve with time, it's getting better everyday. I'm just trying to hang in here and look forward to the positive effects the procedure could potentially have on my future. The waiting is definitely the hardest part.

Surgery, sleep, sinuses, and seriousness.

2008-12-17T22:12:00.000-05:00

I have decided to go ahead with surgery on Monday, to have septoplasty performed to repair my deviated septum (the wall of cartilage separating the two nose cavities). It's supposed to be relatively straight, but mine is not and is *suspected* to be both root cause of my sleep apnea as well as a conspirator in the sinus infections that linger on for a good part of my year.

It's not a decision I took lightly. I've gone 37 years without ever going under the knife. Deciding to do it right before Christmas wasn't optimal. Neither was deciding to do it w/o any sick days left, at a time when work is just insanely busy. BUT. I'm desperate. Desperate for sleep. Desperate to stop being sick half the year or better. Years of sleep deprivation, and months with gunk in your sinuses will damn near drive a person insane. Promises of a potential cure for it all will drive them to surgery.

I have high hopes for what the outcome of this surgery might mean for the quality of my life. I hope I am not expecting too much, for once. I am usually ever the pessimist. This time, I can't afford to be. I know it won't cure my allergies. But, at least it won't encourage them to stick around and form small provinces in my sinuses!

I've been asked what it is, and truth is, there are things in life that I realize that I am on a need-to-know basis with; septoplasty is one of them. I know that the goal is to straighten out the septum, remove some of the [la la la la la la la].... Read it here, if you like, I just don't need to know anymore or I might not have it done!

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Septoplasty

Thanks, Dr. Love.

2008-12-17T09:22:00.000-05:00

No, this is not a tribute to my husband Jeff (the Hub) - although he'd most certainly like that and I would be remiss not to give him some props for being a kind and considerate Hub during this last bout with the sickness - but rather a thanks to the Dr. at the Immediate Care Center in my neighborhood (Fern Creek) where I was seen last Monday. Yes, his name was Dr. Love.

Dr. Love spent all of 5 minutes with me. It was quick but we didn't need much time. A rehash of symptoms, a few well thought out prescriptions (all my love to the narcotic cough syrup), and a quick pat on the ass and I was out the door and on the road to recovery. Alright, maybe we just said goodbye and good luck. Whatever happened, just a mere 2 days later I'm frolicking around like a cat that just used the litterbox, with glee.

Thanks Dr. Love. I'll always remember you.

Neti Pot or Waterboarding?

2008-12-15T21:57:00.000-05:00

In my never-ending search for clear sinuses, I tried - for the first time tonight - the Neti Pot. The Neti Pot is that darling little contraption you see that delighted model shoving up her nostril, the use of which is supposed to be a "soothing action [which] removes excess mucus and moisturizes the nasal cavity". Hmmmph.

The process indeed moisturizes the nasal cavity, I have to give it that ... with a process that "involves flooding the nasal cavity with warm saline solution", who could argue there's moisture involved? However, I have to argue the "soothing action" part ... it sounded and felt a little more like waterboarding, the home edition. Okay, okay, I think it's safe to assess that a) I was doing it wrong, or b) the deviated septum was just doing what deviated septums do, flubbing things up.

I thought summerbr00ke did a nice job of demo'ing a Neti Pot on the YouTube, if you think you might like to watch something like that... It was sort of like my experience but lacked the gagging and drama one might come to expect from say, me. Btw, her Neti Pot was way cuter, and she even makes the part where you blow snot look dainty. Hth?

Mine did NOT flow nicely from one side to the other. I have to admit, even though I managed to drink about half of the snot wash, I am breathing through both sides of my nose now, and I couldn't say that before. So I guess waterboarding the home edition is a keeper. Darn. I hate it when things like that work!

Mmmmm. Snot wash. Anybody want a kiss?

VPs buy your own big screen. And Gimme Cake!

2008-12-12T19:30:00.000-05:00

We're having our company holiday party tomorrow evening, and each year you have a choice of either taking a chance at pulling a $20, $50 or $100 bill out of the money bag or entering for a chance to win a big screen TV. That may not seem much to folks who are used to getting some pretty wack Christmas bonuses, but it IS a little something and I suspect (and hope) that most folks around here are grateful for what they may or may not receive. Let's face it ... in these times, consider yourself lucky if you have a job much less a bonus or mere chance at winning a TV, right?

Well, I opted for the chance on the TV. And, I do have one teeny tiny complaint. Out of 18 people that opted to get in the drawing for the TV, 6 of them are vice presidents. Now, ok. I know, I know. VPs are people too. But, they're people with more money than meeeeee. They can afford their own teeee veeeeee, can't they? I think it's safe to assume they're in the six-figure range, or at least upwards in the amount of that range. The only six-figure range I've been around is the one I cook on, and I hate that damn thing. With 12 children, I can only dream of one day buying my own big screen TV. They're just eye'ing it for their spare room, something to have when Aunt Mabel comes to visit, since she can't see so good and all.

*sigh*

I was feeling a little confident, a little lucky. My chances were goooood. Then the list came out. Now, I just feel a little like Milton - I came to get my slice of cake, and there was no cake left.

Alright veeps. You leave me with no other choice. I didn't want to have to do it, but I will now summon the assistance of the universe and I will walk away with that TV tomorrow, tax deduction and all. I will do it, I will take one for the team, for the little people. So, you've been warned. Sort of. So, get your game on, because the universe is playing!

Thank [your chosen deity] for podcasts.

2008-12-09T11:27:00.001-05:00

Some facts about me:

I am a web developer (got my feet wet for the first time in 1998, the rest is history.)
I had ADHD before it was cool (or, before it had cool initials, since 1974.)
I love a good podcast.

How are these things related? Well, so glad you asked!

I'll start right in the middle, and jump all over the place, because that's how I roll. Having ADHD as an adult is not something one goes on and on about, typically. It doesn't expand your social circle, and certainly doesn't get you any respect at work (especially not from self-righteous IT types but who cares about them anyway?) Some people just flat-out don't believe in ADHD - to which I say, spend a day with my children and then offer to do it again! But anyway, that subject is too deep to go in to here.

Point is, I is what I is.

I'm obviously here to entertain, whether you're laughing with me, at me, or pointing and laughing, it's all good, I just hope you laugh at some point. Just ask my childhood friends, they'll vouch. I've always been a little "off-center". It's ok. I know this about myself. The only other obvious reason I could possibly be here is to serve as a warning to others, which is ok too, because I realize everybody has to be good at something, and I haven't found anything else yet.

So, anyway, where was I? Oh, relating ADHD to the work I do, then to podcasts, somehow.

Calculus, Kenny G, and ADHD Girl. The Triage of Champions.

In the last 15 months, I've molted from a state of mere web development in to strictly applications development. I liken this to doing Algebra one day (and loving it) then coming in the next day being stripped naked of your Algebra book, left to do Calculus, naked, in the cold. It's all math, one just sucks infinitely more than the other. No matter. Writing any kind of code requires a great deal of concentration, but ESPECIALLY the naked calculus I've been doing lately. Additionally, I was moved from a quiet, dark wonderful little corner of the world where I sat peacefully for 5 years, to a cube with a window, under bright fluorescent lights, sandwiched between Kenny G's biggest fan and two people that like to yell (I suspect just because they like to hear the sound of their own voices). If I could ever imagine what an infant feels like after being ripped from the comforts of a mothers womb, with its darkness and creature comforts to world with bright lights and assaulting sounds, this I imagine would be the closest thing to it... a developers nightmare, a migraine sufferer's pain, an ADHD Girl's biggest challenge. I have arrived.

And, for this, there is no cure. But there are headphones, music of my own, and podcasts. If you're within earshot and you hear me giggling, now you know it's because I'm listening one of my favorites and not because I'm enjoying the onslaught of my daily environmental variables. On the more serious notes, I listen to a lot of NPR, 60 Minutes and Bill Moyer's Journal (I know, I know, how old am I????) I no longer get to enjoy the streaminess of YouTube or other videos to bring me joy at insignificant points during the day, so podcasts are all I have. Right now, my top three are:

I'm always looking for something to laugh at hysterically, so if you have a podcast to recommend, send it my way. Oh, look, a shiny penny! I'm ADHD Girl, and I'm OUT!

Oh nos. I might be allergic to Thanksgiving again.

2008-12-03T12:59:00.001-05:00

It just dawned on me that this migraine has followed Thanksgiving and migraines *can be* a result of allergies and - I know this is going to be a long run-on sentence but I've had what I sincerely hope is NOT an epiphany - maybe I am and maybe I'm not but I might be allergic to Thanksgiving because I used to be. True story.

About 15 years ago, I was a serious Thanksgiving dinner aficionado. The person I was dating had a really large extended Catholic family, and I had my own so between the two of us we attended four dinners. Four servings of turkey and all the 'fixins. And ohhhh the pie. Pumpkin pie. Pecan pie. Butterkuchen. OMG. Those were the days, the metabolic heaven that was my 20s. I didn't just eat a lot, I ate a lot of everything, four times, without breaking a sweat or having to think about one afterwards.

Then there were the hives. They lasted weeks and drove me to the brink of insanity (where some may argue I remained). The medicine that the urgent care center gave me escalated the issue and landed me in the emergency room with closing airways and a swollen face that made me look like I'd been boxing Mike Tyson, and not very well. Finally, I went to the allergist, fear in my heart that I might be allergic to the spice in my beloved pumpkin pie. Nothing could have prepared me for the results. I wasn't allergic to pumpkin pie, but I was allergic to Thanksgiving. The whole thing. Turkey, pork, onions, garlic, pecans, walnuts, cranberries, and chocolate. I was doomed. My favorite holiday meal, for the future, reduced to ... potatoes?

For years, I solemnly sat pouting whilst everyone enjoyed their turkey, stuffing and cranberry sauce. My parents took pity and fixed up a nice cut of steak for me for a few years after that, but steak and potatoes did not a Thanksgiving dinner make, and I've never been much of a red-meat eater. Sure, I could still enjoy the pumpkin pie, but even that had lost its zing.

Long story short - too late - I slowly started incorporating the ingredients I had been allergic to back in to my diet through the years, and sometimes I'd get hives and sometimes I wouldn't. It was a gamble, but about 4 years after my original diagnosis, I attempted Thanksgiving dinner with success! I've been eating it with joy ever since. I also had an allergy test redone and came out all clear. Allergies do tend to come and go, and we all know that too much of a good thing is seldom a good thing at all.

I enjoy Thanksgiving dinner in moderation these days, only one dinner a year. This year, I ate probably the least I'd ever eaten at any Thanksgiving. Still, I hope that the headache is not the 'Thanksgiving' allergies coming back home. I have to say, if it's allergies then ... I'm thankful for my migraine? May seem odd to say, but it's much better than over three weeks in hives. I think.

Aha!

2008-12-03T09:55:00.001-05:00

Connor, my precocious five-year-old, was up this morning when I left for work. I tucked him in on the couch, all cozy in a soft blankey, and turned on cartoons where he'll remain until it's time for daddy to ready him for school. I gave him a kiss and told him to be good today. He gave me that endearing dimpled grin and told me he'd be "gorgeous". This is our ritual.

Apparently he has had a ritual of his own. I went out to my vehicle but had to come back in for something I'd forgotten. That's when I caught him red-handed - with the bag of Halloween candy that had been MIA for a couple of weeks. I don't know where he's been stashing it, because I haven't been able to find it myself when I'd wanted a piece of chocolate. But, there it was in all its glory. Connor stopped dead in his tracks, slowly put the bag behind his back as if hoping I hadn't seen it, and with one hand up he looked up at me and said "Mommy .... you just go ahead and go to work ok?"

As I was making my way over to him to grab the bag, I stopped. He hadn't moved, he was just standing there in his determination, ready to protect his stash. I reflected on the situation a moment, turned around and said "Only a couple of pieces," to which I heard a small little "yes!" as he hurried back to his cozy spot, candy in tow. Victory was his.

In that moment, I might have been a bad parent. Meh. I'd merely chosen to not fight a battle that just didn't have much merit in the grand scheme of things. I don't want him eating candy in the morning every day, mind you. But it will be gone soon ... and sometimes - especially after being an enforcer (aka a parent) for 17 years - it feels good to give in a little. I gave him a wink, returned a dimpled grin of my own, and reminded him to be gorgeous today. Victory was mine as well.

I <3 my iPhone but ...

2008-12-01T12:00:00.000-05:00

... it's a very conditional love. These updates? No love. What's in this for me? What are they doing for me besides pegging my CPU usage and annoying me? And, just to be clear - they're not really updates, they're reinstalls. And they take 'flippin forevvvvvvvvverrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

First the update has to download, then the iPhone has to backup (which is the process where my computer takes a near dump, though eventually succeeding), then the update installs, then the iPhone has to be activated. After which sometimes I see my music, and sometimes I don't and have to sync the whole lot. There is typically a list of "we fixed this" and "we fixed that" but what if I wasn't having a problem with this or that? I want to be able to choose whether to install this or that! Where's my choice?

I guess herein lies the biggest problem I have with Apple, is that they think they know what's good for me. And, sometimes, they might. I imagine they save a lot of people from themselves. But there have been only a couple of quasi-interesting updates. Still nothing earth-shattering, like being able to: listen to music with my bluetooth stereo headset, copy and paste, or send pics in text messages in a reasonable manner. Fix those things, Apple, and I'll be singing your tune once again. Until then ...

@#$%&!!!

(I still love you iPhone, but I don't like the things you don't do sometimes!)

If a plumber fell in the woods, would you hear it?

2008-11-24T22:05:00.000-05:00

The Plumber. An elusive creature in my world. Do they even exist? The ones that do claim to exist, surely must just be a figment of imagination? A mirage? My brother is supposedly a plumber, but he lives in Louisiana and I've never actually seen him do any plumbing, so maybe he is and maybe he isn't. I'm not saying, I'm just saying ...

What's a girl gotta do?

After two failed attempts to get two different plumbers out to investigate the low water pressure at the kitchen sink - and a non-cleaning dishwasher that quit cleaning about the same time - one FINALLY showed up today. Praise [your chosen deity]!

My husband was here for the service call, so I don't have any firsthand account of what it looked like or whether it walked like a plumber or talked like a plumber. It charged a fee and left a receipt on paper with the logo of a plumber, but I still have no water pressure at the kitchen sink and things look as I left them this morning. I feel a little dejected. It was a short-lived romance, for sure.

Is you or ain't you my 'plumba baby?

This "plumber" apparently did nothing at the faucet to test the pressure, he just suggested we try a new faucet. Now, no am I not a plumber. But I know just enough about it to be annoying. I usually do the work myself. I've already taken the faucet apart, cleaned the hard water deposits and put it back together. I've repaired a dishwasher, installed about five faucets and snaked horrible things out of more drains than I can mention. I even have my own snake. I've installed new fittings in an old toilet, and I know what a wax ring is, though I hope I never have to see another one ever. Point is, I know that good due diligence would have had this cat under the sink, checking the flow from the supply lines. But this guy? He was above this. Maybe he was Super Plumber and could see through the lines, measuring the pressure with his x-ray vision. It's hard to say. But, I shan't take shitty advice with blind ambition, Mr. Super Shitty Plumber! I simply shan't!

“Anybody who has any doubt about the ingenuity or the resourcefulness of a plumber never got a bill from one.” --George Meany

There was left what looked like some of estimate on replacing the faucet, though it's unclear from the various codes and misspelled scrawl what exactly this creature meant to communicate. It looks like he wanted to sell us a $400 replacement for our $200 already fairly new faucet and charge us $178 to put it in. But surely that's not what was meant? While installing faucets is no festive momentous occasion anyone looks forward to with glee - "Oh Boy! I get to install a new faucet today! Yay!" - it's not exactly rocket science. It's inconvenient enough to consider paying someone to do it for you, sure. But knowing how fairly simple it truly is, I don't think I could ever pay anyone $178 to do it. I even had my dishwasher installed for about $70 less than that... I mean, really Mr. Plumber-Impersonator-Man??? A faucet is really harder to install than a dishwasher? Pfff.

So the question remains: do plumbers really exist? Even the now infamous "Joe the Plumber" has been since found out to not reallllllly be a plumber. He just played one on T.V. If one feel in the woods, would you hear it fall? I'm not sure, but I can guarantee you one thing - if I ever meet a plumber in the woods, I'm damn sure going to find out! But in the mean time, I gotta find my tools.