Tuesday, December 27, 2011

Update and Useless Nonsense

Hello. I really have nothing Earth shattering to write about. I guess that's why I haven't written much lately. Part of the problem is that I've been re-reading a lot of Hemingway and that makes anyone feel like a hack. He was a perfect writer. Not one single word was wasted or not needed.

I'm currently on break from my job for two glorious weeks. It always takes me about two days of "decompression" to get back to the land of the living when I have a break. I am depressed, sleep a lot, unable to do anything, don't care about anything...the only thing I can figure is that my body and mind is quite literally starting to settle down. Then it all starts back up again. Awesome.

Another Christmas has come and gone and thank God for that. I really am not a lover of Christmas. It's so much gratuitous spending and buying things because you don't want to feel guilty. I really hate it. All the worrying and thinking and scheming to purchase the perfect gift for someone and then they rip the wrapping paper off, and .....nothing. It's finished. Big deal.

I think everyone appears a little disappointed when they open their presents, too. I don't know why. Same with birthdays. It's like we expect people to really put a ton of thought into US and what WE love and what WE would like, and then we get what...new mats for our car floorboard? Something stupid like that. It's a let down, I guess. I'm not saying I didn't receive lovely gifts, because I did. It's just the attitude of everyone, I suppose. Including my own attitude.

What do I expect people to give me? A personal jet? Unlimited funds to go anywhere and buy anything I want? More time? Less time? A time machine so I can go back and relive my children's infancy and toddler hood and smell their baby smell and hear their funny babble as they learn to talk? Actually, that would be a PERFECT gift. There would be a problem, though. I would spend all my time in my time machine watching my children when they were little, then I'd miss everything going on now. See? It's a no-win situation.

Not to mention that I'm not Christian and don't celebrate the religious meaning of Christmas. I'm one of those many people who do the secular thing where you put up a tree, decorate it, buy presents, open presents and eat turkey, while never once thinking of the "true" meaning of Christmas. I don't really feel like a hypocrite for it, mainly because we've been doing it my whole life. However, I think even for truly devout Christians there has to be some sort of disgust at how commercialized and secular the holiday has become. Not to mention that most Biblical scholars believe Jesus was born in the spring sometime. Anyhow, I suppose that isn't what matters to Christians. I could live a perfectly happy life with no more Christmas in my home or life. My kids would miss it, and my Mom would go ballistic, but me? I could gladly forgo it and never look back.

The year is almost over, and 2012 is hovering around the corner ready to pounce on us like a lion on a gazelle. Who knows how the year will be? I hope nobody else I love is taken from me this year. It seems someone I love dies every year lately. Perhaps that's because I'm getting older, or maybe it's just bad luck. At any rate, I'd like a good year with no sickness, no death, nothing bad.

One good thing, is that where I live, many families have been reunited because the Army has been bringing home troops from Iraq. A huge majority of our community now has the one thing they wanted. For that, I'm grateful. Unfortunately, a large part of our community still has loved ones in Afghanistan. Here's hoping they come home very soon, too.

Sorry there wasn't any humor in this. That's the way it goes. Mazel Tov and have a great 2012.

Sunday, October 16, 2011

Flypaper for Freaks

So, the other day I told you about the moaner in the parking lot. Well, yesterday, I had to take my husband, Sanford to the hospital for an operation. While I was nervously waiting in the waiting room, and watching the various bizarre incarnations of humanity, a man walked up to me. I was minding my OWN business. I was checking email. So, here is how it went...remember...I don't like people. I REALLY don't like people I don't know.

Me: *absorbed in email or angry birds or something*
Strange man: Hello lady.
(already this is not starting well...)
Me: Uhhh..
Man: I notice you use small computer...(he spoke in broken English and appeared to be middle eastern.)
Me: Um, yes.
Man: Is true is really computer? I can do business on it?
Me: Well, yes. I use mine more than my laptop, probably. I love it.
Man: I call Dell...Dell? Is that name? Dell? And they tell me things and want much money.
Me: Oh. Mine's an IPad.
Man: An I...what?
Me: IPad. Apple makes it.
Man: Oh. I see. How much does it cost? (RUDE!)
Me: Oh, I don't really remember, I've had it awhile...a few hundred, I think.
Man: I notice your star on your neck.
Me: Wha?
(he switched gears with no warning at all...)
Man: You wear Star of David on your neck. I am your cousin.
Me: *blink blink*
Man: We are cousins.
Me: I don't think we are. I know my cousins.
Man: No. I mean, I am one of your people.
Me: (mistakenly thinking he was Jewish..) Oh! Okay...
Man: I. Am. Palestinian.
Me: *blink* Uhhh..oh. Ok. Not really cousins, then.
Man: Yes. Cousins. People don't understand us. We are all same. Christian, Jewish, Muslim...
Me: Well, yeah, Israel is a busy place. I'm a Zionist.
Man: I am Jamal.
Me: Hello.
Man: Okay, goodbye.

SERIOUSLY? In a hospital waiting room? Claiming to be my "cousin"? Sorry, my cousins don't kill Jews in their homeland. Blech. I was watching over my shoulder the rest of the time, too. I kept expecting him to come running in with a bomb strapped to his check shouting "Allah Al Akbar" or however they say it. He disappeared, though. Cousin, my ass. Bless his little dark Palestinian heart.

So, back to my husband. Sanford is stone cold deaf in his right ear. He has always had ear issues. Drainage, annoying clearing of throat and snorting snot...you know...guy stuff. Plus, he is always hollering, "WHAT?" and it gets annoying. Plus, it's more annoying for him because he never knows what's going on.
So, after a rather invasive procedure a couple of years ago called a "Mastoidectomy" where they drilled out part of his lower skull, they now have decided to in essence rebuild his eardrum with cartilage from his other ear. His Eustachian tubes don't work for whatever reason, so a new way to drain had to be created. His ears were completely filled with fluid. So, it was a fairly routine procedure, it is outpatient, and no complications were expected.

After they let me sit with him and help him change into his gown and comfort him, they took him off, and sent me down to the waiting room. I had a "tracking number" that I could check on a flat screen, sort of like an airport. It told me if he was in pre op, surgery, recovery, etc. It has an estimated time, and it's pretty nice. Every little while, my name was called, and I'd go up to the desk and the lady would tell me the nurse had sent a message down saying that everything was going well, and he was doing great. I wasn't terribly worried. After about 2 hours, they had me meet with the surgeon in a private room and he told me it was fine, it all went according to plan and Sanford was doing great. He said as soon as he got out of recovery, I could go up. Great. I'm anticipating like what, 1/2 hour or so? An hour goes by. No word. Another hour goes by, no word. Finally, they call my name again. Only this time, a strange woman was waiting for me. She very matter of factly said, "Mrs. Freeman? Your husband isn't waking up from the anesthesia. We are monitoring him and trying to bring him out of it, but he is still in recovery. He had a mild seizure, and we're trying to wake him up. Okay? Bye."
I stood there in a crowded waiting room and never felt so alone. I couldn't get to him, I couldn't get more information, I didn't know why he wouldn't wake up and what the hell was going on.

I sat back down to wait thinking, well, it will be a minute or so, and they'll call me. An hour goes by. Nothing. I start getting very scared. My friends are texting me asking me how he is, and I don't know what to say. FINALLY, they page me again and tell me I can go up.

I go up, I find him and he is OUT OF IT. He was awake, but glassy eyed and acted like he just got out of surgery instead of having been out for about 3 hours. He was sort of talking nonsense from the drugs, and kept asking questions over and over. His voice is very raspy from them taking the breathing tube out. They said he tried to talk when they did it, so it may have scraped his vocal cords. He remembers none of it. I was so relieved, I started crying just a little bit. Then, finally a nurse came in to give me discharge instructions. I asked about the seizure and why he wouldn't wake up. Answer: We don't know. Great. Then they said, "Maybe it wasn't a real seizure, but his whole body was....seizing.." Well, hell...that sounds like a seizure! He has no history of that, either. I was able to bring him home a short time later, and he has been resting ever since. He had the exact same anesthesiologist he had during his first surgery, too.

Hopefully, our medical issues, both his and mine are over. Please God, don't let anyone else I love have to have anything done. What a helpless feeling it is.

Wednesday, October 12, 2011

Step Off Me!

Okay, so today I made a little pit stop at a liquor store to see if they had this particular wine I adore. It was daylight. I was in a part of town not far from home, and in a place that is populated.

By the way, the jackholes didn't have my wine. Anyhow, I go inside. I begin looking. I can find wine. I can read. However, it is someone's job to jump up in front of me and holler, "HI ! CAN I HELP YOU FIND ANYTHING?" I wanted to say, "Yes, do you carry wine?" Because I was you know...in a huge wine store. There was nothing but bottles of wine as far as the eye could see.
I instead said, "No, thank you. I'm just looking."
Liquor guy: "Whatcha lookin' for?"
Me: "Um, a particular wine from a winery my husband and I like..."
Liquor dude: "What winery?"
Me: "Um, it's near Fredericksburg..."
Liquor Dude: "Oh! FREDERICKBURG! Yeah, yeah...a TEXAS wine! Yeah..."
Me: "Yes."
Dude: "What winery?"
Me: "Grape Creek".
Dude: "Don't recognize it. You sure?"
Me: "Um, yes. I was in their monthly shipment deal and received wine every month for a long time....I've been there a couple of times, so I'm pretty sure."
Dude: "Yeah..hmmm...doesn't sound familiar...but here are some other Texas wines.."
Me: "Yeah. I see. Oh well...I guess I'll just order it..."
Dude: "Wait! We can special order it for you!"
Me: "Oh, no...it's not a big deal...really...it's okay..."
Dude: "Have you tried THIS wine?"
He proudly holds up a bottle of wine I can buy at the grocery store.
I said "Yes, I've tried it...the wine I'm looking for is sort of unusual. It's a white cabernet..."
Dude: "Hunh...a WHITE Cabernet?"
Me: "Yes. It's sweet, but not too sweet, and it's not so dry that you feel like you've been eating chalk..."

I grabbed the cheapo wine he was pushing and said thanks and made my get away. I'm wandering around checking out all the stuff they had...Rum from Austin, for the love of Pete! I was interested, because they have all of this stuff I never knew existed...I turn a corner and BAM! Another liquor dude.
Dude: "Hello! I hear you're looking for a WHITE CABERNET?"
Me: "Um, yes. It's okay, though..see? I am getting these instead...I'll just order it..."
Dude: "I've never heard of a white cab..."
Me: "Yes, that's one reason it's so hard to find..I don't know if anyone else makes it. It's very good. "
Dude: "Well, have you looked at our other wi-"
Me: "YES. Yes, I have. I am getting a Gewurtztraminer and a Pinot Grigio.." (I don't give a crap if I spelled those correctly, by the way.) So, I finally extricate myself from the liquor gurus who were fascinated by this holy grail of wine I am seeking. I pay for my crappy wine that I didn't really even want. I start to walk to my car.

As I am walking out to my car, I see a man coming towards me from my right. He was barely in my peripheral vision at that point, and I didn't want to act insane and pepper spray him or anything. So, I kept walking towards my car. He begins to veer towards me. He was altering his course so that we would intersect. Now, I learned a long time ago to listen to that inner voice that tells you something is off. I'm not afraid to holler at a stranger who is acting weird or getting too close. I was much worse about it when my children were small. I'm not as much on guard now. Therefore, as he got closer to me, I tried to be calm and not react. It got to a point though, as I got to my car door, that this man was directly behind me and no more than 2 feet from me.

So, I did what I do: I whirled around and screamed, 'WHAT! WHAT! WHAT DO YOU WANT? BACK OFF!"

He held up a piece of paper with some scribbled writing on it that no doubt told me that he was deaf or blind or something and could I please give him money? Um, no. I can't.

Anyhow, I didn't read it. I just hollered, "BACK OFF!" again. He made a very pitiful moaning sound. He couldn't speak in words, or at least he didn't want me to think he could. Maybe he could, I don't know.

However, it was very clear by this point that I wanted him to leave me alone, and he still was standing there. I realized that he could easily pull a gun and demand my purse, my keys, force me into the car and leave...I wasn't really thinking along those lines at first, but it flashed into my mind in a split second. Who DOES that these days? Who walks up behind people in parking lots and doesn't expect to get shot?

So, he tilted his head much like a confused puppy does and made some moaning sound at me again. I didn't care. I was having none of it. I am serious, if I'd had my gun with me, it would have been bad. I won't go easily if someone tries to take me. I might have actually made a "shooing" motion with my arms, or maybe not. I was acutely aware that I was alone, female, standing next to an expensive vehicle, wearing diamonds, and carrying an expensive bag. Whether or not he KNEW these things, I didn't know, nor did I care. I realized all of a sudden that I was vulnerable. A cell phone isn't going to help a hell of a lot if someone attacks me. I can't freakin' THROW it and get away, for God's sake. They aren't going to wait for me to put my security code in and scroll through my contacts and call someone. So, I sorta stepped towards him in what I think was a VERY menacing fashion. I probably actually looked drunk or peg legged or something. He got the message finally and began backing away and moaning.

Why the constant moaning? Why?

So, I hop in my car, lock the doors and started the engine. I watch the guy in my mirror and he motions at someone. It was some hapless man also leaving the store minding his own business. This guy allowed the moaner to come all the way up to him and show him his card. He read the card, then smiled and shook his head "no". The moaner kept following him. I swear to God, I think he was probably looking for an easy target. I must have seemed like a pain in the ass, so he left me, but he was following this man! Finally, the man turned around and faced him and sorta made a motion indicating that he wanted the moaner to get to steppin'. I don't know where he went...and now I'm thinking I should have called the police. I didn't though. I just drove home.

Was he deaf? I don't know. Was he in need of help? He wasn't panicked. He didn't act like he needed help. He WANTED something, but I don't really much care what he wanted. I kept wondering, if I were deaf or otherwise disabled, would I spend my time in a parking lot in the heat with a ratty piece of paper with scribbling on it and try to approach total strangers? I don't think I would. I think I'd be at a shelter or other facility to help me. I wouldn't be wandering aimlessly in a parking lot. Plus, plenty of people with disabilities such as deafness hold jobs and live perfectly normal lives. They don't hobble around moaning at people in parking lots, for the love!

I give to charities. I don't give to moaners. Sorry, Mr. Moaning Man. Next time, I might have my gun, or at the very least my pepper spray instead of leaving it in the center console of my car.

Sunday, September 18, 2011

Once Upon A Time

No, I won't start like that. I teach writing, so I cannot use "Once Upon A Time". It's a no-no. Anyhow, I realized I haven't written anything in a very long time. Therefore, I decided to write something now. Anything. That's what I tell my students. "Write something...write ANYTHING! Just write!" I am full of shit, evidently.

Lately, I've been doing almost nothing but working and going to the doctor. Yeah, remember my post about the "Lady" doctor? I'm not talking about a female physician, either. I'm talking about the only man besides my husband who is up close and personal with my hoo-hoo. I recently had to have a...let's say a "procedure" and it was a fascinating cross between medieval blood letting and space age surgery. I can't decide which it was, but it was pretty brutal.

My husband was allowed in the room for "moral support", but really he was in there to marvel with the doctor at how very invasive modern medicine is with a woman's "no no don't touch" area. I got into my "zen zone" as my doctor called it. Which means I practiced Bradley natural childbirth during a non childbirth procedure. I guess basically I meditated or zoned out or something so that I wouldn't die from sheer terror and agony. Allow me to say at this point, that if someone is attempting to "zen out" or meditate, please do not continually say, "HOW'S IT GOING WITH YOUR ZEN THING UP THERE?" It throws off the whole meditation aspect of the meditation.

So, it is finally over, and I followed the doctor's directions and was back at work three days later. Staying in bed flat on my back for three days was pretty hellish, though. How boring is that, anyhow? Super boring. Epically boring, really. I got entirely caught up on the various Housewives of various cities, I got caught up on the Millionaire Matchmaker and saw some things I didn't even know were shows. I didn't do a lot of sleeping because the pain medication he gave me made me itch like I had Scabies or something. My entire body itched intensely. I had no rash, no hives, or anything, but I scratched myself until I had red marks on my skin. I took one Vicodin, and stopped. I'd rather be in pain and rely on Ibuprofen that attempt to scratch my eyeballs out. I had my post-op appointment and am pleased to report that all is as it should be and nothing has fallen out. Score!

Work is busy as usual. While I'm talking about work, allow me to say something: to anyone who thinks teaching is easy, I invite you to come and do it FOR JUST A COUPLE OF HOURS. Please. I implore you. Come see what a teacher does. Come keep 22 kids interested and behaving and learning and being challenged intellectually for even 10 minutes. Then, we'll talk. If I hear one more person say teaching is "easy", I'll lose it. Also, teachers are professionals. It's a profession just the same as medicine and law. Teachers deserve respect, and lately, we are getting very little respect. If a teacher tells you your child has been too talkative or disruptive, please allow yourself to at least entertain the idea that the teacher is telling the truth and does not have anything against your child. Face it, if a person doesn't like children and enjoy teaching them, they won't go into the teaching profession. If they do, they will leave it quickly. It's far too hard to do unless you love it. I am not going to tell you your child is misbehaving unless 1. the child is misbehaving and 2. the child is not being respectful and I am requesting your assistance as the parent of the child so that your child will be successful in their education. Rant over.

We bought our eldest son a car a couple of weeks ago. I detest purchasing cars. Truly. I hate it intensely. I hate the ritual. I hate having to call them on their bullshit. Don't tell me something is an "optional package" if I can't opt out of it. Me: "What is this optional package?" Salesman: "Oh, it's optional." Me: "Yes, I see that, but what is included?" Salesman: "Um, I have to go check." 2 hours later, he returns and tells me it includes NITROGEN in the tires. Ok. Me: What is the purpose of nitrogen in tires? Salesman: I have to go check on that. Holy crap. So he comes back and has no real answer. I say, "So, the first time we put air into the tires, the Nitrogen is gone, right?" Salesman: Yes. Me: So why would I pay 700 bucks for Nitrogen in the tires? That's some expensive assed Nitrogen. Salesman: *blank stare* I have to go check on that. He leaves AGAIN. He comes back and says that there is also a REAR APPLIQUE included in this optional package. Me: What's a rear applique? Salesman: I have to go check on that. Holy shit. Off he scuttles again to check on that. I begin to think Yoda is in a back room with all of the answers or something. I already know the "rear applique" is the stupid little dealership logo they put on the back. It's about 2" tall and it costs a buttload of money. He comes back and says "We're not sure what that is...but it's part of the optional package. The trunk tray is also part of it." Me: "I bought a 50,000 dollar car and I didn't pay shit for the rubber trunk tray. I want that free."

Do I need to say at this point that he scuttled off? Well, he did. He comes back. He has great news! He is going to give me .9 percent interest on a loan! Yay! Awesome! I stared at him. He got uncomfortable. What? Oh..where was my husband you ask? Sitting right there, but I do the car buying. He sits and glowers. It works for us.

So, I inform him I'm not paying for the OPTIONAL packages that aren't OPTIONAL. I want those taken off the price. He says, "Well, with the low interest rate, it's like you're getting it free..." I stared at him. It was silent. You could hear crickets. He then nervously pulls out the credit reports they ran on us. Mine is like 10 points from the perfect score, and I might add it's higher than my husband's. How is that even possible? However, none of that matters, because I haven't told the salesman the most important part. He reiterates that I can get 1.9 percent interest! Me: Wait. You said .9 percent, not 1.9....Salesman: Well, it's one of those...Me: That's a hell of a difference, you better make sure...
Yes, he scuttled off. Meanwhile, none of that matters because these jackholes aren't getting any interest or finance fees from me. Why? I'm paying cash. That's how we roll, mothereffers! Well, I didn't say that. But I waited until he came back and I said, "Before you do all this paperwork for a loan or whatever, I need to tell you I am paying cash and I am not paying for the OPTIONAL packages. I'm ready to give you the full amount right now and we want to drive it home now. We aren't coming back because we are from out of town(we were in a city a couple of hours away because we live in a small hick town).
That salesman looked like I just killed his puppy or something. Doesn't he get a commission for selling me the car? What does he care if I pay cash or finance? He was staring at me, and I said, "Look, I can't finance. It makes my stomach hurt. It makes me sad to make payments on things. We don't do that." He sadly took us back to the dude who went to OU (poor thing) and we wrote a check and drove the damned freakin' car home.

What about the lucky kid, you ask? He didn't even want to drive it. His excuse was that it was a long way home and it was in traffic in this large city (a city that has a show on Bravo about some weird "eligible" people), and he wasn't comfortable driving that far in an unfamiliar vehicle. So, my husband drove the new car, I drove my car, and we split the kids. One with me, one with him. Did they keep us company? No. They slept. Two days later, lucky new car owning kid takes his brand new car to school. On the way home, he takes a turn too fast and hits a curb and bends the RIM ON THE RIGHT FRONT WHEEL. I almost lost it. I seriously thought I'd vomit. I don't care how much fixing it costs, and it wasn't expensive, really. What scared the living shit out of me was the thought of my baby hitting a curb or anything else or getting panicked or flustered in traffic and losing control of the car. He could have seriously injured himself or pedestrians, he could have killed himself, he could have driven through a business on the corner, he could have done so much damage that it would have made Armageddon look like a carnival. At least that is how my mind works. We got it fixed, he has been driving and hopefully, please God, he will continue to drive with no incidents. I pray to God he is safe. I hate cars. I hate the fact that my first baby is driving a car and in college. Why didn't he want to go see "The Lion King in 3D" with me? Because he's 19 and he wants to pretend he didn't wear out his Lion King video after watching it repeatedly for several months when he was 2 years old.

In conclusion, (another thing I don't allow in writing), I'd like to say that having your child grow up is hard as hell. Although I'm ridiculously proud of him, it scares the hell out of me. Please, God...protect him. He is my heart. Next time, we'll discuss the younger son. Also my heart. However, I will NEVER ALLOW HIM TO DRIVE ANYTHING.

Monday, August 8, 2011

Catch Up

Hello people who are nice enough to read this. Especially you people in Russia. Also, whoever is reading in Kent. Thanks! I would like to A. Go to Russia. I've always wanted to go there. and B. Go back to England and not have to rush. See more of the countryside. The Cotswolds were fabulous and Bath is a dream. Jane Austen loved Kent, so that's good enough for me.

However, on the writing front, I've had NOTHING to write about. My ideas are dead, I've been reading voraciously, which is always a good thing, however it takes away from writing time. Even if I did take advantage of writing time, I'd sit and stare at a blinking cursor and have an anxiety attack. I get these ideas, think they are great, then think some more and think they are horrifically boring.

Perhaps part of the reason I've had little to write about is because my children are all away for the summer. My two boys are in Chicago with their father, and my daughter has pretty well flown the nest. She is going to be a Junior in college and she comes and goes, stores things here occasionally, comes for special events, took care of our house and dogs on our recent trip to California, etc. But we are emtpy nesters this summer.

We did have a lovely trip to California, however, Northern California is fabulous. It never got above 70 degrees, and for a gal used to 115 degrees...that is all it takes at this time of year. Throw in the ocean, Napa Valley, good wine, great food, sightseeing, shopping...I'm in heaven.

In case anyone is looking for any good reading recommendations, I have a few.
1. The Help-as a Southerner, I found this very familiar and a beautifully written book on a very sensitive subject.
2. Room-I really admire the author of this book, Emma Donoghue. I wish I could have thought of such an idea. Unbelievably good.
3. The Life of Pi-My daughter told me about this one. I'd been resisting it for awhile because I stupidly thought it was about math. Yes, I'm a moron at times, but it wasn't about math. It's a very imaginative story. Quite good, and my daughter and I enjoyed discussing our ideas about the ending after I finished reading it.
4. Smokin' Seventeen-what can you say about Janet Evanovich's books? They are all funny as hell.
5. Mummy Knew- Very disturbing story about sexual abuse of a young girl in England. Very brave writing by a writer I think has a unique voice.
6. 22 Britannia Road-I'm reading this now. Intriguing story about a couple and how they deal with being reunited after WWII.
7. One Day-Story of two young people who meet each year on St. Swithin's day for 20 years. Very interesting way to develop characters. I enjoyed it.
8. Stieg Larsson's trilogy "The Girl Who". Took me awhile to get used to the IKEA sounding words, but I got hooked.
9 Three Cups of Tea A book I think all people should read. It gives a completely different perspective on the life of people living in Muslim countries.
10 The Girl Who Stopped Swimming Sad story, but a well written one. Twists, turns, all that jazz.

So, I guess that's all I have to offer people right now. I've been a slug just reading the summer away. Like a kid. Not a bad life, really.

Thursday, June 30, 2011

Public Prayer

I attended a local civic group's meeting yesterday. My husband and I were guests because our son won a scholarship from this group. They had a very nice lunch and a very short, sweet and to the point meeting. I'm slightly familiar with this group because the school where I teach works with them on a character education program for our students. Oh, whatever, I'll just tell you: it was the Rotary Club. Anyhow, I'm not much of a "joiner" and neither is my husband. Besides the kids getting scholarships, I may have been the youngest person there. They had many little traditions and things that if you hadn't been there, you were clueless as to what they were doing. However, I think that's true of most groups, including churches. We were just very grateful and proud of our son, so I was prepared to deal with anything.

I was pleasantly surprised. It's not like I expected anyone to be rude or anything. Quite the opposite. They were all very welcoming, polite and kind. We were personally greeted by almost every member who came up to us, introduced themselves, we spoke briefly, and all in all, it was a very nice experience with total strangers. I did know one member, as I taught her son. I find it very gratifying to run into people like that. Well, if they like me, I enjoy it. At any rate, they did what most clubs do. They said the Pledge of Allegiance to the US flag and also the Texas pledge, and there was a prayer at the beginning. Now, anytime anyone attempts to "pray" publicly, I usually get uncomfortable, perhaps annoyed, maybe slightly angry. Remember, I'm not Christian. I don't pray to Jesus, and most people around here do. I understand that. I am all in favor of everyone worshiping as they see fit, as long as they don't force it on me. For God's sake, I attended a Southern Baptist university! Chapel attendance was mandatory every week! Clearly, I can handle being the "odd man out" at a religious service. If I am attending a service like that, I am respectful of the people and the church or hall or whatever, and I stand and bow and pray in my own way. So, when they said they were going to pray, I prepared myself for anger. However, this is how the man began:
"Please join me in giving thanks in whatever unique way you choose.." I thought that was perfection. He never mentioned Jesus until the very end. I was expecting to hear, "In Jesus' name WE pray, Amen." He didn't do that, though. He said, "I Jesus' name I pray, Amen." He stressed the "I" in the sentence. In other words, he was praying to Jesus, but he understood not everyone was. It was a very nice, heartfelt, thoughtful prayer. He gave thanks for the food, the fact that everyone was healthy and alive in the room. He gave thanks for the availability of the facilities they were using, he gave thanks for the fact that he woke up that day, and said although everything was unknown, even whether or not he'd live to see nightfall, he was thankful for what he had been given. All in all, a very good prayer, in my opinion. I appreciated it greatly. I may even have appreciated that more than the money they were kind enough to give my child for college. Believe me, I am DAMNED thankful for that, too!

Too often, I am placed in a position where I am asked to bow my head and pray to Jesus. I cannot, in good conscience, so that. It goes against my entire belief system. I have no problem with anyone ELSE doing it, just don't expect me to do it. I have been in many situations where I am asked to "offer thanks to Jesus". No. I am sorry, I cannot do that. Other times, Jesus is mentioned so often throughout the prayer that I want to walk out. However, I try to be respectful and just do my own thing without interfering with their prayer. Many times, Jesus isn't even brought up until the very end when they say, "In Jesus' name we pray". Then, I feel almost like I was tricked into betraying my own faith.

If I were to be asked to lead a prayer, first of all, I probably would decline, because that to me is exceptionally personal and private. If someone asks for prayers for a sicked friend or loved one, I do pray for them. However, it is important to remember that there are many ways to pray, and not everyone prays in the same way. Many people who know me probably think I don't believe in prayer. However, I firmly believe in the power of sincere prayer. I pray all the time, I just don't make a show of it.

So, I just wanted to let the Rotary Club of Killeen know how appreciative I was in more than one way for yesterday's meeting.

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

The Love of a Mother....

Allow me to preface this with a VERY STRONGLY WORDED DECLARATION: I love my Mother. She is the most awesome mother EVER. She LOVES ME WITH ALL HER HEART AND SOUL AND READS THIS BLOG.

Okay. Now down to business. Today I was speaking with my mother on the telephone. We were talking about a rodent problem she discovered under her kitchen sink, which by the way made me laugh hysterically...but..anyhow..enough of the elipsisees or whatever. So, I hate to talk on the phone. EVER. To anyone. I really don't enjoy it at all. I also don't answer the door. That is neither here nor there, but basically, I don't like to communicate in person or via my voice, I guess. This is ironic considering my occupation, actually.

So, I had reached the end of my rope with telephonic patience, and I said, "Okay, so, I love you, bye." I hear my Mom say, "Wait! Don't go!" Damn. So here is our conversation from that point onward:
Me: What?
Mom: Don't go! I want to talk to you!
Me: About what?
Mom: Well, nothing. I just like to talk to you!
Me: No you don't.
Mom: OF COURSE I DO! HOW CAN YOU SAY THAT?!?!?! (she is quite dramatic)
Me: You say I'm "not nice" all the time.
Mom: I DO NOT! (she was beginning to hyperventilate at this point..it doesn't take much..)
Me: Ha! Yes, you do! You also say I'm "foul" and other things.
Mom: Well, you ARE.
Me: See???
Mom: I think you are the most wonderful girl ever!!! How could you doubt that?
Me: Because you just said I am foul.
Mom: Well, I didn't teach you that!
Me: Hey, did you read the thing about Sanford's reunion and the song list for the DJ?
Mom: Oh Lord, Yes!!!! It was SO funny! You are so funny! You just kill me! I can just see you now...all prissy trying to be nice at that reunion!
Me: .....
Mom: Hahah! Ha. Ha?
Me: What do you mean "prissy"?
Mom: Oh, you know. You priss around all the time when you are trying to be elegant and nice.
Me: I do NOT PRISS! What the hell? PRISS???? I don't EFFIN'(only I said the "eff" word. To my mother. I know, I know...) PRISS!
Mom: See? You are being foul. How can you say that word?
Me: You don't even LIKE me! See??
Mom: I LOVE YOU! HOW CAN YOU SAY THAT???
Me: Okay, so I'm going now.
Mom: What? No! I want to talk to you!
Me: Do you have a topic you wish to discuss?
Mom: No, I just like talking to you.

....and repeat.

PS: If anyone spots any grammatical errors, mispellings, etc., please feel free to tell me. Edit away. Seriously.

Thursday, June 23, 2011

Why I don't like to go to the "LADY" doctor

Okay. I am a little wigged out. Today, I happened to have the television on during the day. This isn't the norm for me. I am usually at work, for one thing, but it's summer, and I was folding clothes or something and so the TV was on. It was on a program called "Dr. Oz" or some such nonsense.

Now, don't go and tell me how awesome this "Dr." is. I don't give a rat's ass at this point. Why? Because he scared the living SHIT out of me. Here is what he did: He comes out in his scrubs as if he just came out of a life saving heart operation or something. He looks concerned. Very concerned. I think to myself, "Wow, dramatic much, dude?" I keep one eye and ear on the TV to see what Marcus Welby MD is going to cure today, and keep folding clothes. Well, it turns out the good DOCTOR is QUITE concerned about a problem that a full 50% of women have. A FULL FIFTY PERCENT OF US WOMEN HAVE THIS UNSPECIFIED, BUT HORRIBLE PROBLEM!! Aren't you the least bit panicked, yet? Well, you BETTER be. You damned well BETTER BE!!! The doctor sure as shit is. He informed me (and I was riveted to the TV now. I'm a stupid sucker.) that a FULL FIFTY PERCENT OF WOMEN TODAY (in case you didn't catch that earlier) have a problem where things are tumbling out of their...you knowwhat. Their hoo hoo. Their whatsit. Their "virginnies" as an old hillbilly lady called it.

Nothing has ever fallen out of mine. Nothing has ever tumbled, slid, slithered or fallen out. Well, unless you count two babies. But I certainly wouldn't characterize those situations as "sliding" or "tumbling". No. Not at all.
Anyhow. Back to the show. The doctor is going on and on about how women are too afraid and ashamed to even tell their doctors about this. Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but my DOCTOR should NOTICE if something was in my VAGINA that shouldn't be there, right?

So far, the weirdest thing I've ever had happen to me during an exam was having the doctor mutter from underneath the sheet he had over my spread knees, "You been out in the bushes lately?"
Um...what the hell sort of question is that from anyone, let alone a gynecologist whilst he is probing around down there?
I replied, "What? Bushes? What? Huh? No! Why? Why did you ask me that?"

He sighed from beneath the sheet, I looked over at the nurse who was repeatedly patting my hand telling me to breathe (seriously? I'm not giving birth, I'm getting an exam..relax, nurse!) and the doctor's head popped up and looked at me. Much as a baby, when you think about it. However he said, "You have mosquito bites on your legs...I thought maybe you'd been out camping or something...you don't want to get lyme disease from ticks or anything..." then he sighed, he PRACTICALLY rolled his eyes and dove back down there. I thought I had twigs or something down there. I was traumatized.

So, that was the worst, besides have a human come out, which wasn't bad, it was miraculous and wonderful and the most pain I've ever been in in my whole entire life, and yes I remember ever single second of it. It was worth it. Yada yada. I figured if OTHER weird things were down there, a doctor would have told me. But no. Nothing. Everything normal. Until today. I panicked. Dr. Freakin' Oz tells me that there is a fifty-fifty chance that I have my uterus, bladder and rectum coming out of my virginnie.

I have a wonderful husband, thank God. I ran to him hollering to come watch this show. He came in, sat down and immediately got a very concerned look on his face.

"What?!!? What?!?!? Is there something wrong with me down there??? Have you felt something weird???" He shushed me because he was INTO what the doctor was saying. I was running around freaking out trying not to let my teenaged son know what was going on, and if you are one of my three teenaged children, close this window now and read no further, it will scar you for life. Similarly, if you are my parent or other relative, read no further! Trust me!

So, finally, I got my husband's attention during the commercial break. The visual demonstration the doctor provided sorta freaked him out, too. The doctor had constructed a large rectangular prism on it's end. It was bright red and covered with something like what balloons are made of...what...latex? Oh Jesus...like condoms...so yeah. It was very stretchy material. One side was labeled: "Bladder", the opposite side was labeled "Rectum", and the very top was labeled "Uterus". The big red thing? OH, that....that was just the VAGINA. He had a volunteer from the audience come up. (Who the HELL WOULD VOLUNTEER TO WALK UP TO THAT HUGE FAKE VAGINA???) He had her press against the side labeled "Bladder". "Keep pushing...go ahead..push through..." She did. She busted through the wall INTO THE FAKE VAGINA. Score! Wait. No. Bad. Not good. However, the audience clapped and got excited. What the hell? It wasn't over though. Then, he moved the hapless volunteer over to the "Rectum" side. Again, he urged her to push on through..push on through to the other side. Which she did. With gusto. yay! No. Not yay. Not good. The rectum does not belong in there. Since the doctor couldn't get her to climb on top of the big red fake vagina, he threw...get this...he threw..no..he LOBBED a BOWLING BALL on to the top. A handy camera mounted up there showed how the bowling ball created a HUGE BULGE into the fake red latex vagina. It looked as though it would be quite uncomfortable.

I was hysterical by this time. I asked my husband if he would mind checking things out....you know...down there. Being the good sport he is, he said, "Sure..lemme get the flashlight.." I stood there as he scurried off wondering how I had come to this point in my life. He came running back in with a HUGE HALOGEN flashlight. I think it is supposed to be used for car mechanics or something. Honestly. I felt like I should explain...I said, "You know, I don't LOOK down there...how weird would that be?" and he said, "Don't worry, I'll check it out...". So he did. Right there. He calmed me down, told me everything was fine. I still made an appointment with my Virginnie doctor. It's been awhile, after all. I thanked my husband profusely. I asked him if he was sure it was all A-OK down there..and he assured me it was. He then went back to whatever it was he had been doing before my meltdown.

Lessons learned: Don't watch Dr. Oz. Don't compare a vagina to a big red balloon. Have a good husband who will get out a big flashlight to check your hoo hoo and not jump your bones because he knows this isn't some weird assed come on. He recognizes true freak out mode when he sees it. He pats your knee afterward and gives you reassurance. Next week? Who the hell knows what he'll do? Anyhow, make your yearly appointment with your Gynecologist. Don't skip it. The repercussions could be catastrophic. You don't want your rectum or bladder or God forbid your uterus IN your vagina.
PS, If you are male, you may disregard all of the above. Unless you love a woman with a vagina. Then, encourage her to NOT watch Dr. Oz, and go get herself checked out.
You're welcome vaginas of the world. If you want more info, here is the link
http://www.doctoroz.com/blog/lauren-streicher-md/uterine-prolapse-risks-symptoms-and-treatment"

Wednesday, June 22, 2011

Product Review: Clairisonic Opal

I told you guys I'd be reviewing products again, so here I am.

Okay, let me preface this by saying that I love all products by the people who created the SonicCare toothbrush. I use it three times a day, MINIMUM. I use the Clairisonic Facial Brush twice a day. I've done a review on that.

For Christmas this year, I got the Clairisonic Opal. This handy little device also utilizes the "sonic" technology that the other products use.

With the Opal, you get a small hand held device with a removable cap. The cap has a small tube that dispenses the "serum" that you apply to your skin. The device itself has a small silicone cup where you place the serum. You then place the silicone cup on your face(usually areas of concern, such as crow's feet), turn on the button and begin moving the device in small circular motions around the area. The serum is theoretically forced further into your dermis, thus plumping up your skin. This is accomplished through the "sonic" vibrations of the device. Now, I don't know how possible this is, but it seems to work. I've been using it for several months, and have noticed a definite reduction in fine lines around my eyes, between my eyes above my nose and smile lines around my mouth. To be honest, I also get Botox, but using this in addition to that has made a tremendous difference in the appearance of wrinkles on my face.

Recently, the company's literature has said that the Opal can be used all over the face, and so I've been using it more on my forehead, and around my lips, as well. Another improvement the company has made is that the serum is now available in bottles, instead of $90.00 caps that are plastic and you end up throwing away frequently. This cuts down on the amount of wasted materials, which is a good thing. Also, with the bottle of serum, you can accurately gauge how much you have left, and when you need to buy some more. With the cap, you pushed a button and everything was fine until one day you would push the button and....nada. No serum left, and you had no way of knowing it until it was too late.

The price of the Opal is a little bit steep. It runs over $200.00. For a woman in her mid-forties, I consider it worth it. I take very good care of my skin, and so far, it's paying off. Yes, I get help from Botox and sometimes fillers such as Juvederm, but overall, I depend on my daily cleaning regimen. I couldn't achieve the same results without my Clairisonic products. I highly recommend them to everyone. As a matter of fact, I bought an extra facial brush for my son to help combal teenage acne. After two treatments, his face is smooth as when he was a baby. There is no escaping the results. This company's products work. I consider the price reasonable and well worth it.

I did take before and after pictures of my eye area for comparison for the Opal. I will post those soon. The pictures are taken between Botox treatments. Botox had no part in the results.

Monday, June 20, 2011

My day in HELL, otherwise known as the Killeen City Court Annex

So, yeah...I got a ticket. Big whoop. The cop wasn't what I'd call a sweetheart, either. He actually asked me how much I WEIGHED. I told him, "Well, I'm going to lie to you.." and he shrugged, so I said, "100 pounds". He wrote it on the ticket.

Anyhow, I of course, opted to take Defensive Driving online as it was the most convenient. The course almost killed me with boredom, but "easy" is not an apt name for it. It was stupid easy.

Example Question and answer choices: You are scanning the roadway 12 seconds ahead of you to watch out for possible problems. You are no less than 2 seconds behind the vehicle in front of you. You have been checking your mirrors, and you have a good cushion of safety around you. What should you do?
A. Continue driving, while using your safe driving strategies.
B. Apply lipstick in the visor mirror
C. Speed up.
D. Get out a map and check your route while driving.
I'm sorta surprised one of the choices wasn't, "Shoot off your nine millimeter out the window, as you light up your crack pipe! Fuck the cops!"

See? So, then I had to take the paperwork BACK to the City court annex for the oh....I don't know 50th time. You walk in and feel like you are in a jail waiting room. It's ..well...full of unsavory people. Of course, I was there, so I suppose I am just as unsavory. At any rate, you take a number, sit your ass down and wait. There are four windows available. Two of which had their blinds drawn indicating they didn't give a shit about the 40 people sitting there waiting, and we could suck it. They only needed a sign that said, "Suck it" to go along with their "No Cell phone" sign and their, "Do not approach window until called" and various other signs telling you what they will NOT do for you.
I took a number. I was number 6. Awesome! Wrong. They were on number 89. They had to get to 100, then start over. So I was WAAY far from being called. People usually leave because they get tired of waiting, but I had all the time in the world, so I waited. I swear every time one of the clerks looked at me, they hated my ass because I was patiently waiting. Plus, I was not using my cellphone or approaching windows without being called, I might add.
Unlike my fellow miscreants, I did not used foul language, as it is rude and I didn't know them and there were children present. I didn't compare my tattoos with the various people there who were, ACTUALLY doing that. Total strangers. I didn't talk about body piercing, either. I sat. I waited. Patiently. Well, my leg was bouncing, but that is just me. I watched one guy walk up to the window when his number was called, and less than 2 minutes later, a cop appeared, handcuffed him and took him away. I'm still all excited about that and want to know what the hell was going on!
There was a "Most Wanted" poster up on the all. Fine. We need to know what the criminals look like. However, one thing bothered me. As I was sitting there...patiently, mind you...a man and what appeared to be a female of our species came in. She was wearing her pajamas, and her hair had NOT been combed in a VERY long time. His boxers were a merry blackwatch plaid. We all got treated to that sight. Thank you, Mr. Anonymous Boxer Short man. What these two did is what creeped me out, though. They didn't take a number. At which point I almost stood up and hollered, "Nuh uh! You take a number, Asshole! We ALL took our numbers, you aren't special!", but then I checked myself. I could have been killed.

Anyhow, these two people walked up to the "Most Wanted" pictures, seemed to be searching, and then the guy said, "There he is!" and stabbed his finger really hard on some asshole criminal's face. Then, he LAUGHED. The alleged female cackled and said, "Well, I'll be damned!" and they continued to stand and stare at the picture. Get this...they stared with PRIDE. Then, they left. That was all they were there for.

Meanwhile, I sat. Waited, sat and minded my own business. I broke no rules. I made as little eye contact with people as possible, as I seem to attract freaks, and end up in a weird conversation about religion or something. Believe me, it's never a good thing.

I waited for...get this..1 1/2 hours. Yep. I had ALL OF MY SHIT READY, too. I didn't have to dig around in my purse to get anything, I didn't have to run out to the car to get anything, I was freakin' READY, unlike the jackholes I was waiting with. They evidently didn't get the memo that you should not walk at a snail's pace when people are waiting on you, and you should have YOUR SHIT TOGETHER BEFORE YOU GET THERE, DUMBASS! The memo also stated that you should wear CLOTHING to the building, not RATTY, DIRTY, GREY PAJAMAS! Have some pride, America!

I'm still waiting. A regular enough looking guy walks in, looks at the numbed faces of all of us sitting there in purgatory, and he takes his number with a defeated sigh. At first, I just thought he was sorta not attractive. Nope. He was UGLY. I understand he can't help that. That's a crapshoot. He was terribly pigeon toed to the point that it affected his gait. He had very short very curly white blond hair, he was wearing an ill fitting long sleeved shirt and black slacks. He was a mouth breather which I cannot tolerate. He sat and breathed out of his mouth the whole time. I know this because he sat RIGHT NEXT TO ME. I was giving out my most powerful, "Stay the fuck away from me, motherfucker" vibes, too. That didn't stop Mr. Mouth Breather, though. He even leaned TOWARDS me. I leaned AWAY from him. Then, he did the one thing he could do to make himself less attractive and less eligible, because I guarandamntee you he is single...he went outside and smoked. In the over 100 degree heat. Number one: It looks trashy and tacky. I don't care if you agree with me or you are a smoker. It instantly makes you look like trash. Secondly, even if you go outside, you REEK of it when you come back inside. Thank you for adding to your grossness, sir. Thirdly, I saw him throw his cigarette on the sidewalk before he came back in. Therefore, he is a LITTER BUG. Asshat.

Finally, my number was called. I walked up quickly, sat, shoved my number, and all my paperwork through the little hole in the plexiglass, and there were not even words exchanged with the exception of, "That's it." (When did that replace, 'Thank you"?) I said, "Thank you", took my stuff, got up and got out. I waited 1 1/2 hours for a 2 minute transaction. Worse than Disneyworld.

By the way, just as a postscript here, I'm going to be doing some special writing where I review products on my blog. Usually, it's beauty products. That is how the blog started, actually, but I got sidetracked. If Mama wanna get paid, Mamma gotta write for the Man.

Friday, June 17, 2011

Procrastination

Procrastination is a problem I've been struggling with, lately. When I sit down to write, I end up "researching" instead. By "researching", I mean going on Facebook, Youtube, shopping, etc. Anything other than writing. My thoughts are all over the place, which means there is nothing coherent coming out of my head. I believe coherent thoughts are necessary when writing a novel.

To be fair, I've been on vacation for just over a week, and most of that time has been spent catching up on household chores, personal upkeep (hair, botox, etc.) and various other very legitimate sounding things. Truthfully, I haven't wanted to face this computer and this lack of idea that I am suffering.

I have done quite a bit of reading of OTHER author's books, however. I find misspelled words, incorrect grammar and a plethora of other problems. I become distracted by it. What do I do? I go online to various sites that talk about how grammar has been almost killed by modern authors. I get irate. I respond to posts. I worry that my OWN grammar is suffering. Was that a correct sentence? Did I use a subjective invective in the correct past tense without any dangling participles? I don't know! I don't remember! I need an editor for my blog and my responses to other people's posts!
There are several excellent sites where grammar is still held in high esteem. Most are run by literay agents, (Hello, I am a very good writer, please sign me.) or, even more intimidating, EDITORS! (Hello, I am a very good writer, please sign me.)

All in all, the summer is progressing much as other summer's have progressed. (that was a bad sentence, wasn't it?) I have thought much about what I NEED to do around the house, in the yard, etc. I have DONE none of it. I have seen several movies. I have read multiple books. I have written almost nothing. Honestly, this blog post is the most I've written since school ended. I must admit, it's disheartening, disappointing and any other "dis" you can think of.

I need to sit my ass down and just do it, but my ass doesn't want to do that. My ass wants to do other things.

Anybody else having the same issues? Does anybody legitimate want to sign me? (Please no illegitimate publishers...no "self-publishers" that don't have editors and expect you to do all the publicity yourself...I've had enough offers from them.)

Friday, June 10, 2011

April 14, 2005

ETA: The "Jail Cam" has since been removed from the internet due to some privacy issues or some crap...pffft.


2005-04-14

JailCam!

Okay, I have long wondered how to do things that are big and fancy like include links in this diary thing .

So, today I am going to attempt and do this. I fear it is a bit of voodoo..but I shall try...oh yes I shall!

The other day on a board I frequent, someone posted a link to a "Jailcam". I resisted looking at first. After all, my husband, my brother....cops. My life is lousy with cops. I don't need to watch them on the internet, right? Right. I resisted for awhile. Finally, I gave in. I looked. And I thought..."Well, this is boring." And I thought that for like...ohhhh....I don't know....an hour or so....clearly....I wasn't all that bored.

Anyhow..here is the link:
Anderson County, Tennessee Jail Cam

Let's see if this works....click on it and see if you see the booking area of the Anderson County Jail.

There is this one dude...we have been referring to him alternatively as "Man behind door #3" and "Mentally Disturbed Individual". Sanford gave me the last name. I showed the man to Sanford.
This man stands in this window and...well...just pretty much stands there. All day. All night. I asked Sanford..."Hey...what's the deal with this dude...he just stands there...staring..."

Let me just say right here that Sanford does not understand why I'm riveted by a "JailCam". He doesn't understand why I want to watch people get booked into county jail. DUH!

Anyhow...when I asked him...and showed him the guy...he said.."Oh. Obviously, that is a Mentally Disturbed Individual." OBVIOUSLY

The other night, they brought in this large woman who pretended to faint! It kicked total ass! She just keeled over! And all the deputies just stood there staring at her and then I look at Mentally Disturbed Individual and he was DANCING in the window!
He was all over the place! He stopped and pulled a dark colored shirt out of nowhere and pulled it on over his other shirt! Then he started waving his arms around and dancing again! He was all SORTS of excited...and just as he got wound up, the jailer walked over and pulled a shade down over his window so that he couldn't see anymore.
PISSED.ME.OFF.
So, EMS came, loaded faking fainter woman on the gurney, they handcuffed her and took her away.

The point is that you never know WHAT will happen! There are all these girls walking around all itchy and scratchy...they keep coming and going out of the door marked "Detox". Totally fascinating. You gotta watch for awhile.
Let me know what you think. P.S. Can you tell I learned how to make things bold and in italics? I rock!

Saturday, June 4, 2011

WHEW!

Okay, so....school is over for the year. Thank you God. Thank you whoever. Just thank you. I swear, this was the longest, hardest year I've ever taught.

I'm exhausted. Physically, mentally and emotionally. My oldest son is graduating from high school tomorrow, and I'm not ready for that. My baby. Grown up. When did THAT happen? I can still hear his voice when he was little. I can still smell his clean baby shampoo hair as he snuggled up under my chin while I read to him. I can still see his loaded diaper clad butt wiggling side to side down the hall as I chased him to change his diaper. Now, he shaves. He can vote. He can join the military. He chooses his own horrific clothing. He has political and religious opinions. When did this shit go down? He is going to college in the fall. How the hell is that going to work? He will have to get himself up in the morning, get dressed, perform the obligatory hygienic motions, eat breakfast, take medication and get himself to class. Then, he will have to write down assignments, listen to professors, get home, study, eat, sleep and do all of the things I still have to tell him to do. He hates driving, and he is going to have to drive. I really don't see how this is going to end up well. I probably am worrying for nothing, since that is what I do, but still. He is my first baby. My second baby is going to be a sophomore in high school next year. Seriously? Again..when did THAT happen? What happened to me rocking him to sleep and singing lullabies to him and him putting his little chubby baby hand over my mouth and saying, "No sing, Mommy..." Now, he is his own person. He operates technology, he refuses to do as he is told, he is going to summer school because he has to, he wants to be the baby but not be a baby...
Now, tomorrow, at my son's graduation, we will have my mother, my father, my niece and nephew, my husband, my youngest son, my step daughter, my ex husband and his mother and it will be a huge, epic clusterfuck. I plan on filming it. There is NO way this will end up well. My parents aren't speaking, I'm barely speaking with my mother, I'm not really speaking with my brother, (he cannot make it, as he is teaching a class on a SUNDAY NIGHT...) my mother hates my ex husband, and has never met his mother. My mother does NOT hide her dislike or disdain for people at all. Not for anyone's sake. It will be horrific. I have been hoarding my Xanax in anticipation of the cataclysm that is sure to occur. I just want to watch my baby graduate and be proud. But, then he is flying back to Chicago with his father for a month or so before he gets ready for college. So, he graduates and leaves the same night. I will be a basket case. Then, the next day, we register the youngest for summer school. Right before he finishes summer school, my husband and I are supposed to be in Northern California for his 40th high school reunion. We are leaving our daughter who is almost 20 in charge of getting him to and from school for the last couple of days, then taking him to his grandmother's house. It's going to be horrible.
AND, to make matter worse, I cannot walk in 4" heels, no matter what I do. What is up with that?
And this thing needs a spell check, because I'm entirely too tired to do it, tonight.

Wednesday, May 11, 2011

Updates

Yo. A few major things have gone on since I last posted. Let's see....hmmm...there was some wedding or something in England. Actually, I woke up early to watch it as I got ready for work, then pulled it up on the computer at work as soon as I got there. Sue me. I don't care, I love that crap.
However, it got me wondering: why the hell does the Queen of England carry a purse? Does she have her garage door opener in there? Pepper spray? A wallet with nothing in it? House keys? Seriously. She always has a crappy purse the same shade of her dress, hat and shoes. Very monochromatic, the Queen. I'm just fascinated by her purse, though.
Next, even the ROYAL FAMILY doesn't have good dental care in England? What is up with that? File those teeth down for the love of God! Those are some enormous teeth.
Then, honestly, did anyone think that Kate and William hadn't already you know...."known" each other? I mean Biblically, here. They freakin' lived together!
Yes, I adored the dress. The hats? What.the.HELL. is wrong with those people??? NO, the hats weren't refreshing or a nice change of pace in fashion. No, they weren't "whimsical" and appropriate for a wedding. They were hideous, horrendous concoctions that some maniacal asshole whipped up and got rich off of for all of those idiots who paid for them to be seen by the whole world. Those "fascinators"? Should be illegal. That'a all I'll say about that.

On to the next bit of huge news: didja know Bin Laden is dead? Well, that's what they say. I have no choice but to believe them. I would like all of the Republican/Conservative people who criticized the President for going after him to shut the eff up. Bush had 8 years and not only did he not get him, but he levelled two countries and got lots of other people who weren't the guy we were after. In the process, he bankrupted our nation and killed millions of innocent people. Not to mention the fact that good, decent soldiers died because of lies he told the country prior to invading Iraq. Just a couple of problems I have with him. I won't even go into his inability to be articulate.
Yes, I voted for Obama. Yes, I'd do it again. Suck it. I also voted for Clinton both times, and wish he could be dictator for life. We'd be swimming in money, not at war, enjoy good relationships with other countries and be prosperous again. What a horrible thought! Someone other than his wife might be giving him BJs, but dammit, he LIED about it! Shut up. You'd lie, too. Don't even say you wouldn't. I don't care WHO performs fellatio on the man, as long as he does his job well. Not to mention the fact that it was nice to have a well spoken, highly educated, brilliant man in charge. How far we fell in such a short time.
And guess what else? Obviously, I'm not the only one who voted for him twice. He won pretty handily twice. Other people did the same, even if they are afraid to admit it because of the right wing blind hatred of the man.

On to my newest obsession: The Borgias on Showtime. LOVE it. Why? 1. They were Spaniards, like my family. 2. They were scheming, treacherous sickos and it's all true. 3. The pope had mistresses and several children. Openly. I bet he never diddled a little boy. 4. It has the costumes and language and scenery I love.
and last but certainly not least, 5. The dude who plays Chesare Borgia. MeeeeOW.

This brings us to the biggest thing going on in our lives right now: preparing for my husband's 40th high school reunion. Yep. 40 years. I was 6 when he graduated from high school. I will have less than nothing in common with other attendees. I'm getting a trip to Northern California out of it, but still. I'm just looking forward to my three days in Napa, the spa, the trip on the Wine Train with the 5 star chef...shopping, seeing Fisherman's Wharf and all the usual touristy things.
I'm sleepy. See ya when I see ya.

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

Heard Today in Elementary School

A small child to me: "When is YOUR baby coming out?" I replied, "My babies came out over 15 years ago..." Child: Noooo!!! Silly!!!! *she pats my stomach* You have a baby in there!" Um, no. Thank you for plunging my self esteem into the absolute depths of hell, oh sweet child.

About 2 minutes before this conversation, another small child who was holding a stuffed dolphin, made the dolphin "bite" my left boob. He then laughed and said, "I call him Sharkey! He bit your boobie!" I didn't even know what to say to that. So, I said, "He's a dolphin." Wow. Way to educate the future. It wasn't a SHARK that bit me in the boob, it was a DOLPHIN. Teacher of the year.

Last week, another group of small children I was passing while walking my class to lunch said, "Hey, you have a clown face!" I at first thought they must be talking to another child, but no...they were addressing me. I stopped and said, "Excuse me?" and they repeated, "You have a clown face." I said, "Wow. THANK you! That is SO sweet of you!!!" I began to walk away, But no. It wasn't over. Another child grabbed my leg, and began hugging me. The child's arms began moving slowly up my leg and well....it was sort of an uncomfortable; almost a sexual assault. Before I could stop the child, their hands were in my "No no, don't touch" place. I quickly said, "Whoa....let's move the arms down a little, k?" After that, I hear from behind me, "Yeah, you do have a clown face. And a clown nose." By now, I was flustered, and yet curious as to what made these children think my face was clownish at that particular time. I said, "Really? What about my nose is like a clown? Is it big and red and does it have a red ball on it? Is it just big? Do I have clown feet? Do I have a frownie face drawn over my lips?" To which the answer was a couple of seconds of quiet contemplation on the part of the child, then a definite affirmative nod and these words, "Yes. Your nose is gigantic and red and like a clown."
So. I look like a pregnant clown with a larger than average clown nose. AND someone got to third base with me without even trying.

CRAZY ASSED NAME UPDATE:

People. Okay. I'm trying to be calm, but last night on the news, some dude named "LYSANDER" was interviewed after a drive by shooting or something.
If you are going to name your child after a character in a play by Shakespeare, look it up, for the love! Lysander wasn't even a major character or even all that interesting in "A Midsummer Night's Dream". Seriously. Neither was Demetrius.

Oh, and I almost forgot: going with Biblical names is popular and I did it myself with one of my kids, however....be careful. Please. Check out who it was before you hang the moniker around your offspring's neck. Don't name your kid "Job". Coupla reasons. Number one: People will mispronounce it forever. They will think it's pronounced like the place you go to earn a living. "Hey, Job! How ya doin?" Only they will say "Job" like, "I have a job at Walmart". Not good. Plus, Job wasn't the happiest of dudes. Faithful, yes. Lucky? Not so much and very sad. Terrible luck, that Job dude.
David is a favorite. I approve of David even if he was a bit of a perv. Come on...who isn't?
Where I live there are a TON of guys named Jesus. Pronounced the Spanish way. Not the English way. I've never met anyone who pronounces it the English way as in "Jesus Christ! What the hell are you doing???" Never. No Jehovahs, either. Thankfully.
Mary and Joseph are good. I guess. Actually, yes. They are great. They are easy, and just good old fashioned names. They seemed like pretty good people in the Bible, if you look past the whole "immaculate conception" deal with Mary, that is. I think Joseph was a pretty damned patient guy.
Noah is a name I considered for my second son, but was vetoed by my then husband. I don't know why. Maybe because he found out Noah was actually a bit of a perv himself and IN THE BIBLE it tells you that he went into his son's tent naked, and then it gets a bit vague but makes it quite clear that his other sons drug him outta there and gave him an ass whuppin'. Savior of humanity during the flood or perv? I don't know. Could be both, I guess.
Matthew, Mark, Luke, Peter, Paul and John are all fine. Not that I believe their writings or beliefs, but nice, normal, easy to spell, easy to pronounce names.

DON'T NAME YOUR CHILD AFTER SOMETHING YOU HEAR THE NURSE OR OB/GYN SAY IN THE DELIVERY ROOM, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, PLEASE DON'T!!!
I have seen: "Placenta", "Placentia" and various other horrific things.

How about this one: this is an actual child that I know of here where I live. And before you ask, NO, I'm NOT shitting you.
Get ready. Here it is:

SHITHEAD. Yep. Shithead. Pronounced, "Shuh-theed" My ass. That kid's name is Shithead. Imagine that on an interview. The only way it could be worse would be if the poor child's last name was "Dumas". It probably is, too.

Monday, April 11, 2011

Seriously

As that little bird on that kid's show says, "This is sewiouuuus". My children are no longer small, so I am not up on all the kid's shows, anymore. I used to be, but no more. However, who could have missed the YouTube clip of that chick or duckling or whatever it is wearing an aviator's cap? The cap alone makes it epic.

So, I thought I was managing my tremors, etc. pretty admirably. Today, a co-worker who knows nothing of my "condition" or whatever innocently asked why half of my face was "frozen". Now I'm scared shitless. Evidently, occasionally half of my face will not move when I talk. Normally, my face is pretty expressive, but someone NOTICED this. I didn't even know it was going on.

My parents are making me an absolute basket case, but I guess that is to be expected by now.

Sunday, April 10, 2011

Stop the MADNESS!!!

Here's the deal: there needs to be some sort of guidelines or book or LAWS even that prevent people from naming their children horrendously heinous things. Seriously.
A couple of names I've seen or experienced as actual legal names of children lately:

Sexana. Couple of problems with this name. Number one: WHAT.THE.HELL? Number two: What can this child expect to do for a living when they grow up? I can think of three things: 1. Stripper 2. Prostitute 3. Porn star. Seriously. SEXANA? God bless you, child. You'll need it. Shame on your idiot parents.

Any variation of "Queen" "Princess" "Prince" "Duke" "Duchess" "Count" "Sir"...just any royalty based or that sort of claptrap. Stop it. I'm not calling your child "Sir" anything. He's a child. (Hopefully the child is a boy if named "Sir", however, don't count on it.)

Any variation of gemstones. Please, for the love, no more "DIAMONDS" or "SAPPHIRES" or anything like that. Come on. "And now, Gentlemen, I present to you our star performer on the pole....Princess Sexana Diamond!!!!" Oh, this includes "Jade" and any variation to include "Jadyn" or any other made up crap.

Stupid spellings of fairly common names in an attempt to make them more "unique". Don't be a moron! If it's a fairly common name, it cannot be unique! "Madison" should not be "Madysin" or "Madisyn" or any other nonsense. "Mackenzie" is a last name, first of all, then, do not further complicate it by spelling it, ""Mackynzie" or crap like that. Seriously. Think of the child's difficulty learning to spell that in Kindergarten. For the love. Teachers work to teach phonics, and you throw a damned wrench in the plans with some effed up misspelled name that follows no phonetic rules. Please. Settle for Beth. Settle for Mary. Settle for Ann. Come on.

Stop being dumbass medieval fakers. Don't try to use Shakespearean names especially when you've probably never read any of his works. A big fat "NO" goes to "Cymbeline" because you don't know what she was, and you'll spell it all jacked up. (I do consider "Jack" to be a PERFECT name for a boy, however. Nathaniel and Tyler are also excellent male names. Just my humble opinion of my children's names.)
Forget "Ophelia". For the love of God, she killed herself after being used in a plot to bring down the potential Kingdom of the man she sorta had a crush on. She had a pervert father who did nothing but stand behind curtains and eavesdrop for the treacherous murderous fake King who had killed her "boyfriend's" father who was the actual King. THEN, married Hamlet's (Ophelia's crazy/not crazy crush) mother. Incidentally, the real king was the fake king's BROTHER. So he killed his own brother, then married his sister in law. No wonder Ophelia killed herself and Hamlet was a nutjob.
"Juliet" killed herself, too, by the way. "Julius Caesar" not only was real, but he was viciously assassinated by a bunch of dudes including his best friend, Brutus. So, Brutus is off the table, too. ROMEO? Please. No more Romeos. I cannot handle it. Anything including "Maxim", "Maximus", etc...forget it.
Don't expect me to call your child "Precious" or "Treasure" or "Priceless". Please. I don't even call my own kids that all the time. I'm sure not going to call your kid that.
Don't name your child after an animal. No "Ravens" or "Falcons" or other stupid black eyeliner inspired names, please. Go listen to Morrissey and smoke clove cigarettes instead. Please. Don't bring a human being into it and give them a horrific name.
Leave the random punctuation marks out of it, I beg of you. Don't string a bunch of letters together, stick a few accent marks and hyphens in it and call it a name. It isn't, and everyone will always misspell your child's name. No more "De" before a name. No more "Le" or "La" prior to a name. Quit sticking the letter "O" at the end of your son's name.
Quit naming all your kids with names that start with the same first letter. It gets so damned confusing. "This is Susan, Sterling, Simian, Spawn, Sperm, Spleen, and Spain. They are all the Smith children. " Are you that lazy? Are you THAT into alliteration????
Finally, to end my completely self-serving rant, I'd like to say, please don't choose some random combination of letters, not know how to pronounce it, then look it up and not be able to find it. THEN, say, "I'm not sure it's a real name...should I use it?" If you have to ask that, the answer is most definitively NO.

Saturday, April 9, 2011

The Badass Honey Badger. You may now thank me.

New Ideas

I've been thinking about what I'm in the process of writing now, what I am thinking about writing next, the stuff I'm toying with on the side and things I will probably never finish. It's exhausting. I have an idea for another book again based on true stories. However, this one would be more dark. There would still be humor, because really, how can signing a petition in a mental ward because you're pissed off that the staff changed the peanut butter brand on you NOT be funny? See what I mean? Hysterical, but still sorta pathetic. No, scratch that. REALLY pathetic.

Also, my passion, fascination, determination, obsession with Paris continues unabated. It's inevitable. I must live there. Does anyone else look for real estate in foreign countries and really consider buying besides me? I figure I could get my teaching license for France, teach English and live there. Of course, Wally would have to agree, and the kids would have to be at least semi independent. That means a few more years, but still....I already found an apartment which is supposedly next to impossible to do in Paris. Leave it to me to find one, and have no real plan to acquire it. When I'm really ready, I'll not be able to find any place.

In health news, my tremors have begun to worsen, but I think I'm more aware of them and trying to keep them as unobtrusive as possible. I haven't had any horrible days where I can barely walk. I think my last one like that was when we were in London. The more stressed I am, the worse it is, and I have a theory that the hotter it is, the worse my tremors are. My shoulder/neck/back issues seem to be largely better, but I made the mistake of running and have jammed someting back up. Result: pain.
Secondary result: more migraines.

On to another timely topic for me:
MENOPAUSE???? Seriously???? Isn't it enough that we go through a horrific puberty as girls, what with boobs, menstruation, hair, etc....but then...THEN.....we have continued menstruation, breast exams, breast self exams, mammograms, yearly exams where a stranger with rubber gloves looks for his lost socks in your uterus, and probably anything else he lost in the previous year. Then, because we are the blessed gender, we are able to be impregnated, go through 10 months, (not 9, people...count...40 weeks is 10 months) of sharing our bodies with another being, and because of that, we cannot use sweetener, cough drops, ibuprofen, benadryl, alcohol, or basically anything I use daily almost. And FORGET XANAX!!! I was so careful, I got the flu and would not take anything for fever until the doctor told me the fever was more harmful than the Tylenol for my baby. I grudgingly took two Tylenol, and began praying that my child would not be harmed by it. Unbearable sickness for 12 weeks which magically disappears as quickly as it appeared, but not before you beg for death, extreme exhaustion and unbelievable expenses. THEN...we get to experience the blessed miracle of birth. No, really. I do feel it is a miracle. It just is a major pain, that's all. My first one was SUPER easy. I thought I could go into business. No drugs, no pain, just a couple of pushes and PLOP, the little sucker was out and ready to roll. I got up and was doing stuff within an hour. Of course, after that, I got no sleep for the next 4 years. Period. At all. Which could explain how I became an expectant mother again 3 years later. My second pregnancy was pretty much like my first. No biggie. Well, there was a biggie. Namely, ME. Other than that, we lived in the frigid polar region of MICHIGAN (seriously, how do you people handle it?), and I had a toddler to chase after. Nothing was much different until I went into labor. THEN the shit got serious. NOT easy. VERY not easy. VERY big problems. VERY big pain. Special pain. Indescribable, really. Waited too long for any drugs...because I'm a badass that way, and had to really go it drug free..they tried an epidural after it was too late. I don't recommend that. I should have had a C-section, but some dumbass doctor with hands like Dr. Menghele didn't seem to know his ass from his elbow from my birth canal. I gave birth NATURALLY to an 11 pound 2 foot long boy. No, you read that right. NATURALLY. Many stitches, cursing and much crying ensued. However, I got another perfect angelic boy. As you can imagine, I never gave birth again. No sir, no thank you, I'll take a pass on that one. Plus, when you are young and don't know any better people don't tell you the truth about childbirth. I did the Bradley Method which I HIGHLY recommend to everyone. It worked beautifully with my first child. The hospital where I had my second child insisted we take Lamaze (in my opinion a big fat dumbass joke), so we did. I ignored most of it and did my Bradley. However, during Lamaze class, the instructor was guiding us through a "pain meditation". I was the only woman in there who was not going through her first pregnancy. I KNEW what to expect. The others were all glowing, a little scared and thinking this Lamaze stuff was the SHIT. We were told that when we had a bad contraction, to close our eyes, (never do this), and imagine we were standing on a beach. We write the word "Pain" in the sand. The waves come in and gently wash the word "Pain" away. When she said that, I busted out laughing and accidentally snorted. I didn't see it coming. Seriously? Imagine a wave washing away the word "pain"? It is to laugh. I laugh at this. HAHAHA! Big laugh! I got major hostile stares from the instructor and all the other couples. Big whoop. I shrugged and said, "Whatever gets you through..."
THEN, D day came. I go into labor. I wasn't sure it was labor because with my first, my water broke. A pretty definitive sign that stuff is on, right? With the second, I had cramps, they very gradually got worse, then got pretty bad, I couldn't talk or walk through them, and we went to the hospital. The baby's head was in a bad position, so I couldn't push, although I had no urge to push yet. Both of my babies had their umbilical cords wrapped twice around their necks. That had to be adjusted. Then, the REAL pain began. I was in too much pain to cry, make sound, or ask for help. It was just blinding. Well, yeah. I was giving birth to a 2 year old. He came out asking for a ham sandwich, for God's sake. Well, that's an exaggeration, but he was 11 pounds, and my first was a little over 7 pounds. I didn't have gestational diabetes, I didn't gain more weight, I was active....he was just huge. I do not regret it at all. It was all worth it.
Bradley Childbirth. Perfection. Do it.

NOW, back to MENOPAUSE....you have kids, you continue to grapple with your monthly crime scene producing amounts of blood, then....IT GETS WORSE! Will it come on time? Probably not. Will it come today? Maybe. Tomorrow? Could be. In twenty days? It's a good bet. Yesterday? Pretty sure. How long will it last? Oh...anywhere from a day to 28 days, when it will be time for your next one. Will it be heavier, lighter...what? Um, yes, yes, yes, and yes. Will I act crazy and have hot flashes? Bet on it, baby. You'll get irrationally angry at shit like cans turned the wrong way at the grocery store. You'll wake up in the middle of the night soaked in sweat, have to wake up your husband, change your clothes, shower and change the sheets because the beauty of womanhood has bit you in the ass once again. Headaches will increase because your hormones will be doing the cha-cha everyday. Your weight will fluctuate. You'll have intestinal discomfort. Cramps, backaches...all that shit. It's all yours! Heartburn will bother you from stuff like...oh...I don't know...PLAIN WHITE BREAD. Crap like that. It's a hoot. Have a blast. I know I am. It makes PMS look like an episode of "Romper Room".

Well, this started out as some self questioning about my writing and turned into a rant about the mysteries of our monthly relationship with the moon. (My ass...don't give me that shit...I'm not saving the blood in a jar and burying it under the full moon to gain power...what a crock of SHIT.)
So, yeah. Sorry about that. But if you know me, then..well...you know me. That's how I am. And I'm menopausal now, so suck it if you don't like it.
Love,
Me.

Tuesday, March 29, 2011

Neurotic

So, I've been referred to as "neurotic" more than once. You may substitute the word "eccentric" or perhaps "odd" or "strange" or "weird" if you wish. Either way, I'm different. Recently I posted things I love. Now, I'm going the opposite way. I'm going to post a list (no doubt a partial list, as it grows daily) of things I either strongly dislike or things that make me CRAZY.
So, let's kick it off with:
1. People who make noises. Yeah. Noises. Breathing loudly, chewing loudly, coughing a lot, sniffling, cracking knuckles, flipping pages in a quiet room, chairs scraping across floors, you name the sound, I get highly agitated by it.

2. Stinky food. In particular, people who eat stinky food around other people. Don't bring your damned chicken wings to our staff meeting and slurp and eat that stank. Please. Don't by a sub sandwich with banana peppers, onions and green peppers and sit down next to me. I will barf, more than likely. Cornnuts. Those stink to high heavens. I hate them. Funyuns smell like ass. Onion-y ass, but ass nonetheless. Too much garlic. Too much alcohol.

3. Smoking. Just ew. Please. It's foolish and disgusting. It stinks, it is damaging to those around you and it's just all around repulsive.

4. Loud talkers. You know the ones. They cannot whisper to save their lives. They holler everything. You have a headache after a conversation with one. Everything they have to say is of the UTMOST importance, too. My ass. Shut up, why don't you? I guarantee you the people around you are sick of your loud assed voice always blabbing away.

5. Close standers. Don't invade my personal space. I have a LOT of personal space, and I'll call in an air strike if you invade it. Keep your distance. Step away, keep your hands where I can see them. Don't get too close. You might have bad breath, or I might be able to see your skin pores. That will make me gag.

6. Close talkers. This is sort of a blend of loud talkers and close standers. Step away from me to talk. Tone it down, while you're at it. Unless you and I are VERY close, please keep a minimum of distance of a couple of feet while speaking with me. Come on. It's only polite. Have some manners, why don't you?

7. People who spit. Just don't. Spitting is nasty. My Daddy has always opened his car doors at stop lights, leaned out and spit onto the street. Why? He has never chewed tobacco or anything, he just seems to either A. enjoy spitting in public, or B. has a major mucus issue going on. Either way, nobody wants to see your slimy glob of spit.

8. Public poopers. Seriously? Can you not hold it until you get home? Or at least somewhere where nobody else will be attempting to use the facilities after you are finished foully polluting the air? I can only do it at home. With doors shut and locked and Mercury probably has to be in retrograde or in the seventh house or some shit. Conditions have to be optimal. I don't get these people who go take a dump while at a restaurant or at the mall or at work. Nobody wants to go in there when you are finished.

9. Hair in areas it isn't supposed to be. Case in point: hair on a bar of soap. I will gag and end up vomiting if I see that. Hair in the shower. Drains in general. Hell, bathrooms that need cleaning in general. But hairs will put me over the edge.

10. Incorrect grammar. People who "axe" me a question or people who say, "we be going to the WalMart." Ooh! Another bad one is: "I seen you last weekend at the Walmart." Don't do this. It's called English. Learn it. Get to know it. It's your mother tongue. (if you are not American you can feel free to give yourself a bit of leeway, but I've never heard a non native speaker use the effed up grammar that kids use now.)

11. Saying words incorrectly or using them incorrectly. The word is "supposedly". It's not "supposably". Seriously. How about, "Liberry" instead of "library". Do "Liberrians" come from Liberia? Do they bake "Liberry Pies"? Come on. The word is "specific", not "Pacific". That would be an ocean. Totally different deal, there.
The phrase is, "For all intents and purposes." It is NOT "For all intensive purposes". Unless, of course, your purpose is quite intensive, then I guess it would be correct.

12. People not knowing when to use "me and him" or "him and me" or "him and I". There are rules. Learn them. It's not hard, I swear.

13. Cops asking me my weight when they pull me over. WTF is up with THAT shit? Well, I lied my ass off. So there.

14. People who wear colored contacts. They don't look good. They look weird. You look like a reptile/cat alien breed. Stop it.

15. Touchy-Feely people. Don't touch me. Ever. I don't like to be touched. Don't hug me when you see me every freakin' day. Don't put your arm around me, don't "massage" my shoulders after sneaking up behind me, don't give me a high five, don't knuckle knock me...just keep your body parts to yourself, and I'll do the same.

16. People who don't know the difference between "affect" and "effect". People who don't know the difference between "capital" 'and "capitol". People who dictionary, people.

17. People who make excuses.

18. Liars
19. Saying the word, "like" every few words when you speak. You sound uneducated. Stop it.
20. Loud, sudden noises. They make me cry like a little girl.

I'm sure there's much more. That is it for now, though.

Friday, February 25, 2011

Stuff and Junk I love

Hi. I love these things in no particular order:

My kids
My husband
My parents
My brother
My niece and nephew
My dogs
wine
Xanax
sleep
sleep
sleep
soft pajamas
no wrinkles
Botox
Fried pickles
Ghosthunters
travel
Exorbitantly expensive hotels
purses
really good purses
really good shoes
makeup
really good makeup
Hermes anything
Louboutin shoes
Blahnik shoes
Birkenstocks shoes
Tom's shoes
Nordstrom's
Nieman Marcus
My truck/car/whatever
Having a passport that is still valid, leaving me the option of going wherever I want to go.
My chiropractor
Butterscotch schnapps and Baileys mixed
wine
hot dudes
reading
diamonds
diamonds
did I say diamonds?
jewelry...but real stuff, not crap
shawls, and scarves
writing
music
art
Spanish Guitar
Gypsy music
Cirque du Soleil
Kathy Griffin

I was going to do what I dislike, but I figured that list would be too long.

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Roller Girl

Note to self: Next time you take a bunch of kids skating, do not put on skates and attempt to relive your teenage years. It is a stupid thing to do. You are not teen aged. You are middle aged. You have a disintegrating spine or something. Children are attempting to keep you from falling.

Actually, I kicked ass after I got used to it again. Yeah, I fell a few times. Less that most of the kids, though. TAKE THAT, YOUTH OF AMERICA! I do not do in-line skates. I do the old fashioned configuration of wheels. I am really more used to metal wheels. These new fangled rubber thingies are strange. However, I skated. Again. Tomorrow, I anticipate a visit to the chiropractor. Do not tell them I roller skated like a fool. Thank you, and goodnight.

Monday, February 21, 2011

What Would YOU do?

So, let's say you are married to this man who is insane, right? This man thinks YOU should be able to do ANYTHING. This includes working, cooking, cleaning, child rearing, mind reading, space/time travel, telepathy, bringing dead pets back from the dead, fix any computer even if there is NOTHING wrong with it, make a cell phone work without a SIM card, send smoke signals to contact him, always magically know his whereabouts, fashion a timekeeping instrument like a Sundial that will fit on his wrist, never need winding, have Atomic clock capabilities...I can go on. I'll spare you, though.

I am married to this man. Everyone thinks he is the calmest, sweetest thing ever. Why, he would NEVER raise his voice! He would NEVER say anything mean! He is like a little puppy dog! Yeah, a puppy dog that is really a Hound from Hell that you just took a chew toy away from.

I even video taped him throwing a fit yesterday because he couldn't figure out how to upload pictures to his Facebook page. I scanned them in for him, emailed them to him and then he went berserk. I finally told him I wouldn't deal with him if he was going to cuss, scream and threaten me. So, he decides to call some company off the internet and pay them to tell him how to UPLOAD PICTURES TO HIS FACEBOOK PAGE. Dude. I figured it out alone. Children figure it out alone. Really old people figure it out alone. Some people have pets that have evidently figured it out alone. My husband? No. I told him if he called those jackholes and paid them to tell him how to upload pictures to effin' Facebook, that I would go shopping and I can spend WAY better than he can. Plus, can you imagine the person who would answer his call? They would have a great story to tell for a long time, but really? Calling a place NOT affiliated with Facebook and PAYING them to walk you through the steps that basically a wombat could figure out on their own? I swear. Honestly.

Plus, there are HUGE budget cuts going on in the place I work, and everybody is wigging out about their jobs. Including me. Should I wig out? Should I not? I don't know, but everyone else is, so I figured I better join in. Otherwise, I might get blindsided and never see a lay off coming.

PLUS, I am tired.
Plus, I am going through menopause.
PLUS, I am married to an insane person.
PLUS, I have two teenage sons who God help them probably don't know their address, even though we taught it to them when they were little.
PLUS, insanity runs in my family. OBVIOUSLY.
PLUS, my back hurts.
I am sure I could think of more, but I think I'm finished bitching for now. If you need Xanax, I am sorry. I need it, too. I think I will go get some. I advise the whole world to do the same.

Sunday, February 6, 2011

Real Quick...

Who on Earth is reading this thing from Russia? I am fascinated to know! If you are reading this from Russia, let me know. Or hell, anywhere else, either. Let me know. Comment or do whatever it is people do on these things. Seriously, though...RUSSIA? Awesome.

Aging Gracefully

Is a stupid concept. Gracefully? Screw that. Give me Botox and Juvederm. Whatever. I'll do it. I don't want a bunch of sags and lines all over my face I've washed religiously for years to avoid zits, and then wrinkles. All those expensive creams, facials and makeup I've used...why let it just go to waste? I keep my hair up, after all. I keep the Grey covered because if I don't, I'll look like an aging blond Pepe La Pew. You are welcome, world. Once again, you are welcome. I just give and give...I swear.

So, yeah. Today we went to have lunch with my family for my birthday which was yesterday. I'm 45. I don't care who knows. Who gives a crap? I'm obviously not 25, I have a child about to graduate high school, one in college and one who is probably going to be a perpetual freshman in high school. It's very obvious I'm not in my 30s. (Unless I started very early, in which case I would probably be dead because my dad would have murdered me.) I just don't want to look OLDER than I am. There is my rant on anti aging crap. Deal.

So, while we were at lunch, I mentioned that my best friend who lives in another state and I had sort of knocked around the idea of going to Costa Rica during Spring Break. Not like a "Girls Gone Wild" spring break. More of a "tired middle aged women with kids who want to sleep uninterrupted and lay on the beach" spring break. (Lay? Lie? I never can keep it straight.) Anyhow, my brother, who is 41, mind you...he decides that he is the Patriarch of the family, right? He decided this ohhhh, I don't know about 35 years ago or something. He's the boss, right? Wrong. Nobody is the boss of me. He decides to chime in with his sage advice. Here is the conversation in script form to allow for easier understanding:
My One and ONLY (Thank God) sibling: Um, Costa Rica?
Me: Yeah.
Him: You DO realize that you are 45, right?
Me: Duh. Can't get anything past you.
Him: You have kids.
Me: I DO? OhmyGOD!!!
Him: Very funny. You are not a kid.
Me: Really? Do tell. When is your NEXT (as in 50th) trip to DisneyWorld?
Are you gonna dance with Minnie Mouse this time?
Him: *glares at me*
Me: *glares back smugly*
My MOTHER(who butted into the conversation): Who is going to take care of________(my friend's daughter)?
Me: Dunno. I'm not her mother. ___________(my friend) is. My kids will be here with their father. Or you. If they are bad, with you.
Mom: You are not a nice girl.
Me: We've established that.
My brother who really should shut up: Don't you think it's a little irresponsible for you to go running off to party in Costa Rica?
Me: Um, nobody said we were "partying". I did mention "sleeping", though. ALONE. BLISSFULLY, QUIETLY ALONE. See, I'm FORTY FIVE and that is freaking HEAVEN to me.

So, my whole family now thinks I'm selfish because the idea was MENTIONED. No plans have been made, no tickets purchased...nada. They are SO selfish! What will they do when I tell them about my Yoga retreat in Sri Lanka or my Surfing Safari in South America?
One funny thing: My brother compared an aspic dish at the restaurant to the product "Clamato". My son thought he said, "Chlamydia". He was appalled. (My son). I was laughing hysterically, and my brother kept asking me to repeat it because I was trying not to yell "CHLAMYDIA!!!" across the freakin' table. I was mouthing it silently to him and he kept saying crap like, "Clambake?" "What?" "Claptrap? Huh?" and I kept laughing and shaking my head. When I finally got it out, he was disgusted and wanted to know if my son really knew what it was. I asked for him not to get too specific. My son told him that he knew that it was something I'd kill him for. Wise child. I really don't know if my brother knows what it is or not.

I thought it was a plant for years, and told my Mom I had some chlamydia. She freaked out on the phone when I told her and I was mystified as to why she was upset that I had taken an interest in gardening. She was screeching, "WHAT?!?!?! YOU HAVE WHAT?!?!?!" I kept patiently repeating "I have some Chlamydia. I got it today." She kept wigging the hell out. After going back and forth for about 8 hours about it, she finally said, "Wait. Do you mean, CALADIUMS?" and I said, "Yeah, isn't that what I said?" and she said, "NO! You said you had CHLAMYDIA!!!!!" and I said, "Oops, no. I have the plant. Not the disease." Then I probably hung up. I don't remember. Such is my life. A series of misunderstandings and insults. C'est la vie!