We're Happy.
He's been out in the wilds, but he's back now for some rest and relaxation. His car was filthy when he got home. He's really put the 4x4 to the test, so far so good. The Before and After.
I'm a nerd.
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
Hubby's Home
We're Happy.
He's been out in the wilds, but he's back now for some rest and relaxation. His car was filthy when he got home. He's really put the 4x4 to the test, so far so good. The Before and After.
I'm a nerd.
Monday, March 27, 2006
The Best Posts Happen At 3:00 a.m.
It's Not 3:00 a.m.
If it was I could pretty much guarantee this would be good, but since it's not, well, you just get the usual bloviating and emotional upheaval that I serve up here. I must warn any who mistakenly venture onto this site expecting to find something important happening, nothing important happens here--ever. In fact, to this date I have broken at least 27 of the cardinal rules of blogging, those standards set forth by the biggest, and most influential bloggers out there. The number one rule being--don't blog about blogging--for to do so shows one and all that you have nothing important to say, and you basically suck.
That being said, I have reached the point that I will offer free Starbucks frappuccinos to my niece per hour that she willingly fixes this hole in the wall up. I want to at least look like I've got something important to say. Until then more mediocrity is to follow.
Yes, I did buy a $98.00 purse, but it was on sale and I only actually paid about 25 bucks for it, I want to follow the same principle on this blog here. Make it look good, even if it is cheap.
The truth is, since November of 2005 my life has been a mess. We moved in November, you would know that if I hadn't deleted that information. By some law of physics I suppose somewhere in the universe another set of life forms have received that electronic transmission, and are scratching their scaly heads in wonderment. Who knows? I guess it could happen.
Oh yes, so we moved. Since then things have been a bit tough. I can't actually even talk about it. It's too emotional. We're in a major transistion right now. Another one? So soon? Yes. Another one. I can't help it, sometimes these things just happen. This is one of those times. Although all the warning signs were there, we really did not anticipate that daddy in law would really break up with the wonderful woman he was living with, we did not expect that he would want his house back. Lord knows it was so much easier for my husband, myself, our daughter, our dog, and our 3 cats to up and move then it would have been for daddy in law, of course. Especially given the amount of notice we had.
I don't blame the man for wanting his house and all, even if we were paying his house payment plus per month. He needs that 3 bedroom 2 bath tri-level house with the huge yard all to himself. Our mistake was thinking he was stable to begin with and even going there. I wish we had never moved there. Anyway, at the time, we did not think this would happen, but we ignored the warning signs. We were there when it was convenient for him to have us there, then we got the boot.
At the time I had only been in my job just over 6 months, and we were starting to make a financial recovery, but were not there yet. Yes, I'm bitching. I never promised a rose garden here. I love that song by the way.
But that's the least of our problems. We moved. It was hard. We did it though. We were completely and totally broke. We've made some mistakes along the way in life, but we've always been on our own feet. It wasn't so easy this time.
Since we moved we've been scraping along, and getting by with the help of our family. Not in the form of monetary donations, but as in mom and dad let us move in with them for a little while. I'm so embarrassed to admit that. Yeah, I'm blogging from my parents basement, oh shut up. They opened their 6 bedroom, 3 bath bi-level's doors to us. Even as big as this house is, we're all cramped. It's been a sort of hell. Don't get me wrong, we're not ingrateful. We're very thankful my parents were willing to help us out, but my husband and I have been living with this sort of shame about the situation.
We have actually tried to hide the fact from people in our lives. Only a few people at work even know about the situation, and I've sworn them to secrecy. I know I shouldn't care, but I'm embarrassed. My parents are such fine people, they don't need my family here taking up space. They have assured me that everything is all right with them, they just want us to get on our feet. Dad always says, "I can't leave you kids a bunch of money, but if I can give you some space and buy you some time, I'm happy to do it."
Before you go on judging, let me tell you what we have done. My husband and I realized that we could not even afford to get into our own place. Being the sort of man he is, my husband took the bull by the horns and scooped up an opportunity to place us in a better financial position in life. That's what he's doing right now. He's in Wyoming working his balls off in whatever weather happens to be that day. He'll be home tomorrow, I can't wait for that.
I am holding down the fort here with my job, which is a good job. We're trying to make something happen for us. We're putting our best foot forward, and doing whatever we can to survive. Yeah, we live with my parents, but we won't always be here very soon we will be in our own place again. We'll all breathe a sigh of relief when that day comes.
I have been an emotional basketcase lately, and this is why. Sometimes I just want to go and get an apartment, but we'd have to give up our pets, and that would be hard. My parents are animal lovers too, and they would not want us to do that. It's going to be hard to take Mr. Connor back now, my dad has got pretty attached to him. I never even see the cat anymore, he's always sitting on my dad's lap.
Over the years when I was growing up I remember my parents opening their home to people in need. This time, it was us. When I grow up I want to be just like them. They are the most generous people I know.
There, I've confessed. Now you know what the bug has been.
If it was I could pretty much guarantee this would be good, but since it's not, well, you just get the usual bloviating and emotional upheaval that I serve up here. I must warn any who mistakenly venture onto this site expecting to find something important happening, nothing important happens here--ever. In fact, to this date I have broken at least 27 of the cardinal rules of blogging, those standards set forth by the biggest, and most influential bloggers out there. The number one rule being--don't blog about blogging--for to do so shows one and all that you have nothing important to say, and you basically suck.
That being said, I have reached the point that I will offer free Starbucks frappuccinos to my niece per hour that she willingly fixes this hole in the wall up. I want to at least look like I've got something important to say. Until then more mediocrity is to follow.
Yes, I did buy a $98.00 purse, but it was on sale and I only actually paid about 25 bucks for it, I want to follow the same principle on this blog here. Make it look good, even if it is cheap.
The truth is, since November of 2005 my life has been a mess. We moved in November, you would know that if I hadn't deleted that information. By some law of physics I suppose somewhere in the universe another set of life forms have received that electronic transmission, and are scratching their scaly heads in wonderment. Who knows? I guess it could happen.
Oh yes, so we moved. Since then things have been a bit tough. I can't actually even talk about it. It's too emotional. We're in a major transistion right now. Another one? So soon? Yes. Another one. I can't help it, sometimes these things just happen. This is one of those times. Although all the warning signs were there, we really did not anticipate that daddy in law would really break up with the wonderful woman he was living with, we did not expect that he would want his house back. Lord knows it was so much easier for my husband, myself, our daughter, our dog, and our 3 cats to up and move then it would have been for daddy in law, of course. Especially given the amount of notice we had.
I don't blame the man for wanting his house and all, even if we were paying his house payment plus per month. He needs that 3 bedroom 2 bath tri-level house with the huge yard all to himself. Our mistake was thinking he was stable to begin with and even going there. I wish we had never moved there. Anyway, at the time, we did not think this would happen, but we ignored the warning signs. We were there when it was convenient for him to have us there, then we got the boot.
At the time I had only been in my job just over 6 months, and we were starting to make a financial recovery, but were not there yet. Yes, I'm bitching. I never promised a rose garden here. I love that song by the way.
But that's the least of our problems. We moved. It was hard. We did it though. We were completely and totally broke. We've made some mistakes along the way in life, but we've always been on our own feet. It wasn't so easy this time.
Since we moved we've been scraping along, and getting by with the help of our family. Not in the form of monetary donations, but as in mom and dad let us move in with them for a little while. I'm so embarrassed to admit that. Yeah, I'm blogging from my parents basement, oh shut up. They opened their 6 bedroom, 3 bath bi-level's doors to us. Even as big as this house is, we're all cramped. It's been a sort of hell. Don't get me wrong, we're not ingrateful. We're very thankful my parents were willing to help us out, but my husband and I have been living with this sort of shame about the situation.
We have actually tried to hide the fact from people in our lives. Only a few people at work even know about the situation, and I've sworn them to secrecy. I know I shouldn't care, but I'm embarrassed. My parents are such fine people, they don't need my family here taking up space. They have assured me that everything is all right with them, they just want us to get on our feet. Dad always says, "I can't leave you kids a bunch of money, but if I can give you some space and buy you some time, I'm happy to do it."
Before you go on judging, let me tell you what we have done. My husband and I realized that we could not even afford to get into our own place. Being the sort of man he is, my husband took the bull by the horns and scooped up an opportunity to place us in a better financial position in life. That's what he's doing right now. He's in Wyoming working his balls off in whatever weather happens to be that day. He'll be home tomorrow, I can't wait for that.
I am holding down the fort here with my job, which is a good job. We're trying to make something happen for us. We're putting our best foot forward, and doing whatever we can to survive. Yeah, we live with my parents, but we won't always be here very soon we will be in our own place again. We'll all breathe a sigh of relief when that day comes.
I have been an emotional basketcase lately, and this is why. Sometimes I just want to go and get an apartment, but we'd have to give up our pets, and that would be hard. My parents are animal lovers too, and they would not want us to do that. It's going to be hard to take Mr. Connor back now, my dad has got pretty attached to him. I never even see the cat anymore, he's always sitting on my dad's lap.
Over the years when I was growing up I remember my parents opening their home to people in need. This time, it was us. When I grow up I want to be just like them. They are the most generous people I know.
There, I've confessed. Now you know what the bug has been.
Thursday, March 23, 2006
I Can't Think Of Anything Unimportant To Say
At All.
You know what I am? I'm the bad guy in the movie that won't die even after being shot in the face 30 times. I keep doing this, but I really don't have a thing to say at all. And that's nothing to write about.
It's lonely. I'm lonely. I want to talk about things, but I don't know what to talk about anymore. I have a whole folder dedicated to one sided conversations with complete strangers, they talk, I stop by and listen, but I don't talk back. I guess that's sort of rude on my part.
Hehe I laugh at myself. I really need to "get a life." Damn hormones. I'm going to cry now.
You know what I am? I'm the bad guy in the movie that won't die even after being shot in the face 30 times. I keep doing this, but I really don't have a thing to say at all. And that's nothing to write about.
It's lonely. I'm lonely. I want to talk about things, but I don't know what to talk about anymore. I have a whole folder dedicated to one sided conversations with complete strangers, they talk, I stop by and listen, but I don't talk back. I guess that's sort of rude on my part.
Hehe I laugh at myself. I really need to "get a life." Damn hormones. I'm going to cry now.
Monday, March 20, 2006
It's Snow Fun
But It Was Cold, Cold, Cold!
It snowed, the kiddo was out of school, and luckily I was off today, so we had an extra day together. Hubby left this a.m. to head out on his next "hitch", so we were lolly gagging around in pajamas. My brother came up with this fantastic idea of going sledding. This truly appealed to my inner child, although my outer fat ass needed some convincing.
Eventually I caved and we found the ole blow up snow tubing thing. It had never been used, I had bought it for my lovely daughter for Christmas, and this was the first real snow we've had since. We managed to get the thing inflated, which was quite a task, and we decided that mom and dad's front yard would be a good place to start since we were short on ideas as to where to go.
There are rules that transcend time when it comes to surfing the hill in my parent's front yard, something my daughter had never really done. First rule, we make a track, and stay in it. This used to work much better with trashbags we found, at least that's what my sister and I used to use. Of course we had perfectly good sleds in the garage, but the trash bag was more fun.
Daughter being completely unseasoned, and unaware of the rules made several errors on that first run down, first, she dragged her feet over the track, and she ran back up the hill right on the track, and we all know doing so will not help to get the run in the optimal icy condition that is preferable.
Whoa, whoa, whoa, let me show you how to do this I declared. I explained the importance of not messing up the track, and running up the hill to the side of the track so we can get it nice and icy. Little did I know, these new fangled snow things don't really make a good track like trash bags, I found they just sort of float over the snow, hovering just slightly above it. Here, watch me, I hopped on that thing belly first, and before I knew it I was sailing down the hill at about 20 miles per hour, which for a mom is really fast.
I dragged my hands, I dragged my feet, all right through the track, but I didn't care, I couldn't stop. That slicked up donut was flying. In a flash I imagined myself crashing head on into my brother's car which was parked right there on the sidewalk in front of me. No, I wasn't wearing a frickin' helmet! I managed to turn the thing, and I began a spin that make a whirling dervish nauseous. Finally, I stopped with a loud thud as I crashed side long into my brother's Jetta. The impact made the car shake.
Then I laid there laughing so hard tears streamed my cheeks, my brother was bent over with his hands on his knees laughing so hard that the only sound produced was a hissing sound from him trying to catch his breath. Uh, yeah, I felt like a fool. There I was insisting my daughter follow some ancient rules, and I broke every one of them the second I jumped on that thing.
We laughed our butts off though, and decided to head to a nearby school which my brother assured me had great hills covered with grass, which would hopefully be snow packed. He was right. They went down first, this time I cautiously jumped on the thing, and made a little bit slower descent, however, I did manage to sail halfway across the baseball field, but it was fun so it didn't matter.
Shortly after we got there the wind kicked up about 20 notches, and the wind chill was too horrific to endure. I saw some kid's blow up thing fly away, and they all went after it. One kid was out there on a boogie board, holding onto it for dear life. I saw them walk towards the nearby houses, the wind was so horrible I thought about offering them a ride, but I wasn't sure they wouldn't get offended or something.
After about 3 runs, daughter said, I'm going to the car, it's too cold mom. So, we high tailed it out of there. The wind really was blowing some seriously icy cold air on us. Ahh well, better luck next time. Hopefully we'll have a good snow again, they've been few and far between this year. It sure would be nice to get out there again, now that we have a good spot to go to.
It snowed, the kiddo was out of school, and luckily I was off today, so we had an extra day together. Hubby left this a.m. to head out on his next "hitch", so we were lolly gagging around in pajamas. My brother came up with this fantastic idea of going sledding. This truly appealed to my inner child, although my outer fat ass needed some convincing.
Eventually I caved and we found the ole blow up snow tubing thing. It had never been used, I had bought it for my lovely daughter for Christmas, and this was the first real snow we've had since. We managed to get the thing inflated, which was quite a task, and we decided that mom and dad's front yard would be a good place to start since we were short on ideas as to where to go.
There are rules that transcend time when it comes to surfing the hill in my parent's front yard, something my daughter had never really done. First rule, we make a track, and stay in it. This used to work much better with trashbags we found, at least that's what my sister and I used to use. Of course we had perfectly good sleds in the garage, but the trash bag was more fun.
Daughter being completely unseasoned, and unaware of the rules made several errors on that first run down, first, she dragged her feet over the track, and she ran back up the hill right on the track, and we all know doing so will not help to get the run in the optimal icy condition that is preferable.
Whoa, whoa, whoa, let me show you how to do this I declared. I explained the importance of not messing up the track, and running up the hill to the side of the track so we can get it nice and icy. Little did I know, these new fangled snow things don't really make a good track like trash bags, I found they just sort of float over the snow, hovering just slightly above it. Here, watch me, I hopped on that thing belly first, and before I knew it I was sailing down the hill at about 20 miles per hour, which for a mom is really fast.
I dragged my hands, I dragged my feet, all right through the track, but I didn't care, I couldn't stop. That slicked up donut was flying. In a flash I imagined myself crashing head on into my brother's car which was parked right there on the sidewalk in front of me. No, I wasn't wearing a frickin' helmet! I managed to turn the thing, and I began a spin that make a whirling dervish nauseous. Finally, I stopped with a loud thud as I crashed side long into my brother's Jetta. The impact made the car shake.
Then I laid there laughing so hard tears streamed my cheeks, my brother was bent over with his hands on his knees laughing so hard that the only sound produced was a hissing sound from him trying to catch his breath. Uh, yeah, I felt like a fool. There I was insisting my daughter follow some ancient rules, and I broke every one of them the second I jumped on that thing.
We laughed our butts off though, and decided to head to a nearby school which my brother assured me had great hills covered with grass, which would hopefully be snow packed. He was right. They went down first, this time I cautiously jumped on the thing, and made a little bit slower descent, however, I did manage to sail halfway across the baseball field, but it was fun so it didn't matter.
Shortly after we got there the wind kicked up about 20 notches, and the wind chill was too horrific to endure. I saw some kid's blow up thing fly away, and they all went after it. One kid was out there on a boogie board, holding onto it for dear life. I saw them walk towards the nearby houses, the wind was so horrible I thought about offering them a ride, but I wasn't sure they wouldn't get offended or something.
After about 3 runs, daughter said, I'm going to the car, it's too cold mom. So, we high tailed it out of there. The wind really was blowing some seriously icy cold air on us. Ahh well, better luck next time. Hopefully we'll have a good snow again, they've been few and far between this year. It sure would be nice to get out there again, now that we have a good spot to go to.
Too Popped To Poop
Oops, Reverse That, Switch It.
Mom always used to say that, "I'm just too pooped to pop!" She would say. I never knew exactly what she meant, I just thought it meant she was tired, which is probably what it was supposed to mean. I can see why she would be pooped, she was a mother of 3, a full-time nurse, and wife, and a prolific shopper, that's a lot of stuff.
These days she's pretty pooped, her health has not been so good, and I see her wearing down a bit. It is difficult to watch. Mom could always run circles around everyone, she was always so capable. These days the 3 of us kids pitch in more time to help get errands run, and pies bought. You know about my mom's pie thing right? She buys pies by the truckload, and always, always has a pie either fresh out of the oven or about to go in. Nobody even eats the pies anymore, except my dad, who darn well knows better than to refuse the gift of pie.
Dad still works the night shift after all of these years, he is hoping to retire in a couple of years, we look forward to that. It will be nice to see dad during the day again. Not only that, he's tired of the grind, and I don't blame him one bit for that. He drives the old Thunderbird to work, he's a slow driver, and gets the bird a lot, but he doesn't notice, or care, he's probably doing thought experiments anyway, the car pilots itself.
One morning dad left the car on auto pilot and ended up in someone's front yard. I guess after 30+ years of night shift, falling asleep one time is actually a pretty good record. Luckily, no one was hurt, except for dad's ego, and some innocent Aspen tree, which my parents immediately replaced. Dad went home, got mom and they went and planted a new tree that very moment. The owner's of the home said the new tree wasn't as good as the old tree. I don't know how they came to possess that knowledge, mom said the trees were very similar in size. You do what you can, after that, well...
Of course this isn't a new revelation, but it is difficult to see the parents slow down. Mom pretty much limits her trips to Walgreens, the grocery store, and the bank. She's always going to the bank, one would ask, what on earth is so important to go to the bank twice a week. I never actually go to my bank. I may step into the institution twice a year, and that's after putting it off for two months. I hate going into the bank.
I'm beaming with pride that mom has actually started using a debit card, heck, she's even got the visa check card which she sometimes forgets to use. I think the bank just sent it to her, they must have been reviewing their records and discovered my parents were the only members who did not have the card, so they sent it complimentary to any customer who has written more than 10,000 checks out of their account without ever bouncing one. We'll be out running errands and she'll say, "I need to stop at the bank." I can't help but ask "why?" Of course, she'll reply something like, "I need money to pick up my prescription."
"Mom," I ask, "can't you use your debit card for that?" Oh, she guesses so, but she needs cash for the post office, or something else. I give in, we go to the bank. At least there are no lines, everyone else is using their cards. My gosh, I use my card at the freakin' car wash. I never have cash on me, but I know I can get cash whenever I want, providing there is some in the bank of course.
Dad on the other hand does not know how to use his card. I'm not kidding. The man cannot figure it out. This is an educated man, a brilliant man, but he's befuddled on how to actually check out at the grocery store. That's why mom has to go to the bank all the time, she's got to get cash for dad. God I love them.
He has figured out how to surf the net though, and seems to do so quite often. I tried to show mom how to use email a few years ago before we went overseas. We went into dad's office, she sat down at the computer, I showed her how to log onto the internet, get on aol, check the email. I knew at that moment I would not be getting any emails from mom--ever. She humored me, I felt bad for trying, she seemed to feel embarrassed about it. I assured her it didn't matter at all, and that I could just email dad and he could print it up for her, or we could do things the old fashioned way, I would just call her.
Mom has never read my blog. The only posts she has ever read are those which I had printed up for her to read. It's probably better that way, she would get pissed about the pie thing, although I tease her about it. She knows I have blogged about her mean ass cat, and how the thing eats deli turkey and ham, not the brown sugar baked ham though, Precious only likes the honey ham. Can you believe that?
Dad has read my blog, and although he would never admit it, I'm sure he wonders where they went wrong. Don't worry dad, it's not your fault, well, that's not actually true, it could be genetic, you do have that one crazy sister afterall. They think these things do run in families. I remember my mom telling me years ago that "you never want to live in a town that has a looney bin." This from her experience as a young nurse working at the nut house. She went on to say, "most of the people in the town are relatives who moved closer to be around their family member in the mental hospital." And, "they end up staying, and most of them are just as crazy as the patients."
To this day she hates going into the town of Rawlings in Wyoming. The town does host a mental hospital, is that the p.c. way to say it? I don't even know. But I have to admit the town does have a certain "the hills have eyes" feel about it. I've noticed it myself.
This post continues to wander aimlessly much like my thoughts, so I suppose I will move on, and get going with the day. I've got to run to Walgreens and get mom's pills. She has already given me the cash to go pick 'em up for her.
Mom always used to say that, "I'm just too pooped to pop!" She would say. I never knew exactly what she meant, I just thought it meant she was tired, which is probably what it was supposed to mean. I can see why she would be pooped, she was a mother of 3, a full-time nurse, and wife, and a prolific shopper, that's a lot of stuff.
These days she's pretty pooped, her health has not been so good, and I see her wearing down a bit. It is difficult to watch. Mom could always run circles around everyone, she was always so capable. These days the 3 of us kids pitch in more time to help get errands run, and pies bought. You know about my mom's pie thing right? She buys pies by the truckload, and always, always has a pie either fresh out of the oven or about to go in. Nobody even eats the pies anymore, except my dad, who darn well knows better than to refuse the gift of pie.
Dad still works the night shift after all of these years, he is hoping to retire in a couple of years, we look forward to that. It will be nice to see dad during the day again. Not only that, he's tired of the grind, and I don't blame him one bit for that. He drives the old Thunderbird to work, he's a slow driver, and gets the bird a lot, but he doesn't notice, or care, he's probably doing thought experiments anyway, the car pilots itself.
One morning dad left the car on auto pilot and ended up in someone's front yard. I guess after 30+ years of night shift, falling asleep one time is actually a pretty good record. Luckily, no one was hurt, except for dad's ego, and some innocent Aspen tree, which my parents immediately replaced. Dad went home, got mom and they went and planted a new tree that very moment. The owner's of the home said the new tree wasn't as good as the old tree. I don't know how they came to possess that knowledge, mom said the trees were very similar in size. You do what you can, after that, well...
Of course this isn't a new revelation, but it is difficult to see the parents slow down. Mom pretty much limits her trips to Walgreens, the grocery store, and the bank. She's always going to the bank, one would ask, what on earth is so important to go to the bank twice a week. I never actually go to my bank. I may step into the institution twice a year, and that's after putting it off for two months. I hate going into the bank.
I'm beaming with pride that mom has actually started using a debit card, heck, she's even got the visa check card which she sometimes forgets to use. I think the bank just sent it to her, they must have been reviewing their records and discovered my parents were the only members who did not have the card, so they sent it complimentary to any customer who has written more than 10,000 checks out of their account without ever bouncing one. We'll be out running errands and she'll say, "I need to stop at the bank." I can't help but ask "why?" Of course, she'll reply something like, "I need money to pick up my prescription."
"Mom," I ask, "can't you use your debit card for that?" Oh, she guesses so, but she needs cash for the post office, or something else. I give in, we go to the bank. At least there are no lines, everyone else is using their cards. My gosh, I use my card at the freakin' car wash. I never have cash on me, but I know I can get cash whenever I want, providing there is some in the bank of course.
Dad on the other hand does not know how to use his card. I'm not kidding. The man cannot figure it out. This is an educated man, a brilliant man, but he's befuddled on how to actually check out at the grocery store. That's why mom has to go to the bank all the time, she's got to get cash for dad. God I love them.
He has figured out how to surf the net though, and seems to do so quite often. I tried to show mom how to use email a few years ago before we went overseas. We went into dad's office, she sat down at the computer, I showed her how to log onto the internet, get on aol, check the email. I knew at that moment I would not be getting any emails from mom--ever. She humored me, I felt bad for trying, she seemed to feel embarrassed about it. I assured her it didn't matter at all, and that I could just email dad and he could print it up for her, or we could do things the old fashioned way, I would just call her.
Mom has never read my blog. The only posts she has ever read are those which I had printed up for her to read. It's probably better that way, she would get pissed about the pie thing, although I tease her about it. She knows I have blogged about her mean ass cat, and how the thing eats deli turkey and ham, not the brown sugar baked ham though, Precious only likes the honey ham. Can you believe that?
Dad has read my blog, and although he would never admit it, I'm sure he wonders where they went wrong. Don't worry dad, it's not your fault, well, that's not actually true, it could be genetic, you do have that one crazy sister afterall. They think these things do run in families. I remember my mom telling me years ago that "you never want to live in a town that has a looney bin." This from her experience as a young nurse working at the nut house. She went on to say, "most of the people in the town are relatives who moved closer to be around their family member in the mental hospital." And, "they end up staying, and most of them are just as crazy as the patients."
To this day she hates going into the town of Rawlings in Wyoming. The town does host a mental hospital, is that the p.c. way to say it? I don't even know. But I have to admit the town does have a certain "the hills have eyes" feel about it. I've noticed it myself.
This post continues to wander aimlessly much like my thoughts, so I suppose I will move on, and get going with the day. I've got to run to Walgreens and get mom's pills. She has already given me the cash to go pick 'em up for her.
Thursday, March 16, 2006
A Confession
I Hate Poetry.
Well, that's not exactly true, I don't hate to READ poetry, I just hate hearing most other people read it OUT LOUD with the exception of my high school literature teacher who read quite nicely. It also helped that she was reading from a selection of great authors.
What is particularly annoying is angry poetry that is being screamed, or "rapped". People really abuse the pause, and that irks the crap out of me. They stop reading to allow the deep thoughts to sink in, never mind the fact that nothing being said is all that deep at all. Like whoa, let me pretend I'm moved here.
So, I wrote a poem about it:
What's that you say?
I'm angry and I'm sad
I've got nothing important to say
But I'm going to talk about it anyway
Life is hard and things are bad
I don't have everything I wish I had
The money I make all goes to taxes
So Congress can continue to feed their own fat asses
If that's not enough to make you mad
You can always look to childhood and blame dear old dad
He worked too hard and wasn't there
When he got home he fell asleep in his chair
Mom was no better she was always sad
At least you had a dad
I suffered a long line of losers
It wasn't my fault
Mom married a cad
Do these words depress you
That is my point indeed
Some poetry is just not easy to read
--end
Well, that's not exactly true, I don't hate to READ poetry, I just hate hearing most other people read it OUT LOUD with the exception of my high school literature teacher who read quite nicely. It also helped that she was reading from a selection of great authors.
What is particularly annoying is angry poetry that is being screamed, or "rapped". People really abuse the pause, and that irks the crap out of me. They stop reading to allow the deep thoughts to sink in, never mind the fact that nothing being said is all that deep at all. Like whoa, let me pretend I'm moved here.
So, I wrote a poem about it:
What's that you say?
I'm angry and I'm sad
I've got nothing important to say
But I'm going to talk about it anyway
Life is hard and things are bad
I don't have everything I wish I had
The money I make all goes to taxes
So Congress can continue to feed their own fat asses
If that's not enough to make you mad
You can always look to childhood and blame dear old dad
He worked too hard and wasn't there
When he got home he fell asleep in his chair
Mom was no better she was always sad
At least you had a dad
I suffered a long line of losers
It wasn't my fault
Mom married a cad
Do these words depress you
That is my point indeed
Some poetry is just not easy to read
--end
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
Interesting Thoughts
Following Dad's Advice.
Of course he would hate to take credit for things as they are, it's too risky, to do so might mean blame for misfortune and failures. Not that we would do that. Dad is the smartest guy we know, and he would never lead us wrong. Yes, we still turn to mom and dad on those big decisions in our life, what a shame it would be to waste the opportunity to take advantage of their hard earned wisdom. Only a fool would do otherwise.
Almost 3 years ago hubby and I found ourselves unemployed. Thirty and unemployed just sucks, but the way things are, I think it might have been worse if we were older and even less "perky". Perkiness is after all a highly sought after trait in applicants, employers like perky, they don't think old people are all that perky, or so I've heard.
Not only that, hubby had spent the previous 13 years investing in a career, which ended rather unexpectedly. He had never been anything other than a Marine, and didn't really know what else to do. Blah blah blah, I've said all this before, unfortunately I deleted the whole sordid mess in one of my episodes.
The first year was the toughest. After we found decent employment we started picking up the rest of the pieces. The thing we want is rather typical, we want a home, cable t.v. and to raise our kiddo in a nice little neighborhood, oh and matching Corsicas in the driveway wouldn't hurt either. We also realize that one day we are going to be old, and it might be a wise thing to buy a home sometime in the near future so we aren't faced with a mortgage payment at retirement age Lord willing we get there.
Hubbers went to work at a desk job here, good, no, excellent medical benefits, pretty okay job, 401k, a retirement plan, and so on, but the pay stunk. It just wasn't great. This particular spot, like most places it seems offered very little room for advancement, unless one was the bearer of a bachelor's degree in anything, which in my opinion is a bunch of malarkey, but that's for another post. We needed more than $1300/month take home to live, and advance beyond treading water.
Luckily, I found a job with a former employer, and I'm quite happy where I am, and with what I'm at. My job offers some form of benefits for full-time employees, which I'm not, but even at that my pay is pretty decent. And most of all, I'm happy there.
Oh my gosh, I'm getting to the point, don't stop now.
My husband hates when I take this long to tell a story, but the history always seems so important to me. I'm really into, how did we get there. I don't know if that makes good reading or not. I'm sorry if it doesn't.
Where was I? So, we were doing pretty well, back on our feet, treading water, making ends meet, but not advancing much at all, and a home still was not in the foreseeable future.
That's where dad came in. He spoke to husband about an opportunity he had heard about, and had been reading about. Dad just told him about it. Hubby thought and thought about it, then brought it up to me, I thought and thought about it, and encouraged him to try it if he wanted to. He did research, contacted people, and finally decided to do it. This is where his Marine Corps training came in, his guts, and courage, and believe me, what he has done takes total balls.
When the time came he gave his employer notice, packed up his belongings, and headed to out of town, where he attended a training course in his new field of choice. He started his new job almost 2 weeks ago. It's been a huge adjustment, the first few days were horrible, the work is hard. He kept going, kept trying. The last few days were much better.
Now, he has a job with great benefits AND pay. In fact, he has tripled his income, and he knows he can advance. The only thing he had to do was be in shape physically, and have the courage to try, and most of all be willing to get dirty. Really dirty. He works in the cold, the wind, the sun, rain, or snow, but he is compensated for his work, and his time.
Here we go. I was reading a post at good ole Kim du Toit's site, and found it quite interesting, along with the comments that the post stirred up. I really wanted to comment, but didn't really know what I wanted to say. I guess it is just this, a man must do what a man must do. Dad always says, find a trade someone is willing to pay for.
In this corporate age, where CEOs bring home 6-7 digits while the lowers scrimp and scrape to get by, I don't blame anyone for moving on to greener pastures. When a company brings in 100 million in profit after all of the bills are paid, but can't see fit to even give their employees more than a Chili's gift card for Christmas, I don't blame anyone for seeking better opportunities, and truthfully, what companies really offer retirement plans anymore? 401k is not a retirement plan, and all they contribute is just what they are not paying you anyway.
I'm not under the impression that companies really want folks to stick around all that long. It seems to me they would much rather infuse their work force with perky 20 year olds every few years, who ironically start at the bottom of the pay scale.
Reinventing yourself is a very American thing. And I thank goodness for it. I'm so glad I live in a country where folks can decide, this isn't working for me, and go out and find something new. It is one of the best things about our country. That a 35 year old can begin a completely new career in this country is a testament to the greatness and the freedom of this land.
What do I know? Not much really, just that if we don't look out for our own family, no one else will. I don't delude myself into thinking employers really care about anything more than the bottom line, I don't blame them for that either. I realize it is just business.
In our case, we realize that we must make as much money now in our youth, in our prime as we can. We seek out companies that offer a future, but how many really do?
Of course he would hate to take credit for things as they are, it's too risky, to do so might mean blame for misfortune and failures. Not that we would do that. Dad is the smartest guy we know, and he would never lead us wrong. Yes, we still turn to mom and dad on those big decisions in our life, what a shame it would be to waste the opportunity to take advantage of their hard earned wisdom. Only a fool would do otherwise.
Almost 3 years ago hubby and I found ourselves unemployed. Thirty and unemployed just sucks, but the way things are, I think it might have been worse if we were older and even less "perky". Perkiness is after all a highly sought after trait in applicants, employers like perky, they don't think old people are all that perky, or so I've heard.
Not only that, hubby had spent the previous 13 years investing in a career, which ended rather unexpectedly. He had never been anything other than a Marine, and didn't really know what else to do. Blah blah blah, I've said all this before, unfortunately I deleted the whole sordid mess in one of my episodes.
The first year was the toughest. After we found decent employment we started picking up the rest of the pieces. The thing we want is rather typical, we want a home, cable t.v. and to raise our kiddo in a nice little neighborhood, oh and matching Corsicas in the driveway wouldn't hurt either. We also realize that one day we are going to be old, and it might be a wise thing to buy a home sometime in the near future so we aren't faced with a mortgage payment at retirement age Lord willing we get there.
Hubbers went to work at a desk job here, good, no, excellent medical benefits, pretty okay job, 401k, a retirement plan, and so on, but the pay stunk. It just wasn't great. This particular spot, like most places it seems offered very little room for advancement, unless one was the bearer of a bachelor's degree in anything, which in my opinion is a bunch of malarkey, but that's for another post. We needed more than $1300/month take home to live, and advance beyond treading water.
Luckily, I found a job with a former employer, and I'm quite happy where I am, and with what I'm at. My job offers some form of benefits for full-time employees, which I'm not, but even at that my pay is pretty decent. And most of all, I'm happy there.
Oh my gosh, I'm getting to the point, don't stop now.
My husband hates when I take this long to tell a story, but the history always seems so important to me. I'm really into, how did we get there. I don't know if that makes good reading or not. I'm sorry if it doesn't.
Where was I? So, we were doing pretty well, back on our feet, treading water, making ends meet, but not advancing much at all, and a home still was not in the foreseeable future.
That's where dad came in. He spoke to husband about an opportunity he had heard about, and had been reading about. Dad just told him about it. Hubby thought and thought about it, then brought it up to me, I thought and thought about it, and encouraged him to try it if he wanted to. He did research, contacted people, and finally decided to do it. This is where his Marine Corps training came in, his guts, and courage, and believe me, what he has done takes total balls.
When the time came he gave his employer notice, packed up his belongings, and headed to out of town, where he attended a training course in his new field of choice. He started his new job almost 2 weeks ago. It's been a huge adjustment, the first few days were horrible, the work is hard. He kept going, kept trying. The last few days were much better.
Now, he has a job with great benefits AND pay. In fact, he has tripled his income, and he knows he can advance. The only thing he had to do was be in shape physically, and have the courage to try, and most of all be willing to get dirty. Really dirty. He works in the cold, the wind, the sun, rain, or snow, but he is compensated for his work, and his time.
Here we go. I was reading a post at good ole Kim du Toit's site, and found it quite interesting, along with the comments that the post stirred up. I really wanted to comment, but didn't really know what I wanted to say. I guess it is just this, a man must do what a man must do. Dad always says, find a trade someone is willing to pay for.
In this corporate age, where CEOs bring home 6-7 digits while the lowers scrimp and scrape to get by, I don't blame anyone for moving on to greener pastures. When a company brings in 100 million in profit after all of the bills are paid, but can't see fit to even give their employees more than a Chili's gift card for Christmas, I don't blame anyone for seeking better opportunities, and truthfully, what companies really offer retirement plans anymore? 401k is not a retirement plan, and all they contribute is just what they are not paying you anyway.
I'm not under the impression that companies really want folks to stick around all that long. It seems to me they would much rather infuse their work force with perky 20 year olds every few years, who ironically start at the bottom of the pay scale.
Reinventing yourself is a very American thing. And I thank goodness for it. I'm so glad I live in a country where folks can decide, this isn't working for me, and go out and find something new. It is one of the best things about our country. That a 35 year old can begin a completely new career in this country is a testament to the greatness and the freedom of this land.
What do I know? Not much really, just that if we don't look out for our own family, no one else will. I don't delude myself into thinking employers really care about anything more than the bottom line, I don't blame them for that either. I realize it is just business.
In our case, we realize that we must make as much money now in our youth, in our prime as we can. We seek out companies that offer a future, but how many really do?
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
Singing To My Monkey
And Pitsy Dootsy.
Driving in the car, I was suddenly struck with a memory from childhood, "I used to have one of those monkeys with the yellow chest, black arms and legs, and plastic face, hands and feet, and I even had a special song I used to sing to my monkey." I told my brother, who thought the last bit was funny. "Do you want to hear the song I used to sing to it?"
Of course, he did. So I began, "Like a rhinestone monkey..." and I laughed at what a dorky kid I was. Yes, I did sing Rhinestone Cowboy to my monkey. But what came next is what really made me laugh, my brother confessed that he had an imaginary friend named, Pitsy Dootsy. He said, "I've never told anyone about it before."
And so as promised, it's on the blog. Pitsy Dootsy? He refused to tell me what Pitsy looked like, but I envision a hat with a propellor on it, striped shirt and mork from ork pants, perhaps a feather boa somewhere in there to mix things up a bit.
Driving in the car, I was suddenly struck with a memory from childhood, "I used to have one of those monkeys with the yellow chest, black arms and legs, and plastic face, hands and feet, and I even had a special song I used to sing to my monkey." I told my brother, who thought the last bit was funny. "Do you want to hear the song I used to sing to it?"
Of course, he did. So I began, "Like a rhinestone monkey..." and I laughed at what a dorky kid I was. Yes, I did sing Rhinestone Cowboy to my monkey. But what came next is what really made me laugh, my brother confessed that he had an imaginary friend named, Pitsy Dootsy. He said, "I've never told anyone about it before."
And so as promised, it's on the blog. Pitsy Dootsy? He refused to tell me what Pitsy looked like, but I envision a hat with a propellor on it, striped shirt and mork from ork pants, perhaps a feather boa somewhere in there to mix things up a bit.
Monday, March 13, 2006
When I Can
I'll Spiffy Things Up A Bit.
I'm a techno tard so, anything I do on this page will require the assistance of someone who knows what the heck html stands for, and how the heck do I put up a blog roll, and other such things. I don't, it's not what I do. What I do is pamper people and make them feel good, and cared for.
But for now, these are a few of the people I check out whenever I get on the computer
in no particular order:
The Fat Lady
The Origin of Soul
The Crazy Rants of Samantha Burns
Tinkerty Tonk
Gut Rumbles
The Other Side of Kim
Eternity Road
The Passing Parade
Trevor Romain
Baby Troll Blog
I'm a techno tard so, anything I do on this page will require the assistance of someone who knows what the heck html stands for, and how the heck do I put up a blog roll, and other such things. I don't, it's not what I do. What I do is pamper people and make them feel good, and cared for.
But for now, these are a few of the people I check out whenever I get on the computer
in no particular order:
The Fat Lady
The Origin of Soul
The Crazy Rants of Samantha Burns
Tinkerty Tonk
Gut Rumbles
The Other Side of Kim
Eternity Road
The Passing Parade
Trevor Romain
Baby Troll Blog
Hubby
He's Out Of Town.
I really miss him. He's been gone for over a week now. None much has happened in that amount of time, there was a parent teacher conference, work was busy, oh and our 12th wedding anniversary.
I worked that day, I knew hubby would be out of town, so I didn't request that day off. I sent him a text message that morning wishing him a happy 12, and offering to spend at least 12 more with him. He did not reply, he's not a text messager.
At work, I arrived to a fairly busy day, and was disappointed that my lunch had been cut short. It's a silly thing, I know. I get emotional at times for the darndest reasons.
I rushed to the employee cafeteria at lunch time. Hubby was on my mind. As it happened I took my phone with me, something I rarely do, but I thought I might send him another message. While I stood there waiting for the food on the grill, I felt that familiar buzz in my pocket, I pulled the phone out, and there was his face staring right at me. His picture shows up when he calls, I programmed it that way on the phone, it is so Star Trek, and makes me feel all modern and stuff.
He called me, he never calls me when I'm at work, in fact, he rarely calls anyway, he's not a caller type. Awww, I answer, "hi honey." We exchange the where are you, what are you doing, etc. stuff, and he says, "I love you, Happy Anniversary."
Our phones disconnect us and break up about 10 times, we both happened to have very bad reception where we were at the moment. Finally, we get a quick, "I'll call you later, love you, bye!" in there and I go sit down with my lunch. Tear. Sniffle. Tear. I hold them back, I don't know why I felt like crying. I'm not a crying type. I look at the t.v. and think, "oh frick, someone put it on ESPN!" I eat, and debate with myself getting up and changing the channel, I decide not to, I just don't care enough to do it.
I miss him. Sure, we've had time apart over the years, he was in Thailand for 3 months while we were stationed overseas. It was a long 3 months, he rarely called. He was working. I knew that. It is the same now, he is in a different state working. He doesn't call much, I send him text messages all the time, I know he reads them, and they make him feel good, he told me they did.
This time is different though, I'm worrying. He's started a new job, it's a good job, but a very difficult one. And I'm worrying everyday about him, is he happy with things? Is he warm where he is? I have a lot on my mind right now, our lives have taken a dramatic turn, we think for the better, we think we've made good choices, smart choices, yet we have not been shown the results of our risk taking yet.
This is a big thing. One of the biggest things we've done in the past few years. Everything is changing really fast. I think he'll be home tomorrow night, I can't wait to sit and talk with him, and find out what's been happening in his world this past week. I just hope he's all right with everything.
I really miss him. He's been gone for over a week now. None much has happened in that amount of time, there was a parent teacher conference, work was busy, oh and our 12th wedding anniversary.
I worked that day, I knew hubby would be out of town, so I didn't request that day off. I sent him a text message that morning wishing him a happy 12, and offering to spend at least 12 more with him. He did not reply, he's not a text messager.
At work, I arrived to a fairly busy day, and was disappointed that my lunch had been cut short. It's a silly thing, I know. I get emotional at times for the darndest reasons.
I rushed to the employee cafeteria at lunch time. Hubby was on my mind. As it happened I took my phone with me, something I rarely do, but I thought I might send him another message. While I stood there waiting for the food on the grill, I felt that familiar buzz in my pocket, I pulled the phone out, and there was his face staring right at me. His picture shows up when he calls, I programmed it that way on the phone, it is so Star Trek, and makes me feel all modern and stuff.
He called me, he never calls me when I'm at work, in fact, he rarely calls anyway, he's not a caller type. Awww, I answer, "hi honey." We exchange the where are you, what are you doing, etc. stuff, and he says, "I love you, Happy Anniversary."
Our phones disconnect us and break up about 10 times, we both happened to have very bad reception where we were at the moment. Finally, we get a quick, "I'll call you later, love you, bye!" in there and I go sit down with my lunch. Tear. Sniffle. Tear. I hold them back, I don't know why I felt like crying. I'm not a crying type. I look at the t.v. and think, "oh frick, someone put it on ESPN!" I eat, and debate with myself getting up and changing the channel, I decide not to, I just don't care enough to do it.
I miss him. Sure, we've had time apart over the years, he was in Thailand for 3 months while we were stationed overseas. It was a long 3 months, he rarely called. He was working. I knew that. It is the same now, he is in a different state working. He doesn't call much, I send him text messages all the time, I know he reads them, and they make him feel good, he told me they did.
This time is different though, I'm worrying. He's started a new job, it's a good job, but a very difficult one. And I'm worrying everyday about him, is he happy with things? Is he warm where he is? I have a lot on my mind right now, our lives have taken a dramatic turn, we think for the better, we think we've made good choices, smart choices, yet we have not been shown the results of our risk taking yet.
This is a big thing. One of the biggest things we've done in the past few years. Everything is changing really fast. I think he'll be home tomorrow night, I can't wait to sit and talk with him, and find out what's been happening in his world this past week. I just hope he's all right with everything.
Sunday, March 05, 2006
Too Personal
T.M.I.
It's a very bad habit of mine, I rank it right up there with belching in public, not that I do that, but that anyone might. Of course, in the confines of one's own home, certain sounds are going to be heard, we've got to do it somewhere. The problem is, and part of the reason I deleted the rest of the blog, which I sort of regret doing now, but it is just one more example of why I might need medication, I just felt like I told too much of my personal information. That in turn fed the other beast, paranoia, and made me think that somehow people who hate me might find my blog and get me fired from my job or something. I tell you, I've got some issues okay? First of all, I don't make a habit of going around and making people hate me, so that's really sort of irrational anyway, but still, I worry about things like that. Not as much as I worry about where I misplaced my Walgreens coupons and things like that, but occasionally I do indulge that wackier side of myself.
Too often I feel the need to indulge that silly side of me right here on this webpage, pretty much as I'm doing right now. I'm really trying to keep that side of me under control, but that is so boring. It leaves me with nothing much to write about at all, and honestly, I do enjoy putting things down here.
I guess if my life were just right, I might not have anything to write about at all, because deep down, I believe I might really be a boring person. Really, I don't even have any interesting hobbies, skills or talents. I'm a retarded lefty, so I never learned to knit, and just think of all the interesting knitting stories I'm not able to tell. I can't sing a lick, and my jokes are socially unacceptable, as is my sense of humor about nasty things. Cursing like a trucker is not necessarily one of the talents I'd like to showcase on the net, although I do think there is a certain niche market for that type of thing.
Ho hum, there it is. Got any wooden nickels?
It's a very bad habit of mine, I rank it right up there with belching in public, not that I do that, but that anyone might. Of course, in the confines of one's own home, certain sounds are going to be heard, we've got to do it somewhere. The problem is, and part of the reason I deleted the rest of the blog, which I sort of regret doing now, but it is just one more example of why I might need medication, I just felt like I told too much of my personal information. That in turn fed the other beast, paranoia, and made me think that somehow people who hate me might find my blog and get me fired from my job or something. I tell you, I've got some issues okay? First of all, I don't make a habit of going around and making people hate me, so that's really sort of irrational anyway, but still, I worry about things like that. Not as much as I worry about where I misplaced my Walgreens coupons and things like that, but occasionally I do indulge that wackier side of myself.
Too often I feel the need to indulge that silly side of me right here on this webpage, pretty much as I'm doing right now. I'm really trying to keep that side of me under control, but that is so boring. It leaves me with nothing much to write about at all, and honestly, I do enjoy putting things down here.
I guess if my life were just right, I might not have anything to write about at all, because deep down, I believe I might really be a boring person. Really, I don't even have any interesting hobbies, skills or talents. I'm a retarded lefty, so I never learned to knit, and just think of all the interesting knitting stories I'm not able to tell. I can't sing a lick, and my jokes are socially unacceptable, as is my sense of humor about nasty things. Cursing like a trucker is not necessarily one of the talents I'd like to showcase on the net, although I do think there is a certain niche market for that type of thing.
Ho hum, there it is. Got any wooden nickels?
My Boss Cares What I Think
Really.
The boss went to a great deal of effort to convince us that what we think really does matter to them. The boss made it perfectly clear that those who do not think the correct thoughts--happy thoughts--are "negative", and "nobody wants to be around negative people, even other negative people."
I wondered, how does anything ever improve if everyone is afraid to point out the faults--the negative. Well apparently, there is a correct way to point out messed up shit, it must be framed in the appropriate language, said in just the right way, and one might escape the wrath and judgement of co-workers and the management teeeeeeeeeeam, and not be forever deemed negative. Go team!
Sometimes it makes me wish for the good old days when the boss didn't really give a toot what I thought. I mean really, I go in, do a good job, help others, smile, follow all the rules that I can, isn't that enough? Does my employer really need to attempt to control my inner most thoughts as well.
Honesty is not valued. Period. Being truthful is wrong, it's bad, and no one will like you. Saying what you really think is negative, unless it is wrapped up in rainbows and butterfly kisses.
I can't talk about it really, you might not like me if you knew I thought it was all a load of crap. Just shut up.
The boss went to a great deal of effort to convince us that what we think really does matter to them. The boss made it perfectly clear that those who do not think the correct thoughts--happy thoughts--are "negative", and "nobody wants to be around negative people, even other negative people."
I wondered, how does anything ever improve if everyone is afraid to point out the faults--the negative. Well apparently, there is a correct way to point out messed up shit, it must be framed in the appropriate language, said in just the right way, and one might escape the wrath and judgement of co-workers and the management teeeeeeeeeeam, and not be forever deemed negative. Go team!
Sometimes it makes me wish for the good old days when the boss didn't really give a toot what I thought. I mean really, I go in, do a good job, help others, smile, follow all the rules that I can, isn't that enough? Does my employer really need to attempt to control my inner most thoughts as well.
Honesty is not valued. Period. Being truthful is wrong, it's bad, and no one will like you. Saying what you really think is negative, unless it is wrapped up in rainbows and butterfly kisses.
I can't talk about it really, you might not like me if you knew I thought it was all a load of crap. Just shut up.
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
Ever Run Into Your First Love?
Gawd Is That Awkward Or What?
Well technically, I didn't run into my first love, that would be the boy I had the most devastating crush on in 6th grade, his name was, I'm not making this up, Tommy. He was the most adorable little brown eyed boy with the cutest curly brown locks. Not a single one of my childhood friends has forgotten that crush. I actually thought at some point he was going to fall madly in love with me, that we were going to be married and have babies together.
When he spoke to me, my stomach did a flip, and then a flop. My toes would tingle when he was around. I wrote his name over and over, did certain tests that only 12 year old girls know how to do, that would cement our destiny. Today that would be called stalking, but I guarantee you it was nothing more than a healthy admiration for a really cute boy. He barely knew I existed, so it's not like it really bothered him at all. He moved away in Jr. High, and I hardly noticed. There were many other boys for me to secretly like by then.
Anyway, the other day I ran into my first love, not Tommy, but my first real boyfriend. We dated for 2 years in high school, and I did love him, but it was high school, and that sort of thing was too deep and heavy for me at that age. We ended up breaking up, and he moved on rather quickly, which was very painful to me at the time--I don't know why--he ended up marrying the new girlfriend, and they have been together ever since. Good for them. He was a good guy, I have never wished him any ill will.
On the other hand, I dated a few frogs until I met my prince and married at the age of 23. We had a child pretty much right away, and have been together ever since, minus a few bumps in the road along the way. We're coming up on 12 years, and we're still very much in love.
Over the years I can count on one hand the number of times I've actually seen my first love, and it's always a very awkward encounter. Until the other day, my husband had never seen or met him. It was really no big deal. Ancient history as they say.
Strangely enough I've known my husband's first love since grade school. We all went to the same schools together. I always liked her, she was a nice girl I thought. The oddest thing was, we hadn't seen her in years either, and ran into her in the most unlikely of places--the other side of the world. Yep, she and her husband were stationed overseas in the same place we were. When people proclaim, "it's a small world!" I believe them.
I was okay with the thing. In my mind I thought, so what if they were each other's first loves, it's ancient history. I now understand my husband's discomfort with the thing. We did try to be adults and became friends with them again. I thought it was really nice and fun at first. However, I did not realize that she might have other motives. I could be wrong of course, but some of the things she said to my husband when they were alone suggest that was not the case. She was very interested in spending time with him--alone.
Eventually, her husband got orders and they moved. I decided not to confront her, and to just say good bye and leave things be. I knew it was highly unlikely we would all be in the same place again. By the way, I was wrong about that, we've all ended up here in our hometown. I see them all the time, but I don't speak to them. The last contact I had with her was an email where she asked me why I had not called her since I came home. As if the hussy didn't know. I gave her a reply that I would call when I got my life straight, which in her case, will actually be never. I don't plan on opening that door again. I was trusting and open before, she wanted my husband to take her out to lunch, and call her and talk to her. Umm, no, some things you just don't do.
But this isn't about her. This is about him. Running into him after all of these years with my family. And guess what? We didn't speak. Oh, we ran into him at the bowling alley. It was a really small one, so wherever we were I could see him. It was strange, and awkward. It was like we pretended we did not know each other at all. I don't know why we did that. I made eye contact with him and smiled, and he looked away. I don't know why. I had seen him only a few weeks ago at the grocery store and he was very talkative with me. I guess he didn't think he would see me again. Hey, I certainly didn't plan to see him either.
And that was it. I told my husband he was there, discreetly pointed him out, and my husband just sort of shrugged it off. I was a nervous wreck inside. I don't know why I felt that way. I think it was just awkward. Part of me thinks that there is a lot of unresolved junk there, and it only rises to the surface when we run into each other. We have never gone out of our way to see each other in all these years. A lot of stuff was left unsaid there. I just can't explain it.
Blah blah blah, I'm being such a chick about this. Anyway, I still wish nothing but good for him in his life. I don't really have bad feelings towards him, but I know we can't really be friends either. I tried that with hubby's first, it just doesn't work.
Well technically, I didn't run into my first love, that would be the boy I had the most devastating crush on in 6th grade, his name was, I'm not making this up, Tommy. He was the most adorable little brown eyed boy with the cutest curly brown locks. Not a single one of my childhood friends has forgotten that crush. I actually thought at some point he was going to fall madly in love with me, that we were going to be married and have babies together.
When he spoke to me, my stomach did a flip, and then a flop. My toes would tingle when he was around. I wrote his name over and over, did certain tests that only 12 year old girls know how to do, that would cement our destiny. Today that would be called stalking, but I guarantee you it was nothing more than a healthy admiration for a really cute boy. He barely knew I existed, so it's not like it really bothered him at all. He moved away in Jr. High, and I hardly noticed. There were many other boys for me to secretly like by then.
Anyway, the other day I ran into my first love, not Tommy, but my first real boyfriend. We dated for 2 years in high school, and I did love him, but it was high school, and that sort of thing was too deep and heavy for me at that age. We ended up breaking up, and he moved on rather quickly, which was very painful to me at the time--I don't know why--he ended up marrying the new girlfriend, and they have been together ever since. Good for them. He was a good guy, I have never wished him any ill will.
On the other hand, I dated a few frogs until I met my prince and married at the age of 23. We had a child pretty much right away, and have been together ever since, minus a few bumps in the road along the way. We're coming up on 12 years, and we're still very much in love.
Over the years I can count on one hand the number of times I've actually seen my first love, and it's always a very awkward encounter. Until the other day, my husband had never seen or met him. It was really no big deal. Ancient history as they say.
Strangely enough I've known my husband's first love since grade school. We all went to the same schools together. I always liked her, she was a nice girl I thought. The oddest thing was, we hadn't seen her in years either, and ran into her in the most unlikely of places--the other side of the world. Yep, she and her husband were stationed overseas in the same place we were. When people proclaim, "it's a small world!" I believe them.
I was okay with the thing. In my mind I thought, so what if they were each other's first loves, it's ancient history. I now understand my husband's discomfort with the thing. We did try to be adults and became friends with them again. I thought it was really nice and fun at first. However, I did not realize that she might have other motives. I could be wrong of course, but some of the things she said to my husband when they were alone suggest that was not the case. She was very interested in spending time with him--alone.
Eventually, her husband got orders and they moved. I decided not to confront her, and to just say good bye and leave things be. I knew it was highly unlikely we would all be in the same place again. By the way, I was wrong about that, we've all ended up here in our hometown. I see them all the time, but I don't speak to them. The last contact I had with her was an email where she asked me why I had not called her since I came home. As if the hussy didn't know. I gave her a reply that I would call when I got my life straight, which in her case, will actually be never. I don't plan on opening that door again. I was trusting and open before, she wanted my husband to take her out to lunch, and call her and talk to her. Umm, no, some things you just don't do.
But this isn't about her. This is about him. Running into him after all of these years with my family. And guess what? We didn't speak. Oh, we ran into him at the bowling alley. It was a really small one, so wherever we were I could see him. It was strange, and awkward. It was like we pretended we did not know each other at all. I don't know why we did that. I made eye contact with him and smiled, and he looked away. I don't know why. I had seen him only a few weeks ago at the grocery store and he was very talkative with me. I guess he didn't think he would see me again. Hey, I certainly didn't plan to see him either.
And that was it. I told my husband he was there, discreetly pointed him out, and my husband just sort of shrugged it off. I was a nervous wreck inside. I don't know why I felt that way. I think it was just awkward. Part of me thinks that there is a lot of unresolved junk there, and it only rises to the surface when we run into each other. We have never gone out of our way to see each other in all these years. A lot of stuff was left unsaid there. I just can't explain it.
Blah blah blah, I'm being such a chick about this. Anyway, I still wish nothing but good for him in his life. I don't really have bad feelings towards him, but I know we can't really be friends either. I tried that with hubby's first, it just doesn't work.
Unclassy and Common
As I Want To Be.
Lately I've been really addicted to various "reality t.v." shows. Some people think these shows are low class and that the people who watch them are some sort of sadistic voyeurs who "feel better about themselves when they see others humiliated." I say that is a heap of psycho-mumbo jumbo, and rather elitist and extreme on the surface, not to mention quite judgemental. It seems to me this view amounts to not much more than "I'm better than you uncivilized heathens." I can't begin to know the motivations that other people have for tuning into shows like American Idol, or Amazing Race, but I know that I have my own reasons for it.
Now I've never been one who sits on the edge of my seat watching a ball game, the olympics or any other sort of sporting competitions, yes, even curling. I watch with a sort of passive yawn most of the time. But watching people compete to win 1 million dollars, or a record deal does interest me.
These people have their own personalities, and that is part of the intrigue. If that is not evidence enough, name one member of any nation's curling team, now name the last American Idol. If someone happens to humiliate themselves, well that is life. I humiliate myself all the time, and have done so many times. There was that time I walked all the way through the building at work with a long piece of toilet paper hanging out of the back of my pants. I can't forget the time I answered the phone and thought I was speaking to my husband, and told him how much I loved him and missed him, even called him "baby" only to find that I was actually speaking to my father in law who thought I had temporarily lost my mind.
Sure none of those things were aired on television, but so far I've not heard one single case of people being forced to participate in these shows. I for one respect their right to embarrass themselves for the pure entertainment value of it. Now a person who is secretly video taped singing in their shower, and made a mockery of on the evening news, would indeed have my sympathy.
That settles it for me. Watch whatever you want to watch or don't, I don't care. Just mind your own business about what I watch. That would really make me feel better about myself.
Lately I've been really addicted to various "reality t.v." shows. Some people think these shows are low class and that the people who watch them are some sort of sadistic voyeurs who "feel better about themselves when they see others humiliated." I say that is a heap of psycho-mumbo jumbo, and rather elitist and extreme on the surface, not to mention quite judgemental. It seems to me this view amounts to not much more than "I'm better than you uncivilized heathens." I can't begin to know the motivations that other people have for tuning into shows like American Idol, or Amazing Race, but I know that I have my own reasons for it.
Now I've never been one who sits on the edge of my seat watching a ball game, the olympics or any other sort of sporting competitions, yes, even curling. I watch with a sort of passive yawn most of the time. But watching people compete to win 1 million dollars, or a record deal does interest me.
These people have their own personalities, and that is part of the intrigue. If that is not evidence enough, name one member of any nation's curling team, now name the last American Idol. If someone happens to humiliate themselves, well that is life. I humiliate myself all the time, and have done so many times. There was that time I walked all the way through the building at work with a long piece of toilet paper hanging out of the back of my pants. I can't forget the time I answered the phone and thought I was speaking to my husband, and told him how much I loved him and missed him, even called him "baby" only to find that I was actually speaking to my father in law who thought I had temporarily lost my mind.
Sure none of those things were aired on television, but so far I've not heard one single case of people being forced to participate in these shows. I for one respect their right to embarrass themselves for the pure entertainment value of it. Now a person who is secretly video taped singing in their shower, and made a mockery of on the evening news, would indeed have my sympathy.
That settles it for me. Watch whatever you want to watch or don't, I don't care. Just mind your own business about what I watch. That would really make me feel better about myself.
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
Wash Your Pits Man
Funk-o-rama.
There comes a time when, although we wish we did not have to say mean things about people, we must accept some things are undeniable. I try not to be shallow, I try not to judge, and most of the time that is pretty easy. Sometimes when I am about to utter something like, "oh my Gosh, look at that lady's hair," I stop myself and decide it would be more classy to keep those kinds of criticisms to myself.
Today I found standing on my own principles a little difficult. My brother and I innocently pulled into a convenience store downtown, the man behind the counter was wearing a turban on his head. Being the observant one my brother said, "oh my gosh, look at his hat." I said, "I know." My brother then went into the store, I waited in the car, and I'm very thankful now that I did.
When my brother came out of the store he had a strange look on his face, sort of like a child who just tried liver for the first time. He got in the car and said, "oh my gosh, I'm so glad you didn't go in there, you would have puked on the counter, that guy smelled like arm pits really bad." I'm sure my brother was right, he remembered me recounting my short stint as a cashier at a little mini-p.x. years ago. I was pregnant at the time, and a battalion of Marines came in from a two week jaunt in the field, of course they did not smell their very best at the time, and as I stood there ringing up their sodas, sunglasses and sunscreen, my stomach lurched into my throat. Luckily, my supervisor realized that those types of smells can be very nauseating to a pregnant woman, and relieved me from the register. Nevertheless, I gagged as I retold the story to my brother 10 years later.
Actually I do have a pretty sturdy constitution, but for some reason, the odor of sweaty armpits causes me to wretch. And according to my brother, the smell was much more than just pits, it was what he described as dirty cock and balls. Not only that, he went even further to say, "it smelled like the guy hadn't taken a bath for a month, and had packed his armpits with sardines and onions." Now, I really do hate to be unkind, but I must say this is just too much to fathom. However, my brother's face on the ride home told the real story, he had this look of pure terror and disgust on his face. Which of course made me laugh hysterically.
People, wash your pits okay? Imagine if that had been a taxi driver in New York or something, I'm pretty sure I would have got in and asked to be dropped off at the next corner. Use deodorant, it is your friend. You really do smell without it.
There comes a time when, although we wish we did not have to say mean things about people, we must accept some things are undeniable. I try not to be shallow, I try not to judge, and most of the time that is pretty easy. Sometimes when I am about to utter something like, "oh my Gosh, look at that lady's hair," I stop myself and decide it would be more classy to keep those kinds of criticisms to myself.
Today I found standing on my own principles a little difficult. My brother and I innocently pulled into a convenience store downtown, the man behind the counter was wearing a turban on his head. Being the observant one my brother said, "oh my gosh, look at his hat." I said, "I know." My brother then went into the store, I waited in the car, and I'm very thankful now that I did.
When my brother came out of the store he had a strange look on his face, sort of like a child who just tried liver for the first time. He got in the car and said, "oh my gosh, I'm so glad you didn't go in there, you would have puked on the counter, that guy smelled like arm pits really bad." I'm sure my brother was right, he remembered me recounting my short stint as a cashier at a little mini-p.x. years ago. I was pregnant at the time, and a battalion of Marines came in from a two week jaunt in the field, of course they did not smell their very best at the time, and as I stood there ringing up their sodas, sunglasses and sunscreen, my stomach lurched into my throat. Luckily, my supervisor realized that those types of smells can be very nauseating to a pregnant woman, and relieved me from the register. Nevertheless, I gagged as I retold the story to my brother 10 years later.
Actually I do have a pretty sturdy constitution, but for some reason, the odor of sweaty armpits causes me to wretch. And according to my brother, the smell was much more than just pits, it was what he described as dirty cock and balls. Not only that, he went even further to say, "it smelled like the guy hadn't taken a bath for a month, and had packed his armpits with sardines and onions." Now, I really do hate to be unkind, but I must say this is just too much to fathom. However, my brother's face on the ride home told the real story, he had this look of pure terror and disgust on his face. Which of course made me laugh hysterically.
People, wash your pits okay? Imagine if that had been a taxi driver in New York or something, I'm pretty sure I would have got in and asked to be dropped off at the next corner. Use deodorant, it is your friend. You really do smell without it.
Sunday, February 26, 2006
Quizzes Are Fun.
| You scored as Existentialism. Your life is guided by the concept of Existentialism: You choose the meaning and purpose of your life. �Man is condemned to be free; because once thrown into the world, he is responsible for everything he does.� �It is up to you to give [life] a meaning.� --Jean-Paul Sartre �It is man's natural sickness to believe that he possesses the Truth.� --Blaise Pascal More info at Arocoun's Wikipedia User Page...
What philosophy do you follow? (v1.03) created with QuizFarm.com |
Linked at Tinkerty Tonk
I'm Still Alive
I Killed The Blog.
I just got tired of worrying about being linked, or liked, so I deleted it. All of it. No more site meter, or any of that other stuff. I'm starting over and writing whatever the heck I want to write about, when I want to write it, and how I want to write it. Yeah, that's right, this site has just been cleansed. It's quite refreshing really, I promise it is.
Now if I can get my friend to fix it up pretty, well I guess that would be nice.
I just got tired of worrying about being linked, or liked, so I deleted it. All of it. No more site meter, or any of that other stuff. I'm starting over and writing whatever the heck I want to write about, when I want to write it, and how I want to write it. Yeah, that's right, this site has just been cleansed. It's quite refreshing really, I promise it is.
Now if I can get my friend to fix it up pretty, well I guess that would be nice.
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