Today someone at work found out I was a cheerleader in high school, and determined that I was a snotty, popular mean girl when I was a teenager. Which made me laugh because I was much more like the out-of-place girl trying too hard to be a part of a group that didn't really want me. Don't get me wrong, I had the core little group of best girl friends - Dorothy, Juli, Lori - but by no means was I popular. And I definitely wasn't cool enough to be a "mean girl" because that would imply that I had any sort of power. I'm pretty sure I had stonewashed jeans at one point. So... yeah.
This conversation with my friend at work unleashed this memory I have from elementary school, proving that I was no "mean girl" but was instead terrorized by the "mean girls" - who exist even in grade school and who are possibly even worse at that age because somehow they manage to shape who you are for the rest of your school-age years.
I'm not sure what grade I was in but it was young - maybe 3rd or 4th grade. Recess still happened, so it was young. I remember playing on one of those big metal ship things with a group of girls whose names I will not disclose but who to this day I feel bitter towards in completely irrational ways. I don't know how it happened other than they needed no reason to gang up on the weak one of the group but they did it anyway - because that's what mean girls do their whole lives. They pinpoint the weaker one and gang up, picking that person apart until they are left a sniveling and insecure shell of their former self. And so, while I don't remember exactly what happened, I absolutely remember every one of these four girls pulling my hair and kicking me but mostly pulling my hair while I crouched on the ground crying and begging them to stop. If it happened today they would probably take a video on their iPhone and post it to Facebook, after which I would find it online and sue them for brutality and win and then make a Lifetime movie about it to teach young girls about the dangers and injustices of bullying.
Instead, they grew bored and left me laying there and when I recovered, I got back up and spent the majority of the rest of my school-age days trying to fit into the popular crowd with this group of back-stabbing bitches who never got nicer and only got meaner and uglier and more powerful. Years later after it no longer mattered to me if I ever gained any of their approval, I saw one of them post on Facebook that she just hated high school because the memories were so painful for her, because everyone in school made her miserable, etc etc etc. And I had to laugh because although I don't remember her being anything but pretty and desired by all the boys, she clearly had some issue that she can't get past either. And I so badly wanted to reply to her post that she was beign ridiculous and she ruined my life by making my youngest grade school years miserable with her bullying, contributing in large part to the insecurities from which I would suffer for years and years to come.
And then I had to really really remind myself that I'm past all that and I'm a better person and all that. And I'm still reminding myself, because every once in awhile I run into someone who thinks I was some popular cheerleader in school who had it all - some little rich girl who never wanted for anything - and I have to remember how much hard work it took to get to the point where I could stand up straight and look people in the eye and how long it took me to look myself in the mirror and see anything but pimples and glasses. But the most important part is that now I can.
And I hope, oh I hope, that there isn't some girl out there who is remembering me as her "mean girl" because I don't remember being mean, but maybe I was. And if I was, I'm so sorry.
Monday, October 31, 2011
Regrets Come Easy
I don't consider myself a depressed person, or someone who suffers from depression or mental illness as a rule. I do think, however, that all of us suffer with bouts of depression from time to time, whether our chemicals are imbalanced or not. And a lot of it has to do with some repressed regret about your life, in my completely unprofessional/unlicensed opinion. I'm a firm believer that if you have navigated your whole life truly with no regrets and always happy go lucky, you're either lying to yourself or doing something wrong.
The people who live by a "No Regrets" rule are feeding themselves a crock of shit soup if you want my honest opinion. To be for real - you truly can manage to navigate your life without feeling regret for one thing or another? I have regrets from when I was, like, 9. No one has the presence of mind to decide on a regret-free life at any early enough age to actually make it happen.
So while we can all do everything possible to live a "regret-free life" after we have done many things worthy of regretting that perhaps we just don't want to admit to ourselves were regretful, despicable ideas, certainly I'm not the only one who has a whole slew of memories from my younger years that I wish I could forget. Because these memories, not the more recent ones from years of bad decision-making in my 'should have known better years', are the ones that genuinely make me cringe. These are the memories that visit me in the dark of night and keep me from falling asleep for the sadness I feel after I relive them. They probably seem really trivial to anyone else, including the people that I believe I hurt, but I feel genuine angst for my younger self, who couldn't have known any better.
One such memory - I was young, I don't know how old, and I had gotten my ears pierced. They mildly hurt, and I had to keep twisting those little gold studs to keep the holes from getting infected. I was scared to take the studs out of my ears, but the time had come where it was safe to take them out and replace them with cute earrings. I was too embarrased to tell my mom that I was scared, so when she came home from a special trip to the store to buy me cute new earrings, instead of being excited and happy which is surely what she was expecting I cried and locked myself in the bathroom (or clost? memory is fuzzy). She tried and tried to get me to come out and change my earrings but I stayed in there forever, refusing to come out. I dont' even remenber if I changed out the earrings afterwards. What I regret is that my mom did somethign really nice for me and I didn't appreciate it at all, and I feel bad that she was probably excited to come home and show me the present she bought for me and instead she was met with a screaming, crying little brat.
So this is the sort of thing that keeps me up at night - not the normal regret like being angry about sleeping with some guy or missing out on a great promotion.
The people who live by a "No Regrets" rule are feeding themselves a crock of shit soup if you want my honest opinion. To be for real - you truly can manage to navigate your life without feeling regret for one thing or another? I have regrets from when I was, like, 9. No one has the presence of mind to decide on a regret-free life at any early enough age to actually make it happen.
So while we can all do everything possible to live a "regret-free life" after we have done many things worthy of regretting that perhaps we just don't want to admit to ourselves were regretful, despicable ideas, certainly I'm not the only one who has a whole slew of memories from my younger years that I wish I could forget. Because these memories, not the more recent ones from years of bad decision-making in my 'should have known better years', are the ones that genuinely make me cringe. These are the memories that visit me in the dark of night and keep me from falling asleep for the sadness I feel after I relive them. They probably seem really trivial to anyone else, including the people that I believe I hurt, but I feel genuine angst for my younger self, who couldn't have known any better.
One such memory - I was young, I don't know how old, and I had gotten my ears pierced. They mildly hurt, and I had to keep twisting those little gold studs to keep the holes from getting infected. I was scared to take the studs out of my ears, but the time had come where it was safe to take them out and replace them with cute earrings. I was too embarrased to tell my mom that I was scared, so when she came home from a special trip to the store to buy me cute new earrings, instead of being excited and happy which is surely what she was expecting I cried and locked myself in the bathroom (or clost? memory is fuzzy). She tried and tried to get me to come out and change my earrings but I stayed in there forever, refusing to come out. I dont' even remenber if I changed out the earrings afterwards. What I regret is that my mom did somethign really nice for me and I didn't appreciate it at all, and I feel bad that she was probably excited to come home and show me the present she bought for me and instead she was met with a screaming, crying little brat.
So this is the sort of thing that keeps me up at night - not the normal regret like being angry about sleeping with some guy or missing out on a great promotion.
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Internet Speed Bumps
Okay so I hate, no... despise, the practice of websites forcing you to prove you're not a robot by entering a word or combination of characters displayed on a screen before it will let you proceed to the next page. Some of them tell you that such practices serve a dual purpose by using what you enter to help turn real live books into digital books. I mildly approve of this practice so up until recently I haven't minded terribly entering a copy of the characters I see on screen in order to advance to the page I wish to go to. LIke I said, until recently. Now they're making them so difficult. First off, how are we supposed to get past this virtual speed bump when you can't even decipher what characters are on the screen? They're working so hard to make sure we're not some sort of hacker that they're making it impossible for us to get to where we want to go. Plenty of websites have missed out on getting my money because I haven't made it past this step on the first try, and I refuse to try more than once. The other day I did try more than once and it was so cryptic that after no less than FOUR tries I still couldn't get past, so I had to give up
This really pisses me off. I suppose that what pisses me off is that we as a people have backed ourselves into this impossible corner where we rely on technology to the nth degree and yet we are also terrified of it at the same time, and this presents a major inconvenience to those of us who are just trying to innocently navigate our lives using the means which are expected of us by the corporations and employers who provide us our livelihood. Which just really annoys me. If we didn't want to be dependent on this shit, why did we allow it to take over our lives in the first place? And why are we allowing it to become even more integral to our daily operations? Who of us can imagine a day without iPhone or our digital camera or the least our plain old cell phones?
I watched "I Know What you Did Last Summer" this morning, which is not all that old, and all I could think the whole time was "why don't they just call each other on their cell phones?" until I realized that cell phones weren't really popular then and not everyone, including me, had one when that movie was popular.
So anyway, I'm sick and tired of these internet speed bumps and am considering boycotting every operation that requires you to pass through one. No more internet shopping, no more internet reservations. I do not want to play into the hands of the people who believe that no matter how impossible they make it for us to use their websites, we will just accept it because we have no other choice. We do have a choice and that is to remember what we did 10 years ago, when life was a tiny bit simpler and we were all surviving just fine.
This really pisses me off. I suppose that what pisses me off is that we as a people have backed ourselves into this impossible corner where we rely on technology to the nth degree and yet we are also terrified of it at the same time, and this presents a major inconvenience to those of us who are just trying to innocently navigate our lives using the means which are expected of us by the corporations and employers who provide us our livelihood. Which just really annoys me. If we didn't want to be dependent on this shit, why did we allow it to take over our lives in the first place? And why are we allowing it to become even more integral to our daily operations? Who of us can imagine a day without iPhone or our digital camera or the least our plain old cell phones?
I watched "I Know What you Did Last Summer" this morning, which is not all that old, and all I could think the whole time was "why don't they just call each other on their cell phones?" until I realized that cell phones weren't really popular then and not everyone, including me, had one when that movie was popular.
So anyway, I'm sick and tired of these internet speed bumps and am considering boycotting every operation that requires you to pass through one. No more internet shopping, no more internet reservations. I do not want to play into the hands of the people who believe that no matter how impossible they make it for us to use their websites, we will just accept it because we have no other choice. We do have a choice and that is to remember what we did 10 years ago, when life was a tiny bit simpler and we were all surviving just fine.
Just When I Was Starting to Get Homesick...
It snowed in the Northeast. In October. So yeah... nevermind.
In other news, went on a helicopter ride last week that may have changed my mind on rollercoasters. I have never been so thrilled as I was on Tuesday when the pilot starting bobbing and weaving and all manner of fun stuff in air that I would have expected to send me into a tailspin of vomiting and crying. Instead I wanted more more more. After that I'm thinking maybe I would like roller coasters after all. But probably not. But this is enough to convince me to maybe try. Maybe. Don't tell my husband.
In other news, went on a helicopter ride last week that may have changed my mind on rollercoasters. I have never been so thrilled as I was on Tuesday when the pilot starting bobbing and weaving and all manner of fun stuff in air that I would have expected to send me into a tailspin of vomiting and crying. Instead I wanted more more more. After that I'm thinking maybe I would like roller coasters after all. But probably not. But this is enough to convince me to maybe try. Maybe. Don't tell my husband.
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Finding a Voice You Feel Comfortable With
Perhaps not everyone struggles deeply with finding an outer voice that fits them. I am sure there are certain personality types, certain types of people, who feel more comfortable speaking out than others. I am of the variety who must analyze every word I say before it escapes through my lips, who worries for hours after I have spoken up that what I said was stupid or wrong or silly.
My goal, my New Years Resolution (if I can make one three months before I'm supposed to) is going to be to become comfortable with what I have to say. What makes human beings so exceptional is our capacity to think for ourselves and to have differing, and opposing, viewpoints. This should not be looked upon as a fault if one person differs from others in a group, or if one person has questions about a topic that everyone else seems to feel comfortable with. In fact, it is increasingly becoming my experience that, when I muster the courage to ask my question, I am met with a certain extent of uncertainty from the person who presumably should know the answer right away. Our willingness to ask questions is an example of our ability for critical thinking and problem-solving, a virtue not a weakness.
If any of us are in a situation where something gives us reason to pause, or we get that feeling that something is not quite right - we must speak up. More often than not, your intuition will be right and some issue, be it minor or critical, will be uncovered because you dared to ask for clarification.
Still, although I am learning this lesson it is a hard one to put into practice for me, because I am still getting comfortable with my own voice. Yesterday I got cold-called from a lady who just jumped right into the conversation by telling me she was from the "Vote No to Charter Amendment 3 coalition" and could she count on my vote against this bill. Before I would have probably said yes just to avoid any further conversation and hung up, after all - how would anyone know that I have zero intent to go vote either yes or no for this amendment. And then I thought, no - how dare you call me demanding that I commit to vote no to this amendment without even offering to talk to me about it. And I have actually wondered what it is when I drove by various Vote No signs recently. So I asked her to tell me more about the amendment, and she rushed through an explanation that I didn't understand but it had to do with the local police force, which I actually happen to really care about. So I asked again and she gave me the same boiler plate explanation and asked again for my commitment to vote no. Before - I might have just said yes. But this time i told her I would not commit to voting no for the amendment because I didn't know enough about it.
And guess what. Hail and locusts didn't rain from the sky. I didn't die of a heart attack. She didn't laugh at me or call me names. She simply thanked me for my time, told me there is a Facebook site, and hung up, and I felt glad that I was honest with her about my intent.
It isn't easy - but we all must find our voice, our ability to use our voice. Without it, we are just pawns playing in to other people's agendas.
My goal, my New Years Resolution (if I can make one three months before I'm supposed to) is going to be to become comfortable with what I have to say. What makes human beings so exceptional is our capacity to think for ourselves and to have differing, and opposing, viewpoints. This should not be looked upon as a fault if one person differs from others in a group, or if one person has questions about a topic that everyone else seems to feel comfortable with. In fact, it is increasingly becoming my experience that, when I muster the courage to ask my question, I am met with a certain extent of uncertainty from the person who presumably should know the answer right away. Our willingness to ask questions is an example of our ability for critical thinking and problem-solving, a virtue not a weakness.
If any of us are in a situation where something gives us reason to pause, or we get that feeling that something is not quite right - we must speak up. More often than not, your intuition will be right and some issue, be it minor or critical, will be uncovered because you dared to ask for clarification.
Still, although I am learning this lesson it is a hard one to put into practice for me, because I am still getting comfortable with my own voice. Yesterday I got cold-called from a lady who just jumped right into the conversation by telling me she was from the "Vote No to Charter Amendment 3 coalition" and could she count on my vote against this bill. Before I would have probably said yes just to avoid any further conversation and hung up, after all - how would anyone know that I have zero intent to go vote either yes or no for this amendment. And then I thought, no - how dare you call me demanding that I commit to vote no to this amendment without even offering to talk to me about it. And I have actually wondered what it is when I drove by various Vote No signs recently. So I asked her to tell me more about the amendment, and she rushed through an explanation that I didn't understand but it had to do with the local police force, which I actually happen to really care about. So I asked again and she gave me the same boiler plate explanation and asked again for my commitment to vote no. Before - I might have just said yes. But this time i told her I would not commit to voting no for the amendment because I didn't know enough about it.
And guess what. Hail and locusts didn't rain from the sky. I didn't die of a heart attack. She didn't laugh at me or call me names. She simply thanked me for my time, told me there is a Facebook site, and hung up, and I felt glad that I was honest with her about my intent.
It isn't easy - but we all must find our voice, our ability to use our voice. Without it, we are just pawns playing in to other people's agendas.
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Mystery Solved
Well, after tossing all of the food in the fridge, dumping the ice in the icemaker, and washing every assemblage inside, we discovered the source of the horrible egg smell. The water filter had gone bad while we were on vacation and the nasty water sat there going bad all this time. Problem solved. Heading to home depot for a new water filter and then to stock back up on beer and frozen pizza. Yay.
Saturday, October 22, 2011
Fun and Sad Text Messages
Tonight I got a text message from my friend that said she was at a bar in West Chester celebrating WCU's homecoming and that the floor she was standing on was covered in broken Corona bottles and limes. On the one hand, this was a fun text that made me laugh and text back something along the lines of "miss that!" and then go raid my stinky refrigerator for a beer or five so that i could pretend to relive my college days - none of which featured Coronas by the way. Where are these kids getting their money? We were lucky to have Natty Lights - normally we hung out at the corner bar that sold 50 cent beers out of miniature sized beer mugs most likely washed in lukewarm day-old dishwater. Even my present lifestyle doesn't include Corona beers seeing as I made the massive step up to Coors Light upon getting a job that paid marginally more than my rent and my car note combined. Digressing... I am drinking Coors Light.
On the other, much more promiment, hand, this was a sad text that made me miss living in the Northeast where the majority of my friends are. If I was there, I would be out at the bar pretending to be 20 again and celebrating Homecoming, the significance of which I have never understood. But I don't, so I'm not. Which is probably a good thing but I do miss my friends. Maybe I would miss them a little less if stupid Hurricane Irene had not screwed up my plans to visit them this summer. Speaking of which, I have a pack of 12 custom coozies that say "Anchor Splash 2011 - Avalon, NJ" on them sitting on my kitchen counter that I never got to give out - too bad my friend Paco does not have one to stick her Corona and lime in right now.
On the other, much more promiment, hand, this was a sad text that made me miss living in the Northeast where the majority of my friends are. If I was there, I would be out at the bar pretending to be 20 again and celebrating Homecoming, the significance of which I have never understood. But I don't, so I'm not. Which is probably a good thing but I do miss my friends. Maybe I would miss them a little less if stupid Hurricane Irene had not screwed up my plans to visit them this summer. Speaking of which, I have a pack of 12 custom coozies that say "Anchor Splash 2011 - Avalon, NJ" on them sitting on my kitchen counter that I never got to give out - too bad my friend Paco does not have one to stick her Corona and lime in right now.
Should I or Shouldn't I?
My friend wants us to go see Paranormal Activity 3 tomorrow and I said okay, but secretly I am terrified. Well, I guess I can't say secretly, since - after all - I'm stating it on a blog that is open to the entire world despite the fact that embarrasingly few people actually read it. So ... semi secretly then?
Anyway, so she wants to see Paranormal Activity 3, or else her husband does and I am projecting that desire upon her. Either way, as far as I know right now we have a plan to go see it tomorrow night. At first I was okay with it because ghost movies don't scare me all that much since I don't really believe in ghosts. But, then I saw a preview today and at the end it says "The Last 15 Minutes Will Mess You Up For Life". Which terrifies me because - as anyone who knows me knows - I have already encountered the movie that would screw me up forever and it really genuinely messed up my life. That movie being "The Strangers", which did not have "The Last 15 Minutes Will Mess You Up For Life" in the trailer. So if a movie that has the capacity to keep me from sleeping for nearly 2 years until I finally convinced my husband to buy me both a home alarm system and a gun did not have that in the preview, what about a movie that does? What will that do to my life?!?!?
Yet, in spite of my fear and worry - I do sort of still want to see it because scary movies are a staple of the late October timeframe and what would the Halloween season be without scary movies? Which is why I recorded "Halloween" on TV tonight even though I know it will scare me and keep me from sleeping for the next few days after I watch it.
Which leads us to the burning question - why do I have it in for myself? And also, what are the best scary movies for Halloween?
Anyway, so she wants to see Paranormal Activity 3, or else her husband does and I am projecting that desire upon her. Either way, as far as I know right now we have a plan to go see it tomorrow night. At first I was okay with it because ghost movies don't scare me all that much since I don't really believe in ghosts. But, then I saw a preview today and at the end it says "The Last 15 Minutes Will Mess You Up For Life". Which terrifies me because - as anyone who knows me knows - I have already encountered the movie that would screw me up forever and it really genuinely messed up my life. That movie being "The Strangers", which did not have "The Last 15 Minutes Will Mess You Up For Life" in the trailer. So if a movie that has the capacity to keep me from sleeping for nearly 2 years until I finally convinced my husband to buy me both a home alarm system and a gun did not have that in the preview, what about a movie that does? What will that do to my life?!?!?
Yet, in spite of my fear and worry - I do sort of still want to see it because scary movies are a staple of the late October timeframe and what would the Halloween season be without scary movies? Which is why I recorded "Halloween" on TV tonight even though I know it will scare me and keep me from sleeping for the next few days after I watch it.
Which leads us to the burning question - why do I have it in for myself? And also, what are the best scary movies for Halloween?
Thursday, October 20, 2011
What Smells?
So, there is an unsolved mystery in my house and it is called "what is stinking up the refrigerator"?
It smells vaguely like egg salad. It is definitely mayonnaise or egg based.
We just got back from a week away, and honestly all the stuff in there could have been pretty old already, so I started throwing shit away. First I threw away the eggs and the milk and the cheeses. That was Sunday. Monday it still stunk, so I threw away all the peppers and onions, even the stuff that still looked okay. But the smell was starting to take on an oniony tone so I thought maybe I had got the eggy smell wrong.
Tuesday it still smelled so I threw away the crescent rolls, hot dogs, turkey deli meat, and sour cream (thought okay maybe the sour cream was the culprit since I found it sort of hidden towards the back and I was too scared to open it to see what it looked like because although the name would have you believe that it is already as bad as it is going to get, I am here to tell you that sour cream can get really really ugly). Wednesday it smelled better but not as bad so I opened a carton of baking soda or whatever and stuck it in there thinking I had found the source and now it just needs to clear up in there. However this morning it still stunk so I threw away the mayonnaise, garlic, ranch dressing, and horseradish - all things that probably should have made the first toss. I also found an orange from when my parents visited the first week of September so I threw that away too.
Today when we got home I optimistically opened the fridge and thought it smelled better. However, horror of horrors - when Adam opened it later I got a whiff of the offending egg salad smell from all the way in the living room which is terrifying.
This leaves the burning question - what the hell is stinking up my refrigerator?
My refrigerator now resembles my college refrigerator - there is beer and ketchup and relish and Dr Pepper and that's about it.
Horrible Fact - I can't possibly cook anything that currently resides in that refrigerator or freezer knowing that it may be the source of the gross egg salad smell or that it could have taken on the egg salad smell itself, which means that until we start over with all new food - I can't cook. Did I say horrible fact? I meant oh happy, happy, happy me.
It smells vaguely like egg salad. It is definitely mayonnaise or egg based.
We just got back from a week away, and honestly all the stuff in there could have been pretty old already, so I started throwing shit away. First I threw away the eggs and the milk and the cheeses. That was Sunday. Monday it still stunk, so I threw away all the peppers and onions, even the stuff that still looked okay. But the smell was starting to take on an oniony tone so I thought maybe I had got the eggy smell wrong.
Tuesday it still smelled so I threw away the crescent rolls, hot dogs, turkey deli meat, and sour cream (thought okay maybe the sour cream was the culprit since I found it sort of hidden towards the back and I was too scared to open it to see what it looked like because although the name would have you believe that it is already as bad as it is going to get, I am here to tell you that sour cream can get really really ugly). Wednesday it smelled better but not as bad so I opened a carton of baking soda or whatever and stuck it in there thinking I had found the source and now it just needs to clear up in there. However this morning it still stunk so I threw away the mayonnaise, garlic, ranch dressing, and horseradish - all things that probably should have made the first toss. I also found an orange from when my parents visited the first week of September so I threw that away too.
Today when we got home I optimistically opened the fridge and thought it smelled better. However, horror of horrors - when Adam opened it later I got a whiff of the offending egg salad smell from all the way in the living room which is terrifying.
This leaves the burning question - what the hell is stinking up my refrigerator?
My refrigerator now resembles my college refrigerator - there is beer and ketchup and relish and Dr Pepper and that's about it.
Horrible Fact - I can't possibly cook anything that currently resides in that refrigerator or freezer knowing that it may be the source of the gross egg salad smell or that it could have taken on the egg salad smell itself, which means that until we start over with all new food - I can't cook. Did I say horrible fact? I meant oh happy, happy, happy me.
Today is the National Day on Writing!! :-)
Who else is as excited as I am?!
What did I do to celebrate this momentous holiday, you may ask?
Well, I went to work of course, where I proceeded to print a whole bunch of spreadsheets (see previous entry) and gather around a conference table to pour over dollar amounts and schedule projects into fiscal years. I have a masters degree in English and a burning desire to write and share my literary vision with the world, but instead I go to work and plan a construction program because someone's got to earn that money, honey. Well, in my household both of us have to. So I went to work and then I got home and I was tired so I sat here staring at the curtains and twirling my hair (see previous entry) until now. Then I went on Facebook which also does not count as writing and sharing my creative genius with the masses. So, frustrated with my laziness, I decided to blog about how I wish I was writing a book,,, instead of actually writing a book. Or even an outline would be okay. Or, like, a character list.
But let us not forget that today is the National Day on Writing and so should be considered a New Year of sorts for those of us who share a passion for writing. Therefore, today marks the beginning of my New Year and my resolution is to actually try to write something substantial. I will start tomorrow. ;-)
What did I do to celebrate this momentous holiday, you may ask?
Well, I went to work of course, where I proceeded to print a whole bunch of spreadsheets (see previous entry) and gather around a conference table to pour over dollar amounts and schedule projects into fiscal years. I have a masters degree in English and a burning desire to write and share my literary vision with the world, but instead I go to work and plan a construction program because someone's got to earn that money, honey. Well, in my household both of us have to. So I went to work and then I got home and I was tired so I sat here staring at the curtains and twirling my hair (see previous entry) until now. Then I went on Facebook which also does not count as writing and sharing my creative genius with the masses. So, frustrated with my laziness, I decided to blog about how I wish I was writing a book,,, instead of actually writing a book. Or even an outline would be okay. Or, like, a character list.
But let us not forget that today is the National Day on Writing and so should be considered a New Year of sorts for those of us who share a passion for writing. Therefore, today marks the beginning of my New Year and my resolution is to actually try to write something substantial. I will start tomorrow. ;-)
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Techy Challenged
I am technologically challenged ,but I make up for it in enthusiasm and a general refusal to allow these robots, ahem computers, to beat me. But MS Excel is killing me, specifically pivot tables, without which I survived all of 32 years just fine until now, but without which now I wander aimlessly through my nonsensical spreadsheets trying to make sense of my gibberish. And now it is midnight and I am working because I talked too much today at work and didn't get enough done so I brought my work home much to the dismay of my husband who I think secretly loves it because he gets to play video games without me complaining.
Anyway, so I am working. And I spent hours inputting data with the intent to create a certain sort of pivot table out of multiple pivot tables. Which - guess what - doesn't work. Or else I couldn't get it to work and Helpy McVideoGame in there just told me it's really a pain in the ass and doesn't really work right, especially if you're not an Excel Whiz (which I am not), so I gave up and started over. So I spent another hour inputting new data into a new spreadsheet because the way I did it originally was not conducive to having to starting over using existing spreadsheet. Then I made said desired pivot table and it worked beautifully, thank the Internet. Yay. Was seriously proud of myself. Creating a pivot table that works triggers the same delicious feeling I used to get when I would finish an English paper - sweet nerdy satisfaction. So then I went to email it to myself at work, all proud and giddy and rewarding myself with a glass of wine. Only I just got a new email address at work and I sort of forgot exactly what it is already. So I thought well I'll email it to myself at Yahoo and get it tomorrow from Yahoo on my work PC. But then I have been sitting here and typed this entire blog entry and it is - Wait let me look - still uploading the attachment to my email. Which is not right. I mean it's been like several minutes. I'm a fast typer but not that fast. Still spinning.
This is total Bullshit! So yeah. I'm techy challenged. Or else my computer is. Can a piece of technology be techy challenged? I think YES.
Anyway, so I am working. And I spent hours inputting data with the intent to create a certain sort of pivot table out of multiple pivot tables. Which - guess what - doesn't work. Or else I couldn't get it to work and Helpy McVideoGame in there just told me it's really a pain in the ass and doesn't really work right, especially if you're not an Excel Whiz (which I am not), so I gave up and started over. So I spent another hour inputting new data into a new spreadsheet because the way I did it originally was not conducive to having to starting over using existing spreadsheet. Then I made said desired pivot table and it worked beautifully, thank the Internet. Yay. Was seriously proud of myself. Creating a pivot table that works triggers the same delicious feeling I used to get when I would finish an English paper - sweet nerdy satisfaction. So then I went to email it to myself at work, all proud and giddy and rewarding myself with a glass of wine. Only I just got a new email address at work and I sort of forgot exactly what it is already. So I thought well I'll email it to myself at Yahoo and get it tomorrow from Yahoo on my work PC. But then I have been sitting here and typed this entire blog entry and it is - Wait let me look - still uploading the attachment to my email. Which is not right. I mean it's been like several minutes. I'm a fast typer but not that fast. Still spinning.
This is total Bullshit! So yeah. I'm techy challenged. Or else my computer is. Can a piece of technology be techy challenged? I think YES.
Sunday, October 16, 2011
Breast Cancer Awareness
I dont' know a lot of people, or at least I don't think I do, who have been directly affected by breast cancer. There was a sorority sister from college who lost her mother to it during college, which was very sad although I did not appreciate the enormity of her loss at the time, due to my own security in my mother being alive. And another dear friend whose mother succumbed, long before I knew her. And I have a friend who can proclaim she is a survivor, though I haven't seen her shouting it from the rooftops so perhaps for her it is a private victory, the details of which she chooses not to share - and that is perfectly within her rights. A struggle like that - I cannot even imagine. If I were to beat cancer I believe at that point I would do whatever the hell I wanted all the time. Such a brush with my own mortality would be more than enough to convince me that my time was MY OWN and screw everyone else and what they think. So many of us are so prone to worrying about what others will think of the way we live our lives - we don't even realize we're doing it perhaps until the end of our life flashes before our eyes. I imagine a great reminder of our capacity to make choices to suit ourselves would be terminal illness, specifically beating a terminal illness.
Anyway, for me, that's all that I know of, though I am sure there are many more who suffer with either their own struggle or their memories of those dearly departed in silence. So today I am thinking of my dear friend who has beat this illness because she, and her family, are an inspiration to me. Never did I see her begrudge her situation; never did I hear her angrily defile the power that put this afflication upon her. Her family stood up and cared for her, and loved her, so much during her struggle. Their story inspires me to appreciate my life and the love I have in my family. The love I feel for my husband and our parents and siblings, and their children. The love I have for our friends and their children. All of us are at the mercy of our surroundings and our respective gods or, if we don't believe in God, our bodies. Appreciating the love we have for eachother, appreicating the time we have together, is all we have. The best way to combat our own mortality is to steadfastly hang on to the memories we make together and ensure that our love lives on, whether it be in pictures, in growing families, in our writings and letters. These are the things that will live on forever, and we must remember every day to appreciate the time we have together and to throw our full selves into loving one another - afflictions and all.
Our survivors, and those we have lost to illness, are proof that our memories live on and our love can make a difference in the world. Take a moment to remember those you have lost, and those who have survived, and what it would mean if your life was not enriched with the memories you have with them. Then tell them you love them.
Anyway, for me, that's all that I know of, though I am sure there are many more who suffer with either their own struggle or their memories of those dearly departed in silence. So today I am thinking of my dear friend who has beat this illness because she, and her family, are an inspiration to me. Never did I see her begrudge her situation; never did I hear her angrily defile the power that put this afflication upon her. Her family stood up and cared for her, and loved her, so much during her struggle. Their story inspires me to appreciate my life and the love I have in my family. The love I feel for my husband and our parents and siblings, and their children. The love I have for our friends and their children. All of us are at the mercy of our surroundings and our respective gods or, if we don't believe in God, our bodies. Appreciating the love we have for eachother, appreicating the time we have together, is all we have. The best way to combat our own mortality is to steadfastly hang on to the memories we make together and ensure that our love lives on, whether it be in pictures, in growing families, in our writings and letters. These are the things that will live on forever, and we must remember every day to appreciate the time we have together and to throw our full selves into loving one another - afflictions and all.
Our survivors, and those we have lost to illness, are proof that our memories live on and our love can make a difference in the world. Take a moment to remember those you have lost, and those who have survived, and what it would mean if your life was not enriched with the memories you have with them. Then tell them you love them.
Glad to Be Back from Vacation
Well, we just got back from a week on the Carnival Triumph, which was a blast. I am glad to be home though. Most of the past week has been a series of 'what-if' scenarios for me that usually result in me wondering if people would consider me suicidal if they could read my mind. I really hope I'm not the only one who does this.
For example, I spent an inordinate amount of time watching the water from my stateroom's balcony. The water was beautiful and deep deep blue. The ship cutting through the waves made peaceful-looking whitecaps 6 stories below me. I couldn't help but contemplate what it would be like to climb over the balcony railing and take a swan dive into the water beneath me, and then how the moments that follow such a move would unfold.
Would I flail around wildly and survive for a few minutes before becoming shark bait?
Would I die before the sharks got me or would I have to tread water waiting in vain for someone to rescue me, only to be eaten up anyway?
Would I die instantly upon hitting the water?
Would the water be icy cold or warm or somewhere in between? Would I even feel it?
How long would it take before anyone noticed?
What if I did it while my husband was out getting us a drink? How long would it take him to begin looking, panic-stricken, for his missing wife? How long would he allow himself to believe that I had simply stepped out to use the internet cafe or play the slot machines in the casino downstairs. Would he first assume that I had taken up with another man in another state-room, or would he assume that I had jumped overboard? Which of these would I find more offensive, and which would be worse for him to have to believe?
These thoughts consumed whole chunks of time while I was on the cruise. So I am glad to be back because now I am back to my normal routine in my normal house, where the temptation to come up with new and wild scenarios is less compelling.
By the way, I'm not suicidal. I believe this is just the morbid version of what kids do when they wonder what would happen if they stood up on the library table during study hall and shouted "I Hate My English Teacher!" or something like that. It's fun to imagine outrageous scenarios and try to decide what you would do if they happened. For instance I sometimes ask Adam what he would do if an airplane fell out of the sky and landed in the lake next to us while we are out on the boat, or what he would do if the dam collapsed as we drove over it, our only two options being drive toward the water and into the lake or drive away from the water and over the other side of the dam. However, I'm glad that my imagination only stretches so far, because I've exhausted most of the crazy at home already, so I'm free to go back to just being my normal self for awhile, instead of being overwhelmed by all manner of opportunities for mayhem which surround you while on vacation.
For example, I spent an inordinate amount of time watching the water from my stateroom's balcony. The water was beautiful and deep deep blue. The ship cutting through the waves made peaceful-looking whitecaps 6 stories below me. I couldn't help but contemplate what it would be like to climb over the balcony railing and take a swan dive into the water beneath me, and then how the moments that follow such a move would unfold.
Would I flail around wildly and survive for a few minutes before becoming shark bait?
Would I die before the sharks got me or would I have to tread water waiting in vain for someone to rescue me, only to be eaten up anyway?
Would I die instantly upon hitting the water?
Would the water be icy cold or warm or somewhere in between? Would I even feel it?
How long would it take before anyone noticed?
What if I did it while my husband was out getting us a drink? How long would it take him to begin looking, panic-stricken, for his missing wife? How long would he allow himself to believe that I had simply stepped out to use the internet cafe or play the slot machines in the casino downstairs. Would he first assume that I had taken up with another man in another state-room, or would he assume that I had jumped overboard? Which of these would I find more offensive, and which would be worse for him to have to believe?
These thoughts consumed whole chunks of time while I was on the cruise. So I am glad to be back because now I am back to my normal routine in my normal house, where the temptation to come up with new and wild scenarios is less compelling.
By the way, I'm not suicidal. I believe this is just the morbid version of what kids do when they wonder what would happen if they stood up on the library table during study hall and shouted "I Hate My English Teacher!" or something like that. It's fun to imagine outrageous scenarios and try to decide what you would do if they happened. For instance I sometimes ask Adam what he would do if an airplane fell out of the sky and landed in the lake next to us while we are out on the boat, or what he would do if the dam collapsed as we drove over it, our only two options being drive toward the water and into the lake or drive away from the water and over the other side of the dam. However, I'm glad that my imagination only stretches so far, because I've exhausted most of the crazy at home already, so I'm free to go back to just being my normal self for awhile, instead of being overwhelmed by all manner of opportunities for mayhem which surround you while on vacation.
Friday, October 7, 2011
The Walk to End Alzheimers
On November 5th, a Saturday, the Alzheimers Association is holding a Walk To End Alzheimers in Bell County, Texas (Temple, to be exact) to raise funds and awareness for Alzheimers research and support. This is a special cause, one near to my heart and to the hearts of many of my friends and family.
Our team name is "Great Memories" and we are walking in honor of my dear friend Lori's aunt, who just recently passed away as a result of Alzheimers. In addition we are walking in memory of my beloved late grandmother Alice and the beloved late grandmother of my dear friend Lisa.
These women touched the lives of many. I don't know near enough about my friends' loved ones. I do, however, know my 'Grammy' - who was a strong and opinionated woman who loved her daughters and their families. Her life was full - she had many adventures and a successful and important career in nursing. She raised three successful and beautiful daughters. She was wife to my dear grandfather, Jack, who loved her fiercely - more than any man in the love stories we all sometimes wish our lives resembled.
She was funny and dynamic. Her stories were full of suspense and heart. Her home was alive with the sounds of friends and family. She decorated the most beautiful Christmas tree and baked the most delicious sweet potatoes at Thanksgiving. I would have given anything to get married in her backyard, with her and my grandfather standing next to my parents as I said my vows.
Now, I remember her and wish I could spend an evening with her as she was before she became afflicted with Alzheimers disease. I would like to hear her stories again and soak them in the way I never did when I was younger. I wish I could tell her about my husband and our friends, our life in Texas and the career path I chose for myself. Mostly I wish I could hug her one last time and tell her, unequivocally, how much I love her and how much I regret that her life remains largely a mystery to me, because - as most young people - I didn't pay enough attention while I had her with me.
Alzheimers disease destroyed my grandmother's mind and - eventually - her body, but it can never take away the fond memories we all have of her in our hearts and will never lessen the love I have for her. Every year Alzheimers disease claims the minds of our loved ones. Together, we can fight back and help further research efforts and support groups for caregivers who give up their lives, as they know them, to help their loved ones maintain their way of life as long as they can.
Our team name is "Great Memories" and we are walking in honor of my dear friend Lori's aunt, who just recently passed away as a result of Alzheimers. In addition we are walking in memory of my beloved late grandmother Alice and the beloved late grandmother of my dear friend Lisa.
These women touched the lives of many. I don't know near enough about my friends' loved ones. I do, however, know my 'Grammy' - who was a strong and opinionated woman who loved her daughters and their families. Her life was full - she had many adventures and a successful and important career in nursing. She raised three successful and beautiful daughters. She was wife to my dear grandfather, Jack, who loved her fiercely - more than any man in the love stories we all sometimes wish our lives resembled.
She was funny and dynamic. Her stories were full of suspense and heart. Her home was alive with the sounds of friends and family. She decorated the most beautiful Christmas tree and baked the most delicious sweet potatoes at Thanksgiving. I would have given anything to get married in her backyard, with her and my grandfather standing next to my parents as I said my vows.
Now, I remember her and wish I could spend an evening with her as she was before she became afflicted with Alzheimers disease. I would like to hear her stories again and soak them in the way I never did when I was younger. I wish I could tell her about my husband and our friends, our life in Texas and the career path I chose for myself. Mostly I wish I could hug her one last time and tell her, unequivocally, how much I love her and how much I regret that her life remains largely a mystery to me, because - as most young people - I didn't pay enough attention while I had her with me.
Alzheimers disease destroyed my grandmother's mind and - eventually - her body, but it can never take away the fond memories we all have of her in our hearts and will never lessen the love I have for her. Every year Alzheimers disease claims the minds of our loved ones. Together, we can fight back and help further research efforts and support groups for caregivers who give up their lives, as they know them, to help their loved ones maintain their way of life as long as they can.
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Ghost Stories
This evening I was reading this story (http://news.yahoo.com/clinton-road-jersey-most-terrifying-road-u-194000764.html?bouchon=504,pa) about the "most haunted road in America" which according to the author is in West Milford, NJ. Apparently when one drives down the road, headlights appear out of nowhere and follow the car aggressively, only to disappear upon reaching a main thoroughfare or another car showing up. Reading this story triggered some very fond (and scary!) memories I have of ghost stories and the fantastical tricks they can play on your mind and shape your opinions of certain places.
West Chester, PA and the surrounding area is quite historic and, if one is inclined, it's not hard to believe in ghosts. My roomates and I even believed our own house was haunted for a little while, following a drunken viewing of Donnie Darko, and then an even more drunken viewing of The Shining. The doorbell doesn't ring itself people. And balloons dont' just float up stairs on their own. Well... okay maybe they do. But the point is we were convinced we had a ghost named Frank, inspired by the creepy rabbit on Donnie Darko. Once the word got out that we might be believers, all manner of ghost-story-telling weirdos showed up at our doorsteps - mainly my boyfriend-at-the-time and his creepy friend who lived in a "haunted" mansion up the street.
Two ghost stories that stuck with me are the "The Twin Tunnels" and the "Gates of Hell" (which I will forever remember as the road that is so evil that trees grow away from it.
Too many times, our morbid little group packed ourselves into a car and traveled to "The Twin Tunnels" - a remote road in an industrial area where for some reason the road become a tunnel for a couple hundred yards. Supposedly, a girl was once walking home from work through this tunnel and was attacked and hanged from an exposed pipe in the middle of the tunnel. The story was if you stopped your car in the tunnel, it would turn off (thanks to the ghost!) and you would not be able to turn it back on. Being the brave adventurers we were, of course, we would gun it through the tunnel - not stopping - and occassionally turn off our headlights as we went through, for effect. I don't think we ever mustered the courage to actually test the story and turn the car off in the middle of the tunnel. Oh - and part of the story as it was told to me was that this was the location where a very popular 80s band recorded one of their very popular songs, where one can supposedly hear the very same woman being murdered in the background. Really - a multi-million dollar rock band chose a rundown industrial site in Southeastern Pennsylvania for their insanely popular song recording and were lax enough about security that a deranged killer and a lone young woman could just be walking through it while they were in the middle of recording? Doubt it. Still can't believe I bought that one - but worse still is that to this day I listen for screams in the background of the song whenever I hear it on the radio. At any rate, I don't care if it's haunted or not - driving through that tunnel in the dead of night, especially with no headlights, was downright terrifying. Add to it the element of a few 20-something girls who are predisposed to drama and excitement, and you have the perfect "haunted house" vibe without having to do anything but fill up your gas tank.
On to the next... - the road that's so evil the trees grow away from it, also known as the Gates of Hell. What a foolish notion to believe and yet we soaked it up like the truth it clearly wasn't. Supposedly the reason the road was so evil is that at the end of it was an estate where a murder/suicide had occurred, and where frequent murders and cult gatherings occurred after the house was abandoned. I was also told a baby had been stuffed into an opening in one of the petrified trees, and that the original murdered family had been dumped in the lake on the property and were still there. The game was to drive the entire length of the very creepy and out-in-the-middle-of-nowhere road (which was only wide enough for one vehicle), pass the "gates", get to the house, walk up to the house, and then run back to the car. Supposedly if you even got past the gates your car would stall and you would have to run up the haunted driveway and back. Oh - and let us not forget the band of satanic motorcyclist killers who would be waiting in the woods to come after us on our way in and out (also part of the story).
Considering we wouldn't even turn our car off in the middle of the Twin Tunnels, it's a wonder we ever tested this story. But we did - one October night we piled in and headed off to drive the evil road and visit the evil gates of hell. Naturally it had to be October and was likely a day or two before or after Halloween. What were we trying to prove I wonder? Of course it was fun. Nervous giggles were about all that could be heard the entire way there and back. The road was narrow, with a steep drop off on one side and a forest on the other. You had to make a 3-point turn to change direcction. We didnt' even make it halfway to the supposed house of horrors. Halfway there, I got nervous and decided I had to pee - right there in the middle of a road so horrifying that even the trees were actively trying to get away from it. (take note - the trees did actually grow away from the road but of course that doesn't mean the road is evil - but you can see how it lent some credibility to the story and gave us all a cheap thrill) We used that as our excuse to turn around and book it on out of there (after I peed of course). We never even saw the rumoured blood red gates at the entrance of the murderous property.
What's astonishing to me is that I was willing to put my life into actual danger by traveling all manner of seriously dangerous roads in order to get the thrill of a haunting, but was too scared to go to a publicly sanctioned haunted house like the Eastern State Penitentiary?? Explain that!
Ghost Hunters we were not, but they sure were fun times and a good way to pass the cold fall evenings. I cannot foresee a time in the future when I will drive through certain areas of southeastern PA without recalling the ghost stories we exchanged that fall.
What ghost stories will you remember (fondly, I hope) forever?
West Chester, PA and the surrounding area is quite historic and, if one is inclined, it's not hard to believe in ghosts. My roomates and I even believed our own house was haunted for a little while, following a drunken viewing of Donnie Darko, and then an even more drunken viewing of The Shining. The doorbell doesn't ring itself people. And balloons dont' just float up stairs on their own. Well... okay maybe they do. But the point is we were convinced we had a ghost named Frank, inspired by the creepy rabbit on Donnie Darko. Once the word got out that we might be believers, all manner of ghost-story-telling weirdos showed up at our doorsteps - mainly my boyfriend-at-the-time and his creepy friend who lived in a "haunted" mansion up the street.
Two ghost stories that stuck with me are the "The Twin Tunnels" and the "Gates of Hell" (which I will forever remember as the road that is so evil that trees grow away from it.
Too many times, our morbid little group packed ourselves into a car and traveled to "The Twin Tunnels" - a remote road in an industrial area where for some reason the road become a tunnel for a couple hundred yards. Supposedly, a girl was once walking home from work through this tunnel and was attacked and hanged from an exposed pipe in the middle of the tunnel. The story was if you stopped your car in the tunnel, it would turn off (thanks to the ghost!) and you would not be able to turn it back on. Being the brave adventurers we were, of course, we would gun it through the tunnel - not stopping - and occassionally turn off our headlights as we went through, for effect. I don't think we ever mustered the courage to actually test the story and turn the car off in the middle of the tunnel. Oh - and part of the story as it was told to me was that this was the location where a very popular 80s band recorded one of their very popular songs, where one can supposedly hear the very same woman being murdered in the background. Really - a multi-million dollar rock band chose a rundown industrial site in Southeastern Pennsylvania for their insanely popular song recording and were lax enough about security that a deranged killer and a lone young woman could just be walking through it while they were in the middle of recording? Doubt it. Still can't believe I bought that one - but worse still is that to this day I listen for screams in the background of the song whenever I hear it on the radio. At any rate, I don't care if it's haunted or not - driving through that tunnel in the dead of night, especially with no headlights, was downright terrifying. Add to it the element of a few 20-something girls who are predisposed to drama and excitement, and you have the perfect "haunted house" vibe without having to do anything but fill up your gas tank.
On to the next... - the road that's so evil the trees grow away from it, also known as the Gates of Hell. What a foolish notion to believe and yet we soaked it up like the truth it clearly wasn't. Supposedly the reason the road was so evil is that at the end of it was an estate where a murder/suicide had occurred, and where frequent murders and cult gatherings occurred after the house was abandoned. I was also told a baby had been stuffed into an opening in one of the petrified trees, and that the original murdered family had been dumped in the lake on the property and were still there. The game was to drive the entire length of the very creepy and out-in-the-middle-of-nowhere road (which was only wide enough for one vehicle), pass the "gates", get to the house, walk up to the house, and then run back to the car. Supposedly if you even got past the gates your car would stall and you would have to run up the haunted driveway and back. Oh - and let us not forget the band of satanic motorcyclist killers who would be waiting in the woods to come after us on our way in and out (also part of the story).
Considering we wouldn't even turn our car off in the middle of the Twin Tunnels, it's a wonder we ever tested this story. But we did - one October night we piled in and headed off to drive the evil road and visit the evil gates of hell. Naturally it had to be October and was likely a day or two before or after Halloween. What were we trying to prove I wonder? Of course it was fun. Nervous giggles were about all that could be heard the entire way there and back. The road was narrow, with a steep drop off on one side and a forest on the other. You had to make a 3-point turn to change direcction. We didnt' even make it halfway to the supposed house of horrors. Halfway there, I got nervous and decided I had to pee - right there in the middle of a road so horrifying that even the trees were actively trying to get away from it. (take note - the trees did actually grow away from the road but of course that doesn't mean the road is evil - but you can see how it lent some credibility to the story and gave us all a cheap thrill) We used that as our excuse to turn around and book it on out of there (after I peed of course). We never even saw the rumoured blood red gates at the entrance of the murderous property.
What's astonishing to me is that I was willing to put my life into actual danger by traveling all manner of seriously dangerous roads in order to get the thrill of a haunting, but was too scared to go to a publicly sanctioned haunted house like the Eastern State Penitentiary?? Explain that!
Ghost Hunters we were not, but they sure were fun times and a good way to pass the cold fall evenings. I cannot foresee a time in the future when I will drive through certain areas of southeastern PA without recalling the ghost stories we exchanged that fall.
What ghost stories will you remember (fondly, I hope) forever?
Manufacturers are Messing With Us.
Why Why Why ... when I want something to be filled to the brim - like a box of cereal or pasta - it comes less than half full but liquids packaging comes filled up so high that when you remove the cap it squirts out at you and gets all over your clothes and counter?? Plus I NEVER drink all of the milk but I REGULARLY eat all of the salt and vinegar potato chips.
Sunday, October 2, 2011
No Kids - Lots of Fundraisers
My husband reminded me the other day that we get solicited a lot for fundraisers for our friends' kids. He wasn't complaining, just commenting on the irony that because we have chosen not to have children of our own we must seem like good candidates to shell out money for others peoples'. Perhaps because people assume we have a lot of disposable income since we're not pouring our paychecks into kids clothes and baby food and such. Which is understandable.
I wonder if this is something that all young, 'dual-income no kids'families experience, or if we are just such a charming and friendly couple that people feel comfortable to approach us with their kids' fundraisers (or in rare cases, have their kids do it themselves). For those of you reading this who I have recently bought something from - don't get me wrong or feel like I am complaining! I actually quite enjoy contributing to these fundraisers. It makes me feel, in some tiny way, like I'm helping. My choice to not have children does not make me a heartless ogre who hates kids. It just means I don't want them around all the time and I suspect that I wouldn't enjoy it. Instead, I get to hang out with my friends' and brothers' kids on occasion and buy them presents which I normallyam too lazy to forget to mail. Then I get to go home, sit down in my uncluttered house, and throw back a bottle of glass of wine in complete silence. But seriously, I dont' want to spend my hard-earned money on overpriced wrapping paper. I want cookies. Or wine. If there was a wine fundraiser, I would be all over that shit. Take note, parents. Take note.
I wonder if this is something that all young, 'dual-income no kids'families experience, or if we are just such a charming and friendly couple that people feel comfortable to approach us with their kids' fundraisers (or in rare cases, have their kids do it themselves). For those of you reading this who I have recently bought something from - don't get me wrong or feel like I am complaining! I actually quite enjoy contributing to these fundraisers. It makes me feel, in some tiny way, like I'm helping. My choice to not have children does not make me a heartless ogre who hates kids. It just means I don't want them around all the time and I suspect that I wouldn't enjoy it. Instead, I get to hang out with my friends' and brothers' kids on occasion and buy them presents which I normally
I am just not cut out for manual labor.
When my husband and I moved to Texas, we chose a house that was quite hideous on the outside, specifically because there was an empty lot next door that we hoped we could buy one day and make our own. We did buy that overgrown mangy forest of a lot and 2 years later we (he) cleared all the trees and brush and assorted garbage on it in order to build a garage. I got out of that because I was working on my masters degree. A year after that, we (he) built a garage on that lot. I got out of that because I was studying for the LEED exam. Six months later we paid someone to come out and grade the rest of the lot, spread top soil, and broadcast seed it so that we can grow some grass and make it look nice. I got out of that because this job was too big for us and we don't have a tractor or a five man crew, so we paid someone to do it. So, as you can see, so far I have been quite lucky to get out of all the hard work going on outside by pretending to study and actually watching Lifetime movies and drinking wine.
I should have known this lucky streak would end someday.
This weekend, I was forced to spend a torturous Saturday hunched over in the blinding Texas sun spreading stinky straw over my beautifully graded and seeded yard and then drenching it in water so that grass will grow. This doesn't sound like hard work, which is why I didn't come up with an excuse to get out of it; also because I'm out of tests to study for and I really don't want to go back to school. But it actually is very hard work, hauling bales of straw all overGod's creation my yard and trying to make a nice even layer. It actually didn't take that long, but then I had to go to a party, for which I had been baking bread all day (Damn I am good! - baking bread and yardwork at the same time?~!). So all in one day I did backbreaking manual labor, made some lovely homemade baked goods, and visited with friends. I'd say that is pretty rare impressive.
However, today I can barely walk because my back hurts so bad from hunching over and carrying around those heavy loads. I had to roll out of my car this morning at Target because I couldn't get out the normal way. Of course, I still mustered the strength and physical capacity to go to Target. Duh. Also my arms are all scratched up in the manner of an addict and I sort of look like i have a contagious form of hives.
So I think the moral of the story is that yard work, particularly the hard kind and not the kind I usually do which is arranging cute figurines in my flower beds, is no good. Because the bread was awful and I had to leave the party early and my arms are going to look funky when I go on vacation. Had it not been for the manual labor, my bread would have been kick ass and I coudl have stayed out all night. At least that is what I tried telling my husband today when we left Target - to which he merely grunted and reminded me that getting home at midnight does not constitute leaving a party early. Tiny silver lining - my tan got a little better and maybe I burned some calories.
I should have known this lucky streak would end someday.
This weekend, I was forced to spend a torturous Saturday hunched over in the blinding Texas sun spreading stinky straw over my beautifully graded and seeded yard and then drenching it in water so that grass will grow. This doesn't sound like hard work, which is why I didn't come up with an excuse to get out of it; also because I'm out of tests to study for and I really don't want to go back to school. But it actually is very hard work, hauling bales of straw all over
However, today I can barely walk because my back hurts so bad from hunching over and carrying around those heavy loads. I had to roll out of my car this morning at Target because I couldn't get out the normal way. Of course, I still mustered the strength and physical capacity to go to Target. Duh. Also my arms are all scratched up in the manner of an addict and I sort of look like i have a contagious form of hives.
So I think the moral of the story is that yard work, particularly the hard kind and not the kind I usually do which is arranging cute figurines in my flower beds, is no good. Because the bread was awful and I had to leave the party early and my arms are going to look funky when I go on vacation. Had it not been for the manual labor, my bread would have been kick ass and I coudl have stayed out all night. At least that is what I tried telling my husband today when we left Target - to which he merely grunted and reminded me that getting home at midnight does not constitute leaving a party early. Tiny silver lining - my tan got a little better and maybe I burned some calories.
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