After months spent struggling and looking for a job, I finally get one, and now I'm getting calls and emails from places I applied at months ago. Whafuck? I go to the interviews simply because the jobs would pay more than the one I just got. Silly me, I had thought that if these places had wanted to interview me, they'd have asked me to when I applied. Guess I was wrong.
Back in November, I had the opportunity to be the Keynote Speaker at a conference for self-sufficiency coordinators. I did it, and it went over great. I was very proud of myself. However, I figured that was the end of my public speaking career. Until two days ago, when I receive a call from the lady who set me up to speak in November. I am now scheduled to speak again this coming March to an entirely different group. I'm excited, yes. Still, I had not planned on this coming up again. I figured that my next public speaking would be at the amateur night comedy thing. Nope, never made it to that yet. I thought I was going to become a famous comedienne, turns out I'm going to be a politician. Guess I was wrong again.
Due to a variety of circumstances, my eldest son and his soon to be wife (due in March with little Twinkerbell) will be moving out effective the first of February. I not only thought I was ready for this to happen, but thought that my mother would just blithely accept it when I told her about the impending nuptuals and relocation. I was wrong on both counts. The decision for them to move was made like 5 days ago. My mother was just informed last night. For the past three days, I've been alternating between panic attacks about my son and Twinkerbell and Cheeks surviving on their own and fits of depression over them leaving the nest. My mother had a mild (for her) fit and accused me of ...well basically being the 17 year old version of myself only projecting it onto my own son. Hmph.
I hate being wrong.
Sunday, January 14, 2007
Thursday, November 16, 2006
Things Found in Washing Machines &/Or Pants
The following items have been found in either washing machines (W) or pants (P) by either myself (m) or Grasshopper (g) or other friends (f):
1. a bullet (w, g) -- Since there are no guns in the house, Grasshopper assumes it was just found and pocketed because it's shiny...and dangerous. I agree with her that she probably doesn't really want to know.
2. a bagel (p, m) -- My middle child adores bagels. And cream cheese. And he often eats on the run to whatever and wherever, so I was not at all surprised to find most of a bagel left in one of his pants pockets the other day. I'm just glad it didn't make it through the wash first. Ish!
3. porn (m, w, p) -- with two teenage boys, this was also not a shock. For some reason, I can't get it through their thick skulls that while I do not care that they look at nekkid women in compromising positions or doing odd things with odd things, I definitely DO care about it being left about the house where I might have to look at it...or that their little sister might find it. The strange thing, the one I found in the washer was still in one piece and not at all damaged. Hmm. Weird.
4. cell phone (m, dryer) -- of course I didn't find it until AFTER it had been washed and dried. Yeah. Another thing my middle child blames on the ADD monster. It almost ended up on his tombstone. Damn those things are expensive.
5. Two full beer cans (f, w) -- She had no idea either. Must have been some party.
6. A cat (f, w) -- At least it hadn't been run yet. It was found when she went to put in a load of wash. 8 lives to go.
7. Assorted condiment packages (m, w & dryer) -- sugar becomes rock hard, creamer leaks, and if you can catch the ketchup and mustard in just the washer, you may be lucky enough to not have to rewash everything and hope the SHOUT works.
8. Crickets (m, w) -- ah, country living!
9. A fork (m, w) -- I have no idea. I blame the kids.
10. One toad, two caterpillars (wooly worm type), about four dozen pebbles, two fist sized rocks, one baseball, a pocketknife, a handful of bark, three pinecones, and a wide assortment of feathers (m, p) -- both my sons are collectors of miscellania. This grouping came out of one pair of my middle child's pants. The toad and caterpillars were still alive. Probably living off crickets and bark. The record for my eldest son? Enough pebbles to completely cover the bottom of my washing machine and at least three kleenex went through the wash. Gotta love my boys!
These are just the unusual things. My favorites include money and notes. The rule around here is: if it's left in your pants or pockets, it becomes public property. In other words, MINE. Which means I read the notes, keep the money, and otherwise violate their privacy. It's amazing how quickly they learn to empty their pockets every night.
1. a bullet (w, g) -- Since there are no guns in the house, Grasshopper assumes it was just found and pocketed because it's shiny...and dangerous. I agree with her that she probably doesn't really want to know.
2. a bagel (p, m) -- My middle child adores bagels. And cream cheese. And he often eats on the run to whatever and wherever, so I was not at all surprised to find most of a bagel left in one of his pants pockets the other day. I'm just glad it didn't make it through the wash first. Ish!
3. porn (m, w, p) -- with two teenage boys, this was also not a shock. For some reason, I can't get it through their thick skulls that while I do not care that they look at nekkid women in compromising positions or doing odd things with odd things, I definitely DO care about it being left about the house where I might have to look at it...or that their little sister might find it. The strange thing, the one I found in the washer was still in one piece and not at all damaged. Hmm. Weird.
4. cell phone (m, dryer) -- of course I didn't find it until AFTER it had been washed and dried. Yeah. Another thing my middle child blames on the ADD monster. It almost ended up on his tombstone. Damn those things are expensive.
5. Two full beer cans (f, w) -- She had no idea either. Must have been some party.
6. A cat (f, w) -- At least it hadn't been run yet. It was found when she went to put in a load of wash. 8 lives to go.
7. Assorted condiment packages (m, w & dryer) -- sugar becomes rock hard, creamer leaks, and if you can catch the ketchup and mustard in just the washer, you may be lucky enough to not have to rewash everything and hope the SHOUT works.
8. Crickets (m, w) -- ah, country living!
9. A fork (m, w) -- I have no idea. I blame the kids.
10. One toad, two caterpillars (wooly worm type), about four dozen pebbles, two fist sized rocks, one baseball, a pocketknife, a handful of bark, three pinecones, and a wide assortment of feathers (m, p) -- both my sons are collectors of miscellania. This grouping came out of one pair of my middle child's pants. The toad and caterpillars were still alive. Probably living off crickets and bark. The record for my eldest son? Enough pebbles to completely cover the bottom of my washing machine and at least three kleenex went through the wash. Gotta love my boys!
These are just the unusual things. My favorites include money and notes. The rule around here is: if it's left in your pants or pockets, it becomes public property. In other words, MINE. Which means I read the notes, keep the money, and otherwise violate their privacy. It's amazing how quickly they learn to empty their pockets every night.
Monday, November 13, 2006
ADD Monster
My son and I heard a funny on the radio the other day. We were listening to The Bob & Tom Show and a comedienne was talking aobut how she has ADD. Apparently, Bob is also ADD. Rather, as it was described on the show, he is a victim of ADD. My son and I thought this was hilarious, since my son also has ADD.
"That's it, Link...you're a victim of ADD!"
He laughed, but said, "Makes it sound like someone murdered me."
Of course, this led to further theories on being a victim of ADD. My son and I agree that putting it that way makes it sound like a contagious disease. You know, maybe some weird form of lycanthropy. Yup. My son was attacked by some ADD monster and the effects can only be seen during daylight hours. He thinks it sounds more like AIDS or rabies. Something he'll have to share with any girlfriends: "Sorry, dear, but no love-bites. I have ADD and I don't want you to catch it." Apologies to AIDS victims and rabid peoples everywhere, but it does sound terribly funny.
Hey, my twisted sense of humor is genetic. My children are cursed with it. Thank god and goddess. Without it, our lives would be far too dreary to handle.
"That's it, Link...you're a victim of ADD!"
He laughed, but said, "Makes it sound like someone murdered me."
Of course, this led to further theories on being a victim of ADD. My son and I agree that putting it that way makes it sound like a contagious disease. You know, maybe some weird form of lycanthropy. Yup. My son was attacked by some ADD monster and the effects can only be seen during daylight hours. He thinks it sounds more like AIDS or rabies. Something he'll have to share with any girlfriends: "Sorry, dear, but no love-bites. I have ADD and I don't want you to catch it." Apologies to AIDS victims and rabid peoples everywhere, but it does sound terribly funny.
Hey, my twisted sense of humor is genetic. My children are cursed with it. Thank god and goddess. Without it, our lives would be far too dreary to handle.
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Broken
I am broken. I reached this conclusion on Sunday. Now, I'm a realist, for the most part. I do have hopes that certain things can change, but recognize the unlikelihood of it. One thing though, that has to change is how my family operates.
I tried doing the whole "Donna Reed-Betty Crocker-Martha Stewart-June Cleaver" thing. Obviously, I am missing that gene. I do not know when I lost it. I'm not sure where I lost it. To be honest, I believe I was born without it. I can cook. Albeit, not like Julia Child. Not even like Emeril. (Bam!) I can clean. I will never be as much of a neatnik as my mother. I have to have my clutter. I do not do my cooking, cleaning, or motherly duties wearing dresses of any sort. I certainly do not wait on my husband to come home from work before making any disciplinary decisions. I am not the let's-bake-cookies-and-hold-block-parties kind of girl. I have very little talent for crafts. I can sew, but one shirt could take me four months to finish correctly. Those little tie-together fleece blankies? My absolute FAVE! But I do the other stuff.
I go to every school play, recital, program, meal, field trip, whatever. I'll forgo things for myself so my kids don't have to do without. I try to make meals or at least buy foods that everyone will eat. On their way out the door, my kids are all told I love them and to have a good day. The older ones nod or go "yeah" at me. My daughter will still hug and kiss me. I listen to long explanations about video games I'll never play, web-games I will never understand, and all the drama that goes on in high school and fourth grade. Which, in case anyone has forgotten, puts Hollywood goings-on to shame. I help with homework, feed the revolving masses of teenaged boys (a few girls drop in) with an hour's notice or less, and do the whole 'fat mom' consoling thing. (Never trust a skinny mom. They have no clue.)
I am relied on by everyone in this house for every little thing. Being a mom is the most thankless job in the world. I know this. However, I don't ask for much. I'm not asking for a perfect world. I don't expect my family to express gratitude on a daily basis. I'd settle for once a month. Hell, once a year would work. But as of Sunday, I realized that's not going to happen. And it hurts and it pisses me off. I'm tired of the daily struggle to get anyone to pitch in around the house even so far as to toss their own dirty clothes down to the basement so they can get washed, much less to take their own dirty dishes to the kitchen. I know I am significant to those who live here, simply because I do it all.
Sunday, all I wanted was to hang my outside Christmas lights since it was nice out and I didn't want to be out there doing it in 20 below zero weather. Nope. Didn't happen. Everyone ahd been warned about this job since Thursday. They all decided that video games, discussing their love lives, football, and eating were more important than helping me. Fine. It was the straw the broke the camel's back, as they say. So now I'm broken. And still no one seems to give a crap. I love my family. I'd be in horrible shape if I lost any one of them. But, I deserve at least a little bit of help and acknowledgement. Maybe every mom goes through this. I don't know. I just know that I'm finished with it. As shitty as that sounds, I simply cannot take any more. I don't need daily affirmations that I'm a good wife and mother. I don't expect the bickering and constant reminders to stop. But when my husband touches me in that 'special way' and all I can think is "oh great one more thing someone wants me to do", there's something wrong and there's too much being asked of me.
I tried doing the whole "Donna Reed-Betty Crocker-Martha Stewart-June Cleaver" thing. Obviously, I am missing that gene. I do not know when I lost it. I'm not sure where I lost it. To be honest, I believe I was born without it. I can cook. Albeit, not like Julia Child. Not even like Emeril. (Bam!) I can clean. I will never be as much of a neatnik as my mother. I have to have my clutter. I do not do my cooking, cleaning, or motherly duties wearing dresses of any sort. I certainly do not wait on my husband to come home from work before making any disciplinary decisions. I am not the let's-bake-cookies-and-hold-block-parties kind of girl. I have very little talent for crafts. I can sew, but one shirt could take me four months to finish correctly. Those little tie-together fleece blankies? My absolute FAVE! But I do the other stuff.
I go to every school play, recital, program, meal, field trip, whatever. I'll forgo things for myself so my kids don't have to do without. I try to make meals or at least buy foods that everyone will eat. On their way out the door, my kids are all told I love them and to have a good day. The older ones nod or go "yeah" at me. My daughter will still hug and kiss me. I listen to long explanations about video games I'll never play, web-games I will never understand, and all the drama that goes on in high school and fourth grade. Which, in case anyone has forgotten, puts Hollywood goings-on to shame. I help with homework, feed the revolving masses of teenaged boys (a few girls drop in) with an hour's notice or less, and do the whole 'fat mom' consoling thing. (Never trust a skinny mom. They have no clue.)
I am relied on by everyone in this house for every little thing. Being a mom is the most thankless job in the world. I know this. However, I don't ask for much. I'm not asking for a perfect world. I don't expect my family to express gratitude on a daily basis. I'd settle for once a month. Hell, once a year would work. But as of Sunday, I realized that's not going to happen. And it hurts and it pisses me off. I'm tired of the daily struggle to get anyone to pitch in around the house even so far as to toss their own dirty clothes down to the basement so they can get washed, much less to take their own dirty dishes to the kitchen. I know I am significant to those who live here, simply because I do it all.
Sunday, all I wanted was to hang my outside Christmas lights since it was nice out and I didn't want to be out there doing it in 20 below zero weather. Nope. Didn't happen. Everyone ahd been warned about this job since Thursday. They all decided that video games, discussing their love lives, football, and eating were more important than helping me. Fine. It was the straw the broke the camel's back, as they say. So now I'm broken. And still no one seems to give a crap. I love my family. I'd be in horrible shape if I lost any one of them. But, I deserve at least a little bit of help and acknowledgement. Maybe every mom goes through this. I don't know. I just know that I'm finished with it. As shitty as that sounds, I simply cannot take any more. I don't need daily affirmations that I'm a good wife and mother. I don't expect the bickering and constant reminders to stop. But when my husband touches me in that 'special way' and all I can think is "oh great one more thing someone wants me to do", there's something wrong and there's too much being asked of me.
Saturday, October 21, 2006
Noisy Apparel
I have never had clothes that made noise. At least not unless they were meant to. I've had shoes that squeaked on certain flooring. I even had a pair that squawked whenever I wore nylon socks. They squawked on the inside. I've had shirts that had some little sqeeker built into them for some joke or other, usually Halloween or maternity/motherhood shirts, but nothing else.
Apparently, I'm missing out. Grasshopper has a bra that squeaks. It's one of those miraculous underwires that don't poke you in the armpit all day long and actually feels comfortable. But it sometimes squeaks. Accdording to her, it will squeak whether she's wearing it or not. Not always, but occasionally. I asked her if she had a mouse in it. Since she is deathly afraid of all rodentia, I figured this was unlikely, but worth asking. She swears there is no mouse or other rodent in it. Huh. Weird. Of course, another friend of mine, swears she has a squeeky bra also, though I have not heard it.
Let's see. Another friend swears up and down that aside from the swooshing noise corduroys make, he has a pair of them (pants) that will kind of hiss at him whenever he sits on leather in them. I thought it was more likely the leather but he says it isn't. Plus, it will hiss if he sits on anything leather like. Including vinyl.
And my oldest son has one pair of pants with an exceptionally loud zipper. I'm not sure why it is louder than others, but it is. This I have heard myself. I mean, when I can hear this zipper in my living room downstairs when he's behind the closed bathroom door, it's loud. And it's not like it's some bizarrely huge zipper or made of some strange, noisy metal. It's an average looking zipper in a slightly odd pair of pants, called "tripps".
I don't get it. None of this. I just don't think it's normal for clothing to make unusual noises when it's obvious the items are not made to make noise. And I think I'm a bit jealous that all these people have unusually behaved clothing and I have the average, normally behaved clothing. I probably need help for this.
Apparently, I'm missing out. Grasshopper has a bra that squeaks. It's one of those miraculous underwires that don't poke you in the armpit all day long and actually feels comfortable. But it sometimes squeaks. Accdording to her, it will squeak whether she's wearing it or not. Not always, but occasionally. I asked her if she had a mouse in it. Since she is deathly afraid of all rodentia, I figured this was unlikely, but worth asking. She swears there is no mouse or other rodent in it. Huh. Weird. Of course, another friend of mine, swears she has a squeeky bra also, though I have not heard it.
Let's see. Another friend swears up and down that aside from the swooshing noise corduroys make, he has a pair of them (pants) that will kind of hiss at him whenever he sits on leather in them. I thought it was more likely the leather but he says it isn't. Plus, it will hiss if he sits on anything leather like. Including vinyl.
And my oldest son has one pair of pants with an exceptionally loud zipper. I'm not sure why it is louder than others, but it is. This I have heard myself. I mean, when I can hear this zipper in my living room downstairs when he's behind the closed bathroom door, it's loud. And it's not like it's some bizarrely huge zipper or made of some strange, noisy metal. It's an average looking zipper in a slightly odd pair of pants, called "tripps".
I don't get it. None of this. I just don't think it's normal for clothing to make unusual noises when it's obvious the items are not made to make noise. And I think I'm a bit jealous that all these people have unusually behaved clothing and I have the average, normally behaved clothing. I probably need help for this.
Thursday, September 14, 2006
Nerves? What Nerves?
My nerves are shot. Truly gone. First of all, this find-a-decent-job-and-support-the-family thing isn't going so well. Frankly, it sucketh. I've only sent out about 120 copies of my resume and filled out nearly that in general applications. I've had one interview. I'm telling ya, this place has too many highly educated people. But, relocating is out of the question right now. Why? No money! Duh.
Secondly, my daughter, Goddess love her, wants to rescue and save all the little creatures of the world (except the creepy ones). To this end, she "rescued" an abandoned baby bunny the other day. Poor little thing. It just loved her, too. But, we didn't do something right or something because it died on us last night. Right in her hands. We both cried for hours. Even King Rat was emotional. Poor little guy.
Also, I got an email the other day from a classmate I haven't spoken to in almost a year. She and I had three classes together my third semester here and barely ran into each other since. However, I must have made an impression on her, because she has invited me to appear on stage doing my little comedy routine in not one, but two different venues. One is an open-mic night thing sponsored by one of the bars around here and the other is called No Shame Theater or some such. I'm still debating on whether to do it or not. As she explained it to me, I need to be prepared to give as short a routine as 5 minutes or as long as half an hour. Uh huh. Right! I consider myself funny, but I also tend to piss people off and swear...a lot. I know sailors who have cleaner vocabularies. The real problem? A long time ago, Wendy was over with some friends to my place. We were all inebriated...well, plowed to the ground...and I did this amazing routine standing my my entertainment center. We all ached the next day from laughing, but for some reason, none of us could remember much of the monologue. The bits we have recalled do not add up to half an hour, and most of it is so disjointed, I'm not sure I could have a functional 5 minute set, much less one that would get laughs. I don't know. I"m not sure if I'm brave enough to do this shit. Being funny with my friends is one thing, being funny in front of a crowded bar full of strangers? Ish. Tho, I still berate myself for even considering not going because how will I ever know if I don't try? Grr. Snarl, hiss, and growl. What a mess. My friend keeps telling me that I've shown more nerve than most people she knows already just by what I've done so far with my life, and that all this takes is nerves. Yeah. Easy for her to say.
Secondly, my daughter, Goddess love her, wants to rescue and save all the little creatures of the world (except the creepy ones). To this end, she "rescued" an abandoned baby bunny the other day. Poor little thing. It just loved her, too. But, we didn't do something right or something because it died on us last night. Right in her hands. We both cried for hours. Even King Rat was emotional. Poor little guy.
Also, I got an email the other day from a classmate I haven't spoken to in almost a year. She and I had three classes together my third semester here and barely ran into each other since. However, I must have made an impression on her, because she has invited me to appear on stage doing my little comedy routine in not one, but two different venues. One is an open-mic night thing sponsored by one of the bars around here and the other is called No Shame Theater or some such. I'm still debating on whether to do it or not. As she explained it to me, I need to be prepared to give as short a routine as 5 minutes or as long as half an hour. Uh huh. Right! I consider myself funny, but I also tend to piss people off and swear...a lot. I know sailors who have cleaner vocabularies. The real problem? A long time ago, Wendy was over with some friends to my place. We were all inebriated...well, plowed to the ground...and I did this amazing routine standing my my entertainment center. We all ached the next day from laughing, but for some reason, none of us could remember much of the monologue. The bits we have recalled do not add up to half an hour, and most of it is so disjointed, I'm not sure I could have a functional 5 minute set, much less one that would get laughs. I don't know. I"m not sure if I'm brave enough to do this shit. Being funny with my friends is one thing, being funny in front of a crowded bar full of strangers? Ish. Tho, I still berate myself for even considering not going because how will I ever know if I don't try? Grr. Snarl, hiss, and growl. What a mess. My friend keeps telling me that I've shown more nerve than most people she knows already just by what I've done so far with my life, and that all this takes is nerves. Yeah. Easy for her to say.
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
Doom on Me
For writing two posts in one day, to begin with. The rest of this...well, you'll see.
A lot of my friends like to compliment me on my inner strength. I appreciate it. I can see why they believe that. Sometimes, I even believe it. However, even Superman has weak spots. In an attempt at cyber honesty (ha ha), I'm going to share some of my unreasonable fears.
1) Flying. Wendy and others are privy to this information already, but I am deathly afraid of flying. If I had been meant to fly, I'd have wings. Guess what? So far as I know, none have sprouted recently, so on the ground I stay.
2) Sharks. Bear in mind I have never seen the ocean. The closest I've ever been to a shark were ones at the Henry Doorly Zoo in Omaha, NE in this aquarium thing. And they were awesome to behold. But there was also this sign that read, "Be quiet, please. The sharks can hear you." Uh huh. I don't think even the dead were as quiet as I was walking through that tunnel watching the sharks appear out of the depths right next to me with only glass between me and them. Yes, I managed not to shriek, but it was a close thing. As for the ocean, I would love to visit. Swim with dolphins? Anytime. Manatees? Sure. Even sting rays. Yes, even after poor Steve Irwin's tragedy. I've even eaten shark once. It was quite tasty. Very tender. It was years ago. I can even watch Discovery channel shit on sharks and be fascinated. Nature and all it's creatures are sights to be held in awe. Besides, I love trivia stuff I learn. All seemingly normal right? Wrong. See, I was "forced" to watch Jaws shortly after it first came out in the 70's. I think I was 5 or 6. I wouldn't take a bath for weeks afterward. I still don't like adding that blue colored shit to my baths. And I hate swimming in rivers and lakes. Yes, because I'm afraid of sharks. Swimming pools are okay. Natural bodies of water, no. And all these victims of shark attacks? I feel for them and their families, I do. But I also agree with Carlos Mencia: if you're swimming in the ocean and get eaten by a shark, you have no right to be surprised, after all you are swimming in their kitchen. Look at the ocean? Love to. Swim in it? Probably never. I don't want to end up on the menu.
3) Chickens. I hate chickens. The only good chicken is one that is dead, plucked, and cooked or in my deep freeze waiting to be cooked. They're ugly, they're noisy, and they're vicious. And, they don't die quickly enough. Any animal that can still run around the yard for five minutes after losing its head is not right. It's borderline demonic and it frightens me. Chickens frighten me. I would rather pick up a snake, and I'm not fond of reptiles. Lizards are okay though. Turtles. No chickens. I like to eat chicken. KFC is a favorite of mine, especially since I couldn't fry a chicken to save my life, but live chickens? Nope. They're evil and should be treated as such.
4) Grasshoppers. Again, they're ugly. They can jump really long distances and they can fly. They also spit. They have these little claw like things on their feet. They live all around my house which makes mowing the lawn very entertaining for my family members when it's my turn to mow. We are also infested with praying mantises (manti?) but they don't bother me much. I'm sure the two critters are related somehow, but the mantis has an interesting habit of eating her mate. Therefore, at least the female mantis has redeeming qualities. Grasshoppers, so far as I can discern have none. They exist merely to terrify me. I have no idea why they scare me so much, but they do. At least chicken has nutritional value. And, no, I do not want to hear how full of protein grasshoppers are. Chicken is protein, too.
5) The dark. Yes, I am afraid of the dark. I have horrid dreams if I sleep completely in the dark. I sleep with my tv on and the light above the sink in the bathroom on. This is especially helpful since the bath is right across from my bedroom. It drives my husband crazy. He needs dark and quiet. Aside from the fan running, of course. Not me. Going through a dark room gives me heart palpitations. Being outside at night is okay so long as the moon is out or I have a dozen flashlights. Even in my own yard, when I go out at night for anything, I turn on the porch light and take a flashlight.
6) Basements. Basements are creepy. I've been in a few that were nicely finished and did not creep me out. Mostly though, a basement is a basement. I don't like them. Our only shower is in our basement. So are the washer and dryer hook-ups. Ish. I don't like going into the basement in general. But our tap water is so awful, I refuse to take tub baths here. And, sometimes I need clean clothes. Yeah. I can handle doing the laundry during the day. Mainly cause I'll talk to a friend on the phone the whole time. At night, I hate going down there. It's well lit. Just extremely creepy. So, I either shower during the day as quickly as possible and with someone home or I take someone into the shower with me. Right now, it's either my husband or my daughter. She's almost 10, yes, but this shower is next to impossible to operate without either freezing your tata's off or boiling yourself. Plus, she simply hasn't gotten the knack of washing all the soap out of her hair yet. So, it's a win win situation. She gets help washing her hair, we have lots of girl talk (mostly about when she'll get boobs), and I have company in the creepy basement shower. And before anyone goes having a fit: we're both girls, I'm not molesting her, she's not molesting me, and I believe nudity between members of the same sex in the family is no big deal. It's not like she's showering with King Rat or her teenage brothers. So, no morality commentary.
Okay. That's about it. Those are my major weaknesses. Well, besides chocolate and Sean Connery.
A lot of my friends like to compliment me on my inner strength. I appreciate it. I can see why they believe that. Sometimes, I even believe it. However, even Superman has weak spots. In an attempt at cyber honesty (ha ha), I'm going to share some of my unreasonable fears.
1) Flying. Wendy and others are privy to this information already, but I am deathly afraid of flying. If I had been meant to fly, I'd have wings. Guess what? So far as I know, none have sprouted recently, so on the ground I stay.
2) Sharks. Bear in mind I have never seen the ocean. The closest I've ever been to a shark were ones at the Henry Doorly Zoo in Omaha, NE in this aquarium thing. And they were awesome to behold. But there was also this sign that read, "Be quiet, please. The sharks can hear you." Uh huh. I don't think even the dead were as quiet as I was walking through that tunnel watching the sharks appear out of the depths right next to me with only glass between me and them. Yes, I managed not to shriek, but it was a close thing. As for the ocean, I would love to visit. Swim with dolphins? Anytime. Manatees? Sure. Even sting rays. Yes, even after poor Steve Irwin's tragedy. I've even eaten shark once. It was quite tasty. Very tender. It was years ago. I can even watch Discovery channel shit on sharks and be fascinated. Nature and all it's creatures are sights to be held in awe. Besides, I love trivia stuff I learn. All seemingly normal right? Wrong. See, I was "forced" to watch Jaws shortly after it first came out in the 70's. I think I was 5 or 6. I wouldn't take a bath for weeks afterward. I still don't like adding that blue colored shit to my baths. And I hate swimming in rivers and lakes. Yes, because I'm afraid of sharks. Swimming pools are okay. Natural bodies of water, no. And all these victims of shark attacks? I feel for them and their families, I do. But I also agree with Carlos Mencia: if you're swimming in the ocean and get eaten by a shark, you have no right to be surprised, after all you are swimming in their kitchen. Look at the ocean? Love to. Swim in it? Probably never. I don't want to end up on the menu.
3) Chickens. I hate chickens. The only good chicken is one that is dead, plucked, and cooked or in my deep freeze waiting to be cooked. They're ugly, they're noisy, and they're vicious. And, they don't die quickly enough. Any animal that can still run around the yard for five minutes after losing its head is not right. It's borderline demonic and it frightens me. Chickens frighten me. I would rather pick up a snake, and I'm not fond of reptiles. Lizards are okay though. Turtles. No chickens. I like to eat chicken. KFC is a favorite of mine, especially since I couldn't fry a chicken to save my life, but live chickens? Nope. They're evil and should be treated as such.
4) Grasshoppers. Again, they're ugly. They can jump really long distances and they can fly. They also spit. They have these little claw like things on their feet. They live all around my house which makes mowing the lawn very entertaining for my family members when it's my turn to mow. We are also infested with praying mantises (manti?) but they don't bother me much. I'm sure the two critters are related somehow, but the mantis has an interesting habit of eating her mate. Therefore, at least the female mantis has redeeming qualities. Grasshoppers, so far as I can discern have none. They exist merely to terrify me. I have no idea why they scare me so much, but they do. At least chicken has nutritional value. And, no, I do not want to hear how full of protein grasshoppers are. Chicken is protein, too.
5) The dark. Yes, I am afraid of the dark. I have horrid dreams if I sleep completely in the dark. I sleep with my tv on and the light above the sink in the bathroom on. This is especially helpful since the bath is right across from my bedroom. It drives my husband crazy. He needs dark and quiet. Aside from the fan running, of course. Not me. Going through a dark room gives me heart palpitations. Being outside at night is okay so long as the moon is out or I have a dozen flashlights. Even in my own yard, when I go out at night for anything, I turn on the porch light and take a flashlight.
6) Basements. Basements are creepy. I've been in a few that were nicely finished and did not creep me out. Mostly though, a basement is a basement. I don't like them. Our only shower is in our basement. So are the washer and dryer hook-ups. Ish. I don't like going into the basement in general. But our tap water is so awful, I refuse to take tub baths here. And, sometimes I need clean clothes. Yeah. I can handle doing the laundry during the day. Mainly cause I'll talk to a friend on the phone the whole time. At night, I hate going down there. It's well lit. Just extremely creepy. So, I either shower during the day as quickly as possible and with someone home or I take someone into the shower with me. Right now, it's either my husband or my daughter. She's almost 10, yes, but this shower is next to impossible to operate without either freezing your tata's off or boiling yourself. Plus, she simply hasn't gotten the knack of washing all the soap out of her hair yet. So, it's a win win situation. She gets help washing her hair, we have lots of girl talk (mostly about when she'll get boobs), and I have company in the creepy basement shower. And before anyone goes having a fit: we're both girls, I'm not molesting her, she's not molesting me, and I believe nudity between members of the same sex in the family is no big deal. It's not like she's showering with King Rat or her teenage brothers. So, no morality commentary.
Okay. That's about it. Those are my major weaknesses. Well, besides chocolate and Sean Connery.
I Don't Remember This Being Part of the Wedding Vows
Man, oh, man. Has King Rat done it this time. I love him, I do. But he's out on a medical leave with a fuckered up knee...and has been since August 5th. Keep this factoid in the back of your head for the rest of this post. Trust me, it's great perspective.
I can hear his knee crunch and grind when he's just moving his leg around next to me on the couch. This tells me, along with the profuse swelling whenever he walks or stands for longer than fifteen minutes, that something is definitely not right. I wish I could fix it, but that's what the orthopedic's dude is for later this month.
At any rate, knowing his knee is not in great shape, what does my wonderful husband decide to do this past Saturday? Jump off of our porch roof and onto the trampoline. He says "It looked like fun." Uh huh. He also says, "Well, the boy lived through it." Again...uh huh. "The boy" happens to be our 15 year old son. Who, at least got a small bounce out of the trampoline when he did it. King Rat, did not bounce. Not even a smidgen. Nope. He hit it, collapsed, and began rolling back and forth on the mat groaning, "That was stupid...that was stupid." I agree.
On top of it, he refused to go to the doctor until Monday. Yup. I had to take him to the ER, where he planned on lying and telling them he fell off the roof. I did not let him lie. The doc there was quite impressed with him, actually. Apparently, broken ribs do not generally show up well on X-rays. My husband's did...nice clean break. The rib he broke also lies over the area of his spleen, so they had to do a CT scan to make sure he hadn't lacerated, biffed, or otherwise injured it. He hadn't, thank goodness. But, the ER called shortly after we left to tell us they did notice a small spot on his liver. Whafuck? They also said to just have his regular doctor follow up on it, along with the rib injury, within the next few days. Fine. We go tomorrow to get this followed up on.
Am I worried? Some. But I'm not panicking. What I am trying to do, however, is figure out how much sympathy he really garners from this. I mean, he's in an awful lot of pain. He spends most of his time in bed because sitting up makes his ribs hurt terribly. And there's only so much one can do while lying in bed with a bad knee and a broken rib. But, aside from his knee, the pain he's in is his own fault. I tried to convince him that jumping off the roof was not a good idea. Of course, silly me, I was thinking more along the lines of him completely trashing his knee, not of him breaking a rib and injuring internal organs. All I know is, I don't remember anything in the marriage vows (either time) requiring me to provide sympathy for stupidity.
I can hear his knee crunch and grind when he's just moving his leg around next to me on the couch. This tells me, along with the profuse swelling whenever he walks or stands for longer than fifteen minutes, that something is definitely not right. I wish I could fix it, but that's what the orthopedic's dude is for later this month.
At any rate, knowing his knee is not in great shape, what does my wonderful husband decide to do this past Saturday? Jump off of our porch roof and onto the trampoline. He says "It looked like fun." Uh huh. He also says, "Well, the boy lived through it." Again...uh huh. "The boy" happens to be our 15 year old son. Who, at least got a small bounce out of the trampoline when he did it. King Rat, did not bounce. Not even a smidgen. Nope. He hit it, collapsed, and began rolling back and forth on the mat groaning, "That was stupid...that was stupid." I agree.
On top of it, he refused to go to the doctor until Monday. Yup. I had to take him to the ER, where he planned on lying and telling them he fell off the roof. I did not let him lie. The doc there was quite impressed with him, actually. Apparently, broken ribs do not generally show up well on X-rays. My husband's did...nice clean break. The rib he broke also lies over the area of his spleen, so they had to do a CT scan to make sure he hadn't lacerated, biffed, or otherwise injured it. He hadn't, thank goodness. But, the ER called shortly after we left to tell us they did notice a small spot on his liver. Whafuck? They also said to just have his regular doctor follow up on it, along with the rib injury, within the next few days. Fine. We go tomorrow to get this followed up on.
Am I worried? Some. But I'm not panicking. What I am trying to do, however, is figure out how much sympathy he really garners from this. I mean, he's in an awful lot of pain. He spends most of his time in bed because sitting up makes his ribs hurt terribly. And there's only so much one can do while lying in bed with a bad knee and a broken rib. But, aside from his knee, the pain he's in is his own fault. I tried to convince him that jumping off the roof was not a good idea. Of course, silly me, I was thinking more along the lines of him completely trashing his knee, not of him breaking a rib and injuring internal organs. All I know is, I don't remember anything in the marriage vows (either time) requiring me to provide sympathy for stupidity.
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