Well, OK, it's not black outside, but it's quite grey, and I'm sitting here, playing on Amazon (totally waiting for the $97 TV) and doing laundry. Living the dream, as it were.
I've not been writing not because I don't have a lot to say, but because it's all so deeply personal and would probably make me sound like a nutball were you to read the words that are muddling through my brain. GPOM and I split up, I think I told you, and it's been strange to determine how to live. I spent over four years trying to arrange and rearrange myself to please and be pleasing to someone who had a mistress whom he loved (and loves) more than me. That's an ego burn of the highest degree, especially when his love is an inanimate object. Can't compete with that, yet I try and fail and wonder why I do and become my own armchair psychologist.
I'm sure you know how well that works.
But I'll try again, as I always do, to rebuild and write and think and dream. Until then, I've got a giant bag of Swedish Fish to tide me over.
Friday, November 23, 2012
Sunday, September 30, 2012
Godmother
Today Momma and I were chatting on the phone about the upcoming birthdays of my brother and my nephew. She asked me what I was getting for my godchild.
My godchild? I have a godchild? Wade's oldest doesn't count because she never had her kids baptized, so I'm an unofficial godmother to him, but not to any others, I said.
Yes, dear, she sighed to me. Don't you remember?
Was I at the christening?
Yes.
Who's the godfather?
Your sister-in-law's brother.
Are you sure I'm his godmother? Because I really don't remember it and that seems like something I'd remember.
Yes, you are. Remember? You thought it was odd that the godfather didn't know the Apostle's Creed.
Sunlight...
Oh, crap! I am my nephew's godmother! Man, I've been a really shitty godmother!
Yes, dear...now do you want me to include this spider Lego in his birthday box?
Yes, please.
My godchild? I have a godchild? Wade's oldest doesn't count because she never had her kids baptized, so I'm an unofficial godmother to him, but not to any others, I said.
Yes, dear, she sighed to me. Don't you remember?
Was I at the christening?
Yes.
Who's the godfather?
Your sister-in-law's brother.
Are you sure I'm his godmother? Because I really don't remember it and that seems like something I'd remember.
Yes, you are. Remember? You thought it was odd that the godfather didn't know the Apostle's Creed.
Sunlight...
Oh, crap! I am my nephew's godmother! Man, I've been a really shitty godmother!
Yes, dear...now do you want me to include this spider Lego in his birthday box?
Yes, please.
Saturday, September 29, 2012
Catch Up
I've been away. There's been plenty afoot around this place. But here's the good/bad news: I've been writing in my head for a while, so there will be a flurry of posts coming up. Ready yourself.
In the meantime, is it your phone ringing, or mine?
In the meantime, is it your phone ringing, or mine?
Saturday, August 18, 2012
Lazy August
It's Saturday, and I should be working. But first, Hi! How are you? I'm well; I'm a bad redhead. I spend a lot of money to keep my hair a color approximating red and today I just couldn't be bothered to use the specialty shampoos and conditioners that deposit more red into my hair. Today was a Garnier Fructis and John Frieda kind of day.
I find it very difficult to work on weekends. I've got four meetings on Monday and the day starts early, so I want to get ready for them this weekend. I don't want to run around Monday morning like a nut trying to get case files together, do last-minute research, and probably balance a giant trash bag. But still, everything in me says that I should spent today and tomorrow reading books, watching TV, and listening to podcasts while playing endless rounds of mah jongg solitaire. I'll figure it out though. It'll probably be tomorrow before I do anything.
I used to love Sundays. Sundays were days of talking with Momma, napping, acting foolishly - all the things I like best in a day. For the past month or so, though, Sundays have turned into an extension of Saturdays. This doesn't mean that Sundays are bad days, but they're not the same, and occasionally I resent that.
I don't use washcloths. I don't know why I felt the need to tell you that.
I find it very difficult to work on weekends. I've got four meetings on Monday and the day starts early, so I want to get ready for them this weekend. I don't want to run around Monday morning like a nut trying to get case files together, do last-minute research, and probably balance a giant trash bag. But still, everything in me says that I should spent today and tomorrow reading books, watching TV, and listening to podcasts while playing endless rounds of mah jongg solitaire. I'll figure it out though. It'll probably be tomorrow before I do anything.
I used to love Sundays. Sundays were days of talking with Momma, napping, acting foolishly - all the things I like best in a day. For the past month or so, though, Sundays have turned into an extension of Saturdays. This doesn't mean that Sundays are bad days, but they're not the same, and occasionally I resent that.
I don't use washcloths. I don't know why I felt the need to tell you that.
Saturday, July 14, 2012
I Didn't Get It
I'm going to flog the hell out of a dead horse. Bear with me, because I don't often keep as up-to-date with news as I should. I mean, I was excited about the SCOTUS decision regarding health care coverage, but I was also exhausted with Facebook and its political leanings, so I avoided a whole lot of coverage. My best thought regarding the constitutionality of the Affordable Care Act was that we can't know what it's going to look like on the United States as we've never worn such an outfit.
Clever, no? Thanks.
I saw a whole lot of vitriol. I giggled over the number of lawyers (and their loved ones) who posted this:
I braced myself for what was bound to be at least a day-long battle of I'm-Smarter-Than-You comments on people's posts. What I was unprepared for was this:
Clever, no? Thanks.
I saw a whole lot of vitriol. I giggled over the number of lawyers (and their loved ones) who posted this:
I had to ask about this. I still have to ask about this. I don't understand what Dred Scott has to do with health insurance. If you guys know, please tell me. I'm serious here - I don't think I'm entirely an idiot. I can explain the difference between substantive and procedural due process with only a few examples in place of definitions, and I realize that explaining by example is a lesser form of definition than a true definition (but it's a lot easier).
I think of this today as I'm catching up with Popehat, a favorite blog of mine when I want to read something with substantially more thought put into it than I put into writing for you guys. (Apologies all around, but I consider this more a diary than a place for discourse, and diary entries really aren't known for pre-planning.) I was pleased to see Patrick's list of SCOTUS cases even more horrifying than this decision, and I agree whole-heartedly with him.
I hope the (what is it now?) 33 attempts from the House Republicans to repeal the law will end, as we have better things to do, like figure out how else we can screw over those who pay for private insurance already. Tax hike, anyone?
Friday, June 22, 2012
Karen Klein
I tried to watch the entire video of this woman being harassed on the bus by junior-high kids, but I couldn't do it. I could not get through all ten-ish minutes of the ordeal. Not being able to do so made me feel even worse, because here this woman had to endure such cruelty and know that she could not react, and I'm too big of a wuss to watch it from afar.
Some brave chick I am.
I am so very glad that the Reddits and the indegogos are helping this woman, and I hope she can enjoy a healthy retirement and vacation and maybe, I don't know, one of the punching bags that looks like a real guy? 'Cos I think I'd be into hitting one of those for an hour or year.
The whole episode reminded me of a class period I "taught" when I was a substitute teacher. Here, let me set it up for you:
I was in my late twenties and I was a substitute for a semester, mostly because my mother both threatened to kick me out of the house if I didn't start doing something useful and she was a teacher at the school, so I had a cozy quasi-permanent sub position. I worked with all four years of high school kids and for the most part, particularly over time, I really did enjoy it. I enjoyed it so much I considered staying in the school system, but that didn't pan out, and it's a story for another day.
I was engaged at the time, and the kids (they were freshmen, I believe) were really interested in my life. Anything to avoid working, and who doesn't like thinking that kids find an adult's story fascinating? So the kids asked me about my fiance, and how we met, and how long we had been together, and did I have a picture of him? Yes, I did, and I showed them, which caused one boy to grab the picture and throw it in the trashcan. This almost brought me to tears, and I didn't know how to respond, but the girls in the class did.
Thank goodness for girls who are young and true believers in true love! This boy got an earful about respect and kindness and , "GET HER PICTURE OUT OF THAT TRASH RIGHT NOW!" So he did, and we all moved on, and the class ended, and honestly, although I didn't hold his actions against that kid, I never showed another picture to a class again.
So I'm thinking that the greater tragedy for Ms. Klein is that the other kids on the bus weren't strong enough to shut down the cruelty of a few. I don't think anyone else could have really quieted the noise other than someone in their peer group.
Some brave chick I am.
I am so very glad that the Reddits and the indegogos are helping this woman, and I hope she can enjoy a healthy retirement and vacation and maybe, I don't know, one of the punching bags that looks like a real guy? 'Cos I think I'd be into hitting one of those for an hour or year.
The whole episode reminded me of a class period I "taught" when I was a substitute teacher. Here, let me set it up for you:
I was in my late twenties and I was a substitute for a semester, mostly because my mother both threatened to kick me out of the house if I didn't start doing something useful and she was a teacher at the school, so I had a cozy quasi-permanent sub position. I worked with all four years of high school kids and for the most part, particularly over time, I really did enjoy it. I enjoyed it so much I considered staying in the school system, but that didn't pan out, and it's a story for another day.
I was engaged at the time, and the kids (they were freshmen, I believe) were really interested in my life. Anything to avoid working, and who doesn't like thinking that kids find an adult's story fascinating? So the kids asked me about my fiance, and how we met, and how long we had been together, and did I have a picture of him? Yes, I did, and I showed them, which caused one boy to grab the picture and throw it in the trashcan. This almost brought me to tears, and I didn't know how to respond, but the girls in the class did.
Thank goodness for girls who are young and true believers in true love! This boy got an earful about respect and kindness and , "GET HER PICTURE OUT OF THAT TRASH RIGHT NOW!" So he did, and we all moved on, and the class ended, and honestly, although I didn't hold his actions against that kid, I never showed another picture to a class again.
So I'm thinking that the greater tragedy for Ms. Klein is that the other kids on the bus weren't strong enough to shut down the cruelty of a few. I don't think anyone else could have really quieted the noise other than someone in their peer group.
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
Experiment
Like pretty much everyone I know, I have many email accounts. At last count, I think I have five. There might be more. Wait, I just thought of another, although I don't think I've ever used it.
Of those six email addresses, four are with gmail. I'm digging gmail as I get better and better using it. It's substantially awesome for work, because my cable and internet-based provider only allow about four gigabytes of data to be sent. Only FOUR. That's crap. Considering that my scanner does not have the ability to decrease the size of documents, you can imagine how many things I cannot send to clients or myself or the court system.
Think, for just a minute, how large a bankruptcy filing is. Potentially hundreds of pages. Hundreds of pages through my scanner would probably be about twenty gigs of data. My regular email system just exploded.
Anyway, the point of this is that I am currently signed into Google with at least two email addresses, one for work and one for fun, and I'm about to sign into another account with a third.
If you find you can't search today and Google is really slow, you can blame me.
Of those six email addresses, four are with gmail. I'm digging gmail as I get better and better using it. It's substantially awesome for work, because my cable and internet-based provider only allow about four gigabytes of data to be sent. Only FOUR. That's crap. Considering that my scanner does not have the ability to decrease the size of documents, you can imagine how many things I cannot send to clients or myself or the court system.
Think, for just a minute, how large a bankruptcy filing is. Potentially hundreds of pages. Hundreds of pages through my scanner would probably be about twenty gigs of data. My regular email system just exploded.
Anyway, the point of this is that I am currently signed into Google with at least two email addresses, one for work and one for fun, and I'm about to sign into another account with a third.
If you find you can't search today and Google is really slow, you can blame me.
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
A Wish
I listen to a lot of different kinds of music, and lately my groove has been set to dance music. I like the bouncy beats, the infectious grooves, the whatever, the energy. So I've decided that one of the neatest things that could happen to me would be this:
I'd like to commandeer a nightclub, its lights and sound system, for about thirty minutes. I don't want to do this while anyone's there - I couldn't take the pressure of trying to ensure a good time for all. Plus I think I'm too old for that sort of thing. I've not been to a nightclub in at least eight years and I really have no interest in returning.
Still, I think it would be awesome to queue up what I want to hear in the way it's intended to be heard. Honestly, Lady Gaga and LMFAO and stuff like that are not really meant for a car stereo or the radio in my bathroom. These kinds of tunes are designed for maximum acoustics and noise-spread, and just for a while, I want to hear them that way.
Also: I've become re-addicted to Bejeweled. I blame you, Google Chrome Store.
I'd like to commandeer a nightclub, its lights and sound system, for about thirty minutes. I don't want to do this while anyone's there - I couldn't take the pressure of trying to ensure a good time for all. Plus I think I'm too old for that sort of thing. I've not been to a nightclub in at least eight years and I really have no interest in returning.
Still, I think it would be awesome to queue up what I want to hear in the way it's intended to be heard. Honestly, Lady Gaga and LMFAO and stuff like that are not really meant for a car stereo or the radio in my bathroom. These kinds of tunes are designed for maximum acoustics and noise-spread, and just for a while, I want to hear them that way.
Also: I've become re-addicted to Bejeweled. I blame you, Google Chrome Store.
Monday, May 28, 2012
Memorial Day Shopping
Last night I took a little pill to help me sleep. I'm one of those who can fall asleep quickly, but cannot stay asleep. This works out just fine if I go to bed at 9, because then the middle-of-the-night panic attack that wakes me and keeps me awake for three hours can't ruin the whole night. But last night, I was really wrecked, so I took the pill at 8:30, went to bed at 10, and was still awake after midnight, reading a book, long after GPOM had tucked me and himself into bed. Glorious.
By 11 this morning, the pill hadn't worn off. I was awake around 7, but stoned until noon. However, this wasn't so bad because I didn't have to meet Momma until one. I made it, only a teensy bit stoned. No driving threat here!
We bought every color of the rainbow T-shirt at the store, and my best find was a fourteen dollar Ralph Lauren shirt. You read that right.
$14 RALPH LAUREN SHIRT. I AM THE QUEEN OF BARGAIN SHOPPING.
Next we went in search of food, but decided that we were above food court "food". This means a trip to Cracker Barrel. No judgment please. I know about its checkered history. I hate its checkered history. But damn, that place can make a mean veggie plate. (Only 40% meat and meat by-products!)
But before then, there was a quick pit-stop at Bath and Body Works, because I was whiny and the only way for Momma to shut me up was to buy me six bottles of foaming hand soap. (Trust me when I tell you it's worth spending the $20 on me. I can be whiny like only an overtired toddler at Disney can be whiny. Plus, I was hungry, so add a missed Disney Princess breakfast to that toddler's attitude, and you're almost close to mine.) On the way out I saw a display of my absolute favorite scent, the Energy Orange and Ginger body wash. It was on sale for $5/bottle, marked down from $13/bottle.
What could I do? I grabbed two, found Momma a place to sit, and went to the checkout. The lady there told me today was the last day of the sale, and if I bought them all, she'd help me to my car. Sixteen bottles and about eighty dollars later, I will smell fantastic through Christmas.
That's a guarantee right there.
By 11 this morning, the pill hadn't worn off. I was awake around 7, but stoned until noon. However, this wasn't so bad because I didn't have to meet Momma until one. I made it, only a teensy bit stoned. No driving threat here!
We bought every color of the rainbow T-shirt at the store, and my best find was a fourteen dollar Ralph Lauren shirt. You read that right.
$14 RALPH LAUREN SHIRT. I AM THE QUEEN OF BARGAIN SHOPPING.
Next we went in search of food, but decided that we were above food court "food". This means a trip to Cracker Barrel. No judgment please. I know about its checkered history. I hate its checkered history. But damn, that place can make a mean veggie plate. (Only 40% meat and meat by-products!)
But before then, there was a quick pit-stop at Bath and Body Works, because I was whiny and the only way for Momma to shut me up was to buy me six bottles of foaming hand soap. (Trust me when I tell you it's worth spending the $20 on me. I can be whiny like only an overtired toddler at Disney can be whiny. Plus, I was hungry, so add a missed Disney Princess breakfast to that toddler's attitude, and you're almost close to mine.) On the way out I saw a display of my absolute favorite scent, the Energy Orange and Ginger body wash. It was on sale for $5/bottle, marked down from $13/bottle.
What could I do? I grabbed two, found Momma a place to sit, and went to the checkout. The lady there told me today was the last day of the sale, and if I bought them all, she'd help me to my car. Sixteen bottles and about eighty dollars later, I will smell fantastic through Christmas.
That's a guarantee right there.
Sunday, May 13, 2012
A Quick Love Note
What, you thought I'd forget to honor my mother today? The woman who gave me life, sarcasm, and a strong sense of my own awesomeness?
I'll thank her for you.
Today I told Momma that the one thing I really wish I had was a cold beer. It's probably been about three months since I've had one. We had a misery-loves-company shopping excursion, where we discovered that everyone else is a pain in the ass and that we are amazing. Driving her home, I mentioned the beer, and she said that she had some, and would I like to take some home with me?
Um...yeah.
So she gave me three Yuengling Lights, while guaranteeing to me that taking three of them was not in fact too greedy, as she had nine left from her pack. I asked her if she thought it would be OK if I just drank one on the road home.
"Well, they're warm..." she said.
I'll thank her for you.
Today I told Momma that the one thing I really wish I had was a cold beer. It's probably been about three months since I've had one. We had a misery-loves-company shopping excursion, where we discovered that everyone else is a pain in the ass and that we are amazing. Driving her home, I mentioned the beer, and she said that she had some, and would I like to take some home with me?
Um...yeah.
So she gave me three Yuengling Lights, while guaranteeing to me that taking three of them was not in fact too greedy, as she had nine left from her pack. I asked her if she thought it would be OK if I just drank one on the road home.
"Well, they're warm..." she said.
Friday, May 4, 2012
Avatar
All right, let's do this. I realize ahead of time that I could upset some people.
Duly noted.
Why in the world do people use pictures of their children as their avatars? It makes absolutely no sense to me. There's a safety issue attached, and there's a real question of priorities as well. Do you not like your own looks? I've had someone use that reason. Are you extra-super-proud of your children? I've heard that one as well.
It makes me wonder if some people lessen their own value in order to elevate their child's. That is a big ol' problem in my view, because not only does it create a heavy burden for a child (if I'm more important than mom or dad, then I must be responsible for him/her as well) but it can also elevate the child's self-esteem to an unhealthy level. I think we've all seen what happens when someone believes his own hype. Those people are freaking annoying.
As an aside, I spoke about this with GPOM, and he concisely stated what I was meanderingly thinking: I'm friends with you, not your kid. And here's the bad news: I don't think your child is as endlessly fascinating as you do. I think your kid's just fine. Hell, I might even like your kid. But you are my friend, you are the one I want to see on the internet, and you are the one I discuss life with.
So show yourself and be yourself.
Duly noted.
Why in the world do people use pictures of their children as their avatars? It makes absolutely no sense to me. There's a safety issue attached, and there's a real question of priorities as well. Do you not like your own looks? I've had someone use that reason. Are you extra-super-proud of your children? I've heard that one as well.
It makes me wonder if some people lessen their own value in order to elevate their child's. That is a big ol' problem in my view, because not only does it create a heavy burden for a child (if I'm more important than mom or dad, then I must be responsible for him/her as well) but it can also elevate the child's self-esteem to an unhealthy level. I think we've all seen what happens when someone believes his own hype. Those people are freaking annoying.
As an aside, I spoke about this with GPOM, and he concisely stated what I was meanderingly thinking: I'm friends with you, not your kid. And here's the bad news: I don't think your child is as endlessly fascinating as you do. I think your kid's just fine. Hell, I might even like your kid. But you are my friend, you are the one I want to see on the internet, and you are the one I discuss life with.
So show yourself and be yourself.
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
Dress Code
First of all, HAI, new blogger interface! Sure would've been nice to get an introduction to you before you moved in, but hey. If I made it through college living with strangers, I can make it living with you. We can get to know each other. Stay up late. Fight about TV channels. Sing songs to try to cover up the dance krewe practicing on our porch until midnight.
Today I went by my folks' place, and my dad was napping. In his underclothes. He woke up when I came in, and scurried to the kitchen to find some real wrappings. (Please don't ask why my father keeps his clothes in the kitchen. That's a question I don't think anyone could answer.)
But watching him scurry, I thought, why are you dressing for me? You didn't dress for your wife, with whom you live. Yet something tells you that lying around in your undergarments in the family room is just fine for her. Made me think of days when GPOM wanders the house in his underwear. Not that he doesn't look great in just that. Maybe I'm just fussy?
When I come home, I immediately change into what I consider "house clothes" - cotton pants and a T-shirt, the first generally from Lands' End and the other from any law school which admitted me or any event I've attended. But if someone were to come by, I wouldn't be completely humiliated. It's my house, I can be bra-less if I choose.
I guess I just don't understand the attire of pure comfort versus the attire of covering up for others.
Today I went by my folks' place, and my dad was napping. In his underclothes. He woke up when I came in, and scurried to the kitchen to find some real wrappings. (Please don't ask why my father keeps his clothes in the kitchen. That's a question I don't think anyone could answer.)
But watching him scurry, I thought, why are you dressing for me? You didn't dress for your wife, with whom you live. Yet something tells you that lying around in your undergarments in the family room is just fine for her. Made me think of days when GPOM wanders the house in his underwear. Not that he doesn't look great in just that. Maybe I'm just fussy?
When I come home, I immediately change into what I consider "house clothes" - cotton pants and a T-shirt, the first generally from Lands' End and the other from any law school which admitted me or any event I've attended. But if someone were to come by, I wouldn't be completely humiliated. It's my house, I can be bra-less if I choose.
I guess I just don't understand the attire of pure comfort versus the attire of covering up for others.
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
Ow. Ow. Damnit, OW!
The very first time I got a pedicure, I was visiting my sister in California. I was probably in my twenties, and had never had anything particularly girlie done, unless you count the unending number of bottles of fire-engine-red hair dye that had graced my head since the minute I discovered that the upside to being a Sun-In blonde is that that blonde will absorb red like a sponge.
And we won't discuss the absolute unruly glory of my eyebrows in those days. I do have some vanity left.
So my sister dragged me along to let a stranger who spoke minimal English rub my feet and legs, trim my toes, and erase those calluses from my feet. (Fellas?) It felt good, warm, restful, despite the growing horror of the callus removal. Once done, I had brightly-colored toes and feet as soft as a baby's bottom. What a luxury! What joy! Until I walked, each step more painful, excruciating, weird...why would it hurt to walk?
Turns out there's a reason for those hard-earned calluses. Being able to walk upright, it turns out, is a small price to pay for a little bit of not-so-lovely bits of me.
I didn't get a pedicure for about a decade after that, and when I finally went to the nail salon, it took a goodly bit of bribery to lure me in. My memory is bad, but my physical memory of hurting is strong, and I couldn't stop thinking of how long it took to walk full upright again, and be able to wear cute shoes again. This pedicure, however, was different and better. Some scrubbing, smoothing, painting...no skin removal. Perfect. I've been addicted for years now.
Until this last one, where the helped pedicurist asked me if I'd like a "procedure". Sure, why not? You guys, it was the same as the first. So of course walking hurt, and of course I had to stand in a hallway for an hour in heels with no protective barrier between my skin and shoes and floor.
That was last Thursday. Today is Tuesday, and I can finally walk upright again. No more procedures for me.
And we won't discuss the absolute unruly glory of my eyebrows in those days. I do have some vanity left.
So my sister dragged me along to let a stranger who spoke minimal English rub my feet and legs, trim my toes, and erase those calluses from my feet. (Fellas?) It felt good, warm, restful, despite the growing horror of the callus removal. Once done, I had brightly-colored toes and feet as soft as a baby's bottom. What a luxury! What joy! Until I walked, each step more painful, excruciating, weird...why would it hurt to walk?
Turns out there's a reason for those hard-earned calluses. Being able to walk upright, it turns out, is a small price to pay for a little bit of not-so-lovely bits of me.
I didn't get a pedicure for about a decade after that, and when I finally went to the nail salon, it took a goodly bit of bribery to lure me in. My memory is bad, but my physical memory of hurting is strong, and I couldn't stop thinking of how long it took to walk full upright again, and be able to wear cute shoes again. This pedicure, however, was different and better. Some scrubbing, smoothing, painting...no skin removal. Perfect. I've been addicted for years now.
Until this last one, where the helped pedicurist asked me if I'd like a "procedure". Sure, why not? You guys, it was the same as the first. So of course walking hurt, and of course I had to stand in a hallway for an hour in heels with no protective barrier between my skin and shoes and floor.
That was last Thursday. Today is Tuesday, and I can finally walk upright again. No more procedures for me.
Saturday, April 7, 2012
Another Way To Do It
GPOM has been restless lately, wandering the place when not killing whatever requires his attention in Fallout. I remember this waiting feeling when looking for work and trying to find ways to fill time when there's nothing but an endless ocean of time, the soft, calming voice in your head screaming, "FAILURE!" and a bank account that mocks you with its very existence. I try to be understanding, am incredibly imperfect at it, but I do try. I also make a point to get out of the house so he doesn't feel the evil eye of my home-based business glaring down on him. I also try to encourage him to get out of the house as well, and I give him tasks and chores so that he's contributing to the household.
I sound like bloody Mother Teresa, don't I? Well, I'm not. I glare in judgment sometimes and don't listen and occasionally lord what I'm doing over him. Really helps his self-confidence, I've found.
Anyway - there was a random $1.99 data charge on our cell phone bill this month, so I asked GPOM to call the company and get them to reverse the charge. We don't use data plans on our phones, and even if there was a one-second mistake, there's no way I'm paying $1.99 (plus tax!) for it. So GPOM called and got what seemed to be a very inexperienced customer service rep, who kept repeating to him that she would figure out what the charge was about (it was on his phone) and that it might be a mandatory upgrade. The phone connection apparently wasn't that good (why I still have a landline) and I'm guessing her English was a second language, so the barriers were pretty insurmountable.
After about fifteen minutes, GPOM let loose with an expletive or two and hung up, telling me that he'd pay the blankedly-blank two dollars.
If you know me at all, you know that's not going to fly. Not that I don't appreciate the gesture and efforts from GPOM, but that my need to screw over the phone company because of $1.99 (plus tax!) is simply too strong. There is very little I can control in this world, but I'll be damned before I pay a charge for a service I did not use (or at least get a credit on next month's bill). After fifty-two minutes of hold and gentle conversations with a charming young woman named Olivia, I got the charge reversed.
I also got laundry done and the entire kitchen cleaned, including offloading the dishwasher. That's what you can do in forty-five minutes of hold music.
I sound like bloody Mother Teresa, don't I? Well, I'm not. I glare in judgment sometimes and don't listen and occasionally lord what I'm doing over him. Really helps his self-confidence, I've found.
Anyway - there was a random $1.99 data charge on our cell phone bill this month, so I asked GPOM to call the company and get them to reverse the charge. We don't use data plans on our phones, and even if there was a one-second mistake, there's no way I'm paying $1.99 (plus tax!) for it. So GPOM called and got what seemed to be a very inexperienced customer service rep, who kept repeating to him that she would figure out what the charge was about (it was on his phone) and that it might be a mandatory upgrade. The phone connection apparently wasn't that good (why I still have a landline) and I'm guessing her English was a second language, so the barriers were pretty insurmountable.
After about fifteen minutes, GPOM let loose with an expletive or two and hung up, telling me that he'd pay the blankedly-blank two dollars.
If you know me at all, you know that's not going to fly. Not that I don't appreciate the gesture and efforts from GPOM, but that my need to screw over the phone company because of $1.99 (plus tax!) is simply too strong. There is very little I can control in this world, but I'll be damned before I pay a charge for a service I did not use (or at least get a credit on next month's bill). After fifty-two minutes of hold and gentle conversations with a charming young woman named Olivia, I got the charge reversed.
I also got laundry done and the entire kitchen cleaned, including offloading the dishwasher. That's what you can do in forty-five minutes of hold music.
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Mississippi Dots
I was minding my own business this morning in the bathroom. (Yes, I know, the place where one generally would mind her own business. Tee-hee.) Something made me think of the Bar/Bri class I took in DC all those many years ago. And by many, I mean five.
That does seem like many years ago.
I wasn't enrolled in the same bar review class as some of my classmates, although some people from my alma mater were taking the class in the same location as me. Mine was popular enough to have a morning, afternoon, and evening class. I am an afternoon person, and at that point, I was unemployed, so everything came up Milhaus and I took that class.
I met a young lady named Caitlin, and we bonded over being from the south and not being entirely sure what we were doing in DC. Her husband, if memory serves, had a job up there, and I had a wild hair that would not allow me to return to Alabama. So we shared accents and anecdotes and the occasional lust for sweet tea, and we would play games during the more tedious videos.
I taught her about the dot game. She had never heard of the dot game, which to me was just about the horrifying news I'd ever heard. No dot game? How did you manage sitting through church? Hangman's tough to hide after a while, you know. But I laid out the game and taught her the basics and it only took two games before she was routinely kicking my behind.
I was proud of my little protege, and I wonder where she is now, and I hope she's happy.
Caitlin, just in case you forgot, this one's for you:
That does seem like many years ago.
I wasn't enrolled in the same bar review class as some of my classmates, although some people from my alma mater were taking the class in the same location as me. Mine was popular enough to have a morning, afternoon, and evening class. I am an afternoon person, and at that point, I was unemployed, so everything came up Milhaus and I took that class.
I met a young lady named Caitlin, and we bonded over being from the south and not being entirely sure what we were doing in DC. Her husband, if memory serves, had a job up there, and I had a wild hair that would not allow me to return to Alabama. So we shared accents and anecdotes and the occasional lust for sweet tea, and we would play games during the more tedious videos.
I taught her about the dot game. She had never heard of the dot game, which to me was just about the horrifying news I'd ever heard. No dot game? How did you manage sitting through church? Hangman's tough to hide after a while, you know. But I laid out the game and taught her the basics and it only took two games before she was routinely kicking my behind.
I was proud of my little protege, and I wonder where she is now, and I hope she's happy.
Caitlin, just in case you forgot, this one's for you:
Saturday, March 24, 2012
And This Is Why I Love You
This morning was a slow morning, a lazy, syrupy, holy-crap-did-I-really-need-that-last-vodka-we're-meeting-the-inlaws-for-lunch-morning, and I took full advantage of the gurgly, mildly hungover slow-moving feeling to switch channels quickly on my TV until something interesting/ignorable came on just for me.
First I watched some of Flip This House. Oh, mid-aughts. You were a silly, dreamy, delicious time. You made us believe that there was money to be had, if we worked really, really hard at it and somehow yanked a leg off a bunny and made a wish on it.
Then I flipped over to the History Channel, and came in about fifteen minutes into Modern Marvels. It was discussing 90s technology, and I thought to myself, "Now this is something I remember!"
See the first paragraph. That should explain my deep thoughts.
There were pictures of old cell phones, and the world's first portable computer (from 1981 - hey, History Channel, you cheated!) and there were video games and GPS (thank you, President Clinton, for letting all us civilians play along as well) and then there were Furbies. Boy, do I remember Furbies. I had two of them - one Momma bought me, and the other a gift from my ex-fiance.
I watched and learned that Furbies did not, in fact, actually learn English from hearing me speak to it. It was programmed to use more English words the more it interacted. (Or maybe not even interacted? I'm not clear on this.) It reminded me how annoying I found my Furbies because I couldn't understand one good goddamned word they said or what they wanted, and I eventually put them into my closet where they would occasionally mutter, usually in the middle of the night, and scare the shit out of me.
Furby revenge.
My revenge? Their batteries finally died.
If I had known that they would speak more English as time went by, and if I didn't have the patience of an overtired toddler in a grocery store candy aisle, I would have given them time to speak more English. Had the internet existed in the way it does today, I would have Googled Furby secrets and found this out, and actually used my fuzzy weird-eyed toys. For I know now that no matter what I want to learn, someone has already been interested enough to explore it more deeply than I care to and would have created a dedicated Wikipedia page, along with pictures.
And this is why I love you, Internet. (And you guys, too.)
First I watched some of Flip This House. Oh, mid-aughts. You were a silly, dreamy, delicious time. You made us believe that there was money to be had, if we worked really, really hard at it and somehow yanked a leg off a bunny and made a wish on it.
Then I flipped over to the History Channel, and came in about fifteen minutes into Modern Marvels. It was discussing 90s technology, and I thought to myself, "Now this is something I remember!"
See the first paragraph. That should explain my deep thoughts.
There were pictures of old cell phones, and the world's first portable computer (from 1981 - hey, History Channel, you cheated!) and there were video games and GPS (thank you, President Clinton, for letting all us civilians play along as well) and then there were Furbies. Boy, do I remember Furbies. I had two of them - one Momma bought me, and the other a gift from my ex-fiance.
I watched and learned that Furbies did not, in fact, actually learn English from hearing me speak to it. It was programmed to use more English words the more it interacted. (Or maybe not even interacted? I'm not clear on this.) It reminded me how annoying I found my Furbies because I couldn't understand one good goddamned word they said or what they wanted, and I eventually put them into my closet where they would occasionally mutter, usually in the middle of the night, and scare the shit out of me.
Furby revenge.
My revenge? Their batteries finally died.
If I had known that they would speak more English as time went by, and if I didn't have the patience of an overtired toddler in a grocery store candy aisle, I would have given them time to speak more English. Had the internet existed in the way it does today, I would have Googled Furby secrets and found this out, and actually used my fuzzy weird-eyed toys. For I know now that no matter what I want to learn, someone has already been interested enough to explore it more deeply than I care to and would have created a dedicated Wikipedia page, along with pictures.
And this is why I love you, Internet. (And you guys, too.)
After-School Special
Thursday night, Momma and I celebrated an achievement of hers, and then went out to dinner for her accomplishment and my birthday. I was thinking of a sandwich with garlic aioli, and she was thinking of a pasta dish and cocktails. When the waiter came to our table, Momma asked me what I wanted to drink. I said, "Diet Coke," for I am a fan of anything with caffeine, and this restaurant doesn't serve diet Mt. Dew.
Which is a shame. Everywhere should serve diet Mt. Dew. It is delicious and refreshing and burns my throat and can keep me pleasant for days.
Momma looked at me with sad eyes. Then she looked at me with a bit of stink eye. The waiter, noticing this, mentioned that margaritas were on sale for $2.95. Momma looked away, still looking at me somehow, in a way only mothers can.
"Apparently we're having margaritas," I told the waiter, and he left to fill our order.
My mother totally peer-pressured me into having a drink when I didn't really want one. My Momma is a protagonist in a very special episode.
I love that woman.
Which is a shame. Everywhere should serve diet Mt. Dew. It is delicious and refreshing and burns my throat and can keep me pleasant for days.
Momma looked at me with sad eyes. Then she looked at me with a bit of stink eye. The waiter, noticing this, mentioned that margaritas were on sale for $2.95. Momma looked away, still looking at me somehow, in a way only mothers can.
"Apparently we're having margaritas," I told the waiter, and he left to fill our order.
My mother totally peer-pressured me into having a drink when I didn't really want one. My Momma is a protagonist in a very special episode.
I love that woman.
Friday, March 16, 2012
Good Week
I'm sorry, you guys, I've been neglecting you! After a relatively crappy start to the month, things have been improving. Again, I thought you'd like some good news for a change, after reading my complaints, which, while, let's face it, are fascinating, get old not only for me to write and for you to read.
So.
I started the week by driving an hour and a half to visit my friend and to go to a required training class for bankruptcy filings. The class was scheduled for two hours and the training lasted thirty minutes, so I was in a good mood. Plus, it's fun to meet new people and get out for a while. And, although it was a rainy day, I didn't get rained on. This is always a plus as I do not own an umbrella. Normally I dress pretty casually, but I felt it important to dress all formal 'cos I was going to a secured floor (when you punch the button for that floor on the elevator, it doesn't even light up. That's how secure it is.). So I was dressed up and dry. Later, I met Wade's brother for lunch, and we went to a real Mexican restaurant and it was delicious and I have a whole new appreciate for guacamole.
Then my friend and I sat around her place and talked and talked and talked. Then we played Uno and talked some more. I almost never run out of things to say, but you guys, this time I came close.
Thursday I did a whole lotta legal work and have decided to make some positive changes to my practice. I'll tell you more about that as the details are worked out. These details include more talking. Today I got a good outcome for one of my clients and I filed a bunch of papers and I got to see Cita and the Mayor and it was fun.
I am happy and almost calm. Calm. Weird. I've not been calm in a while. It's been so long that calm on me kinda looks like tired. So it's time to kick in some caffeine and maybe watch some bad TV.
I hope your week's been good.
So.
I started the week by driving an hour and a half to visit my friend and to go to a required training class for bankruptcy filings. The class was scheduled for two hours and the training lasted thirty minutes, so I was in a good mood. Plus, it's fun to meet new people and get out for a while. And, although it was a rainy day, I didn't get rained on. This is always a plus as I do not own an umbrella. Normally I dress pretty casually, but I felt it important to dress all formal 'cos I was going to a secured floor (when you punch the button for that floor on the elevator, it doesn't even light up. That's how secure it is.). So I was dressed up and dry. Later, I met Wade's brother for lunch, and we went to a real Mexican restaurant and it was delicious and I have a whole new appreciate for guacamole.
Then my friend and I sat around her place and talked and talked and talked. Then we played Uno and talked some more. I almost never run out of things to say, but you guys, this time I came close.
Thursday I did a whole lotta legal work and have decided to make some positive changes to my practice. I'll tell you more about that as the details are worked out. These details include more talking. Today I got a good outcome for one of my clients and I filed a bunch of papers and I got to see Cita and the Mayor and it was fun.
I am happy and almost calm. Calm. Weird. I've not been calm in a while. It's been so long that calm on me kinda looks like tired. So it's time to kick in some caffeine and maybe watch some bad TV.
I hope your week's been good.
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
Hank
GPOM and I went to see Henry Rollins last night, and boy, did he not disappoint. I laughed, I shouted out loud a couple of times, I clapped, and at the end, I drove most of the way home giggling about Satan's Own Burrito.
You'll have to ask Henry. It's an inside joke between us and him, and it seems unfair to take away his thunder.
I got some pictures, and you'll have to forgive me because they are terrible:
I don't know how to use the camera on my cell phone, and I couldn't convince my digital camera to not flash Henry in the eyes every time I tried to take a shot. Plus, that camera's from like 2007, and it doesn't have image stabilization (my shaky hands), and I didn't want to be the jerk in the audience taking pictures the whole time. So these are what I've got.
You'll have to ask Henry. It's an inside joke between us and him, and it seems unfair to take away his thunder.
I got some pictures, and you'll have to forgive me because they are terrible:
Sunday, March 4, 2012
5:40am
It's really early, you guys. I've been up since three and there's only so many Law & Order reruns I can watch before I need a break.
And by break, I mean that I think I just announced to the internet that I'm poor. I am, of course, not poor, but I am also not rolling around in dollar bills, y'all, giggling and wondering where next to dive into the dollar bill pool.
I totally wish I could do that. Doesn't that sound like fun? I mean, barring the potential paper cuts. Maybe I'll have a dollar-bill pool that only has old, softened dollar bills. But then I'd worry about germs.
I can't win.
Speaking of germs, I went into a mall food court bathroom today. I considered, briefly, using the facilities, but the smell of human waste and despair, plus the alarming number of women who were on their cell phones while using a mall food court bathroom were quite the deterrents. Ladies, what possible conversation could not wait until leaving a public restroom? Even in an emergency, pants down to your ankles in public, what could you possibly do?
But hey, no judgment here. It's a personal lifestyle choice to inflict the power sound of flushing toilets onto your hapless caller. Who knows? Maybe the next generation will have toilet-flushing fetishes!
And by break, I mean that I think I just announced to the internet that I'm poor. I am, of course, not poor, but I am also not rolling around in dollar bills, y'all, giggling and wondering where next to dive into the dollar bill pool.
I totally wish I could do that. Doesn't that sound like fun? I mean, barring the potential paper cuts. Maybe I'll have a dollar-bill pool that only has old, softened dollar bills. But then I'd worry about germs.
I can't win.
Speaking of germs, I went into a mall food court bathroom today. I considered, briefly, using the facilities, but the smell of human waste and despair, plus the alarming number of women who were on their cell phones while using a mall food court bathroom were quite the deterrents. Ladies, what possible conversation could not wait until leaving a public restroom? Even in an emergency, pants down to your ankles in public, what could you possibly do?
But hey, no judgment here. It's a personal lifestyle choice to inflict the power sound of flushing toilets onto your hapless caller. Who knows? Maybe the next generation will have toilet-flushing fetishes!
Friday, March 2, 2012
Storm Artist
This morning has been a whirlwind of tornado sirens and local meteorologists jacking each other for the best position. And by that I mean, welcome to storm season in Alabama! The cable company is incredibly helpful - when a watch or warning is issued by the National Weather Service, the TV automatically changes channels, the beeping sound of which I am terrified. Still, the channel goes to PBS, so there's something.
I decided to harass my soon-to-be niece, because she's in high school, about crouching in the hallway. Remember that? She texted me back that she was indeed in the hallway, and that the power was out and she was nervous. So I figured my job was to let her know what's happening outside and to entertain her.
Update: She was fine, got out of school early only to find that home had no power, but now that it's later, we have plans for tomorrow. Plans that involve getting my Momma a sandwich from Subway(c).
But as for the entertaining her part, I drew her a few pictures. Artiste extraordinaire that I am, I will show you the pictures. Try not to be jealous, and remember, if you sell them, I totally get the royalties.
This is the map I drew her of where the storm was, and how she was not in danger.
I told her that if she needed another picture, I was totally drawing a witch.
I thought she needed to know how the cat was handling the danger.
I decided to harass my soon-to-be niece, because she's in high school, about crouching in the hallway. Remember that? She texted me back that she was indeed in the hallway, and that the power was out and she was nervous. So I figured my job was to let her know what's happening outside and to entertain her.
Update: She was fine, got out of school early only to find that home had no power, but now that it's later, we have plans for tomorrow. Plans that involve getting my Momma a sandwich from Subway(c).
But as for the entertaining her part, I drew her a few pictures. Artiste extraordinaire that I am, I will show you the pictures. Try not to be jealous, and remember, if you sell them, I totally get the royalties.
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
A Loss
Yesterday afternoon, my Biggs went to cat heaven. While I'm not sure what happens to people after they die, I am absolutely positive that there is a cat heaven, where Biggs is now living with Kitten, Fluffy, and Boo. I imagine them trading stories about the misery they had to endure while living with me. I imagine them trading days of who gets to choose the entertainment. Mostly, I think of that artwork of the dogs playing poker, but with my cats (playing poker themselves, not dogs using cats as ante).
I love you, Biggs.
I still love you, Kitten, Fluffy, Boo, and Biggs.
I need a drink, and some time to catch up on my thoughts and photographs so I can post a proper eulogy.
I love you, Biggs.
I still love you, Kitten, Fluffy, Boo, and Biggs.
I need a drink, and some time to catch up on my thoughts and photographs so I can post a proper eulogy.
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Billing
Like everyone else around the world, GPOM and I are actively trying to figure out how to decrease some of our bills. We've reduced our Netflix to streaming content only, because my DVD player doesn't seem to work anymore. Figures. It's adorable and pink and girly. Also, the last movie I saw was Bridesmaids, and that was at the theatre. I simply don't have the patience to watch movies. Oh, I watched The Social Network in November sometime. That was good.
Anyway...I mention the Netflix because every so often when we go over bills, GPOM gets this look in his eye when he notices the TiVo bill. Now, I love my TiVo, I use it every single day, I can barely stand to watch on-time programming anymore, I've had it since 2005, and I think the fourteen dollars a month it costs is well worth it. I watch a lot of TV, folks. A LOT. And I am not ashamed.
So I spoke with TiVo today after looking at subscription rates on Ebay to see if I could lower the cost of the subscription. No such luck. Even though I saw someone selling a box with a ten-dollar subscription rate, I couldn't get anything lower.
Now I'm considering this: Get an upgraded TiVo box, keep the current monthly rate, upgrade the internet service to a higher speed, begin to use wireless networking to update TiVo (mine currently uses a landline connection), and get rid of the home phone, which costs about forty dollars each month.
Current:
TiVo - $13.95
Internet - $33.95
Phone - $40.00
TOTAL: $87.90
New thought:
TiVo - $13.95
Internet - $56.95
TOTAL: $70.90
OK, so about fifteen dollars less each month. But I love my home phone. I don't want to get rid of my home phone. Also, I have to factor in the cost of a new TiVo box. A quick glance tells me it's about one hundred dollars. Plus I'm noticing some wireless adapter which seems to be about twenty-five dollars. Let's say an initial investment of one hundred fifty dollars (shipping, you know). It would take ten months to come out even, before I see a savings at all. Now I'm seeing that the upgrade is HD, which may mean I have to buy HD for the cable as well. If memory serves, HD is an additional approximately fifteen dollars each month. Looks like I'll come out even.
Thoughts, you guys?
Anyway...I mention the Netflix because every so often when we go over bills, GPOM gets this look in his eye when he notices the TiVo bill. Now, I love my TiVo, I use it every single day, I can barely stand to watch on-time programming anymore, I've had it since 2005, and I think the fourteen dollars a month it costs is well worth it. I watch a lot of TV, folks. A LOT. And I am not ashamed.
So I spoke with TiVo today after looking at subscription rates on Ebay to see if I could lower the cost of the subscription. No such luck. Even though I saw someone selling a box with a ten-dollar subscription rate, I couldn't get anything lower.
Now I'm considering this: Get an upgraded TiVo box, keep the current monthly rate, upgrade the internet service to a higher speed, begin to use wireless networking to update TiVo (mine currently uses a landline connection), and get rid of the home phone, which costs about forty dollars each month.
Current:
TiVo - $13.95
Internet - $33.95
Phone - $40.00
TOTAL: $87.90
New thought:
TiVo - $13.95
Internet - $56.95
TOTAL: $70.90
OK, so about fifteen dollars less each month. But I love my home phone. I don't want to get rid of my home phone. Also, I have to factor in the cost of a new TiVo box. A quick glance tells me it's about one hundred dollars. Plus I'm noticing some wireless adapter which seems to be about twenty-five dollars. Let's say an initial investment of one hundred fifty dollars (shipping, you know). It would take ten months to come out even, before I see a savings at all. Now I'm seeing that the upgrade is HD, which may mean I have to buy HD for the cable as well. If memory serves, HD is an additional approximately fifteen dollars each month. Looks like I'll come out even.
Thoughts, you guys?
Friday, February 17, 2012
I Am Respecting Your Feelings
The other day was Valentine's Day, and let me tell you guys, I had a lovely day. I got roses the night before, which GPOM thoughtfully trimmed and arranged for me. (All the varying jobs he's had over the years come in handy around the house, and working for a florist means my cut flowers last longer than your cut flowers.) The next day I got a sentimental (well, for him) card and a black-pearl-and-diamond necklace. I love it. It's perfect, and I wear it every day despite it having the tiniest clasp I've ever seen. We broke open a bottle of Prosecco and toasted and generally enjoyed being around each other.
But earlier that day, I saw a post on my Facebook timeline that mentioned that maybe we lovers should be more sensitive to the feelings of those who lost someone, or is single, or is currently separated from their loved one. It was a gentle reminder, and I understood the sentiment. But because I am me, my reaction was
FUCK THAT.
If you'd like to be sensitive to every single person's feelings on any given day, good fuckin' luck with that. There are approximately two hundred "friends" on my Facebook. You think I can protect all of them? You think I care to? Sheesh, for most of those people I'm a strange memory from junior high, or that girl in college who could actually roll a spliff without making a mess.
So, in the interest of not having my feelings hurt, I'd like to politely request that from here on out you don't share with me your glorious news of pregnancy, including sonograms, pictures of the wee widdle one fresh out of the oven, obvious remarks about the HAHA moments of parenthood, or even oblique references to babies, toddlers, or children under the age of ten. I want a child badly and it doesn't seem to be in the cards. So all you parents out there, unless your kid's acting like a pure horse's ass, you'll have to keep precious inside.
Because it hurts my feelings.
But earlier that day, I saw a post on my Facebook timeline that mentioned that maybe we lovers should be more sensitive to the feelings of those who lost someone, or is single, or is currently separated from their loved one. It was a gentle reminder, and I understood the sentiment. But because I am me, my reaction was
FUCK THAT.
If you'd like to be sensitive to every single person's feelings on any given day, good fuckin' luck with that. There are approximately two hundred "friends" on my Facebook. You think I can protect all of them? You think I care to? Sheesh, for most of those people I'm a strange memory from junior high, or that girl in college who could actually roll a spliff without making a mess.
So, in the interest of not having my feelings hurt, I'd like to politely request that from here on out you don't share with me your glorious news of pregnancy, including sonograms, pictures of the wee widdle one fresh out of the oven, obvious remarks about the HAHA moments of parenthood, or even oblique references to babies, toddlers, or children under the age of ten. I want a child badly and it doesn't seem to be in the cards. So all you parents out there, unless your kid's acting like a pure horse's ass, you'll have to keep precious inside.
Because it hurts my feelings.
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Crossfit
In my wanderings around the internet, wherein I was trying to find a local place that teaches Krav Maga, I found this list on Gawker. You'll note that Crossfit is #8 in the list of working rankings. It reminded me of a time I went to a Crossfit introductory class with Cita.
Cita is in fantastic shape, and is a certified fitness instructor. Pre-baby thoughts, pre-baby pregnancy, and not too long after the arrival of the baby, Cita teaches classes in how to kick ass. As in your own flabby one. I do not attend her classes, but should, as my flabby behind is the source of my own self-derision.
So I joined her in an hour or so of this class, taught by her good friends who do everything I don't do - eat well, work out, care about their bodies as the machines of awesome that they can be. I felt a little bit like a freak being there, as the others who were trying the class were also clearly more concerned about their health that I am. But I went.
And had my ass roundly handed to me throughout the experience. It got so I wouldn't even try the jump-on-a-board exercise. I do not jump. I routinely question the need for curbs so I don't have to raise my knees. This being said, I did manage to defeat Cita in a rowing test. People, I can row. I have alarming upper body strength, which comes from carrying six or seven grocery bags, full of two-liter bottles, into my place. For almost eight years now.
So there's that.
Cita is in fantastic shape, and is a certified fitness instructor. Pre-baby thoughts, pre-baby pregnancy, and not too long after the arrival of the baby, Cita teaches classes in how to kick ass. As in your own flabby one. I do not attend her classes, but should, as my flabby behind is the source of my own self-derision.
So I joined her in an hour or so of this class, taught by her good friends who do everything I don't do - eat well, work out, care about their bodies as the machines of awesome that they can be. I felt a little bit like a freak being there, as the others who were trying the class were also clearly more concerned about their health that I am. But I went.
And had my ass roundly handed to me throughout the experience. It got so I wouldn't even try the jump-on-a-board exercise. I do not jump. I routinely question the need for curbs so I don't have to raise my knees. This being said, I did manage to defeat Cita in a rowing test. People, I can row. I have alarming upper body strength, which comes from carrying six or seven grocery bags, full of two-liter bottles, into my place. For almost eight years now.
So there's that.
Friday, February 3, 2012
When Sorry Isn't Enough
I'm trying, you guys. I'm trying to build again. I'm trying to remember to focus on work and to bring some interesting stories home, to be supportive, to listen, to try to remember the advice I often give others: That it's rarely about you, it's about the other person when there's unsettledness about.
But last night I found out, after doing some Inquisition-style questioning, that GPOM's been lying to me. Lying. I hate lying. And not about important things, but about small, dumb things, like where he's been eating lunch. He's been coming home and telling me about the Subway(c) sandwiches he's eaten, how he's not having cheese on them because he's watching his weight but how he just couldn't resist a meatball sub one day, about the multi-generational owners and the chit-chat they share now that he's a regular at that restaurant.
But there's one small problem: I can see all the bank accounts, and I know he's been living off of Taco Bell and Chick-Fil-A. And I don't care, you guys, I really don't. My only concern is that eating out every day gets expensive fast, and we're trying to live on a rather tight budget for a while (car insurance is due this month, on two cars). But why lie about where you're eating? Why tell me lies about conversations that never happened?
Last night he said he went out for post-work cocktails with coworkers, but he didn't tell me because he didn't want me to be mad. Why would I be mad about drinks with friends? I asked him if he ever intended to tell me, and he said no.
I don't know. I wish I understood why he feels the need to lie. Am I that scary; have I been that overbearing?
But last night I found out, after doing some Inquisition-style questioning, that GPOM's been lying to me. Lying. I hate lying. And not about important things, but about small, dumb things, like where he's been eating lunch. He's been coming home and telling me about the Subway(c) sandwiches he's eaten, how he's not having cheese on them because he's watching his weight but how he just couldn't resist a meatball sub one day, about the multi-generational owners and the chit-chat they share now that he's a regular at that restaurant.
But there's one small problem: I can see all the bank accounts, and I know he's been living off of Taco Bell and Chick-Fil-A. And I don't care, you guys, I really don't. My only concern is that eating out every day gets expensive fast, and we're trying to live on a rather tight budget for a while (car insurance is due this month, on two cars). But why lie about where you're eating? Why tell me lies about conversations that never happened?
Last night he said he went out for post-work cocktails with coworkers, but he didn't tell me because he didn't want me to be mad. Why would I be mad about drinks with friends? I asked him if he ever intended to tell me, and he said no.
I don't know. I wish I understood why he feels the need to lie. Am I that scary; have I been that overbearing?
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Trying Again
I asked him to come home last night via text, and he said he was already settled and we really did need the break. He called a while ago and I asked him to just come home tonight, don't stay somewhere else. I don't think we can talk through what's going on with us with the distance between us.
He knows that he has to re-earn my respect and trust. I know that I have to fairly give him the opportunity to do so. We're going to try some reflective listening, where one person speaks and the other person answers back what the second party heard the first party say. We're also going to try "I" statements instead of hyperbolic blame statements.
I'm mostly to blame for those "You always" statements.
We'd love to get some couples counseling but we're not in a place where we can afford it right now. There's too many real-life problems that need tackling first. Maybe with insurance, assuming his job works out, we can get some help. In the meantime, we're going to look for some good self-help for couples books and give them a try. If you've got a recommendation, I'd love to know about it.
How long before my stomach unknots, do you think?
He knows that he has to re-earn my respect and trust. I know that I have to fairly give him the opportunity to do so. We're going to try some reflective listening, where one person speaks and the other person answers back what the second party heard the first party say. We're also going to try "I" statements instead of hyperbolic blame statements.
I'm mostly to blame for those "You always" statements.
We'd love to get some couples counseling but we're not in a place where we can afford it right now. There's too many real-life problems that need tackling first. Maybe with insurance, assuming his job works out, we can get some help. In the meantime, we're going to look for some good self-help for couples books and give them a try. If you've got a recommendation, I'd love to know about it.
How long before my stomach unknots, do you think?
Monday, January 23, 2012
He's Gone
After a long weekend, that seemed perfect in its perfection on Friday night, things fell apart. And more apart. And so apart that I considered intervention. Then kindness. Then the realization that my kindness toward another did nothing for the fact that I hadn't done anything wrong.
So tonight I told him to leave. He tried to tell me that he couldn't talk to me, but I couldn't listen. Because I knew. I knew we needed a break. I knew that I didn't want to tuck someone else into bed. I knew that just because it was my thought didn't mean it was wrong.
I don't know where he is tonight. He asked if he could call me over his lunch break tomorrow, and I said, "Sure."
"Sure" is his least favorite answer from me, but it was all I could give.
We hugged. We cried. I hate seeing his face when he cries, but I have to take care of me.
I don't know what will happen. I love him, but I know love isn't enough.
So tonight I told him to leave. He tried to tell me that he couldn't talk to me, but I couldn't listen. Because I knew. I knew we needed a break. I knew that I didn't want to tuck someone else into bed. I knew that just because it was my thought didn't mean it was wrong.
I don't know where he is tonight. He asked if he could call me over his lunch break tomorrow, and I said, "Sure."
"Sure" is his least favorite answer from me, but it was all I could give.
We hugged. We cried. I hate seeing his face when he cries, but I have to take care of me.
I don't know what will happen. I love him, but I know love isn't enough.
Saturday, January 21, 2012
How To Lose Custody
Since I happen to do a lot of family law work, and because my sister is an experienced family law attorney in California, she and I have had occasion to discuss the things that parents do that can really hurt their chances to either get awarded or lose custody of their children.
My sister tells me of a person who had custody of a daughter, and the battle to keep custody was quite hot. Facebook got involved, as it often does...
ASIDE: IF YOU USE SOCIAL NETWORKING, STFU ABOUT YOUR CASE, OFFSPRING, OR OPPOSING PARTY. IF YOU CAN'T STOP YOURSELF, DISABLE YOUR PROFILE.
This parent was to most a good parent, loving, kind, set appropriate boundaries, all the good stuff, but there was a fatal flaw. This parent thought it was really funny to dress the daughter up in outfits and costumes, complete with accessories, take pictures of her, and post these photos to Facebook. This parent, after a game of dress-up including "gangster attire" and an unloaded gun, no longer has custody of the child.
I'm posting the picture below as an example - this photo has nothing to do with the above case, but it was on my Facebook newsfeed. Parents, be wise about these things. Once it's on the internet, it can never be erased.
It doesn't matter if the gun is a prop, or fake, or unloaded, or even tin foil wrapped up to look like a weapon. Be smart. Don't do this.
My sister tells me of a person who had custody of a daughter, and the battle to keep custody was quite hot. Facebook got involved, as it often does...
ASIDE: IF YOU USE SOCIAL NETWORKING, STFU ABOUT YOUR CASE, OFFSPRING, OR OPPOSING PARTY. IF YOU CAN'T STOP YOURSELF, DISABLE YOUR PROFILE.
This parent was to most a good parent, loving, kind, set appropriate boundaries, all the good stuff, but there was a fatal flaw. This parent thought it was really funny to dress the daughter up in outfits and costumes, complete with accessories, take pictures of her, and post these photos to Facebook. This parent, after a game of dress-up including "gangster attire" and an unloaded gun, no longer has custody of the child.
I'm posting the picture below as an example - this photo has nothing to do with the above case, but it was on my Facebook newsfeed. Parents, be wise about these things. Once it's on the internet, it can never be erased.
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Tears For A Stranger
I am an admitted fan of Heather Armstrong, and have been for years now. Years? How did that happen? But it did, because in her writing I found an online kindred soul, someone around my age, someone who has a similar background, and someone substantially stronger than I.
You guys know how careful I am on the internet. If you read dooce, you know how careful she is not. I consider that very, very brave.
I've read her site with dedication for years, bought and devoured her books, told my friends about her site, and copied her writing style more than I like to admit. I pretend it's inspiration, and it is, but there are times I've directly taken from her. I'm not proud of that, but it's done, and unerasable on the internet.
I know of which she speaks when she talks about the depression, the overpowering Why? of everything, the desire to just call it a day. It's not a selfish act in that moment, it's not meant to hurt others, it's meant to save myself. But as she's pulled herself out, I've pulled myself out, at different times and in different manners.
I've envied her life, her sense of humor, her ability to create an empire of sorts, one that can financially protect her family. When I read of the stress it causes her to be the sole breadwinner, I understood that pressure. I know what it feels like to see that infinite crack and KNOW in that minute that everything will, in fact, fall apart, and that moment is seconds, minutes, twenty-four hours from now.
So when I read her post today, it made me cry. I know that I, a stranger, can do nothing to help her through her life right now. But the tears come anyway, as they seem to do so easily now, and all I want to do is hug GPOM and hope like hell for a future that cannot be predicted or controlled or some days, even managed.
Yes, yes, it all works out in the end. But all those letters, thoughts, words, fears, panics, smiles, uncontrolled giggles, and hugs that form the underlying 'it' take forever.
You guys know how careful I am on the internet. If you read dooce, you know how careful she is not. I consider that very, very brave.
I've read her site with dedication for years, bought and devoured her books, told my friends about her site, and copied her writing style more than I like to admit. I pretend it's inspiration, and it is, but there are times I've directly taken from her. I'm not proud of that, but it's done, and unerasable on the internet.
I know of which she speaks when she talks about the depression, the overpowering Why? of everything, the desire to just call it a day. It's not a selfish act in that moment, it's not meant to hurt others, it's meant to save myself. But as she's pulled herself out, I've pulled myself out, at different times and in different manners.
I've envied her life, her sense of humor, her ability to create an empire of sorts, one that can financially protect her family. When I read of the stress it causes her to be the sole breadwinner, I understood that pressure. I know what it feels like to see that infinite crack and KNOW in that minute that everything will, in fact, fall apart, and that moment is seconds, minutes, twenty-four hours from now.
So when I read her post today, it made me cry. I know that I, a stranger, can do nothing to help her through her life right now. But the tears come anyway, as they seem to do so easily now, and all I want to do is hug GPOM and hope like hell for a future that cannot be predicted or controlled or some days, even managed.
Yes, yes, it all works out in the end. But all those letters, thoughts, words, fears, panics, smiles, uncontrolled giggles, and hugs that form the underlying 'it' take forever.
Thursday, January 12, 2012
Twisted Mind
I might as well tell you, me in a really good mood is a dangerous person to be around. I spent some time today reading this and then I had to tell GPOM that I'm amazed at the different ways to curse in different languages.
May you see your house on CNN!
I really hope that somewhere out there, someone in a different country is reading his version of cracked.com and learning about American curses and being thoroughly taken aback at the ways we all talk to each other.
Also, I told GPOM that I had Propellerheads stuck in my head, and it was Dawn's fault. I then said that she got sweet release and I got an earworm.
May you see your house on CNN!
I really hope that somewhere out there, someone in a different country is reading his version of cracked.com and learning about American curses and being thoroughly taken aback at the ways we all talk to each other.
Also, I told GPOM that I had Propellerheads stuck in my head, and it was Dawn's fault. I then said that she got sweet release and I got an earworm.
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
I Am A Dope
So here I am, five days later, working on my restored laptop. Last Thursday, I was doing about forty things at once, including updating my antivirus software. I kept getting error messages that said that the updates couldn't complete because of my internet connectivity...
Thanks, Comcast! YOU ROCK!!
when I got an update that said that because my updates couldn't finish, I needed to download a special web-based scanner to make sure there was nothing naughty on my machine. Turns out that the only naughtiness on my machine was the web-based scanner, which, after reboot, disabled both the touchpad on my laptop and the USB wireless mouse that GPOM got me for Christmas.
Lovely.
I took the machine to Gigaparts and the technician told me, eighteen hours later, that he couldn't get a USB wireless mouse to work on my laptop.
Really? Eighteen hours later you notice that the problem for which I turned over my laptop was a problem? Gosh, thanks.
That general crankiness aside on a Friday night, I suffered through the indignity of no internet for three more days. I now offer many thanks to the technician at Gigaparts, because my computer seems faster and much happier. However, I am now about five hundred dollars lighter after paying for repairs and a product key for Microsoft Office.
Thanks bunches, Best Buy, for making me buy a new product key.
Lessons learned:
1. Don't trust a pop-up antivirus scanner, even if it LOOKS EXACTLY LIKE one you'd get from the manufacturers from whom you already get updates.
2. When your significant other is as internet/computer addicted as you, please share the joy. Otherwise, you might get a glare and a potentially passive-aggressive comment.
3. Thank the people who help you repair the problem.
Thanks, Comcast! YOU ROCK!!
when I got an update that said that because my updates couldn't finish, I needed to download a special web-based scanner to make sure there was nothing naughty on my machine. Turns out that the only naughtiness on my machine was the web-based scanner, which, after reboot, disabled both the touchpad on my laptop and the USB wireless mouse that GPOM got me for Christmas.
Lovely.
I took the machine to Gigaparts and the technician told me, eighteen hours later, that he couldn't get a USB wireless mouse to work on my laptop.
Really? Eighteen hours later you notice that the problem for which I turned over my laptop was a problem? Gosh, thanks.
That general crankiness aside on a Friday night, I suffered through the indignity of no internet for three more days. I now offer many thanks to the technician at Gigaparts, because my computer seems faster and much happier. However, I am now about five hundred dollars lighter after paying for repairs and a product key for Microsoft Office.
Thanks bunches, Best Buy, for making me buy a new product key.
Lessons learned:
1. Don't trust a pop-up antivirus scanner, even if it LOOKS EXACTLY LIKE one you'd get from the manufacturers from whom you already get updates.
2. When your significant other is as internet/computer addicted as you, please share the joy. Otherwise, you might get a glare and a potentially passive-aggressive comment.
3. Thank the people who help you repair the problem.
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
Yes, I Shop
Last night, indulging my insomnia (like I have a choice), I wandered around the channels.
Aside: I sleep with the TV on. I know, apparently that messes with my ability to fully fall asleep which creates the vicious insomnia. You know what else keeps me awake at night? The thoughts in my head.
Aside: I totally get the defensiveness there.
I happened to run across Henry Rollins on C-SPAN, doing a slideshow of pictures he's taken on his global journeys, and his delicious self discussing his thoughts and activities while taking the photos. I knew I had to get up in the morning, but I couldn't resist watching the entire two-hour show, just to listen and see what Hank's got going on. I even heard GPOM awake, wandering, and asked him to join me, but he decided that sleep was more important than Rollins.
How will I ever marry this man?
So this morning I got up to look up Henry's new book, called Occupants, and I ordered a copy. To which I must thank JMT and the very generous Christmas gift he gave me. I'm so looking forward to getting the book, because Rollins included both his truth and his thoughts in the captions.
I also bought The Lover's Dictionary. Check it out; it might be interesting to you.
Most importantly, I got tickets to Rollins' next tour in Birmingham. I cannot wait.
Aside: I sleep with the TV on. I know, apparently that messes with my ability to fully fall asleep which creates the vicious insomnia. You know what else keeps me awake at night? The thoughts in my head.
Aside: I totally get the defensiveness there.
I happened to run across Henry Rollins on C-SPAN, doing a slideshow of pictures he's taken on his global journeys, and his delicious self discussing his thoughts and activities while taking the photos. I knew I had to get up in the morning, but I couldn't resist watching the entire two-hour show, just to listen and see what Hank's got going on. I even heard GPOM awake, wandering, and asked him to join me, but he decided that sleep was more important than Rollins.
How will I ever marry this man?
So this morning I got up to look up Henry's new book, called Occupants, and I ordered a copy. To which I must thank JMT and the very generous Christmas gift he gave me. I'm so looking forward to getting the book, because Rollins included both his truth and his thoughts in the captions.
I also bought The Lover's Dictionary. Check it out; it might be interesting to you.
Most importantly, I got tickets to Rollins' next tour in Birmingham. I cannot wait.
Monday, January 2, 2012
Random Memory
Over a decade ago, I was engaged to a perfectly lovely young man who lived in England. As this was the late nineties, dial-up was the usual means to connect to the internet, unless you were rich or at work. Also, the time difference was a bit of a bear, so after work I would come home and block the phone line for at least a couple of hours during prime phone time.
You can imagine how pleased Momma was to have her phone busy every night until eight or so.
But we would chat using IM, and I would play solitaire while chatting because the connection was slow and because I can barely stand to do only one thing at once. One evening, the young man asked me what I was doing and I told him about my card game. He was angry that I was doing anything other than devoting my time to him.
I don't know why I just remembered this.
You can imagine how pleased Momma was to have her phone busy every night until eight or so.
But we would chat using IM, and I would play solitaire while chatting because the connection was slow and because I can barely stand to do only one thing at once. One evening, the young man asked me what I was doing and I told him about my card game. He was angry that I was doing anything other than devoting my time to him.
I don't know why I just remembered this.
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