Ah yes. It's a fresh year. It feels good, this clean slate. For several months now, I've been processing changes. For me, it takes a great deal of time to process any kind of change because, for so many years, I simply didn't like change and would avoid it at any cost. Now, I kind of dig change, but I'm a stubborn so and so, and won't readily admit when habits of mine need to go away.
Usually the pattern goes like this (it's almost always in conversation form)
Me: Yeah, it's really rather selfish of me to keep buying so many books. I haven't finished the last 20 I bought.
Brain: But you work hard and take care of your family. You deserve a treat.
Me: Do I need a treat every single week?! Amazon hasn't charged me my annual prime fee, I spend so much on there!
Brain: See! You're saving money!
Me: No I'm not!
Brain: No, really. You are. Jeff Bezos might send you a Christmas card.
Me: Really? You think so?
Brain: You're one of his best customers. I'm sure he will.
Me: That would be SO COOL. (clicks "add to cart")
Brain: (look of smug satisfaction)
Lather, rinse, repeat until I start leaving my debit card at home and change my Paypal password to something I can't remember. Ever.
So, for all of cyberspace, I am putting my resolutions out there. I expect you to hold me accountable, Interwebs -- all five of you who might read my blog.
1) Cliched as it is: to lose weight. I have set a goal of four pounds a month for a year. That's 48 pounds that I want to lose by this time next year. 12 pounds off what I really need to lose in order to be at my weight when I got pregnant with the monkey. Which was still a good 20 pounds off from what I need to weigh and be at the appropriate weight for my height.
And those numbers might be off, truth be told. I haven't gotten on a scale in two months because eating holidays and all that. But I'm going to start with 48 pounds.
2) In consideration of goal number 1, to cut out all the excess sugar in my diet. I will make exceptions for coffee and tea, but this means no soda, redbull (ACK! Kill me now!), candy, or other sweets.
3) In consideration of goals number 1 and 2: to cut out all the carb snacking that happens in my life. This means no trips to the snack baskets at work and to bring in healthy snacks for myself. Since I don't usually eat lunch at work, I must also endeavor to bring in healthy options to eat for lunch.
4) In consideration of goals 1-3: to exercise at least three times per week, gradually working up to five times per week. This one is going to be tough for me considering how much I hate mornings, so I know I won't wake up in time to actually go for a walk or do any yoga. And I don't get much down time before 10 at night. Right now, I don't have the excuse of the weather being too hot. It's perfectly lovely walking weather. I just need to f-bombing get my lazy tush out of the house.
5) Once a week, preferably twice, I will not make dinner and I will tell everyone -- even the Lady Gray -- that they have to fend for themselves so I can disappear into the studio and be creative. It doesn't matter what I create, so long as I create.
6) Not to overcommit: time, money, energy, resources. NO will be my key word of the year.
7) To actively work toward my goal of having a creative business. This means that that #5 and #6 need to happen. It also means I need to follow through on some of those classes I signed up for, work on my web sites, work on products and work on a business plan. It also means that I need to be more organized, thoughtful and productive.
8) To listen more attentively and to give my attention. The electronic devices will get put away and I will focus.
9) To save money each month. This means I'll have to forgo my Christmas card from Mr. Bezos, I suppose, but it'll be worth it in the long run. It also means that I'll have to plan meals for the week and only shop for the meals, rather than whatever strikes my fancy at any given time; look for specials and deals and learn to tell myself no. Instant gratification only lasts for an instant anyway.
10) To really quit smoking. Good lord does this need to happen. No more cheating just at work. No more using stress as an excuse to buy a pack of cigarettes. I have an e-cig, I need to use it.
11) To find opportunities for volunteerism and to give back to the world.
12) To spend more time with my family -- this includes my family up north, my family here and Jeff's family. I need to make an effort to see them and spend time with them. There's precious little time that each of us is allotted on this sphere, so I need to make the most of it with the people that I love.
----
Because I've run out of "things", here are some other goals: to get ready every Sunday for the week ahead at work. To get to bed at a reasonable time so I wake up refreshed. To use what little time I have available each day to work toward achieving my goals. To remember that, in order to be able to give to my family, I need to, first, give to myself. To remember that I am worth love -- my own especially -- and to make the effort to love myself a bit more (this does not mean go shopping every week. It means that I need to honor each phase that I'm in, dwell in my heart a little bit more, and take time out for me). I also need to remember that I cannot and should not control the people in my life or their behavior. I need to love and respect my loved ones for who they are right now, not who I think they should be.
It's going to be tough to make all of this happen. There will be a fair amount of pity partying happening, methinks. Theoretically, I shouldn't try to do all of this at once since so much change might seem daunting and I'll just quit. But you know what? I use that as a damn crutch. And, like my dentist said (as she was filling my very first cavities), "go big or go home, huh?" Damn straight, Doc. Damn straight.
Wish me luck!
Showing posts with label God help me. Show all posts
Showing posts with label God help me. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 1, 2014
Saturday, August 10, 2013
Comparing Apples to Agent Orange -- How Not to Be a Dick
One of the most solid pieces of advice that any person anywhere will ever hear is never to compare their last relationship to the one they're currently in. It's just bad news all the way around. But we're also human beings, so we're going to do exactly the opposite of the thing we're not supposed to do.
As a rule -- at least this time around -- I don't compare The Fiancee™ to The Ex. There's no comparison. The Fiancee™ is far and away the better of the two. I may reflect back on the previous relationship to make sure I'm not repeating mistakes or clearing out the detritus from some leftover baggage, but I usually don't compare.
Until I had a baby with The Fiancee™. Ever since I had The Bean, a constant thought runs through my head, "I wish I'd had The Trolls with The Fiancee™". He's such a fantastic and remarkable father. He's hands on. He reads. He listens. He's all the things The Ex isn't. Every time I have to send The Trolls off with The Ex, I cringe and count the seconds 'til they're back home with us, because The Ex is just a shit.
(I'm probably going to regret typing that last sentence -- and then publishing it in a public forum -- especially if The Trolls ever find out I have a blog, but... well... First Amendment and all that).
But really why I take to my blog is not to extoll the virtues of my beloved, but to speak to all The Exes out there. Call it Sady's Rules for Not Being a Dick and Everyone Will Be Happy.
1) Visitation: the children should always come first. Sure, every now-and-again there are going to be times when you have to work late or you need a break, but as the non-custodial parent, when you have an opportunity to see your children, you should take it. You shouldn't blow them off for, oh I don't know, a tour (you're a forty-year-old wanna-be rock star who is never going to be a famous musician. Just come to grips with that already, wouldja?)
If you can't make a scheduled visit, call the other parent NOT the children. Messages like that should not be delivered to or through the kids.
If you need to reschedule a visit, call the other parent NOT the children.
If you want to see the children, call the other parent NOT the children.
Stick to the prearranged schedule unless there's an emergency. Schools frown upon unexcused tardies and your ex gets really annoyed having to wait around for you.
2) Call the children: by all means, call the children. Regularly. Several times a day, even. There's no need to speak to the other parent if you're just calling to say, "hi."
But if the other parent needs to speak to you, the polite thing to do is take the call. If you don't want to talk to your ex, that's fine. Shoot him or her a text message. He or she would probably prefer it since he or she didn't want to talk to you, either. Talking to your ex is a necessary evil when you have children together.
3) Scheduling a visit: as a matter of fact, you do need to speak to your ex if you want to see your children. Your ex should not have to keep the children's schedules indefinitely open in the hopes that you'll find time in your schedule to see them. I know, I know. You hate feeling like you have to ask permission to see your kids, but you know what? You do need to make sure that they don't already have plans. Suck it up, Cupcake.
4) Don't trash talk: sure, you hate your ex. She or he hates you, too. That's why the two of you aren't together. Keep the trash talking between you and the voice in your head. The children don't need to be caught in the crossfire.
5) Child Support: I've got news for you, Buttercup -- child support is necessary. You don't get to arbitrarily decide that you'll buy the kids something in lieu of paying child support. It doesn't work that way. Child support goes toward the cost of raising children and, in most cases, doesn't even begin to cover what your ex has to pay toward their cost of living. Children are fucking expensive.
And if you think you're just spiting your ex by not paying, well, think again. You're just a dick that likes to hurt your own kids. NOT paying child support prevents your ex from doing things for the kids -- like get them braces or pay for sports.
It's not "extra money", by the way. It's money that is very, very needed. But even if it is extra money and your ex chooses to spend it on hookers and blow, he or she can. He or she has already paid the mortgage, the light bill and put food in the children's bellies. You're simply paying your ex back a small portion of what he or she has already spent on the children.
And let's just address this while we're at it: your ex cannot ask his or her parents to help. It's your job to support your children.Your ex's current is not responsible for the financial burden of your children, either. He or she does it because he or she loves your kids -- and you should be goddamned grateful for that and not take it for granted.
Oh and side note: if you can afford to take time off from work to go on fucking tour, you better make sure that you've paid your child support. Dick.
(Item five is especially touchy for me, since The Ex -- who only is required (by our mutual agreement... for now) to pay $300 a month for two kids hasn't paid a dime since October 2012. All points covered are all arguments he used to justify not paying).
6) Don't be super-happy-funtime-parent: Seriously, just don't. Don't be the parent that the kids get to have all the fun with while your ex is the one that has to make them eat their vegetables and do their homework. Because, you know what? The next time you have a weekend with your kids, your ex may just send them over all hopped up on Mountain Dew and bags of sugar. You'd deserve it.
7) Don't be a dick to your kids: don't say things like "you're just like your mother" or "you're stupid" or "you're fat and lazy." Saying those kinds of things is a sure fire way to get yourself a one-way ticket to The-Kids-Are-Permanently-Busy-and-Can-Never-See-You-Again-ville.
8) Blending families: make sure that the children have a place of their own in your home -- especially if you're living with someone who already has kids. There's nothing quite so sure to guarantee to make a child require years and years of therapy as one or both of their parents making their "biological" child feel like a red-headed step-child.
9) Do what you say you're going to do. And don't argue about it if it's not convenient for you anymore. You made your bed, now lay in it.
As a rule -- at least this time around -- I don't compare The Fiancee™ to The Ex. There's no comparison. The Fiancee™ is far and away the better of the two. I may reflect back on the previous relationship to make sure I'm not repeating mistakes or clearing out the detritus from some leftover baggage, but I usually don't compare.
Until I had a baby with The Fiancee™. Ever since I had The Bean, a constant thought runs through my head, "I wish I'd had The Trolls with The Fiancee™". He's such a fantastic and remarkable father. He's hands on. He reads. He listens. He's all the things The Ex isn't. Every time I have to send The Trolls off with The Ex, I cringe and count the seconds 'til they're back home with us, because The Ex is just a shit.
(I'm probably going to regret typing that last sentence -- and then publishing it in a public forum -- especially if The Trolls ever find out I have a blog, but... well... First Amendment and all that).
But really why I take to my blog is not to extoll the virtues of my beloved, but to speak to all The Exes out there. Call it Sady's Rules for Not Being a Dick and Everyone Will Be Happy.
1) Visitation: the children should always come first. Sure, every now-and-again there are going to be times when you have to work late or you need a break, but as the non-custodial parent, when you have an opportunity to see your children, you should take it. You shouldn't blow them off for, oh I don't know, a tour (you're a forty-year-old wanna-be rock star who is never going to be a famous musician. Just come to grips with that already, wouldja?)
If you can't make a scheduled visit, call the other parent NOT the children. Messages like that should not be delivered to or through the kids.
If you need to reschedule a visit, call the other parent NOT the children.
If you want to see the children, call the other parent NOT the children.
Stick to the prearranged schedule unless there's an emergency. Schools frown upon unexcused tardies and your ex gets really annoyed having to wait around for you.
2) Call the children: by all means, call the children. Regularly. Several times a day, even. There's no need to speak to the other parent if you're just calling to say, "hi."
But if the other parent needs to speak to you, the polite thing to do is take the call. If you don't want to talk to your ex, that's fine. Shoot him or her a text message. He or she would probably prefer it since he or she didn't want to talk to you, either. Talking to your ex is a necessary evil when you have children together.
3) Scheduling a visit: as a matter of fact, you do need to speak to your ex if you want to see your children. Your ex should not have to keep the children's schedules indefinitely open in the hopes that you'll find time in your schedule to see them. I know, I know. You hate feeling like you have to ask permission to see your kids, but you know what? You do need to make sure that they don't already have plans. Suck it up, Cupcake.
4) Don't trash talk: sure, you hate your ex. She or he hates you, too. That's why the two of you aren't together. Keep the trash talking between you and the voice in your head. The children don't need to be caught in the crossfire.
5) Child Support: I've got news for you, Buttercup -- child support is necessary. You don't get to arbitrarily decide that you'll buy the kids something in lieu of paying child support. It doesn't work that way. Child support goes toward the cost of raising children and, in most cases, doesn't even begin to cover what your ex has to pay toward their cost of living. Children are fucking expensive.
And if you think you're just spiting your ex by not paying, well, think again. You're just a dick that likes to hurt your own kids. NOT paying child support prevents your ex from doing things for the kids -- like get them braces or pay for sports.
It's not "extra money", by the way. It's money that is very, very needed. But even if it is extra money and your ex chooses to spend it on hookers and blow, he or she can. He or she has already paid the mortgage, the light bill and put food in the children's bellies. You're simply paying your ex back a small portion of what he or she has already spent on the children.
And let's just address this while we're at it: your ex cannot ask his or her parents to help. It's your job to support your children.Your ex's current is not responsible for the financial burden of your children, either. He or she does it because he or she loves your kids -- and you should be goddamned grateful for that and not take it for granted.
Oh and side note: if you can afford to take time off from work to go on fucking tour, you better make sure that you've paid your child support. Dick.
(Item five is especially touchy for me, since The Ex -- who only is required (by our mutual agreement... for now) to pay $300 a month for two kids hasn't paid a dime since October 2012. All points covered are all arguments he used to justify not paying).
6) Don't be super-happy-funtime-parent: Seriously, just don't. Don't be the parent that the kids get to have all the fun with while your ex is the one that has to make them eat their vegetables and do their homework. Because, you know what? The next time you have a weekend with your kids, your ex may just send them over all hopped up on Mountain Dew and bags of sugar. You'd deserve it.
7) Don't be a dick to your kids: don't say things like "you're just like your mother" or "you're stupid" or "you're fat and lazy." Saying those kinds of things is a sure fire way to get yourself a one-way ticket to The-Kids-Are-Permanently-Busy-and-Can-Never-See-You-Again-ville.
8) Blending families: make sure that the children have a place of their own in your home -- especially if you're living with someone who already has kids. There's nothing quite so sure to guarantee to make a child require years and years of therapy as one or both of their parents making their "biological" child feel like a red-headed step-child.
9) Do what you say you're going to do. And don't argue about it if it's not convenient for you anymore. You made your bed, now lay in it.
Monday, May 27, 2013
I'm still not sure about all the comma rules, so probably shouldn't be lecturing about punctuation.
Saturday night I had the pleasure of seeing at least 15 minutes of The Fiancee's nephew in a high school stage production of "Oklahoma." I would've seen more, but The Lady Gray decided that she wanted to voice her opinion about the production, so I excused myself to allow her to rant all she wanted... in the car.
While pacing in the vestibule, waiting for the rest of our group to exit the auditorium, I happened to notice the signs for one of the bathrooms:
While pacing in the vestibule, waiting for the rest of our group to exit the auditorium, I happened to notice the signs for one of the bathrooms:
Girl's
Bathroom
(some [probably poorly punctuated] Braille)
Really! This is in a HIGH SCHOOL, y'all! Supposedly a place of learning -- even if not of the higher variety. How in the Hades could this have gone unnoticed? What one lucky girl gets to use this bathroom? Do they have a vote each day? Does the prom queen get to use this bathroom or does she need to find the one that is properly punctuated?
Apostrophe abuse makes me itchy in a big way.
But I probably shouldn't have expected anything less from a school that has intentional textese graffiti all over the entrance.
Textese makes me break out in hives. Really is it SO difficult to put in the extra letters? We're not paying by the character anymore, People! You can spell the whole word!
This is what scares me about the world I'm leaving to my children. I remember when "ain't" wasn't actually a word. Now it's in the dictionary! We're deliberately dumbing down rather than holding our offspring to a higher standard. Instead of making our kids work their asses off for a trophy, we're handing them out like so much candy to soothe their little wounded egos.
What. The. Fuck. Is. WRONG with us?!
Look. It's our job as parents to wound our children. No, seriously. It is. (Side note: my mother can now die happy that I admitted that). Because it's our job to teach our kids that the world is a tough motherfucker and she takes no prisoners. I would love nothing more than to save my kids from every heartbreak and hardship they'll encounter, but I would be doing them a disservice. Just like I'd be doing The Monkey a disservice for telling him that his crap-tastic, half-assed paper about the 1936 Olympics was good enough to hand in rather than making him re-write it (I let him off the hook when it would warrant a C. But only because I was tired of arguing with him about it). Or if I let The Nugget hand in his math homework with every answer wrong because "Mrs. Kling will go over it tomorrow in class".
NO! It's my job to torture my kids and make them sit at the table 'til the job is done. It's my job to yell at them. It's my job to paint a bleak picture of the kind of future they can expect if they continue to accept mediocrity as the standard.
But I'm wicked hard-pressed to enforce these lessons when the schools around here allow apostrophe abuse to go unchecked and humor textese, because my kids will know I'm full of shit. They'll know that the world at large accepts half-assery and they will be able to out-argue me. And I won't have the safety net of the world giving them their comeuppance because the world is all, "Meh. I'm too busy watching Breaking Amish. Catch me at the commercial."
Thursday, October 25, 2012
My letter to a Christian Nation
Dear Bible Thumpers, Proselyters, Born Agains, et al
Stop calling this a Christian nation. It's not. Really. I know you WANT it to be, but wanting and actually being are two separate things entirely.
Sure, SOME of our founding fathers were Christian. Some of them were quite devout. But the vast majority were at best theists, but were closer to agnostic than anything. I mean, are you familiar with The Jefferson Bible at all? The one were THE WRITER OF THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE (and our third president) took out all mention of Christ's divinity because he, y'know, didn't believe that Christ was magical.
Speaking of the Declaration... It doesn't say "and they are endowed by the God of the Bible with certain inalienable rights..." Nope. It says they are endowed by their CREATOR. Semantics, I know, but a valid point nonetheless.
I'm sure I don't need to mention the first amendment of the Bill of Rights... The one that says Congress will make no law respecting an establishment of religion; or prohibiting the free exercise thereof..."
Are you at all familiar with who the Pilgrims were? Sure they were a Christian lot, but they came here, in large part, to escape religious persecution.
Maryland's founders? You know who they were? Catholics. Escaping persecution from the other colonies.
The Mormon Church wasn't even founded until Joseh Smith started waxing on about gold plates and angels some time in the mid-nineteenth century. Baptists, as we know them, didn't come into being until the mid-nineteenth century, either. In God We Trust wasn't put on our currency until the 1950s (ditto for the "one nation under God" in the pledge). Why? Because of the whole anti-communism thing McCarthy had us in a frenzy about.
I could go on and on, but like in high school history class, I'm sure you already stopped paying attention. But the fact is, this is all FACT. Historical, indisputable, unambiguous FACT. None of it is open to interpretation, it just is what it is.
This is not a Christian nation.
Stop cramming your bible down my throat. Stop insisting that I can only have a relationship with God on your terms. Stop saying your Mary is more valid than my Isis.
I sure as shit will be wishing people Happy Holidays because, you know what? Hanukkah is valid. So is Kwanzaa and whatever Muslim holiday happens to fall during that time.
Because christianity isn't the only valid choice; it's just A choice. What makes this country great is that I have the choice and I don't have to be a Christian.
Stop calling this a Christian nation. It's not. Really. I know you WANT it to be, but wanting and actually being are two separate things entirely.
Sure, SOME of our founding fathers were Christian. Some of them were quite devout. But the vast majority were at best theists, but were closer to agnostic than anything. I mean, are you familiar with The Jefferson Bible at all? The one were THE WRITER OF THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE (and our third president) took out all mention of Christ's divinity because he, y'know, didn't believe that Christ was magical.
Speaking of the Declaration... It doesn't say "and they are endowed by the God of the Bible with certain inalienable rights..." Nope. It says they are endowed by their CREATOR. Semantics, I know, but a valid point nonetheless.
I'm sure I don't need to mention the first amendment of the Bill of Rights... The one that says Congress will make no law respecting an establishment of religion; or prohibiting the free exercise thereof..."
Are you at all familiar with who the Pilgrims were? Sure they were a Christian lot, but they came here, in large part, to escape religious persecution.
Maryland's founders? You know who they were? Catholics. Escaping persecution from the other colonies.
The Mormon Church wasn't even founded until Joseh Smith started waxing on about gold plates and angels some time in the mid-nineteenth century. Baptists, as we know them, didn't come into being until the mid-nineteenth century, either. In God We Trust wasn't put on our currency until the 1950s (ditto for the "one nation under God" in the pledge). Why? Because of the whole anti-communism thing McCarthy had us in a frenzy about.
I could go on and on, but like in high school history class, I'm sure you already stopped paying attention. But the fact is, this is all FACT. Historical, indisputable, unambiguous FACT. None of it is open to interpretation, it just is what it is.
This is not a Christian nation.
Stop cramming your bible down my throat. Stop insisting that I can only have a relationship with God on your terms. Stop saying your Mary is more valid than my Isis.
I sure as shit will be wishing people Happy Holidays because, you know what? Hanukkah is valid. So is Kwanzaa and whatever Muslim holiday happens to fall during that time.
Because christianity isn't the only valid choice; it's just A choice. What makes this country great is that I have the choice and I don't have to be a Christian.
Thursday, September 13, 2012
Lesbian Porn (and other blog titles that are sure to drive traffic to my blog)
There comes a point in every mother's life - especially the mothers of pubescent boys - where she has to say the following things:
"I am no longer comfortable sitting on your bed" and
"You are now doing your own laundry".
I'll give you three guesses about what I discovered in The Monkey's Internet browsing history....
"I am no longer comfortable sitting on your bed" and
"You are now doing your own laundry".
I'll give you three guesses about what I discovered in The Monkey's Internet browsing history....
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
The fates, you should not tempt them...
Remember how I said it could be worse? Apparently, the fates took that as an engraved invitation to deliver a crappy week my way. A run down:
1) An employee on my staff's nephew OD'd last Monday. This meant that...
1a) I had to do her job on top of mine. Not a big deal, usually, except that we were already really short staffed.
2) My step-grandmother ended up in ICU on life support, suddenly and unexpectedly. Which meant that...
2a) I got to watch her die on Friday night. This was not a good thing at all and, in my opinion, should be illegal (the watching someone die part). But she was surrounded by people that love her, and that is a good death.
2b) The Trolls experienced their first wake. The Monkey is not a fan. It was very difficult for him. The Nugget, on the other hand, was a trooper and sat right by his Papa.
3) I got news that the nugget did not pass his FCAT, ergo did not pass third grade. He sobbed. It broke my heart. It's for the best, really, because he just wasn't ready for fourth grade (as much as he thinks he is).
4) Apparently, I blew through a red light on Mother's Day and the Pasco County Sheriff's department were very happy to collect my $158. I got the ticket on Saturday. The curse of Mother's Day continues...
5) The Boyfriend™ and I got into a tiff. It was by no means our worst fight, but it was enough to send me over the edge.
6) Our washing machine broke.
7) Our dishwasher does not actually wash dishes. It just bakes on food detritus and water film. Which means that...
7a) I have to wash all the dishes by hand.
OK Universe. I get it. It can and will get worse. I have had my quota of worse. And bad. And suck. And horrifying. And annoying. And crap. And blah. I will gladly accept good, and fun, and wholesome and loving and everything is awesome with the world. Yeah, I'll take plenty of that.
I'm off to Opp, Alabama today to lay the grandmother to rest. Opp has about 6500 souls and is a blink-and-you'll-miss-it town in the middle of some backwoods. I'm hoping for some good photography moments, but I'm not holding my breath. I'm also going to be stuck in a car for eight hours with my errant sister, whose behavior makes tattooing the side of my face look tame in comparison.
So, Universe? We're even. I'll take that goodness now.
1) An employee on my staff's nephew OD'd last Monday. This meant that...
1a) I had to do her job on top of mine. Not a big deal, usually, except that we were already really short staffed.
2) My step-grandmother ended up in ICU on life support, suddenly and unexpectedly. Which meant that...
2a) I got to watch her die on Friday night. This was not a good thing at all and, in my opinion, should be illegal (the watching someone die part). But she was surrounded by people that love her, and that is a good death.
2b) The Trolls experienced their first wake. The Monkey is not a fan. It was very difficult for him. The Nugget, on the other hand, was a trooper and sat right by his Papa.
3) I got news that the nugget did not pass his FCAT, ergo did not pass third grade. He sobbed. It broke my heart. It's for the best, really, because he just wasn't ready for fourth grade (as much as he thinks he is).
4) Apparently, I blew through a red light on Mother's Day and the Pasco County Sheriff's department were very happy to collect my $158. I got the ticket on Saturday. The curse of Mother's Day continues...
5) The Boyfriend™ and I got into a tiff. It was by no means our worst fight, but it was enough to send me over the edge.
6) Our washing machine broke.
7) Our dishwasher does not actually wash dishes. It just bakes on food detritus and water film. Which means that...
7a) I have to wash all the dishes by hand.
OK Universe. I get it. It can and will get worse. I have had my quota of worse. And bad. And suck. And horrifying. And annoying. And crap. And blah. I will gladly accept good, and fun, and wholesome and loving and everything is awesome with the world. Yeah, I'll take plenty of that.
I'm off to Opp, Alabama today to lay the grandmother to rest. Opp has about 6500 souls and is a blink-and-you'll-miss-it town in the middle of some backwoods. I'm hoping for some good photography moments, but I'm not holding my breath. I'm also going to be stuck in a car for eight hours with my errant sister, whose behavior makes tattooing the side of my face look tame in comparison.
So, Universe? We're even. I'll take that goodness now.
Thursday, May 24, 2012
I told you - NO WIRE HANGERS!
There are a few blogs I subscribe to for inspiration, aspiration, laughter, tips, tricks and ideas. I love these women bloggers and can not wait to grow up and be like them.
One blogger, in particular, Amanda Blake Soule is an amazing woman. At least on blog. She makes it a point not to put her family not-goodness on line, choosing to use her blog space to chronicle all the wonder that is her life with her family on their homestead. The good stuff looks really darn good, if I do say so myself. And she and her husband, Steve, seem to have a symbiosis that is rather breathtaking in its honesty and simplicity.
Here's the thing: As much as I admire Amanda and all that she stands for; as much as I want to be her and have that kind of magic mothering instinct, I'm just not wired that way. I am not the kind of mother who can let her children leave scraps of paper all over the place (though I do it). I am not the kind of mother that gently explains the ins and outs of life, or coddles the sick or injured.
In my house, unless you're dying, broken or on fire, you better not be crying about an injury.
I am not the kind of mother who humors children's interruptions. In my house, I will very un-politely tell the child to shut up and find something else to do, because grown ups are talking.
I never was a co-sleeping kind of mom, either. Past the age of three, The Trolls were far too old to spend a night in my bed.
I bottle fed, used disposable diapers and let The Nugget fall asleep in his high chair (more often than I care to admit). Both my boys were c-sections.
I tried flash cards and labeling everything in the house, but I just didn't have the patience to keep teaching a toddler how to read. The Nugget didn't learn to tie his shoes until he was seven.
I swear, I yell, I spank. I don't make The Trolls brush their teeth all the time. I let them leave their room a mess, and only sporadically enforce other chores.
I refused to vaccinate The Trolls until they were school age and I had to (because I couldn't claim religious exemption, what with my not going to church and all). I usually make them eat organically, except for candy. And the sweet tea. And occasional adventures at Dunkin Donuts.
I ship them up to Massachusetts every summer so I can get a break (all the while, my heart breaking until they are safely home with me), where their Loli will feed them anything and everything they want.
We have date night, and prayers and books. We snuggle - all four of us - in bed just about every night. I mostly make them do homework, and we have family dinners just about every night. There are no video games or TV during the week.
So, while I am not perfect and will never be SouleMama, I do my best. My kids seem pretty OK, for now. But just in case, I already have therapy funds set up for them.
One blogger, in particular, Amanda Blake Soule is an amazing woman. At least on blog. She makes it a point not to put her family not-goodness on line, choosing to use her blog space to chronicle all the wonder that is her life with her family on their homestead. The good stuff looks really darn good, if I do say so myself. And she and her husband, Steve, seem to have a symbiosis that is rather breathtaking in its honesty and simplicity.
Here's the thing: As much as I admire Amanda and all that she stands for; as much as I want to be her and have that kind of magic mothering instinct, I'm just not wired that way. I am not the kind of mother who can let her children leave scraps of paper all over the place (though I do it). I am not the kind of mother that gently explains the ins and outs of life, or coddles the sick or injured.
In my house, unless you're dying, broken or on fire, you better not be crying about an injury.
I am not the kind of mother who humors children's interruptions. In my house, I will very un-politely tell the child to shut up and find something else to do, because grown ups are talking.
I never was a co-sleeping kind of mom, either. Past the age of three, The Trolls were far too old to spend a night in my bed.
I bottle fed, used disposable diapers and let The Nugget fall asleep in his high chair (more often than I care to admit). Both my boys were c-sections.
I tried flash cards and labeling everything in the house, but I just didn't have the patience to keep teaching a toddler how to read. The Nugget didn't learn to tie his shoes until he was seven.
I swear, I yell, I spank. I don't make The Trolls brush their teeth all the time. I let them leave their room a mess, and only sporadically enforce other chores.
I refused to vaccinate The Trolls until they were school age and I had to (because I couldn't claim religious exemption, what with my not going to church and all). I usually make them eat organically, except for candy. And the sweet tea. And occasional adventures at Dunkin Donuts.
I ship them up to Massachusetts every summer so I can get a break (all the while, my heart breaking until they are safely home with me), where their Loli will feed them anything and everything they want.
We have date night, and prayers and books. We snuggle - all four of us - in bed just about every night. I mostly make them do homework, and we have family dinners just about every night. There are no video games or TV during the week.
So, while I am not perfect and will never be SouleMama, I do my best. My kids seem pretty OK, for now. But just in case, I already have therapy funds set up for them.
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
I'm having another go at this constant blogging thing
I'm utterly and entirely kaput in the body. My brain is begging me to please go to sleep, except that it won't shut up long enough to let me drift off into the land of nod. It's especially active and I feel another creative ADD surge coming on.
On the subject of Tuesdays, I think the best way to write about them is to write about experiencing them. Today, for instance, was not a very good Tuesday -- at least not at the beginning. But the end of the day was surely pleasant and there wasn't too much bad that I couldn't grace my way through. There was also much laughter to juxtapose against the frustration. I found myself saying, more than once, "at least it's not Monday."
...I wonder what that really says about Tuesdays.
I'm also sorely addicted to LinkedIn these days. Mostly because it's positively brimming with articles and essays and other 21st century marketing and selling and business stuff that is equal parts day-job related and night job related. I am dying to try some of these things out, for sure.
In the mean time, I'm enjoying my two blessed testosterone free hours to focus on my to-do list. I've broken the bugger down into day-by-day increments, which seems like the thing you should do. But it's my weekly to do list that I've broken down. Just stuff I want to get done this week... I break it down into daily segments so I don't beat myself up too much when I don't accomplish something on any given day.
I have yet more stuff planned for the Etsy shop. Yes, I do, my lovelies. I'm going to stock it to the rafters and then I'm going to market the holy hell out of it. Why? Because as much as day jobs pay the bills, I really don't want a day job that's on somebody else's terms. I've only got this one life to live and I really don't want to look back on it and say, "Gee! I was a good company girl!" No! I want to say that I lived it fiercely, fully and to the best of my ability.
...I may have gotten off to a late start on the whole fiercely and fully part, but I've still got decades to make up for it (God willing and the river don't rise, as my nana likes to say).
I'm off to go play on www.moo.com. That's a hint about possible Etsy products, in case you were wondering.
Love and light, y'all!
On the subject of Tuesdays, I think the best way to write about them is to write about experiencing them. Today, for instance, was not a very good Tuesday -- at least not at the beginning. But the end of the day was surely pleasant and there wasn't too much bad that I couldn't grace my way through. There was also much laughter to juxtapose against the frustration. I found myself saying, more than once, "at least it's not Monday."
...I wonder what that really says about Tuesdays.
I'm also sorely addicted to LinkedIn these days. Mostly because it's positively brimming with articles and essays and other 21st century marketing and selling and business stuff that is equal parts day-job related and night job related. I am dying to try some of these things out, for sure.
In the mean time, I'm enjoying my two blessed testosterone free hours to focus on my to-do list. I've broken the bugger down into day-by-day increments, which seems like the thing you should do. But it's my weekly to do list that I've broken down. Just stuff I want to get done this week... I break it down into daily segments so I don't beat myself up too much when I don't accomplish something on any given day.
I have yet more stuff planned for the Etsy shop. Yes, I do, my lovelies. I'm going to stock it to the rafters and then I'm going to market the holy hell out of it. Why? Because as much as day jobs pay the bills, I really don't want a day job that's on somebody else's terms. I've only got this one life to live and I really don't want to look back on it and say, "Gee! I was a good company girl!" No! I want to say that I lived it fiercely, fully and to the best of my ability.
...I may have gotten off to a late start on the whole fiercely and fully part, but I've still got decades to make up for it (God willing and the river don't rise, as my nana likes to say).
I'm off to go play on www.moo.com. That's a hint about possible Etsy products, in case you were wondering.
Love and light, y'all!
Monday, November 7, 2011
Fall Behind...And Other Double Entrendes
My, oh my has it been a while since I graced the interwebs with my blogging presence. It's been crazy, here in the Land of S. So much going on, most of it having nothing at all to do with my plans, ambitions, life lists or The Two Year Plan.
My day job moved into its new corporate headquarters. Because I hold a position of some importance (read: I'm salaried. In other words, free labor), thems of us with a rather important title were put to work for most of the weekends in October.
As ill humored and ungrateful as I sound, I'm actually quite pleased with the move. The new location shaves 20 minutes off of my commute home each day which, when you add it all together, gives me back a WHOLE DAY in three months. That may not seem like a lot to most people, but 20 minutes a day means the difference between my feeling harried and harassed when I get home, and my being able to relax and be a sane human being for the remainder of our waking hours at the homestead.
So, I've been plumb worn out with not a whole lot to give toward artistic (and other) endeavors. I DID manage to find enough stamina to make The Boyfriend™'s life rather hellish for a few days. But that's why he loves me -- for the particular brand of craziness I bring to the relationship.
Yesterday was the end of daylight savings time and a return to the normal cycle of light and dark. In theory, I understand the necessity of daylight savings time, but I equate it to communism: great on paper; horrible in practice. But with the return of the regular cycle, my body has found its rhythm again. How I love these shorter days and the call to hurry up and get ready to hunker down for the really short days. My DNA reaches back through time to a place where people busied themselves with canning and preparing and readying for long, cold winters. Since I'm a New England girl, that hard coding in the DNA, despite modern conveniences, is still a very important survival instinct. Prepare. Get ready. Don't waste the daylight, for there won't be much soon.
...I spent the goodly portion of yesterday in the kitchen, hacking up veggies for soups, chicken for stock and my poor middle finger. This particular finger has taken quite the beating lately.
...I wish I hadn't let my second attempt at a kitchen garden go to pot. Though, now that the weather's cooling off considerably, perhaps I should make another go at growing potatoes. Potatoes, as it turns out, are finicky beasts, who prefer colder climes and steadfastly refuse to grow in tropical locales, such as Florida.
And lest I go one blog post following a singular train of thought, off to other topics...
The Two Year Plan, while still in effect, has been delayed. Mostly because The Boyfriend™ suck at follow through. Yet another reason we're perfect for each other -- neither of us minds when the other one gets distracted by something shiny; likely because the other was already distracted by some other, different shiny thing. So, it's go time effective January 1st. So, it's only a four month delay, but, I think, a necessary one. Had to get the crap behavior out of our collective system.
The Boyfriend™ also got it into his craw that web pages of the real sort be procured, FEINs applied for and gotten, and businesses of all varieties fermenting and readying themselves for take off. It kept him distract for a week or two. But I am now the proud owner of "Sam and Sady -- Enterprising Enterprises", which I will be combining with the as-yet-developed Etsy store -- and my web page (which I need to go develop some). With Christmas just around the corner (EEK!), it's prime craft making time. Between the developing of the Etsy store and this blog post, I've given the shop some thought. While I want to include a bunch of handmade goods, I also want a place where my less graff-leaning, naked lady art can be viewed and displayed.
Speaking of graff -- The Boyfriend™ in all of his loveliness got me an airbrush! The heretofore partially closed door of stencil art has been reopened with his gesture! He thinks I'm not thrilled. He is sadly mistaken.
And speaking of all of that, I must away myself to the land of art and airbrushes. I promised myself I'd get this stencil cut out and do some airbrush work tonight. While the longer hours make this night owl exceedingly happy, I do have a day job and Trolls to get to school way too early in the morning.
I promise: more posts very soon -- including the long promised Fearlessly Phobic Corn Chowder.
In the mean time, I wish you all the very best of everything your heart desires!
Namaste
My day job moved into its new corporate headquarters. Because I hold a position of some importance (read: I'm salaried. In other words, free labor), thems of us with a rather important title were put to work for most of the weekends in October.
As ill humored and ungrateful as I sound, I'm actually quite pleased with the move. The new location shaves 20 minutes off of my commute home each day which, when you add it all together, gives me back a WHOLE DAY in three months. That may not seem like a lot to most people, but 20 minutes a day means the difference between my feeling harried and harassed when I get home, and my being able to relax and be a sane human being for the remainder of our waking hours at the homestead.
So, I've been plumb worn out with not a whole lot to give toward artistic (and other) endeavors. I DID manage to find enough stamina to make The Boyfriend™'s life rather hellish for a few days. But that's why he loves me -- for the particular brand of craziness I bring to the relationship.
Yesterday was the end of daylight savings time and a return to the normal cycle of light and dark. In theory, I understand the necessity of daylight savings time, but I equate it to communism: great on paper; horrible in practice. But with the return of the regular cycle, my body has found its rhythm again. How I love these shorter days and the call to hurry up and get ready to hunker down for the really short days. My DNA reaches back through time to a place where people busied themselves with canning and preparing and readying for long, cold winters. Since I'm a New England girl, that hard coding in the DNA, despite modern conveniences, is still a very important survival instinct. Prepare. Get ready. Don't waste the daylight, for there won't be much soon.
...I spent the goodly portion of yesterday in the kitchen, hacking up veggies for soups, chicken for stock and my poor middle finger. This particular finger has taken quite the beating lately.
...I wish I hadn't let my second attempt at a kitchen garden go to pot. Though, now that the weather's cooling off considerably, perhaps I should make another go at growing potatoes. Potatoes, as it turns out, are finicky beasts, who prefer colder climes and steadfastly refuse to grow in tropical locales, such as Florida.
And lest I go one blog post following a singular train of thought, off to other topics...
The Two Year Plan, while still in effect, has been delayed. Mostly because The Boyfriend™ suck at follow through. Yet another reason we're perfect for each other -- neither of us minds when the other one gets distracted by something shiny; likely because the other was already distracted by some other, different shiny thing. So, it's go time effective January 1st. So, it's only a four month delay, but, I think, a necessary one. Had to get the crap behavior out of our collective system.
The Boyfriend™ also got it into his craw that web pages of the real sort be procured, FEINs applied for and gotten, and businesses of all varieties fermenting and readying themselves for take off. It kept him distract for a week or two. But I am now the proud owner of "Sam and Sady -- Enterprising Enterprises", which I will be combining with the as-yet-developed Etsy store -- and my web page (which I need to go develop some). With Christmas just around the corner (EEK!), it's prime craft making time. Between the developing of the Etsy store and this blog post, I've given the shop some thought. While I want to include a bunch of handmade goods, I also want a place where my less graff-leaning, naked lady art can be viewed and displayed.
Speaking of graff -- The Boyfriend™ in all of his loveliness got me an airbrush! The heretofore partially closed door of stencil art has been reopened with his gesture! He thinks I'm not thrilled. He is sadly mistaken.
And speaking of all of that, I must away myself to the land of art and airbrushes. I promised myself I'd get this stencil cut out and do some airbrush work tonight. While the longer hours make this night owl exceedingly happy, I do have a day job and Trolls to get to school way too early in the morning.
I promise: more posts very soon -- including the long promised Fearlessly Phobic Corn Chowder.
In the mean time, I wish you all the very best of everything your heart desires!
Namaste
Monday, January 17, 2011
Insert blog title here.... And other updates
Ok...so I'm not much for the catchy blog titles today, but can you blame me?
Well, since I haven't updated in a while, I guess you can, since y'all have no idea what's been going on. With me, that is.
So...what have I been up to lately? Moving. Sweet merciful Christ this is the move that will never end. If, God forbid (knock on wood, ptew, ptew), The Boyfriend™ and I don't work out, HE can move because I am never doing this again. Now I remember why I prefer precipitating factors for co-habitation.
But in fairness, The Boyfriend™ has been an absolute dream about all of this. For all intents, I have completely taken over his previously "pristine" domicile and action packed it full of my crap. And the man has HELPED me do it. He's packed and loaded and unpacked and moved stuff around, just so I have enough space for my stuff. And he hasn't bitched once. Outloud, anyway.
have I mentioned, lately, how grateful I am for him? Well, I am.
And The Best Friend® has been remarkably patient with me, too. I haven't exactly been attentive or a very good friend these days, and most of my conversation has been filled with moving updates and Boyfriend chatter. She hasn't even so much as rolled her eyes... In front of me, anyway.
Have I mentioned how grateful I am for her? Well, I am.
And there is a whole slew of other people I am grateful for, too, who have done everything to make this go as smoothly as possible. Even The Ex has been a trooper about it, taking The Trolls so I could move.
So that's what's going on. A whole bunch of moving and a whole bunch of gratitude. All in all, life is pretty good.
Very soon, I hope to get back to the whole life list living and updates about my quest to achieve the dream. But I'll have to find that box first.
Well, since I haven't updated in a while, I guess you can, since y'all have no idea what's been going on. With me, that is.
So...what have I been up to lately? Moving. Sweet merciful Christ this is the move that will never end. If, God forbid (knock on wood, ptew, ptew), The Boyfriend™ and I don't work out, HE can move because I am never doing this again. Now I remember why I prefer precipitating factors for co-habitation.
But in fairness, The Boyfriend™ has been an absolute dream about all of this. For all intents, I have completely taken over his previously "pristine" domicile and action packed it full of my crap. And the man has HELPED me do it. He's packed and loaded and unpacked and moved stuff around, just so I have enough space for my stuff. And he hasn't bitched once. Outloud, anyway.
have I mentioned, lately, how grateful I am for him? Well, I am.
And The Best Friend® has been remarkably patient with me, too. I haven't exactly been attentive or a very good friend these days, and most of my conversation has been filled with moving updates and Boyfriend chatter. She hasn't even so much as rolled her eyes... In front of me, anyway.
Have I mentioned how grateful I am for her? Well, I am.
And there is a whole slew of other people I am grateful for, too, who have done everything to make this go as smoothly as possible. Even The Ex has been a trooper about it, taking The Trolls so I could move.
So that's what's going on. A whole bunch of moving and a whole bunch of gratitude. All in all, life is pretty good.
Very soon, I hope to get back to the whole life list living and updates about my quest to achieve the dream. But I'll have to find that box first.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Oh HEY! There you are!
So, I know I promised that I would try to update daily... or at least more frequently than I have been. And, yes, I know that as a new blogger, I need to keep blogging like I'm getting paid for it (if I ever expect to get paid for it). I know all this. But I have a really good excuse...
I'm still busy as all git out.
So here's what's been going on, in list form (and in no particular order):
1. Right now, I'm cooking lunch for work. My kitchen looks like something exploded in it, which is how it should look.
2. Because I'm cooking lunch for work, I'm not doing my laundry. I'm also using the fact that my laundry basket is full of clean clothes, so I can't use it to haul the dirty clothes to the washer, as a handy-dandy excuse to avoid laundry.
3. I'll get to the laundry. I have to. I'm down to the unmentionable underwear and it's not even that time of the month.
4. I dropped my phone yesterday and it is no longer in working order. Apparently, when I purchased insurance when I replaced the last phone I dropped and broke, the idiots at the Sprint store put the insurance on the wrong line. So I had to pay for the replacement.
5. I've been knitting and looming (is that a word?) like it's my full time job. I kind of wish it was my full time job.
6. All this constant motion is making me feel incredibly artistically drained. I may have to resort to purchasing pre-made Christmas cards this year, rather than making them like I usually do.
7. I've been in cleaning and sorting and throwing-out mode for the last week, in preparation for The Move™. It's actually quite fun... sort of. I like the whole getting rid of stuff part. I've even been clearing out email, which is not like me at all. I have email in my inbox from 2007. No, I'm not kidding.
8. All this cleaning and getting rid of stuff has made realize that I have a LOT of shit. This is making me want to toss it all in a big ole pile and set it all on fire and just start over.
9. The Boyfriend™ won't let me set anything on fire... the bastard.
10. The Move™ is the official name for the moving in with The Boyfriend™. Adding ™ to the end of things makes them more amusing... and less scary
11. The Boyfriend™ has made noises about getting me an iPad for Christmas. If he does, I will officially be his slave for the rest of my and/or his life (whichever comes first... or until something shinier impresses me more).
12. I discovered that no matter how good you are at poker, you can't win when you're playing against beginner's luck. And settling for second place isn't settling; it's just good financial planning.
13. Thanksgiving is right around the corner and I. Can't. Eat. Any of it!!! Between my weird food allergies and my stupid gallbladder issues, I'm down to salads and fat free chocolate pudding. I take comfort in the fact it's how the Pilgrims did it.
14. The lunch I'm making for work is all British food, because I'm ironic that way.
15. I had my first unadulterated road rage moment the other day. I enjoyed it probably more than I should've. But I was totally justified, y'all. Home boy was at a full stop at a green light.
16. I have to go roast some hazelnuts, or I'll be up until tomorrow morning cooking.
Yeah... I'll stop listing things now.
I'm still busy as all git out.
So here's what's been going on, in list form (and in no particular order):
1. Right now, I'm cooking lunch for work. My kitchen looks like something exploded in it, which is how it should look.
2. Because I'm cooking lunch for work, I'm not doing my laundry. I'm also using the fact that my laundry basket is full of clean clothes, so I can't use it to haul the dirty clothes to the washer, as a handy-dandy excuse to avoid laundry.
3. I'll get to the laundry. I have to. I'm down to the unmentionable underwear and it's not even that time of the month.
4. I dropped my phone yesterday and it is no longer in working order. Apparently, when I purchased insurance when I replaced the last phone I dropped and broke, the idiots at the Sprint store put the insurance on the wrong line. So I had to pay for the replacement.
5. I've been knitting and looming (is that a word?) like it's my full time job. I kind of wish it was my full time job.
6. All this constant motion is making me feel incredibly artistically drained. I may have to resort to purchasing pre-made Christmas cards this year, rather than making them like I usually do.
7. I've been in cleaning and sorting and throwing-out mode for the last week, in preparation for The Move™. It's actually quite fun... sort of. I like the whole getting rid of stuff part. I've even been clearing out email, which is not like me at all. I have email in my inbox from 2007. No, I'm not kidding.
8. All this cleaning and getting rid of stuff has made realize that I have a LOT of shit. This is making me want to toss it all in a big ole pile and set it all on fire and just start over.
9. The Boyfriend™ won't let me set anything on fire... the bastard.
10. The Move™ is the official name for the moving in with The Boyfriend™. Adding ™ to the end of things makes them more amusing... and less scary
11. The Boyfriend™ has made noises about getting me an iPad for Christmas. If he does, I will officially be his slave for the rest of my and/or his life (whichever comes first... or until something shinier impresses me more).
12. I discovered that no matter how good you are at poker, you can't win when you're playing against beginner's luck. And settling for second place isn't settling; it's just good financial planning.
13. Thanksgiving is right around the corner and I. Can't. Eat. Any of it!!! Between my weird food allergies and my stupid gallbladder issues, I'm down to salads and fat free chocolate pudding. I take comfort in the fact it's how the Pilgrims did it.
14. The lunch I'm making for work is all British food, because I'm ironic that way.
15. I had my first unadulterated road rage moment the other day. I enjoyed it probably more than I should've. But I was totally justified, y'all. Home boy was at a full stop at a green light.
16. I have to go roast some hazelnuts, or I'll be up until tomorrow morning cooking.
Yeah... I'll stop listing things now.
Monday, November 1, 2010
So I get a little obsessed sometimes. Doesn't everyone?
When The Boyfriend™ and I first started dating, and up until very recently, most of my conversations were peppered with mentions of "The Boyfriend™ did this..." and "The Boyfriend™ said..." This was due in large part to his novelty. The relationship is still pretty new (we haven't even hit the 18 month mark yet), and because the bulk of my dating experience happened during high school, most every event and milestone in our relationship was new. So I talked about it non-stop.
Suffice it to say, The Best Friend ® is very patient and long suffering. She only called me out on the obsessive boyfriend chatter once.
Despite the continued novelty of The Boyfriend™ and his deliciousness -- and in no small part due to my undiagnosed ADD -- my gallbladder is my latest obsession. I mean, I was just told that I have an affliction that will effect the rest of my life y'all... like having kids, except that my gallbladder won't ever move out. And I can't ground it.
What's worse is that most people who have low gallbladder ejection fraction results just get the thing removed and deal with the dietary restrictions that come with having no gallbladder. Seriously, I scoured the internet for more information about LGEF and there is nada out there, except forums for people who just got their HIDA scan results back and are moving onto the forcible eviction of their gallbladder stage.
WTF, people?! Seriously WebMD? You've got nothing?! And don't think I've forgotten about YOU, homeopaths and holistic healers! Where are my remedies? Where are the teas and tinctures and tonics to get my gallbladder to start pushing out bile like it's supposed to?
Oh and Google? You're supposed to think for me! Why aren't you popping up search results that don't include "gallstones" in the posts?! I don't have gallstones; I have a practically non-existent gallbladder ejection fraction (I'm not being hyperbolic here. It really is practically non-existent. Normal function is between 35-75%. Mine is 3-7%).
Internets, you have let me down. You have not given me the magical answer to make my gallbladder behave itself. I thought you were omnipotent, God-like... dare I say you were actually God. But, you have limits and I have found them.
So now I'm back to obsessing about my gallbladder. I'm trying to send it lots of love and healing energy (the opposite of what I do when The Trolls misbehave). I'm taking it to fat-free dinners and speaking to it in soothing and dulcet tones. I'm also talking about it non-stop to anyone who will listen. What I can and can't consume will keep me chattering for literal tens of minutes on end and I'm debating getting "Pavlov's Bitch" tattooed on my ass, because I totally feel like a Pavlovian dog at the moment.
Or maybe I should name my gallbladder Pavlov.
Suffice it to say, The Best Friend ® is very patient and long suffering. She only called me out on the obsessive boyfriend chatter once.
Despite the continued novelty of The Boyfriend™ and his deliciousness -- and in no small part due to my undiagnosed ADD -- my gallbladder is my latest obsession. I mean, I was just told that I have an affliction that will effect the rest of my life y'all... like having kids, except that my gallbladder won't ever move out. And I can't ground it.
What's worse is that most people who have low gallbladder ejection fraction results just get the thing removed and deal with the dietary restrictions that come with having no gallbladder. Seriously, I scoured the internet for more information about LGEF and there is nada out there, except forums for people who just got their HIDA scan results back and are moving onto the forcible eviction of their gallbladder stage.
WTF, people?! Seriously WebMD? You've got nothing?! And don't think I've forgotten about YOU, homeopaths and holistic healers! Where are my remedies? Where are the teas and tinctures and tonics to get my gallbladder to start pushing out bile like it's supposed to?
Oh and Google? You're supposed to think for me! Why aren't you popping up search results that don't include "gallstones" in the posts?! I don't have gallstones; I have a practically non-existent gallbladder ejection fraction (I'm not being hyperbolic here. It really is practically non-existent. Normal function is between 35-75%. Mine is 3-7%).
Internets, you have let me down. You have not given me the magical answer to make my gallbladder behave itself. I thought you were omnipotent, God-like... dare I say you were actually God. But, you have limits and I have found them.
So now I'm back to obsessing about my gallbladder. I'm trying to send it lots of love and healing energy (the opposite of what I do when The Trolls misbehave). I'm taking it to fat-free dinners and speaking to it in soothing and dulcet tones. I'm also talking about it non-stop to anyone who will listen. What I can and can't consume will keep me chattering for literal tens of minutes on end and I'm debating getting "Pavlov's Bitch" tattooed on my ass, because I totally feel like a Pavlovian dog at the moment.
Or maybe I should name my gallbladder Pavlov.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
The Boyfriend™ dresses up like a pirate. I love him in spite of it... or because of it. I haven't decided yet.
Have I mentioned that The Boyfriend™ likes to go to Renessaince Fairs... dressed as a pirate:
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| Yeah. He really does dress up like a pirate. |
I can get past the pirate stuff. Actually, that's nothing I really need to get over, because pirates (of the historical sort) are pretty bitchin', and The Boyfriend makes a rather sexy pirate, if I do say so myself. But I'm having a really hard time getting past these:
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| These are The Boyfriend's feet. In his sandals. God help me |
These? These are decidedly not sexy. As part of the pirate costume, these work. But The Boyfriend™ insists on wearing them... as regular shoes. All the time.
He says they're comfortable. I point out that many people find Crocs (which he hates) comfortable, and those are a damn sight better than these monstrosities. He says it's different. I pretend I don't know him when he wears them -- especially when he starts randomly polling strangers to get their opinion on his choice in footwear.
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