This is a teeny, tiny fraction of ads that are out there. Ads that we see every day. That our children see. Ads for products that rarely have anything to do with breasts. And yet there they are, everywhere. Oiled and pushed up and smooshed together and fairy-dusted and tanned and thrust into your face. And it’s all OK, apparently.
But let someone see a tiny sliver of a breast being used for the very thing they were created for, and hoo-boy! Instead of admiring looks and rich ad execs slapping each other on the back for their “genius”, we have insults and accusations and removals from property and threats of criminal charges. CRIMINAL CHARGES, people!
For this:
I am sick to death of people sexualizing and criminalizing it and turning something beautiful and natural into something dirty or gross.
People are having a fit because Salma Hayek nursed a baby that is not her own on a recent UNICEF trip to Africa. I don’t get the big damned deal. She was feeding a starving infant (STARVING INFANT) with the very substance that is best for him. I would have done it myself without a second thought.
Many, many years ago, my Nana (great-grandma) did the very same thing. A neighbor’s milk had dried up and her baby was not thriving. Just a couple short decades after slavery ended, my Nana took a tiny, hungry, African baby in her arms and did the one thing she could do. And my Nana was a beautiful woman. It wasn’t gross and it wasn’t sexual.
And yet, even all the way across the world, breasts are so sexualized that babies are starving over it. Because the men in Sierra Leone are forcing their wives to quit breastfeeding their babies because of social mores that say it’s wrong to have sex with a nursing women. Nothing keeps a woman down like declaring her unclean and rendering her helpless to save her own children’s lives.
Now, I realize that Sierra Leone is a far cry from the United States, both in distance and in culture. Here, no one says we’re not allowed to breastfeed our children. No, here, we just have to hide to do it so as not to offend anyone.
I don’t happen to have any breastfeeding photos, but if I did, you could be damned sure I’d post one. But I am so damned sick and tired of this shit that instead, I give you my big, baby-feeding-created, besaggified rack. Go ahead, America, GET OFFENDED:
Friends who are going to Disney World soon.Disney World is my crack.And I nnneeeeeeeeeeed some soon.Sadly, I won’t be getting it.I was hoping for the every other year plan, which started with October 06 and 08.but we have been thinking that even thought October is the bestest time to go (great weather, lower crowds, Halloween party, Food and Wine Festival), it’s getting really hard to take the boy out of school for it.So we will now be going in the hellish, horrible summer, which is more crowed, hotter, and more expensive.And also harder to get mr b convinced it’s time.If I had it my way, if we have to go in summer, we’d go for two weeks instead of one (OK, if I had it my way, we’d go for two months)
2 things I am waiting for:
News that my brand new baby cousin is on the way.My cousin Lala is approximately 37 months pregnant right now and every time the phone rings, I think it’s time.It’s been almost five years since there’s been a new baby in the family and I can not wait to get my hands on the little pumpkin who, despite my constant harassment polite requests, they are not naming Gina.I don’t get it.I think he’d like the name.
Lunchtime
3 things I am looking for:
A suitable replacement for my favorite and long since discontinued eye cream. I am death to products – makeup, hair products, food items – you name it.If I love something, it is almost guaranteed to be discontinued.And if not discontinued, then changed enough that it is not the same thing and may as well be discontinued (I’m looking at you sugared maple lipstick).And I can’t even begin to express my love for the former Mary Kay Triple Action Eye Enhancer.This was the best stuff, ever.I don’t know why they discontinued it, given that I am constantly talking to people who also loved it and lament its disappearance.There are a few tubes online, but considering that it had been years since they took it off the market, I’m not sure how safe, or at least, fresh it would be.But I might be willing to take a chance, since it was awesome.It brightened and sort of lifted the eyelids and made shadows and liners go on smoothly and stay on well.I have tried about a million new brands but never found anything as good.I have no idea what was in the stuff, but between the deep love I had for it and the fact that it is no longer on the market despite sales, I am guessing mercury, BPA, plutonium, and crack.
Dragon’s Song.Years ago, some clients gave mr b a small book that a friend of theirs had had published.It was an epic poem about Pittsburgh called Dragon’s Song.It talked about growing up in the city and how the mills looked like giant dragons.I loved it.And now I can’t find it.Since it was self-published, I can’t find it anywhere –even the Carnegie, and it’s pissing me off. I found an email for the author, but haven’t gotten a reply.On the off chance that any of you have it, let me know – I really want a copy.
Love in all the wrong places (OK, not really, but I needed one more thing here for this to work).
4 things making me happy:
Spending the day at the Carnegie Library with the girl on Saturday.Sure, we have a small library in my hometown, but it doesn’t thrill me the way the Carnegie does.I’m like a kid in a candy store in there.We spent hours reading in the children's section, reading and picking out books to take home with us (of those we took, best title: Skippyjon Jones, best book: The Library Lion, most giggles: The End).Then I did a mad dash & grab in the newer fiction (it really almost doesn’t matter what I grab – I’m happy to read it).I was in such a good mood, I even got a few books for mr b and the boy.Mr b got a couple books on blues music, and I reserved a dvd of Buddy Guy for him.The boy got a huge illustrated encyclopedia of Star Wars vehicles. Which I knew held love.Of course all the book-induced endorphins made me black out the part where he would spent he next three weeks excitedly telling me about each and every vehicle. At length.But still: books!Best part of the day?When I asked the children's librarian where the Cornelia Funke books were located (I need Inkspell now), and she asked me what grade/reading level I was looking for and I had to say, “Um..it’s for me.”Awesome.
The girl now sharing my love for bubble drinks (though not that milky sweet nastiness).Oh, black tapioca pearls, how I love you.
This study is ending today and I can go back to my normal working schedule.
The little wedgie move she does after finishing her “floor routine”:
5 things pissing me off:
Speaking of Cornelia Funke, I was all excited way back when I saw the trailer for Inkheart.And then I ran out and read the book, as I like to do.And when I read it, I discovered that almost nothing in the trailers is actually from the book.No Toto, no flying monkeys, no unicorns.What the fuck?
This bullshit.I can’t even put into words how I feel, other than What. The. Fuck?
The fact that , like every other year, we have been hearing the annual “Oh No, We’re running out of salt for the roads” song of whining, and yet on a 60 degree day, I was behind a truck spreading salt. What the fuck?
As much as I love SpiceIsland, I really hate those stupid takeout containers they use.The plastic lids get hot, then they pile them on top of each other, and then I end up with shattered plastic in my now inedible Kway Teow.I’m seriously craving it, but won’t bother again until I can eat in.What the fuck, SpiceIsland?
The fact that I just found out that Kindergarten registration is coming up.When did my baby get so old???She’s a teeny, tiny baby!And her impending kindergarten is making me yearn for more babies.What the fuck?
6 things the dog has crapped on:
A preface:We got the dog when he was a few months old. We had recently lost our beloved Golden Retriever, and mr b came across an elderly woman who recently lost a dog and replaced him with a brand new, cute as a button black lab. Well, she soon realized that a new puppy was too much for her (and her remaining old dog) to take, so she gave him up for adoption. I wasn’t thrilled when mr b and the boy came home with him (surprise - we got a dog!), but I fell for him quickly. He is a sweet, friendly, loving dog, who is also a fantastic watch dog. And he points at squirrels and chickens. But he’s guilty. He’s guilty for everything he ever did, ever. He sounds like Cujo when someone is approaching, but a quivering, snarling, white hot ball of canine terror, he is not (Family Dog, anyone?) All you have to do is look at him with The Look and the ears go down, the eyelids start fluttering, the tail tucks under and Ferocious Watchdog becomes Sissy Wussy Dog.And what does Dog do when he’s nervous and guilty? He shits. He shits Big.
Twister: The boy had a friend over one weekend.When the friend’s dad came to pick him up, he brought along the friends’ sister and they hung out and played for a while and the adults visited.Pretty soon, the kids start playing Twister. The dog is nervous about games and shits on Twister.
Christmas:It’s Christmas morning. There is much squealing and yelling and wrapping paper being strewn about. Dog is nervous about the excitement and shits on Christmas. The living room is now a minefield as we pick through piles of paper while trying to locate/avoid the pile of shit.
Taxes.A few years back, we (by which I mean mr b) waited until the very last second to do out taxes.While we were dealing with the stress of taxes, I someone spilled beer into the keyboard and it died.So now we had added the added stress of running out to get a new keyboard to finish the taxes.We had papers everywhere, keyboards on the floor, and a general crazy mess.And apparently taxes make the dog nervous.Because he shit on them.And then he sent his post-poo celebration time barfing. Yes, he followed up the shit with a nice big pile of yack on my living room carpet. This is the life.
The driver’s seat.Mr b was picking up the boy from daycare and decided to take the dog along to surprise him.He stops at the ATM machine and gets back in the van. While he is out, Dog, nervous about being alone in the van, ignores the 3000 square feet of floor space in the giant van, and instead somehow balances himself and shits on the driver’s seat. Mr b does not notice as he gets in, and sits on the driver’s seat.Then he smells it.Then cranes his neck, looking all around the van trying to find the source of the smell.Then he realizes he can’t see it anywhere and it becomes clear.Then he contemplates dog murder.
The passenger seat.When I was 9 months pregnant, I was driving Dog to the groomer. This is already a trauma, since Dog is not a Car Dog. He is flailing about, falling down, hitting the dashboard and being a general pain in the ass. In the middle of a call to the office, I got the “who farted?” look. Apparently, Dog is nervous about automobile travel and shits on the passenger seat. Dog is suddenly in the backseat, crying softly.Being in my ninth month of a barfarific pregnancy (seriously, I lost 25+ lbs from the barfing), I contemplate barfing. I decided barfing is a fine idea and do so. While cleaning my car of dog shit and barf, I call mr b and tell him of my dog-murder plans.
On my cousins’ feet.I was 7 months pregnant (and in high-gagging mode). My two cousins came over to visit me one night. They pet and love Dog. When he walks away, all present get the “who farted?” look. Dog, nervous about the stock market, shits on said cousins’ feet. Cousins contemplate murder. I contemplate barfing.
I think this is why Lala refuses to name her baby (boy) Gina.
I'm still swamped with a study running at work, so I am going to re-post my Crap-entine's Day post from last year. I'm not a big fan of the Valentiney stuff, can you tell?
Valentine’s Day has never been my thing. At least after I outgrew the school parties and homemade boxes and heart-shaped lollipops and chocolate covered marshmallow hearts (OK, I never actually outgrew the chocolate covered marshmallow hearts).
In high school, I always hated when V-day rolled around. If I had a boyfriend there was the worrying about what to get him, when in actuality I thought it was stupid but I didn’t want to be the loser who got something and didn’t give something in return. And really, I hated cheap candy and stupid plush hearts and teddy bears. If I didn’t have a boyfriend, it actually wasn’t so bad. My friends and I would send each other flowers or lollipops (red for I love you, pink for I like you and white for just friends – we always went with red) and we’d make fun of everyone else’s stupid plush hearts and teddy bears. Hedge and I will be doing this this week, in fact. Twenty-mrtngh years later.
And mr b and I never went all out for V-day either. In the beginning, we were too broke and now we just don’t give a crap. We’ll get a card and maybe a little chocolate treat, maybe a little thrown-together bouquet of flowers, but beyond that? Eh. I'll get the kids a little something (though this year, we are going candy-free - think trinkets and girly things for the girl and more of The Office on dvd for the boy).
I’ve talked about it before, but I am so sick to death of Hallmark and jewelry stores telling me how important it is. I really, really don’t give a shit if he went to Jared. So in case you were wondering, here’s a list of thing to NOT get me on Valentine’s Day, though the constant radio ads will tell you otherwise.
(Not that you were getting me anything for Valentine's Day anyway, but in case you have a SO who is like me, this might be helpful)
Vermont Teddy Bears No. Seriously, no. I don’t care about a stuffed animal. I don’t care if it has a little outfit on and looks like me or is sitting at a computer or wearing a tie-dye or whatever. I simply do not need or want a fucking teddy bear. I’m 40. It’s just one more thing for me to dust and take up space in my too-small house. And besides, unless the little fucker is going to get up and clean the house for me, then 80 frajillion dollars is too damned much to spend on a stupid space-taking, dust-collecting stuffed toy. Now that I think of it, get me a maid service instead.
Lingerie Ahhh, yes. The gift that says, “I’d like to get laid”. There is a local lingerie store that has radio ads every Valentine’s Day, with some stupid bitch telling the “gentlemen” how their “ladies” would love “something sensual” but are afraid to say so. Ummm, not really. Please - If I want lingerie, I am not afraid to say so. But I won't say so. You know why? Because if I want it, I’ll go buy it. If I want lingerie, I want something that will a) not embed itself in my ass, b) hold the hooters in place, c) actually be comfortable, and d) be made from fibers found in nature so as not to create a raging yeast infection. If you give me sexy lingerie, I will open it and my first thought will be, “Motherfucker, this is for YOU, not me. Next time get me a table saw, why don’t you??” And don’t be surprised if you get a 20-something pool boy from me next year.
Chocolates Body Paint See “lingerie.” The only thing I will be doing with this is heating it up and pouring it over ice cream. Sorry.
Gold-Dipped Roses I do not, I repeat NOT, need another crappy tchochke in my house. Please. Also, see “too much money” and “dust-collector”
Flowers in General Don’t get me wrong - I love flowers. And roses are OK, though not my favorite. But on V-Day, those things are marked up like 15,000 percent. And they are FAR crappier then, too. Fuck that shit. It’s complete insanity to expect people to pay that much fucking money for flowers that will be dead shortly anyway. If you want to get me flowers, go to the local supermarket that sells them by the stem, pick out a bunch of different style, different color, mix and match blooms and I’ll love it all the more.
Heart-Boxed Chocolate I love chocolate. Love it. But I don’t need the heart shaped box. You pay way more because of it and generally, I hate everything in there. I hate the creams and the nougats and the nuts. So get me some Dove hearts, some truffles, some Hershey’s kisses, or hell, some Raisinettes. I’ll love them.
Diamond Heart Jewelry I am really not a big jewelry person in general, but I really, really hate the heart stuff. I don’t like heart shaped stones, I don’t like the cheesy heart rings and necklaces that come in a box with chocolates or a bear. Seriously, I just don’t care for it. And I really don’t need more jewelry. I already have more than I can wear (one ring on each hand and maybe a necklace or bracelet - and I’m too damned lazy to change every day). And don't even get me started on the blood diamonds. If you insist on getting me jewelry, go string some beads for me or buy me something artistic and handcrafted. Or something antique. Otherwise, save your money.
Champagne OK, champagne is fine, as long as you get several bottles and don’t expect it to lead to sex.
And now the dog would like you to know that he does not subscribe to my jaded views of Valentine's Day and the he is, in fact, a lover:
You know that thing with family?The thing where you can say your mother/sister/brother/cousin is a bitch/a big fat loser/an asshole/stupid, but let anyone else say it and oh, HELL NO.
Well, I have that same thing when it comes to our school district or my small town.I get my hackles up when I hear an outsider make disparaging remarks.I defend the school vehemently.I get angry.The giant chip on my shoulder grows to enormous proportions.I guess it’s because, in a way, I feel like it’s not just the school or town that is being insulted, but me.I feel like, since I choose to live here, when people look down on it, they are really saying that I must be somehow lesser, as well.I know this, and still it pisses me of, since it’s not their damned business anyway.
But there are plenty of days that I have my own gripes about things, and hoo-boy – this is one of them.Of course, something always triggers a rant, and mine would be the letter I got last night, which is my first thing.
Thing the first: I came home to a letter last night that stated that my son’s report card was being held because of overdue library fines.OK, I get it – you have to have some leverage to recoup those huge fines racked up by kids and parents who don’t give a shit (though presumable, if they don’t care about their fines, they might not care about the report card, either).Anyway, my problem here is that 1) he paid the fine weeks ago – as soon as he realized the book was late and returned it.And 2) The fine?Thirty cents.THIRTY CENTS!They paid 42 cents for a stamp, plus the cost of the envelope, the paper, and the time it took someone to create the letter and fine report, then held his report card for a thirty cent fine.WHICH WAS ALREADY PAID!And the icing on this one?Included in the letter was someone else’s library fine report.A kid with the same first name, though spelled completely differently, and a last name at the complete other end of the alphabet.Which makes me wonder about their filing system.
Thing the second: Speaking of report cards, they were supposed to receive them on January 26th or 27th.And they got them on February 5th.What the fuck?I feel bad for the kids whose parents were waiting at the door on the 26th, looking for the report card and then nagging the poor kid ever since – are you sure you didn’t get it?Are you telling me the truth?
Thing the third: I have already talked about this, but how can we forget that they make huge, HUGE mistakes in their attendance records, and then refer people to social services because of those mistakes.I love that.I still get letters from that agency, giving me “support” and shit.I know it’s a good program, but I do not need it.And thus feel a little, no a LOT, offended by the whole thing.And by law – even though they know it was a mistake – they have to continue to monitor my child’s attendance.It’s like I’m on probation or something.And he was recently sick and missed a day, and then missed part of a day for a dentist’s appointment.And even though I know it’s totally OK, I find myself feeling guiltier than that time Aunt Twin caught me all Michael Phelps-like on her back porch and cried.And that’s saying something, because when your sweet aunt cries about “the pot”, that’s guilt.
Thing the fourth: The only thing that made me more furious than the whole social services thing was calling to talk to the principal to talk about it and being told (via her secretary) that it “wasn’t [her] job.”Which leads me to…
Thing the fifth: The fact that the principal is never, EVER, available to speak with you.And never returns your calls.Because she is a big, old, nasty bitch.
Thing the sixth: Their truancy calls –oh my god.Last week the boy was home sick and that night, I got an automated call that said, and I quote, “This is to notify you that your child was absent on Rhode Island slash slash yip Rhode Island.Please send an excuse.”I was so very tempted to send in my excuse all, “please excuse the boy for being absent on Rhode Island slash slash yip Rhode Island.He was home sick.”And then, when he was out for a dentist appointment on Thursday morning, I got, “This is to notify you that your child was absent on Rhode Island slash CH slash staffer Rhode Island.Please send an excuse.”What? The? Fuck?Is up with all the Rhode Island??Although, Rapunzel go the best one.They once sent her a message saying that her son, FRACKLE FRACK was absent.Do I even need to tell you that her son is very much NOT named Frackle Frack??I didn’t think so.
Thing the seventh: Again with the calls.When there’s a delay or cancellation, they call and tell you via a recorded messageWhich is great.Especially when they call the night before.But not so much when they call at FIVE FUCKING A.M.Now, I am getting up at 5:15 anyway, but that extra 15 minutes is precious.And also – a lot of people don’t get up at the buttcrack, so I am sure they aren’t wild about it either.And really, this is western Pennsylvania – the radio and TV stations live to report school closings and delay.This is BIG NEWS in the PA winter.I am sure I will find out one way or another.Please don’t call me at five.
Thing the eighth: Oh My God, those fucking PSSAs.I have ranted and raved about them for years now.And I hate them with a passion.PSSA stands for Pennsylvania System of School Assessment. It's a standardized test used "to measure a student's attainment of the academic standards while also determining the degree to which school programs enable students to attain proficiency of the standards". Which is just bullshitspeak for "used to determine which schools are getting more funding" Basically, what this means is good PSSA scores = more money for the school. And as we all know, if there's money involved, there's going to be bullshit.So the schools waste a whole lot of time teaching the kids to take this test, instead of actually teaching them stuff.This is a huge big issue for me and I think I’ll have to save it for its own entry or this one will go on forever.Thanks, Dumbya!
Thing the ninth: Hedge just told me that the elementary school sent home a note saying that if the kids are going to bring in invitations to pass out, they have to be sent to the principal so she can review and approve them.Don’t get me wrong – I fully support the rule that of there isn’t one for everyone in the child’s class, then they can’t do it.That’s fine.But I think having the principal review and approve each invitation is a bit excessive.Or at least odd.Although I told Hedge that she should totally send one ion for approval for a strippers and blow party.
Thing the tenth: Yesterday, they sent home order forms for the yearbooks, telling us how much they were and when to return them.The problem?We had a fundraiser a few months ago when we were told that if we sold a certain number of crappy items, we would receive a free yearbook.I wanted no parts of the fundraiser, because I’d rather just pay for the damned thing, but the boy was determined to earn it, and by god he did.He sold more than enough.So, say it with me now - What the Fuck?
Chris over at Coke on my Keyboard, is pretty fabulous. And not just because she recognizes the complete wonderful awesomeness of me, either. But she does, though, and she gave me this award:
In her entry, she listed five things that she’s into and passed on her award to five people she wanted to recognize. Technically, I should do the same, but I am going to break the rules. Big surprise, right? Since I think all of you are great, I’d rather recognize something else that's fabulous.
Every year in February, one of the radio stations that I listen to has a telethon for St. Jude’s Research Hospital. And every year, in the week leading up to it when they are advertising, I say, “This year, I will not be listening.” And then I forget and I get in the car on the first day and the sad stories start and by the time I get to work, I look like this:
Because those stories rip your heart out. Rip it out and then stomp it and chew it and put it in a wood chipper. And then they squeeze your lungs until you can breath, and then put them in a vice with your stomped, chewed heart until they both explode. And then you cry.
But that’s what childhood cancer is – it’s a stomping, chewing, shredding, vice-grip, dragon of a fucking bastard. But St. Jude’s Hospital is fighting that dragon. And more and more they are winning. But not enough. As long as any parent loses a child to cancer, it’s not enough. It’s every parent’s worst nightmare.
My grandma lost her firstborn before he turned three. That was almost 70 years ago and she still feels the pain. She still tears up when she talks about him. She still misses him every day. Two of my sisters-in-law lost children, and each of them are two people. The person they were before and the one they are after. No parent should ever have to go through that. No child should ever have top face their own mortality. No five year old should know words like myeloma or neurofibromatosis.
So every year in February, I listen to the beautiful, awful stories told by beautiful children and grateful (and anguished) parents and I cry and cry and cry some more. And I pray.
And then I pick up the phone and I become a Partner in Hope. I choose to do this type of donation, because I can donate more, but it comes out of my account monthly, so I don’t feel it. It’s a couple books, a few drinks with friends, some takeout lunches. If I can afford those, then I can afford this. I’ve done it every year I have been a mother.
So, I’m not trying to pressure anyone into anything – I am not affiliated with St. Jude’s in any way, and I don’t benefit from anyone’s donations (other than the benefit I receive as a member of the human race – saving children). But if you have thought about giving to a charity, or know someone suffering from cancer and feel frustrated because there’s nothing you can do, maybe this is an option for you. There are single donations, memorial donations, and honor donations as well as the Partners in Hope. Sometimes your company will match what you give, which is even better.
You can donate on the website, or call the current telethon that I am listening to at 1-866-209-HOPE.
Sunday: as I previously reported, I had a particularly busy day planned. I got up, baked a football shaped cake and let the kids decorate it. Then the girl and I got ready and headed off to the Byham to see High School Musical. She loved it, of course, though being five, she didn’t quite get that it wasn’t going to be the real Troy (and Gabriella, and Sharpay, etc, but really, it was all about Troy). Her pronouncement was that Troy was cute, but not as cute as the real Troy (I actually thought he was cuter, that girly boy Efron is not my type), Gabriella was pretty, but not as pretty as the real Gabriella, Sharpay was pretty, but, blah blah blah, etc). She thought Ryan was hilarious, though. And she was quite pleased to see that no one else had the good sense to dress in their HSM cheerleader costume (she loves the spotlight, that one).
The play was pretty good, though not as good as the movie, and we liked it. For our added enjoyment, they slipped in quite a few Steelers and Superbowl references, and the cast came out for their curtain calls wearing Steelers jerseys, so needless to say, the crowd went wild. Throw in the Gummi Bears and the fact that our subscription seats are pretty awesome, it was an all-around nice time.
Then, we walked to Palomino, where I met my parents. My dad took the girl and left my mom. We had a nice dinner and headed to the Benedum to see Jersey Boys. I have to say, I bought the tickets for my mom for Christmas because Frankie Valli is her thing. I mean, that place looked like the Class of ‘65 reunion. And though I knew I would enjoy it, I didn’t expect it to be as absolutely fantastic as it was. And that is coming from someone who had a transistor radio and an earbud in for the entire show. I’m all class. I was in line for the restroom during intermission and was lamenting Arizona’s impending score with the ladies in line (it was just before the half) and when James Harrison became magical, I was a screaming, jumping, cheering, crying ball of insanity, right there in the Benedum hallway. Luckily, most everyone there – like me – had bought their tickets without realizing that it would be Superbowl Sunday, so I suddenly was everyone’s best friend. People tagged along behind me and signaled me during the show to give them a thumbs up or down to let them know who was winning.
When we left the theater, it was 20-7, so most of the nail-biting happened on the way home. The game was officially won just as I pulled into the driveway, so I didn’t actually see any of it happen in real time, but it was worth it. I’m telling you – if you ever have a chance to see Jersey Boys (especially if you are as old as me and can remember some of this music), take it. It was well worth the money. It was funny, fast-paced, interesting, and the music was – at times – goose-bumpingly great. And they said “fuck” a lot, which made me feel right at home.
Monday: this day sucked balls. Work was insane – I worked about 11 hours and didn’t stop all day. Also – I had a medical test the next day which meant I couldn’t have caffeine all day. SUCK!!
Also – I could not care less about Michael Phelps and his bong. I mean, I think he was stupid – not so much for smoking pot, but for smoking pot when he has big endorsement opportunities. I feel the same way every time I hear about some professional athlete doing something stupid (I’m looking at you, Mr. Superbowl MVP). I mean, smoke it if you got it. but if you are a person with amazing opportunities and you do something to jeopardize your opportunities, I have a hard time not thinking you are a dumbass.
And yet, on the other hand I feel kind of bad for him. He’s a kid that has spent years working hard and training and doing little else and he was letting loose. BFD. (and obviously I have a pretty lax attitude about “the dope,” as my mother would call it). but beyond how I feel about him, I have to say, I am more irritated with a) The Richland County Sheriff and b) the media. And here’s why:
a) The Richland County Sheriff: Are you fucking kidding me? I mean, really? If you had caught the kid red-handed, of course – don’t give him special treatment (and this is setting aside my personal feelings about marijuana and the law), but based on a photo of him allegedly smoking alleged marijuana? I’m sorry, but this smacks of I Want Some Media Attention. Please. b) The media: If you are truly as worried as you say you are about impressionable children seeing this photo and being damaged because of it? Then STOP FUCKING SHOWING IT SEVENTEEN THOUSAND TIMES AN HOUR!!!!!
Anyway.
Tuesday: I had to have a stress test. That’s right – cardiac stress test. I have been having some weird chest pains that my doctor believes is not cardiac-related, but I needed to be sure. I haven’t heard anything yet on the scans, but the treadmill part was fine, as far as no pain or arrhythmia (even though I felt like my calves were going to explode from walking approximately 60 MPH up an incline not unlike the Grand Canyon). I feel less nervous about it since they didn’t immediately throw me on a gurney screaming “clear!” and admit me, but I’ll feel better when my doctor calls and says I’m fine.
Also – the nuclear waste that they injected into me gave me a raging headache, so awesome. Also, when I was sitting in the waiting room, I was reading a magazine article about how to tell if your child is using meth and I read the signs:
Incessant talking Increased energy Low appetite Blaming others Sleep disturbances
And I thought, OH MY GOD, MY FIVE YEAR OLD IS ON METH!!!!!!!!!!!
So, I’m still grumbling over not being able to watch the Superbowl. I am seriously considering taking a small radio and earphones into the Benedum with me. The problem will be keeping from screaming “Wooo!” or (hopefully not) “Motherfucker!” in the middle of Jersey Boys.I asked the boy to text me every time something important happens.Of course, he will probably forget about…oh…two minutes in.And really, his idea of what’s important will consist of, “We won”, whereas mine is more like “Every single play, and also the Polamalu commercial.”
I’m drowning my sorrows in cake, though.I promised the kids we’d make a football shaped cake, and somehow I ended up making a pineapple upside down cake, too.It’s in the oven right now, but I am not sure I will eat it at all because it might very well taste like shit.See, someone went to the store and, instead of buying a yellow cake mix, they bought a pineapple cake mix.And I am saying someone so you’ll think it was mr b when it was actually me.I grabbed it by accident and then saw that it was pineapple.Which then made me think about how much I love pineapple upside down cake and how I haven’t had it for years.And then I thought that I should make it since I don’t really care for chocolate cake that we were using for the football.So then I got all excited and ran to get some pineapple and marchino cherries and completely forgot that I was holding a pineapple cake instead of a yellow one.Damn.
Anyway, I decided to make it regardless, and as I was mixing it, I discovered that it smelled like bubble gum. This is not good.Who the hell wants a bubblegum pineapple upside down cake?Not me.I am hoping that the bubblegum flavor cooks out like alcohol does. Otherwise, I’ll just douse it in rum and have a rum bubblegum pineapple upside down cake and eventually won’t give a shit.
Oh – and to those of you scoffing at the fact that I am using a mix and not baking from scratch, suck it.You know, in the most loving way, of course.
I've been crazy busy with work, snow days and sick kids, so it's a meme day around here.
Thursday Thunk
1. Have you ever felt alone, but yet there are people around you?
Yes – I have even written about it. It’s weird, though – sometimes it’s a very lonely feeling and yet sometimes I really love it. I think the lonely part comes in when I am in a group of people that I know and that know each other. Especially if I am an “outsider” in some way. I went through this a little in the early years with mr b. he comes form a HUGE family – six older sisters, they all have kids, their kids have kids, etc. Don’t get me wrong - they were always nice to me and tried to make me comfortable, but it can be overwhelming. I have pretty big family myself (extended, though - no siblings), which made it a little easier, but there were times that I still felt a little bit on the outside.
What I didn’t realize was that some of it was my own fault. Being an only child, I have always had the tendency to withdraw into my own thoughts, or bury my nose in a book, etc. I always have a book with me and when I would go to his family events, I would pull it out and start reading, which made me seem uninterested and unapproachable. In my defense, I did this at my own family events as well – it wasn’t personal – I just love to read. But admittedly, while it was mostly just that I can’t wait to get back to whatever I am reading, a tiny part of it was a defense mechanism – if I am busy reading, then I can’t feel awkward or left out – I’d rather read anyway.
Eventually, my SIL Weenie brought it up to me. she said that I always seemed like I didn’t want anything to do with them. I was really hurt and offended at first – I did want to be a part of their group, but I sometimes felt like they should make more effort. But I soon realized that she was right – that even though my motives were benign, I can see how they were perceived differently. So I stopped bringing the books and things changed. It’s been 18 years and I am sure glad I did. I no longer have sisters-in-law, but sisters.
On the other end of it, I love being all by myself and yet surrounded by people, like visiting a new city, or going to a restaurant, or a park, or a movie by myself.
2. Do you have any video game consoles? Which ones?
To be technical, my kids have them I don’t. PS2 and Wii. Plus the girl has a v-tech one. And they have PSP and DS.
3. Do you freak out at food warnings/outbreaks, such as the recent peanut butter salmonella scare?
Oh hell no. If I freaked out over that shit, the freakery would never end. Don’t get me wrong – It’s a concern and I will be sure to not give my kids tainted food. But Dear 8 Pound 6 Ounce Newborn Infant Jesus, don't even know a word yet, I am so sick of the local news teasers about what’s lurking in my bathroom, or what’s in my lunch meat, or which restaurant got a warning, etc. I have enough to stress out about without adding that nonsense to the mix. As for the real stuff (like the PB recall), just use your head and be safe - no freaking out is needed. If you are freaking out over this stuff (unless your kids were eating a recalled product when you heard the news), then you seriously need to think about your need for drama. And maybe get a hobby.
4. What color/pattern is your beds' comforter/bedspread?
I have beautiful blue and brown set on my bed, which I never get to enjoy. Mr b’s sever apnea/snoring have had me on the couch for years. When we started the never-ending addition/remodel, I found it at Marshall’s for a great price. When I bought it I was so excited about the price that I wasn’t even thinking about never really seeing it. So now I am thinking about taking it off the bed, because mr b lives like an animal back there and does not deserve a beautiful bed.
5. How many windows do you have in your house?
We have (I think) 21 windows, and 2 giant, four panel sliding doors.
6. Name six things that are in your bathroom.
Sink, toilet, bathtub, mr b’s underwear from Monday, mr b’s underwear from Tuesday, mr b’s underwear from Wednesday.
7. How big is your garage? Should it be bigger?
I don’t have a garage, so yes, it should be MUCH bigger.
8. Got your taxes done yet?
Nope. I don’t even have my W-2s yet. But I do like to get them done early. The past few years, we haven’t, though.
9. Think of a mental disorder..... why did you think of that particular one?
Bipolar disorder. Because lately there have been radio ads running for a bi-polar study.
My mom is notoriously hard to buy for. It’s not that she isn’t gracious or appreciative when it comes to gifts – she is. It’s just that it’s hard to find gifts that are special. She’s not a big reader, she isn’t really into knick-knacks. She doesn’t collect anything or isn’t into hobbies. She’s reached a point in her life where if she wants something, she buys it. So there is rarely anything (in my price range, at least) that she is pining for.
She does like clothes and jewelry and purses, but buying her those aren’t easy either. She works for a large department store, so you’d be hard pressed to find anything that she a) hasn’t already seen/bought/decided against buying, and b) can get much cheaper than you can (hello – employee discount).
So this year, having started my Christmas shopping much later than normal, I was a bit frantic about what to get my mom. The night before I had my big shopping day, ti came to me – I would get tickets to a show and her gift would be that we would go together. Perfect – we don’t spend a ton of time together because of our conflicting work schedules and responsibilities taking care of kids (me) and parents (her). She would love it.
First, I was going to get tickets to Jersey Boys, knowing that she would love it. I grew up listening to her listen to Frankie Valli. But it’s a hot ticket, and since I was kind of late to the party, I had a hard time finding seats that were good, together, and not eighty bajillion dollars. I spent a ton of time trying to find something acceptable and affordable. It was getting pretty late and I was getting tired. So I changed up and figured I’d get us some tickets to the cabaret’s My Way and I’d take Aunt Twin, too, since those tickets were a little cheaper. But I wanted a table and couldn’t get one – only regular seating, which defeats the whole purpose of cabaret.
I spent a ton more time checking every show, every night to try and get a table, with no luck. Finally, like a lightbulb going off in my tiny, exhausted, Christmas-addled brain, it occurred to me that perhaps getting three tickets was the problem, since the tables seat four. Sure enough, when I requested two tickets, there wasn’t a problem. So I sadly decided to drop Aunt Twin from the deal and just get the two tickets for my mom and me to go. And just as I pressed the checkout button, I got a message saying that their website would be down for the next 15 minutes (until midnight). While I waited, I noticed that I still had a window open where I was searching for the Jersey Boys tickets, and just for the hell of it decided to give it one last shot. I checked the very last show of the run, and what do you know – success! I ended up with some realty good seats for a really good price. Yay, me!
I couldn’t wait to give my mom her gift and as I expected, she was thrilled.
In the meantime, this season, I bought a subscription to the Byham series for the girl and me. We have seen Cinderella, and we still have High School Musical and Beauty and the Beast (and Godspell, which I think I will take the boy to). And a couple of weeks ago, I decided to check and see when HSM was coming up. Don’t’ you know, it’s the same day as Jersey Boys. Doh!
It’s not at the same time, though, so I have devised a big pain in the as of a plan. At first, I considered having Weenie take the girl, but that presented different logistical problems, so I settled on driving to the burgh to take the girl. That show will run from about 2:00 to 4:00. Then, my dad will drive my mom up to the theater district, drop her off with me, take the girl home with him, and mom and I can have an early dinner before the show (which starts at 6:30). Perfect. Its busy, but it’s worth it to take both my mother and my daughter to do something they love.
Then on Thursday night, I was at Tee’s having my hair done and we were talking about the shows and my busy day. I realized that I had invited my SILs down for a party on Saturday and I told Tee I would have to run them of early so the girl and I would have time to make it to the show. Tee said she didn’t realize that we were going so soon – on January 25th.
Oh, that’s right – it’s not this weekend after all. I’m so glad – I didn’t feel like rushing and having a weekend packed full of stuff. Man, I am so happy that it’s next Sunday…
Going to the bookstore to pick up Inkheart (recall I’m a big geek-reader and generally, when a new movie comes out that was based on a book, I ignore the movie and read the book instead - it's always better), and walking out with Searching for the Sound for $1.89.Score!
My new Ipod Touch.This was the best kind of Christmas gift.The kind that I had no idea that I even wanted, but as it turns out - I really, really did.It’s awesome having the music I love – the music you never, ever hear on the radio – at my fingertips:
My job.I know I’m a bit of a Pollyanna about Awesome Company, but I swear – they really are awesome.I love what I do, I love what our company does, I love my bosses.I work with a group of really smart, fun, kind, funny, wonderful people and I am well aware of how lucky I am.If I ever feel even slightly jaded about things here, all I have to do is remind myself of my last job and I snap out of it.While I had a few coworkers who were really great, I also worked amid some of the fucked up weirdoes I have ever met (and not the good kind of weird fucked-up-ed-ness, either).There was cattiness, overly competitive bullshit, way too much gossip, way too little money, and the worst boss, ever.He was snobby, cheap, and an asshole.At a Christmas party at his house (which he spent the previous year telling us all what he paid for it “in cash”), he had two different “levels” of liquor.One for him, his wife, and a couple other bigwigs (which included a couple selections of red and white wine and some decent liquor, served in nice glasses), and another for the rest of us (big jugs of low end screw-top wine, and such liquor selections as Popov vodka, served in plastic) Also – don’t get me wrong – if I come to your house and you serve me any of those selections, I will happily and graciously drink them.But if you have better stuff and don’t think I am good enough for it, you’re an asshole.And really, I can sum up the kind of guy he is in one sentence:he has been heard introducing his children as “My biological son and my adopted daughter”.
Snow!I want more!
Having a viola player entertain us on Christmas Eve.So cool.
Family:
Weird family:
The fact that this didn’t happen at my house:
Cousins:
Girls with guitars:
New Year's Eve:
Shortly after this, we serenaded the entire neighborhood with "The Greatest Love of All", and announced that George Benson is the best and Whitney is a crack whore. So to those residents of South Fayette who got to enjoy our performance: You're welcome.
Things that make me unhappy:
Traffic during snow season.The normal Pittsburgh nightmare of driving with the Asshole Traffic Brigade reaches new lows of ballsuckery during snow season.
Having one’s “class clown” reputation overshadow ones intelligence or compassion or authority.It sucks.I can be silly and goofy and a little bit of a hothead, and still be smart and kind and in control.And just because I joke around a lot doesn’t mean that I don’t have feelings that can be hurt.
The fact that the fuckbucket dog knocked maple syrup onto my carpet and his brother, the fucknugget cat tracked it all around.
Ending on an unhappy note, so I will go back to things that make me happy:
The fact that my SILs are coming down on Saturday for our monthly drunkover.Yay!I’m so blessed to have these wonderful women in my life.Being an only child, suddenly having sisters means the world to me.I know so many people who dread in-law time and I know how lucky I am.I now have six sisters-on-law, and a whole slew of nieces and nephews who get a huge kick out of being my age or older and calling me Aunt Gina ( I have to keep reminding them that their uncle robbed the cradle).There are even great and great-great nieces and nephews.It’s awesome.Also awesome?My SIL Weenie and niece Scabs, who indulge my nonsense:
I gave them these for Christmas and told them they were appropriate whether we were together or apart.
It’s a good day.I haven’t had much to say lately, so I was planning on jumping on the “what makes me happy” meme bandwagon. And of course, the first thing is pretty obvious and deserves its own post.
I am happy about a New President. And not just a new president, but a better one. A good man.A historic day.It’s a day where those of us who have been embarrassed of our leader and his decisions can stand up a little taller and be proud once again for what we have done.Instead of reminding the world that “No, sorry – we didn’t even elect him!”, we can shout, “Yes! YES, WE DID!”
It’s both funny and sad, really, because while he is being celebrated today, the harsh scrutiny will be starting very soon. He’s got a hell of a job ahead of him, and things aren’t going to change overnight. It’s going to take a whole lot of work, and a whole lot of heartache, and a whole lot of headaches. And we need to remember that he’s the president and not our Fairy Godfather. He doesn’t have a magic wand.And it will take work and time and sacrifice on our part, too.He can’t do it alone.
Think of it this way:Let’s say some guy moved into your backyard 8 years ago. And let’s say this guy brought a shovel and spent every minute of those last 8 years digging a hole back there. That’s a pretty big hole.And then one day that guy moves out and you hire a new guy to fill in the hole. And all he has is the same shovel.That hole isn’t getting filled overnight.
So be patient with him, he’s got a big job ahead of him.
As far as grandparents were concerned, I was a lucky kid. When I was born, I had 2 grandmothers, a grandfather, a step-grandfather, a great-grandfather, and two great-grandmothers.I lost two of the “greats” when I was really little, so while I remember them a little bit, I don’t remember their passing.So my first real loss was when my great grandma (Nana) died when I was a teenager.I took her death really hard.At the time, I remember feeling like the pain would never go away, that I would never stop crying myself to sleep at night.And it took a long time, but eventually I did.Even after that, it was years before I stopped crying almost every time I thought of her.I still miss her today, but it’s less a sharp stick in the heart and more of a good memory kind of thing.
In my early twenties, my step-grandfather died, and I was sad, but it wasn’t as devastating as losing Nana.
When I got married, I had three grandparents dancing at my wedding.And when the boy was born, I had three grandparents taking care of him for me.He spent three days a week with Grammy and Pap (my paternal grandparents) and two days a week with Baba (my maternal grandmother).When he was about two or so, Baba had a stroke that left her still pretty healthy, and able to live on her own, but unable to care for the boy.But it was OK – she was fine, and he still had her in his life.
Around that same time, Pap died.It was kind of sudden, though not entirely unexpected, as he was in his 90’s.It happened quickly, which was good, because I couldn’t have stood to see him suffer and linger.He died the strong, vital man that he was all his life.He went to the hospital and we arranged to bring the boy in to see him (they adored each other.It took a couple of days and Pap was over the moon when we showed up with him.And then, as if he were waiting for that last chance to see his favorite person in the whole worked, Pap was gone.
I worried about Grammy, but having the boy with her all the time helped her.She was still strong and vital and extremely healthy and happy (if a little clumsy – I come by it naturally).She still watched him for me most days.He started pre-school, so on those days, I would drop him of at my parents’ house and on the others, I would drop him at Grammy’s.One day, I got to my parents house at around 7:00am and my dad’s truck wasn’t there.He could have gone to the store, or to get gas, or to and early appointment, or breakfast with a friend, or to get coffee.But somehow, I knew that he wasn’t doing any of those things.I knew right away that something was wrong.I sat in the car for a few minutes, dreading what I was about to hear.When I walked in the house, my mom pulled me aside and told me that my dad went to Grammy’s and that they were heading to the hospital.
I got to the hospital and found them in the ER.It turned out that my beautiful, vital. Healthy grandma had a stroke.She was feeling terrible, but she was lucid and was glad to see me.Being Grammy, she apologized for not being able to take care of the boy that afternoon.I told her don’t be silly.I hugged her and kissed her and told her she was going to be fine.I held her hand and held the basin while she threw up.And all the while, I knew she would be fine.After a while, I left to go grab a drink and while I was in the snack bar, she had another stroke. When I came back she was gone.She was still alive – her body was alive.But she was gone.She lingered for about a week and a half while we grieved and cried and made terrible, agonizing decisions. It was the worst time of my life.When she died, I was terribly sad, but I was ready.We all were, because we lost our sweet Grammy about 10 days before.
Years have passed since I have lost these two wonderful people, but they are always with me.In my thoughts, my memories.Sometimes I feel like they are just at the edge of my vision.I don’t dream about them though.I wish I could, because it would be like having them back again, if only for a few moments as I sleep.I dreamed about Pap once.He was standing right over my shoulder and he told me he was right here, that he always had been.And he told me in his own voice, and not in the electronic voice that he had used for years due to a laryngectomy.
Sometimes, when I am out, I will hear someone speaking with the electric voice and it takes my breath away.Because even thought they mainly all sound alike, to me, that was his voice and I swear I am hearing him, in the post office, or just one aisle over in wal-mart.
And sometimes I see Grammy, or I think I do.She had beautiful white hair, and sometimes, as I am walking down the street, or in the grocery store, or in the airport, I catch a glimpse of snow white hair and it stops me in my tracks.I’ll find myself thinking “Turn around”, because for a second it’s her and I want to see her face.And then I find myself thinking “Don’t turn around” because I know it’s not and I can’t bear losing her again.
Sometimes, I will follow behind, allowing myself to pretend that it is her and that I’m just walking a bit behind her, perhaps having stopped to wait for one of the kids, or tie someone’s shoe, but with confidence that I will catch up and it will be her. That she’ll smile at me and call me a slowpoke for getting behind, and we’ll laugh.And she’ll take each child by the hand and we’ll walk off together.Two women and two children, and not simply one woman with a little piece of her heart missing, a memory of white hair, and a bittersweet wish she knows can’t come true.
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I'll resume my Christmas: Fail giveaways next post. This didn't really feel like a giveaway type story.
Don't forget - there's still plenty of time to enter the Planet Earth DVD contest. I'll be adding a new contest post later this week.
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Look at me here all bright and early! What's up with that? I don't know, but it may have something to do with not avoiding work and not wanting to think about getting the girl ready and picking up her friend and driving to pre-school and running the gauntlet of snotty moms. yeah - that's probably it.
Anyway, I have a winner for the Valentine-y prize, and randomizer tells me:
I know, I’m late getting this up, but I was wrapped up all weekend with baby shower stuff. Friday I spent the night finishing it up and all day Saturday was spent either getting ready for the shower, setting up for it, actually having it, cleaning up or schlepping gifts back the her house. So this is the first chance I had. Plus I tried to do it earlier, but my mouse died and I am passionately anti-touchpad. I love that tiny mouse.
Aaaaaanyway…After adding extra “dummy” for those who left asshole stories, the randomizer tells me that hockamama is the winner:
So hockamama, email me your info at sugarmag(at)live(dot)com, and I will get your prize out this week. Yay!
Now on to the next prize. This one is - I think – really awesome, but there’s a catch.
There are certain movies and TV shows that, if I come across them, I have to watch, no matter how many times I have seen them or at what point in the program I happen to come along.
As for movies, they include Dirty Dancing, Steel Magnolias (though I sometimes turn it off just before the sad stuff), Turner and Hooch (because I love that damned dog), Dances with Wolves, Gettysburg (which isn;’t something I come across often since I may be the only fan), the Lord of the Rings movies, the Harry Potter movies, Monty Python and the Holy Grail, and The Jerk (I know we've only known each other four weeks and three days, but to me it seems like nine weeks and five days. The first day seemed like a week and the second day seemed like five days. And the third day seemed like a week again and the fourth day seemed like eight days. And the fifth day you went to see your mother and that seemed just like a day, and then you came back and later on the sixth day, in the evening, when we saw each other, that started seeming like two days, so in the evening it seemed like two days spilling over into the next day and that started seeming like four days, so at the end of the sixth day on into the seventh day, it seemed like a total of five days. And the sixth day seemed like a week and a half. I have it written down, but I can show it to you tomorrow if you want to see it.)
There aren’t as many TV shows, but there are a few. Like The Office. Or It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia. I’m a little ashamed to admit that I often can’t resist cracking myself up over Beverly Hills 90210 (the original, of course). Butt he the TV programs I am most addicted to are more educational. The first is Ken Burns’ Civil War. When that originally aired, I was glued to the TV for a week straight, getting lost in the stories and the photos and the haunting music of the era. I cried hearing the Gettysburg address read so eloquently by Sam Waterston and the incredibly beautiful letter written by Major Sullivan Ballou to his wife had me practically in pieces by “ and if there be a soft breeze upon your cheek, it shall be my breath; or the cool air fans your throbbing temple, it shall be my spirit passing by.” Now that I find myself thinking about it, I want to watch it yet again. I must own this DVD set soon.
The other program I am unable to resist is Planet Earth. In case you have been living I a cave for the last year or so and haven’t heard of it, Planet Earth is an 11 part series on the Discovery Channel, that is about… well…Planet Earth. Everything from mountains and oceans and deserts and glaciers. It covers just about every part of the planet and the plants and animals that live in them. The cinematography is breathtaking, and I find myself disappointed when each episode is over. I can watch them over and over again.
So imagine my excitement when I ended up with the DVD set at a holiday gift exchange. And then imagine my disappointment when I discovered that it was on HD. Because I can’t play HD DVDs. Because I am technologically challenged (I mean, dude – a dead mouse threw me off for hours today). And due to some strange circumstances, it couldn’t be exchanged (no – it wasn’t stolen).
So – if you have an HD DVD player (or know someone else who does) and would like to have this awesome series, just leave me a comment and tell me what movies or TV shows you can’t click past.
First off - don't forget to enter the giveaway for the Coldstone Creamery contest. It's open until Saturday. And there's a new one today.
************************ 1. Among people you know, who seems to be lucky in love?
Holy shit, I can’t think of anyone – how sad is that. I mean, I know people who seem happy, but most of my friends and relatives are – while not necessarily unhappy – basically just OK. I don’t think I know anyone (well) who is ,wildly happy and in love. I figure it’s partly because we, as women, tend to vent with each other, so we hear about the crappy stuff a lot. And also because I am really jaded.
2. Among people you know, who seems to be lucky with money?
Again – hahahahahahahahahahaha!
3. Among people you know, who’s lucky to be alive?
Mr. B, without a doubt. For those of you who didn’t know me back when, in August of 2004, mr b was in an accident on the job. He fell off a roof and shattered both heels. There were surgeries and lots of rehab and way too long a stay in a nursing home and hospital beds and portable toilets and months of wheelchair confinement, and a period of time where he couldn’t even ride in a car (and thank god for some friends who owned a wheelchair fitted van), and depression, and me all alone with an infant and a young child, and crutches and walkers and canes. And it was awful. Here’s some of what I wrote about it back then:
“5 Seconds. That's about how long it took from the shift of the plywood and the man on the ground. He was squatting on a steep roof, putting down the plywood and he simply started sliding. There was no fault, no trip, no loss of balance, just a sudden sense of movement and he was going over. He fell straight down and landed square on his feet. He's lucky not to be paralyzed. He's lucky to be alive. I'm lucky. But it still sucks. Gravity worked and he fell and things changed.”
So that pretty much answers that.
4. Among people you know, who seems to have the worst luck?
Any of my sisters-in-law will do – go ahead, pick one. Those poor women have all been through the wringer at times.
5. What kinds of good-luck charms do you own or carry?
None – I’m not particularly superstitious. Although I used to consider myself pretty lucky. I have won quite a few radio contests and a few big raffles when I was a kid. But that luck seems to have burned itself completely out now.
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OK, today's giveaway is for the girls - the little ones, that is. Just in time for Valentine's Day, I have an assortment of Valentine stickers, crafts, , some Valentine colored bath confetti and sparkly little notebooks, as well as a tiny High School Musical keyboard and a couple of princess crafts.
Leave me a comment and tell me if you are a Valentine's Day celebrator, or if - like me - you couldn't give a particular shit.
I wanted to do some giveaways before Christmas, but things got crazy at work and I only managed to get one done. So I am going to pretend that Christmas isn't actually over and make up for it now with a few small giveaways over my next few posts.
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A couple of days before Christmas, I was shopping in Target and I had an encounter with a Parent from Hell. Being that it was at the height of the Christmas craziness, you can imagine how packed the store was, so it was a bit of a task to navigate around without bumping anyone. As I was coming though the aisle of children's books, there was a man there with his son, who appeared to be a special needs child. The son looked to be about 13 or so – a pretty big kid.
The father was standing there while his son was sprawled across the floor of the aisle, reading a book. Being the age and size that he was, he took up pretty much the whole aisle (perhaps not the best idea on December 22nd). I would have gone backwards out of the aisle, but I couldn’t because there were people behind me. So I said excuse me and started to make my way through. The dad moved out of my way, but he didn’t have his son move at all. I had just enough space to get through and as I passed (quite slowly, to be careful), the boy shot his foot out and the front wheel of my shopping cart bumped the bottom of his shoe lightly and moved his foot a couple inches.
Just as I was pulling my cart backwards and saying, “I’m sorry”, the guy screamed at me, “Hey! Watch Out! WATCH OUT! WATCH OUT! WATCH OUT!” Then he grabbed the side of the cart, picked it up and threw it. The cart flew about two feet, puling me with it. It’s rare that I am ever rendered speechless, but by god, this guy managed to do it, so congratulations, asshole! I stood there for a minute, looking at him, all while he very pointedly refused to look at me. And then I finally just said, “Really? That’s seriously what you have decided is an appropriate action for a minor thing that wasn’t even my fault? (more refusing to look at me) OK, then, well…Happy Holidays!”
And then I went to the checkout line where the ratio of customers to open cashiers was 268,340,761, 542 : 1. And then I waited in line for a million hours and died 16 times of frustration and 87 times of boredom and paid too much for stuff I wasn’t even sure I wanted in the first place and then I went and got ice cream.
So today’s giveaway prize is a $15 gift card to Cold Stone Creamery, where the fresh cream ice cream mixed with…oh anything…makes me forget all about assholes for short time.
To enter, leave me a comment and tell me what is your favorite thing at Cold Stone Creamery. Or, tell me a story about an asshole like the one above and get two entries. I’ll keep it open until Saturday.
I have learned that, as my family always used to say, Little Pitchers Have Big Ears. Especially when you are swearing, almost swearing, making stupid potty jokes about the dog’s ass, or telling horribly embarrassing stories. To wit:
Forty-sdjhfkjsdhfkjsdh year old mom of 2 - a 15 year old boy and a 8 year old girl. I love them very much, but they drive me crazy. I'm married and work full-time. I'm not sure which of these is the most exhausting, but probably the husband.
I'm opinionated. I'm outspoken. I'm loud. I'm an over-sharer. I think Tom Cruise is a jackass. I like to say jackass. I like to swear, period. Fuckers.
I love to read. I struggle with my weight. I love my job. I dress my pets up and ridicule them regularly. I am not afraid to cut my hair and I don't understand people who are. I hate getting old. I love to laugh. Make me laugh, OK?
