Despite the fact that our 2nd Kid just developed the incredible exploding butt (stomach flu is ravaging the family), my husband found the time to find me this to share with you all.
People, consider your tattoos carefully please.
Friday, August 31, 2007
Tattoo Choices
Despite the fact that our 2nd Kid just developed the incredible exploding butt (stomach flu is ravaging the family), my husband found the time to find me this to share with you all.
People, consider your tattoos carefully please.
People, consider your tattoos carefully please.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
He's a Better Mommy Than Me
When my husband asked me out, he started the conversation by asking if I'd ever dated a cook. I think that he had no intention of being my cook for life, but here we are 10 years later and guess who is the cook in the house? Yeah you've heard it before.
He's also a Stay At Home Dad.
And I'm not sure how this qualifies as NOT BEING A JOB but to hear anyone who we tell that this is what he does, apparently he doesn't work.
He doesn't care for our children all day. He isn't the one who taught them everything, from sitting up and rolling over to walking and talking. He isn't the one who changes diapers all day, who makes sure we read enough books, who balances the meals. He isn't the one who goes into the puke covered bedroom while I take the child away to wash, cleaning puke out of the crevices and nooks and crannies. He surely didn't just spend this morning cleaning poop out of the four corners of the kids room because the stomach flu that is ravaging our house caused one kids diaper to explode in the wee hours.
Tell a stay at home mom she doesn't work, and the forces of FEMINISM would rally in force. There would be hundreds of posts SCREECHING sexism if a Stay at Home Mom was asked "When was she going to get a real job" plus about 100 comments on "that's right and one time THIS HAPPENED TO ME X Y Z...."
But tell a man he's supposed get a job, and no one says much of anything.
Guess what folks?
He works hard. Sit next to me in a restaurant. At the end of your meal when you suddenly realize that there are 3 children 4 and under sitting next to you that you never heard a peep out of, it's because of HIM. Go anywhere with us, amazed at how these little rats behave? It's because their primary caregiver has HIGH expectations and parents effectively.
And he's their DAD.
I'm a little ashamed to admit it, but he IS a better Mommy that me. He's more consistent. He sets boundaries. He provides routine and balance. I'm like a "traditional" dad - bring me my drink and if no one is dead I'm okay with it.
But the next person who says he doesn't work is going to get a screaming rant of
SEXISM tossed at them by this post-feminist believer.
He's also a Stay At Home Dad.
And I'm not sure how this qualifies as NOT BEING A JOB but to hear anyone who we tell that this is what he does, apparently he doesn't work.
He doesn't care for our children all day. He isn't the one who taught them everything, from sitting up and rolling over to walking and talking. He isn't the one who changes diapers all day, who makes sure we read enough books, who balances the meals. He isn't the one who goes into the puke covered bedroom while I take the child away to wash, cleaning puke out of the crevices and nooks and crannies. He surely didn't just spend this morning cleaning poop out of the four corners of the kids room because the stomach flu that is ravaging our house caused one kids diaper to explode in the wee hours.
Tell a stay at home mom she doesn't work, and the forces of FEMINISM would rally in force. There would be hundreds of posts SCREECHING sexism if a Stay at Home Mom was asked "When was she going to get a real job" plus about 100 comments on "that's right and one time THIS HAPPENED TO ME X Y Z...."
But tell a man he's supposed get a job, and no one says much of anything.
Guess what folks?
He works hard. Sit next to me in a restaurant. At the end of your meal when you suddenly realize that there are 3 children 4 and under sitting next to you that you never heard a peep out of, it's because of HIM. Go anywhere with us, amazed at how these little rats behave? It's because their primary caregiver has HIGH expectations and parents effectively.
And he's their DAD.
I'm a little ashamed to admit it, but he IS a better Mommy that me. He's more consistent. He sets boundaries. He provides routine and balance. I'm like a "traditional" dad - bring me my drink and if no one is dead I'm okay with it.
But the next person who says he doesn't work is going to get a screaming rant of
SEXISM tossed at them by this post-feminist believer.
He's a Better Mommy Than Me
When my husband asked me out, he started the conversation by asking if I'd ever dated a cook. I think that he had no intention of being my cook for life, but here we are 10 years later and guess who is the cook in the house? Yeah you've heard it before.
He's also a Stay At Home Dad.
And I'm not sure how this qualifies as NOT BEING A JOB but to hear anyone who we tell that this is what he does, apparently he doesn't work.
He doesn't care for our children all day. He isn't the one who taught them everything, from sitting up and rolling over to walking and talking. He isn't the one who changes diapers all day, who makes sure we read enough books, who balances the meals. He isn't the one who goes into the puke covered bedroom while I take the child away to wash, cleaning puke out of the crevices and nooks and crannies. He surely didn't just spend this morning cleaning poop out of the four corners of the kids room because the stomach flu that is ravaging our house caused one kids diaper to explode in the wee hours.
Tell a stay at home mom she doesn't work, and the forces of FEMINISM would rally in force. There would be hundreds of posts SCREECHING sexism if a Stay at Home Mom was asked "When was she going to get a real job" plus about 100 comments on "that's right and one time THIS HAPPENED TO ME X Y Z...."
But tell a man he's supposed get a job, and no one says much of anything.
Guess what folks?
He works hard. Sit next to me in a restaurant. At the end of your meal when you suddenly realize that there are 3 children 4 and under sitting next to you that you never heard a peep out of, it's because of HIM. Go anywhere with us, amazed at how these little rats behave? It's because their primary caregiver has HIGH expectations and parents effectively.
And he's their DAD.
I'm a little ashamed to admit it, but he IS a better Mommy that me. He's more consistent. He sets boundaries. He provides routine and balance. I'm like a "traditional" dad - bring me my drink and if no one is dead I'm okay with it.
But the next person who says he doesn't work is going to get a screaming rant of
SEXISM tossed at them by this post-feminist believer.
He's also a Stay At Home Dad.
And I'm not sure how this qualifies as NOT BEING A JOB but to hear anyone who we tell that this is what he does, apparently he doesn't work.
He doesn't care for our children all day. He isn't the one who taught them everything, from sitting up and rolling over to walking and talking. He isn't the one who changes diapers all day, who makes sure we read enough books, who balances the meals. He isn't the one who goes into the puke covered bedroom while I take the child away to wash, cleaning puke out of the crevices and nooks and crannies. He surely didn't just spend this morning cleaning poop out of the four corners of the kids room because the stomach flu that is ravaging our house caused one kids diaper to explode in the wee hours.
Tell a stay at home mom she doesn't work, and the forces of FEMINISM would rally in force. There would be hundreds of posts SCREECHING sexism if a Stay at Home Mom was asked "When was she going to get a real job" plus about 100 comments on "that's right and one time THIS HAPPENED TO ME X Y Z...."
But tell a man he's supposed get a job, and no one says much of anything.
Guess what folks?
He works hard. Sit next to me in a restaurant. At the end of your meal when you suddenly realize that there are 3 children 4 and under sitting next to you that you never heard a peep out of, it's because of HIM. Go anywhere with us, amazed at how these little rats behave? It's because their primary caregiver has HIGH expectations and parents effectively.
And he's their DAD.
I'm a little ashamed to admit it, but he IS a better Mommy that me. He's more consistent. He sets boundaries. He provides routine and balance. I'm like a "traditional" dad - bring me my drink and if no one is dead I'm okay with it.
But the next person who says he doesn't work is going to get a screaming rant of
SEXISM tossed at them by this post-feminist believer.
Monday, August 27, 2007
To Bobby Meaux, One Year Later
I have put a lot of thought into what I was going to say today.
I didn't really come up with anything good.
I feel it's more important to make sure whatever occupies this space is about Bobby, not about me, and I think I'm too deeply engrossed in my own selfish grief to honestly write something like that.
But Porter helped me out. He sent me an email and said:
I need to send you a few “Bobbyisms”……
-Bacon and cheese make all food better
-Sometimes you gotta choke somebody to make an example for the rest of the team
-You try to sleep with every girl you date. If she does it, she is a whore, don’t go out with her again. If she won’t sleep with you, she has potential.
-You never drink lemon-lime Gatorade…especially if it’s warm.
-Rubbing someone’s ear can make anything better. Especially if they are virgin (un-pierced) ears.
-You know you’re team is going to have a good year if they have a few thugs playing for them. If you have too many “nice guys” your team is gonna suck.
-Michael Jackson is innocent.
Which reminded me that Bobby was one of the first people who didn't stare at me like I was insane when I told him I was going to name my son Louis. His response was "Oh HELL yeah, you gotta call him Louie. Because Louie is a guy who will always pick up the round when it's his turn."
To Bobby.
We miss you man.
I miss you.
I didn't really come up with anything good.
I feel it's more important to make sure whatever occupies this space is about Bobby, not about me, and I think I'm too deeply engrossed in my own selfish grief to honestly write something like that.
But Porter helped me out. He sent me an email and said:
I need to send you a few “Bobbyisms”……
-Bacon and cheese make all food better
-Sometimes you gotta choke somebody to make an example for the rest of the team
-You try to sleep with every girl you date. If she does it, she is a whore, don’t go out with her again. If she won’t sleep with you, she has potential.
-You never drink lemon-lime Gatorade…especially if it’s warm.
-Rubbing someone’s ear can make anything better. Especially if they are virgin (un-pierced) ears.
-You know you’re team is going to have a good year if they have a few thugs playing for them. If you have too many “nice guys” your team is gonna suck.
-Michael Jackson is innocent.
Which reminded me that Bobby was one of the first people who didn't stare at me like I was insane when I told him I was going to name my son Louis. His response was "Oh HELL yeah, you gotta call him Louie. Because Louie is a guy who will always pick up the round when it's his turn."
To Bobby.
We miss you man.
I miss you.
To Bobby Meaux, One Year Later
I have put a lot of thought into what I was going to say today.
I didn't really come up with anything good.
I feel it's more important to make sure whatever occupies this space is about Bobby, not about me, and I think I'm too deeply engrossed in my own selfish grief to honestly write something like that.
But Porter helped me out. He sent me an email and said:
I need to send you a few “Bobbyisms”……
-Bacon and cheese make all food better
-Sometimes you gotta choke somebody to make an example for the rest of the team
-You try to sleep with every girl you date. If she does it, she is a whore, don’t go out with her again. If she won’t sleep with you, she has potential.
-You never drink lemon-lime Gatorade…especially if it’s warm.
-Rubbing someone’s ear can make anything better. Especially if they are virgin (un-pierced) ears.
-You know you’re team is going to have a good year if they have a few thugs playing for them. If you have too many “nice guys” your team is gonna suck.
-Michael Jackson is innocent.
Which reminded me that Bobby was one of the first people who didn't stare at me like I was insane when I told him I was going to name my son Louis. His response was "Oh HELL yeah, you gotta call him Louie. Because Louie is a guy who will always pick up the round when it's his turn."
To Bobby.
We miss you man.
I miss you.
I didn't really come up with anything good.
I feel it's more important to make sure whatever occupies this space is about Bobby, not about me, and I think I'm too deeply engrossed in my own selfish grief to honestly write something like that.
But Porter helped me out. He sent me an email and said:
I need to send you a few “Bobbyisms”……
-Bacon and cheese make all food better
-Sometimes you gotta choke somebody to make an example for the rest of the team
-You try to sleep with every girl you date. If she does it, she is a whore, don’t go out with her again. If she won’t sleep with you, she has potential.
-You never drink lemon-lime Gatorade…especially if it’s warm.
-Rubbing someone’s ear can make anything better. Especially if they are virgin (un-pierced) ears.
-You know you’re team is going to have a good year if they have a few thugs playing for them. If you have too many “nice guys” your team is gonna suck.
-Michael Jackson is innocent.
Which reminded me that Bobby was one of the first people who didn't stare at me like I was insane when I told him I was going to name my son Louis. His response was "Oh HELL yeah, you gotta call him Louie. Because Louie is a guy who will always pick up the round when it's his turn."
To Bobby.
We miss you man.
I miss you.
Sunday, August 26, 2007
364 Days Ago
The world was a brighter place.
364 Days ago, a wedding was held, bags were packed for vacations, for honeymoons, for business trips. Plans were made. The future stretched out in front of the people on Flight 5191, and it was long.
But sometimes things don't work out. I've spent the last year trying to consider that no matter what happened to me, nothing in my life was that bad. And that I needed to appreciate time and people as though I might never have them again. Because sometimes - like 364 days ago - you think you have things that you really don't.
364 Days ago, a wedding was held, bags were packed for vacations, for honeymoons, for business trips. Plans were made. The future stretched out in front of the people on Flight 5191, and it was long.
But sometimes things don't work out. I've spent the last year trying to consider that no matter what happened to me, nothing in my life was that bad. And that I needed to appreciate time and people as though I might never have them again. Because sometimes - like 364 days ago - you think you have things that you really don't.
My friends and former colleagues at Galls bound together and have found a way to remember their dead. To honor our friend Bobby they sent me this picture and a note:
Gwen suggested we do something to remember him by, something special by us as a team. Hal (we call him Pappy) said "We should retire his cubicle. Nobody else can use his desk! Sorta like they do in the pro’s” to which most of us laughed because….well you just can’t do that at a corporation. A couple of days later Jennifer brought up the idea again but with a twist. She suggested we make a jersey with his name, favorite team, and put his cubicle number on it as a way to remember him. From there we went about the process of getting approval to retire his cubicle number complete with a small ceremony to commemorate the event. With the help of many other contributors the people you see pictured (left to right: Porter, Jennifer, Hal, Gwen, Brian) accomplished the task of preserving the memory our friend Bobby Meaux. "
You will have to excuse me if for the next few days, my posts aren't lighthearted and cheery. Although Bobby would not have wanted me to be a weeping mess I'm finding it harder and harder to push my sadness back out of my heart.
So let me just say this.
Bobby I miss you, man.
And somebody should tell your mom she did a really good job. You were truly one of the best people I ever knew.
364 Days Ago
The world was a brighter place.
364 Days ago, a wedding was held, bags were packed for vacations, for honeymoons, for business trips. Plans were made. The future stretched out in front of the people on Flight 5191, and it was long.
But sometimes things don't work out. I've spent the last year trying to consider that no matter what happened to me, nothing in my life was that bad. And that I needed to appreciate time and people as though I might never have them again. Because sometimes - like 364 days ago - you think you have things that you really don't.
364 Days ago, a wedding was held, bags were packed for vacations, for honeymoons, for business trips. Plans were made. The future stretched out in front of the people on Flight 5191, and it was long.
But sometimes things don't work out. I've spent the last year trying to consider that no matter what happened to me, nothing in my life was that bad. And that I needed to appreciate time and people as though I might never have them again. Because sometimes - like 364 days ago - you think you have things that you really don't.
My friends and former colleagues at Galls bound together and have found a way to remember their dead. To honor our friend Bobby they sent me this picture and a note:
Gwen suggested we do something to remember him by, something special by us as a team. Hal (we call him Pappy) said "We should retire his cubicle. Nobody else can use his desk! Sorta like they do in the pro’s” to which most of us laughed because….well you just can’t do that at a corporation. A couple of days later Jennifer brought up the idea again but with a twist. She suggested we make a jersey with his name, favorite team, and put his cubicle number on it as a way to remember him. From there we went about the process of getting approval to retire his cubicle number complete with a small ceremony to commemorate the event. With the help of many other contributors the people you see pictured (left to right: Porter, Jennifer, Hal, Gwen, Brian) accomplished the task of preserving the memory our friend Bobby Meaux. "
You will have to excuse me if for the next few days, my posts aren't lighthearted and cheery. Although Bobby would not have wanted me to be a weeping mess I'm finding it harder and harder to push my sadness back out of my heart.
So let me just say this.
Bobby I miss you, man.
And somebody should tell your mom she did a really good job. You were truly one of the best people I ever knew.
Saturday, August 25, 2007
What Color is Your Kiss?
| Your Kiss is Orange |
 For you, kissing is all about pushing the envelope. You're a wild kisser. And you don't have to know someone all that well to kiss them. (You figure that's how you'll get to know one another!) While you may be impulsive with who you kiss, there's nothing random about your kissing technique. Kissing Type: Unconventional People See Your Kisses as: Intoxicating You Kiss Best With: A Red Kisser Stay away from: A Pink Kisser |
What Color is Your Kiss?
| Your Kiss is Orange |
For you, kissing is all about pushing the envelope. You're a wild kisser. And you don't have to know someone all that well to kiss them. (You figure that's how you'll get to know one another!) While you may be impulsive with who you kiss, there's nothing random about your kissing technique. Kissing Type: Unconventional People See Your Kisses as: Intoxicating You Kiss Best With: A Red Kisser Stay away from: A Pink Kisser |
And One For My Homies........
My friend has suggested the following gang sign greeting for all of us bloggers.
Everyone practice - this one you have to WANT!
MAD PROPS to Scott for the BLOG sign, dog! You're one whack boyeeeee! Ahhhhight? Check it out!
Everyone practice - this one you have to WANT!
MAD PROPS to Scott for the BLOG sign, dog! You're one whack boyeeeee! Ahhhhight? Check it out!
And One For My Homies........
My friend has suggested the following gang sign greeting for all of us bloggers.
Everyone practice - this one you have to WANT!
MAD PROPS to Scott for the BLOG sign, dog! You're one whack boyeeeee! Ahhhhight? Check it out!
Everyone practice - this one you have to WANT!
MAD PROPS to Scott for the BLOG sign, dog! You're one whack boyeeeee! Ahhhhight? Check it out!
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
The Girl My Brother Married
About 3 1/2 years ago I was hugely pregnant with twins, and I took Lil Satchmo on a plane to spend a few days at my parents house. We spent our days helping grandpa in the yard, playing in the backyard kiddie pool and taking in all the sights around Indianapolis that a one year old boy could love.
It was a wonderful few days, hanging out doing this and that with family and friends who were then SO far away from me - 1000 miles to be exact - on a daily basis.
When I went home to the Husband, he asked how my trip was. I told him it was great, and "I met the girl Matt is going to marry."
Now they didn't know it at the time.
But I did.
I knew the first time I laid eyes on her. Tall, built like an amazon (not fat - but one of those people with genes built to conquer nations) like all the other women in his life. Strong, funny, and LOUD. My sister in law is loud when she laughs, she is loud when she is mad. She is alive and isn't afraid to let you know she is around.
I liked her immediately. My first strong memory of her is of us howling as my youngest brother tried to tell us about "The Magicians Club" he allegedly saw in LA. He said you couldn't go in because it was a secret club. To which we said "then how did you know about it?" We doubt it's existence to this day. As he tried more and more to EXPLAIN the magicians club his explanation made less and less sense. And we laughed at him more and more (PS if you belong to a Magicians Club in LA please let me know and we'll let him off the hook).
These days we blog together, we IM on and off throughout the day and we play Second Life together. I wish we lived closer, because I know we would go shopping and watch each others kids, have cook outs and visit over coffee and cakes.
Yesterday was their three year anniversary. I should probably have blogged about my brother, but he's a tool and he knows I love him. (Okay he's not a tool).
But I probably haven't ever told April I love her, or not told her recently. Or told her how happy I am that I was right, that she WAS the Girl that Matt Married.
Maybe sometimes you DO get to pick your family.
It was a wonderful few days, hanging out doing this and that with family and friends who were then SO far away from me - 1000 miles to be exact - on a daily basis.
When I went home to the Husband, he asked how my trip was. I told him it was great, and "I met the girl Matt is going to marry."
Now they didn't know it at the time.
But I did.
I knew the first time I laid eyes on her. Tall, built like an amazon (not fat - but one of those people with genes built to conquer nations) like all the other women in his life. Strong, funny, and LOUD. My sister in law is loud when she laughs, she is loud when she is mad. She is alive and isn't afraid to let you know she is around.
I liked her immediately. My first strong memory of her is of us howling as my youngest brother tried to tell us about "The Magicians Club" he allegedly saw in LA. He said you couldn't go in because it was a secret club. To which we said "then how did you know about it?" We doubt it's existence to this day. As he tried more and more to EXPLAIN the magicians club his explanation made less and less sense. And we laughed at him more and more (PS if you belong to a Magicians Club in LA please let me know and we'll let him off the hook).
These days we blog together, we IM on and off throughout the day and we play Second Life together. I wish we lived closer, because I know we would go shopping and watch each others kids, have cook outs and visit over coffee and cakes.
Yesterday was their three year anniversary. I should probably have blogged about my brother, but he's a tool and he knows I love him. (Okay he's not a tool).
But I probably haven't ever told April I love her, or not told her recently. Or told her how happy I am that I was right, that she WAS the Girl that Matt Married.
Maybe sometimes you DO get to pick your family.
The Girl My Brother Married
About 3 1/2 years ago I was hugely pregnant with twins, and I took Lil Satchmo on a plane to spend a few days at my parents house. We spent our days helping grandpa in the yard, playing in the backyard kiddie pool and taking in all the sights around Indianapolis that a one year old boy could love.
It was a wonderful few days, hanging out doing this and that with family and friends who were then SO far away from me - 1000 miles to be exact - on a daily basis.
When I went home to the Husband, he asked how my trip was. I told him it was great, and "I met the girl Matt is going to marry."
Now they didn't know it at the time.
But I did.
I knew the first time I laid eyes on her. Tall, built like an amazon (not fat - but one of those people with genes built to conquer nations) like all the other women in his life. Strong, funny, and LOUD. My sister in law is loud when she laughs, she is loud when she is mad. She is alive and isn't afraid to let you know she is around.
I liked her immediately. My first strong memory of her is of us howling as my youngest brother tried to tell us about "The Magicians Club" he allegedly saw in LA. He said you couldn't go in because it was a secret club. To which we said "then how did you know about it?" We doubt it's existence to this day. As he tried more and more to EXPLAIN the magicians club his explanation made less and less sense. And we laughed at him more and more (PS if you belong to a Magicians Club in LA please let me know and we'll let him off the hook).
These days we blog together, we IM on and off throughout the day and we play Second Life together. I wish we lived closer, because I know we would go shopping and watch each others kids, have cook outs and visit over coffee and cakes.
Yesterday was their three year anniversary. I should probably have blogged about my brother, but he's a tool and he knows I love him. (Okay he's not a tool).
But I probably haven't ever told April I love her, or not told her recently. Or told her how happy I am that I was right, that she WAS the Girl that Matt Married.
Maybe sometimes you DO get to pick your family.
It was a wonderful few days, hanging out doing this and that with family and friends who were then SO far away from me - 1000 miles to be exact - on a daily basis.
When I went home to the Husband, he asked how my trip was. I told him it was great, and "I met the girl Matt is going to marry."
Now they didn't know it at the time.
But I did.
I knew the first time I laid eyes on her. Tall, built like an amazon (not fat - but one of those people with genes built to conquer nations) like all the other women in his life. Strong, funny, and LOUD. My sister in law is loud when she laughs, she is loud when she is mad. She is alive and isn't afraid to let you know she is around.
I liked her immediately. My first strong memory of her is of us howling as my youngest brother tried to tell us about "The Magicians Club" he allegedly saw in LA. He said you couldn't go in because it was a secret club. To which we said "then how did you know about it?" We doubt it's existence to this day. As he tried more and more to EXPLAIN the magicians club his explanation made less and less sense. And we laughed at him more and more (PS if you belong to a Magicians Club in LA please let me know and we'll let him off the hook).
These days we blog together, we IM on and off throughout the day and we play Second Life together. I wish we lived closer, because I know we would go shopping and watch each others kids, have cook outs and visit over coffee and cakes.
Yesterday was their three year anniversary. I should probably have blogged about my brother, but he's a tool and he knows I love him. (Okay he's not a tool).
But I probably haven't ever told April I love her, or not told her recently. Or told her how happy I am that I was right, that she WAS the Girl that Matt Married.
Maybe sometimes you DO get to pick your family.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
No, I Don't Know Where You Are
Many of you may know that I'm famous for my panic attacks when I am lost. If I am lost, it's on. Sweats, heart races, shakes, tears, etc. I can't BE lost.
I also can't help YOU navigate. You are on your own.
As part of my job, I have to give directions sometimes.
Which works well.......until you start asking me stuff that isn't on my list of reference points handily provided by the company.
"What if I'm coming from Old Hillbilly Ferry?" ummmmmmmm???? "Well I turned at the Snotgrass expressway which highway do I take" ummmmmmmoooooohhhhh sweats start...."Now are you north or south of me?" ooooooh God stop asking me questions.........
I can't do it.
I can't give you directions.
I start to panic. I don't know where you are. Then I start feeling like I don't know where I am. And I don't know where I am in relation to you - and I'm lost. I'm not really lost. I'm sitting at my desk. But in relationship to the map and the world in general.....the heart is pounding and I nearly want to cry. I try the whole "I'm not from here" thing but no one ever seems to get it. I know now how foreigners feel because people universally speak SLOWER to me when I say that.
Speaking slower doesn't help me. I don't know where you are.
I don't know where I am.
This is my home but I don't know where I am.
And guess what, I don't know where you are either. MAPQUEST people. MAPQUEST.
I also can't help YOU navigate. You are on your own.
As part of my job, I have to give directions sometimes.
Which works well.......until you start asking me stuff that isn't on my list of reference points handily provided by the company.
"What if I'm coming from Old Hillbilly Ferry?" ummmmmmmm???? "Well I turned at the Snotgrass expressway which highway do I take" ummmmmmmoooooohhhhh sweats start...."Now are you north or south of me?" ooooooh God stop asking me questions.........
I can't do it.
I can't give you directions.
I start to panic. I don't know where you are. Then I start feeling like I don't know where I am. And I don't know where I am in relation to you - and I'm lost. I'm not really lost. I'm sitting at my desk. But in relationship to the map and the world in general.....the heart is pounding and I nearly want to cry. I try the whole "I'm not from here" thing but no one ever seems to get it. I know now how foreigners feel because people universally speak SLOWER to me when I say that.
Speaking slower doesn't help me. I don't know where you are.
I don't know where I am.
This is my home but I don't know where I am.
And guess what, I don't know where you are either. MAPQUEST people. MAPQUEST.
No, I Don't Know Where You Are
Many of you may know that I'm famous for my panic attacks when I am lost. If I am lost, it's on. Sweats, heart races, shakes, tears, etc. I can't BE lost.
I also can't help YOU navigate. You are on your own.
As part of my job, I have to give directions sometimes.
Which works well.......until you start asking me stuff that isn't on my list of reference points handily provided by the company.
"What if I'm coming from Old Hillbilly Ferry?" ummmmmmmm???? "Well I turned at the Snotgrass expressway which highway do I take" ummmmmmmoooooohhhhh sweats start...."Now are you north or south of me?" ooooooh God stop asking me questions.........
I can't do it.
I can't give you directions.
I start to panic. I don't know where you are. Then I start feeling like I don't know where I am. And I don't know where I am in relation to you - and I'm lost. I'm not really lost. I'm sitting at my desk. But in relationship to the map and the world in general.....the heart is pounding and I nearly want to cry. I try the whole "I'm not from here" thing but no one ever seems to get it. I know now how foreigners feel because people universally speak SLOWER to me when I say that.
Speaking slower doesn't help me. I don't know where you are.
I don't know where I am.
This is my home but I don't know where I am.
And guess what, I don't know where you are either. MAPQUEST people. MAPQUEST.
I also can't help YOU navigate. You are on your own.
As part of my job, I have to give directions sometimes.
Which works well.......until you start asking me stuff that isn't on my list of reference points handily provided by the company.
"What if I'm coming from Old Hillbilly Ferry?" ummmmmmmm???? "Well I turned at the Snotgrass expressway which highway do I take" ummmmmmmoooooohhhhh sweats start...."Now are you north or south of me?" ooooooh God stop asking me questions.........
I can't do it.
I can't give you directions.
I start to panic. I don't know where you are. Then I start feeling like I don't know where I am. And I don't know where I am in relation to you - and I'm lost. I'm not really lost. I'm sitting at my desk. But in relationship to the map and the world in general.....the heart is pounding and I nearly want to cry. I try the whole "I'm not from here" thing but no one ever seems to get it. I know now how foreigners feel because people universally speak SLOWER to me when I say that.
Speaking slower doesn't help me. I don't know where you are.
I don't know where I am.
This is my home but I don't know where I am.
And guess what, I don't know where you are either. MAPQUEST people. MAPQUEST.
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Return of the Fascii(tis)
So my foot hurts again.
A lot.
Just like BEFORE I got the shot from hell. Seems that sometimes these things require more than one treatment.
Can I be frank about something here? I was a trooper about the shot. I gave myself huge props for NOT sobbing like a baby or thrashing about or SCREAMING because that mofo HURT. A lot. But I sucked it up, I did what I had to do because I saw the end in sight. Kind of like when I once got done giving birth, and then I had to take a deep breath and do it JUST ONE MORE TIME to get the other one out.
I saw the end.
I took a breath and GOT THE SHOT.
And now, you're telling me I have to go do it again?
Son of a bitch.
As an aside if I don't get my period soon someone is going to die. Just an FYI for all those in the ATL. No I'm not pregnant I have MIRENA but this whole feeling like you are going to have it and then not having it thing is about to make me insane.
Totally unrelated ......but I'm jealous and feeling like bitching. I knew they had it good at Google.
I just didn't know they had it THIS good.
I have my own suggestion for THIS one.......which is worse, giving birth to twins or getting a shot of cortisone into the bottom of your foot..........(I am not exactly sure of my answer here, THAT is how bad the shot was). Hell I just emailed it to them.
I just ate a chocolate brownie sundae. And now I want a beer. Dammit I need to start my period.
Props to Linky and Dinky for those links. Funny stuff. Even the damn Google employee who I'd like to smack right about now.
A lot.
Just like BEFORE I got the shot from hell. Seems that sometimes these things require more than one treatment.
Can I be frank about something here? I was a trooper about the shot. I gave myself huge props for NOT sobbing like a baby or thrashing about or SCREAMING because that mofo HURT. A lot. But I sucked it up, I did what I had to do because I saw the end in sight. Kind of like when I once got done giving birth, and then I had to take a deep breath and do it JUST ONE MORE TIME to get the other one out.
I saw the end.
I took a breath and GOT THE SHOT.
And now, you're telling me I have to go do it again?
Son of a bitch.
As an aside if I don't get my period soon someone is going to die. Just an FYI for all those in the ATL. No I'm not pregnant I have MIRENA but this whole feeling like you are going to have it and then not having it thing is about to make me insane.
Totally unrelated ......but I'm jealous and feeling like bitching. I knew they had it good at Google.
I just didn't know they had it THIS good.
I have my own suggestion for THIS one.......which is worse, giving birth to twins or getting a shot of cortisone into the bottom of your foot..........(I am not exactly sure of my answer here, THAT is how bad the shot was). Hell I just emailed it to them.
I just ate a chocolate brownie sundae. And now I want a beer. Dammit I need to start my period.
Props to Linky and Dinky for those links. Funny stuff. Even the damn Google employee who I'd like to smack right about now.
Return of the Fascii(tis)
So my foot hurts again.
A lot.
Just like BEFORE I got the shot from hell. Seems that sometimes these things require more than one treatment.
Can I be frank about something here? I was a trooper about the shot. I gave myself huge props for NOT sobbing like a baby or thrashing about or SCREAMING because that mofo HURT. A lot. But I sucked it up, I did what I had to do because I saw the end in sight. Kind of like when I once got done giving birth, and then I had to take a deep breath and do it JUST ONE MORE TIME to get the other one out.
I saw the end.
I took a breath and GOT THE SHOT.
And now, you're telling me I have to go do it again?
Son of a bitch.
As an aside if I don't get my period soon someone is going to die. Just an FYI for all those in the ATL. No I'm not pregnant I have MIRENA but this whole feeling like you are going to have it and then not having it thing is about to make me insane.
Totally unrelated ......but I'm jealous and feeling like bitching. I knew they had it good at Google.
I just didn't know they had it THIS good.
I have my own suggestion for THIS one.......which is worse, giving birth to twins or getting a shot of cortisone into the bottom of your foot..........(I am not exactly sure of my answer here, THAT is how bad the shot was). Hell I just emailed it to them.
I just ate a chocolate brownie sundae. And now I want a beer. Dammit I need to start my period.
Props to Linky and Dinky for those links. Funny stuff. Even the damn Google employee who I'd like to smack right about now.
A lot.
Just like BEFORE I got the shot from hell. Seems that sometimes these things require more than one treatment.
Can I be frank about something here? I was a trooper about the shot. I gave myself huge props for NOT sobbing like a baby or thrashing about or SCREAMING because that mofo HURT. A lot. But I sucked it up, I did what I had to do because I saw the end in sight. Kind of like when I once got done giving birth, and then I had to take a deep breath and do it JUST ONE MORE TIME to get the other one out.
I saw the end.
I took a breath and GOT THE SHOT.
And now, you're telling me I have to go do it again?
Son of a bitch.
As an aside if I don't get my period soon someone is going to die. Just an FYI for all those in the ATL. No I'm not pregnant I have MIRENA but this whole feeling like you are going to have it and then not having it thing is about to make me insane.
Totally unrelated ......but I'm jealous and feeling like bitching. I knew they had it good at Google.
I just didn't know they had it THIS good.
I have my own suggestion for THIS one.......which is worse, giving birth to twins or getting a shot of cortisone into the bottom of your foot..........(I am not exactly sure of my answer here, THAT is how bad the shot was). Hell I just emailed it to them.
I just ate a chocolate brownie sundae. And now I want a beer. Dammit I need to start my period.
Props to Linky and Dinky for those links. Funny stuff. Even the damn Google employee who I'd like to smack right about now.
Saturday, August 18, 2007
It's MY Refrigerator When
This Picture from XTA is finally on it. Plus our other silly magnets and signs.
See the picture - of the thumb and forefinger - making the sort of "ok" sign?
She sent that to me about 15 years ago I swear.
That is Lake Michigan in the background.
Know how to play the game?
You do?
And you looked directly that the picture?
Well then! Please accept this digital *PUNCH* in the arm from me!
GOTCHA!!!!
It's MY Refrigerator When
This Picture from XTA is finally on it. Plus our other silly magnets and signs.
See the picture - of the thumb and forefinger - making the sort of "ok" sign?
She sent that to me about 15 years ago I swear.
That is Lake Michigan in the background.
Know how to play the game?
You do?
And you looked directly that the picture?
Well then! Please accept this digital *PUNCH* in the arm from me!
GOTCHA!!!!
Friday, August 17, 2007
And If You Can't Go Slow Dancing.........
with your husband in Real Life.
You can always take him dancing in Second Life. And you won't have to pay a sitter.
You can always take him dancing in Second Life. And you won't have to pay a sitter.
And If You Can't Go Slow Dancing.........
with your husband in Real Life.
You can always take him dancing in Second Life. And you won't have to pay a sitter.
You can always take him dancing in Second Life. And you won't have to pay a sitter.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
The Return of Family Dinner
We've established a new family rule.
Meals occur at the table.
No more mom blogging,reading blogs, downloading/uploading pics while two kids scarf down food in their high chairs as the other one eats in front of the TV and poor Dad is stuck finishing up some project.
Even Tacobell served around the dining room table is like a meal instead of just something you put into your mouth to survive. My husband pulled out this bread pan to serve them and our tacos seemed almost like a viable family meal option, vs fast food.
We talk. About our day. About our night. About our plans. And about the things we've been thinking about. We play music, and like to vary it every night. Last night was Classic Country "Don't come home a Drinkin' with lovin' on your mind!" and the night before that it was Light Classical (lotsa Mendelssohn on that station). We talk about the music we are listening to.
We talk.
As a family.
Tonight we'll be enjoying a little jazz, to honor the late Max Roach.
Family dinner, it's not just a marketing campaign to sell more boxed casseroles. Who knew?
The Return of Family Dinner
We've established a new family rule.
Meals occur at the table.
No more mom blogging,reading blogs, downloading/uploading pics while two kids scarf down food in their high chairs as the other one eats in front of the TV and poor Dad is stuck finishing up some project.
Even Tacobell served around the dining room table is like a meal instead of just something you put into your mouth to survive. My husband pulled out this bread pan to serve them and our tacos seemed almost like a viable family meal option, vs fast food.
We talk. About our day. About our night. About our plans. And about the things we've been thinking about. We play music, and like to vary it every night. Last night was Classic Country "Don't come home a Drinkin' with lovin' on your mind!" and the night before that it was Light Classical (lotsa Mendelssohn on that station). We talk about the music we are listening to.
We talk.
As a family.
Tonight we'll be enjoying a little jazz, to honor the late Max Roach.
Family dinner, it's not just a marketing campaign to sell more boxed casseroles. Who knew?
Sunday, August 12, 2007
The End of the Parenting Moral High Ground - At Least on This Subject
So I'm anti-gun.
Which is a little bit bullshit, because my dad always had a gun in the house and my grandpa had guns and I've known people who hunted and HELL Mrs Repressed and I had a .22 when we lived together.
What I am, is anti-gun near my children. Which again is a little bit bullshit, as far as the moral highground goes. It's sort of like being a smoker and saying my children can't smoke or joining the WTCU and swearing my children will never drink - while having a bloody mary at the country club (yeah Grandma Drake I mean you).
But I'm a product of Captain Kangaroo - and I heard "Remember boys and girls, only play with peace toys" way too often as a child to embrace weapons as toys or even as a presence in my home now that there are tiny humans living in it.
So as this NO-GUNS-AS-TOYS-MOM I've been resistant to the point of obstinacy when it comes to letting Lil Satchmo play any sort of shooter. Seems pretty reasonable of me, right? 4 1/2 year olds have no business PLAYING any sort of shooter in fact so I've felt pretty justified and self righteous denying him BIG BUCK HUNTER.
Or whatever the deer hunting game is called that he's begged me to play every time we entered an arcade for the past six months.
Which is ALSO fairly hypocritical of me, cuz people, I will shoot zombies or demons or whatever in your standard arcade shooter in a heartbeat (sans children of course). I LOVE to do it. But you know, Mom Hat comes on, rules change. And I become STAUNCHLY ANTISHOOTER.
Until tonight.
Tonight we're at a local pizza joint that has a fairly big arcade. So I take the biggest of the little boys to burn a couple of bucks in the name of time with mommy. And I'm thinking skeeball, Ms Pac-Man, Galaga....pinball maybe. Stuff of that nature is what was on my mind. What was not on my mind was big kids who were good at the games getting game after game extension because they are big kids and good at video games. Which leaves 4 year old boys to make the rounds with their mom ONCE "Mom can we play that shooting deer game?" "NO! We don't play with guns! Let's play this game." TWICE - circling, looking for something a 4 year old can play "Mom can we play that shooting deer game?" "NO! Now let's play this somewhat broken pinball machine." THRICE - circling and realizing that half the games are broken, half are taken up by the 10 year olds and what is left is BIG BUCK HUNTER.
"Please Mom?"
Sigh.
Big Buck Hunter.
Shooting.
With a gun.
I said fuck it, yes, let's blow this last token. And we fired it up for a hunting adventure in Montana. Of course, I didn't notice that the attached weapon was a pump action shotgun - which was too tight for a 4 1/2 year old to actually effectively pump for the reload - much less AIM.
So, let's just say that Mom bagged 4 bucks and about 10 turkeys.
Don't mess with me.
I'm anti-gun.
But I'm killer in a first person shooter.
Which is a little bit bullshit, because my dad always had a gun in the house and my grandpa had guns and I've known people who hunted and HELL Mrs Repressed and I had a .22 when we lived together.
What I am, is anti-gun near my children. Which again is a little bit bullshit, as far as the moral highground goes. It's sort of like being a smoker and saying my children can't smoke or joining the WTCU and swearing my children will never drink - while having a bloody mary at the country club (yeah Grandma Drake I mean you).
But I'm a product of Captain Kangaroo - and I heard "Remember boys and girls, only play with peace toys" way too often as a child to embrace weapons as toys or even as a presence in my home now that there are tiny humans living in it.
So as this NO-GUNS-AS-TOYS-MOM I've been resistant to the point of obstinacy when it comes to letting Lil Satchmo play any sort of shooter. Seems pretty reasonable of me, right? 4 1/2 year olds have no business PLAYING any sort of shooter in fact so I've felt pretty justified and self righteous denying him BIG BUCK HUNTER.
Or whatever the deer hunting game is called that he's begged me to play every time we entered an arcade for the past six months.
Which is ALSO fairly hypocritical of me, cuz people, I will shoot zombies or demons or whatever in your standard arcade shooter in a heartbeat (sans children of course). I LOVE to do it. But you know, Mom Hat comes on, rules change. And I become STAUNCHLY ANTISHOOTER.
Until tonight.
Tonight we're at a local pizza joint that has a fairly big arcade. So I take the biggest of the little boys to burn a couple of bucks in the name of time with mommy. And I'm thinking skeeball, Ms Pac-Man, Galaga....pinball maybe. Stuff of that nature is what was on my mind. What was not on my mind was big kids who were good at the games getting game after game extension because they are big kids and good at video games. Which leaves 4 year old boys to make the rounds with their mom ONCE "Mom can we play that shooting deer game?" "NO! We don't play with guns! Let's play this game." TWICE - circling, looking for something a 4 year old can play "Mom can we play that shooting deer game?" "NO! Now let's play this somewhat broken pinball machine." THRICE - circling and realizing that half the games are broken, half are taken up by the 10 year olds and what is left is BIG BUCK HUNTER.
"Please Mom?"
Sigh.
Big Buck Hunter.
Shooting.
With a gun.
I said fuck it, yes, let's blow this last token. And we fired it up for a hunting adventure in Montana. Of course, I didn't notice that the attached weapon was a pump action shotgun - which was too tight for a 4 1/2 year old to actually effectively pump for the reload - much less AIM.
So, let's just say that Mom bagged 4 bucks and about 10 turkeys.
Don't mess with me.
I'm anti-gun.
But I'm killer in a first person shooter.
The End of the Parenting Moral High Ground - At Least on This Subject
So I'm anti-gun.
Which is a little bit bullshit, because my dad always had a gun in the house and my grandpa had guns and I've known people who hunted and HELL Mrs Repressed and I had a .22 when we lived together.
What I am, is anti-gun near my children. Which again is a little bit bullshit, as far as the moral highground goes. It's sort of like being a smoker and saying my children can't smoke or joining the WTCU and swearing my children will never drink - while having a bloody mary at the country club (yeah Grandma Drake I mean you).
But I'm a product of Captain Kangaroo - and I heard "Remember boys and girls, only play with peace toys" way too often as a child to embrace weapons as toys or even as a presence in my home now that there are tiny humans living in it.
So as this NO-GUNS-AS-TOYS-MOM I've been resistant to the point of obstinacy when it comes to letting Lil Satchmo play any sort of shooter. Seems pretty reasonable of me, right? 4 1/2 year olds have no business PLAYING any sort of shooter in fact so I've felt pretty justified and self righteous denying him BIG BUCK HUNTER.
Or whatever the deer hunting game is called that he's begged me to play every time we entered an arcade for the past six months.
Which is ALSO fairly hypocritical of me, cuz people, I will shoot zombies or demons or whatever in your standard arcade shooter in a heartbeat (sans children of course). I LOVE to do it. But you know, Mom Hat comes on, rules change. And I become STAUNCHLY ANTISHOOTER.
Until tonight.
Tonight we're at a local pizza joint that has a fairly big arcade. So I take the biggest of the little boys to burn a couple of bucks in the name of time with mommy. And I'm thinking skeeball, Ms Pac-Man, Galaga....pinball maybe. Stuff of that nature is what was on my mind. What was not on my mind was big kids who were good at the games getting game after game extension because they are big kids and good at video games. Which leaves 4 year old boys to make the rounds with their mom ONCE "Mom can we play that shooting deer game?" "NO! We don't play with guns! Let's play this game." TWICE - circling, looking for something a 4 year old can play "Mom can we play that shooting deer game?" "NO! Now let's play this somewhat broken pinball machine." THRICE - circling and realizing that half the games are broken, half are taken up by the 10 year olds and what is left is BIG BUCK HUNTER.
"Please Mom?"
Sigh.
Big Buck Hunter.
Shooting.
With a gun.
I said fuck it, yes, let's blow this last token. And we fired it up for a hunting adventure in Montana. Of course, I didn't notice that the attached weapon was a pump action shotgun - which was too tight for a 4 1/2 year old to actually effectively pump for the reload - much less AIM.
So, let's just say that Mom bagged 4 bucks and about 10 turkeys.
Don't mess with me.
I'm anti-gun.
But I'm killer in a first person shooter.
Which is a little bit bullshit, because my dad always had a gun in the house and my grandpa had guns and I've known people who hunted and HELL Mrs Repressed and I had a .22 when we lived together.
What I am, is anti-gun near my children. Which again is a little bit bullshit, as far as the moral highground goes. It's sort of like being a smoker and saying my children can't smoke or joining the WTCU and swearing my children will never drink - while having a bloody mary at the country club (yeah Grandma Drake I mean you).
But I'm a product of Captain Kangaroo - and I heard "Remember boys and girls, only play with peace toys" way too often as a child to embrace weapons as toys or even as a presence in my home now that there are tiny humans living in it.
So as this NO-GUNS-AS-TOYS-MOM I've been resistant to the point of obstinacy when it comes to letting Lil Satchmo play any sort of shooter. Seems pretty reasonable of me, right? 4 1/2 year olds have no business PLAYING any sort of shooter in fact so I've felt pretty justified and self righteous denying him BIG BUCK HUNTER.
Or whatever the deer hunting game is called that he's begged me to play every time we entered an arcade for the past six months.
Which is ALSO fairly hypocritical of me, cuz people, I will shoot zombies or demons or whatever in your standard arcade shooter in a heartbeat (sans children of course). I LOVE to do it. But you know, Mom Hat comes on, rules change. And I become STAUNCHLY ANTISHOOTER.
Until tonight.
Tonight we're at a local pizza joint that has a fairly big arcade. So I take the biggest of the little boys to burn a couple of bucks in the name of time with mommy. And I'm thinking skeeball, Ms Pac-Man, Galaga....pinball maybe. Stuff of that nature is what was on my mind. What was not on my mind was big kids who were good at the games getting game after game extension because they are big kids and good at video games. Which leaves 4 year old boys to make the rounds with their mom ONCE "Mom can we play that shooting deer game?" "NO! We don't play with guns! Let's play this game." TWICE - circling, looking for something a 4 year old can play "Mom can we play that shooting deer game?" "NO! Now let's play this somewhat broken pinball machine." THRICE - circling and realizing that half the games are broken, half are taken up by the 10 year olds and what is left is BIG BUCK HUNTER.
"Please Mom?"
Sigh.
Big Buck Hunter.
Shooting.
With a gun.
I said fuck it, yes, let's blow this last token. And we fired it up for a hunting adventure in Montana. Of course, I didn't notice that the attached weapon was a pump action shotgun - which was too tight for a 4 1/2 year old to actually effectively pump for the reload - much less AIM.
So, let's just say that Mom bagged 4 bucks and about 10 turkeys.
Don't mess with me.
I'm anti-gun.
But I'm killer in a first person shooter.
How Do You Know You've Had Chronic Pain?
When it goes away.
Seriously. I never really realized how gimpy I'd become, or how much pain I was in everyday from the first second I set my foot down on the floor, until it stopped hurting.
Now here I am.
Yeah, that shot into my heel hurt a lot. But, now it's 48 hours later, and I feel like someone attached a new foot onto my ankle.
The doctor says we are going to have to do the same to my hip, because I have bursitis, but in fact my hip feels much better now that I'm not gimping about. It still hurts, and hell yeah I'm getting that shot, but it's so much better I can't believe it.
YAY new doctor!
Seriously. I never really realized how gimpy I'd become, or how much pain I was in everyday from the first second I set my foot down on the floor, until it stopped hurting.
Now here I am.
Yeah, that shot into my heel hurt a lot. But, now it's 48 hours later, and I feel like someone attached a new foot onto my ankle.
The doctor says we are going to have to do the same to my hip, because I have bursitis, but in fact my hip feels much better now that I'm not gimping about. It still hurts, and hell yeah I'm getting that shot, but it's so much better I can't believe it.
YAY new doctor!
How Do You Know You've Had Chronic Pain?
When it goes away.
Seriously. I never really realized how gimpy I'd become, or how much pain I was in everyday from the first second I set my foot down on the floor, until it stopped hurting.
Now here I am.
Yeah, that shot into my heel hurt a lot. But, now it's 48 hours later, and I feel like someone attached a new foot onto my ankle.
The doctor says we are going to have to do the same to my hip, because I have bursitis, but in fact my hip feels much better now that I'm not gimping about. It still hurts, and hell yeah I'm getting that shot, but it's so much better I can't believe it.
YAY new doctor!
Seriously. I never really realized how gimpy I'd become, or how much pain I was in everyday from the first second I set my foot down on the floor, until it stopped hurting.
Now here I am.
Yeah, that shot into my heel hurt a lot. But, now it's 48 hours later, and I feel like someone attached a new foot onto my ankle.
The doctor says we are going to have to do the same to my hip, because I have bursitis, but in fact my hip feels much better now that I'm not gimping about. It still hurts, and hell yeah I'm getting that shot, but it's so much better I can't believe it.
YAY new doctor!
Saturday, August 11, 2007
PLANTARS FASCIITIS GONE!
omg
my foot feels better
I AM HEALED!
Wait - I don't think my hip hurts either!
I may DO A DANCE!!!
my foot feels better
I AM HEALED!
Wait - I don't think my hip hurts either!
I may DO A DANCE!!!
PLANTARS FASCIITIS GONE!
omg
my foot feels better
I AM HEALED!
Wait - I don't think my hip hurts either!
I may DO A DANCE!!!
my foot feels better
I AM HEALED!
Wait - I don't think my hip hurts either!
I may DO A DANCE!!!
Thursday, August 09, 2007
FOOOOOOOOOTBAAAAAALLLL IS BAAAAAACK
And In Case Anyone Forgot How I Feel Or Who Won the Superbowl... 
GO COLTS!
Oh and by the way, I just heard Joe Buck say that he's heard hydration is a good thing. I think he just actually said "I've heard that, stay hydrated and you're doing yourself a big favor."
This is going to be a good football season if we're saying stuff this stupid so soon.
I feel it.
cross posted at Draft Day Suit
GO COLTS!
Oh and by the way, I just heard Joe Buck say that he's heard hydration is a good thing. I think he just actually said "I've heard that, stay hydrated and you're doing yourself a big favor."
This is going to be a good football season if we're saying stuff this stupid so soon.
I feel it.
cross posted at Draft Day Suit
FOOOOOOOOOTBAAAAAALLLL IS BAAAAAACK
And In Case Anyone Forgot How I Feel Or Who Won the Superbowl...
GO COLTS!
Oh and by the way, I just heard Joe Buck say that he's heard hydration is a good thing. I think he just actually said "I've heard that, stay hydrated and you're doing yourself a big favor."
This is going to be a good football season if we're saying stuff this stupid so soon.
I feel it.
cross posted at Draft Day Suit
GO COLTS!
Oh and by the way, I just heard Joe Buck say that he's heard hydration is a good thing. I think he just actually said "I've heard that, stay hydrated and you're doing yourself a big favor."
This is going to be a good football season if we're saying stuff this stupid so soon.
I feel it.
cross posted at Draft Day Suit
Worm on a Hot Tin Roof
So I'm a fan of the nightcrawler, or earthworm in general. I think it comes from a golden age in my childhood, when my grandpa was still alive, that I used to go nightcrawler hunting at night. We'd take coffee cans full of earth from the garden, flashlights, and take off across the spacious backyards - traipsing through the vineyard row and the daffodils, running up and down the rows of corn looking for the wiggling fellows. We were hunting for nightcrawlers for fishing bait. Picking them up as they tried to shove back into the earth away from us, watching the wriggle in our hands.
We never hurt them (well okay it probably hurt going on a hook the next day), and we'd check them out - looking at their length, their shape and the way they would flip and flop to get away. I loved watching them.
Since then, I don't ever shy away from picking up an earthworm who is stranded on pavement. It sometimes surprises people - especially people at work - to see a lady in a suit and heels pick up an earthworm carefully and redeposit him in the grass.
And don't be fooled, I'll smash a bug in a heartbeat. I'm not some "small icky creatures lifesaver".
I just like the earthworms.
Yesterday I was sitting at a stoplight on my way home, and I noticed something jumping. I couldn't figure it out at first. I thought it was trash or a fuzzy or something....and then as I watched it twisst in midair - and turn......I realized. It was an earthworm.
I sat there, in my airconditioning in the hottest day in Atlanta in 7 years, wondering what the hell that worm was doing on the pavement. And as it stopped jumping and then stopped moving it occurred to me.......
It was cooking.
On the hot pavement.
Poor Worm.
I was thinking about the worm today, when I was getting a lovely/horrid/torturous shot of corticosteroid into the very tender place in the heel of my foot for my long bout of plantars fasciitis. Ever had a BIG needle jammed into the bottom of your foot?
It hurts, a lot. But if you check the date in the original post, I've been living with this since MARCH or earlier. So I needed the shot. It hurt, it burned. It made me really unhappy. The doctor and nurse said that not only was I the only person they ever gave one of those shots to that didn't SHRIEK, the nurse said most people move and she has to hold down the leg.
I sucked it up I'll admit. I didn't cry or even make a sound. It hurt A LOT. If you think I didn't want to flop away in pain as they were doing it you'd be wrong. I'd have flopped away from that needle in a second.
Like a worm on a hot tin roof.
We never hurt them (well okay it probably hurt going on a hook the next day), and we'd check them out - looking at their length, their shape and the way they would flip and flop to get away. I loved watching them.
Since then, I don't ever shy away from picking up an earthworm who is stranded on pavement. It sometimes surprises people - especially people at work - to see a lady in a suit and heels pick up an earthworm carefully and redeposit him in the grass.
And don't be fooled, I'll smash a bug in a heartbeat. I'm not some "small icky creatures lifesaver".
I just like the earthworms.
Yesterday I was sitting at a stoplight on my way home, and I noticed something jumping. I couldn't figure it out at first. I thought it was trash or a fuzzy or something....and then as I watched it twisst in midair - and turn......I realized. It was an earthworm.
I sat there, in my airconditioning in the hottest day in Atlanta in 7 years, wondering what the hell that worm was doing on the pavement. And as it stopped jumping and then stopped moving it occurred to me.......
It was cooking.
On the hot pavement.
Poor Worm.
I was thinking about the worm today, when I was getting a lovely/horrid/torturous shot of corticosteroid into the very tender place in the heel of my foot for my long bout of plantars fasciitis. Ever had a BIG needle jammed into the bottom of your foot?
It hurts, a lot. But if you check the date in the original post, I've been living with this since MARCH or earlier. So I needed the shot. It hurt, it burned. It made me really unhappy. The doctor and nurse said that not only was I the only person they ever gave one of those shots to that didn't SHRIEK, the nurse said most people move and she has to hold down the leg.
I sucked it up I'll admit. I didn't cry or even make a sound. It hurt A LOT. If you think I didn't want to flop away in pain as they were doing it you'd be wrong. I'd have flopped away from that needle in a second.
Like a worm on a hot tin roof.
Worm on a Hot Tin Roof
So I'm a fan of the nightcrawler, or earthworm in general. I think it comes from a golden age in my childhood, when my grandpa was still alive, that I used to go nightcrawler hunting at night. We'd take coffee cans full of earth from the garden, flashlights, and take off across the spacious backyards - traipsing through the vineyard row and the daffodils, running up and down the rows of corn looking for the wiggling fellows. We were hunting for nightcrawlers for fishing bait. Picking them up as they tried to shove back into the earth away from us, watching the wriggle in our hands.
We never hurt them (well okay it probably hurt going on a hook the next day), and we'd check them out - looking at their length, their shape and the way they would flip and flop to get away. I loved watching them.
Since then, I don't ever shy away from picking up an earthworm who is stranded on pavement. It sometimes surprises people - especially people at work - to see a lady in a suit and heels pick up an earthworm carefully and redeposit him in the grass.
And don't be fooled, I'll smash a bug in a heartbeat. I'm not some "small icky creatures lifesaver".
I just like the earthworms.
Yesterday I was sitting at a stoplight on my way home, and I noticed something jumping. I couldn't figure it out at first. I thought it was trash or a fuzzy or something....and then as I watched it twisst in midair - and turn......I realized. It was an earthworm.
I sat there, in my airconditioning in the hottest day in Atlanta in 7 years, wondering what the hell that worm was doing on the pavement. And as it stopped jumping and then stopped moving it occurred to me.......
It was cooking.
On the hot pavement.
Poor Worm.
I was thinking about the worm today, when I was getting a lovely/horrid/torturous shot of corticosteroid into the very tender place in the heel of my foot for my long bout of plantars fasciitis. Ever had a BIG needle jammed into the bottom of your foot?
It hurts, a lot. But if you check the date in the original post, I've been living with this since MARCH or earlier. So I needed the shot. It hurt, it burned. It made me really unhappy. The doctor and nurse said that not only was I the only person they ever gave one of those shots to that didn't SHRIEK, the nurse said most people move and she has to hold down the leg.
I sucked it up I'll admit. I didn't cry or even make a sound. It hurt A LOT. If you think I didn't want to flop away in pain as they were doing it you'd be wrong. I'd have flopped away from that needle in a second.
Like a worm on a hot tin roof.
We never hurt them (well okay it probably hurt going on a hook the next day), and we'd check them out - looking at their length, their shape and the way they would flip and flop to get away. I loved watching them.
Since then, I don't ever shy away from picking up an earthworm who is stranded on pavement. It sometimes surprises people - especially people at work - to see a lady in a suit and heels pick up an earthworm carefully and redeposit him in the grass.
And don't be fooled, I'll smash a bug in a heartbeat. I'm not some "small icky creatures lifesaver".
I just like the earthworms.
Yesterday I was sitting at a stoplight on my way home, and I noticed something jumping. I couldn't figure it out at first. I thought it was trash or a fuzzy or something....and then as I watched it twisst in midair - and turn......I realized. It was an earthworm.
I sat there, in my airconditioning in the hottest day in Atlanta in 7 years, wondering what the hell that worm was doing on the pavement. And as it stopped jumping and then stopped moving it occurred to me.......
It was cooking.
On the hot pavement.
Poor Worm.
I was thinking about the worm today, when I was getting a lovely/horrid/torturous shot of corticosteroid into the very tender place in the heel of my foot for my long bout of plantars fasciitis. Ever had a BIG needle jammed into the bottom of your foot?
It hurts, a lot. But if you check the date in the original post, I've been living with this since MARCH or earlier. So I needed the shot. It hurt, it burned. It made me really unhappy. The doctor and nurse said that not only was I the only person they ever gave one of those shots to that didn't SHRIEK, the nurse said most people move and she has to hold down the leg.
I sucked it up I'll admit. I didn't cry or even make a sound. It hurt A LOT. If you think I didn't want to flop away in pain as they were doing it you'd be wrong. I'd have flopped away from that needle in a second.
Like a worm on a hot tin roof.
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
Things To Do When The Smog Level Is RED ALERT
I guess we might've picked a bad day for a nature walk. 
But it looked beautiful. I didn't see any stinkin smog.
I did see THESE though!
I thought these were pretty cool. My very favorite one is this one. The snail has the coolest patio I've ever seen.
What was a little weird though, was after our 2 mile nature walk, I had an "episode", or something. Like old people would call it a "spell". After our walk in the poison air (actually our air was fine I think) we went to dinner where, I sort of - got discombobulated.
I felt sick.
Dizzy, disoriented, a bit out of sorts. Af first I thought it was my blood sugar, I was having trouble concentrating and although it wasn't like Xta's aphasia episode, it was very troubling. I ate up and drank up some sweet tea hoping to straighten myself out. But after a phase of feeling better I started feeling bad again, chills, nausea and again feeling a little disoriented. I felt just terrible all through dinner and just couldn't get myself straight. About an hour later I felt fine, all better even. But at the time, it was just so annoying and a little upsetting.
But it looked beautiful. I didn't see any stinkin smog.
I did see THESE though!
I thought these were pretty cool. My very favorite one is this one. The snail has the coolest patio I've ever seen.
What was a little weird though, was after our 2 mile nature walk, I had an "episode", or something. Like old people would call it a "spell". After our walk in the poison air (actually our air was fine I think) we went to dinner where, I sort of - got discombobulated.
I felt sick.
Dizzy, disoriented, a bit out of sorts. Af first I thought it was my blood sugar, I was having trouble concentrating and although it wasn't like Xta's aphasia episode, it was very troubling. I ate up and drank up some sweet tea hoping to straighten myself out. But after a phase of feeling better I started feeling bad again, chills, nausea and again feeling a little disoriented. I felt just terrible all through dinner and just couldn't get myself straight. About an hour later I felt fine, all better even. But at the time, it was just so annoying and a little upsetting.
I suppose it's just indicative of my age that I can't even take a damn 2 mile walk and do a little mushroom hunting without having a "spell".
Perhaps I am a delicate southern flower now, after all.
Things To Do When The Smog Level Is RED ALERT
I guess we might've picked a bad day for a nature walk.
But it looked beautiful. I didn't see any stinkin smog.
I did see THESE though!
I thought these were pretty cool. My very favorite one is this one. The snail has the coolest patio I've ever seen.
What was a little weird though, was after our 2 mile nature walk, I had an "episode", or something. Like old people would call it a "spell". After our walk in the poison air (actually our air was fine I think) we went to dinner where, I sort of - got discombobulated.
I felt sick.
Dizzy, disoriented, a bit out of sorts. Af first I thought it was my blood sugar, I was having trouble concentrating and although it wasn't like Xta's aphasia episode, it was very troubling. I ate up and drank up some sweet tea hoping to straighten myself out. But after a phase of feeling better I started feeling bad again, chills, nausea and again feeling a little disoriented. I felt just terrible all through dinner and just couldn't get myself straight. About an hour later I felt fine, all better even. But at the time, it was just so annoying and a little upsetting.
But it looked beautiful. I didn't see any stinkin smog.
I did see THESE though!
I thought these were pretty cool. My very favorite one is this one. The snail has the coolest patio I've ever seen.
What was a little weird though, was after our 2 mile nature walk, I had an "episode", or something. Like old people would call it a "spell". After our walk in the poison air (actually our air was fine I think) we went to dinner where, I sort of - got discombobulated.
I felt sick.
Dizzy, disoriented, a bit out of sorts. Af first I thought it was my blood sugar, I was having trouble concentrating and although it wasn't like Xta's aphasia episode, it was very troubling. I ate up and drank up some sweet tea hoping to straighten myself out. But after a phase of feeling better I started feeling bad again, chills, nausea and again feeling a little disoriented. I felt just terrible all through dinner and just couldn't get myself straight. About an hour later I felt fine, all better even. But at the time, it was just so annoying and a little upsetting.
I suppose it's just indicative of my age that I can't even take a damn 2 mile walk and do a little mushroom hunting without having a "spell".
Perhaps I am a delicate southern flower now, after all.
Friday, August 03, 2007
The Untold Betty Story - The Moth
So you can read the PG story of My Betty over at Props and Pans.
However in a less PG version of the story. Here is what happened.
So I'm all Betty'ed up, sitting around with my, ahem, Hoohah exposed and all gooped up with bleach. Using a towel to protect my once cool purple couch, I sat there - all gooped up and waiting.
Tick tock. Tick Tock.
My husband, in an effort to exert some politeness opens the sliding glass door to go outside to smoke. And when he opens the door a hideous moth flew in(or a really small moth about to become hideious), bopped around - and then dove STRAIGHT INTO MY CROTCH.
Where it got mired in the Betty Step One Goo.
Mired to such an extent, that when I flicked it out in horror and shock, I didn't get all of it. And my husband had to come dig the rest of it out of the goo.
Ah - married life.
However in a less PG version of the story. Here is what happened.
So I'm all Betty'ed up, sitting around with my, ahem, Hoohah exposed and all gooped up with bleach. Using a towel to protect my once cool purple couch, I sat there - all gooped up and waiting.
Tick tock. Tick Tock.
My husband, in an effort to exert some politeness opens the sliding glass door to go outside to smoke. And when he opens the door a hideous moth flew in(or a really small moth about to become hideious), bopped around - and then dove STRAIGHT INTO MY CROTCH.
Where it got mired in the Betty Step One Goo.
Mired to such an extent, that when I flicked it out in horror and shock, I didn't get all of it. And my husband had to come dig the rest of it out of the goo.
Ah - married life.
The Untold Betty Story - The Moth
So you can read the PG story of My Betty over at Props and Pans.
However in a less PG version of the story. Here is what happened.
So I'm all Betty'ed up, sitting around with my, ahem, Hoohah exposed and all gooped up with bleach. Using a towel to protect my once cool purple couch, I sat there - all gooped up and waiting.
Tick tock. Tick Tock.
My husband, in an effort to exert some politeness opens the sliding glass door to go outside to smoke. And when he opens the door a hideous moth flew in(or a really small moth about to become hideious), bopped around - and then dove STRAIGHT INTO MY CROTCH.
Where it got mired in the Betty Step One Goo.
Mired to such an extent, that when I flicked it out in horror and shock, I didn't get all of it. And my husband had to come dig the rest of it out of the goo.
Ah - married life.
However in a less PG version of the story. Here is what happened.
So I'm all Betty'ed up, sitting around with my, ahem, Hoohah exposed and all gooped up with bleach. Using a towel to protect my once cool purple couch, I sat there - all gooped up and waiting.
Tick tock. Tick Tock.
My husband, in an effort to exert some politeness opens the sliding glass door to go outside to smoke. And when he opens the door a hideous moth flew in(or a really small moth about to become hideious), bopped around - and then dove STRAIGHT INTO MY CROTCH.
Where it got mired in the Betty Step One Goo.
Mired to such an extent, that when I flicked it out in horror and shock, I didn't get all of it. And my husband had to come dig the rest of it out of the goo.
Ah - married life.
Deb's Wisdom
I went to make coffee this morning and found that the gorgeous little Delf coffee canister that I picked up in Helen Ga was almost out of coffee.
So I grumble, reach into the cabinet and grab the big bucket o'coffee we keep up there. Inside was a little glass scoop we keep in there to fill up the counter canister.
In fact it is not a scoop. It is an over sized shot glass. I acquired it probably 15 years ago. It goes with set of 4 I own ( or is it six?) that I added to my own personal glass collection thanks to Deb, the wife of my very good friend.
We were out on the town, Mrs Repressed, TimmyT and his wife Deb - and I think some of the rest of our regular crew was out with us as well. The girls were doing shots, typical girl stuff, sex on the beach, buttery nipples etc., while the boys were sticking with their Newcastle. At some point I commented about these big shot glasses. To which Deb says "You like them? Here, I've got my big purse." and started sticking them in her bag.
It makes me smile every time I see one. I have a candle sitting in one before me here at the PC.
Deb was like that. I haven't SEEN her since 1999 when I moved away from Indy, but she was a no-shit girl that I always thought had it right. When we ran in the same social circle, she and her husband and my friends existed in a "we don't make as much money as you" dynamic. As in, they were about 12 years older than us - and were established professionally while me and mine were still trying to make it. I always loved her because she never treated us as though we were lesser, as though she realized that we were TOTALLY not having meat at home that week because of this or that social activity we were doing, yet didn't mention it.
She treated us like we were equal - when socioeconomically we SO were not.
And she once said to me the smartest thing I've ever heard a woman say. One night a mutual friend threw a party, and it was a big blowout bash. Two weeks later we saw Deb at our house, at a much smaller affair - and we said "hey we didn't see you at Xs house. Where were you?"
To which she said, "I didn't want to go, and I decided that once I turned 40 I wasn't doing anything I didn't want to do ever again." And we were sort of stunned. What? Not doing what the herd does ? WHAT? WAIT A MINUTE........
At the age of 25, that hadn't actually occurred to me.
I'm not 40 yet. But these shot glasses and those words remind me of Deb a lot. I Know that I'm often not successful at stepping out of the herd. But I've got a couple of years. Maybe when I get there, I'll have the guts to be like Deb.
If you are lucky, I'll bring my big purse.
Deb's Wisdom
I went to make coffee this morning and found that the gorgeous little Delf coffee canister that I picked up in Helen Ga was almost out of coffee.
So I grumble, reach into the cabinet and grab the big bucket o'coffee we keep up there. Inside was a little glass scoop we keep in there to fill up the counter canister.
In fact it is not a scoop. It is an over sized shot glass. I acquired it probably 15 years ago. It goes with set of 4 I own ( or is it six?) that I added to my own personal glass collection thanks to Deb, the wife of my very good friend.
We were out on the town, Mrs Repressed, TimmyT and his wife Deb - and I think some of the rest of our regular crew was out with us as well. The girls were doing shots, typical girl stuff, sex on the beach, buttery nipples etc., while the boys were sticking with their Newcastle. At some point I commented about these big shot glasses. To which Deb says "You like them? Here, I've got my big purse." and started sticking them in her bag.
It makes me smile every time I see one. I have a candle sitting in one before me here at the PC.
Deb was like that. I haven't SEEN her since 1999 when I moved away from Indy, but she was a no-shit girl that I always thought had it right. When we ran in the same social circle, she and her husband and my friends existed in a "we don't make as much money as you" dynamic. As in, they were about 12 years older than us - and were established professionally while me and mine were still trying to make it. I always loved her because she never treated us as though we were lesser, as though she realized that we were TOTALLY not having meat at home that week because of this or that social activity we were doing, yet didn't mention it.
She treated us like we were equal - when socioeconomically we SO were not.
And she once said to me the smartest thing I've ever heard a woman say. One night a mutual friend threw a party, and it was a big blowout bash. Two weeks later we saw Deb at our house, at a much smaller affair - and we said "hey we didn't see you at Xs house. Where were you?"
To which she said, "I didn't want to go, and I decided that once I turned 40 I wasn't doing anything I didn't want to do ever again." And we were sort of stunned. What? Not doing what the herd does ? WHAT? WAIT A MINUTE........
At the age of 25, that hadn't actually occurred to me.
I'm not 40 yet. But these shot glasses and those words remind me of Deb a lot. I Know that I'm often not successful at stepping out of the herd. But I've got a couple of years. Maybe when I get there, I'll have the guts to be like Deb.
If you are lucky, I'll bring my big purse.
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
Wait - I thought They Were Brothers.........
They are BROTHERS right? 
I'm a little creeped out, I am sort of turned on by Chris Kratt.....but ummm what's up here?
Whatever it is, Martin is INTO it.
I'm a little creeped out, I am sort of turned on by Chris Kratt.....but ummm what's up here?
Whatever it is, Martin is INTO it.
Wait - I thought They Were Brothers.........
They are BROTHERS right?
I'm a little creeped out, I am sort of turned on by Chris Kratt.....but ummm what's up here?
Whatever it is, Martin is INTO it.
I'm a little creeped out, I am sort of turned on by Chris Kratt.....but ummm what's up here?
Whatever it is, Martin is INTO it.
