I {heart} me
I finally figured out what I want to do with the empty column: note the self-worship section to the left.
Not quite a year
Happy 11 months, pumpkin!
Gay Marriage
THIS one I'm ALL for. I don't even care if it's called "marriage." For all I care, let the religious institutions retain the moniker, let gays be "civilly unionized," or "legally partnered" or WHATEVER - so long as everyone has the same legal rights as far as permanent partnership. Churches can reserve the right to refuse to marry whomever they want, but why should the state be making the same distinctions the churches do? As for the big debate, I saw it summed up best by Chris of cheeseweasle, commenting on the remarks made on CalPundit (Chris' is the third comment down):
"IMO, this is one of those things, like abortion, where rational debate can't really go very far, because at least one side is using faith, tradition and fear as the basis for their arguments. it's like arguing evolution against a creationist - eventually you hit the big wall of The Bible Says So."
To me, that's unacceptable. I have yet to hear one argument against gay marriage that does not take its root in religion, and religion has no business in state or federal government.
Gay High
Anyone that knows me well knows that I am all about gay rights. Marriage, adoption, partner beneifts, etc., etc., etc. But the gay high school thing is bothering me. Never in a million years did I ever think it would.
Yes, gay students are tormented, ostracized, harassed, made to feel less than equal. BUT... so are fat kids, kids with glasses, nerds, short kids, skinny kids, tall kids, kids with braces, poor kids... so do we start making separate schools for everyone? Or do we instead take that money and start promoting tolerance beginning from the day these children set foot in the public school system? Do we spend money sending these kids away, or do we set consequences for intolerance? "Oh, you don't like that Bobby likes other boys, and you've gotten in trouble for beating him up? That's okay honey, we'll just give him his own school so you won't have to deal with your prejudices and learn how to treat other people?" Does anyone realize how ridiculous that sounds? How about "You beat Bobby up because he's different than you? Guess what - you're suspended and will be brought up on harassment and assault charges."
Everything I've read about the horrors that a gay student has gone through at the hands of other students... guess what? As the fat, four-eyed nerd, I went through it too - every last bit of it (well, I was never called a fag - being fat comes with its own set of slurs), and the idea of a "Fat High" is utterly ridiculous to me. So why should "Gay High" be any different? Makes sense, right? But I'm having a hard time wrapping my head around the fact that this bothers me.
Notice to lurking internet novices
a.k.a. work vent
If you have a dialup connection, your computer dials a telephone number to access the service. Therefore, if you move, but you'll still be living in the same town, all you need to do is plug your computer in, turn it on, make sure it's connected to the phone jack, and continue using it as you normally have been. Please don't ask me "how will you know where to send the service?" or "do I need to change my username since I'm moving?" No. All we need is your new address so we send the bill to the right place.
Thank you.
Me day
Saturday was an "us" day, today's a "me" day. I took the day off, exhausted and sore from my weekend. Bryan went in a little late too, so we could have extra snuggies. I'm allowing myself to be on line until noon, then I have some stuff I'd like to get done. I told Bryan I'd do his laundry so he wouldn't have to do it after work, I want to clean the kitchen and living room, including dusting and vacuuming. I might possibly even try to do something in my bedroom, but that remains to be seen - once noon rolls around, I have about five and a half hours until Bryan gets home, depending on whether he's staying late to make up for going in late.
Another nice weekend
Friday night was very low-key, which I really like every once in a while. Saturday we had "us day," which consisted of a matinee (Pirates of the Caribbean, which I liked, despite it not being the genre I'll normally choose to see), kicking ass at Simpsons Bowling before the movie, going to Half-Price Books (we were VERY good - limited ourselves to appx. $10 each. I got cookbooks, Bryan got 2 history books), Whole Foods and Fazoli's. Yesterday, gaming was cancelled so we could all get together and have a picnic. Everyone brought their own meat and a dish to pass. I made lemonade iced tea (a gallon of water, 14 Earl Grey tea bags, 1.5 c sugar, 2 12oz. cans frozen lemonade concentrate - could have made do with a few less tea bags) and homemade oatmeal-cranberry-almond-white chocolate chunk cookies, and Bryan made grill potatoes, mushrooms and onions (chop and combine in a foil packet with olve oil, S&P and cook on the grill). A good time was had by all.
Mmmmm, diner food
I had lunch with a good friend today, and we went to this dinky little diner-type place. I had the hot turkey lunch, which wound up consisting of a turkey sandwich on white bread smothered in gravy, bad mashed potatoes and a little dish of bad corn. Oh, and the gravy was that gloopy yellow stuff. And I had to salt and pepper the heck out of everything.
Is it wrong that I crave that kind of meal every once in a while?
Random quote
"We are taught you must blame your father, your sisters, your brothers, the school, the teachers--you can blame anyone, but never blame yourself. It's never your fault. But it's ALWAYS your fault, because if you wanted to change, you're the one who has got to change. It's as simple as that, isn't it?" ~Katharine Hepburn
Quiz Time!
I'm Hello Kitty Water Fairy! made by: Jen
I'm either bored or indecisive
Updating the format again. I liked it, but there was too much white. Since I do this from work sometimes, I won't be able to get as much done in as little a time as if I were home, so this may look downright ugly for much of the day.
Some people's kids
Okay, a guy calling himself "Joe Blow" just called to set up new internet service. The number "Joe" was actually calling from brought up two accounts, under the name of "Steve Jones" that had been written off as bad debts. He told me he wasn't calling from home and gave me a different number for his home number. His "home number" pulled up an account that was just closed and sent to collection today, under the name of "John Smith." I also checked phone records for both numbers. Both are listed under the name of "Steve Jones," and one is for "Steve's" business, cleverly called something very similar to "The Store." The one for "The Store" has been temporarily disconnected for non-payment.
So "Joe" completely denies knowing "Steve" or "John," and swears up and down that the number for "The Store" is actually his home telephone number.
Oh, and while I was typing this, a coworker who sits near me has the same guy back on the phone again, this time calling himself "Jack Brown."
Grossness alert
After the picnic Saturday, we were both bushed (and this was before I went swimming!). As we got out of the car, I turned to Bryan and said "we should bring the cooler up," meaning upstairs, meaning to the apartment, meaning "let's not let it sit in my car." We were both so tired, we decided to leave it for the time being. I figured it would be okay, since I thought it just had soda in it. Well, I found out otherwise when I opened my car door this morning and was almost blown away by the smell. I don't want to even think about opening the cooler in such an enclosed space, but I'm assuming it has some kind of food in it that has to be refrigerated that has gone bad in the heat of summer in a black car.
Why don't I leave for work a few minutes early like I used to? If I still did that, I would have had time to get the damn thing out of my car this morning. And of course I ran some errands at lunch and had to get in the stinky car. Eeeew. That thing's gone tonight. And I'm cleaning the whole car out this weekend so I can Febreze any lingering odor right outta there.
Another reason to love my husband
We've had some pretty knock-down, drag-out fights over the course of our relationship. Last night could potentially have devolved into one, but it didn't. He did something that bothers me, but the reasons it bothers me are completely irrational. Rather than getting defensive or trying to rush me through an explanation, he allowed me to work through my emotions and figure out exactly why it bothers me and the reasoning behind it. And while my emotions and reasoning didn't quite make it right, it made sense to him and he made an effort to understand. He gets the Good Baboo Gold Star!
Had to post thi
If the author has a problem, I'll certainly take it down. She can e-mail me at kathleenie_beenie[at]yahoo[dot]com, or simply post a comment here (I make no guarantees on how often I check my e-mail). Here's the link, but I'm not sure if it's a regular column, I'm not sure if the text will still be there tomorrow, so I've done ye olde copye/payste. And I do feel the need to add the required disclaimer - yes, I read the Brats! page. Yes, I agree with just about every word in this article. No, I don't hate kids. I don't even dislike them. As a matter of fact, I LOVE them. I plan on having a few. I just can't stand when people don't see fit to raise them in a way that will have them grow up nice, respectable, respectful human beings who don't suffer from the delusion that the world revolves around them and who will at least attempt to be productive members of society, or at the very least, positive additions to it, not detractors from it. And now, without further ado:
Parental Guidance
by Erin Dailey
I don’t hate babies, okay? Let’s just get that clear. They’re relatively cute. I mean, the majority of them. I mean, they’re not always BORN cute, but most of them wind up mildly adorable by about five months. They’re pudgy, giggly, curious, and they only smell bad on the rare occasion. Babies are okay.
I’m not even all that un-fond of children. From about age two to about age five, they can be a bit of a handful (if by "handful" you mean "whiny, annoying, messy, and cursed with an ability to put anything remotely resembling a food item into their drooling, gaping maws") but they’re not without merits. They learn swear words quickly and they blurt them out at really inappropriate times. That’s wicked good fun. And you can dress them up in clown pants and paisley-print halter-tops and not only will they NOT argue with you about their unfashionable ensemble, they will actually REQUEST to add their uncle’s ten-gallon cowboy hat to the outfit. That rules.
So. Babies? Cute. Kids? Funny. Parents? Suck ASS.
Not all parents suck, of course. The majority of them are bearable, if not enjoyable. No, I’m talking about THOSE parents. You know the ones. They make your teeth itch and the hairs on the back of your neck stand at attention. They make you wish you had a baby rattle loaded with bullets. Or, at least, a Barney doll with a metal brick in his butt you could beat them with.
In short, they make you never want to have a child. EVER. Because if children can turn rational, mature, sane adults into the fuckwits I see around town on a regular basis, then I am definitely having my tubes cut, tied, and Super-Glu’d together as soon as is humanly possible.
As far as I can tell, there are five subsets of Parents from Hell. See if you can recognize any of them.
THE POWER PARENTS
They’re perfect. In every way. They have glossy hair, shiny teeth, smooth tans and overall stunningly healthy good looks that seem as effortless as my morning bed head. Their children are glorious, brilliant, and incapable of being even two degrees less than stellar. Even when they’re crouched on the sidewalk eating weeds and sticking their fingers in dog poo.
These parents have planned carefully for their children’s future and have already pre-registered their brethren at Yale. Of course, their youngest is six months old and enjoys eating her own snot, but these parents are bound and determined to have a litter of well-bred, side-talking, Ivy League-ers and nothing will stand in their way. Not even your shin when you’re in line at the market and they’re cruising their fist-sucking seed past you like you don’t even exist. Nothing. Will. Stand. In. Their. Way.
THE OVERINDULGENT PARENTS
"Now, Thomas? What does Mommy say about jumping on the sofa? Huh? What does she say? What does she say?"
Well, apparently, she doesn’t say, "GET OFF THE FUCKING SOFA NOW, YOU LITTLE PEE FACTORY, BEFORE I STAPLE YOU TO THE CEILING."
It’s utterly amazing to me that a grown person above the age of, say, twenty, can suddenly allow themselves to be ruled by a person roughly the size of a rabid wombat with the intellectual capacity of a crouton.
"Thomas! Leave the nice woman alone! I’m sure she doesn’t like it when you hit her with your Popsicle. No, I’m sure she doesn’t. Do you want to hit Mommy with your Popsicle? Come hit Mommy with your Popsicle! Come on!"
Here. Give ME his Popsicle. I’d be GLAD to hit you with it. And, when I’m done doing that, I’d be more than happy to take a few swings at you with this stop sign because, lady? IT’S A KID, NOT A TERRORIST. Here’s a tip: HE’S SMALLER THAN YOU. AND HE DOESN’T HAVE A GUN. SMACK HIM ON THE HEAD AND MOVE ON.
THE HORROR SHOW PARENTS
Otherwise known as the "My children suck and so does that ungrateful, lazy bastard who knocked me up in the first place" parents. Very often seen in line at the post office, the Jewel-Osco, Wal-Mart, the unemployment office (where I spent many a sundry Tuesday afternoon, hungover, bitter, angry and utterly alone), an air and water show, or any fine dining establishment involving trays, plastic cutlery, and high school students behind the cash registers.
Their children are, inevitably, filthy, loud and terrifying. I’m not talking about a little cotton candy stuck to their cheeks, either. I’m talking about cotton candy from TWO WEEKS AGO stuck to their cheeks. The parents are, inevitably, filthy, loud and terrifying. A mullet would not be unheard of in this situation. Neither would a lit cigarette. BEHIND THEIR EAR. Screaming at their children for doing nothing other than, well, breathing? Par for the course. Screaming at their lone family member (who, for some bizarre reason, has tagged along for the pure enjoyment of what I don’t know) about the children who are the biggest fucking wastes of space since that motherfucker Larry who STILL hasn’t picked up his bass guitar? Totally and completely expected.
THE EXPOSED NERVE PARENTS
Jimmy? Where’s Jimmy? What’s he doing? WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE’S IN THE KITCHEN? There’s that one door we haven’t baby-proofed! Yes, I KNOW IT’S ABOVE THE SINK AND IT’S MADE OF STEEL! He could still get hurt! Okay. I got him. I GOT HIM. Did you bring his vitamins? HIS VITAMINS! Oh, for God’s sake! He can’t go through the day without his A, B-complex, C, E, sharkfin, whale blubber – WHAT’S HE DOING NEAR THE APPLES?!!! HE COULD BE ALLERGIC TO THOSE! Put those away! FAR AWAY! Oh, and keep him away from the flour. And the salt. And anything silver. NO! NOT THE WOOL JACKET! NOOOOO!
Jimmy will grow up to be a serial killer with a penchant for wool. He will snort salt, brain his victims with a warped steel door and will dispose of the bodies in vats of applesauce.
THE OLD PRO PARENTS
Once, they were model parents. Caring, concerned, cautious. They promised to do everything by the book and swore they would raise the most excellent children that ever would roam the planet.
Mrs. Pro popped out their fifth and final kid about a year ago and promptly had her entire reproductive system removed JUST TO BE SURE. And Mr. Pro had a vasectomy and made the doctor sign a statement declaring that he would NEVER, under any circumstances, allow the procedure to be reversed.
Their second oldest kid is in the basement, conducting an experiment involving peanut butter, the family rabbit, a socket wrench, and the sump pump. Another kid is sitting in the sandbox, forcing the youngest kid to lick the wet sand in the corner. The oldest kid, a rather studious type, has retired to his bedroom to read the latest edition of the dog-eared magazine he found shoved behind his dad’s toolbox. The centerfold, in particular, interests him.
And Mr. and Mrs. Pro? Why, they’re on the veranda entertaining their newlywed next-door neighbors, Becky and Wyatt. Mr. Pro treats himself to a third margarita as Mrs. Pro lazily sips her fourth. Becky and Wyatt are still nursing their first. Becky and Wyatt brightly declare that they’ve decided to start having children right away. Mrs. Pro cackles aloud in a voice raw from screaming at ears that never seem to hear. She laughs so hard that margarita comes out her nose. Mr. Pro just smiles wryly as his dear little girl toddles in and smears Wyatt’s left leg with what she refers to as "doggy chocolate."
"Good luck," says Mr. Pro as his wife continues to laugh and laugh and laugh.
And I’m laughing right now thinking about just how much I’ll enjoy being childless for my remaining time on Earth.
Erin Dailey is a freelance writer and web designer with a fine selection of day jobs to her credit. She sporadically updates her website, The Redhead Papers, and promises to get the damn redesign done as soon as possible. When the television season is up and running, she writes brilliantly snarky recaps of the hit ABC show Alias for the fabulous website, Television Without Pity. And, yes, Sydney Bristow is based on her college spy-girl antics. When she's not churning out cheesy ad copy, she enjoys caressing her PS2 and her new copy of Primal and admits to downing the occasional fruity cocktail. She is 34 and doesn't care who knows it.
I'm not an evil bitch, really I'm not. I just have no patience for parents like this. And like Ms. Dailey, I don't care who knows it.
When worlds collide
Disclaimer: for this post, I'll make the distinction between "IRL friend" and "net friend." I had the strangest dream last night - I was in Chicago at a baby shower for a net friend (except it didn't really look or feel like a baby shower - it was in this 3-level gothic mansion and there were hundreds of people there), saw an "IRL friend" across the room and tried to avoid her the rest of the night (we haven't spoken in 6 months and I'm trying to make up my mind as to whether that's "a good thing"), and also ran into a coworker while I was trying to avoid IRL friend. Strange.
such a good day!
Mmmmm, I haven't had a day like Saturday in a long time - I really needed that. Saturday, we packed up and headed for the park. We had put the word out that this was to be a group event, that everyone was welcome, and we found ourselves eventually joined by about 20 other adults and 4 children. We grilled out, had chips and dips and salads and veggies, watermelon, kickball, glorious sunshine and lots of fun. Some people went swimming in the lifeguarded lake at the park. I would have, except I didn't know where my suit was so I didn't bring it. I read most of The Vine of Desire (which I finished this afternoon) and got a nice little sunburn on my upper arms, which hadn't been exposed to the light of day in a few years (I adopted the fuckit bucket and went sleeveless). We mused on what all of our respective already-born and to-be-born-in-the-future children will think of their parents' wacky friends as they grow up - because really, no matter how many actual blood relatives these children all grow up with, we're all a big huge extended non-blood-related family and I know our kids will all grow up together. And that makes my heart smile.
Afterward, Gabriel invited us back to his house for a swim. Bryan had some writing to do for gaming so he declined, but I searched for the aforementioned elusive bathing suit, found it within about 3 minutes, and drove out to Gabe's. With the exception of Gabe's son, Silas (one of the aforementioned children), I was the only one who didn't have an SO there. And Silas doesn't have an SO. Silas is 7, for chrissakes. And Silas went to bed about half an hour after I got there. So it was me and 5 or 6 couples. No matter though, they're all my friends - I was just slightly lonely watching all the pool kissies and snuggles. And it turned less into a pool party and more of a dunking party, which was loads of fun. I surprised some of the guys with my arm strength, I think (that guess brought to you by Talyn's exclamation of "holy crap, you've got some pipes!"). Of course I had my share of being taken down as well. We sat around drying off for a while, then got dressed, after which some of us headed out to kitchen for a low-key snack. We were all completely exhausted.
I haven't had a day like that in a loooooong time. I'm debating how soon I'd want to have another one though - it was that kind of good that makes you really appreciate having days like that - I wouldn't want to get spoiled, or start taking those days for granted. The only way I can describe it in just one sentence is this: It was the kind of day that forces you to realize that you're never alone, the kind of day that makes you love life.
All the pretty colors
I know I like the format. I also know I don't like the colors (sorry Theresa and Laura - I know you guys like the pink, but it's just not... well... me). Hmmm... not sure what to do though. I don't want black.
UPDATE! Tried some new colors. I've got a general idea, now I just need to figure out how to implement it.
UPDATE #2 After a brief websearch to find out how to do some coding I'd never done before, I think I've settled on something I like for now. If I can't be on the gorgeous Carribean waters, at least I can look at them.
Amusement
Well, at least someone at my company has a sense of humor. Here's the error message I got this morning while trying to log on to a program necessary to do my job:
Yuh think?
Rediscovering a former passion
The library. I've rediscovered the library. The fact that I lost it boggles my mind - I could have lived there when I was younger and even went so far as to work at my local library in college.
I originally applied for a library card at my current local library when I first moved to Wisconsin, but went once or twice and that was that. Five years later, I decided to apply again. I grabbed three books (In Her Shoes, The Vine of Desire, The Unknown Errors of Our Lives) by two of my current favorite authors (Jennifer Weiner, Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni).
SIDE NOTE: I didn't realize until I looked for links to the books that The Vine of Desire is the Sequel to one of my favorite books, Sister of My Heart. I can't wait to start it!! We're going to the lake on Saturday, so that should be a perfect time to get some reading done.
I also have a few more on hold: Kitchen Confidential: Adventures In the Culinary Underbelly, I Know This Much is True, The Pilot's Wife (just to see what the hype is about), and one more that I can't remember right now.
I've spent so long not really reading much of anything, it's very exciting to get back on track. I'd been reading at least one book a month for my book club, and that made me remember what I been missing out on.
Mushiness
I love my husband!!!! He is the best thing that's ever happened to me, and I can't imagine my life without him. And I'm not just saying it because I know he reads my blog. I'm saying it because I haven't been saying it enough lately, and I want the whole world to know. I LOVE MY HUSBAND! I love him when he's grouchy, I love him when he's happy, I especially love him when he's excited about something, I love him when he's making sure my toes are happy, I love him when we're having Beep Spider Theatre (don't ask), I love him when we're snuggling, I even love him when we're fighting. I find him especially sexy when he's mopping the kitchen floor or cooking a decadent meal (like last night - oh baby was that Pork Mei Fun good!). I love that he brings me little surprises (which reminds me that I don't bring him little surprises very often and I really should get on that). I love him when he's so concerned about my friends that he's physically upset when they're being plagued by injustice and other assorted crap. And I love him because he's my Baboo. And I can't even think of what life would be like had I not packed up and moved from a Major Metropolitan Area to East Bumblefuck, Wisconsin five years ago. Bryan is without a doubt, hands-down, bar none, the absolute best thing that has ever happened to me and I love him more than I can ever express.
I'm baaaaaaaaack...
I think, anyway.
Band: DMB, Album: Crash. Track 1
Otherwise entitled "So Much to Say"
I'm just not saying it. After reading a post on Mel's blog, I realized I've been feeling much the same way (minus the Aunt Flo stuff and significant other haircut - I don't think Bryan's had a haircut in over 10 years). Been taking care of my own stuff, been busy at work, haven't had much time or inclination to blog a whole lot lately. I've barely even read other people's blogs. I'm sure the desire will come back soon.
Family health situation
My cousin's baby has something called Diamond Blackfan Anemia. It's very rare (about 400 worldwide). The anemia may respond to steroid therapy, but he may need either infusions of red blood cells every few weeks, or worst case scenario a bone marrow transplant. I called to make an appointment to get tested and listed on the National Marrow Donor Program, but it costs $65 to be tested. Crap. I can't afford $65. I can hope that my cousin's insurance would cover the cost of my testing if the doctors call for family testing later on.
In other family news, my grandmother has finally been diagnosed. She had been pretty sick before Christmas, and she's finally been diagnosed with dementia and Alzheimer's. Oy.
I should probably go...
Our regular Friday night gathering has moved to Corrie's house for this week only (much to the dismay I'm sure of our downstairs neighbors, who were incredibly rude to me last Friday night). Bryan went to Corrie's earlier today to dig the fire pit, while I went to see Legally Blonde 2: Red, White and Blonde with Val and Jessie. After we got back, we dropped Jessie at work and went to grab some ice cream. I decided I wanted to dye my hair right then and there, so we drove all over town looking for a place that was open. It seemed like ever place was closing *just* as we got there. Damn! I'll have to do it Sunday. Anyway, so after finding out that even the grocery stores were closed, I looked at Val and said "wait - the grocery stores are closed. Where are you going to get stuff for tonight?" (Val's cooking tonight) We freaked, then laughed ourselves silly. She made up her mind that it was going to be PB&J sandwiches and french fries (LOL!!!) until we found that Kwik Trip has hot dogs. We got 3 packs of hot dogs and the last 3 packs of buns.
Anyway, so I should probably get going, but I'm finding it so hard to heave my butt up out of this chair. It's not that I don't want to go, but I wouldn't mind staying home either. Oh well. I know there will be a Smirnoff Ice Twist (raspberry, tastes just like sherbet - they must be new, I can't find anything online) with my name on it when I get there, so I guess it's not that bad.
Random self-assessment: I say "anyway" a lot.
Happy 4th!!
I'm so @$#%& SICK of being SICK!!!
Okay, so you all know I had bronchitis in the middle of May. Then I got a damn cold two and a half weeks ago that wound up going back down into my lungs. Well, I feel fine now, but this damn cough WILL NOT go away. I'm freakin' menthol woman over here. Vicks VapoRub at night when it's really bad (like the night I coughed so hard I was gagging and almost vomited), and cough drops all day. I even switched from cherry Halls to ice-blue Halls because they have more menthol in them. Dammit, I'm tired of this shit. A few of my friends are having the same problem, not to mention the coworker of another friend - she said her coworker finally got over it with a combination of Prednisone and Albuterol. I talked to one of my friends and she said not even the Prednisone helped her. Oy.
Oh my darlin', Iiiiiii...
Mr. Barry White, the man whose voice has been making panties moist for many a year, passed away this morning at the age of 58. Damn hypertension. Makes me worry about my dad, whose BP is high even ON meds. :(
Paging Miss Kitka...
I'm having trouble with the comments on your blog. For the record, I was trying to say that if you're looking to move to a quieter town, I'd like to put in a plug for my town if WI is ever in your future. My quiet town could certainly use a family of liberals who care about... well... who CARE. And downtown Madison's only 40 minutes away...