I have a tendency to get caught in a nasty tornado of the "what if's."
This is something that, as much as I've tried, I don't completely have control over. I've tried to train myself not to do it. My psychiatrist has tried to medicate the habit out of me. So far, the only thing that works is complete and total avoidance of the world around me. This of course works, because if I'm not aware of the things I would worry about, I don't worry about them.
Unfortunately, the avoidance technique isn't a permanent solution. I mean, I can avoid things for only so long, and then there they are, back full force -- if not more so than before.
Writing it all down seems to help a little bit more than the avoidance technique, but if someone happens across my brain spillage (thats what I call it when I do that -- see last post for example), they get all sorts of worried, or take things out of context, or don't realize that its just me spewing out everything that happens to be in my head at the moment.
It's for that reason that I used to keep a journal, but no longer really do. The last time I kept a journal, it was read by someone, and the idiocies inside of it were used against me. Now I try to write in public, and only write the things I'm okay with other people knowing. That restriction makes it a lot less theraputic than it used to be.
But back to the what-ifs.
I start with something relatively straight forward, and then my mind goes into overdrive predicting all the things that can go wrong. This used to happen with everything in my life, not just the understandably scary things. Heck, it used to happen with things as basic as doing the laundry. What if all the machines are full? What if I run out of quarters? No, I have enough quarters. What if the machine breaks? What if someone decides to be bitchy and move my laundry before I go down to get it? What if management decides, for once, to enforce the curfew on the laundry room? What if, what if, what if? -- scream --
I've gotten it under control enough now though, that the what-ifs only strike when a situation is much more serious. The whole abnormal cell thing, for example. What if it's pre-cancerous again? What if it's cancer this time? What if it was cancer before, but the doctors were incompetent? What if I have to have surgery again? What if I have to have a hysterectomy? What if it's a radical hysterectomy? What if I want kids later on? What if, what if, what if? -- scream --
And the thing about it is, I can't get past it until I've worked out both my emotional and active responses to each and every what-if that comes to mind. Only then, after I've rehearsed all those things, can I sit myself down and actually take care of things. It can be crippling at times. It drives other people insane sometimes. Heck, it drives me insane. But there's just no getting around it. My brain kicks into emotional overdrive, and it won't shut off until I've appeased it appropriately.
Telling myself "I'll deal with that if it happens" doesn't work, because then my brain says "What if you put off thinking about it, and then when it does actually come up, you're caught completely unprepared, huh? Then what? Huh? Huh? Huh?!"
*sigh*
It's remarkably exhausting. And it seems to be all I'm doing lately -- if I'm not in avoidance mode, playing Wii or WoW.
Monday, September 10, 2007
Thursday, September 06, 2007
And Now For Something Completely.... Personal
I'm going to preface this post by saying:
A) This is probably more than anyone wants to know about me
B) This is incredibly personal and specific information
C) This post may contain discussion that is disturbing to some, so I won't feel bad if you decide to skip it.
And D) If I don't write it down, its going to drive me insane (it may anyway), and this is my primary writing outlet at the moment, so I'm putting it here.
Last year I was diagnosed with Cervical Dysplasia, CIN3. For those of you who don't understand the totally vague and seemingly arbitrary medical terms, that means that I had pre-cancerous cells growing on my cervix. The cause? That nasty little HPV thing that's being splattered all across the television and news lately. Apparently there's a vaccine for it now. Not that that does me any good, because I already have the damned thing, and the vaccine only keeps you from getting it if you don't already have it. If only they'd have come up with that vaccine sooner...
In any case, last year I went through the biopsy, and then went through a very icky surgical procedure to have those pre-cancerous cells removed. This particular surgery, called a conization, was just one of the options on the table for treatment. If the cells were too deep, my other option was a hysterectomy. Thankfully, the cells weren't too deep, and all that was needed was the conization. I went back after that surgery, and everything seemed fine, the surgery was successful, blah blah blah.
Fast forward to approximately 2 months ago, when I started feeling like shit for no apparent reason. I had a lowgrade fever that was making me not hungry, dizzy, and nauseated. I went to the doctor. They didn't know what was wrong, but ran some tests, and then sent me to a specialist thinking it might be a thyroid problem.
Still no answers there. Fine. Run some more tests. Get my annual Pap test done.
Fast forward to yesterday, when I get a phone call from the lovely woman physician's assistant (who seems more capable than any normal doctor I've ever been to see, by the way) that did my pelvic exam. The Pap test found abnormal cells. Again. She's referring me to an ob/gyn.
The last time I went through all this, it was hard. It was a complete surprise, and I wasn't prepared for any of it, didn't know anything about anything about it, had to do tonnes and tonnes of research on my own to try and understand what in the fuck was going on.
As hard as last time was, this time is even worse. Why? Because now I know exactly what I'm in for. I know that if the biopsy comes back with pre-cancerous results, then I'm probably in for a hysterectomy simply because the dysplasia has re-occurred, and that means I have the highest of high risk strains of HPV, and it will just keep re-occurring until it turns into full fledged cancer, or I die (whichever comes first).
I've been saying for a long time that I didn't want to have any more kids; that one rug rat was enough. I've been saying that. I haven't really been meaning it. I absolutely adored being pregnant with my son. I'd love to be able to have another baby, especially if it was a girl.
The only reason I've been convincing myself that I don't want any more kids is because I know that in order to have them, I'd have to be way more financially stable than I am now and that I'd have to go off of the medication I currently take daily to stay sane. I don't think its realistic for me to think about having another child, so I'd been trying to make myself think about getting my tubes tied instead.
But now I'm looking at that choice being made for me. And somehow that makes it worse. I wanted to be able to make the choice. It's my body. I should get to choose. As much as I hate periods, they're a reminder that I'm a woman, and I can make babies if I want to. To lose that... Will I be less of a woman? Or will I just feel that way? I know it seems like a stupid question to ask... But think about it this way. If I were a guy, instead, we'd be talking about cutting off my balls. Talk about immasculating right? Right. Point made.
I am scared. I am angry. I am sad. I am beyond sad actually. I'm full on depressed. And I feel most totally and completely alone.
And the BF has no comforting things to say to me. Him of all people... There were no reassurances that everything would be alright. There were no admonishions for me to not worry. Hell, even the asking me what was wrong when I got off the phone wasn't comforting. Instead of a caringly worried "what's going on?" I got a "what's up?" in an annoyed tone of voice that left me wanting to do nothing but punch him in the face instead of explain.
Of course, that's all typical of him. He's distant. He doesn't say "I love you." He doesn't get all sappy or emotional. And most of the time that's just fine with me. But in life threatening situations... The normal rules don't exactly apply, and I need more -- more that I shouldn't have to ask for. If I have to ask, it makes me feel like I'm only getting what I'm asking for because the person giving it feels obligated... Not because they actually want to give it. And that just makes me feel worse -- like I'm some sort of imposition, or burden to be dealt with only if it complains too loudly.
*sigh*
A) This is probably more than anyone wants to know about me
B) This is incredibly personal and specific information
C) This post may contain discussion that is disturbing to some, so I won't feel bad if you decide to skip it.
And D) If I don't write it down, its going to drive me insane (it may anyway), and this is my primary writing outlet at the moment, so I'm putting it here.
Last year I was diagnosed with Cervical Dysplasia, CIN3. For those of you who don't understand the totally vague and seemingly arbitrary medical terms, that means that I had pre-cancerous cells growing on my cervix. The cause? That nasty little HPV thing that's being splattered all across the television and news lately. Apparently there's a vaccine for it now. Not that that does me any good, because I already have the damned thing, and the vaccine only keeps you from getting it if you don't already have it. If only they'd have come up with that vaccine sooner...
In any case, last year I went through the biopsy, and then went through a very icky surgical procedure to have those pre-cancerous cells removed. This particular surgery, called a conization, was just one of the options on the table for treatment. If the cells were too deep, my other option was a hysterectomy. Thankfully, the cells weren't too deep, and all that was needed was the conization. I went back after that surgery, and everything seemed fine, the surgery was successful, blah blah blah.
Fast forward to approximately 2 months ago, when I started feeling like shit for no apparent reason. I had a lowgrade fever that was making me not hungry, dizzy, and nauseated. I went to the doctor. They didn't know what was wrong, but ran some tests, and then sent me to a specialist thinking it might be a thyroid problem.
Still no answers there. Fine. Run some more tests. Get my annual Pap test done.
Fast forward to yesterday, when I get a phone call from the lovely woman physician's assistant (who seems more capable than any normal doctor I've ever been to see, by the way) that did my pelvic exam. The Pap test found abnormal cells. Again. She's referring me to an ob/gyn.
The last time I went through all this, it was hard. It was a complete surprise, and I wasn't prepared for any of it, didn't know anything about anything about it, had to do tonnes and tonnes of research on my own to try and understand what in the fuck was going on.
As hard as last time was, this time is even worse. Why? Because now I know exactly what I'm in for. I know that if the biopsy comes back with pre-cancerous results, then I'm probably in for a hysterectomy simply because the dysplasia has re-occurred, and that means I have the highest of high risk strains of HPV, and it will just keep re-occurring until it turns into full fledged cancer, or I die (whichever comes first).
I've been saying for a long time that I didn't want to have any more kids; that one rug rat was enough. I've been saying that. I haven't really been meaning it. I absolutely adored being pregnant with my son. I'd love to be able to have another baby, especially if it was a girl.
The only reason I've been convincing myself that I don't want any more kids is because I know that in order to have them, I'd have to be way more financially stable than I am now and that I'd have to go off of the medication I currently take daily to stay sane. I don't think its realistic for me to think about having another child, so I'd been trying to make myself think about getting my tubes tied instead.
But now I'm looking at that choice being made for me. And somehow that makes it worse. I wanted to be able to make the choice. It's my body. I should get to choose. As much as I hate periods, they're a reminder that I'm a woman, and I can make babies if I want to. To lose that... Will I be less of a woman? Or will I just feel that way? I know it seems like a stupid question to ask... But think about it this way. If I were a guy, instead, we'd be talking about cutting off my balls. Talk about immasculating right? Right. Point made.
I am scared. I am angry. I am sad. I am beyond sad actually. I'm full on depressed. And I feel most totally and completely alone.
And the BF has no comforting things to say to me. Him of all people... There were no reassurances that everything would be alright. There were no admonishions for me to not worry. Hell, even the asking me what was wrong when I got off the phone wasn't comforting. Instead of a caringly worried "what's going on?" I got a "what's up?" in an annoyed tone of voice that left me wanting to do nothing but punch him in the face instead of explain.
Of course, that's all typical of him. He's distant. He doesn't say "I love you." He doesn't get all sappy or emotional. And most of the time that's just fine with me. But in life threatening situations... The normal rules don't exactly apply, and I need more -- more that I shouldn't have to ask for. If I have to ask, it makes me feel like I'm only getting what I'm asking for because the person giving it feels obligated... Not because they actually want to give it. And that just makes me feel worse -- like I'm some sort of imposition, or burden to be dealt with only if it complains too loudly.
*sigh*
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
Are Wii Having Fun Yet?
It started out like any other Super Mario Brothers. I was short, I was red, I had a moustache. I was even 2D.
But then things got weird.
Not only was I rescuing the princes, but I was rescuing Bowser as well. There was a purple and black void in the sky, and I was being followed around by "Tippi" the butterfly, who kept blurting things out to get my attention. I'm magically transported to the world of "Flipside." The only way to reescue the princess (and Bowser) was to collect "8 Pure Hearts."
My enemy is named Bleck, he has a "minion" named O'Chunks, and another minion who "is always up for a good chunking." And another that keeps transforming into different gendered characters, while the other minions make fun of his/her cross dressing and sexual orientation.
The next thing I know, I'm picking up "Shroom Shakes" and "Pal Pills" and being taught a "transdimentional technique" by a guy who insists on judging me based on the size of my 'stache.
I start to wonder who's bad acid trip I wound up in by mistake, so I look at the game box again. It says "Super Paper Mario" on it. It says "rated E for everyone."
o.O
I think I know why they call it a Wii now. Because the developers were so hopped up on LSD all they could say when corporate asked what to name the thing was "Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!"
But then things got weird.
Not only was I rescuing the princes, but I was rescuing Bowser as well. There was a purple and black void in the sky, and I was being followed around by "Tippi" the butterfly, who kept blurting things out to get my attention. I'm magically transported to the world of "Flipside." The only way to reescue the princess (and Bowser) was to collect "8 Pure Hearts."
My enemy is named Bleck, he has a "minion" named O'Chunks, and another minion who "is always up for a good chunking." And another that keeps transforming into different gendered characters, while the other minions make fun of his/her cross dressing and sexual orientation.
The next thing I know, I'm picking up "Shroom Shakes" and "Pal Pills" and being taught a "transdimentional technique" by a guy who insists on judging me based on the size of my 'stache.
I start to wonder who's bad acid trip I wound up in by mistake, so I look at the game box again. It says "Super Paper Mario" on it. It says "rated E for everyone."
o.O
I think I know why they call it a Wii now. Because the developers were so hopped up on LSD all they could say when corporate asked what to name the thing was "Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!"
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
You Can Say "Ass" On TV...
But you can't say "asshole."
Apparently "hole" became profanity while I wasn't looking, because the censored part of "asshole" is not the "ass" part, but instead is the "hole" part.
I guess I'm going to have to start censoring the word "hole" out of any office communications I make...
In the mean time, it's nice to know that the FCC thinks it's perfectly acceptible for me to call someone an ass, as long as I don't get any more specific about exactly which part of an ass they are.
Apparently "hole" became profanity while I wasn't looking, because the censored part of "asshole" is not the "ass" part, but instead is the "hole" part.
I guess I'm going to have to start censoring the word "hole" out of any office communications I make...
In the mean time, it's nice to know that the FCC thinks it's perfectly acceptible for me to call someone an ass, as long as I don't get any more specific about exactly which part of an ass they are.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
I Have No Words...
Okay.
So we went to Target tonight for some last minute back to school shopping. The kidlet needed all sorts of stuff, several of which seemed to be sold out, but whatever, we got the basics.
Walking back to the car, from a distance, I notice a puddle who's origin appears to be beneath our truck. Oh shit, not again I think, remembering when our coolant system failed and dumped a puddle of green on the asphalt not so long ago.
So we get closer, we examine, trying to stay calm.
The liquid is:
Watery
Yellowish
Coming from somewhere underneath the car
Not just a droplet or two
Totally and utterly confused, because its neither the color nor consistancy of coolant, we decide to try to start the car. It runs fine, no warning lights, no nothing.
Ooooooooo kay.
So we drive to Taco Hell to grab a quick dinner (which I opted out of), thinking it would be a good test to see if theres actually anything wrong with the car.
After parking, I get out, and start to investigate again. There are no leaks. There is no puddle forming. Not even a drop of oil.
Ooooooooo kay.
So I start to stand up, and in the process come eye level with the back wall of our front wheel well.
Which happens to be wet.
And just like that, it clicked. I knew exactly what was wrong with the car, and I started laughing.
When the BF came back from getting take out, I decided to inform him.
"Well," I said, "we have just experienced one of the most disgusting car problems ever."
"What?" he said.
--- Dramatic Pause ---
"Someone peed in our wheel well."
Yup yup. That watery clear yellowish liquid dripping from the car was none other than the urination of the person who pulled out of the spot next to us just as I was looking under the car the first time.
I hate where I live. I really, really do.
So we went to Target tonight for some last minute back to school shopping. The kidlet needed all sorts of stuff, several of which seemed to be sold out, but whatever, we got the basics.
Walking back to the car, from a distance, I notice a puddle who's origin appears to be beneath our truck. Oh shit, not again I think, remembering when our coolant system failed and dumped a puddle of green on the asphalt not so long ago.
So we get closer, we examine, trying to stay calm.
The liquid is:
Watery
Yellowish
Coming from somewhere underneath the car
Not just a droplet or two
Totally and utterly confused, because its neither the color nor consistancy of coolant, we decide to try to start the car. It runs fine, no warning lights, no nothing.
Ooooooooo kay.
So we drive to Taco Hell to grab a quick dinner (which I opted out of), thinking it would be a good test to see if theres actually anything wrong with the car.
After parking, I get out, and start to investigate again. There are no leaks. There is no puddle forming. Not even a drop of oil.
Ooooooooo kay.
So I start to stand up, and in the process come eye level with the back wall of our front wheel well.
Which happens to be wet.
And just like that, it clicked. I knew exactly what was wrong with the car, and I started laughing.
When the BF came back from getting take out, I decided to inform him.
"Well," I said, "we have just experienced one of the most disgusting car problems ever."
"What?" he said.
--- Dramatic Pause ---
"Someone peed in our wheel well."
Yup yup. That watery clear yellowish liquid dripping from the car was none other than the urination of the person who pulled out of the spot next to us just as I was looking under the car the first time.
I hate where I live. I really, really do.
Friday, August 24, 2007
Quirk #12
I am a total foodie.
I mean this in the good sense of the word, not that I'm a food snob -- although, I think maybe I AM a food snob... Um. Okay, yes, I'm a food snob. But I have full right to be. I went to culinary school. I know how to cook like a 5 star chef. I invent my own recipes, and they're actually restaurant worthy. I'm familiar with an incalculable number of types of cuisines -- not just what they should taste like, but how to cook them as well.
To me, good food can be better than the most amazing sex you could ever dream of, and I'm happy with that. Of course, this all means that I weigh a bit more than I should... Meh. Who gives a crap. Its not like I weigh 3 metric tonnes or anything.
So last night, after searching for a new apartment, we're driving through this village in the berkeley hills (yes, it really is a village), and we pass by this little bistro that looks charming. I'd been there for lunch before, but not for dinner, so I figure we should try out their dinner menu.
To my surprise, what during lunch time is a charming cafe with reasonable prices and a simple menu, becomes at night a 5 star french californian cuisine restaurant with a prix fixe menu that you have to know a fair amount about food and the french language to decipher.
Personally, I was in heaven the moment I saw that.
I was above heaven the moment I saw that they make their own pate (I can't figure out how to make the little accent thingies, so that looks wrong... ).
So we ordered a 3 course meal. And yes, it was actual courses. Like really. Complete with the table being reset between the entree' and dessert.
The pate was amazing. They used sage in it, and I've never tasted a better pate in my life.
I had the pacific halibut, which was served over a rice pilaf and topped with wilted escarole and shallots, garnished with a baked fig. The whole thing was surrounded by just the perfect amount of a butter and lemon sauce, which I HAVE to figure out how to make.
The BF got a roast chicken leg roulade, again over rice pilaf, topped with wilted spinach and shallots.
I ate too much. I ate way too much. But because it was all cooked to perfection, and from the freshest local ingredients (many of them organic apparently), I did not feel weighed down at all. Which was a good thing, mind you, because we hadn't had dessert yet.
Dessert was classically french. An artisan cheese platter made up of locally made goat and cow's milk cheeses that I cannot for the life of me remember the names of (probably because I couldn't have pronounced them without tying my tongue in a knot). They were small, and amazing, and one was crusted with ash, another was crusted with grape leaves, and the third was just a normal white crust, and it came with a little bunch of champagne grapes... AH.
We didn't order any wine... We should have though. That would have just made the evening beyond perfect. As it was though, it was better than sex, and I have never been happier with a restaurant in my life. I took their card so we could make reservations for the next time we want to go there. Turns out that we were insanely lucky to get a table without a reservation as they were, other than our one table, booked solid. I mean, turning people away at the door booked solid.
Not that I'm surprised. It was $100 well spent (yup. Dinner for 2, $100 USD. You read it right), and I don't regret one single penny. In fact, I kind of wish we'd spent more, as it would have meant more amazing food.
Am I using the word "amazing" often enough? LOL.
I mean this in the good sense of the word, not that I'm a food snob -- although, I think maybe I AM a food snob... Um. Okay, yes, I'm a food snob. But I have full right to be. I went to culinary school. I know how to cook like a 5 star chef. I invent my own recipes, and they're actually restaurant worthy. I'm familiar with an incalculable number of types of cuisines -- not just what they should taste like, but how to cook them as well.
To me, good food can be better than the most amazing sex you could ever dream of, and I'm happy with that. Of course, this all means that I weigh a bit more than I should... Meh. Who gives a crap. Its not like I weigh 3 metric tonnes or anything.
So last night, after searching for a new apartment, we're driving through this village in the berkeley hills (yes, it really is a village), and we pass by this little bistro that looks charming. I'd been there for lunch before, but not for dinner, so I figure we should try out their dinner menu.
To my surprise, what during lunch time is a charming cafe with reasonable prices and a simple menu, becomes at night a 5 star french californian cuisine restaurant with a prix fixe menu that you have to know a fair amount about food and the french language to decipher.
Personally, I was in heaven the moment I saw that.
I was above heaven the moment I saw that they make their own pate (I can't figure out how to make the little accent thingies, so that looks wrong... ).
So we ordered a 3 course meal. And yes, it was actual courses. Like really. Complete with the table being reset between the entree' and dessert.
The pate was amazing. They used sage in it, and I've never tasted a better pate in my life.
I had the pacific halibut, which was served over a rice pilaf and topped with wilted escarole and shallots, garnished with a baked fig. The whole thing was surrounded by just the perfect amount of a butter and lemon sauce, which I HAVE to figure out how to make.
The BF got a roast chicken leg roulade, again over rice pilaf, topped with wilted spinach and shallots.
I ate too much. I ate way too much. But because it was all cooked to perfection, and from the freshest local ingredients (many of them organic apparently), I did not feel weighed down at all. Which was a good thing, mind you, because we hadn't had dessert yet.
Dessert was classically french. An artisan cheese platter made up of locally made goat and cow's milk cheeses that I cannot for the life of me remember the names of (probably because I couldn't have pronounced them without tying my tongue in a knot). They were small, and amazing, and one was crusted with ash, another was crusted with grape leaves, and the third was just a normal white crust, and it came with a little bunch of champagne grapes... AH.
We didn't order any wine... We should have though. That would have just made the evening beyond perfect. As it was though, it was better than sex, and I have never been happier with a restaurant in my life. I took their card so we could make reservations for the next time we want to go there. Turns out that we were insanely lucky to get a table without a reservation as they were, other than our one table, booked solid. I mean, turning people away at the door booked solid.
Not that I'm surprised. It was $100 well spent (yup. Dinner for 2, $100 USD. You read it right), and I don't regret one single penny. In fact, I kind of wish we'd spent more, as it would have meant more amazing food.
Am I using the word "amazing" often enough? LOL.
You Know You Play Too Much WoW...
When you not only understand, but find things like this hilarious.
You also know you play too much WoW, when you enjoy things like these.
And for the record... Last night the BF and I went out for an absolutely amazing dinner (which I will probably critique for you all later), and we found our selves asking "why on earth doesn't Stormspire have a fine dining restaurant?"
You also know you play too much WoW, when you enjoy things like these.
And for the record... Last night the BF and I went out for an absolutely amazing dinner (which I will probably critique for you all later), and we found our selves asking "why on earth doesn't Stormspire have a fine dining restaurant?"
Friday, August 17, 2007
Quirk #11
I hate door to door salesman types.
I know they don't do that much anymore, but Comcast Cable has this really horrible practice of knocking on every door of an apartment complex that they have even one customer in, trying to recruit the rest of us.
My normal response to this activity while I'm at home is to politely tell them to fuck off, as I have satellite which is about 100 times better, and 100 times cheaper as well. In fact, the last guy who banged on my door (and I do mean BANGED) didn't even get me to open the door.
BANG BANG BANG
Me: Who is it?
Him: Comcast Cable.
Me: Go to hell. I have satellite. If you knock on my door again, I'm calling the cops.
Seriously. I said that. I'm assuming he ran away, as there was no further conversation... Of course, I doubt I would have noticed, as I walked away from the door after that. =D
So, I thought I had escaped the hordes of Comcast salesmen and women with not so idle threats. I was, regrettably, dead wrong.
This afternoon, I took the elevator down to the street level to have a bit of a break (read: to smoke, and read whilst smoking). So I find myself a spot to sit and relax, but notice theres a group of people standing around with clip boards, khaki pants, and polo shirts with a logo on them. Well fine, its a college campus, they're probably just recruiting for something, and they won't bother me since I'm smoking, and everyone hates people who smoke, right? *sigh* Wrong. Apparently Comcast salesmen are not deterred by the prospect of second hand smoke.
Chick (obviously looking to make a sale on something): Hi there! Nice day huh?
Me (obviously looking totally uninterested): Yeah, sure.
Chick (pulling out a flyer): Want some ice cream?
Me (looking totally and utterly confused, with "strangers with candy" alarm bots going off in my head): No thank you.
Chick (damned cheery): You sure? I just had a fudgecicle. It was great!
Me (trying not to laugh, but choking on it anyway): Really, no. I don't eat the stuff.
Chick (either getting back into a sales pitch, or hitting on me): So um, you go to school here?
Me (looking at her like shes a complete and total nut case): No. I work here.
Chick (looking crestfallen): Oh.
So she leaves me alone, and I go back to reading. No sooner had the 120th second of her silence ticked by, then a guy in the same stupid uniform walks up to me and says:
Want some ice cream?
I didn't even look up from my book, and said (a bit nastily): No.
The chick then pipes up and says: Oh, I just tried that.
Guy: Oh.
Chick: I think I'll sit here with her (meaning ME)
Guy: Okay. Oh look, students!
My entire break was spent being occasionally spoken to by this chick who obviously wanted to sell me something, but couldn't pluck up the courage to actually go into her spiel about it. Constantly things like "good book?" and "man I'm tired" and any other stupid random chatter she could think of.
I finally got sick of it and fled inside, cursing Comcast and their dreadful marketing tactics for ruining my break =(
For the record, Comcast is evil. Do not succumb to their offers of ice cream. The fine print on those free ice cream flyers says that by accepting said ice cream, you are signing over the rights to the rest of your unborn children, and putting Comcast into your will as the sole heir to your estate and the sole beneficiary of any and all life insurance plans you have, or might have in the future.
I know they don't do that much anymore, but Comcast Cable has this really horrible practice of knocking on every door of an apartment complex that they have even one customer in, trying to recruit the rest of us.
My normal response to this activity while I'm at home is to politely tell them to fuck off, as I have satellite which is about 100 times better, and 100 times cheaper as well. In fact, the last guy who banged on my door (and I do mean BANGED) didn't even get me to open the door.
BANG BANG BANG
Me: Who is it?
Him: Comcast Cable.
Me: Go to hell. I have satellite. If you knock on my door again, I'm calling the cops.
Seriously. I said that. I'm assuming he ran away, as there was no further conversation... Of course, I doubt I would have noticed, as I walked away from the door after that. =D
So, I thought I had escaped the hordes of Comcast salesmen and women with not so idle threats. I was, regrettably, dead wrong.
This afternoon, I took the elevator down to the street level to have a bit of a break (read: to smoke, and read whilst smoking). So I find myself a spot to sit and relax, but notice theres a group of people standing around with clip boards, khaki pants, and polo shirts with a logo on them. Well fine, its a college campus, they're probably just recruiting for something, and they won't bother me since I'm smoking, and everyone hates people who smoke, right? *sigh* Wrong. Apparently Comcast salesmen are not deterred by the prospect of second hand smoke.
Chick (obviously looking to make a sale on something): Hi there! Nice day huh?
Me (obviously looking totally uninterested): Yeah, sure.
Chick (pulling out a flyer): Want some ice cream?
Me (looking totally and utterly confused, with "strangers with candy" alarm bots going off in my head): No thank you.
Chick (damned cheery): You sure? I just had a fudgecicle. It was great!
Me (trying not to laugh, but choking on it anyway): Really, no. I don't eat the stuff.
Chick (either getting back into a sales pitch, or hitting on me): So um, you go to school here?
Me (looking at her like shes a complete and total nut case): No. I work here.
Chick (looking crestfallen): Oh.
So she leaves me alone, and I go back to reading. No sooner had the 120th second of her silence ticked by, then a guy in the same stupid uniform walks up to me and says:
Want some ice cream?
I didn't even look up from my book, and said (a bit nastily): No.
The chick then pipes up and says: Oh, I just tried that.
Guy: Oh.
Chick: I think I'll sit here with her (meaning ME)
Guy: Okay. Oh look, students!
My entire break was spent being occasionally spoken to by this chick who obviously wanted to sell me something, but couldn't pluck up the courage to actually go into her spiel about it. Constantly things like "good book?" and "man I'm tired" and any other stupid random chatter she could think of.
I finally got sick of it and fled inside, cursing Comcast and their dreadful marketing tactics for ruining my break =(
For the record, Comcast is evil. Do not succumb to their offers of ice cream. The fine print on those free ice cream flyers says that by accepting said ice cream, you are signing over the rights to the rest of your unborn children, and putting Comcast into your will as the sole heir to your estate and the sole beneficiary of any and all life insurance plans you have, or might have in the future.
Monday, August 06, 2007
Horses Can't Throw Up
So today I learned an interesting little factoid... Apparently, horses are completely without the ability to upchuck. This is not something I envy, though I know plenty of people who would envy it.
I am ill. I have a fever, I have a headache, I feel dizzy, and if I dare to eat anything I feel queasy for a good few hours afterwards. Supposedly I'm having a toxic reaction to one of the medications that I take. One that I've been on for 2 years without a problem. Although, they have been tweaking my dosage lately, and that might be to blame.
The thing is, I hate feeling queasy. If I'm going to sick up, I'd rather just sick up and get it over with. Nine times out of ten, I feel better afterwards anyway.
But no... Like horses, I seem to be incapable of actually getting THAT sick, so I am doomed to perpetual nausea (either that or starvation). And for the record, I've been this way since Sunday before last, and I'm showing no signs of getting better, despite having been off the offending medications for several days. In fact, I think going off said medications has actually made things worse, because now, on top of the original ailments, I haven't really slept for several days, and I'm now tired and really REALLY grumpy.
And I'm at work.
Bleh.
I am ill. I have a fever, I have a headache, I feel dizzy, and if I dare to eat anything I feel queasy for a good few hours afterwards. Supposedly I'm having a toxic reaction to one of the medications that I take. One that I've been on for 2 years without a problem. Although, they have been tweaking my dosage lately, and that might be to blame.
The thing is, I hate feeling queasy. If I'm going to sick up, I'd rather just sick up and get it over with. Nine times out of ten, I feel better afterwards anyway.
But no... Like horses, I seem to be incapable of actually getting THAT sick, so I am doomed to perpetual nausea (either that or starvation). And for the record, I've been this way since Sunday before last, and I'm showing no signs of getting better, despite having been off the offending medications for several days. In fact, I think going off said medications has actually made things worse, because now, on top of the original ailments, I haven't really slept for several days, and I'm now tired and really REALLY grumpy.
And I'm at work.
Bleh.
Monday, July 30, 2007
I'm Alive. I think.
Okay, so again, not posting much. Sorry. Nothing funny has happened, and nothing else noteworthy has happened either. I can't even think of quirks about myself. Meh.
Anyway, for the sake of you all who don't have my email or my AIM to check on me -- I am indeed alive, and as well as can be expected.
The BF might disagree with me on the "well" part... My panicky breakdowns seem to leave him confused about whether or not I'm really "okay" (whatever "okay" means), and I've had more than my share lately.
I'll write something better when I think of something better...
Anyway, for the sake of you all who don't have my email or my AIM to check on me -- I am indeed alive, and as well as can be expected.
The BF might disagree with me on the "well" part... My panicky breakdowns seem to leave him confused about whether or not I'm really "okay" (whatever "okay" means), and I've had more than my share lately.
I'll write something better when I think of something better...
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Quirk #10
I know I haven't been posting this week. I haven't thought of anything to write, and none of the quirks I've come up with are quirky enough to really qualify...
Work sucks.
I hate professors.
I hate professors who have no concept of costs.
I hate professors who have no concept of costs, and have no concept of "budget"
I also hate professors who have no concept of the above things, and submit pre-proposals without consulting their accounting staff first.
Lets just say that hiring a postdoc on a 100k award is um... Not the brightest of ideas. Especially when said postdoc has a history of running up 2k of fabrication costs a month.
Would it be alright with everyone if I screamed now?
Oh yeah, and I especially hate professors who tell me to work up a budget with a certain amount of money, and then, after I've done what they ask, tell me to re-work said budget with only 1/3 of the original total, but keeping everything anyway.
I'm sorry people... Despite rumors to the contrary, I am wholly unable to pull money out of my ass.
And yes... The fact that I am incapable of pulling money out of my ass is my quirk this time.
=P
Work sucks.
I hate professors.
I hate professors who have no concept of costs.
I hate professors who have no concept of costs, and have no concept of "budget"
I also hate professors who have no concept of the above things, and submit pre-proposals without consulting their accounting staff first.
Lets just say that hiring a postdoc on a 100k award is um... Not the brightest of ideas. Especially when said postdoc has a history of running up 2k of fabrication costs a month.
Would it be alright with everyone if I screamed now?
Oh yeah, and I especially hate professors who tell me to work up a budget with a certain amount of money, and then, after I've done what they ask, tell me to re-work said budget with only 1/3 of the original total, but keeping everything anyway.
I'm sorry people... Despite rumors to the contrary, I am wholly unable to pull money out of my ass.
And yes... The fact that I am incapable of pulling money out of my ass is my quirk this time.
=P
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Quirk #9
I'm addicted to books.
Seriously. I go through books like other people go through... well... air I suppose. Example: I bought a book at lunch last friday. I finished it well before going to bed the same day. And I'm talking about a 300 page book here, not one of those little bitty leaflet style ones.
When I was a kid, spring break was my high point because I would go to the library every day, check out a stack of books, and return them the next day, all read. In fact, you know those summer reading contests they would have? I'd have won them all -- if I'd remembered to turn in my reading logs... lol.
Now that I'm a grown up, I never go to the library. Instead, I'm building my own. I buy every book I read, and never get rid of it. My goal is that some day, when I'm rich (and hopefully, not famous), I'm going to have a mansion custom built. Half of it will be one HUGE two story room with shelves built into every bit of every wall, floor to ceiling, with those really cool ladders on runners going around the room.
I think I'm kind of old fashioned when it comes to books... Theres a woman in my office who caught me reading while I was walking to go get lunch (yes, I can read and walk at the same time), and she asked me why I don't listen to books on "tape" (she has hers on her iPod). I told her, honestly, that listening to someone read a book takes the joy out of it for me, and becomes boring after a while. The next day she brings in this little thing that looks like a PDA in a leather case... And says "I know you like books, so I wanted to show you this..." She turns it on, and its an eBook reader. I was horrified, but chocked back my distaste long enough to explain to her that I can't stand reading for long periods of time on a computer screen, and much prefer a regular book. She said she was the same way, but got tired of having to sell her books (OMG WHAT?). Again, I was shocked. I never sell ANY of my books! I keep them all, and read them again in a couple years (when I may have finally forgotten some of the plot). Besides, if I sold my books, I wouldn't have any left for my dream library!
In all truth, even if it weren't for the not liking to read a computer screen for hours at a time, and even if it weren't for the wanting to have a library of my own some day, I'd still buy regular books. There's something relaxing to me about the feel of a book in my hand. There's something relaxing about the smell of the fresh ink on the paper of a new book, and there's something really reassuring about the smell of old ink on old paper of a well worn used novel. The act of turning the pages is my own kind of meditation. It's as if by touching the book, I'm better able to absorb the story. Like the book is a portal to another world, and by holding it, I transport myself there. And that immersion, that complete escape from the reality of the world around me (I read mostly sci-fi/fantasy novels) is something that I don't think I could live without.
Right now, book-wise, I'm revisiting my adolescence by re-reading all my Piers Anthony novels (I have quite a few), and I was slightly disappointed to discover that I must have read some of the series' from books borrowed from the library, as I don't have the entire sets in my collection.
I guess a trip to Borders or Barnes & Nobels is in order... If they even still stock those books... Maybe Amazon.com? Eh. I'll find them somewhere.
Seriously. I go through books like other people go through... well... air I suppose. Example: I bought a book at lunch last friday. I finished it well before going to bed the same day. And I'm talking about a 300 page book here, not one of those little bitty leaflet style ones.
When I was a kid, spring break was my high point because I would go to the library every day, check out a stack of books, and return them the next day, all read. In fact, you know those summer reading contests they would have? I'd have won them all -- if I'd remembered to turn in my reading logs... lol.
Now that I'm a grown up, I never go to the library. Instead, I'm building my own. I buy every book I read, and never get rid of it. My goal is that some day, when I'm rich (and hopefully, not famous), I'm going to have a mansion custom built. Half of it will be one HUGE two story room with shelves built into every bit of every wall, floor to ceiling, with those really cool ladders on runners going around the room.
I think I'm kind of old fashioned when it comes to books... Theres a woman in my office who caught me reading while I was walking to go get lunch (yes, I can read and walk at the same time), and she asked me why I don't listen to books on "tape" (she has hers on her iPod). I told her, honestly, that listening to someone read a book takes the joy out of it for me, and becomes boring after a while. The next day she brings in this little thing that looks like a PDA in a leather case... And says "I know you like books, so I wanted to show you this..." She turns it on, and its an eBook reader. I was horrified, but chocked back my distaste long enough to explain to her that I can't stand reading for long periods of time on a computer screen, and much prefer a regular book. She said she was the same way, but got tired of having to sell her books (OMG WHAT?). Again, I was shocked. I never sell ANY of my books! I keep them all, and read them again in a couple years (when I may have finally forgotten some of the plot). Besides, if I sold my books, I wouldn't have any left for my dream library!
In all truth, even if it weren't for the not liking to read a computer screen for hours at a time, and even if it weren't for the wanting to have a library of my own some day, I'd still buy regular books. There's something relaxing to me about the feel of a book in my hand. There's something relaxing about the smell of the fresh ink on the paper of a new book, and there's something really reassuring about the smell of old ink on old paper of a well worn used novel. The act of turning the pages is my own kind of meditation. It's as if by touching the book, I'm better able to absorb the story. Like the book is a portal to another world, and by holding it, I transport myself there. And that immersion, that complete escape from the reality of the world around me (I read mostly sci-fi/fantasy novels) is something that I don't think I could live without.
Right now, book-wise, I'm revisiting my adolescence by re-reading all my Piers Anthony novels (I have quite a few), and I was slightly disappointed to discover that I must have read some of the series' from books borrowed from the library, as I don't have the entire sets in my collection.
I guess a trip to Borders or Barnes & Nobels is in order... If they even still stock those books... Maybe Amazon.com? Eh. I'll find them somewhere.
Friday, July 06, 2007
Quirk #8
I really hate coming off like I'm an idiot.
Okay, maybe this isn't a quirk. I don't think I know anyone who actually enjoys having people truly think they're an imbecille. I know people who don't care what other people think about their intelligence (either they're smart enough to know that other people are just stupid, so their opinons are useless, or they're too stupid to realize that seeming stupid doesn't help them in life), but none of them actually enjoy it. Me, well, I care if people realize I'm actually quite smart. I much prefer being thought of as intelligent, and go out of my way to make sure people realize I am. I don't care if people like me or not. They can think of, and call, me a bitch openly. It doesn't bother me. As long as they know I'm a smart bitch.
It's not something that I'm proud of. I show off, mentally, and its a really shallow thing to do. Which is funny, because I don't think of myself as a shallow person. Quite the opposite actually.
Anyway.
So I hate being put into situations that make me look stupid, especially when the reason I look stupid is because I am completely and totally uninformed about something that the person putting me in the situation already knew, and should have told me. And so far today, I have ended up in these types of situations 3 times.
My desk is the closest to the door to our cube farm, and as such, it falls upon me to direct anyone who happens to need directing. So someone comes in to ask if one of my co-workers is around. So I say "if her computer is on, she probably is. if it's not, she's probably not." Upon saying this, another woman in the office decides to pipe up that said co-worker is on vacation for the week. Why she couldn't have piped up when she heard the person ask... I don't know. Why there were no "on vacation" signs posted at this co-worker's desk, I don't know. But I ended up sounding stupid as a result.
So later, another person comes in asking for the same co-worker. Having found out that she's on vacation, I try to direct them to her supervisor. Whereupon the same person that piped up before says "oh, her supervisor is on vacation too." And I nearly slam my head into my desk right then and there. But no, I hold back, and ask politely who is covering while they're gone. The answer? She is. Why she couldn't have told me all that earlier, the first time I made an ass of myself, is beyond me. But whatever.
So after that, someone comes in asking for someone that does not sit in our office (or so I thought). I look at them, confused, and try to direct them downstairs. Whereupon I'm informed by that person that the someone they're looking for moved here. Okay, its a big office, but not THAT big -- I thought -- so I'd know if someone moved in... Right? Apparently not. Apparently this person moved into the far end of the office a WEEK ago, and no one bothered to tell me. And all this I find out from... Guess who. The exact same person who stepped in the first two times.
I really am not sure who to be upset at... My boss for not keeping me in the loop? The people who went on vacation without putting notes on their doors/desks? The people moving into my office without so much as a "hi how are ya? I'm staying for a while"?
GRRR.
Okay, maybe this isn't a quirk. I don't think I know anyone who actually enjoys having people truly think they're an imbecille. I know people who don't care what other people think about their intelligence (either they're smart enough to know that other people are just stupid, so their opinons are useless, or they're too stupid to realize that seeming stupid doesn't help them in life), but none of them actually enjoy it. Me, well, I care if people realize I'm actually quite smart. I much prefer being thought of as intelligent, and go out of my way to make sure people realize I am. I don't care if people like me or not. They can think of, and call, me a bitch openly. It doesn't bother me. As long as they know I'm a smart bitch.
It's not something that I'm proud of. I show off, mentally, and its a really shallow thing to do. Which is funny, because I don't think of myself as a shallow person. Quite the opposite actually.
Anyway.
So I hate being put into situations that make me look stupid, especially when the reason I look stupid is because I am completely and totally uninformed about something that the person putting me in the situation already knew, and should have told me. And so far today, I have ended up in these types of situations 3 times.
My desk is the closest to the door to our cube farm, and as such, it falls upon me to direct anyone who happens to need directing. So someone comes in to ask if one of my co-workers is around. So I say "if her computer is on, she probably is. if it's not, she's probably not." Upon saying this, another woman in the office decides to pipe up that said co-worker is on vacation for the week. Why she couldn't have piped up when she heard the person ask... I don't know. Why there were no "on vacation" signs posted at this co-worker's desk, I don't know. But I ended up sounding stupid as a result.
So later, another person comes in asking for the same co-worker. Having found out that she's on vacation, I try to direct them to her supervisor. Whereupon the same person that piped up before says "oh, her supervisor is on vacation too." And I nearly slam my head into my desk right then and there. But no, I hold back, and ask politely who is covering while they're gone. The answer? She is. Why she couldn't have told me all that earlier, the first time I made an ass of myself, is beyond me. But whatever.
So after that, someone comes in asking for someone that does not sit in our office (or so I thought). I look at them, confused, and try to direct them downstairs. Whereupon I'm informed by that person that the someone they're looking for moved here. Okay, its a big office, but not THAT big -- I thought -- so I'd know if someone moved in... Right? Apparently not. Apparently this person moved into the far end of the office a WEEK ago, and no one bothered to tell me. And all this I find out from... Guess who. The exact same person who stepped in the first two times.
I really am not sure who to be upset at... My boss for not keeping me in the loop? The people who went on vacation without putting notes on their doors/desks? The people moving into my office without so much as a "hi how are ya? I'm staying for a while"?
GRRR.
Thursday, July 05, 2007
Quirk #7
Squirrels scare me.
Not in the run away screaming sense, but in the cross the street to get away from them sense, or the stand stock still until they go away sense, or the slowly back away from them sense.
You see, I grew up around what I have come to believe are genetically engineered super squirrels that know no fear of humans, or anything else for that matter. The college campus that I work at is infested with the suckers, and truly, they are not afraid of anyone or anything. Half of them are rabid. The other half will bite you out of spite. They all will steal food right out of your hands, climbing up your leg to do so. It's so bad that ecologists have been called in numerous times to try and come up with a solution for them.
Short of putting a bounty on their heads, no one has been able to devise a plan to get rid of them.
This is because these rabid, non-people fearing, food stealing buggers are not your normal squirrel. I've come to the conclusion that what happened is that way back in the beginning of the university, when genetic engineering was still just a matter of breeding two different species together, someone in life sciences decided to use squirrels as test subjects. These squirrels then mutated, thanks to the vast number of chemicals and radioactive substances they were subjected to, to have the brain power of 10 students all combined. Because they were suddenly smart, and self-aware, they became aware of the torture that was being inflicted upon them. Resenting their human creators (creators of their intelligence anyway) for said toruture, they escaped from their laboratory prison. In the process of this escape, I'm quite sure that at least one lowly graduate student researcher lost his life -- perhaps more -- but the university covered it up, fearing a scandal.
These squirrels, now free, pledged themselves to the destruction of human kind. Not by blowing anything up, or creating bio-warfare devices, mind you. They plotted the destruction of humans simply by scaring them away from places of higher education, and dooming the human race to an existance of substandard education. And we all know ignorance kills, so the plan was a pretty good one.
Now, these squirrels terrorize anyone on campus who dares come within sight of them, patiently winning their war one undergrad at a time. They celebrate when they succeed in frightening off a college administrator, and throw a huge gala event when they manage to chase a professor off campus.
You don't believe me? Ask the BF. He knows. He's seen them. In fact, he thinks they should be made super elite bosses in some MMORPG, they are that fierce.
Is it any wonder squirrels freak me out a little bit now?
Not in the run away screaming sense, but in the cross the street to get away from them sense, or the stand stock still until they go away sense, or the slowly back away from them sense.
You see, I grew up around what I have come to believe are genetically engineered super squirrels that know no fear of humans, or anything else for that matter. The college campus that I work at is infested with the suckers, and truly, they are not afraid of anyone or anything. Half of them are rabid. The other half will bite you out of spite. They all will steal food right out of your hands, climbing up your leg to do so. It's so bad that ecologists have been called in numerous times to try and come up with a solution for them.
Short of putting a bounty on their heads, no one has been able to devise a plan to get rid of them.
This is because these rabid, non-people fearing, food stealing buggers are not your normal squirrel. I've come to the conclusion that what happened is that way back in the beginning of the university, when genetic engineering was still just a matter of breeding two different species together, someone in life sciences decided to use squirrels as test subjects. These squirrels then mutated, thanks to the vast number of chemicals and radioactive substances they were subjected to, to have the brain power of 10 students all combined. Because they were suddenly smart, and self-aware, they became aware of the torture that was being inflicted upon them. Resenting their human creators (creators of their intelligence anyway) for said toruture, they escaped from their laboratory prison. In the process of this escape, I'm quite sure that at least one lowly graduate student researcher lost his life -- perhaps more -- but the university covered it up, fearing a scandal.
These squirrels, now free, pledged themselves to the destruction of human kind. Not by blowing anything up, or creating bio-warfare devices, mind you. They plotted the destruction of humans simply by scaring them away from places of higher education, and dooming the human race to an existance of substandard education. And we all know ignorance kills, so the plan was a pretty good one.
Now, these squirrels terrorize anyone on campus who dares come within sight of them, patiently winning their war one undergrad at a time. They celebrate when they succeed in frightening off a college administrator, and throw a huge gala event when they manage to chase a professor off campus.
You don't believe me? Ask the BF. He knows. He's seen them. In fact, he thinks they should be made super elite bosses in some MMORPG, they are that fierce.
Is it any wonder squirrels freak me out a little bit now?
Things That Make You Go "Ummm"
So I get on the elevator at the second floor, and press the 5th floor button.
After I do this, the only other person in the elevator (who has obviously pressed the 4th floor button) says to me:
"Uh, it's going UP"
I look at her and say:
"Yeah, I know. See how I pressed the 5 button?"
Silence ensues.
*shakes head*
After I do this, the only other person in the elevator (who has obviously pressed the 4th floor button) says to me:
"Uh, it's going UP"
I look at her and say:
"Yeah, I know. See how I pressed the 5 button?"
Silence ensues.
*shakes head*
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
Quirk #6
I am addicted to writing implements and the paper they are used upon.
In this modern day of putting everything in a digital file stored on a central server, or a flash drive on your keychain, I still do a large amount of work on paper. In fact, most of the time, I have great difficulty working on anything except paper. To the degree that I tend to duplicate work, simply because I am compelled to work it out on paper first, then enter it into its digital format.
Along these lines, I am a menace to my bank account when entering an office supply store. My most recent decadence was a couple of engineer's computation pads... Which I absolutely adore, in part because I grew up stealing them from my dad but mostly because when it comes to working on paper, there is no better paper to do it on. It's tint lends itself to being easily read, and the faint grid pattern leads to the neatest of writing and figure drawing. The fun part? When you photo copy it, there is no grid, no tint -- just what you wrote on it, and a perfect set of margins. Oh yeah, and no bleeding through either. It's the smoothest, silkiest, leak and smudge free paper I've ever used... For work anyway.
When it comes to personal writing purposes, Claire Fontaine notebooks are piled up on my shelves, on my kitchen table, and anywhere else I can think to leave them. They're expensive. I won't deny that. But if you are a writer of any type (as in, physically writing), it is worth the expense. I have friends that I've turned on to this rather small line of stationary/notebooks, and they have never turned back. Again, smooth silky paper, no smudges, no leaks, and its quite heavier weight than most paper, so does not tear or crumple easily.
Hmmm... This is starting to sound like a stationary ad... I'll switch to pens.
I think I'm the only person on the face of the earth that has pen-gasms. I walk down the pen aisle of any store (any store that has more than bic ball points that is), and I get all hot and bothered. I actually coo over pens. As such, I am incredibly picky about what kind of pens I use.
I can't stand anything other than the finest, most elegant point. Which of course means that I absolutely refuse to use a normal ball point pen. Ball point pens should all be burned at the stake, and a ban put on ever producing them again, imo... But I don't care much for a pure felt tip either, as the tend to warp over time. Instead, there are two types of pen that I will happily use, my favorite being a fountain pen. Unfortunately, the last one of these I had was rather calously snapped in half by an overzealous toddler who had managed his way into the depths of my purse while I wasn't paying the closest of attention... Which nearly resulted in his very quick demise. But I held myself back. It was only a pen after all... *chokes on her words* ONLY a pen... ACK. *cries* I still miss that pen. It was beautiful. But I can't quite afford the hundred or so dollars it would cost to replace it. [If anyone would care to replace it for me *ahem* hint hint *ahem* I will gladly pick out a suitable model at your request]
The other type is much more readily obtained from a normal store -- rollerball pens. Ultra fine point. In as many colors other than black as possible. I personally have never cared much for black ink. It seems so blah. And when you photo copy it, you can't tell it from the original. Blue, again, is a bit boring, but only because it is so overused. I much prefer colors like purple and green. Occasionally even red.
When I used a fountain pen, I used to mix my own colors of ink... Not entirely reccomended mind you, but you'd be surprised the tints one can come up with simply by "forgetting" to clean the nib between color switches.
Anyway, yeah, I'm addicted. I don't deny it. It's one of the few creature comforts I indulge myself in lately -- pens and paper -- and remarkably, they can be practical =)
In this modern day of putting everything in a digital file stored on a central server, or a flash drive on your keychain, I still do a large amount of work on paper. In fact, most of the time, I have great difficulty working on anything except paper. To the degree that I tend to duplicate work, simply because I am compelled to work it out on paper first, then enter it into its digital format.
Along these lines, I am a menace to my bank account when entering an office supply store. My most recent decadence was a couple of engineer's computation pads... Which I absolutely adore, in part because I grew up stealing them from my dad but mostly because when it comes to working on paper, there is no better paper to do it on. It's tint lends itself to being easily read, and the faint grid pattern leads to the neatest of writing and figure drawing. The fun part? When you photo copy it, there is no grid, no tint -- just what you wrote on it, and a perfect set of margins. Oh yeah, and no bleeding through either. It's the smoothest, silkiest, leak and smudge free paper I've ever used... For work anyway.
When it comes to personal writing purposes, Claire Fontaine notebooks are piled up on my shelves, on my kitchen table, and anywhere else I can think to leave them. They're expensive. I won't deny that. But if you are a writer of any type (as in, physically writing), it is worth the expense. I have friends that I've turned on to this rather small line of stationary/notebooks, and they have never turned back. Again, smooth silky paper, no smudges, no leaks, and its quite heavier weight than most paper, so does not tear or crumple easily.
Hmmm... This is starting to sound like a stationary ad... I'll switch to pens.
I think I'm the only person on the face of the earth that has pen-gasms. I walk down the pen aisle of any store (any store that has more than bic ball points that is), and I get all hot and bothered. I actually coo over pens. As such, I am incredibly picky about what kind of pens I use.
I can't stand anything other than the finest, most elegant point. Which of course means that I absolutely refuse to use a normal ball point pen. Ball point pens should all be burned at the stake, and a ban put on ever producing them again, imo... But I don't care much for a pure felt tip either, as the tend to warp over time. Instead, there are two types of pen that I will happily use, my favorite being a fountain pen. Unfortunately, the last one of these I had was rather calously snapped in half by an overzealous toddler who had managed his way into the depths of my purse while I wasn't paying the closest of attention... Which nearly resulted in his very quick demise. But I held myself back. It was only a pen after all... *chokes on her words* ONLY a pen... ACK. *cries* I still miss that pen. It was beautiful. But I can't quite afford the hundred or so dollars it would cost to replace it. [If anyone would care to replace it for me *ahem* hint hint *ahem* I will gladly pick out a suitable model at your request]
The other type is much more readily obtained from a normal store -- rollerball pens. Ultra fine point. In as many colors other than black as possible. I personally have never cared much for black ink. It seems so blah. And when you photo copy it, you can't tell it from the original. Blue, again, is a bit boring, but only because it is so overused. I much prefer colors like purple and green. Occasionally even red.
When I used a fountain pen, I used to mix my own colors of ink... Not entirely reccomended mind you, but you'd be surprised the tints one can come up with simply by "forgetting" to clean the nib between color switches.
Anyway, yeah, I'm addicted. I don't deny it. It's one of the few creature comforts I indulge myself in lately -- pens and paper -- and remarkably, they can be practical =)
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Quirk #5
Bugs. The bane of my existance.
I am deathly afraid of several types of bug.
There's the obvious fears of bees, wasps, hornets, or any other flying bug that stings. If I see one of these fierce predators, I generally either a) freak out and run away or b) go catatonic and say "uhhhhh uhhhhh uhhhhh" while staring at the flying offender. This leads to me not having picnics, or eating outside in general, because wasps tend to really love all the food I generally eat.
The basis of this fear (because I wasn't always afraid of these things -- bumble bees used to intrigue me) is that when I was just about 5, and we were driving from NY to California in the dead of August through some god awfully hot state that I can't remember the name of, though it did look much like Nevada... I was shirtless in the car, and a hornet got into the car without my parents noticing, and it promptly stung me squarely on the belly button. Yes, screaming ensued. Yes, my parents were baffled. Yes, I have never been able to look at a stinging flying creature without freaking out since.
Then there's the not so obvious ones.
Ants. I am afraid of ants. To the degree that if I find them in my house in any quantity, I hyperventillate and must go around spraying every last one with windex until they are all completely and totally dead. And then I can't sleep for a day or two, because of the nightmares. Actually, thats the mild response. As in, the response to only having a very very small trail of the buggers show up somewhere. There was an instance in which I woke up one morning, walked into the kitchen to start breakfast, and found a foot wide seething swath of ants that went from my patio door, up the wall, across the ceiling in the living room, along the wall into the kitchen, and down behind the stove. I panicked (I can never remember how to spell that stupid word, I'm guessing its right, but I'm not entirely certain). I couldn't think straight. I couldn't find my way to the windex. I did however manage to find my phone, which I then used to call my ex, and when he answered all I could say was "Ants... Ants everywhere. Help." and cry. Thankfully, that was enough communication for him to grab some raid on the way to my apt, and mercilessly murder the little bastards while I huddled in the corner of my couch watching to make sure he got every last one, and when he missed one, I'd yell "There! There! Kill it!" and point until it was gone...
And then there was the one time in college when I found ants in my bathroom (no where else) one morning, and had to call in sick to work, and not go to class, just so that I could kill every last single one, go get ant bait so they wouldn't come back, then clean my entire apartment because the thought of even one ant on the edge of the toilet was too much for me to bear... Especially when I had to pee... Frantic checking of all edges of the toilet took place for at least 5 minutes before using the thing (including the lifting of seats, and tank covers) every time I needed to, for an entire week.
Typing this, it all seems quite hilarious... And come to think of it, everyone that's ever witnessed my ant exposure based breakdowns has always laughed at me throughout the entire episode...
Then there's the little bitty flying buzzing bugs, that don't actually hurt you that much... But have an awful tendency to fly in your ears and eyes and nose and mouth when you're least expecting it. Mosquitos in particular. Its not so much the bugs themselves that scare me in that instance... Its the "OMG there's a bug in my ear!" thing that bothers me. I think I've grown up hearing way too many stories of people waking up with cockroaches stuck in their ears... Not to mention that there's something that just really freaks me out about the idea of a bug getting inside me somehow. Maybe I have Aliens to thank for that fear... Who knows.
Strangely enough, I am not afraid of spiders. Sure, sometimes they might startle me, but I am not afraid of them in the least. Actually, I quite appreciate them, as they make a habit of eating all the bugs that freak me out.
I am deathly afraid of several types of bug.
There's the obvious fears of bees, wasps, hornets, or any other flying bug that stings. If I see one of these fierce predators, I generally either a) freak out and run away or b) go catatonic and say "uhhhhh uhhhhh uhhhhh" while staring at the flying offender. This leads to me not having picnics, or eating outside in general, because wasps tend to really love all the food I generally eat.
The basis of this fear (because I wasn't always afraid of these things -- bumble bees used to intrigue me) is that when I was just about 5, and we were driving from NY to California in the dead of August through some god awfully hot state that I can't remember the name of, though it did look much like Nevada... I was shirtless in the car, and a hornet got into the car without my parents noticing, and it promptly stung me squarely on the belly button. Yes, screaming ensued. Yes, my parents were baffled. Yes, I have never been able to look at a stinging flying creature without freaking out since.
Then there's the not so obvious ones.
Ants. I am afraid of ants. To the degree that if I find them in my house in any quantity, I hyperventillate and must go around spraying every last one with windex until they are all completely and totally dead. And then I can't sleep for a day or two, because of the nightmares. Actually, thats the mild response. As in, the response to only having a very very small trail of the buggers show up somewhere. There was an instance in which I woke up one morning, walked into the kitchen to start breakfast, and found a foot wide seething swath of ants that went from my patio door, up the wall, across the ceiling in the living room, along the wall into the kitchen, and down behind the stove. I panicked (I can never remember how to spell that stupid word, I'm guessing its right, but I'm not entirely certain). I couldn't think straight. I couldn't find my way to the windex. I did however manage to find my phone, which I then used to call my ex, and when he answered all I could say was "Ants... Ants everywhere. Help." and cry. Thankfully, that was enough communication for him to grab some raid on the way to my apt, and mercilessly murder the little bastards while I huddled in the corner of my couch watching to make sure he got every last one, and when he missed one, I'd yell "There! There! Kill it!" and point until it was gone...
And then there was the one time in college when I found ants in my bathroom (no where else) one morning, and had to call in sick to work, and not go to class, just so that I could kill every last single one, go get ant bait so they wouldn't come back, then clean my entire apartment because the thought of even one ant on the edge of the toilet was too much for me to bear... Especially when I had to pee... Frantic checking of all edges of the toilet took place for at least 5 minutes before using the thing (including the lifting of seats, and tank covers) every time I needed to, for an entire week.
Typing this, it all seems quite hilarious... And come to think of it, everyone that's ever witnessed my ant exposure based breakdowns has always laughed at me throughout the entire episode...
Then there's the little bitty flying buzzing bugs, that don't actually hurt you that much... But have an awful tendency to fly in your ears and eyes and nose and mouth when you're least expecting it. Mosquitos in particular. Its not so much the bugs themselves that scare me in that instance... Its the "OMG there's a bug in my ear!" thing that bothers me. I think I've grown up hearing way too many stories of people waking up with cockroaches stuck in their ears... Not to mention that there's something that just really freaks me out about the idea of a bug getting inside me somehow. Maybe I have Aliens to thank for that fear... Who knows.
Strangely enough, I am not afraid of spiders. Sure, sometimes they might startle me, but I am not afraid of them in the least. Actually, I quite appreciate them, as they make a habit of eating all the bugs that freak me out.
Monday, June 25, 2007
I Could Have Done Better With Hypercard
I am officially completely and totally disgusted with my department.
Today I was required to attend a "training" session in regards to our online financial management/purchasing/reimbursements system thing. They're offering these training sessions in the hopes of getting more people to use it, instead of submitting paper documents. Well, let me tell you, no amount of training sessions are going to get more people to use this piece of crap system.
Management thinks people aren't using it because "they're afraid of new ways of doing things." HA! This is a research center that gets its funding specifically because they're one of the best in the world at figuring out how to create new and better ways of doing things. The faculty and students aren't afraid of new things. They make their livings off of new things. They APPRECIATE new and better ways to do things.
The problem here is that this online system isn't better. It's new, yes. But its already an outdated, poorly programmed, unweildly mess of a thing. Personally, I don't want to ever log into it again.
Now... I'm going to preface this next bit by explaining that I am extremely tech savvy. You give me a new program to use, and I don't need a manual. I just sit down with the thing for an hour, and suddenly I'm an expert. I'm no stranger to basic programming either. I understand the ins and outs. I've designed websites. I've written programs in basic. My BF bombards me every day with information about programming and programming languages that I never dreamed I'd ever hear, let alone actually understand -- but I do understand a lot of it.
That being said: I could have done a better job at designing this thing, and I could have done a better job of it using nothing more than hypercard. Do you remember hypercard? That lovely little program Mac had back in the 90's that let you basically write your own computer programs just by dragging and dropping page elements? Eh, if you don't remember it, that's okay. Imagine Frontpage or Dreamweaver, but for writing applications as well as websites, and much more simplistic.
Seriously. I could have done way better.
The GUI on this "intranet" is so counterintuitive that I spent 15 minutes just trying to figure out which menu item I was supposed to click on. Me. Me, who only ever needs an hour to learn a piece of software well enough to give classes on how to use it. I was completely and totally lost in this web app. The menu set up was beyond attrocious. The "instructions" on each page were convoluted and misleading. The functionality is so limited, that I can get things done faster on paper. Not to mention the fact that this thing is entirely laid out using tables. There are no divs on the page. None. Just tables. Tables and tables and tables, within even more tables.
There is no "help" menu either. No FAQ. Just a 20 page user manual that you have to download in .pdf.
If a professor wants to look at his available funding (a simple thing, a common thing) he has to sift through several pages full of overly long links (not buttons or anything), each time clicking the right one to get further along in the process.
If a student wants to make a requisition, they have to figure out that the correct section of the site to go to for that is "services" then they have to figure out which professor they're supposed to be logging in under, and then they have to figure out which type of requisition they want to fill out -- and none of this is labelled clearly and simply. It's all in accounting staff jargon that no one understands (well, no one except us accountants).
And you know what makes this whole situation worse? It's taken the staff they hired to do this YEARS to get it to the point it's at currently. YEARS! The BF probably could have had it done in 6 months, with way more functionality, and have it so streamlined that no one would be confused about anything, and no "training" would be necessary, as you could tell exactly what you were doing just by looking at the thing.
Oh yeah, and did I mention that the guy they hired to do this barely speaks english, and makes about 3 times as much money as I do.
And I could have done better at it using Hypercard.
*screams in frustration*
Today I was required to attend a "training" session in regards to our online financial management/purchasing/reimbursements system thing. They're offering these training sessions in the hopes of getting more people to use it, instead of submitting paper documents. Well, let me tell you, no amount of training sessions are going to get more people to use this piece of crap system.
Management thinks people aren't using it because "they're afraid of new ways of doing things." HA! This is a research center that gets its funding specifically because they're one of the best in the world at figuring out how to create new and better ways of doing things. The faculty and students aren't afraid of new things. They make their livings off of new things. They APPRECIATE new and better ways to do things.
The problem here is that this online system isn't better. It's new, yes. But its already an outdated, poorly programmed, unweildly mess of a thing. Personally, I don't want to ever log into it again.
Now... I'm going to preface this next bit by explaining that I am extremely tech savvy. You give me a new program to use, and I don't need a manual. I just sit down with the thing for an hour, and suddenly I'm an expert. I'm no stranger to basic programming either. I understand the ins and outs. I've designed websites. I've written programs in basic. My BF bombards me every day with information about programming and programming languages that I never dreamed I'd ever hear, let alone actually understand -- but I do understand a lot of it.
That being said: I could have done a better job at designing this thing, and I could have done a better job of it using nothing more than hypercard. Do you remember hypercard? That lovely little program Mac had back in the 90's that let you basically write your own computer programs just by dragging and dropping page elements? Eh, if you don't remember it, that's okay. Imagine Frontpage or Dreamweaver, but for writing applications as well as websites, and much more simplistic.
Seriously. I could have done way better.
The GUI on this "intranet" is so counterintuitive that I spent 15 minutes just trying to figure out which menu item I was supposed to click on. Me. Me, who only ever needs an hour to learn a piece of software well enough to give classes on how to use it. I was completely and totally lost in this web app. The menu set up was beyond attrocious. The "instructions" on each page were convoluted and misleading. The functionality is so limited, that I can get things done faster on paper. Not to mention the fact that this thing is entirely laid out using tables. There are no divs on the page. None. Just tables. Tables and tables and tables, within even more tables.
There is no "help" menu either. No FAQ. Just a 20 page user manual that you have to download in .pdf.
If a professor wants to look at his available funding (a simple thing, a common thing) he has to sift through several pages full of overly long links (not buttons or anything), each time clicking the right one to get further along in the process.
If a student wants to make a requisition, they have to figure out that the correct section of the site to go to for that is "services" then they have to figure out which professor they're supposed to be logging in under, and then they have to figure out which type of requisition they want to fill out -- and none of this is labelled clearly and simply. It's all in accounting staff jargon that no one understands (well, no one except us accountants).
And you know what makes this whole situation worse? It's taken the staff they hired to do this YEARS to get it to the point it's at currently. YEARS! The BF probably could have had it done in 6 months, with way more functionality, and have it so streamlined that no one would be confused about anything, and no "training" would be necessary, as you could tell exactly what you were doing just by looking at the thing.
Oh yeah, and did I mention that the guy they hired to do this barely speaks english, and makes about 3 times as much money as I do.
And I could have done better at it using Hypercard.
*screams in frustration*
Friday, June 22, 2007
Staff Depreciation Day
Wednesday was Staff Depreciation Day.
What? I'm making typos? I should have typed Staff Appreciation Day? Nooooo... I'm not making any typos. I intended it to read exactly that. You see, ever since I've come to work here, "staff appreciation day" has gotten cheaper and cheaper, and more and more insulting.
The first one of these things I ever got to attend, we were encouraged to bring our families with us, and partake of a huge barbeque, and play carnival games, and dance to live music all afternoon. Not to mention, bring home lots of free stuff, like t-shirts and mugs and note pads and pens and, and, and.
The second one was still a huge barbeque with carnival games, live music and loads of free stuff, but we weren't allowed to bring our families.
The third one was a much smaller barbeque (as in, one per person type thing), with carnival games, live music, and a little bit of free stuff.
The fourth one was a small barbeque, really stupid carnival games (as in, I think someone made them in their backyard), live music, and even less free stuff.
The fifth one was a rationed barbeque, for which we were required to show staff ID, the games may have well not existed, the live music was so lame it hurt my ears, and the "free stuff" consisted of a really lame looking t-shirt.
This year, year 6, wasn't even a barbeque. The university cafeteria catered premade sandwiches and bags of something that was supposed to resemble popcorn. There was no live music... At least, if there was, it hadn't shown up by the time I did (and I went late). And the "free stuff" was now not even a lame t-shirt, but was a sports bottle (you know, the OLD kind, made of thick rubbery plastic, that makes the water taste like plastic), and a pen.
Oh yes, we staff are sooo appreciated that they keep cutting the funding used to appreciate us.
What? I'm making typos? I should have typed Staff Appreciation Day? Nooooo... I'm not making any typos. I intended it to read exactly that. You see, ever since I've come to work here, "staff appreciation day" has gotten cheaper and cheaper, and more and more insulting.
The first one of these things I ever got to attend, we were encouraged to bring our families with us, and partake of a huge barbeque, and play carnival games, and dance to live music all afternoon. Not to mention, bring home lots of free stuff, like t-shirts and mugs and note pads and pens and, and, and.
The second one was still a huge barbeque with carnival games, live music and loads of free stuff, but we weren't allowed to bring our families.
The third one was a much smaller barbeque (as in, one per person type thing), with carnival games, live music, and a little bit of free stuff.
The fourth one was a small barbeque, really stupid carnival games (as in, I think someone made them in their backyard), live music, and even less free stuff.
The fifth one was a rationed barbeque, for which we were required to show staff ID, the games may have well not existed, the live music was so lame it hurt my ears, and the "free stuff" consisted of a really lame looking t-shirt.
This year, year 6, wasn't even a barbeque. The university cafeteria catered premade sandwiches and bags of something that was supposed to resemble popcorn. There was no live music... At least, if there was, it hadn't shown up by the time I did (and I went late). And the "free stuff" was now not even a lame t-shirt, but was a sports bottle (you know, the OLD kind, made of thick rubbery plastic, that makes the water taste like plastic), and a pen.
Oh yes, we staff are sooo appreciated that they keep cutting the funding used to appreciate us.
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Quirk #4
I can't stand silence.
No really, I hate it. I've constantly got to have some kind of noise going on, preferably music or the TV. I go a little bit nuts if there's no backround noise.
I'm not entirely sure why this is, but it is.
No really, I hate it. I've constantly got to have some kind of noise going on, preferably music or the TV. I go a little bit nuts if there's no backround noise.
I'm not entirely sure why this is, but it is.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Life is weird...
When I was a teenager, and deep into my Christian phase, a friend and I made a local Christian bookstore our hang out of choice. They had a great music selection (as in, rock music, not just your typical gospel stuff), and on Friday nights, they had live performances. They also had a coffee/juice bar, so we could basically hang there until we decided we were hungry enough to go find food somewhere.
In the course of hanging out there, we got to know the owners, who were all really sweet people.
Eventually, my friend got a job there, so we all hung out there even more than before, and became friends with the owners. One of them especially, went out of his way for us, opening up the coffee bar early, or opening it up just for us even when it was supposed to be closed all day. He was the sweetest guy...
I still have fond memories of getting a couple friends together and heading over there on Friday nights to see local Christian performers live, for free. And I remember how the owners were nice enough to sell another friend's band's album without much of a markup, so the band got to keep most of the profits (I still have that album somewhere... They were actually pretty good). And I loved how they didn't mind a group of teenagers hanging out in the store -- they encouraged it in fact. I guess they rathered us hanging out there, in a Christian environment, than going somewhere less... Well, less Christian.
Last week there was a small plane crash not too far from where I live. The names of those involved were not publicized, so I didn't pay too much attention to it. Planes seem to crash every now and again out here... We have a lot of small airports, and a lot of inexperienced people flying Cesnas.
But I just heard from a friend this morning that one of the people killed in this particular crash was one of the owners of this store that we spent so much time at growing up. Her old boss, and our old friend. The one who was extra nice to us.
Life is just so weird sometimes...
In the course of hanging out there, we got to know the owners, who were all really sweet people.
Eventually, my friend got a job there, so we all hung out there even more than before, and became friends with the owners. One of them especially, went out of his way for us, opening up the coffee bar early, or opening it up just for us even when it was supposed to be closed all day. He was the sweetest guy...
I still have fond memories of getting a couple friends together and heading over there on Friday nights to see local Christian performers live, for free. And I remember how the owners were nice enough to sell another friend's band's album without much of a markup, so the band got to keep most of the profits (I still have that album somewhere... They were actually pretty good). And I loved how they didn't mind a group of teenagers hanging out in the store -- they encouraged it in fact. I guess they rathered us hanging out there, in a Christian environment, than going somewhere less... Well, less Christian.
Last week there was a small plane crash not too far from where I live. The names of those involved were not publicized, so I didn't pay too much attention to it. Planes seem to crash every now and again out here... We have a lot of small airports, and a lot of inexperienced people flying Cesnas.
But I just heard from a friend this morning that one of the people killed in this particular crash was one of the owners of this store that we spent so much time at growing up. Her old boss, and our old friend. The one who was extra nice to us.
Life is just so weird sometimes...
Monday, June 18, 2007
Stupid Saying of the Day
I was wandering around the WoW forums, and I came across a poster with the following idiotic saying in his signature field: "Except for ending Slavery, Fascism, Nazism and Communism, war has never solved anything!"
This has got to be the stupidest thing I've ever read... Okay, well maybe not the stupidest, but at least the stupidest thing I've read today.
To my knowledge, all these things are alive and well in the world.
When confronted with this fact, the person with the saying in their signature says to me "The Civil War abolished slavery. WWII got rid of Hitler. The Cold War stopped the spread of Communism."
Being that this was the WoW forums, I wanted to say "lrn2history" but a forum mod stepped in and told us to take the debate elsewhere.
Fine fine. Whatever.
Those of us fluent in world history and current events know that slavery existed (and still exists) in more countries than just the United States. A civil war in just one country does not abolish it world wide, and in fact, didn't even truly succeed in abolishing it in it's own country. It may not be legal in the US anymore, but it still exists here. All the poor teenage Thai and Vietnamese women being kidnapped and imported into the US for use as slave prostitution are proof of that.
And for those of us who know anything about history, WWII may have caused Hitler to kill himself, but he is not the end all be all of nazism. Sure, the current "nazi" groups are not as well organized, but I can guarantee you there are more members now than there were in the 30's.
As for the cold war... That didn't rid the world of communism. China and North Korea are still alive and well. France is fast on it's way to joining them in being communist, though they keep insisting they're only socialists. Whatever guys. Outlawing public displays of religion (even such small ones as wearing a teeny little cross as a necklace) sure sounds like communism to me.
Eh. Politics isn't my vent. I'm not pro-war, I'm not anti-war. Shit happens, and sometimes the only way to deal with it is to blow some people up. I get it. But I would never go so far as to say that war is GOOD. Necessary perhaps. But not good. It doesn't actually solve anything. It may take out the problem temporarily, by way of killing all the people involved in a situation, but that doesn't address the social issues behind whatever was going on. And until you address those social issues, you can never really "solve" a world wide problem.
Anyone who thinks otherwise is a moron, imo.
This has got to be the stupidest thing I've ever read... Okay, well maybe not the stupidest, but at least the stupidest thing I've read today.
To my knowledge, all these things are alive and well in the world.
When confronted with this fact, the person with the saying in their signature says to me "The Civil War abolished slavery. WWII got rid of Hitler. The Cold War stopped the spread of Communism."
Being that this was the WoW forums, I wanted to say "lrn2history" but a forum mod stepped in and told us to take the debate elsewhere.
Fine fine. Whatever.
Those of us fluent in world history and current events know that slavery existed (and still exists) in more countries than just the United States. A civil war in just one country does not abolish it world wide, and in fact, didn't even truly succeed in abolishing it in it's own country. It may not be legal in the US anymore, but it still exists here. All the poor teenage Thai and Vietnamese women being kidnapped and imported into the US for use as slave prostitution are proof of that.
And for those of us who know anything about history, WWII may have caused Hitler to kill himself, but he is not the end all be all of nazism. Sure, the current "nazi" groups are not as well organized, but I can guarantee you there are more members now than there were in the 30's.
As for the cold war... That didn't rid the world of communism. China and North Korea are still alive and well. France is fast on it's way to joining them in being communist, though they keep insisting they're only socialists. Whatever guys. Outlawing public displays of religion (even such small ones as wearing a teeny little cross as a necklace) sure sounds like communism to me.
Eh. Politics isn't my vent. I'm not pro-war, I'm not anti-war. Shit happens, and sometimes the only way to deal with it is to blow some people up. I get it. But I would never go so far as to say that war is GOOD. Necessary perhaps. But not good. It doesn't actually solve anything. It may take out the problem temporarily, by way of killing all the people involved in a situation, but that doesn't address the social issues behind whatever was going on. And until you address those social issues, you can never really "solve" a world wide problem.
Anyone who thinks otherwise is a moron, imo.
Quirk #3
I am a walking encyclopedia/dictionary/thesaurus/grammar reference.
It may not be evident in my posts here, as I tend to be rather laid back about my own personal writing style (this is of course, for my own benefit, and not anyone else's after all), but according to other people, I am a queen of the english language.
I was first dubbed a walking dictionary when I was in middle school (6th grade to be exact), and any time someone needed to know how to spell something, all they had to do was ask me. This trend first started with my close friends, and quickly blossomed outwards to the entire population of the school -- teachers included.
Then, in highschool, it expanded to asking me the meanings and origins of words, as well as what other words mean the same thing.
Then, in college, people started to ask me the entire history of concepts... Which, surprisingly I was able to explain, despite having very little memory of having actually read them (I'm sure I have, but I've read so much, it all gets a little jumbled up).
After college, I became a fount of useless information. You know, silly little trivia facts that don't actually mean anything to society, but its knowledge nonetheless, so I'd absorbed it somewhere. Things like "Mel Gibson's first film was an Australian flick called Tim, in which he played a mentally challenged young man who fell in love with a much older, highly intellectual woman." Or other things like, "it takes more calcium to digest milk than you actually get out of the milk itself, so if you drink milk for the calcium, you're actually operating at a net loss of calcium."
Now, at work, I act as an ESL teacher for one of my co-workers, who is constantly asking me about various words she doesn't understand, and how to properly construct sentences (She's from Algeria, and speaks French and Arabic natively -- not English).
All this is not to say that I know every word out there... I don't. But when I was younger, I would (for the fun of it) read the dictionary, so I know more arcane words than most. (How many of you know what Pusillanimous means? hmmm? Or what word it is in the etymology for that's commonly used today to mean the same thing?)
I did learn a new word the other day... Dearth. I was reading a Canadian's blog, and found this word, and was like "omg! A word I don't know! Need to look it up!"
(for those of you wondering, it means "a severe lack")
I also think I'm one of the only people who considers being able to use the Oxford English Dictionary online a perk of their job... LOL.
It may not be evident in my posts here, as I tend to be rather laid back about my own personal writing style (this is of course, for my own benefit, and not anyone else's after all), but according to other people, I am a queen of the english language.
I was first dubbed a walking dictionary when I was in middle school (6th grade to be exact), and any time someone needed to know how to spell something, all they had to do was ask me. This trend first started with my close friends, and quickly blossomed outwards to the entire population of the school -- teachers included.
Then, in highschool, it expanded to asking me the meanings and origins of words, as well as what other words mean the same thing.
Then, in college, people started to ask me the entire history of concepts... Which, surprisingly I was able to explain, despite having very little memory of having actually read them (I'm sure I have, but I've read so much, it all gets a little jumbled up).
After college, I became a fount of useless information. You know, silly little trivia facts that don't actually mean anything to society, but its knowledge nonetheless, so I'd absorbed it somewhere. Things like "Mel Gibson's first film was an Australian flick called Tim, in which he played a mentally challenged young man who fell in love with a much older, highly intellectual woman." Or other things like, "it takes more calcium to digest milk than you actually get out of the milk itself, so if you drink milk for the calcium, you're actually operating at a net loss of calcium."
Now, at work, I act as an ESL teacher for one of my co-workers, who is constantly asking me about various words she doesn't understand, and how to properly construct sentences (She's from Algeria, and speaks French and Arabic natively -- not English).
All this is not to say that I know every word out there... I don't. But when I was younger, I would (for the fun of it) read the dictionary, so I know more arcane words than most. (How many of you know what Pusillanimous means? hmmm? Or what word it is in the etymology for that's commonly used today to mean the same thing?)
I did learn a new word the other day... Dearth. I was reading a Canadian's blog, and found this word, and was like "omg! A word I don't know! Need to look it up!"
(for those of you wondering, it means "a severe lack")
I also think I'm one of the only people who considers being able to use the Oxford English Dictionary online a perk of their job... LOL.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Misheard Lyrics
For those of you who get a kick out of seeing what people mishear lyrics as...
You have absolutely got to watch this
.
Though, I'd reccomend not doing it at work. Not because there's anything racy about the video. It's not racy in the least. But because if you do watch it at work, you're liable to get in trouble for laughing yourself clean off your chair.
For the record, I hate this song. But this video... omg. I was laughing the entire time.
You have absolutely got to watch this
.
Though, I'd reccomend not doing it at work. Not because there's anything racy about the video. It's not racy in the least. But because if you do watch it at work, you're liable to get in trouble for laughing yourself clean off your chair.
For the record, I hate this song. But this video... omg. I was laughing the entire time.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Quirk #2
I have a chronic oral fixation.
Seriously. I just about always have something in my mouth. If I, by rare chance, don't already have something in my mouth, I'm trying to find something worth putting there.
I have no idea where this fixation comes from, but its ruined many pens, and countless shirt cuffs and collars. Not to mention the pull strings on any hoodies I might happen to own...
It's single handedly responsible for my smoking addiction (I don't think I'm actually addicted to the nicotine -- though I probably am -- I think its just something I do to occupy my lips), and the several pounds of extra weight I carry around.
So far today, I've...
Reduced a Starbucks straw to shreds of plastic.
Chewed on my finger nails (not bitten them off, just kinda chewed on them).
Bitten my fingers.
Chewed on the end of a pen (or three...).
Chewed on the cap to my bottle of iced tea.
Chewed on the cord for my headphones (not hard mind you).
Gone through a good couple ounces of sesame crackers.
Smoked way too many cigarettes.
Gone through 3 pieces of gum, each chewed for so long it made my jaw hurt.
If I were wearing a long sleeve shirt, I'd probably have chewed a hole in the cuff by now, but I'm wearing a tank top, so I haven't eaten any clothing yet today.
It's even bad enough that I grind my teeth in my sleep, and have even broken a tooth that way. Of course, my doctor says thats because of stress, but secretly I think its because I just don't have anything to chew on while I'm sleeping.
I'd like to think there's a cure for this out there somewhere... But I know there isn't, and I'm just a freak. *shrug* Oh well.
It does have it's plus sides though *wink wink, nod nod, blush, giggle*
Seriously. I just about always have something in my mouth. If I, by rare chance, don't already have something in my mouth, I'm trying to find something worth putting there.
I have no idea where this fixation comes from, but its ruined many pens, and countless shirt cuffs and collars. Not to mention the pull strings on any hoodies I might happen to own...
It's single handedly responsible for my smoking addiction (I don't think I'm actually addicted to the nicotine -- though I probably am -- I think its just something I do to occupy my lips), and the several pounds of extra weight I carry around.
So far today, I've...
Reduced a Starbucks straw to shreds of plastic.
Chewed on my finger nails (not bitten them off, just kinda chewed on them).
Bitten my fingers.
Chewed on the end of a pen (or three...).
Chewed on the cap to my bottle of iced tea.
Chewed on the cord for my headphones (not hard mind you).
Gone through a good couple ounces of sesame crackers.
Smoked way too many cigarettes.
Gone through 3 pieces of gum, each chewed for so long it made my jaw hurt.
If I were wearing a long sleeve shirt, I'd probably have chewed a hole in the cuff by now, but I'm wearing a tank top, so I haven't eaten any clothing yet today.
It's even bad enough that I grind my teeth in my sleep, and have even broken a tooth that way. Of course, my doctor says thats because of stress, but secretly I think its because I just don't have anything to chew on while I'm sleeping.
I'd like to think there's a cure for this out there somewhere... But I know there isn't, and I'm just a freak. *shrug* Oh well.
It does have it's plus sides though *wink wink, nod nod, blush, giggle*
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
101 Quirks About Me
This is something that a friend of mine has been doing on her blog, and since I've been short of ideas of things to post about lately, I thought I might take up the habit.
Quirk #1 --
I hate wearing shoes. In fact, the only reason I wear shoes at all is because I hate burning/cutting my feet worse.
When I was growing up, we (my mom, my sister and I) all went barefoot constantly. Shoes were not a requirement for leaving the house -- they were only a requirement if we were going somewhere that would be dangerous for our cute toes. Running around in the back yard, for example, did not require shoes. Playing at the beach, or in the grass at a park, or climbing trees did not require shoes. Heck, going to the grocery store didn't require shoes, as long as we were content to sit in the cart instead of walk around.
At home, we NEVER wore shoes. Or socks for that matter. We had hardwood floors, and even in the dead of winter when it was freezing cold we didn't put anything on our feet.
For a brief period of time I wouldn't even wear shoes when walking to and from school. The only reason I stopped doing that was because of the one time that I actually ended up with serious burns on the soles of my feet from walking across asphalt in 90 degree weather.
If I have to wear shoes, they're usually slip on's of some sort, or sandals, or flip flops that I don't have to wear socks with. And the moment I'm anywhere that I can remove them, I do.
I take my shoes off at my desk at work.
I take my shoes off in the car on long drives.
I take my shoes off while sitting in restaurants.
I take my shoes off the INSTANT I get home.
See, I went barefoot so much as a kid (and I'm sure that partially had to do with the cost of shoes, as well as the fact that my mother is a total batik wearing hippie at heart) that now my feet feel completely and totally trapped in shoes. To the degree that I'd even go so far as to say that my feet get claustrophobic.
As such, I am constantly confused by my BF. He forgets to take his shoes off. And he never takes off his socks. I mean never. Except to shower (Well, and for one other activity... No naked men in socks for me!). He even sleeps in them! I can't comprehend how he can stand to have his feet boxed up all the time like that. Meh.
Quirk #1 --
I hate wearing shoes. In fact, the only reason I wear shoes at all is because I hate burning/cutting my feet worse.
When I was growing up, we (my mom, my sister and I) all went barefoot constantly. Shoes were not a requirement for leaving the house -- they were only a requirement if we were going somewhere that would be dangerous for our cute toes. Running around in the back yard, for example, did not require shoes. Playing at the beach, or in the grass at a park, or climbing trees did not require shoes. Heck, going to the grocery store didn't require shoes, as long as we were content to sit in the cart instead of walk around.
At home, we NEVER wore shoes. Or socks for that matter. We had hardwood floors, and even in the dead of winter when it was freezing cold we didn't put anything on our feet.
For a brief period of time I wouldn't even wear shoes when walking to and from school. The only reason I stopped doing that was because of the one time that I actually ended up with serious burns on the soles of my feet from walking across asphalt in 90 degree weather.
If I have to wear shoes, they're usually slip on's of some sort, or sandals, or flip flops that I don't have to wear socks with. And the moment I'm anywhere that I can remove them, I do.
I take my shoes off at my desk at work.
I take my shoes off in the car on long drives.
I take my shoes off while sitting in restaurants.
I take my shoes off the INSTANT I get home.
See, I went barefoot so much as a kid (and I'm sure that partially had to do with the cost of shoes, as well as the fact that my mother is a total batik wearing hippie at heart) that now my feet feel completely and totally trapped in shoes. To the degree that I'd even go so far as to say that my feet get claustrophobic.
As such, I am constantly confused by my BF. He forgets to take his shoes off. And he never takes off his socks. I mean never. Except to shower (Well, and for one other activity... No naked men in socks for me!). He even sleeps in them! I can't comprehend how he can stand to have his feet boxed up all the time like that. Meh.
Monday, June 11, 2007
And Now For Something Completely Different.
So all last week I was sick. Went home from work on Monday with a fever and stomach cramps... And things just got worse from there. So Thursday I end up in my doctor's office, with her grilling me about what I ate on Sunday and Monday, and how many time's I'd been to the restroom, and what those trips to the restroom consisted of (in great detail... ick), and was anyone else sick, and so on and so on. What was the verdict? Food poisoning. And the treatment? The rest of the week at home doing nothing, lots of gatorade, and the same antibiotic that they give people for Anthrax.
Yeah, you read that right. And yeah, its as bad as it sounds. I spent a good 3 days cursing the stuff and wondering which was worse: The sickness? Or the cure?
In anycase, I'm feeling better now, and am back at work, wasting time between menial tasks.
And now for something completely different...
I'm starting to think that every time I go out for a smoke, a little sign appears over my head that says (in brightly blinking neon, with an arrow pointed down at my head): "Information Kiosk"
Why do I think that, you ask? (Okay, so you didn't ask. Just pretend that you did.) Well, it seems that every time I step outside my building, someone is asking me for directions.
The other day, someone asks me if the building I'm standing in front of is on Haste street.
I give her a funny look and say, "This is Hearst street."
She looks at me deadpan and asks, "Is there a difference?"
Me: "Yes"
What I wanted to say: "Yeah, the difference is that Haste is about a mile south of here. Enjoy your 20 minute walk."
Oy.
I would need to borrow someone else's hands and feet to be able to count on fingers and toes how many times I've been asked in the past 3 weeks: "Can I get to campus from here?"
Note: If you are "here" you are already on campus. Ahem.
I went out for a smoke after lunch today, and was talking with a co worker, when someone comes up to me and asks "is this the civil engineering building?" Of course, it's not... But I don't remember exactly which building is the civil engineering building. There are simply too many engineering buildings on campus to remember them all. So my co worker and I are listing off buildings to eachother, and naming the departments they cover...
"Evans?"
"No, that's math"
"Oh. What about Davis?"
"I don't know what's in Davis, but I don't think it's Civil"
"Well its not the Hearst Mining building..."
"Sibley?"
"That's not even a building. Its just an auditorium."
"Oh right."
"Etcheverry?"
"No, thats Mechanical"
"Um... O'Brien?"
"Chemistry. What's Mc Laughlin?"
"I think that's Civil"
"You sure?"
"Well, its not physics, thats for sure."
(Person asking for directions breaks in, albeit hesitantly): "Mc Laughlin sounds familiar?"
"That must be it then"
(Proceeded to give lengthy and convoluted directions)
Note: Just because someone is standing in the middle of a college campus, having a discussion about the goings on of said college campus, that doesn't necessarily mean they know which department is in what building. They have maps for these things. Use them.
I hope they ended up in the right place...
Yeah, you read that right. And yeah, its as bad as it sounds. I spent a good 3 days cursing the stuff and wondering which was worse: The sickness? Or the cure?
In anycase, I'm feeling better now, and am back at work, wasting time between menial tasks.
And now for something completely different...
I'm starting to think that every time I go out for a smoke, a little sign appears over my head that says (in brightly blinking neon, with an arrow pointed down at my head): "Information Kiosk"
Why do I think that, you ask? (Okay, so you didn't ask. Just pretend that you did.) Well, it seems that every time I step outside my building, someone is asking me for directions.
The other day, someone asks me if the building I'm standing in front of is on Haste street.
I give her a funny look and say, "This is Hearst street."
She looks at me deadpan and asks, "Is there a difference?"
Me: "Yes"
What I wanted to say: "Yeah, the difference is that Haste is about a mile south of here. Enjoy your 20 minute walk."
Oy.
I would need to borrow someone else's hands and feet to be able to count on fingers and toes how many times I've been asked in the past 3 weeks: "Can I get to campus from here?"
Note: If you are "here" you are already on campus. Ahem.
I went out for a smoke after lunch today, and was talking with a co worker, when someone comes up to me and asks "is this the civil engineering building?" Of course, it's not... But I don't remember exactly which building is the civil engineering building. There are simply too many engineering buildings on campus to remember them all. So my co worker and I are listing off buildings to eachother, and naming the departments they cover...
"Evans?"
"No, that's math"
"Oh. What about Davis?"
"I don't know what's in Davis, but I don't think it's Civil"
"Well its not the Hearst Mining building..."
"Sibley?"
"That's not even a building. Its just an auditorium."
"Oh right."
"Etcheverry?"
"No, thats Mechanical"
"Um... O'Brien?"
"Chemistry. What's Mc Laughlin?"
"I think that's Civil"
"You sure?"
"Well, its not physics, thats for sure."
(Person asking for directions breaks in, albeit hesitantly): "Mc Laughlin sounds familiar?"
"That must be it then"
(Proceeded to give lengthy and convoluted directions)
Note: Just because someone is standing in the middle of a college campus, having a discussion about the goings on of said college campus, that doesn't necessarily mean they know which department is in what building. They have maps for these things. Use them.
I hope they ended up in the right place...
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
I. Am. Not. Hungry!
So I'm sitting at my desk, quietly wasting time, and one of the women from the next office over comes into our office, and starts offering everyone potato chips.
"No thank you," I say.
"Oh come on, you're afraid of potatoes?" She says.
"No..."
"Try one then, its sweet potato"
"No thank you"
"But its just like at Thanksgiving!"
"No thank you, I'm not hungry"
"You know, like with marshmallow and cinnamon" She continues, ignoring me.
"No. Thank you." I say, and glare at her until she goes away.
What is it about working in an office thats 90% staffed by women over the age of 35? They're always bringing in everything that they're not supposed to eat, and shoving it down everyone elses throat. Its like, because they're not supposed to eat it, they have to make themselves feel better about eating it by making everyone else eat it too!
This kind of thing happens all the time. So and so gets chocolates for Mother's day. Where do those chocolates end up? Next to the printer in the middle of our office with a little sign saying "Please have one!" The chick at the far end of the office has a birthday, and cake is brought in. Cake that I don't care for. And at least 5 different people stop by my desk telling me to "go have some!" Someone decides they want a doughnut for breakfast. What do they do? They buy a huge box full of them, and put it out for the rest of us to have.
Look, I'm not against junk food. I LOVE junk food. In fact, I eat too much of it on my own. If I wanted junk food, I'd have gone out and bought some. So, if I'm turning it down, that means I REALLY don't want any. I weigh quite enough as it is, and I'm not interested in weighing more just because you people need to have someone join you in your dietary sins so you can "feel okay" about stuffing your face like a pig.
And please, don't give me that hurt look when I stifle my urge to tell you to fuck off because I don't need to add another 5 pounds to my ass, and instead politely say "no thank you, I'm not hungry." You may weigh 350lbs, but I don't want to.
GAH!
"No thank you," I say.
"Oh come on, you're afraid of potatoes?" She says.
"No..."
"Try one then, its sweet potato"
"No thank you"
"But its just like at Thanksgiving!"
"No thank you, I'm not hungry"
"You know, like with marshmallow and cinnamon" She continues, ignoring me.
"No. Thank you." I say, and glare at her until she goes away.
What is it about working in an office thats 90% staffed by women over the age of 35? They're always bringing in everything that they're not supposed to eat, and shoving it down everyone elses throat. Its like, because they're not supposed to eat it, they have to make themselves feel better about eating it by making everyone else eat it too!
This kind of thing happens all the time. So and so gets chocolates for Mother's day. Where do those chocolates end up? Next to the printer in the middle of our office with a little sign saying "Please have one!" The chick at the far end of the office has a birthday, and cake is brought in. Cake that I don't care for. And at least 5 different people stop by my desk telling me to "go have some!" Someone decides they want a doughnut for breakfast. What do they do? They buy a huge box full of them, and put it out for the rest of us to have.
Look, I'm not against junk food. I LOVE junk food. In fact, I eat too much of it on my own. If I wanted junk food, I'd have gone out and bought some. So, if I'm turning it down, that means I REALLY don't want any. I weigh quite enough as it is, and I'm not interested in weighing more just because you people need to have someone join you in your dietary sins so you can "feel okay" about stuffing your face like a pig.
And please, don't give me that hurt look when I stifle my urge to tell you to fuck off because I don't need to add another 5 pounds to my ass, and instead politely say "no thank you, I'm not hungry." You may weigh 350lbs, but I don't want to.
GAH!
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Weirdnesses...
You ever have those days where things just felt... Wrong? You know, that "the milk smells fine, but I think its bad anyway" feeling?
My morning started out crappy.
The BF's cell phone made the speakers buzz at some insanely loud volume at about 5am. It didn't wake him up, but it snapped me out of sleep so hard that I just sat there for a good 15 minutes before being able to try and go back to sleep.
Then, at 6, the office line rings. This does wake the BF up, and me too of course, as he climbs over me to get out of bed... And the discussion that went on after that was loud enough that it kept me from getting back to sleep. I recall being in a half doze and hearing "OMG, Google's being investigated under anti-trust charges" and something about database corruption.
Then, at 7:30 or so, the kiddo comes in and proclaims to me (who is still trying to get some last shreds of sleep before having to get up at 8) in an overly chipper voice "Mom, I've been up since 5am!"
I slept in the car on the way to the office... And had really weird fucked up dreams. I hope I didn't end up talking in my sleep. Though, I might have, given the really strange look the BF gave me when I woke up and dragged myself out of the car. I can only imagine what I might have said... Eep.
And so, here I am at work, after a grande frappucino, still unable to keep myself even halfway awake.
Not that anything here at work is going right either...
Someone removed a stack of paperwork off my desk before I got in, apparently because I didn't get it done within 24 hours of having been given it in the first place. Only they didn't bother to tell me that. They didn't bother to tell me anything at all in fact. The folders just "poofed" and I'm assuming that the owners repossessed them. Hopefully that's the case, and the janitors didn't run off with them.
No one can decide on what the correct overhead rates for an account are supposed to be, and they're spamming the entire department with emails about it. I've half a mind to email them all and tell them to "take it private" -- as in, not on the departmental email alias that sends messages to everyone -- but I'm afraid I might get in trouble for that one.
The elevators are on the fritz again... Apparently one of them is "too good" to stop on the 5th floor (my floor), and the other one is confused about which direction it's supposed to be going at any given time. I'm counting the minutes before the building manager sends out email saying "use the freight elevator for the rest of the day, as both elevators are being serviced for the 15th time this month."
Oh yeah, and half the doors didn't unlock this morning. No, I don't mean that out of 40 doors only 20 got unlocked by someone. I mean, the electronic security system, which automatically locks and unlocks the doors on campus decided that it was only going to unlock the left hand side of all double doors. I may have hurt my shoulder by trying to open one of the right hand sides before becoming painfully aware of the fact that it was still very definitely locked shut.
*sigh*
At least I can go home soon, and spend the rest of my evening rescuing the most adorable Sporelings from Starving Bog Lords and Marsh Dredgers. I did that yesterday, and was most kindly rewarded with recipes for "sporeling snacks" and "clam bars." Yummy =)
My morning started out crappy.
The BF's cell phone made the speakers buzz at some insanely loud volume at about 5am. It didn't wake him up, but it snapped me out of sleep so hard that I just sat there for a good 15 minutes before being able to try and go back to sleep.
Then, at 6, the office line rings. This does wake the BF up, and me too of course, as he climbs over me to get out of bed... And the discussion that went on after that was loud enough that it kept me from getting back to sleep. I recall being in a half doze and hearing "OMG, Google's being investigated under anti-trust charges" and something about database corruption.
Then, at 7:30 or so, the kiddo comes in and proclaims to me (who is still trying to get some last shreds of sleep before having to get up at 8) in an overly chipper voice "Mom, I've been up since 5am!"
I slept in the car on the way to the office... And had really weird fucked up dreams. I hope I didn't end up talking in my sleep. Though, I might have, given the really strange look the BF gave me when I woke up and dragged myself out of the car. I can only imagine what I might have said... Eep.
And so, here I am at work, after a grande frappucino, still unable to keep myself even halfway awake.
Not that anything here at work is going right either...
Someone removed a stack of paperwork off my desk before I got in, apparently because I didn't get it done within 24 hours of having been given it in the first place. Only they didn't bother to tell me that. They didn't bother to tell me anything at all in fact. The folders just "poofed" and I'm assuming that the owners repossessed them. Hopefully that's the case, and the janitors didn't run off with them.
No one can decide on what the correct overhead rates for an account are supposed to be, and they're spamming the entire department with emails about it. I've half a mind to email them all and tell them to "take it private" -- as in, not on the departmental email alias that sends messages to everyone -- but I'm afraid I might get in trouble for that one.
The elevators are on the fritz again... Apparently one of them is "too good" to stop on the 5th floor (my floor), and the other one is confused about which direction it's supposed to be going at any given time. I'm counting the minutes before the building manager sends out email saying "use the freight elevator for the rest of the day, as both elevators are being serviced for the 15th time this month."
Oh yeah, and half the doors didn't unlock this morning. No, I don't mean that out of 40 doors only 20 got unlocked by someone. I mean, the electronic security system, which automatically locks and unlocks the doors on campus decided that it was only going to unlock the left hand side of all double doors. I may have hurt my shoulder by trying to open one of the right hand sides before becoming painfully aware of the fact that it was still very definitely locked shut.
*sigh*
At least I can go home soon, and spend the rest of my evening rescuing the most adorable Sporelings from Starving Bog Lords and Marsh Dredgers. I did that yesterday, and was most kindly rewarded with recipes for "sporeling snacks" and "clam bars." Yummy =)
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
My Bathroom Rant
Okay, so now both Tangerine Tease and another friend of mine (who I can't link due to the fact that she's finally managed to hide her blog from an online stalker) have both brought up little rants about the restrooms in their offices.
As such, I feel obligated to add mine as well.
There is someone on my floor -- I don't know who, as I haven't yet caught them -- who insists on not flushing the toilet after themselves. There is also someone in my building who insists on clogging the toilet with seat liners and an entire roll's worth of toilet paper. Every day. Every. Fucking. Day.
What in the hell is wrong with you, disgusting toilet sabotaging person? Didn't your mother or father or juvinile detention guard teach you to flush? Didn't they teach you that if you jam the toilet full of an entire roll's worth of paper, it doesn't work anymore?
I mean really. This is a freaking research group at a prestigious university. You people are obviously educated enough to either attend classes here, or work here. You can't possibly be brain dead.
So flush the goddamned toilet already!
As such, I feel obligated to add mine as well.
There is someone on my floor -- I don't know who, as I haven't yet caught them -- who insists on not flushing the toilet after themselves. There is also someone in my building who insists on clogging the toilet with seat liners and an entire roll's worth of toilet paper. Every day. Every. Fucking. Day.
What in the hell is wrong with you, disgusting toilet sabotaging person? Didn't your mother or father or juvinile detention guard teach you to flush? Didn't they teach you that if you jam the toilet full of an entire roll's worth of paper, it doesn't work anymore?
I mean really. This is a freaking research group at a prestigious university. You people are obviously educated enough to either attend classes here, or work here. You can't possibly be brain dead.
So flush the goddamned toilet already!
Monday, May 21, 2007
On the Outside...
I've always been a loner. You know from previous posts that I have very few friends, and the reasons I give for not wanting more. But here's the thing -- Even loners get lonely. And sometimes, as much as I cherish my solitude, I find myself wishing I had more friends.
I think, on some level, I never really learned how to be social. My upbringing encouraged me to distance myself from the people around me. I was different, and other kids didn't like "different," so I stayed away. I'd been hurt by the people around me, the ones who were supposed to love and protect me, so I thought everyone would hurt me, and I stayed away. Every time I convinced myself that I could be wrong, that I should try and trust people, I wound up getting hurt again. So I stayed away. Even now, I keep people at a distance. People I shouldn't. The BF for example, my son, my sister, most of the friends I have. It's a survival instinct, because I know I'm not strong enough to have my feelings hurt anymore.
But then there are the times where I see groups of friends together. They're laughing, and having a good time, telling inside jokes, and passing out hugs and kisses liberally amongst themselves. I see them, and I wonder -- why can't I have something like that? Why can't I find a group of friends like that, to just have fun with?
I try. I go with my BF to see his friends, and try to fit in. I'm alternative lifestyle like they are, so I should be able to fit in, right? But while some of them are the sweetest, most loving, caring, generous people in the world, I still can't quite bring myself to truly be a part of their little group. It seems like no matter how hard I try, I'm always on the outside. On the outside, looking in. And I always end up feeling more lonely than if I'd just stayed at home by myself. Afterall, the TV never asks me why I'm so quiet, or if I'm okay because I look uncomfortable. The couch never whispers to my BF, asking if he's sure I'm having a good time.
It's times like those I wish desperately that I were normal, somehow. I get tired of being on the outside. I get tired of feeling like I don't belong. But I don't know how to fix it. I don't know how to put myself out there, and just relax around other people (at least, not without getting really horribly drunk). I never learned. I always had to have my guard up, always had to be ready to defend myself, always had to be bracing myself for the pain and suffering others would inflict upon me.
Yeah, I was a victim, and I still am. I know it. And while it's not exactly an excuse... It's an explanation. Yes, I need to get past it. I need to let all that go, and move on with my life so I can be happy. But honestly... I don't know how.
I think, on some level, I never really learned how to be social. My upbringing encouraged me to distance myself from the people around me. I was different, and other kids didn't like "different," so I stayed away. I'd been hurt by the people around me, the ones who were supposed to love and protect me, so I thought everyone would hurt me, and I stayed away. Every time I convinced myself that I could be wrong, that I should try and trust people, I wound up getting hurt again. So I stayed away. Even now, I keep people at a distance. People I shouldn't. The BF for example, my son, my sister, most of the friends I have. It's a survival instinct, because I know I'm not strong enough to have my feelings hurt anymore.
But then there are the times where I see groups of friends together. They're laughing, and having a good time, telling inside jokes, and passing out hugs and kisses liberally amongst themselves. I see them, and I wonder -- why can't I have something like that? Why can't I find a group of friends like that, to just have fun with?
I try. I go with my BF to see his friends, and try to fit in. I'm alternative lifestyle like they are, so I should be able to fit in, right? But while some of them are the sweetest, most loving, caring, generous people in the world, I still can't quite bring myself to truly be a part of their little group. It seems like no matter how hard I try, I'm always on the outside. On the outside, looking in. And I always end up feeling more lonely than if I'd just stayed at home by myself. Afterall, the TV never asks me why I'm so quiet, or if I'm okay because I look uncomfortable. The couch never whispers to my BF, asking if he's sure I'm having a good time.
It's times like those I wish desperately that I were normal, somehow. I get tired of being on the outside. I get tired of feeling like I don't belong. But I don't know how to fix it. I don't know how to put myself out there, and just relax around other people (at least, not without getting really horribly drunk). I never learned. I always had to have my guard up, always had to be ready to defend myself, always had to be bracing myself for the pain and suffering others would inflict upon me.
Yeah, I was a victim, and I still am. I know it. And while it's not exactly an excuse... It's an explanation. Yes, I need to get past it. I need to let all that go, and move on with my life so I can be happy. But honestly... I don't know how.
You're Kidding... Right?
To my boss:
You came to my desk this morning, to ask why it is that Purchasing needs 6 weeks of lead time on requisitions over $25k. And while I answered your question politely, what I really wanted to say was:
You're fucking kidding me, right?
You've been working here for a good 12 years longer than I have, and probably make about triple the amount of money I do. You're supposed to be the one with the expertise, and you're the one who's supposed to answer these types of questions for all of us underlings. But no... You're coming to ME to find out the answers to these questions.
Are you seriously trying to tell me that in the 18 years you've spent working here, you never once bothered to find out why Purchasing needs 6 weeks lead time on requisitions over $25k? Are you seriously trying to tell me that in the 18 years you've spent working here, you don't know about the policy that says items costing more than $25k must researched to see if we can get a lower price? That you don't know there's STATE LAW that says we must do this?
And then you had the gall to ask me why the balance of a purchase order was the way it was -- after I had already researched the thing 2 times, and explained it to you a good 10 times over the past 3 weeks.
You're fucking kidding me... You've GOT to be fucking kidding me. I know your office is a mess, and you can't find any of the important documentation anyone submits to you for approval, but are you really so completely out of it that you can't recall a simple explanation that you've heard 10 times already? Really? Even my 8 year old can do better than that.
I'd like to think that you're testing me, to make sure that I know these things... But I can tell by the bewildered look on your face every time you ask me that you're not.
The sad thing is, when the department was re-organizing, and all the managers had to re-apply for their jobs, I applied for your job. And they turned me down.
They must be just as stupid as you are.
You came to my desk this morning, to ask why it is that Purchasing needs 6 weeks of lead time on requisitions over $25k. And while I answered your question politely, what I really wanted to say was:
You're fucking kidding me, right?
You've been working here for a good 12 years longer than I have, and probably make about triple the amount of money I do. You're supposed to be the one with the expertise, and you're the one who's supposed to answer these types of questions for all of us underlings. But no... You're coming to ME to find out the answers to these questions.
Are you seriously trying to tell me that in the 18 years you've spent working here, you never once bothered to find out why Purchasing needs 6 weeks lead time on requisitions over $25k? Are you seriously trying to tell me that in the 18 years you've spent working here, you don't know about the policy that says items costing more than $25k must researched to see if we can get a lower price? That you don't know there's STATE LAW that says we must do this?
And then you had the gall to ask me why the balance of a purchase order was the way it was -- after I had already researched the thing 2 times, and explained it to you a good 10 times over the past 3 weeks.
You're fucking kidding me... You've GOT to be fucking kidding me. I know your office is a mess, and you can't find any of the important documentation anyone submits to you for approval, but are you really so completely out of it that you can't recall a simple explanation that you've heard 10 times already? Really? Even my 8 year old can do better than that.
I'd like to think that you're testing me, to make sure that I know these things... But I can tell by the bewildered look on your face every time you ask me that you're not.
The sad thing is, when the department was re-organizing, and all the managers had to re-apply for their jobs, I applied for your job. And they turned me down.
They must be just as stupid as you are.
Thursday, May 17, 2007
Please Dispose of Your Cheese Elsewhere!
To my office mates:
Whoever decided that the communal office garbage can was a good place to dispose of your really horrible rotting cheese "thing," made a BIG mistake.
Now, instead of the staff lounge (which I don't have to visit if I don't choose to) smelling like this miserable rotten mess, everyone in our office has to partake of this wretched stink for the entire rest of the day. Not only are we forced to partake while we are at our desks, but the odor is rather disturbingly melding itself with my hair and clothing, so even when I leave the office, I'm still tortured by this awful smell. And when I go home, it will saturate the interior of my car, inflict itself upon my family, until finally it insinuates itself into every article of clothing in my laundry bin. I have my doubts about how effective any amount of laundry detergent will be against this odiforous scourge... It may well follow me to my grave. So please...
Please dispose of your cheese elsewhere!
Whoever decided that the communal office garbage can was a good place to dispose of your really horrible rotting cheese "thing," made a BIG mistake.
Now, instead of the staff lounge (which I don't have to visit if I don't choose to) smelling like this miserable rotten mess, everyone in our office has to partake of this wretched stink for the entire rest of the day. Not only are we forced to partake while we are at our desks, but the odor is rather disturbingly melding itself with my hair and clothing, so even when I leave the office, I'm still tortured by this awful smell. And when I go home, it will saturate the interior of my car, inflict itself upon my family, until finally it insinuates itself into every article of clothing in my laundry bin. I have my doubts about how effective any amount of laundry detergent will be against this odiforous scourge... It may well follow me to my grave. So please...
Please dispose of your cheese elsewhere!
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Feeling Better Than Ever! =O
I have finally, FINALLY, discovered the one and only good use for MySpace.
The sole purpose of this site is so that those of us who have gone on to make something of their lives can go back and look up the people who treated us like shit in the past, and laugh at how sucky their lives are now.
Yes. Yes. You have to make a myspace account to do this. I know that for most of you this is akin to not just selling your soul to the devil, but to selling your soul to the devil, gift wrapping it, and shipping it to him for free. But take my word for it. Its fucking worth it!
Just for curiosity's sake, I looked up some people from HS that I used to know. LOL. The hilarity of their profiles is unparalleled. They're still totally single, still desperate, still in crappy jobs, still living in the same crappy town. They've gone nowhere. Which is really funny for me since, to them, I was the screw up. I was the one being teased because I wasn't dating anyone, or that I had a sucky job, or whatever else they chose to find wrong with me.
The feeling of empowerment from such a realization -- that I was really a hell of a lot better off NOT knowing these people anymore -- was awesome enough that I got up the courage to look up some old boyfriends. You know, boyfriends who crushed me like a cockroach. The ones I dumped, well, I couldn't care less really... I knew then that I was better than they were. No, I'm talking about those boyfriends that you really felt something for. The ones where when they dumped you, you cried for months. And I looked them up.
You know what? I'm really glad I did. I am SO glad that I looked them up.
You know why? Because after seeing the shit that they have in their profiles, and seeing the things they said... I am beyond thrilled that they dumped me. They've grown up to be complete and total assholes! One of them (who's married now, btw -- poor woman... ) even admitted in his profile that the only reason he even set up the account was so that his friends could send him pics of naked chicks there. LMAO.
Right now, I am feeling better than I have in years. Really. Years!
This, honestly, is the absolute BEST therapy tool I have ever discovered.
And I never thought I'd say this, but...
MySpace? I love you!
The sole purpose of this site is so that those of us who have gone on to make something of their lives can go back and look up the people who treated us like shit in the past, and laugh at how sucky their lives are now.
Yes. Yes. You have to make a myspace account to do this. I know that for most of you this is akin to not just selling your soul to the devil, but to selling your soul to the devil, gift wrapping it, and shipping it to him for free. But take my word for it. Its fucking worth it!
Just for curiosity's sake, I looked up some people from HS that I used to know. LOL. The hilarity of their profiles is unparalleled. They're still totally single, still desperate, still in crappy jobs, still living in the same crappy town. They've gone nowhere. Which is really funny for me since, to them, I was the screw up. I was the one being teased because I wasn't dating anyone, or that I had a sucky job, or whatever else they chose to find wrong with me.
The feeling of empowerment from such a realization -- that I was really a hell of a lot better off NOT knowing these people anymore -- was awesome enough that I got up the courage to look up some old boyfriends. You know, boyfriends who crushed me like a cockroach. The ones I dumped, well, I couldn't care less really... I knew then that I was better than they were. No, I'm talking about those boyfriends that you really felt something for. The ones where when they dumped you, you cried for months. And I looked them up.
You know what? I'm really glad I did. I am SO glad that I looked them up.
You know why? Because after seeing the shit that they have in their profiles, and seeing the things they said... I am beyond thrilled that they dumped me. They've grown up to be complete and total assholes! One of them (who's married now, btw -- poor woman... ) even admitted in his profile that the only reason he even set up the account was so that his friends could send him pics of naked chicks there. LMAO.
Right now, I am feeling better than I have in years. Really. Years!
This, honestly, is the absolute BEST therapy tool I have ever discovered.
And I never thought I'd say this, but...
MySpace? I love you!
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
ASPCA SVU?!
So Mother's Day my sister and I were discussing one of the TV shows that we normally watch (Animal Presinct), and trying to describe it to our mother.
To those that have never seen it, its a show shot documentary style -- kind of like cops -- in which NYC police officers are also functioning as ASPCA investigators, rescuing abused and neglected animals, and arresting the miserable excuses for human beings that abused and neglected those animals.
So, after giving my mother that explanation of the show, she says "oh, so like an 'ASPCA SVU?'"
My sister and I looked at eachother, and then both simultaneously said "NO!"
Apparently, my mother only ever watched Law & Order SVU long enough to figure out that SVU meant "special victims unit" and didn't bother paying attention to the fact that the SVU was in charge of handling sexual assault cases...
I can see it now... A whole show on Animal Planet dedicated to NY street cops asking people "Did you have intimate relations with this horse? No? Well we've gotten reports. We're going to have to take the horse in for vetrinary examination." (this is most ridiculous if you put a really REALLY heavy NY accent on it. You know, Stallone style -- YO! Adrian!.)
Needless to say, we corrected Mom on her misunderstanding... Then Sis, the BF, and I all laughed our asses off for a couple minutes making up lines from the "ASPCA SVU" show (like the above).
"Excuse me sir, sorry to bother you today, but we've had reports of someone molesting a cat on these premises. Can we come in and take a look around please?"
To camera: "Well, we found the cat with various molestation paraphenalia nearby. We're going to be seizing the cat, and bringing the owner in for questioning. From the evidence we found, this seems to be just one location in a large animal porn ring, and hopefully we'll be able -- with the cooperation of this suspect -- to track down the rest of them"
Ugh. Thanks Mom -- This is SOOOO what I need to be thinking about. *roll eyes*
To those that have never seen it, its a show shot documentary style -- kind of like cops -- in which NYC police officers are also functioning as ASPCA investigators, rescuing abused and neglected animals, and arresting the miserable excuses for human beings that abused and neglected those animals.
So, after giving my mother that explanation of the show, she says "oh, so like an 'ASPCA SVU?'"
My sister and I looked at eachother, and then both simultaneously said "NO!"
Apparently, my mother only ever watched Law & Order SVU long enough to figure out that SVU meant "special victims unit" and didn't bother paying attention to the fact that the SVU was in charge of handling sexual assault cases...
I can see it now... A whole show on Animal Planet dedicated to NY street cops asking people "Did you have intimate relations with this horse? No? Well we've gotten reports. We're going to have to take the horse in for vetrinary examination." (this is most ridiculous if you put a really REALLY heavy NY accent on it. You know, Stallone style -- YO! Adrian!.)
Needless to say, we corrected Mom on her misunderstanding... Then Sis, the BF, and I all laughed our asses off for a couple minutes making up lines from the "ASPCA SVU" show (like the above).
"Excuse me sir, sorry to bother you today, but we've had reports of someone molesting a cat on these premises. Can we come in and take a look around please?"
To camera: "Well, we found the cat with various molestation paraphenalia nearby. We're going to be seizing the cat, and bringing the owner in for questioning. From the evidence we found, this seems to be just one location in a large animal porn ring, and hopefully we'll be able -- with the cooperation of this suspect -- to track down the rest of them"
Ugh. Thanks Mom -- This is SOOOO what I need to be thinking about. *roll eyes*
Monday, May 14, 2007
Why Should I Have to Ask?
Mother's Day.
This year, us girls celebrated Mother's Day for our mom on Saturday, not Sunday. My sister and I planned the whole thing out on the phone before hand, never having to really talk to Mom to find out what she wanted. She wanted what she's always wanted -- just some family time with her kids, to kick back and relax and be able to enjoy the day.
So my sister and I cooked for her. Mom picked up some of the groceries involved, because as much as she likes just relaxing, she feels like she has to help with everything somehow... But I stopped and picked up all the special stuff, so she didn't really know what she was in store for.
Sis helped me put together a fun anti-pasto dish -- tomato basil mozzarella salad, bell pepper salad, salami, olives... And then we made home made, completely from scratch, manicotti. It was fun, and I got to give a little bit of a cooking lesson, teaching my sister how to make the pasta shells (we use an old family recipe which involves making pasta "crepes", then rolling the filling up in them), and even showing the BF how to do it too. Mom kept trying to help, but we kept kicking her out of the kitchen, telling her to go play with the kiddo. I was on my feet cooking basically all day, but I was having a ball. My kitchen at home is tiny, and always dirty (yes, I'm lazy), so being able to cook in a big roomy clean kitchen was kind of a present for me in and of itself. Mom couldn't quite fit her head around that idea, so she looked at me like I was insane every time I told her... And I had to keep telling her, because she kept trying to get me to give her something to do, and kept asking if I was sure, cuz it's mother's day, and she thought I was working too hard. Heh. Cooking, to me, is not work. It is pure fun. Always =)
And after dinner, we all just sat around talking until we got to tired and HAD to go home.
The next day, Sunday, Mother's Day proper, was supposed to be about me... The kiddo, sweetheart that he is, and spurred by his teacher, made me a card, and gave me "coupons" for various things, one of which was doing laundry (woot! I may take him up on that one!).
From the BF tho... I got an e-card. There were no gifts. No special things done for me. It was just another day really. And that made me sad. It made me mad even, because the BF said that I'm hard to do/get things for because he can never tell if its a good time for me or not, so "what would you like to do today?"... He made it seem like in order for me to get anything -- special treatment included -- I had to flat out ask for it. Which kind of defeats the purpose of having a day dedicated to me... I mean, what kind of "gift" do you have to ask for? If you have to ask for it, its not really a gift anymore, in my opinion. And all that "what would you like to do today" said to me was "I don't care enough to put any effort into figuring out what would be nice to do for you, so you do all the work, and figure it out for me instead."
Besides, I'm super easy to make happy. You don't have to do fancy things like take me out to an expensive restaurant. You don't have to organize complex outings. You don't have to get me expensive presents or take me shopping. It's really simple. Think about the things in life that make me stressed out, and take care of one of them for me. Something as simple as cleaning the kitchen (so I can cook, like I love to), or cleaning the bathroom so I can take bubble baths without feeling like a pile of dirty clothes is going to fall into the tub, or doing some laundry so that I don't have to... Any one of those things would be great, and I'm sure, given that genre of "gifts" to choose from it wouldn't be hard to find some more. But I didn't get those things. All I got was an E-card, and an excuse.
Even my 8 year old did better than that... The BF should be ashamed.
I wasn't happy. I was beyond not happy. I was miserably and horribly MAD. So miserable that my body decided it wasn't having anything to do with me being mad, and tried to make me fall asleep instead. So mad that several times during the day I felt like picking something up and hurling it at the wall as hard as I could. But I didn't do that. Instead, I bottled it (as I usually do), then beat myself up over being mad, so I ended up feeling not just mad, but guilty and depressed at the same time.
And what's worse? I can't get over it. I'm not usually one to blame my emotions on someone else -- I always seem to find a way to explain how I did it to myself -- but the BF made me feel like complete and total shit. And I still feel like shit, because I'm here at work, and people are talking about what their families did for them for mother's day, and I get to say "I got an e-card." Needless to say, I've been avoiding the subject all together. So now people are under the impression that I'm even more anti-social than I really am... When in truth, I'm just upset that I don't have anything equally touching to share.
I wish I had an easier time talking about the things that upset me... Then maybe I'd have the guts to tell the BF just how pissed off and hurt I am, and I could get past it more quickly.
This year, us girls celebrated Mother's Day for our mom on Saturday, not Sunday. My sister and I planned the whole thing out on the phone before hand, never having to really talk to Mom to find out what she wanted. She wanted what she's always wanted -- just some family time with her kids, to kick back and relax and be able to enjoy the day.
So my sister and I cooked for her. Mom picked up some of the groceries involved, because as much as she likes just relaxing, she feels like she has to help with everything somehow... But I stopped and picked up all the special stuff, so she didn't really know what she was in store for.
Sis helped me put together a fun anti-pasto dish -- tomato basil mozzarella salad, bell pepper salad, salami, olives... And then we made home made, completely from scratch, manicotti. It was fun, and I got to give a little bit of a cooking lesson, teaching my sister how to make the pasta shells (we use an old family recipe which involves making pasta "crepes", then rolling the filling up in them), and even showing the BF how to do it too. Mom kept trying to help, but we kept kicking her out of the kitchen, telling her to go play with the kiddo. I was on my feet cooking basically all day, but I was having a ball. My kitchen at home is tiny, and always dirty (yes, I'm lazy), so being able to cook in a big roomy clean kitchen was kind of a present for me in and of itself. Mom couldn't quite fit her head around that idea, so she looked at me like I was insane every time I told her... And I had to keep telling her, because she kept trying to get me to give her something to do, and kept asking if I was sure, cuz it's mother's day, and she thought I was working too hard. Heh. Cooking, to me, is not work. It is pure fun. Always =)
And after dinner, we all just sat around talking until we got to tired and HAD to go home.
The next day, Sunday, Mother's Day proper, was supposed to be about me... The kiddo, sweetheart that he is, and spurred by his teacher, made me a card, and gave me "coupons" for various things, one of which was doing laundry (woot! I may take him up on that one!).
From the BF tho... I got an e-card. There were no gifts. No special things done for me. It was just another day really. And that made me sad. It made me mad even, because the BF said that I'm hard to do/get things for because he can never tell if its a good time for me or not, so "what would you like to do today?"... He made it seem like in order for me to get anything -- special treatment included -- I had to flat out ask for it. Which kind of defeats the purpose of having a day dedicated to me... I mean, what kind of "gift" do you have to ask for? If you have to ask for it, its not really a gift anymore, in my opinion. And all that "what would you like to do today" said to me was "I don't care enough to put any effort into figuring out what would be nice to do for you, so you do all the work, and figure it out for me instead."
Besides, I'm super easy to make happy. You don't have to do fancy things like take me out to an expensive restaurant. You don't have to organize complex outings. You don't have to get me expensive presents or take me shopping. It's really simple. Think about the things in life that make me stressed out, and take care of one of them for me. Something as simple as cleaning the kitchen (so I can cook, like I love to), or cleaning the bathroom so I can take bubble baths without feeling like a pile of dirty clothes is going to fall into the tub, or doing some laundry so that I don't have to... Any one of those things would be great, and I'm sure, given that genre of "gifts" to choose from it wouldn't be hard to find some more. But I didn't get those things. All I got was an E-card, and an excuse.
Even my 8 year old did better than that... The BF should be ashamed.
I wasn't happy. I was beyond not happy. I was miserably and horribly MAD. So miserable that my body decided it wasn't having anything to do with me being mad, and tried to make me fall asleep instead. So mad that several times during the day I felt like picking something up and hurling it at the wall as hard as I could. But I didn't do that. Instead, I bottled it (as I usually do), then beat myself up over being mad, so I ended up feeling not just mad, but guilty and depressed at the same time.
And what's worse? I can't get over it. I'm not usually one to blame my emotions on someone else -- I always seem to find a way to explain how I did it to myself -- but the BF made me feel like complete and total shit. And I still feel like shit, because I'm here at work, and people are talking about what their families did for them for mother's day, and I get to say "I got an e-card." Needless to say, I've been avoiding the subject all together. So now people are under the impression that I'm even more anti-social than I really am... When in truth, I'm just upset that I don't have anything equally touching to share.
I wish I had an easier time talking about the things that upset me... Then maybe I'd have the guts to tell the BF just how pissed off and hurt I am, and I could get past it more quickly.
A Lack of Personal Malleability
This post by Encarmine mirrors some of the things I've been saying to a couple people lately -- that people never really change. Not really. Not on the inside. Not where it counts.
The thing is, no one wants to believe that. They want to think they can change the things about their significant other that bother them so much. They want to think that they can change themselves. They want to think they can change their bosses, or their co-workers, or their parents, or siblings. They see that people can change on the outside -- hair color, style of clothing, speech mannerisms, social standing -- and they think that same malleability exists on the inside. What they don't realize is that most of what we all display on the outside is an affectation -- it isn't who we truly are.
I recently asked someone: "In the ten years we've known each other, do you think I've really changed?"
"Of course you have," they said.
"No, I haven't," I said, "I'm still the exact same person I was ten years ago. I'm still the exact same person I was TWENTY years ago."
Sure, I'm in a different place in life. I have a good job (I use the term good loosely -- as in, it pays okay), I'm a mom now, I'm slightly more responsible with my money, I have goals I'm working towards that I didn't have back then. I dress differently, I wear my hair differently, I even speak differently (I swear more, and I care less about it), I eat differently. I'm on medication to manage my medical problems. I SEEM different. But am I really?
Do I view the world any differently than I used to? Do I interface with it any differently? No. I don't. I still struggle with myself the same way I always have. I still hate people (in general). I still hate stupidity. I'm still hung up on the details. I'm still a worrier. And I always will be. Even after all this time, after all the things I've been through, and all the changes I've made to my life, everyone who knows me describes me the same way they did a decade ago.
And everyone I've known for any length of time, well, I don't see any of them as having changed either.
My ex is still the same person he always has been. So are his parents, and his sister. My parents are the same people they've always been, so is my sister. Friends from high school are still the same people too. Sure, over time there are things about them that have changed... But inside? Inside they are exactly the same people, with the same hopes and dreams and fears and faults that they've always had.
My ex is still a liar and a freeloader who's incapable of taking care of himself. His Mother still complains about everything, but takes action on nothing. His Father still turns a blind eye to everything he doesn't want to deal with. My Mom is still afraid of change, and of being alone. My Dad is still an absentminded workaholic who can't get his personal priorities straight. My sister is still amazingly intelligent and strong willed, with a well defined sense of right and wrong. My friends from high school are still overly judgemental and self centered (which is a pity -- I'd always hoped that was just an affectation to fit in with everyone else).
The long and short of it? People never really change. And insisting that they will only sets you up for a lot of hurt and disappointment.
I should know. Its a lesson I wish I'd learned a long time ago
The thing is, no one wants to believe that. They want to think they can change the things about their significant other that bother them so much. They want to think that they can change themselves. They want to think they can change their bosses, or their co-workers, or their parents, or siblings. They see that people can change on the outside -- hair color, style of clothing, speech mannerisms, social standing -- and they think that same malleability exists on the inside. What they don't realize is that most of what we all display on the outside is an affectation -- it isn't who we truly are.
I recently asked someone: "In the ten years we've known each other, do you think I've really changed?"
"Of course you have," they said.
"No, I haven't," I said, "I'm still the exact same person I was ten years ago. I'm still the exact same person I was TWENTY years ago."
Sure, I'm in a different place in life. I have a good job (I use the term good loosely -- as in, it pays okay), I'm a mom now, I'm slightly more responsible with my money, I have goals I'm working towards that I didn't have back then. I dress differently, I wear my hair differently, I even speak differently (I swear more, and I care less about it), I eat differently. I'm on medication to manage my medical problems. I SEEM different. But am I really?
Do I view the world any differently than I used to? Do I interface with it any differently? No. I don't. I still struggle with myself the same way I always have. I still hate people (in general). I still hate stupidity. I'm still hung up on the details. I'm still a worrier. And I always will be. Even after all this time, after all the things I've been through, and all the changes I've made to my life, everyone who knows me describes me the same way they did a decade ago.
And everyone I've known for any length of time, well, I don't see any of them as having changed either.
My ex is still the same person he always has been. So are his parents, and his sister. My parents are the same people they've always been, so is my sister. Friends from high school are still the same people too. Sure, over time there are things about them that have changed... But inside? Inside they are exactly the same people, with the same hopes and dreams and fears and faults that they've always had.
The long and short of it? People never really change. And insisting that they will only sets you up for a lot of hurt and disappointment.
I should know. Its a lesson I wish I'd learned a long time ago
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
Confruddost?
So today has been a weird day, as evidenced by my last post. But it seems like a lot of days lately have been weird days.
Two days ago, I get a call from my ex asking me for money (which I did NOT give him, btw), then telling me all about his "girlfriend" the "model" who's in jail --again-- for a reason that is so far fetched, I have to wonder if it's made up. The things I'm hearing just don't add up, and given my ex's propensity towards creating fictions that are so elaborate even he believes them... I can't help but think this is another one of those situations. Either that, or I have to believe that both a) he is stupid enough to want to have anything to do with someone who lands themeselves in jail for really BAD things, and thinks I'm going to be okay letting my son be around that too, b) there is some girl out there who is so incredibly stupid that she is either lying to him about who and what she is, or that she's really THAT stupid and THAT desperate to want to be with him -- who she's never even met face to face before.
Do I want to believe any of that? No, not really. But what choice am I left with? I hate thinking the worst of someone. I'm always the one wanting to think the best, the one giving more chances than I should, the one having faith that the "real" them will eventually shine through... But I can't afford those delusions when it comes to my kid, even if those delusions are the reason my kid even exists in the first place.
Then yesterday my ex calls me AGAIN, begging for cash AGAIN. Like I'm some sort of millionaire. Like I have money to throw around now that I'm the one supporting my son full time. Sure, I have a job that pays pretty well. But a third of that check is taken out in taxes, and I've got debts of my own. I can afford to eat out a lot of the time, but thats only because I make myself afford it because I hate washing dishes so much. I eat out instead of buying myself new clothes (which I sorely need, btw), or buying new music, or buying movies (I buy maybe one a month, if that, instead of the 6 or 8 that I used to). Maybe the money I spend on eating out would be better spent hiring a maid to wash my dishes for me... I dunno. That's not the point really. The point is I live from check to check. I don't have extra money to just throw away on loans that won't ever be re-paid. And the sucky thing is that he didn't want to take no for an answer. He kept on with the "I'll pay you back in 3 weeks" and the "but it's only $350" and all. Hell, he still owes me $200 from a previous banking problem... Like I'm going to give him more...
And I've just been out of sorts anyway. Friday night I got a really horrible muscle spasm in my neck and left shoulder. One so bad that I had shooting pains down my arm. The BF ended up having to run out and get me a tube of Bengay just so I could try and get some sleep before going back to work on Monday.
Things have been stupid weird, and stupid weird always makes me feel uneasy. And feeling uneasy makes me stress out, which makes me over anxious, which makes me depressed... So I cry for no reason. Or I cry for a reason that I can't quite make myself verbalize. That happened Monday night... And the BF still hasn't learned quite how to handle me when I get like that, so it ended up in him getting pissed off at me, and me crying myself to sleep.
Sad thing is, all I really wanted was to feel good for 5 minutes... But I couldn't bring myself to say that. I couldn't bring myself to admit that I was feeling miserably bad, both physically and emotionally, despite the fact that I was sitting there crying while trying (to no avail) to massage the knots out of my own neck and the muscle cramps out of my legs (from sitting at my desk for 8 hours).
Of course, the BF has a really bad habit of trying to get me to talk while I'm in tears. He asks me "is there anything I can get you?" and "what's up?" and actually expects an answer. I mean really. I'm crying. Why don't you try to calm me down a bit before asking me questions I don't know how to answer. Why not just hug me, and hold me, and stroke my hair, and wait for me to stop sobbing first? And why doesn't he think of that on his own?
I shouldn't be surprised really. Most of the time I have to ask for hugs and kisses. Most of the time I have to ask for him to cuddle with me. And even then, I get half assed hugs, kisses, and cuddling in response. It's like now that we're living together, he's lost any interest in being passionate with me. Not that I'm saying we don't have "adult time" -- we do. But I'm always the one to initiate it, and it always takes a TON of work to get him to realize what I want (at least, thats what it seems like. Maybe he's just playing dumb?). And then, just like the hugs and kisses, his side of things are half assed. It's like he's not even really trying. I know he's not trying. Cuz when he does try, the whole world disappears, and all I can do is --feel--... *sigh*
Wow, now I'm really rambling huh. I guess I'm more ... I dunno... What's the right word for what I am right now? Frustrated? Confused? Lost? Befuddled? Confruddost?
Anyway, I'm more of whatever I am than I thought I was, and I just threw it all up into your laps now didn't I. *sigh*
I need a break.
Two days ago, I get a call from my ex asking me for money (which I did NOT give him, btw), then telling me all about his "girlfriend" the "model" who's in jail --again-- for a reason that is so far fetched, I have to wonder if it's made up. The things I'm hearing just don't add up, and given my ex's propensity towards creating fictions that are so elaborate even he believes them... I can't help but think this is another one of those situations. Either that, or I have to believe that both a) he is stupid enough to want to have anything to do with someone who lands themeselves in jail for really BAD things, and thinks I'm going to be okay letting my son be around that too, b) there is some girl out there who is so incredibly stupid that she is either lying to him about who and what she is, or that she's really THAT stupid and THAT desperate to want to be with him -- who she's never even met face to face before.
Do I want to believe any of that? No, not really. But what choice am I left with? I hate thinking the worst of someone. I'm always the one wanting to think the best, the one giving more chances than I should, the one having faith that the "real" them will eventually shine through... But I can't afford those delusions when it comes to my kid, even if those delusions are the reason my kid even exists in the first place.
Then yesterday my ex calls me AGAIN, begging for cash AGAIN. Like I'm some sort of millionaire. Like I have money to throw around now that I'm the one supporting my son full time. Sure, I have a job that pays pretty well. But a third of that check is taken out in taxes, and I've got debts of my own. I can afford to eat out a lot of the time, but thats only because I make myself afford it because I hate washing dishes so much. I eat out instead of buying myself new clothes (which I sorely need, btw), or buying new music, or buying movies (I buy maybe one a month, if that, instead of the 6 or 8 that I used to). Maybe the money I spend on eating out would be better spent hiring a maid to wash my dishes for me... I dunno. That's not the point really. The point is I live from check to check. I don't have extra money to just throw away on loans that won't ever be re-paid. And the sucky thing is that he didn't want to take no for an answer. He kept on with the "I'll pay you back in 3 weeks" and the "but it's only $350" and all. Hell, he still owes me $200 from a previous banking problem... Like I'm going to give him more...
And I've just been out of sorts anyway. Friday night I got a really horrible muscle spasm in my neck and left shoulder. One so bad that I had shooting pains down my arm. The BF ended up having to run out and get me a tube of Bengay just so I could try and get some sleep before going back to work on Monday.
Things have been stupid weird, and stupid weird always makes me feel uneasy. And feeling uneasy makes me stress out, which makes me over anxious, which makes me depressed... So I cry for no reason. Or I cry for a reason that I can't quite make myself verbalize. That happened Monday night... And the BF still hasn't learned quite how to handle me when I get like that, so it ended up in him getting pissed off at me, and me crying myself to sleep.
Sad thing is, all I really wanted was to feel good for 5 minutes... But I couldn't bring myself to say that. I couldn't bring myself to admit that I was feeling miserably bad, both physically and emotionally, despite the fact that I was sitting there crying while trying (to no avail) to massage the knots out of my own neck and the muscle cramps out of my legs (from sitting at my desk for 8 hours).
Of course, the BF has a really bad habit of trying to get me to talk while I'm in tears. He asks me "is there anything I can get you?" and "what's up?" and actually expects an answer. I mean really. I'm crying. Why don't you try to calm me down a bit before asking me questions I don't know how to answer. Why not just hug me, and hold me, and stroke my hair, and wait for me to stop sobbing first? And why doesn't he think of that on his own?
I shouldn't be surprised really. Most of the time I have to ask for hugs and kisses. Most of the time I have to ask for him to cuddle with me. And even then, I get half assed hugs, kisses, and cuddling in response. It's like now that we're living together, he's lost any interest in being passionate with me. Not that I'm saying we don't have "adult time" -- we do. But I'm always the one to initiate it, and it always takes a TON of work to get him to realize what I want (at least, thats what it seems like. Maybe he's just playing dumb?). And then, just like the hugs and kisses, his side of things are half assed. It's like he's not even really trying. I know he's not trying. Cuz when he does try, the whole world disappears, and all I can do is --feel--... *sigh*
Wow, now I'm really rambling huh. I guess I'm more ... I dunno... What's the right word for what I am right now? Frustrated? Confused? Lost? Befuddled? Confruddost?
Anyway, I'm more of whatever I am than I thought I was, and I just threw it all up into your laps now didn't I. *sigh*
I need a break.
What In The HELL Is Going On?
So this morning I wake up and I turn on the news. The weather comes on, the traffic comes on, and then suddenly I'm looking at a mugshot of my Middle School science teacher, and hearing all about how she's been arrested on sexual assault charges for molesting one of her students.
WHAT THE HELL?
You can read a version of the story here: http://www.nbc11.com/news/13279724/detail.html?taf=bay
You can read another version of the story here: http://www.insidebayarea.com/timesstar/localnews/ci_5846770
I left a comment on this one, which reads as follows:
I'm in shock. Really and truly in shock. I keep sifting through any information I can find on the matter to try and make sense of it -- to no avail.
You know, you always see this stuff on the news, but you never think you're going to see someone from your home town; someone you had as a teacher.
Its just too weird.
WHAT THE HELL?
You can read a version of the story here: http://www.nbc11.com/news/13279724/detail.html?taf=bay
You can read another version of the story here: http://www.insidebayarea.com/timesstar/localnews/ci_5846770
I left a comment on this one, which reads as follows:
This story doesn't make a whole lot of sense. One person has come forward, 13 years after the fact (why not sooner?), to accuse Mrs. Sorg of being a sex offender. That same person alleges that the crimes took place not during an age range that she would have been in middle school, but during an age range that she would have been in high school, and not a student of Mrs. Sorg..
Personally, I have to wonder if these allegations are false in some way. They simply do not add up, given Mrs. Sorg's history of being an amazing teacher who was never publically inappropriate with any of her students.
I've had lecherous teachers. I've even had one who later had sexual harrasment charges made against him. No one was surprised by that -- he was a bit of a pedophile, and everyone knew it -- especially his students.
Mrs. Sorg, on the other hand, never EVER exhibited any of the tell-tale signs of a sex offender. She never looked at her students in an inappropriate way. She never touched her students in an inappropriate way. She never said inappropriate things, or brought up inappropriate topics. I am extremely shocked to see these kinds of accusations made against her.
Also, growing up in Albany, I'm familiar with the teeny tiny police department -- a police department that has never had to deal with anything even close to this level of severity. I have to wonder if they really have the expertise to properly investigate such a claim.
There are a lot of things about this story that just don't add up for me... And I'm sure they don't add up for a lot of people.
The vagueness of the story, and the differences of the facts published by the press certainly doesn't help the matter.
NBC reported that Mrs. Sorg was arrested in "a home in Berkeley" whereas you're saying she was arrested in Oakland. NBC said that the search warrants were executed after her arrest, you're saying the searches were part of the previous 6 month investigation.
Like I said -- Things just don't add up here.
I hope someone in media can get us the real story -- the full story
I'm in shock. Really and truly in shock. I keep sifting through any information I can find on the matter to try and make sense of it -- to no avail.
You know, you always see this stuff on the news, but you never think you're going to see someone from your home town; someone you had as a teacher.
Its just too weird.
Monday, May 07, 2007
I Never Have to Stop and Think
I never have to stop and think. Really. I'm always thinking. Usually about all the wrong things, but I am thinking. It's getting myself to stop thinking that's the hard part -- and it shows.
My son, however, never thinks. I swear. He doesn't. Sure, he's 8, and he's still a little kid really, but he acts as if he hasn't got a single brain cell in his head, let alone one he's actually making use of. Sometimes I think there must be something desperately wrong with him -- some sort of mental defect... But then he goes and says something so infinitely intelligent that I know he's in full working order. Like the other day. He says to the BF on the way to pick me up from work: 'What are the numbers on the houses for?' If you stop and think about it, thats actually a rather deep question. Instead of just following the herd and accepting that houses are supposed to have numbers on them, he actually wanted to know the reason for it. But ask him to tell you what the one page story he read 30 seconds ago was about, and all he can say is "I don't know."
Its actually making things really hard on me and the BF. We're at the point where we don't know what to do. I mean, how do you teach a child to want to understand a story? No one had to teach me... I just wanted to know what happened. I wanted to know more than just what happened. I wanted to know who the characters were, and what they were feeling, and why... I always loved reading and stories. If I read something, not only could I tell you what it was about, but I could recite it for you almost verbatim (semi photographic memory... it's picky about what it photographs, and what it doesn't, as well as being a relatively bad photographer -- severed heads and the like).
I also can't seem to get him to recognize the passage of time. We gave him a clock... But he doesn't seem to have made any sense of what the thing actually is, or why he should care.
And he "forgets" everything we ask him to do, or acts shocked when he has to do something that he's done at the same time every day for months -- like going to pick me up from work, like they do every day.
I have a feeling that most of this behavior is just him distancing him from the world around him. The lack of care he got with his dad is telling. The fact that he's now being asked to be responsible for some of the things in his life (like actually doing his homework himself, instead of having someone feed him the answers, and cutting his own finger nails when they get too long, and washing his own body instead of having mommy do it). That he always thought Mom's house was for playing games and having fun, except now that he lives there full time, it's not anymore. He's adjusting. And not really doing it very well.
The BF has been a saint about it, being the positive male role-model the kiddo needs, picking him up from school, making sure homework gets done, etc., etc., a million times etc. I, on the other hand, haven't been adjusting well at all either.
I'm one of those people that needs peace and quiet (from people that is -- I can't live without the TV or stereo or both on all the time). I need to be alone, to have low stress environments, to not have to share my personal space if I don't want to. Having my son more than the every other weekend I used to have him has taken away my space. It's taken away my time. It's taken away who and what I am, at my core, because I'm not allowed to be that person any more.
I can't help thinking of myself as a horrible Mom because I resent the fact that I can't do what I want, when I want anymore. Eventhough I know these are feelings that every mother has at least once in their lives, if not every day. I feel bad that I don't want to spend every waking moment with my child. I feel bad that sometimes I wish I could have just left him with his dad until the end of time (especially bad about that, given how bad things were at his dad's). I feel bad that sometimes I cry because I just want my life back. Eventhough I know these are things that every mother thinks and feels at some point, you can tell me that what I'm feeling is completely normal until you're blue in the face, it's not going to change the guilt I feel for feeling that way.
Growing up, all I ever saw were TV shows and movies that showed moms who, no matter what, always felt only love for their children. Mom's who didn't want their children to move out of the house, mom's who didn't want to go back to work because they wanted to stay home with their kids, mom's who fought to have their children with them full time, mom's who worked 3 jobs and walked away from a social life to raise their children. And I was brainwashed to believe that feeling anything other than the purest, most unconditional, love for your children every second of every day was bad, that it wasn't normal, that only junkies and alcoholics and crazy people didn't dote on their children the way the Cleavers or the Bradys did.
But isn't it normal to want to be treated like the woman that you've always been, instead of just the mom that you are right now?
I want to be able to sleep naked on hot summer nights again. I want to be able to moan as loud as I want when I get off. I want to be able to just lay in bed all day on a weekend, with no one and nothing but my favorite books. I want to be able to stay home sick from work and actually be able to rest. I want to watch horror movies before 9 o'clock at night. I want to get drunk when I get home from a bad day at work. I want to have conversations about art and literature and philosophy without having to stop and explain that I am NOT talking about a video game.
I want.
I want.
I want.
*sigh*
I've got another 10 years left... If I'm lucky... But then it will be too late. Won't it.
My son, however, never thinks. I swear. He doesn't. Sure, he's 8, and he's still a little kid really, but he acts as if he hasn't got a single brain cell in his head, let alone one he's actually making use of. Sometimes I think there must be something desperately wrong with him -- some sort of mental defect... But then he goes and says something so infinitely intelligent that I know he's in full working order. Like the other day. He says to the BF on the way to pick me up from work: 'What are the numbers on the houses for?' If you stop and think about it, thats actually a rather deep question. Instead of just following the herd and accepting that houses are supposed to have numbers on them, he actually wanted to know the reason for it. But ask him to tell you what the one page story he read 30 seconds ago was about, and all he can say is "I don't know."
Its actually making things really hard on me and the BF. We're at the point where we don't know what to do. I mean, how do you teach a child to want to understand a story? No one had to teach me... I just wanted to know what happened. I wanted to know more than just what happened. I wanted to know who the characters were, and what they were feeling, and why... I always loved reading and stories. If I read something, not only could I tell you what it was about, but I could recite it for you almost verbatim (semi photographic memory... it's picky about what it photographs, and what it doesn't, as well as being a relatively bad photographer -- severed heads and the like).
I also can't seem to get him to recognize the passage of time. We gave him a clock... But he doesn't seem to have made any sense of what the thing actually is, or why he should care.
And he "forgets" everything we ask him to do, or acts shocked when he has to do something that he's done at the same time every day for months -- like going to pick me up from work, like they do every day.
I have a feeling that most of this behavior is just him distancing him from the world around him. The lack of care he got with his dad is telling. The fact that he's now being asked to be responsible for some of the things in his life (like actually doing his homework himself, instead of having someone feed him the answers, and cutting his own finger nails when they get too long, and washing his own body instead of having mommy do it). That he always thought Mom's house was for playing games and having fun, except now that he lives there full time, it's not anymore. He's adjusting. And not really doing it very well.
The BF has been a saint about it, being the positive male role-model the kiddo needs, picking him up from school, making sure homework gets done, etc., etc., a million times etc. I, on the other hand, haven't been adjusting well at all either.
I'm one of those people that needs peace and quiet (from people that is -- I can't live without the TV or stereo or both on all the time). I need to be alone, to have low stress environments, to not have to share my personal space if I don't want to. Having my son more than the every other weekend I used to have him has taken away my space. It's taken away my time. It's taken away who and what I am, at my core, because I'm not allowed to be that person any more.
I can't help thinking of myself as a horrible Mom because I resent the fact that I can't do what I want, when I want anymore. Eventhough I know these are feelings that every mother has at least once in their lives, if not every day. I feel bad that I don't want to spend every waking moment with my child. I feel bad that sometimes I wish I could have just left him with his dad until the end of time (especially bad about that, given how bad things were at his dad's). I feel bad that sometimes I cry because I just want my life back. Eventhough I know these are things that every mother thinks and feels at some point, you can tell me that what I'm feeling is completely normal until you're blue in the face, it's not going to change the guilt I feel for feeling that way.
Growing up, all I ever saw were TV shows and movies that showed moms who, no matter what, always felt only love for their children. Mom's who didn't want their children to move out of the house, mom's who didn't want to go back to work because they wanted to stay home with their kids, mom's who fought to have their children with them full time, mom's who worked 3 jobs and walked away from a social life to raise their children. And I was brainwashed to believe that feeling anything other than the purest, most unconditional, love for your children every second of every day was bad, that it wasn't normal, that only junkies and alcoholics and crazy people didn't dote on their children the way the Cleavers or the Bradys did.
But isn't it normal to want to be treated like the woman that you've always been, instead of just the mom that you are right now?
I want to be able to sleep naked on hot summer nights again. I want to be able to moan as loud as I want when I get off. I want to be able to just lay in bed all day on a weekend, with no one and nothing but my favorite books. I want to be able to stay home sick from work and actually be able to rest. I want to watch horror movies before 9 o'clock at night. I want to get drunk when I get home from a bad day at work. I want to have conversations about art and literature and philosophy without having to stop and explain that I am NOT talking about a video game.
I want.
I want.
I want.
*sigh*
I've got another 10 years left... If I'm lucky... But then it will be too late. Won't it.
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