Juggling Freak has several online communities that he frequents, from juggling forums to theme park employee forums. One of the ones he spends a lot of time in is a bodybuilding forum, and they recently had a big brouhaha that brought to mind the fact that a lot of its denizens have gigantic muscles to make up for their lack of intelligence. As if -- "well, I'm not SMART, so I might as well be buff!"
Now, before anyone (especially Juggling Freak) thinks I'm putting down body builders, or people who like discussing body building, let me assure you that I am not. I'm just pointing out that there's a reason that there is a stereotype of some jocks as beautiful, but rather empty-headed.
It seems that one of the forum members decided that he would post an off-topic rant about how he wanted to kill the president. Dude, SO not a good idea. When people pointed out to this pillar of the community that he *must* have been joking - ha ha ha - because it's really not cool to threaten the president, the idiot responds that no, he's SERIOUS. He even tried to get other people to join in, and named a day, place, and time for everyone to gather in order to "go after" the president. Other forum members tried to tell him that this was not a good idea, but MusclesForBrains continued on.
Needless to say, a day or so later, the forum owner came forward with a letter he'd gotten from the Secret Service where they'd requested his name, records, and all of his information. Dude better get his affairs in order real soon, because I think he's about to take a long vacation, courtesy of the United States Correctional System. Not white-collar, country club prison, but *federal*, being-sodomized-by-a-guy-named-Crusher kind of prison.
The owner of the forum told the other members that while it is not legal to threaten the president, it is not only legal, but *encouraged* to type the phrase "owned!" to this gentleman under this discussion topic.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Friday, October 26, 2007
The Fury of Children Scorned
My class was set to take a field trip today. We've been talking about the trip for a while now -- to a local pumpkin patch where the kids get to take a hayride and choose a small pumpkin of their very own. This trip was planned back in the early days of the school year, around eight weeks ago.
This morning, around 2am, our power went off due to the rain. I should have had a clue right there that things were not going to go as planned.
When I got up for the day, the skies were a pewter color, still steadily disgorging gigantic raindrops all over Creation. The puddles were large and numerous. The street gutters were choked with rain, stray papers, and the effluvia of fall -- pinecone bits, leaves, and a multitude of acorns.
At school, our trip was canceled, and could not, unfortunately, be rescheduled for a later time. The children were sorely disappointed, and moped for quite a while this morning. I asked my principal if I could make a quick trip to the neighborhood grocery store, to see if I might find something to liven up their dreary, non-field trip taking day.
I returned with two 99-cent bags of disposable gloves, a six-pack of microwave popcorn, and a medium-sized bag of candy corn. Six bags of popcorn later, the children were all smiling as they brandished Monster Hands at each other. It may not make up for missing a cool field trip (though I've been on it so many times that I really wasn't all that sad to miss it....) but at least it made a dismally rainy Friday a little bit better.
This morning, around 2am, our power went off due to the rain. I should have had a clue right there that things were not going to go as planned.
When I got up for the day, the skies were a pewter color, still steadily disgorging gigantic raindrops all over Creation. The puddles were large and numerous. The street gutters were choked with rain, stray papers, and the effluvia of fall -- pinecone bits, leaves, and a multitude of acorns.
At school, our trip was canceled, and could not, unfortunately, be rescheduled for a later time. The children were sorely disappointed, and moped for quite a while this morning. I asked my principal if I could make a quick trip to the neighborhood grocery store, to see if I might find something to liven up their dreary, non-field trip taking day.
I returned with two 99-cent bags of disposable gloves, a six-pack of microwave popcorn, and a medium-sized bag of candy corn. Six bags of popcorn later, the children were all smiling as they brandished Monster Hands at each other. It may not make up for missing a cool field trip (though I've been on it so many times that I really wasn't all that sad to miss it....) but at least it made a dismally rainy Friday a little bit better.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
An Open Letter to the Universe
Dear Universe:
I am writing to complain about your recent treatment of me. I thought it might be best to list my grievances, and then we can go from there. If I do not hear from you, I will assume that you want our working relationship to be terminated, and I will seek employment elsewhere.
This week (so far) has been nothing like last week. Nothing monumentally bad has happened yet, just a collection of irritating incidents that contribute to the feeling funky.
Mondays are bad enough, right? One would think that Monday was enough hell all on its own, and not have to produce *more* independent verification. I got fussed at by another staff member at work. No surprise there, but it was one of those piddly little things that can discolor your whole day.
Tuesday went fairly well, with the exception of the spiking heat here in the Southeast, which made everyone crabby, and tempers short.
I woke up at 3:17 this morning with a pounding migraine. I took three pills, and headed back to bed. When my alarm went off, I rolled over, and realized that I'd made a colossal mistake. I had to call into work. I could barely see, and from the chorus of tympani drums that was reverberating inside my skull, actual movement and productivity were going to be nil today.
I spent the day in bed, sleeping away the migraine. I awoke in the early afternoon, disoriented by the darkness that shrouded the house. I started to panic at the thought that Offspring was not yet home from school, and it was growing dark -- until I realized that it was raining outside, and the overcast skies made it seem much later than it actually was.
After Offspring and JF arrived home, I figured I had better appease my growling stomach, and make something to eat, since I hadn't eaten anything since about 7pm on Tuesday. I filled up a jig of water for Raspberry Ice koolaid, and as I attempted to put it back into the 'fridge, the wet bottle slipped out of my hands, shattering the plastic refrigerator door bin. Great. Now, I have *two* door bins to buy -- this one, and the one that broke three months back. $66 dollars and one Internet search later, we have new door bins headed our way. Some time within the next 3 to 7 days. Hopefully.
I decide to go rest on the bed and pet the cat while JF kindly does the dishes for me. After about 20 seconds of petting, said cat turns on me like a mob informant, and proceeds to claw and bite the hell out of my arm.
Universe, I would like to have a month where I do not have prime Wednesday Whine fodder. Please give me the time off, or I will be forced to contact my attorney. This could be considered a hostile work environment, and I do not have to tolerate it. I know my rights.
Signed,
A Seriously Funked-Out, Pissed-Off KLee
I am writing to complain about your recent treatment of me. I thought it might be best to list my grievances, and then we can go from there. If I do not hear from you, I will assume that you want our working relationship to be terminated, and I will seek employment elsewhere.
This week (so far) has been nothing like last week. Nothing monumentally bad has happened yet, just a collection of irritating incidents that contribute to the feeling funky.
Mondays are bad enough, right? One would think that Monday was enough hell all on its own, and not have to produce *more* independent verification. I got fussed at by another staff member at work. No surprise there, but it was one of those piddly little things that can discolor your whole day.
Tuesday went fairly well, with the exception of the spiking heat here in the Southeast, which made everyone crabby, and tempers short.
I woke up at 3:17 this morning with a pounding migraine. I took three pills, and headed back to bed. When my alarm went off, I rolled over, and realized that I'd made a colossal mistake. I had to call into work. I could barely see, and from the chorus of tympani drums that was reverberating inside my skull, actual movement and productivity were going to be nil today.
I spent the day in bed, sleeping away the migraine. I awoke in the early afternoon, disoriented by the darkness that shrouded the house. I started to panic at the thought that Offspring was not yet home from school, and it was growing dark -- until I realized that it was raining outside, and the overcast skies made it seem much later than it actually was.
After Offspring and JF arrived home, I figured I had better appease my growling stomach, and make something to eat, since I hadn't eaten anything since about 7pm on Tuesday. I filled up a jig of water for Raspberry Ice koolaid, and as I attempted to put it back into the 'fridge, the wet bottle slipped out of my hands, shattering the plastic refrigerator door bin. Great. Now, I have *two* door bins to buy -- this one, and the one that broke three months back. $66 dollars and one Internet search later, we have new door bins headed our way. Some time within the next 3 to 7 days. Hopefully.
I decide to go rest on the bed and pet the cat while JF kindly does the dishes for me. After about 20 seconds of petting, said cat turns on me like a mob informant, and proceeds to claw and bite the hell out of my arm.
Universe, I would like to have a month where I do not have prime Wednesday Whine fodder. Please give me the time off, or I will be forced to contact my attorney. This could be considered a hostile work environment, and I do not have to tolerate it. I know my rights.
Signed,
A Seriously Funked-Out, Pissed-Off KLee
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Down For The Count
This week continued to be one of those "hell week" kind of dealies, so I apologize now for my absence. Those of you who read the Wednesday Whine knew, sort of, what I was dealing with, and those who did not -- I'll briefly explain.
After my last post (about the disastrous trip to the mountains for the wedding), I had a very nice birthday. I came home to a husband who, even being VERY ill with the sinus crud that my students dished out to me, had still found time to go get me a great gift AND make a banner AND clean the living room, do some laundry and wash the dishes. How nice is that?! We went out to dinner on Monday to celebrate my birthday, and we spent the rest of the evening at home.
Tuesday morning, JF woke me up before the alarm went off to tell me that his mother had, at some point, been in such pain that she checked herself into the ER and was within the throes of a massive gall bladder attack. The docs had determined that they would have to removed the stone, since it was gumming up the works, and then they'd talk about removing the gall bladder all together. They got MIL into the day surgery unit for the stone removal, and discovered that she'd passed the stone at some point, but that the gall bladder would definitely have to come out. On Thursday afternoon, she had the gall bladder removed, and was in tremendous pain. we went up to see her after the surgery, and the docs had said it was a good thing that they removed it because they could see several more stones there as well. Also, they also said they saw some sort of cyst or lump of tissue on her ovaries, and when she heals, they want her to see her OB/GYN about that.
Friday, she was released from the hospital, and we made sure she got home safely. We spent most of the weekend at home, quietly, trying to recuperate from this week. I made MIL some chicken soup, and we took it to her earlier today.
Now, I'm going to bed, and hope that the next week brings good things, and a return to normalcy.
After my last post (about the disastrous trip to the mountains for the wedding), I had a very nice birthday. I came home to a husband who, even being VERY ill with the sinus crud that my students dished out to me, had still found time to go get me a great gift AND make a banner AND clean the living room, do some laundry and wash the dishes. How nice is that?! We went out to dinner on Monday to celebrate my birthday, and we spent the rest of the evening at home.
Tuesday morning, JF woke me up before the alarm went off to tell me that his mother had, at some point, been in such pain that she checked herself into the ER and was within the throes of a massive gall bladder attack. The docs had determined that they would have to removed the stone, since it was gumming up the works, and then they'd talk about removing the gall bladder all together. They got MIL into the day surgery unit for the stone removal, and discovered that she'd passed the stone at some point, but that the gall bladder would definitely have to come out. On Thursday afternoon, she had the gall bladder removed, and was in tremendous pain. we went up to see her after the surgery, and the docs had said it was a good thing that they removed it because they could see several more stones there as well. Also, they also said they saw some sort of cyst or lump of tissue on her ovaries, and when she heals, they want her to see her OB/GYN about that.
Friday, she was released from the hospital, and we made sure she got home safely. We spent most of the weekend at home, quietly, trying to recuperate from this week. I made MIL some chicken soup, and we took it to her earlier today.
Now, I'm going to bed, and hope that the next week brings good things, and a return to normalcy.
Monday, October 15, 2007
Stuff, In General
As I said in the last post, forgive my recent silence. I was sick, out of town, and am attempting to celebrate my birthday today. I say "attempting" because the number 37 is really making me feel old. Really, really old. I know it's all in my head, but I'm not loving being 37 so far.Of course, the alternative is MUCH worse. I'll take 37 over the Great Dirt Nap any day. So, I've settled for telling everyone today that I am three days older than the sand in Jesus' shoes . It gets the point across. :)
As for the wedding -- let's just say that it was beautiful, and I'm glad I got to see my family, but there are damn good reasons that we live so flippin' far away.
Above, Offspring got a chance to do some homework in the very little downtime we had.
The happy couple chose an autumnal theme, and had a Tim Burton-inspired wedding cake. Pretty cool, even if I don't care for Tim Burton movies....
I did get a chance to hang out with my brother, who is, as you can all see from the picture above (click to embiggen) is not exactly what one would call *normal.* I told him that this picture was getting plastered on the Internet, and by God -- I'm living up to my promise.
I also threatened to give a framed copy of this to his girlfriend for Christmas. My brother is a nut, and it was great to see him. Unfortunately, he lives a good four hours away, and occasions like these are the main way we are able to get together anymore. I'll see him next at Thanksgiving.
Right now, I'm off like a prom dress. The fam is taking me out to dinner for my birthday.
Back, Briefly
Just a quick note to say that I'm sorry for the silence, but I was in the foothills of the mountains this weekend, attending my cousin's wedding. I shall return soon, with a post and pictures!
Monday, October 08, 2007
You Guys Are the Best
Thanks to all who responded to my last post. I know it wasn't exactly the most coherent thing I've ever written, but that kind of goes hand in hand with what I was (and still sort of am) feeling.
I sometimes feel like scrapping the blog -- ideas are hard to come by, especially when all you have to say is: "I got up this morning, did a bunch of stuff, and then went back to bed to do it all over again tomorrow." I know that everyone gets to the point where they feel the same way. I've seen many of you post about throwing in the blogular towel, and I've even known some people who've actually DONE it. (As a matter of fact, there are a couple of them still on my blogroll. Note to self: fix that, would ya?!)
I also have the tendency to over-schedule myself, and then I get so flipping tired. That's where the spiraling starts.
I do, however, want to say that the main reason that I keep the blog going is all of you -- my friends. Your support helps me through those harder days, and the friendships that I've made keep me tethered. I already knew you guys were great, but it was confirmed by little things like opening the mailbox to find a card from one of you. I would miss you all too much if I were to chuck it all. So, I guess that means that I'm sticking it out, and you're all still stuck with me a while longer.
Besides, some of you promised to visit. And, then I owe YOU visits, and I can't have things messing up the all-important vacation plans.
I sometimes feel like scrapping the blog -- ideas are hard to come by, especially when all you have to say is: "I got up this morning, did a bunch of stuff, and then went back to bed to do it all over again tomorrow." I know that everyone gets to the point where they feel the same way. I've seen many of you post about throwing in the blogular towel, and I've even known some people who've actually DONE it. (As a matter of fact, there are a couple of them still on my blogroll. Note to self: fix that, would ya?!)
I also have the tendency to over-schedule myself, and then I get so flipping tired. That's where the spiraling starts.
I do, however, want to say that the main reason that I keep the blog going is all of you -- my friends. Your support helps me through those harder days, and the friendships that I've made keep me tethered. I already knew you guys were great, but it was confirmed by little things like opening the mailbox to find a card from one of you. I would miss you all too much if I were to chuck it all. So, I guess that means that I'm sticking it out, and you're all still stuck with me a while longer.
Besides, some of you promised to visit. And, then I owe YOU visits, and I can't have things messing up the all-important vacation plans.
Saturday, October 06, 2007
Remember?
Remember the days when you woke up, and the world was laid bare before you, full of promise? When each new day was an adventure to be hurtled into completely, and without forethought? Remember when you couldn't fall asleep for the anxiety, the wanting of the new day to begin?
Remember when you felt young and bullet-proof? Like nothing could possibly stop you from conquering the world? Like your star would burn bright for all time, and that you could almost burn up from the radiance?
I've lost that feeling lately, and I don't know how to get it back. I used to be this absurdly happy, pie-in-the-sky, Pollyanna-ish, disgustingly chipper person, and it's somehow gone. I don't know when I lost it, or why. I just look in the mirror, and know that I'm not happy with me anymore.
My life is great -- don't get me wrong -- I have a great family, a job that I feel blessed to do, and talents that many others express desire for, but something is not right with me. It's not depression, it's not dissatisfaction. It's just this hole where I once was. Where did I go?
Remember when you felt young and bullet-proof? Like nothing could possibly stop you from conquering the world? Like your star would burn bright for all time, and that you could almost burn up from the radiance?
I've lost that feeling lately, and I don't know how to get it back. I used to be this absurdly happy, pie-in-the-sky, Pollyanna-ish, disgustingly chipper person, and it's somehow gone. I don't know when I lost it, or why. I just look in the mirror, and know that I'm not happy with me anymore.
My life is great -- don't get me wrong -- I have a great family, a job that I feel blessed to do, and talents that many others express desire for, but something is not right with me. It's not depression, it's not dissatisfaction. It's just this hole where I once was. Where did I go?
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Bullets of Tired
I was trying to think of something funny and/or pithy to post today, but I got nuthin'. I'm tired, and the weekends only seem long enough to catch me up on sleep before I have to start all over again. So the three of you still reading this blog get bullets.
*I have a semi-unbloggable thing going on at work. I'll just say that my work has gotten notice by my peers. In a good way.
*Went to our five-year old nephew's birthday party yesterday morning. He had a pirate-themed party, and Offspring went dressed as a pirate wench. It was cute. I made a little pirate treasure chest in lieu of a card that I filled with chocolate coins. It was a hit, but only because the coins were chocolate. I did take a picture of it, though I haven't uploaded it yet.
*Have been asked by my school's secretary to make up a few Christmas cards designs so she can present them to the principal. They're thinking about commissioning about 100 cards from me to present to staff this year. If they choose one of my designs, I'll have to get cracking pretty soon here.
*Have also been approached by a parent that's seen my work to make about 10 "teacher" themed cards that she can present to her children's teachers. That will be a nice way to make a little money, too.
*I've gone through the box of clothes, and need to take pictures. There's some stuff in there that's bad, but not truly cringe-worthy. The one thing I notice is that she was very fond of lime green. Needless to say, I look hideous in lime green. And, she really likes linen. I doubt if I've ever seen so much linen in my life.
*Speaking of lime green and linen -- anyone know how to home-dye some of this lime green stuff? Or should I just call around and see how much an alterations shop would charge me to dye some of this? Never having worked with linen before, I don't know much about its properties. Is it prone to shrinking? Should it be dry-cleaned, or washed by hand?
*I have a birthday coming up. I'm looking forward to the gift part, but not the idea of aging another year. Why is it that the actual *number* bothers me so much? It's not like 37 is old. I still feel young and vital -- why is it that 37 makes me feel so ancient? Am I mental? (Pipe down with the snarky comments, I am *not* all that odd...)
Well, I should go. I have bills to pay, clothes to wash, and miles to go before I sleep.
*I have a semi-unbloggable thing going on at work. I'll just say that my work has gotten notice by my peers. In a good way.
*Went to our five-year old nephew's birthday party yesterday morning. He had a pirate-themed party, and Offspring went dressed as a pirate wench. It was cute. I made a little pirate treasure chest in lieu of a card that I filled with chocolate coins. It was a hit, but only because the coins were chocolate. I did take a picture of it, though I haven't uploaded it yet.
*Have been asked by my school's secretary to make up a few Christmas cards designs so she can present them to the principal. They're thinking about commissioning about 100 cards from me to present to staff this year. If they choose one of my designs, I'll have to get cracking pretty soon here.
*Have also been approached by a parent that's seen my work to make about 10 "teacher" themed cards that she can present to her children's teachers. That will be a nice way to make a little money, too.
*I've gone through the box of clothes, and need to take pictures. There's some stuff in there that's bad, but not truly cringe-worthy. The one thing I notice is that she was very fond of lime green. Needless to say, I look hideous in lime green. And, she really likes linen. I doubt if I've ever seen so much linen in my life.
*Speaking of lime green and linen -- anyone know how to home-dye some of this lime green stuff? Or should I just call around and see how much an alterations shop would charge me to dye some of this? Never having worked with linen before, I don't know much about its properties. Is it prone to shrinking? Should it be dry-cleaned, or washed by hand?
*I have a birthday coming up. I'm looking forward to the gift part, but not the idea of aging another year. Why is it that the actual *number* bothers me so much? It's not like 37 is old. I still feel young and vital -- why is it that 37 makes me feel so ancient? Am I mental? (Pipe down with the snarky comments, I am *not* all that odd...)
Well, I should go. I have bills to pay, clothes to wash, and miles to go before I sleep.
Friday, September 28, 2007
Some News, and a Blast From the Past
There's a teacher at my school who was searching for someone willing to take in a rabbit. It seems that one of her friends or neighbors has this bunny that they can no longer care for (owners are older, and all the children are now gone off to college) and wanted to place with someone who'd care for it. My class was anxious to be the recipients of the bunny, so we let the teacher involved know that we wanted to take him. The go-between told us that she planned on taking the bunny to the vet for a full check-up and a nail clipping before bringing him in to us. The kids are waiting, not quite so patiently.
Offspring has been asked to bunny-sit over the long holidays, and agreed with alacrity. She has asked me daily if the bunny has arrived or not. I'm sorry to report each time to her that so far, the answer is "no." Hopefully, we'll see the rabbit soon, or she'll implode.
Her anxiousness over when the bunny will arrive reminds me of a story from when she was small. Offspring's PreK teacher had two bunnies in her classroom, and the kids were totally enamored with them. Offspring used to regale me with stories of what the bunnies were up to. She was especially fond of BlackBunny, who had been purchased on a class trip to a farm. BlackBunny was a teeny little thing when she was acquired, and the kids delighted in holding her. Everyone fought for the privilege of feeding cute little BlackBunny.
In the late fall of that school year, we took a trip to Disney World. Normally, we wouldn't pull Offspring out of school for such a trip, but we'd made the reservations a year in advance, and well before she was accepted into the PreK program, and we could not cancel at that late stage of the game. When we got down to Disney World, we had a great time, and Offspring forgot all about school. We went merrily on our way through our vacation, until we came to the Magic Kingdom, and the "Pirates of the Caribbean" ride. As we're setting off in the boat, Offspring's expression turns dark, and she turns to us with tears shimmering in her eyes.
"Mama," she says, "will BlackBunny be okay?" I wondered why she'd bring up BlackBunny at that particular moment, so I told her that I was sure she was fine. Dealing with the odd connections and leaps from the train-of-thought that was a then four-year-old Offspring, I was used to non sequiturs, but the tears bothered me. I looked down at her, and said, "Why are you worried about BlackBunny?" She looked back up at me, those big blue eyes just swimming in unshed tears, and said, "The pirates."
Pirates? Like pirates on this ride? "Honey, what about the pirates?" She looked very solemn as she said, "The song says 'we kidnap the rabbits and don't give a hoot.' I don't WANT them to kidnap Black Bunny!"
I had to stifle a laugh, because it was so stinking cute, but we assured her that BlackBunny was okay, safe at home. Now, every time I hear "Yo, Ho, A Pirate's Life for Me", I can't help but think of bloodthirsty pirates, making off with chests full of gold and bunnies.
Offspring has been asked to bunny-sit over the long holidays, and agreed with alacrity. She has asked me daily if the bunny has arrived or not. I'm sorry to report each time to her that so far, the answer is "no." Hopefully, we'll see the rabbit soon, or she'll implode.
Her anxiousness over when the bunny will arrive reminds me of a story from when she was small. Offspring's PreK teacher had two bunnies in her classroom, and the kids were totally enamored with them. Offspring used to regale me with stories of what the bunnies were up to. She was especially fond of BlackBunny, who had been purchased on a class trip to a farm. BlackBunny was a teeny little thing when she was acquired, and the kids delighted in holding her. Everyone fought for the privilege of feeding cute little BlackBunny.
In the late fall of that school year, we took a trip to Disney World. Normally, we wouldn't pull Offspring out of school for such a trip, but we'd made the reservations a year in advance, and well before she was accepted into the PreK program, and we could not cancel at that late stage of the game. When we got down to Disney World, we had a great time, and Offspring forgot all about school. We went merrily on our way through our vacation, until we came to the Magic Kingdom, and the "Pirates of the Caribbean" ride. As we're setting off in the boat, Offspring's expression turns dark, and she turns to us with tears shimmering in her eyes.
"Mama," she says, "will BlackBunny be okay?" I wondered why she'd bring up BlackBunny at that particular moment, so I told her that I was sure she was fine. Dealing with the odd connections and leaps from the train-of-thought that was a then four-year-old Offspring, I was used to non sequiturs, but the tears bothered me. I looked down at her, and said, "Why are you worried about BlackBunny?" She looked back up at me, those big blue eyes just swimming in unshed tears, and said, "The pirates."
Pirates? Like pirates on this ride? "Honey, what about the pirates?" She looked very solemn as she said, "The song says 'we kidnap the rabbits and don't give a hoot.' I don't WANT them to kidnap Black Bunny!"
I had to stifle a laugh, because it was so stinking cute, but we assured her that BlackBunny was okay, safe at home. Now, every time I hear "Yo, Ho, A Pirate's Life for Me", I can't help but think of bloodthirsty pirates, making off with chests full of gold and bunnies.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Another Box
Remember back a few months ago, when I told you all of the odd story where a lady approached me at a crafts class with an offer of free clothes? Well, I got a call from her this weekend. She sorted out her closet, and was looking to get rid of quite a few winter clothes. She wanted to know if I was interested. She said she had "a box of clothes" for me.
I took the drive out to her house to find that she had THREE boxes of clothes. There were some nice things, including several nice dresses, but there were also the hilarious things. Amy got such a kick out of the plaid vest-and-shorts combo in the last batch that I'll have to be on the lookout to see if there's anything that compares in this allotment.
I have yet to really wade through all of the items, but I'll keep the camera handy, just in case.
I took the drive out to her house to find that she had THREE boxes of clothes. There were some nice things, including several nice dresses, but there were also the hilarious things. Amy got such a kick out of the plaid vest-and-shorts combo in the last batch that I'll have to be on the lookout to see if there's anything that compares in this allotment.
I have yet to really wade through all of the items, but I'll keep the camera handy, just in case.
Friday, September 21, 2007
Ammunition for the Clue Stick Brigade
If you're a fan of the illustrious Wednesday Whine (and how could you NOT be?), you may have heard that the denizens there prefer our justice served with a healthy serving of freshly sawn lumber. This is mainly for those in *serious need* of the judicious application of a good two-by-four upside the head, so don't let me scare any interested parties off. Wednesday Whine has typically been a place where we go to let off some steam, and have a forum in which we can gripe, knowing that there are people there who support us, and who do not mind listening to all of the things, great and small, which are plaguing our everyday lives.
One of the products of the weekly WW has been our claim that there are many, many people who are in dire need of the clue-by-four whomping. This week's column involved a suggestion that we form a precision drill team to administer our smackdowns. Said suggestion was met with much agreement all around.
I have a select group of (unfortunately nameless) people that I would like to offer up as fodder for the Clue Stick Brigade: the dad-blamed idjits who thought up using *METAL* as an effective material for the making of colanders. A colander, as we all know, is a straining device, mostly used (in this household, at least) for draining pasta. Which, you know, boils?! Therefore, the pasta is going to be HOT at the point of draining, and said colander will become too hot to pick up for any reasonable amount of time. Yes, you can use oven mitts, and your can rinse the pasta, but that's not the point. Metal is what the pot you likely *just cooked* the pasta in was made out of, and you're going to transfer all of that boiling hot, napalm-sticky pasta to ANOTHER metal container? Not a smooth move for those of us who have already established ourselves as clumsy.
Not that this has happened to me, you know. I'm far too graceful to burn myself with pasta, right? (Hush all that snickering!)
One of the products of the weekly WW has been our claim that there are many, many people who are in dire need of the clue-by-four whomping. This week's column involved a suggestion that we form a precision drill team to administer our smackdowns. Said suggestion was met with much agreement all around.
I have a select group of (unfortunately nameless) people that I would like to offer up as fodder for the Clue Stick Brigade: the dad-blamed idjits who thought up using *METAL* as an effective material for the making of colanders. A colander, as we all know, is a straining device, mostly used (in this household, at least) for draining pasta. Which, you know, boils?! Therefore, the pasta is going to be HOT at the point of draining, and said colander will become too hot to pick up for any reasonable amount of time. Yes, you can use oven mitts, and your can rinse the pasta, but that's not the point. Metal is what the pot you likely *just cooked* the pasta in was made out of, and you're going to transfer all of that boiling hot, napalm-sticky pasta to ANOTHER metal container? Not a smooth move for those of us who have already established ourselves as clumsy.
Not that this has happened to me, you know. I'm far too graceful to burn myself with pasta, right? (Hush all that snickering!)
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Stop Me Before I Steal Again!
I stole this meme from Marni, who, in turn, stole it from CCW.
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Have you ever licked the back of a CD to try to get it to work? Uh, no. I teach kindergarten, remember? I already have my lifetime allotment of germs.
What's the largest age difference between yourself and someone you’ve dated? Seven years. My first love was seven years older than me, and it was a long-distance relationship. You can see how it was doomed from the start.
Ever been in a car wreck? Yeah. Most have been fender-benders, but the worst was when a drunk guy ran a red light and hit me so hard that we did a complete 180, and the impact bent the entire car frame. The insurance company totaled the car out. The guy got out of the truck at first, but was acting oddly, so I had the foresight to get the plate number. After about 5 minutes of him lurching and weaving around, he hopped back into the truck and hauled tail. The police later found the truck in the KMart parking lot, and the dude called it in as stolen. They didn't buy his story, either. I ended up having to go down and identify him in a mug shot array.
Were you popular in high school? So far from popular, it was laughable. I was one of a group of about five misfits who lived on the fringe of Shoebox School. When I transferred to Gigantic High in the summer between my sophomore and junior years, I went from Nobody to Just Another Face In The Crowd. My graduating class had 222 seniors, so it was hard to NOT find a group in which you fit there. I still wasn't what you'd call "popular", but I was also no longer totally miserable.
Have you ever been on a blind date? A couple. Most of them ended with the guy telling me that I was too fat for him to be interested.
Are looks important? Not if you already have them. If you don't, it's another kettle of fish altogether. I'd like to say they don't matter, but as someone who has been judged on the basis of my physical appearance all my life, I know better. I didn't look for a mate based on looks, though I think my husband is very attractive. I looked for him based on who he is inside. And, I got a pretty sweet deal, if I say so myself.
Do you have any friends that you've known for 10 years or more? Yes -- my friend OzChick. We've been friends for about 12 years now. And my husband, who is my best friend. We've been together a little more than 16 years. We are nearing our 15th wedding anniversary this November.
By what age would you like to be married? I got married at 22, and I think it worked well for both of us. We were always considered "more mature" than a lot of people our age, and we were both ready to be married. We had had serious discussions about marriage, fidelity, children, and other issues while we were still dating, and we had decided that we ready to put all those plans and ideals to action. I'd like my daughter to be a little older than we were, when and if she decides to marry.
Does the number of people a person's slept with affect your view of them? It depends. As a friend, no. I don't care who or how many. As a potential partner, it does in the sense that I must protect myself in this day and age. I don't care if you've sowed your wild oats -- I did some sowing of my own in my time -- but I need to know whether you are a high risk. (Of course, this is all moot, since I'm married, but this is my train of thought behind this issue.)
Are you a good tipper? If the service merits it. I don't undertip to be cheap, but I do both reward good service, and withhold from crappy service.
What's the most you have spent for a haircut? Fifty bucks, I think. That was back in high school, though. I go to a place around the corner now, and I pay $12.95, and I get every sixth haircut for free. Hey -- why pay more when this place gives me what I want for cheap?
Have you ever had a crush on a teacher? I did -- on my English teacher in middle school (who was also my drama club advisor.) When I grew up, I did some theater work with both him and his wife, and I could not, for the life of me, see why I'd crushed on him so hard as a tween. He's a nice guy, sure -- but not THAT nice. Odd circumstance -- Offspring had him as one of her Gifted instructors for a couple of years.
Have you ever peed in public? Not that I can remember. I can't imagine a situation in which I would feel comfortable dropping trou in public.
What song do you want played at your funeral? I don't have a particular one in mind, but I'll leave that up to the ones who are left behind. I hope it's something that makes people remember me fondly.
What would your last meal be before getting executed? There used to be a Mexican restaurant here that served the most delicious dish called "Pollo Fundido." It was shredded chicken with sour cream, wrapped in a tortilla and deep fried, and served with a queso blanco on the top. SO GOOD! Unfortunately, that place burned down 20 years ago, and the owners went out of business. If I can't have that, a meal from my favorite Japanese place.
Beatles or Stones? Beatles, no question.
If you had to pick one person on earth to die, who would it be? I, personally, don't feel comfortable playing judge, jury, and executioner.
Beer, wine or hard liquor? Liquor -- but only in fruity, girly drinks with paper umbrellas. Other than that, I don't drink alcohol. And, I only have that once in a blue moon.
Do you have any phobias? Phobias, no. I do have fears, though. Fears of dying in a car accident, fear of guns, fears of being attacked, and a fear of dying by violence.
What are your plans for the future? Immediate future? I'm going to finish this post and get something to eat. Long term, I'd like to go back to school, but I'd need more disposable income.
Do you walk around the house naked? No, but we, as a family, do tend to eschew the wearing of pants in the house. JF calls us the Peter Pantsless family. It's too darn hot here for most of the year to wear superfluous clothing.
If you were an animal what would you be? I think I'd like to be a bird, so I can soar free.
What do you do as soon as you walk in the house? Put down my stuff and take off my pants. (See? I told you we were pantsless!)
Do you like horror or comedy? Comedy. Horror holds no appeal for me anymore. I used to like it somewhat when I was a teenager, but I don't care for it now.
Are you missing anyone? Yes. My cousin, who died when I was 17. There was so much living that he didn't get to do. Also, friends that I never see anymore. People who are no longer with us.
Where do you want to live when you are old? Somewhere close to the water.
Who is the person you can count on the most? My husband. I have no fear that he won't always be there for me.
If you could date any celebrity past or present, who would it be? Sean Connery. Yum!
What did you dream last night? I dreamed that I was in the hospital, having some tests run.
What is your favorite sport to watch? Figure skating. I don't really care for sports, so if I have to watch it, it has to be something highly visual.
Are you named after anyone? There's a story that I'm named after a character in "Gone With the Wind", but I'm not sure how much of that is true.
What is your favorite alcoholic drink? A Pina Colada. Heavy on the coconut!
Non alcoholic drink? Sonic's Cherry Limeade. And lately, Crystal Light Raspberry Ice.
Have you ever been in love? Yes. Still am.
Do you sing in the shower? No. It's usually so early in the morning now, that I'm lucky to be walking upright and functioning at all.
Have you ever been arrested? Nope. I'm a goody-goody.
What is your favorite Holiday? Christmas.
Would you ever get plastic surgery? Probably not. Not unless I had some sort of disfiguring accident. Just for kicks, no. I can't see spending that large amount of money on stuff like that. Though I don't condemn those who do. It's just not for me.
Have you ever caught a fish? Yes, when I was small. Fishing isn't a priority these days.
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Have you ever licked the back of a CD to try to get it to work? Uh, no. I teach kindergarten, remember? I already have my lifetime allotment of germs.
What's the largest age difference between yourself and someone you’ve dated? Seven years. My first love was seven years older than me, and it was a long-distance relationship. You can see how it was doomed from the start.
Ever been in a car wreck? Yeah. Most have been fender-benders, but the worst was when a drunk guy ran a red light and hit me so hard that we did a complete 180, and the impact bent the entire car frame. The insurance company totaled the car out. The guy got out of the truck at first, but was acting oddly, so I had the foresight to get the plate number. After about 5 minutes of him lurching and weaving around, he hopped back into the truck and hauled tail. The police later found the truck in the KMart parking lot, and the dude called it in as stolen. They didn't buy his story, either. I ended up having to go down and identify him in a mug shot array.
Were you popular in high school? So far from popular, it was laughable. I was one of a group of about five misfits who lived on the fringe of Shoebox School. When I transferred to Gigantic High in the summer between my sophomore and junior years, I went from Nobody to Just Another Face In The Crowd. My graduating class had 222 seniors, so it was hard to NOT find a group in which you fit there. I still wasn't what you'd call "popular", but I was also no longer totally miserable.
Have you ever been on a blind date? A couple. Most of them ended with the guy telling me that I was too fat for him to be interested.
Are looks important? Not if you already have them. If you don't, it's another kettle of fish altogether. I'd like to say they don't matter, but as someone who has been judged on the basis of my physical appearance all my life, I know better. I didn't look for a mate based on looks, though I think my husband is very attractive. I looked for him based on who he is inside. And, I got a pretty sweet deal, if I say so myself.
Do you have any friends that you've known for 10 years or more? Yes -- my friend OzChick. We've been friends for about 12 years now. And my husband, who is my best friend. We've been together a little more than 16 years. We are nearing our 15th wedding anniversary this November.
By what age would you like to be married? I got married at 22, and I think it worked well for both of us. We were always considered "more mature" than a lot of people our age, and we were both ready to be married. We had had serious discussions about marriage, fidelity, children, and other issues while we were still dating, and we had decided that we ready to put all those plans and ideals to action. I'd like my daughter to be a little older than we were, when and if she decides to marry.
Does the number of people a person's slept with affect your view of them? It depends. As a friend, no. I don't care who or how many. As a potential partner, it does in the sense that I must protect myself in this day and age. I don't care if you've sowed your wild oats -- I did some sowing of my own in my time -- but I need to know whether you are a high risk. (Of course, this is all moot, since I'm married, but this is my train of thought behind this issue.)
Are you a good tipper? If the service merits it. I don't undertip to be cheap, but I do both reward good service, and withhold from crappy service.
What's the most you have spent for a haircut? Fifty bucks, I think. That was back in high school, though. I go to a place around the corner now, and I pay $12.95, and I get every sixth haircut for free. Hey -- why pay more when this place gives me what I want for cheap?
Have you ever had a crush on a teacher? I did -- on my English teacher in middle school (who was also my drama club advisor.) When I grew up, I did some theater work with both him and his wife, and I could not, for the life of me, see why I'd crushed on him so hard as a tween. He's a nice guy, sure -- but not THAT nice. Odd circumstance -- Offspring had him as one of her Gifted instructors for a couple of years.
Have you ever peed in public? Not that I can remember. I can't imagine a situation in which I would feel comfortable dropping trou in public.
What song do you want played at your funeral? I don't have a particular one in mind, but I'll leave that up to the ones who are left behind. I hope it's something that makes people remember me fondly.
What would your last meal be before getting executed? There used to be a Mexican restaurant here that served the most delicious dish called "Pollo Fundido." It was shredded chicken with sour cream, wrapped in a tortilla and deep fried, and served with a queso blanco on the top. SO GOOD! Unfortunately, that place burned down 20 years ago, and the owners went out of business. If I can't have that, a meal from my favorite Japanese place.
Beatles or Stones? Beatles, no question.
If you had to pick one person on earth to die, who would it be? I, personally, don't feel comfortable playing judge, jury, and executioner.
Beer, wine or hard liquor? Liquor -- but only in fruity, girly drinks with paper umbrellas. Other than that, I don't drink alcohol. And, I only have that once in a blue moon.
Do you have any phobias? Phobias, no. I do have fears, though. Fears of dying in a car accident, fear of guns, fears of being attacked, and a fear of dying by violence.
What are your plans for the future? Immediate future? I'm going to finish this post and get something to eat. Long term, I'd like to go back to school, but I'd need more disposable income.
Do you walk around the house naked? No, but we, as a family, do tend to eschew the wearing of pants in the house. JF calls us the Peter Pantsless family. It's too darn hot here for most of the year to wear superfluous clothing.
If you were an animal what would you be? I think I'd like to be a bird, so I can soar free.
What do you do as soon as you walk in the house? Put down my stuff and take off my pants. (See? I told you we were pantsless!)
Do you like horror or comedy? Comedy. Horror holds no appeal for me anymore. I used to like it somewhat when I was a teenager, but I don't care for it now.
Are you missing anyone? Yes. My cousin, who died when I was 17. There was so much living that he didn't get to do. Also, friends that I never see anymore. People who are no longer with us.
Where do you want to live when you are old? Somewhere close to the water.
Who is the person you can count on the most? My husband. I have no fear that he won't always be there for me.
If you could date any celebrity past or present, who would it be? Sean Connery. Yum!
What did you dream last night? I dreamed that I was in the hospital, having some tests run.
What is your favorite sport to watch? Figure skating. I don't really care for sports, so if I have to watch it, it has to be something highly visual.
Are you named after anyone? There's a story that I'm named after a character in "Gone With the Wind", but I'm not sure how much of that is true.
What is your favorite alcoholic drink? A Pina Colada. Heavy on the coconut!
Non alcoholic drink? Sonic's Cherry Limeade. And lately, Crystal Light Raspberry Ice.
Have you ever been in love? Yes. Still am.
Do you sing in the shower? No. It's usually so early in the morning now, that I'm lucky to be walking upright and functioning at all.
Have you ever been arrested? Nope. I'm a goody-goody.
What is your favorite Holiday? Christmas.
Would you ever get plastic surgery? Probably not. Not unless I had some sort of disfiguring accident. Just for kicks, no. I can't see spending that large amount of money on stuff like that. Though I don't condemn those who do. It's just not for me.
Have you ever caught a fish? Yes, when I was small. Fishing isn't a priority these days.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
The Fundamental Difference
Juggling Freak and I have very differing tastes, especially when it comes to music. As you all know, I'm fond of the 80's music and British "New Wave" of the same era. Juggling Freak is into Heavy Metal. And never the twain shall meet.
A few years ago, we got a Sirius satellite radio system as a Christmas gift, and we keep it in my car, although we have a home dock for it as well. The system has a number of buttons along the front, where you can preset your favorite stations. Offspring immediately claimed preset number one in the name of Radio Disney. The next two are my favorites -- First Wave (which plays the New Wave and alternative songs, mostly from the 80s era) and the Big 80s (which is pretty self-explanatory). Juggling Freak set all the other presets up with a mixture of other stations, mainly the ones that he likes, but some that we both tolerate fairly well.
As we headed for dinner the other day, Juggling Freak was surfing through the selections, much the same way that he channel surfs on TV. (May I point out here that stopping on each station for approximately 3 seconds does not really give you a good grasp as to whether what's on that channel is really worth watching/listening to? Are all men like this?) It's slightly better with the satellite radio because at least the display screen lets us know the song title and the artist's name. JF usually makes unilateral decisions based on artist: "Tears For Fears: Hell, no!" Or, "Ugh -- not more U2!"
As he blazed through the channels, he was finding nothing that he really wanted to listen to. He finally settled on a station, but the song that was listed was going off, and a Madonna song came on next. Now, I'm no big Madonna fan, but neither do my eyeballs bleed upon mere mentions of her name. JF starts mock-gagging, and blindly punches buttons as if his life depended on it. I try to tell him that some of Madonna's early stuff isn't bad -- it's much less objectionable than her later, I-believe-in-my-own-hype, self-absorbed work, but he's not buying.
Me: "Now, her early work isn't all that bad."
Him: "Says you. I say it sucks ass."
Me: "Sure, it was pure bubblegum, but at least it wasn't as bad as some of her later stuff."
Him: "Maybe ass-flavored bubblegum."
Needless to say, the radio didn't remain long on Madonna, early hit or no.
A few years ago, we got a Sirius satellite radio system as a Christmas gift, and we keep it in my car, although we have a home dock for it as well. The system has a number of buttons along the front, where you can preset your favorite stations. Offspring immediately claimed preset number one in the name of Radio Disney. The next two are my favorites -- First Wave (which plays the New Wave and alternative songs, mostly from the 80s era) and the Big 80s (which is pretty self-explanatory). Juggling Freak set all the other presets up with a mixture of other stations, mainly the ones that he likes, but some that we both tolerate fairly well.
As we headed for dinner the other day, Juggling Freak was surfing through the selections, much the same way that he channel surfs on TV. (May I point out here that stopping on each station for approximately 3 seconds does not really give you a good grasp as to whether what's on that channel is really worth watching/listening to? Are all men like this?) It's slightly better with the satellite radio because at least the display screen lets us know the song title and the artist's name. JF usually makes unilateral decisions based on artist: "Tears For Fears: Hell, no!" Or, "Ugh -- not more U2!"
As he blazed through the channels, he was finding nothing that he really wanted to listen to. He finally settled on a station, but the song that was listed was going off, and a Madonna song came on next. Now, I'm no big Madonna fan, but neither do my eyeballs bleed upon mere mentions of her name. JF starts mock-gagging, and blindly punches buttons as if his life depended on it. I try to tell him that some of Madonna's early stuff isn't bad -- it's much less objectionable than her later, I-believe-in-my-own-hype, self-absorbed work, but he's not buying.
Me: "Now, her early work isn't all that bad."
Him: "Says you. I say it sucks ass."
Me: "Sure, it was pure bubblegum, but at least it wasn't as bad as some of her later stuff."
Him: "Maybe ass-flavored bubblegum."
Needless to say, the radio didn't remain long on Madonna, early hit or no.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Can't Seem To Find The Time
I can't seem to find the time to post anymore. I seem to go, go, go from the moment I fall out of bed in the morning until I drop into it each night.
Can I tell you that middle school is KILLING me? Offspring is having a great time, but seeing her off to the bus at 6:42 am is *really* cramping my style. I used to be one of those people that rolled out of bed about 20 minutes before I had to be at work, eking out every possible second of sleep that I could. Gone are those days. LONG gone.
She seems to be adjusting well to middle school life -- has fun riding the bus with her friends, and is overjoyed that her best buddy is in her homeroom (and same "block" schedule) so they get to see each other all day.
She's already had several info packets about upcoming papers and projects sent home, and even turned in an "All About Me" project this morning. The work load is heavier, but it's not too much just yet -- as the year gets fully under way, I expect there to be more work.
The one thing she was bummed at: her school does not have lockers. She REALLY wanted a locker. And, judging by how freaking heavy that backpack is, they really need to get them lockers. That thing weighs a ton!
Friday, September 07, 2007
They May Be Clueless, But At Least They Got Religion
My class is shaping up, slowly but surely. Each year, I forget how little they came to us knowing, and what a hard task those first few weeks are, teaching them all the little quirks and rules. I guess it's because at the end of the year, they're well-trained, and it's underscored by how far they get by the end of the year. Simple things, like knowing their own last names, or what their mama's names are.
I misplaced the little slip of paper that I keep with me that tells me how all my babies get home: these two to daycare vans, this one to the on-site afterschool care service, these three or four walk home with big brothers or sisters, and so on. One child, I could not, for the life of me, remember how she got home. So, I called her up to my desk to question her on the matter.
Mrs. KLee: "Sweetie, are you a bus rider?"
Cute Little Girl: "Huh?"
Mrs. KLee: "Are you a bus rider, a car rider, or a walker?"
*blank stare*
Mrs. KLee: "How do you get home? Are you a car rider, a walker, or do you ride the bus?"
Cute Little Girl: "No, I'm a Baptist!"
I misplaced the little slip of paper that I keep with me that tells me how all my babies get home: these two to daycare vans, this one to the on-site afterschool care service, these three or four walk home with big brothers or sisters, and so on. One child, I could not, for the life of me, remember how she got home. So, I called her up to my desk to question her on the matter.
Mrs. KLee: "Sweetie, are you a bus rider?"
Cute Little Girl: "Huh?"
Mrs. KLee: "Are you a bus rider, a car rider, or a walker?"
*blank stare*
Mrs. KLee: "How do you get home? Are you a car rider, a walker, or do you ride the bus?"
Cute Little Girl: "No, I'm a Baptist!"
Monday, September 03, 2007
Summer's End
The rain has kept the sun worshippers from their daily rituals for the better part of this past week. The touristy shops along the beach roads begin to close earlier and earlier, and the seasonal ice cream shop sports new winter shutters.
The intermittent rain brings needed relief for the parched earth. The lower temperatures allow the pale denizens to finally emerge from their cool, shady homes. Their faces upturned to the roiling sky, the cloistered ones breathe air not cooled and recirculated by machine for the first time in weeks.
The stores are full of parents stocking up on supplies for school. Two young, first grade-age girls argue the various merits of the lunch boxes: Hannah Montana, High School Musical, or Bratz? The shoppers move through the aisles, denuding the shelves as a high wind would strip leaves from the trees. Like a plague of locusts they come, laying bare the store's metal skeleton.
The large tan SUV moves swiftly into traffic, a pair of lurid fuchsia flip-flops miraculously clinging to the rear bumper with the tenacity of barnacles. The streets are surprisingly empty for a holiday. The city hunkers back down for more rain.
As night blankets the wet city, lights wink out earlier than normal in preparation for the morning's new beginning.
The intermittent rain brings needed relief for the parched earth. The lower temperatures allow the pale denizens to finally emerge from their cool, shady homes. Their faces upturned to the roiling sky, the cloistered ones breathe air not cooled and recirculated by machine for the first time in weeks.
The stores are full of parents stocking up on supplies for school. Two young, first grade-age girls argue the various merits of the lunch boxes: Hannah Montana, High School Musical, or Bratz? The shoppers move through the aisles, denuding the shelves as a high wind would strip leaves from the trees. Like a plague of locusts they come, laying bare the store's metal skeleton.
The large tan SUV moves swiftly into traffic, a pair of lurid fuchsia flip-flops miraculously clinging to the rear bumper with the tenacity of barnacles. The streets are surprisingly empty for a holiday. The city hunkers back down for more rain.
As night blankets the wet city, lights wink out earlier than normal in preparation for the morning's new beginning.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Looking Back on the Summer
Most of the summer has been spent in a battle of wills over the main desktop computer. I was usually on the losing end. My children (the human one and the furry one) have severely cut into my online time, necessitating a strategic retreat to the craft room with the laptop. As you see from the above photo, the cat won that particular round due to laser weapons fire. And, apparently, she likes the YouTube.
We kicked off the summer in mid June with a trip to the Happiest Place on Earth (no, it's *not* Tijuana.) and maximized our photo ops. We had a great time as always, and can't wait to go back. Again. And again. The only thing that we hate about Disney World is the EPCOT factor (Every Pocket Comes Out Thinner) and having to pack up and leave. We didn't have nearly the amount of pictures this year that we normally do because JF had his hands full with pushing me in the wheelchair.
Oh, and a side note to wheelchair rental companies -- please *glue* or somehow otherwise attach the rubberized handles to the actual chair. I had hellish visions of road rash when JF tried to play a joke on me on a hill. Only, the joke was on him when, at the crest of the hill, I went careening down, leaving him standing there holding only two rubbery grips. Not fun.
I got to meet Marni, and her great family. We ate some wonderful pizza, and she didn't run screaming away from me! She even wants to come down to my neck of the woods sometime soon and get together again! I hope she's able to make it down.
We even got to take a second little vacation (something that almost NEVER happens) to the Biltmore. We loved Asheville, and can't wait to go back up. We won't have all that long to wait either, since I have a cousin that's getting married in one of the nearby towns in October. So, I get to head back up to the mountains. JF may or may not attend, depending on work. If he's not able to go, he'll miss my lovely family and their assorted neuroses and character flaws. Maybe I can blow off the wedding, and just go get that hot stone massage and hot tub soak at that outdoor spa. Hm -- worth thinking about. Maybe as an early birthday treat for me! :)
I did a lot of loafing around, made a lot of cards. Actually cleaned the
Had a fantabulous lunch with the not-so-mysterious Liz, and hope she'll want to have lunch with me again on her next trip down. She's remained mostly quiet on the subject of our meetup, so I'm hoping that she's not trying to find a nice, polite way to tell me I'm a whackjob and that she'd never be caught dead in the same state as me again. Sorry -- is my insecurity showing again?
Got addicted to Pandora. Trying real hard not to lose my cool when the DSL drops connection just as a really! cool! song! comes on. Throwing the laptop NEVER makes things better.
Now, summer is over, and it's time for school to start again. I've been cleaning, bending over, and moving furniture all day. My back is hurting. I'm hoping the Naproxen I took a while ago kick in soon. I still have so much to do. And, I'm not ready to be a productive member of society. I want to go back to bed.
Saturday, August 25, 2007
I Am In Such Trouble
Every summer, I do this. As the summer nears each year, I look forward to sleeping late, and not being at the beck and call of the clock. And every year, as the summer wanes, I find that my sleep patterns are all out of whack.
I'm a night owl. I prowl the house at night, long after Juggling Freak and Offspring have gone to bed. I read, I watch TV, I do my craft projects. I like the quiet, the calm. The heat of the day has fled; the phone has stopped ringing. The house is still. I find something very appealing about that. And that's my time to find inner peace.
I have been going to bed very late these past few weeks, and like I do every summer, I need to get my system reset. I need to be back on school time. I report back to work Monday, and have to hit the ground running. I'm not looking forward to having to drag myself out of bed when I would normally be comfortably lost in dreamland. Though I do only have myself to blame for being in this predicament in the first place.
I'm a night owl. I prowl the house at night, long after Juggling Freak and Offspring have gone to bed. I read, I watch TV, I do my craft projects. I like the quiet, the calm. The heat of the day has fled; the phone has stopped ringing. The house is still. I find something very appealing about that. And that's my time to find inner peace.
I have been going to bed very late these past few weeks, and like I do every summer, I need to get my system reset. I need to be back on school time. I report back to work Monday, and have to hit the ground running. I'm not looking forward to having to drag myself out of bed when I would normally be comfortably lost in dreamland. Though I do only have myself to blame for being in this predicament in the first place.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Rules For Living
A humorous list of rules for living here in HumidityLikeABrickWall recently appeared in the local paper. There were 99 in all, but a lot of them are location jokes that others wouldn't understand unless they were locals, so I've condensed them for your amusement.
--------------------------
Complain. About anything.
Celebrate the solemn religious import of St. Patrick’s Day with clowns on scooters and wet T-shirt contests.
Mascara: Best applied at 80 m.p.h.
HumidityLikeABrickWall summers: “It’s not the heat, it’s the humidity.” Actually, moron, it’s both.
Consider anyone a “newcomer” whose family arrived later than the Fillmore Administration.
Don’t mess with Parking Services. (Those meter maids are hell on three wheels.)
Tourists spend a kazillion dollars here every year. Treat them with impatience and disdain.
If a tourist asks what the rank odor in the air is, say it's the smell of money. (We have a paper plant right near the tourist district.)
Always order sweet tea.
Say you like the heat even when the air feels like Campbell's Cream of Chunky Molasses Soup.
Show your support for the troops by displaying a magnetic ribbon made in China on your Japanese car.
Talk loudly in movie theaters. Everyone around you is dying to hear your opinions.
Be sure to crank up your stereo at intersections, too. We all love hearing how to "bitch slap that ho."
Resent college kids who are "different." But love the big bucks their parents send here.
Don't bother moving your car for the street sweepers. Just for the ticket truck that follows five minutes later.
Worship the God of your choice - or else.
Too fat to wear Spandex? Not in HumidityLikeABrickWall.
Leave the Spanish moss alone. Unless you want little visitors in your undies.
Your preparation for hurricane season? Lay in some extra martini mix. (And beer. And if the hurricane misses us, throw a party.)
Turn signal: Term unknown.
Yellow light: A signal for the next seven to eight cars to accelerate.
Red light: A signal for all but the first three to four cars to stop.
Blame the weatherman when it doesn't rain. Blame him when it does.
Any store with 20 check-out lines? At least 18 will be closed.
Local spelling: "Dog" = "Dawg." And folks wonder why our SAT scores look like wind-chill factors.
It's always someone else who buys that "special lingerie" at the adult 'bookstore.'
Anyone driving 65 mph on the parkway is considered a "slowpoke." Those traveling at 55 mph (the technical speed limit) are officially "parking."
Tailgating? Shoot, hon, we're just being sociable.
Calvinism: A local religion, popularly represented on a pickup's back window by a picture of a young boy urinating.
Fire Lanes: Excellent places to park. And so convenient to the stores. Even better than those "handicapped" spaces.
The Parkway: An ambitious project launched the same week as Egypt's Great Pyramid. Scheduled for completion later this millennium (tentatively).
Curbside recycling? Obviously a hippie Commie plot.
Expect your cable to go out when it rains. Or when it's partly cloudy. Or on any day that ends with "y."
The sign at the grocery store that reads "15 items or less, cash only" doesn't apply to you. Heavens, no.
Don't believe everything the downtown tour guides tell you. The Confederacy, for example, did not win the Civil War.
Coolly walk past the celebrities you spot in town. Then excitedly call everyone with the news.
Pamper your dogs more than your children.
Those roaches that are so big you can put saddles on them? They're "Palmetto Bugs."
Let us know when you see a ghost on a ghost tour. You'll be the first.
Don't look for many flights to Paris at HumidityLikeABrickWall "International" Airport.
You call them "horseflies." We call them "teeth with wings."
If you live on the southside, your out-of-town guests will want to spend all their time downtown. If you live downtown, they'll want to visit the malls.
Honk your horn when you're stuck in traffic. Repeatedly. We're sure all of those cars in front of you will magically disappear.
Synchronized traffic lights? Dream on ...
Hang out in the left lane of the interstate if you're older than 80 and can barely see over your Cadillac's steering wheel. Be sure to leave your turn signal on.
No bathing suit is too tiny for the beach. Especially if you resemble a sumo wrestler on steroids.
The editorial page at the paper isn't really conservative; it's just opposed to "change for change's sake" (like those new-fangled horseless carriages).
A fistful of quarters comes in handy when you finally find a parking space downtown. We hear they make excellent brass knuckles too.
Nothing says HumidityLikeABrickWall like a debutante with a tattoo on her ass.
Anyone standing in front of you in line at Wal-Mart will need a price check.
Stop signs are for sissies.
Watering restrictions are for that guy down the street. It's OK if your lawn looks like a tropical rainforest.
Yield when you enter a square. Unless you don't feel like it.
Appomattox?: A temporary setback.
--------------------------
Complain. About anything.
Celebrate the solemn religious import of St. Patrick’s Day with clowns on scooters and wet T-shirt contests.
Mascara: Best applied at 80 m.p.h.
HumidityLikeABrickWall summers: “It’s not the heat, it’s the humidity.” Actually, moron, it’s both.
Consider anyone a “newcomer” whose family arrived later than the Fillmore Administration.
Don’t mess with Parking Services. (Those meter maids are hell on three wheels.)
Tourists spend a kazillion dollars here every year. Treat them with impatience and disdain.
If a tourist asks what the rank odor in the air is, say it's the smell of money. (We have a paper plant right near the tourist district.)
Always order sweet tea.
Say you like the heat even when the air feels like Campbell's Cream of Chunky Molasses Soup.
Show your support for the troops by displaying a magnetic ribbon made in China on your Japanese car.
Talk loudly in movie theaters. Everyone around you is dying to hear your opinions.
Be sure to crank up your stereo at intersections, too. We all love hearing how to "bitch slap that ho."
Resent college kids who are "different." But love the big bucks their parents send here.
Don't bother moving your car for the street sweepers. Just for the ticket truck that follows five minutes later.
Worship the God of your choice - or else.
Too fat to wear Spandex? Not in HumidityLikeABrickWall.
Leave the Spanish moss alone. Unless you want little visitors in your undies.
Your preparation for hurricane season? Lay in some extra martini mix. (And beer. And if the hurricane misses us, throw a party.)
Turn signal: Term unknown.
Yellow light: A signal for the next seven to eight cars to accelerate.
Red light: A signal for all but the first three to four cars to stop.
Blame the weatherman when it doesn't rain. Blame him when it does.
Any store with 20 check-out lines? At least 18 will be closed.
Local spelling: "Dog" = "Dawg." And folks wonder why our SAT scores look like wind-chill factors.
It's always someone else who buys that "special lingerie" at the adult 'bookstore.'
Anyone driving 65 mph on the parkway is considered a "slowpoke." Those traveling at 55 mph (the technical speed limit) are officially "parking."
Tailgating? Shoot, hon, we're just being sociable.
Calvinism: A local religion, popularly represented on a pickup's back window by a picture of a young boy urinating.
Fire Lanes: Excellent places to park. And so convenient to the stores. Even better than those "handicapped" spaces.
The Parkway: An ambitious project launched the same week as Egypt's Great Pyramid. Scheduled for completion later this millennium (tentatively).
Curbside recycling? Obviously a hippie Commie plot.
Expect your cable to go out when it rains. Or when it's partly cloudy. Or on any day that ends with "y."
The sign at the grocery store that reads "15 items or less, cash only" doesn't apply to you. Heavens, no.
Don't believe everything the downtown tour guides tell you. The Confederacy, for example, did not win the Civil War.
Coolly walk past the celebrities you spot in town. Then excitedly call everyone with the news.
Pamper your dogs more than your children.
Those roaches that are so big you can put saddles on them? They're "Palmetto Bugs."
Let us know when you see a ghost on a ghost tour. You'll be the first.
Don't look for many flights to Paris at HumidityLikeABrickWall "International" Airport.
You call them "horseflies." We call them "teeth with wings."
If you live on the southside, your out-of-town guests will want to spend all their time downtown. If you live downtown, they'll want to visit the malls.
Honk your horn when you're stuck in traffic. Repeatedly. We're sure all of those cars in front of you will magically disappear.
Synchronized traffic lights? Dream on ...
Hang out in the left lane of the interstate if you're older than 80 and can barely see over your Cadillac's steering wheel. Be sure to leave your turn signal on.
No bathing suit is too tiny for the beach. Especially if you resemble a sumo wrestler on steroids.
The editorial page at the paper isn't really conservative; it's just opposed to "change for change's sake" (like those new-fangled horseless carriages).
A fistful of quarters comes in handy when you finally find a parking space downtown. We hear they make excellent brass knuckles too.
Nothing says HumidityLikeABrickWall like a debutante with a tattoo on her ass.
Anyone standing in front of you in line at Wal-Mart will need a price check.
Stop signs are for sissies.
Watering restrictions are for that guy down the street. It's OK if your lawn looks like a tropical rainforest.
Yield when you enter a square. Unless you don't feel like it.
Appomattox?: A temporary setback.
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