Usually I don’t use my blog to do a movie review, but there is a first time for everything. Recently I had the pleasure of watching a movie called the “Diving Bell and the Butterfly.”
This movie is a French movie with English sub-titles. Normally I shy away from foreign films, because I find them to be pompous and confusing.
I even hate Canadian films. I get so angry when I rent one by mistake. I sit down to watch what I think is going to be an ‘okay’ movie, and then I see it…The Canadian Government symbol, which means that my government subsidized the bill for the film. I think to myself, ‘Great just great now I have to spend the next 90 minutes watching a hoser movie.’ (Hoser is Canadian slang meaning loser. Hoser is pronounced: hose-er.) 8 times out of 10 I am right. I am such a movie snob.
Last week I sat my movie snob butt down and surfed through the pay-per-view movies I came across a French film that intrigued me. David was sleeping and I thought maybe just maybe I could become a bit more cultured.
Here is the movie’s premise:
On December 8, 1995 Jean- Dominique Bauby, the editor-in-chief of Elle magazine, suffered a stroke and lapsed into a coma. He awoke 20 days later, mentally aware of his surroundings but physically paralyzed with the exception of some movement in his head and eyes (one of which had to be sewn up due to an irrigation problem). He wrote a book. The entire book was written by Bauby blinking his left eyelid, which took ten months (four hours a day). A transcriber repeatedly recite a French language frequented used lettered alphabet: (E, S, A, R, I, N, T, U, L, etc.), until Bauby blinked to choose the next letter. The book took about 200,000 blinks to write and an average word took approximately two minutes. The book also chronicles everyday events for a person with locked-in syndrome. These events include playing at the beach with his family, getting a bath, and meeting visitors.
Jean-Dominique Bauby was an ordinary man with an extraordinary illness. I am an ordinary woman complaining about the happenings of my ordinary life. Sometimes I need a reminder that I am not as broken as I feel. Wait I take that back…I am as broken as I let myself be, and that’s the truth.
As I watched this amazing true story I sat in awe of this man’s endurance and will. And I pondered what would I be like in that situation? Would I have the same endurance and will? Or would I give up and wilt away? When the days and nights seem long and endless will I remember this man’s journey? Will I preserver and go on? I hope so.
I think…wait I KNOW you should see this movie, which is on video. Or at least read the book. Don’t let an opportunity to see the world through someone else’s eye pass you by.
I give this movie an A, and a thumb’s up.
Friday, May 15, 2009
Friday, May 8, 2009
6 Days, 21 Hours 28 Minutes...
I changed the name of my blog to: I REALLY WANT A STARBUCKS! As it turns out I can live without a cookie, but I am not sure that I can say the same when it comes to Starbucks coffee. I have had to give up the most wonderful morning drink of my life. (I am aware that you may not LOVE Starbucks and I am not holding it against you. We are still friends.)
I am depressed. My coffee machine is on the counter with no one to love it.
What I want to know is why the pharmaceutical companies never invented a “Starbucks Patch”? You know a patch that would be similar to the kind of patch that people wear who want to quit smoking. It would be awesome, because every so often I would get a hit of espresso to my nervous system.
I am a one Venti-a-day drinker. So far I have been without a Starbucks for 2 hours and 56 minutes.
It is not all bad news. I can go back to my espresso sin in one week-if I want to. (Yes, please.) I am going back to my addiction for both of our sakes. If I don’t get coffee after one week than all of my entries are going to be about Starbucks, and they are going to have a real bitch flavour to them. That is “if” I can write. I might be in a padded room rocking back and forth plotting my escape to the closest Starbucks.
Time until next Starbucks: One week. Only 6 days and 21 hours to go.
Damn you Howard Schultz for opening a coffee shop that I love so much!
I am depressed. My coffee machine is on the counter with no one to love it.
What I want to know is why the pharmaceutical companies never invented a “Starbucks Patch”? You know a patch that would be similar to the kind of patch that people wear who want to quit smoking. It would be awesome, because every so often I would get a hit of espresso to my nervous system.
I am a one Venti-a-day drinker. So far I have been without a Starbucks for 2 hours and 56 minutes.
It is not all bad news. I can go back to my espresso sin in one week-if I want to. (Yes, please.) I am going back to my addiction for both of our sakes. If I don’t get coffee after one week than all of my entries are going to be about Starbucks, and they are going to have a real bitch flavour to them. That is “if” I can write. I might be in a padded room rocking back and forth plotting my escape to the closest Starbucks.
Time until next Starbucks: One week. Only 6 days and 21 hours to go.
Damn you Howard Schultz for opening a coffee shop that I love so much!
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Amy, Amy, How Does Your Photos Grow?
I am tired of all of the grey weather that we have been having; in order to feel better I went for a walk. Isn’t a walk supposed to make a person feel happier? Yeah, except I took a walk in the rain, perfect timing is not my forte. This is where I should mention in addition to Noah’s Ark’s rainfall there was also a gusty wind storm. Looking back on this whole situation I think my ultimate downfall was my failure was to look out my window.
Can you picture me in a rain storm walking against the wind? And you know what I forgot? My power boots, that’s what! I left my pink sparkle rain boots at home. Instead I wore the shoes my daughter refers to as “n-ike”. I tell her over and over again-the shoes are pronounced: “ni-key”! (Don’t argue with me. I am smarter than you!) Wait, I was the one that was wearing the dumbass shoes in a storm. AM I REALLY the smart one?
In my cold hands I have a hot pink IPod and a camera. A camera! Really? Why? I decided that I wanted to take pictures while I skip down the street trying to snap as many pictures as my camera would allow before it ran out of batteries.
Photography might be a good hobby for me. If you remember I am in the market for some new hobbies.
First attempt at a hobby: Photography in a storm with limited battery life.
I am going to show you the fruits of my labour. The good news is you will get to see a glimpse of how I see the world. Look at these photos and please give me feedback. These photos were taking on my street. Please look at these photos and please give me feedback.
And the best news: In the end the walk did lift my spirits.
Can you picture me in a rain storm walking against the wind? And you know what I forgot? My power boots, that’s what! I left my pink sparkle rain boots at home. Instead I wore the shoes my daughter refers to as “n-ike”. I tell her over and over again-the shoes are pronounced: “ni-key”! (Don’t argue with me. I am smarter than you!) Wait, I was the one that was wearing the dumbass shoes in a storm. AM I REALLY the smart one?
In my cold hands I have a hot pink IPod and a camera. A camera! Really? Why? I decided that I wanted to take pictures while I skip down the street trying to snap as many pictures as my camera would allow before it ran out of batteries.
Photography might be a good hobby for me. If you remember I am in the market for some new hobbies.
First attempt at a hobby: Photography in a storm with limited battery life.
I am going to show you the fruits of my labour. The good news is you will get to see a glimpse of how I see the world. Look at these photos and please give me feedback. These photos were taking on my street. Please look at these photos and please give me feedback.
And the best news: In the end the walk did lift my spirits.
Monday, May 4, 2009
It's a Zoo in There! Where? My Head- Silly.
Today I feel like I am trapped under an elephant, and I am doing anything I can just to keep breathing. It is like a constant pressure that I am feeling on my chest. I just checked, and there is an elephant sitting on me. I named him Jim.
However large he might be I don’t think Jim is my only issue. I am feeling a lot of other things that are causing me discomfort, and I will name those issues “Stress”. I have to say at this point I much prefer Jim to “Stress”.
I am not going to go into the reasons why me and “Stress” are hanging out, because I think that that will be a pointless exercise. I am not one of those people who complain. (Ouch- I was just struck by lightning. Are you okay Jim? Now Jim and “Stress” are hanging. I don’t think a stressed elephant who is sitting on you is a good thing.) Let’s just say I have a lot of my mind, and I wish that I didn’t. I have a lot to deal with, and I wish that I didn’t. I want to go back to simpler times; you know when the only time I saw an elephant was at a zoo.
You know what really ticks me off? It is when people say that they are having a “panic-attack”. If you happen to suffer from panic attacks then who am I to judge, but I would rather say I have an elephant named Jim hanging out with me than run around having panic attacks. Not only will I be stressed, but people will think I am crazy. Oh, and guess what? I will have an excuse to go to Costco and buy a lot of peanuts.
However large he might be I don’t think Jim is my only issue. I am feeling a lot of other things that are causing me discomfort, and I will name those issues “Stress”. I have to say at this point I much prefer Jim to “Stress”.
I am not going to go into the reasons why me and “Stress” are hanging out, because I think that that will be a pointless exercise. I am not one of those people who complain. (Ouch- I was just struck by lightning. Are you okay Jim? Now Jim and “Stress” are hanging. I don’t think a stressed elephant who is sitting on you is a good thing.) Let’s just say I have a lot of my mind, and I wish that I didn’t. I have a lot to deal with, and I wish that I didn’t. I want to go back to simpler times; you know when the only time I saw an elephant was at a zoo.
You know what really ticks me off? It is when people say that they are having a “panic-attack”. If you happen to suffer from panic attacks then who am I to judge, but I would rather say I have an elephant named Jim hanging out with me than run around having panic attacks. Not only will I be stressed, but people will think I am crazy. Oh, and guess what? I will have an excuse to go to Costco and buy a lot of peanuts.
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Happy Birthday Dear David
I have had a lot on my plate in the last few weeks. David turned 40! (Right on David! Congratulations for living this long!) Maybe not, he is okay with the fact that he is becoming a “mature adult”, but I am not. Forgive me when I say that 40 seems so old. What happened to 20? We met when he was 21, and he never told me that he was going to turn 40. That is called false advertising. I didn’t know he had fine print, and I didn’t know that I was suppose to read it. I know you will find this hard to believe, but I was as shallow then as I am now. If I thought this whole David aging thing through; I might’ve just “leased” him for 8 years. (You know like a car.) Yeah but the only problem with leasing is- you have to make the “lease” or “buy” commitment at the time of purchase. And as far as boyfriends go he was (and still is) a Ferrari, so how could I not buy him? Who wants to “lease” a Ferrari? (Only a complete dumbass-that’s who.) Wait! Don’t Ferraris get more valuable with age? Yes they do! Too bad he isn’t a car. I don’t want to give you the wrong impression-too late. I would not trade David in; even for a newer Ferrari. My Ferrari is exactly the way I want it to be.
It is really not his age that paralyzes me- it’s my age! (Yes it does always come back to me.) My thinking is this: If David turned 40 then I will turn 40 in 5 years and 3 weeks. I am not ready to be 40 yet! I am running out of time.
I don’t care about wrinkles, or grey hair. (Truth: I do color my hair and wish I didn’t have wrinkles, but I am trying to make a point!) Being 40 scares me, because I have been waiting for the “perfect” time to start “living”. If I don’t get my butt into gear than I will spend the next 40 years of my life perfecting on being the ultimate online solitaire player. I can’t let life pass me by. I need to spend the next 5 years 3 weeks perfecting other interests that will fulfill my life, so by the time I turn 40 I will be an expert at “living my life to the fullest, and I won’t be afraid to have adventures.” I am going to tell you a secret: I am scared. Playing solitaire is so much easier.
Here is my plan: I am going to raise money for a new espresso machine for my birthday, because I think better under the influence of caffeine. I am going to make a list of the things that I want in my future. I already know one thing: I want a big back yard full of hydrangeas and cherry blossoms. I need a plan, because I need to get moving on this “mid-life crisis” that I am having on behalf on David. I am a wonderful person, because how many people would have a mid-life crisis for their partner? What? A Drama Queen? Shut up!
It is really not his age that paralyzes me- it’s my age! (Yes it does always come back to me.) My thinking is this: If David turned 40 then I will turn 40 in 5 years and 3 weeks. I am not ready to be 40 yet! I am running out of time.
I don’t care about wrinkles, or grey hair. (Truth: I do color my hair and wish I didn’t have wrinkles, but I am trying to make a point!) Being 40 scares me, because I have been waiting for the “perfect” time to start “living”. If I don’t get my butt into gear than I will spend the next 40 years of my life perfecting on being the ultimate online solitaire player. I can’t let life pass me by. I need to spend the next 5 years 3 weeks perfecting other interests that will fulfill my life, so by the time I turn 40 I will be an expert at “living my life to the fullest, and I won’t be afraid to have adventures.” I am going to tell you a secret: I am scared. Playing solitaire is so much easier.
Here is my plan: I am going to raise money for a new espresso machine for my birthday, because I think better under the influence of caffeine. I am going to make a list of the things that I want in my future. I already know one thing: I want a big back yard full of hydrangeas and cherry blossoms. I need a plan, because I need to get moving on this “mid-life crisis” that I am having on behalf on David. I am a wonderful person, because how many people would have a mid-life crisis for their partner? What? A Drama Queen? Shut up!
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Warning This Entry Has Not Been Edited for Content
The sun is shining, and the cherry blossoms are in full bloom. I love this time of the year; because everything is so fresh and new. I love walking outdoors and taking it all in, so why am I on my butt procrastinating instead of going for a walk?
Let’s see I have done nothing today, and yet I have managed to do everything to make sure I don’t have to go outside and enjoy this perfect day:
I have talked to several of my friends, so much so my ear is red from hours of phone exposure. I had to tell them all about the excitement I felt when I got my AMEX card in the mail yesterday. (David was pissed off about the interest rate. (24% - and that is the preferred rate…) He wanted to know why I didn’t do more research.) I told him I needed “Airmiles” for a new espresso machine. I need 7000 and currently I only have 2079. I told him to pay it off each and every month so there will be no interest. He still gave me his angry banker/accountant face.
By the way there is no problem getting credit. I am on disability and David was a student, and those guys at AMEX were all too happy to extend us credit. Now I am well stocked with credit. I have Visa, MC, and AMEX, a mortgage, and a line of credit. I am proud to say that I don’t owe money on my line of credit, or credit cards, and I don’t make car payments. But there is the mortgage, and that is a way different story, because my house is worth jack. What I want to know is why the banks think I need over $50,000 in credit? It has been rumoured that my parents first home was around $20,000, so in essence if this was 1974 I could buy their home with no down payment or employment, because I could just use my credit cards. (I think you can buy you some houses on credit if you want to buy real estate in Detroit. In fact I hear that some houses are so cheap that most people can use their pocket change; I saw in the news that there were houses for sale for $100. That is really sad. ) Too much credit- not enough money; no wonder our economy is in the dumps. I am doing it again- procrastinating. I should really be going for a walk…
I did it, I am amazing! I just took a two hour tour around my neighbourhood. I don’t know why I left it so long?
I could really go for some chocolate ice cream. David likes the ice cream that is the 3 flavours for the price of one. You know the strawberry, vanilla, and chocolate one. I think it is a waste, because the chocolate one is always the first one to go. It is a real disappointment to go to the freezer and believe that you are going to get chocolate ice cream only to find out that all that is left is crappy vanilla and strawberry. I just looked we don’t have any ice cream. Bummer.
I started this entry a week ago, and I still am not finished. Why? It is not like I have a billion and a half things to do. I am just really tired. Hey but good news I now have 2162 “Airmiles”!
I keep telling myself I have to post this entry even if it is boring. I want to write about other exciting new developments in my life, but until I finish this entry I can go no further. I am just going to post this damn entry as-is! I am even too lazy to edit! Oooo I hope the next entry will be better.
Let’s see I have done nothing today, and yet I have managed to do everything to make sure I don’t have to go outside and enjoy this perfect day:
I have talked to several of my friends, so much so my ear is red from hours of phone exposure. I had to tell them all about the excitement I felt when I got my AMEX card in the mail yesterday. (David was pissed off about the interest rate. (24% - and that is the preferred rate…) He wanted to know why I didn’t do more research.) I told him I needed “Airmiles” for a new espresso machine. I need 7000 and currently I only have 2079. I told him to pay it off each and every month so there will be no interest. He still gave me his angry banker/accountant face.
By the way there is no problem getting credit. I am on disability and David was a student, and those guys at AMEX were all too happy to extend us credit. Now I am well stocked with credit. I have Visa, MC, and AMEX, a mortgage, and a line of credit. I am proud to say that I don’t owe money on my line of credit, or credit cards, and I don’t make car payments. But there is the mortgage, and that is a way different story, because my house is worth jack. What I want to know is why the banks think I need over $50,000 in credit? It has been rumoured that my parents first home was around $20,000, so in essence if this was 1974 I could buy their home with no down payment or employment, because I could just use my credit cards. (I think you can buy you some houses on credit if you want to buy real estate in Detroit. In fact I hear that some houses are so cheap that most people can use their pocket change; I saw in the news that there were houses for sale for $100. That is really sad. ) Too much credit- not enough money; no wonder our economy is in the dumps. I am doing it again- procrastinating. I should really be going for a walk…
I did it, I am amazing! I just took a two hour tour around my neighbourhood. I don’t know why I left it so long?
I could really go for some chocolate ice cream. David likes the ice cream that is the 3 flavours for the price of one. You know the strawberry, vanilla, and chocolate one. I think it is a waste, because the chocolate one is always the first one to go. It is a real disappointment to go to the freezer and believe that you are going to get chocolate ice cream only to find out that all that is left is crappy vanilla and strawberry. I just looked we don’t have any ice cream. Bummer.
I started this entry a week ago, and I still am not finished. Why? It is not like I have a billion and a half things to do. I am just really tired. Hey but good news I now have 2162 “Airmiles”!
I keep telling myself I have to post this entry even if it is boring. I want to write about other exciting new developments in my life, but until I finish this entry I can go no further. I am just going to post this damn entry as-is! I am even too lazy to edit! Oooo I hope the next entry will be better.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Shenanigans!
My dad used to spin tall tales when I was a child. He would tell my friends and me outrageous stories. Recently, according to my mother this was one of his latest shenanigans:
My dad and she had gone to an outdoor market last spring. My dad had his golden retriever with him, and a woman walked up; she told my dad how much she had liked his dog. (This was this lady’s first mistake. She should have never stopped to chat with my father.) During the conversation he somehow convinced this gullible lady into believing that his golden retriever could talk. According to my mother who has nothing to gain; my father was so believable, because he was able to get this woman on her knees in the middle of the outdoor market trying to get the dog to say something. My mom had to walk away, because she was mortified. (Now this part is based solely on my dad’s testimony.) After a few more tries of getting the dog to talk the lady asked my dad if the dog really talks; to which my dad replied with a straight face, “No.” Then to make matters worse he started to giggle at his handiwork. The woman (I am only assuming that it was because she was upset.) slapped my father and walked away.
Did I mention he was a lawyer?
I am not a lawyer, but I do fancy myself as a quick study and sponge. Therefore I too have a gift for pathology spinning stories when it suits me. I applauded my dad for his effort, but I give his follow-through so-so marks. I think I could have pulled it off without getting caught. Unlike my father I am careful with my gift, and I don’t use it often. (I might have used it more often but Holly was born with some sort of immunity to both me and my father’s gift. That means she has never believed our bullshit.)
Holly and I carpool to school with my neighbour and her nephew. (Which means my neighbour drives both kids to school and then we get Starbucks afterwards.) The children do not attend the same school, so we have to drop Holly off first, and then we drive across town to deliver Teri’s nephew to his school.
Let me paint you a picture of Teri’s nephew: He is cute. If my neighbour doesn’t catch it he will go to school with a juice stain on his face that resembles a happy face up his cheeks made from the rim of his juice cup.
He is 8; however due to…ummm…having parents that have been extremely busy that has left him to fend for himself socially. His parents are non-existent by choice. It’s not like they have high paying power jobs- one works at a fast food restaurant, and the other sits in his car all day and smokes. These two clowns just…I have to shut up or I am going to have to start a new blog entry about how much I hate how these two parents parent their children.
Ahem… back to Teri’s nephew as I said he is 8 but because of lack of attention he is more like 4 or 5 when it comes to social development. He interrupts conversations, shouts when he talks, and has no social manners.. However all that being said I like the little guy, I like talking to him, praising him, and spending time with him; except at 8 in the morning I don’t have the energy.
There is one thing I forgot to tell you about him and that is: he is a math genius! At the age of 8 you can verbally give him a set of numbers to add up (plus) or subtract (take away).He is able to do it in his head in a matter of seconds. “What is two-million plus sixty-one million plus five million” He will correctly answer “68 million! Give me a harder one!” This game can go on for the entire ride to school. I have become his personal Alex Trebek. One day I just could not do it anymore, so I did what I do best. I spun him a tale; it went something like this:
Amy: Hey Jake did you read the newspaper yesterday?
Jake: No.
Amy: Did you read the news on YAHOO?
Jake: No.
Amy: Oh, okay.
Jake: What is it?
Amy: I can’t tell you. I don’t want to be the one who does.
Jake: Please tell me. Please!
Amy: No. It would ruin your day. I am NOT about to do that. Please don’t put me in that position.
Jake: You won’t ruin my day. Just tell me.
(I was silent for 5 seconds, which in kid world is 5 hours!)
Amy: Okay, but remember you asked me to. I would rather you Googled it when you got home.
(Deep breathe… after all I was about to deliver devastating news to an 8 year old.)
I read in the newspaper that the Easter Bunny broke his hopping leg.
(His eyes got big!)
Jake: Oh no! How?
Amy: I really don’t know. All that the newspaper said was that is was a “hopping accident”. You know how vague those guys can be.
(Jake nodded his head vigorously in agreement as if that those newspaper guys had previously screwed him over with their lack of reporting information.)
Amy: The newspaper said that the doctors were going to perform an emergency operation to see if they could fix his hopping leg, so he might be able to hop by Easter.
Jake: Does that mean if they don’t fix it that he won’t be coming.
Amy: No! The Easter Bunny is coming no matter what. If his leg is good then he will be able to hop again and hide you eggs, but if his leg is still broken he is going to come, but he is just going to throw your candy in the middle of your living room. You know because he can’t hop.
Jake: This is terrible.
Amy: Well at least he is still going to come, because if it was me I would go to bed, and stay there. But he is dedicated enough to come and give your eggs, even if it means that he just throws them in the middle of your living room. Just think how much easier it will be to find your eggs.
Jake: What hospital is he in? (I think was testing me.)
(Without hesitation)
Amy: Cedars-Sinai Hospital in Las Angeles. That is where the best doctors are. That hospital is so good the celebrities go when they are sick.
(Really worried sounding; I almost felt bad..almost.)
Jake: I hope the doctors can fix him. I want to hunt for eggs. Hey Amy, if he has a broken leg how will he get to my house?
Amy: Well he normally hops but if his leg is still broken he will drive a car.
We are finally at his school. There was no screaming, (I mean talking.) there was no math quizzing. I did no harm, because the Easter Bunny is still coming broken leg or not, and I gave him the best doctors. I have faith that Cedars-Sinai could fix the Bunny and save Easter!
He got out of the car, and my neighbour swatted me. “Don’t you think he is messed up enough? He thinks the sun and moon revolves around you. Everything you say is the truth.”
I didn’t know that. After all I didn’t believe my dad when he told me that same exact fib last year.
We contemplated if we should drive back and tell him the truth, but we decided against it, and went to Starbucks instead. The next day I was at my neighbour’s house and Jake’s father told me that because of my Easter Bunny story he had to “suffer” and listen to Jake talk about the Easter Bunny tragedy for two hours. He didn’t even know it was Easter Sunday this weekend until Jake told him about the Easter Bunny. (Where have you been buddy? For the last two weeks that is all Jake has talked about. If he was consumed with Santa Claus, Superman, Peter Pan, or anything else I would have tailored my story matter around one of those guys. You dum-dum!)
The next time I saw Jake I told him that I read in the newspaper that the surgery was successful, and everything was going to be okay. His Kool-Aid smile on his cheeks got even bigger as he jumped up and down.
My dad and she had gone to an outdoor market last spring. My dad had his golden retriever with him, and a woman walked up; she told my dad how much she had liked his dog. (This was this lady’s first mistake. She should have never stopped to chat with my father.) During the conversation he somehow convinced this gullible lady into believing that his golden retriever could talk. According to my mother who has nothing to gain; my father was so believable, because he was able to get this woman on her knees in the middle of the outdoor market trying to get the dog to say something. My mom had to walk away, because she was mortified. (Now this part is based solely on my dad’s testimony.) After a few more tries of getting the dog to talk the lady asked my dad if the dog really talks; to which my dad replied with a straight face, “No.” Then to make matters worse he started to giggle at his handiwork. The woman (I am only assuming that it was because she was upset.) slapped my father and walked away.
Did I mention he was a lawyer?
I am not a lawyer, but I do fancy myself as a quick study and sponge. Therefore I too have a gift for pathology spinning stories when it suits me. I applauded my dad for his effort, but I give his follow-through so-so marks. I think I could have pulled it off without getting caught. Unlike my father I am careful with my gift, and I don’t use it often. (I might have used it more often but Holly was born with some sort of immunity to both me and my father’s gift. That means she has never believed our bullshit.)
Holly and I carpool to school with my neighbour and her nephew. (Which means my neighbour drives both kids to school and then we get Starbucks afterwards.) The children do not attend the same school, so we have to drop Holly off first, and then we drive across town to deliver Teri’s nephew to his school.
Let me paint you a picture of Teri’s nephew: He is cute. If my neighbour doesn’t catch it he will go to school with a juice stain on his face that resembles a happy face up his cheeks made from the rim of his juice cup.
He is 8; however due to…ummm…having parents that have been extremely busy that has left him to fend for himself socially. His parents are non-existent by choice. It’s not like they have high paying power jobs- one works at a fast food restaurant, and the other sits in his car all day and smokes. These two clowns just…I have to shut up or I am going to have to start a new blog entry about how much I hate how these two parents parent their children.
Ahem… back to Teri’s nephew as I said he is 8 but because of lack of attention he is more like 4 or 5 when it comes to social development. He interrupts conversations, shouts when he talks, and has no social manners.. However all that being said I like the little guy, I like talking to him, praising him, and spending time with him; except at 8 in the morning I don’t have the energy.
There is one thing I forgot to tell you about him and that is: he is a math genius! At the age of 8 you can verbally give him a set of numbers to add up (plus) or subtract (take away).He is able to do it in his head in a matter of seconds. “What is two-million plus sixty-one million plus five million” He will correctly answer “68 million! Give me a harder one!” This game can go on for the entire ride to school. I have become his personal Alex Trebek. One day I just could not do it anymore, so I did what I do best. I spun him a tale; it went something like this:
Amy: Hey Jake did you read the newspaper yesterday?
Jake: No.
Amy: Did you read the news on YAHOO?
Jake: No.
Amy: Oh, okay.
Jake: What is it?
Amy: I can’t tell you. I don’t want to be the one who does.
Jake: Please tell me. Please!
Amy: No. It would ruin your day. I am NOT about to do that. Please don’t put me in that position.
Jake: You won’t ruin my day. Just tell me.
(I was silent for 5 seconds, which in kid world is 5 hours!)
Amy: Okay, but remember you asked me to. I would rather you Googled it when you got home.
(Deep breathe… after all I was about to deliver devastating news to an 8 year old.)
I read in the newspaper that the Easter Bunny broke his hopping leg.
(His eyes got big!)
Jake: Oh no! How?
Amy: I really don’t know. All that the newspaper said was that is was a “hopping accident”. You know how vague those guys can be.
(Jake nodded his head vigorously in agreement as if that those newspaper guys had previously screwed him over with their lack of reporting information.)
Amy: The newspaper said that the doctors were going to perform an emergency operation to see if they could fix his hopping leg, so he might be able to hop by Easter.
Jake: Does that mean if they don’t fix it that he won’t be coming.
Amy: No! The Easter Bunny is coming no matter what. If his leg is good then he will be able to hop again and hide you eggs, but if his leg is still broken he is going to come, but he is just going to throw your candy in the middle of your living room. You know because he can’t hop.
Jake: This is terrible.
Amy: Well at least he is still going to come, because if it was me I would go to bed, and stay there. But he is dedicated enough to come and give your eggs, even if it means that he just throws them in the middle of your living room. Just think how much easier it will be to find your eggs.
Jake: What hospital is he in? (I think was testing me.)
(Without hesitation)
Amy: Cedars-Sinai Hospital in Las Angeles. That is where the best doctors are. That hospital is so good the celebrities go when they are sick.
(Really worried sounding; I almost felt bad..almost.)
Jake: I hope the doctors can fix him. I want to hunt for eggs. Hey Amy, if he has a broken leg how will he get to my house?
Amy: Well he normally hops but if his leg is still broken he will drive a car.
We are finally at his school. There was no screaming, (I mean talking.) there was no math quizzing. I did no harm, because the Easter Bunny is still coming broken leg or not, and I gave him the best doctors. I have faith that Cedars-Sinai could fix the Bunny and save Easter!
He got out of the car, and my neighbour swatted me. “Don’t you think he is messed up enough? He thinks the sun and moon revolves around you. Everything you say is the truth.”
I didn’t know that. After all I didn’t believe my dad when he told me that same exact fib last year.
We contemplated if we should drive back and tell him the truth, but we decided against it, and went to Starbucks instead. The next day I was at my neighbour’s house and Jake’s father told me that because of my Easter Bunny story he had to “suffer” and listen to Jake talk about the Easter Bunny tragedy for two hours. He didn’t even know it was Easter Sunday this weekend until Jake told him about the Easter Bunny. (Where have you been buddy? For the last two weeks that is all Jake has talked about. If he was consumed with Santa Claus, Superman, Peter Pan, or anything else I would have tailored my story matter around one of those guys. You dum-dum!)
The next time I saw Jake I told him that I read in the newspaper that the surgery was successful, and everything was going to be okay. His Kool-Aid smile on his cheeks got even bigger as he jumped up and down.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
The Wheels on the Bus go Round and Round as the Lips go Flap, Flap, Flap.
Sometimes it is hard to blog. I sit in front of my blank white electric paper with a blinking cursor and try to think of things to tell you. I have standards you know. I want to make sure that I am honest, yet entertaining, and most importantly not too whiny. Because if you met me in real-life over a cup of a non-fat, half-sweet, no whip mocha at Starbucks I don’t know if I could be this entertaining. Sure I would tell you about how great David and Holly are, and I would tell you how much I love Starbucks coffee. I would also inform you that I am planning on marrying my Starbuck’s barista if anything happens to David. (I hope and pray nothing does, but it never hurts to have a contingency plan.) You might think I am cold hearted, but my barista makes perfect coffees in less than 20 seconds, and it doesn’t hurt that he is a little good looking.
Oh God I hope he doesn’t read my blog. He has a girlfriend that has been happily dating for the last 5 years. I can see why see took him off the market- imagine waking up to perfect coffee everyday (FOR FREE!)
It would be embarrassing if he was reading my blog at this very moment. I am starting to rethink the subject matter. Who wants to hear about my dog? No?
You would think I would learn after the “Bus-Incident-of-1992” I can remember it clear as a sunny day. You never forget a defining moment.
My friend and I were at the front of the bus oblivious to the rest of the world, because we were doing what we do best, which is what I like to call “gossiping”. I was very extra excited that day, because some very interesting “facts” had unfolded. It was my duty to “debrief” my day.
I started the debriefing. I made sure my friend was making her mental notes. My friend did her job very well of nodding at the right spots, and making sure her eyes had the appropriate amount of hugest to them if I had said anything that required dramatics.
“It all started in class today… I mean I knew he was flirting with me since you know- like forever… but today he was you know different…When I came into class today he was all smiles and “Hellos" he wouldn’t stop talking with me...
Jenny finally piped up and said: “Dude, he totally likes you.”
“I know! He totally does.”
He may have liked me very slightly, or maybe he was just in a really great mood. However during this particular conversation I put on my fisherman’s hat, “You should’ve seen this fish it must’ve been 50 pounds! That is a record you know.”
(Actually it is; I Googled it, and as of this date it is. My congratulations to Don Walker, 61 of Gunnison, Colorado.)
I was dating David at this time, and I was totally infatuated with David, but having someone else pine after you never hurt your ego. Am I right? And bragging about it is even better for your ego.
We started to do what teen girls always do under these circumstances: which was to raise our voices, and giggle. We discussed the subject as if we were beating a dead horse. (Kind of like what I am doing now.)
It was a long bus ride; maybe too long. All the sudden I receive a friendly tap on my shoulder; it’s THE guy. He was sitting behind me- OH CRAP!!!! I didn’t know what to say. I was gobsmacked. He smiled, and said, “If you’re going to talk about someone you should look around to make sure they are not sitting behind you.”
Even though I was embarrassed he was gracious. He did not hold it against me. He was still kind to me at school. He soon got himself a very lucky girlfriend.
Lesson learned: I will no longer gush about people who have the "hots" for me while I am on a bus without looking behind me of course.
Oh God I hope he doesn’t read my blog. He has a girlfriend that has been happily dating for the last 5 years. I can see why see took him off the market- imagine waking up to perfect coffee everyday (FOR FREE!)
It would be embarrassing if he was reading my blog at this very moment. I am starting to rethink the subject matter. Who wants to hear about my dog? No?
You would think I would learn after the “Bus-Incident-of-1992” I can remember it clear as a sunny day. You never forget a defining moment.
My friend and I were at the front of the bus oblivious to the rest of the world, because we were doing what we do best, which is what I like to call “gossiping”. I was very extra excited that day, because some very interesting “facts” had unfolded. It was my duty to “debrief” my day.
I started the debriefing. I made sure my friend was making her mental notes. My friend did her job very well of nodding at the right spots, and making sure her eyes had the appropriate amount of hugest to them if I had said anything that required dramatics.
“It all started in class today… I mean I knew he was flirting with me since you know- like forever… but today he was you know different…When I came into class today he was all smiles and “Hellos" he wouldn’t stop talking with me...
Jenny finally piped up and said: “Dude, he totally likes you.”
“I know! He totally does.”
He may have liked me very slightly, or maybe he was just in a really great mood. However during this particular conversation I put on my fisherman’s hat, “You should’ve seen this fish it must’ve been 50 pounds! That is a record you know.”
(Actually it is; I Googled it, and as of this date it is. My congratulations to Don Walker, 61 of Gunnison, Colorado.)
I was dating David at this time, and I was totally infatuated with David, but having someone else pine after you never hurt your ego. Am I right? And bragging about it is even better for your ego.
We started to do what teen girls always do under these circumstances: which was to raise our voices, and giggle. We discussed the subject as if we were beating a dead horse. (Kind of like what I am doing now.)
It was a long bus ride; maybe too long. All the sudden I receive a friendly tap on my shoulder; it’s THE guy. He was sitting behind me- OH CRAP!!!! I didn’t know what to say. I was gobsmacked. He smiled, and said, “If you’re going to talk about someone you should look around to make sure they are not sitting behind you.”
Even though I was embarrassed he was gracious. He did not hold it against me. He was still kind to me at school. He soon got himself a very lucky girlfriend.
Lesson learned: I will no longer gush about people who have the "hots" for me while I am on a bus without looking behind me of course.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Candle Lights and a Romantic Dinner.
My husband and I have been married for 14 years. We have been “together” for 19 years come this August. 19 years! When we started dating I thought if we made 2 months that that would be a good run. We have definitely exceeded my expectations. Ask me how this happened. Okay, I will tell you; but it’s just because you asked.
One afternoon after we had started dating I was upset and sobbing. David told me if he kissed my tears away we would be soul mates for life; like two lovebirds. Of course I thought he was crazy. 223 months later we are still together. We are the happiest when we are spending time together. When he is not here I miss him. If you want to gag I understand; however if you think about it we have no choice - we have the “Lovebird Curse”.
Definition of a Lovebird: The name Lovebird stems from these parrots' strong, monogamous pair bonding and the long periods of time in which paired birds will spend sat beside one another. This is reflected by the bird's name in other languages: in German, "die Unzertrennlichen", and in French "les inséparables", both meaning "the inseparables".
I don’t want to give you the impression that we are not without challenges. We have two areas that have threatened one of us to move out and get our own “cage”.
Number 1: We fight over lamps- to be honest we fight about all lighting fixtures. We can not agree on lighting. We have had to do a lot of compromising. If we didn’t I would be sitting in the dark at this very moment. We have almost gotten divorced in the lighting department in IKEA.
David: Oooo…I love this lamp! Amy, come here, and look at this lamp. (I should mention that he is all smiles.)
(I know this is a trap. I know I should just stay put. I don’t want to cause a scene. But nonetheless I drag myself over to him. This should be an excellent show for the other shoppers. Hey why are they selling popcorn? And where did those theater seats come from? I don’t remember those when we came into the lamp department. And do I hear the movie voice over guy?)
Me: David! It is a stop light lamp! Tell me you are kidding.
David: I really like it, but I also like this one.
Me: David, really, we do not need a lamp that changes colors! Come with me, and I will show you some REAL lamps.
(I show him the “grown-up” lamps.)
David: I hate it…I don’t like it…I hate it…WHERE we would we put that?
Then a miracle happens. I pick up a lamp and he says: “That one isn’t too bad.”
I did it. No more showing him lamps. He could change his mind, and we could end up with a stop sign lamp on our wall. Then something terrible happens. IKEA has sold out of our “marriage saving lamp”! It seems that the lamp we want has probably salvaged a lot of trouble marriages. I crumble to the ground, and start to cry.
(The voice over guy poses the question: “Will David kiss her tears, or buy the traffic lamp?)
David reaches for my hand, and he kisses me, and then we badmouth IKEA for the next 20 minutes.
“How dare they not have the lamp we want? What were those buyers thinking not buying enough lamps? I think we should boycott this store.”
“I agree.”
“I mean forever.”
“Me too.”
“Well we can come back for inexpensive kitchenware, and tea lights, but that’s all.”
“Agreed”
“Let’s go out for lunch.”
“Where do you want to go?”
That brings me to the second issue: We can not agree on where to eat. We can spend an hour driving around “picking out" a restaurant; only to end up at a fast food establishment. In order to save our marriage we both accepted that this is our way of life. As a result we don’t go out for dinner that often. And we do go out we take Holly with us and make her to pick the restaurant. She is better at it then we are, so it works well. Everyone is happy.
I will be honest we did have one fight about where to eat. It was our 3rd anniversary, and I asked David to take me out to dinner for our anniversary. When I got in the car he asked me where I wanted to go. I was so mad, because he had not planned dinner. I thought he should have planned it, because this was the only thing I asked for as a gift. I refused to talk to him. We drove around in silence. (Now that I think about it it’s pretty funny.) I finally told him I wanted to go to McDonalds. (He was mad at that point. Good it served him right!) We got home, we were about to get out of the car; but before we did, there were some words exchanged which caused me to throw my fries at him. (HA HA HA!) He sat in the car stewing for an hour or so. I went into the house to stew. I did feel bad. I finally went out to the car and told him I was sorry. We did end up going out for dinner that night, but I can’t remember where we went. We made a promise to each other never to let poor dinner planning get that out of hand again.
March 18 we celebrated our 14th wedding anniversary. We were not able to go out for dinner due to circumstances. That was a close call!
One afternoon after we had started dating I was upset and sobbing. David told me if he kissed my tears away we would be soul mates for life; like two lovebirds. Of course I thought he was crazy. 223 months later we are still together. We are the happiest when we are spending time together. When he is not here I miss him. If you want to gag I understand; however if you think about it we have no choice - we have the “Lovebird Curse”.
Definition of a Lovebird: The name Lovebird stems from these parrots' strong, monogamous pair bonding and the long periods of time in which paired birds will spend sat beside one another. This is reflected by the bird's name in other languages: in German, "die Unzertrennlichen", and in French "les inséparables", both meaning "the inseparables".
I don’t want to give you the impression that we are not without challenges. We have two areas that have threatened one of us to move out and get our own “cage”.
Number 1: We fight over lamps- to be honest we fight about all lighting fixtures. We can not agree on lighting. We have had to do a lot of compromising. If we didn’t I would be sitting in the dark at this very moment. We have almost gotten divorced in the lighting department in IKEA.
David: Oooo…I love this lamp! Amy, come here, and look at this lamp. (I should mention that he is all smiles.)
(I know this is a trap. I know I should just stay put. I don’t want to cause a scene. But nonetheless I drag myself over to him. This should be an excellent show for the other shoppers. Hey why are they selling popcorn? And where did those theater seats come from? I don’t remember those when we came into the lamp department. And do I hear the movie voice over guy?)
Me: David! It is a stop light lamp! Tell me you are kidding.
David: I really like it, but I also like this one.
Me: David, really, we do not need a lamp that changes colors! Come with me, and I will show you some REAL lamps.
(I show him the “grown-up” lamps.)
David: I hate it…I don’t like it…I hate it…WHERE we would we put that?
Then a miracle happens. I pick up a lamp and he says: “That one isn’t too bad.”
I did it. No more showing him lamps. He could change his mind, and we could end up with a stop sign lamp on our wall. Then something terrible happens. IKEA has sold out of our “marriage saving lamp”! It seems that the lamp we want has probably salvaged a lot of trouble marriages. I crumble to the ground, and start to cry.
(The voice over guy poses the question: “Will David kiss her tears, or buy the traffic lamp?)
David reaches for my hand, and he kisses me, and then we badmouth IKEA for the next 20 minutes.
“How dare they not have the lamp we want? What were those buyers thinking not buying enough lamps? I think we should boycott this store.”
“I agree.”
“I mean forever.”
“Me too.”
“Well we can come back for inexpensive kitchenware, and tea lights, but that’s all.”
“Agreed”
“Let’s go out for lunch.”
“Where do you want to go?”
That brings me to the second issue: We can not agree on where to eat. We can spend an hour driving around “picking out" a restaurant; only to end up at a fast food establishment. In order to save our marriage we both accepted that this is our way of life. As a result we don’t go out for dinner that often. And we do go out we take Holly with us and make her to pick the restaurant. She is better at it then we are, so it works well. Everyone is happy.
I will be honest we did have one fight about where to eat. It was our 3rd anniversary, and I asked David to take me out to dinner for our anniversary. When I got in the car he asked me where I wanted to go. I was so mad, because he had not planned dinner. I thought he should have planned it, because this was the only thing I asked for as a gift. I refused to talk to him. We drove around in silence. (Now that I think about it it’s pretty funny.) I finally told him I wanted to go to McDonalds. (He was mad at that point. Good it served him right!) We got home, we were about to get out of the car; but before we did, there were some words exchanged which caused me to throw my fries at him. (HA HA HA!) He sat in the car stewing for an hour or so. I went into the house to stew. I did feel bad. I finally went out to the car and told him I was sorry. We did end up going out for dinner that night, but I can’t remember where we went. We made a promise to each other never to let poor dinner planning get that out of hand again.
March 18 we celebrated our 14th wedding anniversary. We were not able to go out for dinner due to circumstances. That was a close call!
Sunday, March 22, 2009
1200 minutes of Free"dumb".
Free isn’t always best. Let me think of something that I wouldn’t mind getting free.
I thought for exactly 7 minutes…
Well not including the obvious such as Starbucks, breakfast, lunch, dinner, and gifts. I fail to think of anything else. It seems that what you pay for is what you get. “Oh hey look this blouse is 95% off! I can’t believe my luck. Hey why is there 50 of them on the rack?” It’s because that 95% discounted shirt sucked. Nobody wanted it. Most likely it made people look fat, and who would buy one of those? "But 95% is such a deal…" Okay it’s your closet space, but don’t say I didn’t warn you! I realize the shirt was paid for and not free, BUT it will be free for person who gets it second hand. “Do I look fat in this free shirt? Crap I hate Free-Fat-Shirts I would rather have Fat-Free-Shirts. I would pay a fortune for one of those.”
As you know I have a daughter and sometimes David and I take advantage take of what we like to refer to as “Free Babysitting via Sleepovers”. It is simple enough, David and I go to the store and pick up a kid approved dinner, chips, soda, and some candy. (We totally rock in the parent department!) We feed them their requested dinner, and send them downstairs to do whatever kids do. From time to time they emerge to get more soda, but they are still self-maintaining. David and I sit back and watch TV. It is perfect arrangement for the cost of a DVD, and $3 worth of bulk candy we get the title “Most Awesome-est Parents Ever!” (I know we have to pay for dinner and candy, but we would have to feed her anyway, so it doesn’t count.)
Last night we hit a snag…it was called: It-is-Time-to-Settle-up-Your-Babysitting-Account-Because-Nothing-is-Free-Baby. What-Did-You-Think;-You-Would-Get-to-Ride-Easy-Street-Forever?
Holly asked to have a sleepover last night. I said yes, and David and I high-fived each other, because we knew we were going to be able kick up our feet and relax. Not so much.
It all started with the tween blockbuster movie Twilight. Actually the issue was more about the lead male actor. (I am not making this up…) You see my daughter and her friend watched the “special features” and I guess it was revealed that during the “making out scene the lead actor was so “into” the female lead actress he fell off the bed during the make-out scene. This “fact” of the apparent true love between the two actors outside of the realm the movie caused this 11 year old so much trauma that she went into a screaming fit which also included crying, thumb sucking, and rocking back and forth.
After a few minutes we managed to calm her down, but only after the promise she could go and visit her mom. She called her mother, but her mother wasn’t home. It turned out that her mom had “taken the night off”. Apparently I am not the only parent that knows about this free babysitting thing. When our darling guest was able to reach mom via her cell phone she found out that her mom was having a lovely time at a restaurant with friends. The fact that her mom had a life outside of her “mommy responsibilities” made our thumb sucking pal very upset, but she let it go, and hung up the phone.
Whew…That was close; anyways back to the carefree sleepover. Things were going well. That was until dinner. Dunt..dunt..dunt..dun..
First of all I don’t know if this was our mistake or if it was fate, but at any rate I refuse to point fingers. It was Holly’s fault! She is the one who poured the drink of doom; she gave our manic visitor Dr. Pepper! (For shame Holly for shame.) All four of us were having a nice enough dinner, but that was until our friend asked (more like demanded) for more Dr. Pepper. David and I said, “No.” I know! Can you imagine? We hardly say no. We don’t have to say it often because Holly is very reasonable, and doesn’t ask for anything outlandish. If we do say no, she is accepts it. The only reason we laid the hammer down is because if she had had more soda there would not have been enough for later. I guess our company doesn’t respect the word “no” because she had a tantrum. I am not kidding she had a full blown tantrum that a two year old would have had to applaud to for being so dead on accurate. David and I were not faced with a challenge like this before. You see Holly NEVER had tantrums of such epic proportions. (She just hated her stupid bed at nap time, but after a minute or so of a discussion she was up sleeping in her stupid bed.) The tantrum we were faced with was a 10 out of 10 for drama. She staged a sit-in inside our fridge, she cried, she screamed, she kicked, she even got the bottle of Dr. Pepper and ran around the kitchen, and some other things that I have managed to block out. As parents we didn’t cave and we won, she didn’t get any Dr. Pepper. (Calm heads prevail. Plus we couldn’t do anything to her, because she didn’t belong to us.)
Like any good hosts we moved into the living room for some good after dinner conversation. (Truth be told David and I were thinking that the girls would retreat downstairs-no luck. I knew we should have gotten rid of the all extra furniture in the living room. Two chairs are all we need.)
First she put on a “show” for us in which she danced, and sung (Did I say sung? I meant screamed) very loudly. I was afraid we were going to get a noise complaint. We asked her to cease and desist, but that just made it worst. We could not send her home; because her mom went A.W.O.L. (At that point I couldn’t blame her?)
I suggested we bring out my Cookie Monster life size puppet. That g
uy is so cool. He looks like the real one. You can move his hands, head, and mouth. I mean you can actually shake Cookie Monster’s hand. How cool is that? Usually we bring the blue guy out to entertain people. David has perfected the monster’s voice; the only thing we are missing is the brick wall for David to hide behind. Kids love it, but adults love it more. The adults actually interact with Cookie Monster as if he was the real deal. David says it because most of friends our GEN-Xers, and therefore we grew up watching Sesame Street on PBS.
Anywhoo- We brought out my best-est puppet, but you know what? The “monster girl” attacked it! She beat him up. She tried to pull off Cookie’s eyes, break his mouth, and kept punching him. We tried to put him away, but she was so disrespectful she would pull him down and attack him some more. I finally took him away and gave her my best “evil eyes”, and only then did she leave my toy alone.
Holly took her guest downstairs but not before having a conversation with me. I felt so bad for my girl. She had tears in her eyes. Here I was thinking about myself; I had forgotten that my daughter was being forced to deal with her friend. How terrible she must’ve been feeling during all of this
We hatched a plan: I told Holly to go downstairs and tell her friend that she (Holly) is in so much trouble that if she (Holly) and her guest do not stop acting up that she (Holly) will never be allowed a sleep over never-ever-ever again. I (meaning me) am so mad. She (Holly) has never seen me this mad before. I told her keep crying because it would look more devastating as she delivered the news. About 10 minutes my daughter came up all smiles and gave me thumbs up.
We finally got peace; but it was freedom with a price. It is 11:33 in the morning and David and I are tiptoeing around the house. We do not want to wake the girls up. I am hoping- no praying that they stay asleep for another hour or so, because 1:00pm is time of departure. “See ya, thanks for comin’!”
I thought for exactly 7 minutes…
Well not including the obvious such as Starbucks, breakfast, lunch, dinner, and gifts. I fail to think of anything else. It seems that what you pay for is what you get. “Oh hey look this blouse is 95% off! I can’t believe my luck. Hey why is there 50 of them on the rack?” It’s because that 95% discounted shirt sucked. Nobody wanted it. Most likely it made people look fat, and who would buy one of those? "But 95% is such a deal…" Okay it’s your closet space, but don’t say I didn’t warn you! I realize the shirt was paid for and not free, BUT it will be free for person who gets it second hand. “Do I look fat in this free shirt? Crap I hate Free-Fat-Shirts I would rather have Fat-Free-Shirts. I would pay a fortune for one of those.”
As you know I have a daughter and sometimes David and I take advantage take of what we like to refer to as “Free Babysitting via Sleepovers”. It is simple enough, David and I go to the store and pick up a kid approved dinner, chips, soda, and some candy. (We totally rock in the parent department!) We feed them their requested dinner, and send them downstairs to do whatever kids do. From time to time they emerge to get more soda, but they are still self-maintaining. David and I sit back and watch TV. It is perfect arrangement for the cost of a DVD, and $3 worth of bulk candy we get the title “Most Awesome-est Parents Ever!” (I know we have to pay for dinner and candy, but we would have to feed her anyway, so it doesn’t count.)
Last night we hit a snag…it was called: It-is-Time-to-Settle-up-Your-Babysitting-Account-Because-Nothing-is-Free-Baby. What-Did-You-Think;-You-Would-Get-to-Ride-Easy-Street-Forever?
Holly asked to have a sleepover last night. I said yes, and David and I high-fived each other, because we knew we were going to be able kick up our feet and relax. Not so much.
It all started with the tween blockbuster movie Twilight. Actually the issue was more about the lead male actor. (I am not making this up…) You see my daughter and her friend watched the “special features” and I guess it was revealed that during the “making out scene the lead actor was so “into” the female lead actress he fell off the bed during the make-out scene. This “fact” of the apparent true love between the two actors outside of the realm the movie caused this 11 year old so much trauma that she went into a screaming fit which also included crying, thumb sucking, and rocking back and forth.
After a few minutes we managed to calm her down, but only after the promise she could go and visit her mom. She called her mother, but her mother wasn’t home. It turned out that her mom had “taken the night off”. Apparently I am not the only parent that knows about this free babysitting thing. When our darling guest was able to reach mom via her cell phone she found out that her mom was having a lovely time at a restaurant with friends. The fact that her mom had a life outside of her “mommy responsibilities” made our thumb sucking pal very upset, but she let it go, and hung up the phone.
Whew…That was close; anyways back to the carefree sleepover. Things were going well. That was until dinner. Dunt..dunt..dunt..dun..
First of all I don’t know if this was our mistake or if it was fate, but at any rate I refuse to point fingers. It was Holly’s fault! She is the one who poured the drink of doom; she gave our manic visitor Dr. Pepper! (For shame Holly for shame.) All four of us were having a nice enough dinner, but that was until our friend asked (more like demanded) for more Dr. Pepper. David and I said, “No.” I know! Can you imagine? We hardly say no. We don’t have to say it often because Holly is very reasonable, and doesn’t ask for anything outlandish. If we do say no, she is accepts it. The only reason we laid the hammer down is because if she had had more soda there would not have been enough for later. I guess our company doesn’t respect the word “no” because she had a tantrum. I am not kidding she had a full blown tantrum that a two year old would have had to applaud to for being so dead on accurate. David and I were not faced with a challenge like this before. You see Holly NEVER had tantrums of such epic proportions. (She just hated her stupid bed at nap time, but after a minute or so of a discussion she was up sleeping in her stupid bed.) The tantrum we were faced with was a 10 out of 10 for drama. She staged a sit-in inside our fridge, she cried, she screamed, she kicked, she even got the bottle of Dr. Pepper and ran around the kitchen, and some other things that I have managed to block out. As parents we didn’t cave and we won, she didn’t get any Dr. Pepper. (Calm heads prevail. Plus we couldn’t do anything to her, because she didn’t belong to us.)
Like any good hosts we moved into the living room for some good after dinner conversation. (Truth be told David and I were thinking that the girls would retreat downstairs-no luck. I knew we should have gotten rid of the all extra furniture in the living room. Two chairs are all we need.)
First she put on a “show” for us in which she danced, and sung (Did I say sung? I meant screamed) very loudly. I was afraid we were going to get a noise complaint. We asked her to cease and desist, but that just made it worst. We could not send her home; because her mom went A.W.O.L. (At that point I couldn’t blame her?)
I suggested we bring out my Cookie Monster life size puppet. That g
uy is so cool. He looks like the real one. You can move his hands, head, and mouth. I mean you can actually shake Cookie Monster’s hand. How cool is that? Usually we bring the blue guy out to entertain people. David has perfected the monster’s voice; the only thing we are missing is the brick wall for David to hide behind. Kids love it, but adults love it more. The adults actually interact with Cookie Monster as if he was the real deal. David says it because most of friends our GEN-Xers, and therefore we grew up watching Sesame Street on PBS.Anywhoo- We brought out my best-est puppet, but you know what? The “monster girl” attacked it! She beat him up. She tried to pull off Cookie’s eyes, break his mouth, and kept punching him. We tried to put him away, but she was so disrespectful she would pull him down and attack him some more. I finally took him away and gave her my best “evil eyes”, and only then did she leave my toy alone.
Holly took her guest downstairs but not before having a conversation with me. I felt so bad for my girl. She had tears in her eyes. Here I was thinking about myself; I had forgotten that my daughter was being forced to deal with her friend. How terrible she must’ve been feeling during all of this
We hatched a plan: I told Holly to go downstairs and tell her friend that she (Holly) is in so much trouble that if she (Holly) and her guest do not stop acting up that she (Holly) will never be allowed a sleep over never-ever-ever again. I (meaning me) am so mad. She (Holly) has never seen me this mad before. I told her keep crying because it would look more devastating as she delivered the news. About 10 minutes my daughter came up all smiles and gave me thumbs up.
We finally got peace; but it was freedom with a price. It is 11:33 in the morning and David and I are tiptoeing around the house. We do not want to wake the girls up. I am hoping- no praying that they stay asleep for another hour or so, because 1:00pm is time of departure. “See ya, thanks for comin’!”
I know there is something wrong with this picture. I know that I should be concerned, and not so interested in my need for comfort. I know this is not an excuse but I am ill-equipped to take on an endeavour to get to the bottom of this-if there is a bottom. She has been our guest before and we have not had this kind of drama before. I am left speechless. Can you image me speechless? I guess it does happen…
*At the time of posting of this blog they did wake up. My daughter looks awful, in fact she looks like a bus ran her over. 4 minutes and counting...
Friday, March 20, 2009
The Sun Always Shines on TV
Guess where I have been? I have been watching TV- that’s where!
I loved it, I love it, and I will always love it….cliché
I loved the 80’s sitcoms:
Bosom Buddies: (Tom Hanks in a dress! Who knew he would become an A list actor. I thought the blonde guy made a better looking woman, maybe it was because he was a blonde.)
Diff'rent Strokes: ("Whatchoo talkin' 'bout, Willis?")
Family Ties: (I wanted to marry Michael J. Fox. I think this was a turning point in my young life. MJF character was a teenager who was a smart business minded republican. It was during this period that I started to think smart equals sexy. “Oh baby, tell me more about the “Modern Portfolio Theory”, and “Relative Income Hypothesis”…That’s so hot!” *** Hey David is an accountant that’s what I have to work with.
Growing Pains: This show was a filler show for the afternoon, but overall it was a decent show.
Silver Spoons (Okay I have to confess something: When I was in 5th grade I told the girls in my class that I had actually met Ricky Schroder, and he liked me so much that he wanted to date me when I turned 12.)( I was such a geek.) (Ricky if you happen to be reading this blog I am truly sorry to have included you in my web of lies. That being said...Maybe we should go ou...no wait I am married.)
The Facts of Life (You take the good-you take the bad-you take-them-both-and there you have the facts of life-the facts of life…)
The “dark days” as I like to refer to them was when I moved out on my own with my best friend. (If you have been a long time reader of my blog; she is the one who loves Christmas.) In these “dark days” we had no cable!!!
Our puny budget did not afford us the luxury of cable. Seriously! I almost moved out in order to find me some TV. The only saving grace we had at the time was that we were able to get the slightly snowy, but free CBC channel on our TV. We watched really bad Canadian programming like a British soap opera that aired on Sunday mornings; I think it was called Coronation Street, and we had the pleasure of staring at crappy Canadian news, eh? But I am saving the best for last! By some programming miracle we were able to catch All My Children at noon every Monday to Friday. I need you to understand that up until this point during my TV watching obsession I had not yet experienced a soap opera. I was under the misguided impression that folks who watched soaps were a fanatical group of people. But I was desperate for a fix. And it was 1992! And Tad was coming back! Hooray! Everyone thought he was dead; they even had a funeral for the guy (I mean nothing says dead like a funeral). The suspense! Are Dixie and Tad going to get back together? “Wait whose Tad?” IT DOESN’T MATTER BECAUSE I HAVE TV!
…and a VCR
We would come home after work with our boyfriends in hand, and catch up on the goings on in Pine Valley. All four of us would watch the show as we ate dinner, and discuss the drama. (Shhh…I want to hear this part.) Can you image; our boyfriends were AMC addicts too! In those “dark days” we bonded over a grainy television screen.
And then we got cable….Good bye All My Children! (I haven’t watched the show since.) Hello Prime Time!
The 90’s had some good shows like Seinfeld, and Friends, but most of the others were pretty unforgettable.
Maybe I was finally growing up. I was married; I had a baby, and a mortgage. It was true that I had a bigger TV and more channels, but I wasn’t as addicted as I once was. Was my passion gone? No, maybe, oh shoot…
Hell no! I call this period in my life “nothing good on”.
I guess a lot of people were going through the same “nothing good on” phase as well, and network ratings were in the toilet. The guys who ran TV must have gotten pretty worried. Sitcoms weren’t working; dancing babies on Ally Mcbeal no longer captured our hearts. What were they going to do? They must’ve put their heads together and thought long and hard.
Guy in charge of TV 1: We need to save TV!
Guy in charge of TV 2: I know! Why we don’t put ordinary people on TV doing crazy things for money.
Guy in charge of TV 1: You mean like a game show?
Guy in charge of TV 2: Sort of... This is what we do… Throw the “contestants” in a jungle, or on a stage, or in a house, and let them fight to the death, and then throw a little bit of money at the winner.
Guy in charge of TV 1: What a magnificent idea. I am completely sold!
At first I did not watch reality television. I resisted it. I stayed tried and true to sitcoms, and primetime television.
It all started with Trading Spaces. Hildi… Hildi… Hildi… I loved to watch the homeowner’s reaction when they saw that they would be working with Hildi. I bet they were thinking, “Crap, after this show is over my friend is never going to talk to me again!” And there was Hildi proudly saying, “Let’s put some feathers on the wall shall we?” And what about farmer Frank; pink and forest green are totally outdated Frank. All those tears for $1000; what’s that about? Was it worth it? I rather go to Home Depot and takes my chances.
My favorite shows are the reality shows that promise a job at the end of the game. American Idol, The Apprentice, Hells Kitchen, Kitchen Nightmares. (You could say I have a thing for Gordon Ramsay.)
My DVR is full of reality shows. I can’t get enough. Hey ABC, CBS, NBC, FOX feed me more! I love cheap TV Thumbs up to those guys in charge of TV they had me all figured out afterall!
I loved it, I love it, and I will always love it….cliché
I loved the 80’s sitcoms:
Bosom Buddies: (Tom Hanks in a dress! Who knew he would become an A list actor. I thought the blonde guy made a better looking woman, maybe it was because he was a blonde.)
Diff'rent Strokes: ("Whatchoo talkin' 'bout, Willis?")
Family Ties: (I wanted to marry Michael J. Fox. I think this was a turning point in my young life. MJF character was a teenager who was a smart business minded republican. It was during this period that I started to think smart equals sexy. “Oh baby, tell me more about the “Modern Portfolio Theory”, and “Relative Income Hypothesis”…That’s so hot!” *** Hey David is an accountant that’s what I have to work with.
Growing Pains: This show was a filler show for the afternoon, but overall it was a decent show.
Silver Spoons (Okay I have to confess something: When I was in 5th grade I told the girls in my class that I had actually met Ricky Schroder, and he liked me so much that he wanted to date me when I turned 12.)( I was such a geek.) (Ricky if you happen to be reading this blog I am truly sorry to have included you in my web of lies. That being said...Maybe we should go ou...no wait I am married.)
The Facts of Life (You take the good-you take the bad-you take-them-both-and there you have the facts of life-the facts of life…)
The “dark days” as I like to refer to them was when I moved out on my own with my best friend. (If you have been a long time reader of my blog; she is the one who loves Christmas.) In these “dark days” we had no cable!!!
Our puny budget did not afford us the luxury of cable. Seriously! I almost moved out in order to find me some TV. The only saving grace we had at the time was that we were able to get the slightly snowy, but free CBC channel on our TV. We watched really bad Canadian programming like a British soap opera that aired on Sunday mornings; I think it was called Coronation Street, and we had the pleasure of staring at crappy Canadian news, eh? But I am saving the best for last! By some programming miracle we were able to catch All My Children at noon every Monday to Friday. I need you to understand that up until this point during my TV watching obsession I had not yet experienced a soap opera. I was under the misguided impression that folks who watched soaps were a fanatical group of people. But I was desperate for a fix. And it was 1992! And Tad was coming back! Hooray! Everyone thought he was dead; they even had a funeral for the guy (I mean nothing says dead like a funeral). The suspense! Are Dixie and Tad going to get back together? “Wait whose Tad?” IT DOESN’T MATTER BECAUSE I HAVE TV!
…and a VCR
We would come home after work with our boyfriends in hand, and catch up on the goings on in Pine Valley. All four of us would watch the show as we ate dinner, and discuss the drama. (Shhh…I want to hear this part.) Can you image; our boyfriends were AMC addicts too! In those “dark days” we bonded over a grainy television screen.
And then we got cable….Good bye All My Children! (I haven’t watched the show since.) Hello Prime Time!
The 90’s had some good shows like Seinfeld, and Friends, but most of the others were pretty unforgettable.
Maybe I was finally growing up. I was married; I had a baby, and a mortgage. It was true that I had a bigger TV and more channels, but I wasn’t as addicted as I once was. Was my passion gone? No, maybe, oh shoot…
Hell no! I call this period in my life “nothing good on”.
I guess a lot of people were going through the same “nothing good on” phase as well, and network ratings were in the toilet. The guys who ran TV must have gotten pretty worried. Sitcoms weren’t working; dancing babies on Ally Mcbeal no longer captured our hearts. What were they going to do? They must’ve put their heads together and thought long and hard.
Guy in charge of TV 1: We need to save TV!
Guy in charge of TV 2: I know! Why we don’t put ordinary people on TV doing crazy things for money.
Guy in charge of TV 1: You mean like a game show?
Guy in charge of TV 2: Sort of... This is what we do… Throw the “contestants” in a jungle, or on a stage, or in a house, and let them fight to the death, and then throw a little bit of money at the winner.
Guy in charge of TV 1: What a magnificent idea. I am completely sold!
At first I did not watch reality television. I resisted it. I stayed tried and true to sitcoms, and primetime television.
It all started with Trading Spaces. Hildi… Hildi… Hildi… I loved to watch the homeowner’s reaction when they saw that they would be working with Hildi. I bet they were thinking, “Crap, after this show is over my friend is never going to talk to me again!” And there was Hildi proudly saying, “Let’s put some feathers on the wall shall we?” And what about farmer Frank; pink and forest green are totally outdated Frank. All those tears for $1000; what’s that about? Was it worth it? I rather go to Home Depot and takes my chances.
My favorite shows are the reality shows that promise a job at the end of the game. American Idol, The Apprentice, Hells Kitchen, Kitchen Nightmares. (You could say I have a thing for Gordon Ramsay.)
My DVR is full of reality shows. I can’t get enough. Hey ABC, CBS, NBC, FOX feed me more! I love cheap TV Thumbs up to those guys in charge of TV they had me all figured out afterall!
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Just a Little Bit Superstitious
I hate to admit it, but yes I am just a little bit superstitious. I believe one should knock on wood after touting good fortune and taunting bad. I try to remember to throw the salt over my shoulder if I should happen to spill salt on the table. The only problem with that is I actually don’t know what shoulder is the correct shoulder, so I throw it over both. (I am warning you it may not be the best idea to sit directly behind me during a meal, because some days I can be very clumsy with the salt, and person behind me doesn’t stand a chance.) Back to my superstitions:
I won’t give someone a purse or wallet without money in it, because doing so will bring that person bad luck. (Plus I might need a loan from them later.)
A cat will try to take the breath from a baby. (This superstition is 13 days new. “Where is my RING, Ringo?”)
Washing a car will bring rain. (That is why my car is now grey.)
To find a penny heads up brings good luck. (I just like finding money period. I would consider it REALLY good luck if I found a $100 bill with Benjamin Franklin smiling up at me I would think my luck was phenomenal.)
Crossing your fingers helps to avoid bad luck and helps a wish come true. (Who doesn’t do this? I know I am not alone on this one.)
A cat has nine lives. (DAMN IT!)
To have a wish come true using a wishbone, two people make a wish, then take hold of each end of the bone and pull it until it separates. The person with the longer end gets their wish. (Yeah but the only problem is- I have a short attention span so five minutes after I have won the “Battle of the Bone” I have forgotten what I wished for, so I don’t know if my wishes ever came true.)
If you blow out all of the candles on your birthday cake with the first breath you will get whatever you wish for. (But have you noticed the older we get that it is harder it to earn our wish?)
If you blow out your candles and there are some still lit; the lit candles represent how many boyfriends you have. (But have you noticed the older we get that we have become players?)
Garlic protects from evil spirits and vampires. (David told me this, but he knows that I HATE vampires, and he seems to point this particular superstition out when he reeks of garlic. “Oh yeah eat more and protect me. "You are so good to me, baby.”)
Step on a crack, break your mother's back. (My mother has had numerous back surgeries. I am a very bad daughter. Step…step…step…sorry mom.)
If a black cat crosses your path you will have bad luck (Ahem don’t you mean an ORANGE cat. Okay I am still bitter. “Where is my ring bad orange kitty?”)
I come by superstitions honestly. My grandfather is superstitious. He believes that if he makes it through the month of February he will go on to live another year. If I was him I would have this superstition as well. As far as I know most of the people in his immediate family kicked-the-bucket during the month of February. That being said this is also a head scratcher at the same time, because most of people in his family also lived to be what I would deem as old. (90 or so) My gramps is 70 something, so I figure he has at least 15 to 20 years left. The whole family breathes a sigh of relief on March 1st, and we feel that are worry free for another 11 months. Isn’t a terrible he has the whole family believing that his “time” will be in the month of February? Talk about an uber-superstition.
The good news about superstitions you can overcome them. I use to think Friday the 13th was a day of bad luck. That was until my daughter was born on the 13th, and now I think the 13th is a wonderful, lucky, day.
I won’t give someone a purse or wallet without money in it, because doing so will bring that person bad luck. (Plus I might need a loan from them later.)
A cat will try to take the breath from a baby. (This superstition is 13 days new. “Where is my RING, Ringo?”)
Washing a car will bring rain. (That is why my car is now grey.)
To find a penny heads up brings good luck. (I just like finding money period. I would consider it REALLY good luck if I found a $100 bill with Benjamin Franklin smiling up at me I would think my luck was phenomenal.)
Crossing your fingers helps to avoid bad luck and helps a wish come true. (Who doesn’t do this? I know I am not alone on this one.)
A cat has nine lives. (DAMN IT!)
To have a wish come true using a wishbone, two people make a wish, then take hold of each end of the bone and pull it until it separates. The person with the longer end gets their wish. (Yeah but the only problem is- I have a short attention span so five minutes after I have won the “Battle of the Bone” I have forgotten what I wished for, so I don’t know if my wishes ever came true.)
If you blow out all of the candles on your birthday cake with the first breath you will get whatever you wish for. (But have you noticed the older we get that it is harder it to earn our wish?)
If you blow out your candles and there are some still lit; the lit candles represent how many boyfriends you have. (But have you noticed the older we get that we have become players?)
Garlic protects from evil spirits and vampires. (David told me this, but he knows that I HATE vampires, and he seems to point this particular superstition out when he reeks of garlic. “Oh yeah eat more and protect me. "You are so good to me, baby.”)
Step on a crack, break your mother's back. (My mother has had numerous back surgeries. I am a very bad daughter. Step…step…step…sorry mom.)
If a black cat crosses your path you will have bad luck (Ahem don’t you mean an ORANGE cat. Okay I am still bitter. “Where is my ring bad orange kitty?”)
I come by superstitions honestly. My grandfather is superstitious. He believes that if he makes it through the month of February he will go on to live another year. If I was him I would have this superstition as well. As far as I know most of the people in his immediate family kicked-the-bucket during the month of February. That being said this is also a head scratcher at the same time, because most of people in his family also lived to be what I would deem as old. (90 or so) My gramps is 70 something, so I figure he has at least 15 to 20 years left. The whole family breathes a sigh of relief on March 1st, and we feel that are worry free for another 11 months. Isn’t a terrible he has the whole family believing that his “time” will be in the month of February? Talk about an uber-superstition.
The good news about superstitions you can overcome them. I use to think Friday the 13th was a day of bad luck. That was until my daughter was born on the 13th, and now I think the 13th is a wonderful, lucky, day.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Top Ten Reasons Why I Hate my Cat.
Let’s face it some people are dog loves and some are cat lovers. But people who love cats seem to be on the stranger side of the scale. I have never heard the saying, “Crazy Old Dog Lady.” Cat people have mugs, bumper stickers, t-shirts, sweatshirts, and other paraphernalia proclaiming such quotes as:
"Dogs come when they're called; cats take a message and get back to you later."
"Dogs believe they are human. Cats believe they are God."
"I got rid of my husband. The cat was allergic."
"There are many intelligent species in the universe. They are all owned by cats."
I could go on and on, but you get my point. A dog lover worth their salt doesn’t own clothing, or mugs with sayings about our dogs. We already know that our dogs kick ass; and as a result we don’t feel the need to advertise.
If you haven’t figured it out yet- I am a dog lover! My husband was a dog lover too. We got along just fine. I thought this marriage was going to be smooth sailing. We agreed on money matters, religion, how to raise a child, and our choice of pets. The deal was sealed; down the isle we went. Dum-dum-de-duummm...
We made ourselves a home, brought a beautiful daughter into the world, David let me buy things, (That was the money matters part.), we bought a house, and then we topped it off with a sweet puppy. Those were the good times in our life.
Then as a family we met this down on his luck cat that needed our help. We decided to save his life. His name is Ringo. (His name is very fitting, and in a moment you will understand why.) (For the record I was not too wild about this cat thing, but I like saving lives.)
The Reasons I Hate My Cat:
He sheds all over my black clothes. Since we took him into our home if I want to wear black I have to get in to a large Ziplock bag, to ensure my nice black outfit doesn’t get covered with orange cat hair. Do know how hard it is to find a human size Ziplock bag? Safeway doesn’t carry them. (That is #1)
He believes my sofa corners are the perfect place to scratch. I have bought him scratching post after scratching post trying to find one to his liking. I have bought sprays that will deter him from his furniture wrecking behaviour, but he still insists that massive cat-wear-and-tear is a great look for our living room décor. (This is the 2nd reason)
During the summer when it gets warm; we like to open our sliding glass door, but we don’t like the bugs that invite themselves in, so we invested in a expensive screen door. (It was only expensive because we had to get it custom made to fit.) When our lovely shedding, furniture destroying, cat decides that he wants to soak up some sun he request to go on the patio. If we don’t open the screen door within two seconds he will use his sharp claws to open the screen door himself. (He is oh-so dexterous!) And you know what happens? He rips the netting on the screen door, because apparently the guy who made the screen door did not anticipate on cat claws as a means to open the screen. (I think this is a good third reason.)
(This one is so big that it covers 4-10!)
He stole my wedding ring that is worth thousands and thousands of dollars!
Here the tragic story:
My ring was too big to fit my finger because I had lost weight. One day it fell off of my finger, and one of the smaller diamonds came out. I decided not to get it sized just yet, because I still planned on loosing more weight. I put my rings along with the loose the diamond in a Ziplock bag. I hate not having my wedding set; it makes me feel “single. I decided to get it sized down. I went to get the rings; but the only problem was the rings were gone. After a whole bunch of swearing I went to work looking for my rings. I am not exaggerating when I say I looked for two days with only 3 hours of sleep. I was frantic.
Then I got an idea: I thought maybe the family cat had something to do with the missing rings disappearance. I concocted a plan: I took another ring similar to my wedding band, and put that ring in an ever famous Ziplock bag. Then I put the bag and its sparkly contents on the counter. I left the (BAD) kitty to his own devices and my new ring was “misplaced” in a new spot courtesy of the cat.
On the day that my wedding band went missing it was a sunny day and I had the sliding glass door open. I believe he took my expensive ring on a “trip”. Because lets face it “Hey, diamonds sparkle more in the sunshine!”
The missing ring has been missing for over one week now. My cat “Ring-Go” made my ring go out the door! I knew we should have named him Too-Lazy-To-Move, or I-Will-Not-Destroy-Your-Furniture-Or-Steal-Your-Ring.
Because of my cat I can not wear slimming black clothes, have furniture that can be featured in Better Homes and Gardens, cool down the house in the summer without bugs, or wear my wedding set which I love more than you can imagine.
I don’t think I would be so mad if my cat looked even a little sorry, but he doesn’t. He has that, “What?” look on his face. I want to assure you that I have not done anything evil to my can-mainly because I am hoping he brings the ring back. That doesn’t mean that I haven’t thought about selling him on EBay for a penny with free shipping.
I will continue to search my house. I will continue not to think about where my ring will be, but that is only because I have no idea where it would be. I offered the neighbour kids a $100 reward if they can find my ring. That about covers it! Poop- David says if I give away the cat I have to give away the dog too! Is there no justice? Wait, I know! For Christmas next year I am going to buy him a sweatshirt with a crazy cat saying on, and make him wear it! That will teach him to mess with me and my dog!
CRAZY OLD CAT MAN!
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Lock Me Up and Throw Away the Key!
Part II of Adventure in Shopping in The Land of The Red, White, and Blue.
Part I can be found in the blog entry below this one.
Wait- before I begin I must warn you that I broke the law, and if you happen to be a Canadian crossing border agent I hope you see the comedy in this story. If you don’t; please don’t ask for me for my license plate number, make, or model of my car…because…ummm…I think I might have forgotten what it is. (I think might be loosing my long-term memory.)
I was doing my best impersonation of the Tasmanian Devil, as I went through the stores buying my clothes. As my cash flow went down; my receipts piled up, which meant I would have to pay duty and taxes at the Canadian border. The amount of money the government wants from the items “acquired outside the country” is ridiculous. I know that I should support my country’s economy by buying my clothes in Canada, but we don’t have cute clothes on the cheap.
I hate paying duty and taxes, so I had a premeditated-plan. (Oh yeah, I can be a bad girl.) I am about to tell you how I tried to “stick it to the man.”
When I got dressed the morning of my trip I put on old clothes that I knew I could dispose of: pants, a top, and a bra. I decided that I was going to get a new set of clothes and the Canadians would be none wiser, because I would leave the “evidence” (Meaning my old clothes.) back in states. Now I had to plan this carefully. I had to make sure that I bought the outfit-including the bra from the same store, so they would be on the same receipt, because I had to dispose of the receipt as well. (I am a thinker you know!) I picked out my outfit; along with two bras. I only needed one, but I they were so cheap I got two. I figured I could double up, and the border crossing guy would just think my husband was a very lucky guy. My purchase was $57; I saved myself $13.38 in duty and taxes. I totally rocked!
I still bought another $200 worth of merchandise and was prepared to pony up the duty and taxes on that amount, which would be $48. But still I felt good, because I saved myself $13 dollars! (That is 3 Starbucks coffees thank you very much.)
We finally had picked through the racks, and decided that there was nothing left to be had; we called it a day. We went to a local restaurant to change in to our new clothes. (I forgot to mention that I my friend thought this was a stellar idea as well, and did the same thing I did.) We drove to the border, and yes I admit that it felt thrilling. We arrived at the border crossing to find that we were the only car there. We explained that we had a total of $350 worth of merchandise “acquired outside the country”. And for a second it looked like the Oh-So-Handsome-Border-Guy was going to let us go. But no luck he reached for his pad of doom that would seal our fate and ensure that we would soon be parting with our money. We were given our slip and directed to the evil customs office. (Bah-Ha-Ha-Ha!-Ha)- I am pretty sure that is what the border guards must think as they direct poor citizens to the customs office.
I wasn’t worried about the clothes on my person. How could they prove it? I had no receipts or extra clothes in the car. The only issue I had were the two bras were starting to dig painfully into my sides. (What I wouldn’t do to save $13!) I got out of my car and opened the door to the custom’s office, and something very WONDERFUL happened. The entire border crossing had a massive power failure! Everything went dark: the customs office, the outdoor overhead lights, even the green arrow that tells you that it’s your turn to drive up to the agent’s both. All gone! It was pitch black. Cool! After a few seconds the generators brought dim power back to the border. Like a law abiding citizen (HA!) I went to the counter to pay my duty. And you know what? The guy behind the counter told me that it would take too long to process my claim manually, so I was off the hook. What? Shut up! You mean to tell me I spent the whole day planning to “stick it to the man” and it was all for nothing?
I knew a good thing when I heard it. (It is a good thing that we humans rely so much on technology to get things done that nowadays that we are too lazy to actually work.) “See ya!” Run away before they change their minds! “Yippy, quick drive. There is our get away car!” When we finally passed the border and we had to pull over because we were laughing so hard at ourselves. We had spent the whole day scheming and plotting to save a few bucks, and it was all nothing. The man “stuck it to us!” Because the trip would have been more enjoyable if we weren’t so consumed and caught up with our “evil plan”.
I realize that the power outage was pure luck, and it did save me some cash. I also know that I also know that I am not an angel; there will always be a part of me that has some ‘splaining to do.
On a side note- I would love to blog more but I get sick, and I find it hard to put daily events into entertaining stories. (Well at least I find them entertaining.) Like I have mentioned in my past blogs I don’t want this blog to be about my illness. I want it to be about my adventures, my accomplishments, and most importantly how I see the world. It is unfortunate that I can’t escape the reality that I do get sick, and during those times I am not willing to use this blog as a forum to share it with you. As a result I am going to start a new blog. It may not be as well written, and it may not have interesting stories. It will be me- just a little more raw.
If you notice I do not respond to comments that you post on this blog, and I am not sure why. If I had to guess I think it is because I feel that I am telling a monologue, but I LOVE getting your comments; it lets me know that you are reading my stories. That being said-my new blog will be more of a dialog; I will be responding to the comments.
Don’t feel that you have to read my new blog. I just need a space to write when I am not feeling well. If you want to read my new blog don’t feel like you are spying on me; if I didn’t want you to read it I wouldn’t mention to you. I will still keep up with this blog, because I like it so much, but if you don’t see me here, you will see me there.
Part I can be found in the blog entry below this one.
Wait- before I begin I must warn you that I broke the law, and if you happen to be a Canadian crossing border agent I hope you see the comedy in this story. If you don’t; please don’t ask for me for my license plate number, make, or model of my car…because…ummm…I think I might have forgotten what it is. (I think might be loosing my long-term memory.)
I was doing my best impersonation of the Tasmanian Devil, as I went through the stores buying my clothes. As my cash flow went down; my receipts piled up, which meant I would have to pay duty and taxes at the Canadian border. The amount of money the government wants from the items “acquired outside the country” is ridiculous. I know that I should support my country’s economy by buying my clothes in Canada, but we don’t have cute clothes on the cheap.
I hate paying duty and taxes, so I had a premeditated-plan. (Oh yeah, I can be a bad girl.) I am about to tell you how I tried to “stick it to the man.”
When I got dressed the morning of my trip I put on old clothes that I knew I could dispose of: pants, a top, and a bra. I decided that I was going to get a new set of clothes and the Canadians would be none wiser, because I would leave the “evidence” (Meaning my old clothes.) back in states. Now I had to plan this carefully. I had to make sure that I bought the outfit-including the bra from the same store, so they would be on the same receipt, because I had to dispose of the receipt as well. (I am a thinker you know!) I picked out my outfit; along with two bras. I only needed one, but I they were so cheap I got two. I figured I could double up, and the border crossing guy would just think my husband was a very lucky guy. My purchase was $57; I saved myself $13.38 in duty and taxes. I totally rocked!
I still bought another $200 worth of merchandise and was prepared to pony up the duty and taxes on that amount, which would be $48. But still I felt good, because I saved myself $13 dollars! (That is 3 Starbucks coffees thank you very much.)
We finally had picked through the racks, and decided that there was nothing left to be had; we called it a day. We went to a local restaurant to change in to our new clothes. (I forgot to mention that I my friend thought this was a stellar idea as well, and did the same thing I did.) We drove to the border, and yes I admit that it felt thrilling. We arrived at the border crossing to find that we were the only car there. We explained that we had a total of $350 worth of merchandise “acquired outside the country”. And for a second it looked like the Oh-So-Handsome-Border-Guy was going to let us go. But no luck he reached for his pad of doom that would seal our fate and ensure that we would soon be parting with our money. We were given our slip and directed to the evil customs office. (Bah-Ha-Ha-Ha!-Ha)- I am pretty sure that is what the border guards must think as they direct poor citizens to the customs office.
I wasn’t worried about the clothes on my person. How could they prove it? I had no receipts or extra clothes in the car. The only issue I had were the two bras were starting to dig painfully into my sides. (What I wouldn’t do to save $13!) I got out of my car and opened the door to the custom’s office, and something very WONDERFUL happened. The entire border crossing had a massive power failure! Everything went dark: the customs office, the outdoor overhead lights, even the green arrow that tells you that it’s your turn to drive up to the agent’s both. All gone! It was pitch black. Cool! After a few seconds the generators brought dim power back to the border. Like a law abiding citizen (HA!) I went to the counter to pay my duty. And you know what? The guy behind the counter told me that it would take too long to process my claim manually, so I was off the hook. What? Shut up! You mean to tell me I spent the whole day planning to “stick it to the man” and it was all for nothing?
I knew a good thing when I heard it. (It is a good thing that we humans rely so much on technology to get things done that nowadays that we are too lazy to actually work.) “See ya!” Run away before they change their minds! “Yippy, quick drive. There is our get away car!” When we finally passed the border and we had to pull over because we were laughing so hard at ourselves. We had spent the whole day scheming and plotting to save a few bucks, and it was all nothing. The man “stuck it to us!” Because the trip would have been more enjoyable if we weren’t so consumed and caught up with our “evil plan”.
I realize that the power outage was pure luck, and it did save me some cash. I also know that I also know that I am not an angel; there will always be a part of me that has some ‘splaining to do.
On a side note- I would love to blog more but I get sick, and I find it hard to put daily events into entertaining stories. (Well at least I find them entertaining.) Like I have mentioned in my past blogs I don’t want this blog to be about my illness. I want it to be about my adventures, my accomplishments, and most importantly how I see the world. It is unfortunate that I can’t escape the reality that I do get sick, and during those times I am not willing to use this blog as a forum to share it with you. As a result I am going to start a new blog. It may not be as well written, and it may not have interesting stories. It will be me- just a little more raw.
If you notice I do not respond to comments that you post on this blog, and I am not sure why. If I had to guess I think it is because I feel that I am telling a monologue, but I LOVE getting your comments; it lets me know that you are reading my stories. That being said-my new blog will be more of a dialog; I will be responding to the comments.
Don’t feel that you have to read my new blog. I just need a space to write when I am not feeling well. If you want to read my new blog don’t feel like you are spying on me; if I didn’t want you to read it I wouldn’t mention to you. I will still keep up with this blog, because I like it so much, but if you don’t see me here, you will see me there.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Who Says You Can't Go Home
I went to America to buy me some clothes. I have to say that I love going home; crossing the border is so thrilling-it almost brings a tear to my eye. Don’t misunderstand me I like living in Canada, but my heart will always be in America. I bet you’re asking yourself why I don’t come home. Well it is because my daughter was born in Canada, and she loves Canada as much as I love America. (She is an American as well, but if you ask her and she will say she is Canadian, which she is too.) You should hear the American/Canadian spats we have in our home.
Me: What do you want for dinner?
Holly Pasta (Except she doesn’t say pasta, she says “p-AS-ta”.)
Me: (Because we speak American in this house I say:) No darling, pasta is pronounced “p-AH-sta.” There is no “as” in pasta.
We also argue about the letter zee. It is zee not zed. (After all we all know that the alphabet has a flow to it. W-X-Y-Zee... Why would they stop at the last letter and call it zed? Period. That just doesn't flow. Am I right?)
God bless her she doesn’t back down from a debate, but neither do I. There we are standing in the kitchen going through a list of words that the Canadians screwed up with their incorrect pronunciation. And I am left wondering if there is a word vortex at the border, EH? HA!
You should know that David is American too. We met here. It was one of the things I liked about him. (He speaks like a true American. Thank goodness. None of this zed stuff for him either.)
Back to my shopping trip...
First I went to THE Wal-Mart; and I found some great finds on the cheap. Then it was off to mall for more clothes. None of my current clothes fit, which is a good thing. But when I got to the fitting rooms none of the smaller size clothes fit. In fact most of the clothes that were in my current size were too small as well. (Crap!) I had to go up a size; I was so depressed, but I needed clothes and as I said the clothes were on the cheap, so I bought them.
I spent $250 on some Cute-But-One-Size-Up-From-My-Current-Size-so-I-Kind-of-Hate-Them clothes, and I went home to the “Land of Zed and P-“AS”-TA” to diet and get a fill. As I drove home, (I didn’t drive on account of my shakes and all.) I wondered if I could fill my band myself. Then I realized that was a totally crazy idea, because I had no way to get my hands on some saline. (Hey, I bet you could get saline in the grocery store in America!) I called my doctor the next day. He is going to see me in a few weeks, and I will have to have words with him. Maybe…
I forgot to mention that I had a slight issue that day. I was really bloated. David even said that I looked very pregnant. Let me tell you; just in case you didn’t figure this out for yourself- Jeans may not be the best thing to buy when you look six months pregnant. And looking back maybe that goes for tops too. It was a mess. The good news is the next day the “issue” had worked itself out, and I looked normal again. My tummy was also back to status quo. I put on my new jeans and said, “Hey these jeans aren’t too bad. I look hot!” The jeans still had the You-Look-Hot-Because-Your-In-The-Store-But-When-You-Get-Me-Home-And-You-Put-Me-On-You-Are-Going-To-Look-in-Your-Full-Length-Mirror-and-Think-to-Yourself-What-the-Hell-Was-I-Thinking look. Apparently my jeans forgot to morph into the home version, and like I said I looked Good! My jeans and I were hot together for an hour or so. But wait...I guess I DID need the smaller size, because my new jeans rapidly became known as Droopy-Drawers, instead of Sexy-Pants.
I figure the only the way I am going to get these jeans to work is to become pregnant, and that is impossible. Right now I am totally laughing at myself. Well it is more like a chuckle. All-in-all it was still a great trip. I am going to write a follow-up tomorrow about my incident at the border coming back to Canada. That one is totally funny too.
Me: What do you want for dinner?
Holly Pasta (Except she doesn’t say pasta, she says “p-AS-ta”.)
Me: (Because we speak American in this house I say:) No darling, pasta is pronounced “p-AH-sta.” There is no “as” in pasta.
We also argue about the letter zee. It is zee not zed. (After all we all know that the alphabet has a flow to it. W-X-Y-Zee... Why would they stop at the last letter and call it zed? Period. That just doesn't flow. Am I right?)
God bless her she doesn’t back down from a debate, but neither do I. There we are standing in the kitchen going through a list of words that the Canadians screwed up with their incorrect pronunciation. And I am left wondering if there is a word vortex at the border, EH? HA!
You should know that David is American too. We met here. It was one of the things I liked about him. (He speaks like a true American. Thank goodness. None of this zed stuff for him either.)
Back to my shopping trip...
First I went to THE Wal-Mart; and I found some great finds on the cheap. Then it was off to mall for more clothes. None of my current clothes fit, which is a good thing. But when I got to the fitting rooms none of the smaller size clothes fit. In fact most of the clothes that were in my current size were too small as well. (Crap!) I had to go up a size; I was so depressed, but I needed clothes and as I said the clothes were on the cheap, so I bought them.
I spent $250 on some Cute-But-One-Size-Up-From-My-Current-Size-so-I-Kind-of-Hate-Them clothes, and I went home to the “Land of Zed and P-“AS”-TA” to diet and get a fill. As I drove home, (I didn’t drive on account of my shakes and all.) I wondered if I could fill my band myself. Then I realized that was a totally crazy idea, because I had no way to get my hands on some saline. (Hey, I bet you could get saline in the grocery store in America!) I called my doctor the next day. He is going to see me in a few weeks, and I will have to have words with him. Maybe…
I forgot to mention that I had a slight issue that day. I was really bloated. David even said that I looked very pregnant. Let me tell you; just in case you didn’t figure this out for yourself- Jeans may not be the best thing to buy when you look six months pregnant. And looking back maybe that goes for tops too. It was a mess. The good news is the next day the “issue” had worked itself out, and I looked normal again. My tummy was also back to status quo. I put on my new jeans and said, “Hey these jeans aren’t too bad. I look hot!” The jeans still had the You-Look-Hot-Because-Your-In-The-Store-But-When-You-Get-Me-Home-And-You-Put-Me-On-You-Are-Going-To-Look-in-Your-Full-Length-Mirror-and-Think-to-Yourself-What-the-Hell-Was-I-Thinking look. Apparently my jeans forgot to morph into the home version, and like I said I looked Good! My jeans and I were hot together for an hour or so. But wait...I guess I DID need the smaller size, because my new jeans rapidly became known as Droopy-Drawers, instead of Sexy-Pants.
I figure the only the way I am going to get these jeans to work is to become pregnant, and that is impossible. Right now I am totally laughing at myself. Well it is more like a chuckle. All-in-all it was still a great trip. I am going to write a follow-up tomorrow about my incident at the border coming back to Canada. That one is totally funny too.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
The Storm is Rolling in...Take Cover.
(To get full understanding of this entry please read February 10th entry first. This entry won’t make any sense otherwise, and that would be a shame.)
BITCH WATCH 09! has now been upgraded to BITCH HURRICANE 09! The residents of my home have been advised to evacuate the premises for their own safety.
What started out to be a relatively calm day turned in to a nasty storm of epic proportions unlike any I have seen before!
It started because I was feeling a lot better and I decided to get out of my jammies, and put on proper clothes. When I got out of the shower I tried to put on my jeans. My jeans did not button up; in fact the button and the button hole did not even touch. There was a gap, and you could actually see flesh. I had to suck in my tummy to get the jeans to close. (Which by this time my tummy was now being referred to as my gut.) After some pleading, and a strategy known as: “lying down on the bed to get my jeans zipped up” I was able to get the jeans on. However, when I examined myself in the mirror there was a major case of “muffin top”. It was so bad that there were rolls spilling out from the sides of my jeans. There was also another concern: my gut was in pain, so I had to remove the jeans very quickly. I was dumbfounded. I knew that I had gained 2 pounds since falling ill, but “What the hell was this?” I needed more evidence, so I grabbed my measuring tape and measured my waist and you know what? I had also managed to add 3 inches to my waist. Say what?
The storm is now rolling in! Oh yeah; it’s on! Three inches on my waist, and I also noticed that my small spare tire was morphing into a medium tractor tire.
Think, think, think… Where has my band been? Come to think of it I haven’t noticed a full signal since I have gotten this virus. Clouds are overhead- BIG GREY CLOUDS! Has all of this coughing somehow managed to mess up my band in any way?
Wind gust are now at 125 miles per hour, because I had to revert to my PJ bottoms. I had try and figure out why I am expanding. David has taken cover and left the house to go and buy me some yoga pants. I think he is trying to escape BITCH WATCH 09!, but more importantly I know he is trying to prevent THE GREAT DEPRESSION!
(If you have been banded and have had your own serious cough, and you too feared that you had somehow caused damage to your band, but after all the coughing was over, you and your band were fully functional again please leave a comment. It would ease my mind. Also please contact me if you have gained inches in a short amount of time, and you figured out why it happened to you, or you have an idea how to get rid of the excess inches- it would be much appreciated.)
BITCH WATCH 09! has now been upgraded to BITCH HURRICANE 09! The residents of my home have been advised to evacuate the premises for their own safety.
What started out to be a relatively calm day turned in to a nasty storm of epic proportions unlike any I have seen before!
It started because I was feeling a lot better and I decided to get out of my jammies, and put on proper clothes. When I got out of the shower I tried to put on my jeans. My jeans did not button up; in fact the button and the button hole did not even touch. There was a gap, and you could actually see flesh. I had to suck in my tummy to get the jeans to close. (Which by this time my tummy was now being referred to as my gut.) After some pleading, and a strategy known as: “lying down on the bed to get my jeans zipped up” I was able to get the jeans on. However, when I examined myself in the mirror there was a major case of “muffin top”. It was so bad that there were rolls spilling out from the sides of my jeans. There was also another concern: my gut was in pain, so I had to remove the jeans very quickly. I was dumbfounded. I knew that I had gained 2 pounds since falling ill, but “What the hell was this?” I needed more evidence, so I grabbed my measuring tape and measured my waist and you know what? I had also managed to add 3 inches to my waist. Say what?
The storm is now rolling in! Oh yeah; it’s on! Three inches on my waist, and I also noticed that my small spare tire was morphing into a medium tractor tire.
Think, think, think… Where has my band been? Come to think of it I haven’t noticed a full signal since I have gotten this virus. Clouds are overhead- BIG GREY CLOUDS! Has all of this coughing somehow managed to mess up my band in any way?
Wind gust are now at 125 miles per hour, because I had to revert to my PJ bottoms. I had try and figure out why I am expanding. David has taken cover and left the house to go and buy me some yoga pants. I think he is trying to escape BITCH WATCH 09!, but more importantly I know he is trying to prevent THE GREAT DEPRESSION!
(If you have been banded and have had your own serious cough, and you too feared that you had somehow caused damage to your band, but after all the coughing was over, you and your band were fully functional again please leave a comment. It would ease my mind. Also please contact me if you have gained inches in a short amount of time, and you figured out why it happened to you, or you have an idea how to get rid of the excess inches- it would be much appreciated.)
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
And Now For the News...
Currently I have been forced to watch so much of the boob tube that I have actually lost IQ points. I know this because I have been bored enough to locate various IQ tests on the internet and thus confirm my suspicion. My beautiful home has taken on a frat house quality to it. In other words my home is messy, dishes are piled up, floors need to be vacuumed, the bathrooms have taken on lives of their own, and the laundry needs doing. (I am almost out of socks and undies. I am very worried.) In addition to these challenges my bum is numb from sitting on it all day and night. The trouble doesn’t end with a mushy mind, a bombed home, or even a bum I can no longer feel; I am still sick.
OMG you know what this means? This is: VIRUS CRISIS 09! (Kind of catchy, huh?) After many years of watching the media I have caught on to something important, and it is this: The folks in the media love to sensationalize EVERYTHING! For instance I was watching the news last night and there was a tiny-weenie bit of snow falling; this “snow” didn’t even dust the grass. It was no big deal. Or so I thought. The local news station was dubbing it: Storm Watch 09! Come on! Really? Honestly? There wasn’t anything better to report on last night? My point is this; if you want to make people sit up and take notice these days you have to come up with a catching two and three word title, and then add the year with an exclamation point with it. Try it for yourself it works. Maybe when you’re at work and the photocopier needs paper you can start informing your colleges that you are in the middle of “The Paper Shortage of 09!” See if that doesn’t get them moving to fix the problem. And another side benefit is maybe my local news station may come down there and do an exclusive on your situation, because after all it is a crisis and you did put an exclamation point at the end, and that seems to be good enough for them.
Getting back to VIRUS CRISIS 09! As you probably can guess I am still under the weather. What started out to be a cold turned into me completely losing my voice, which was kind of cool. I would speak but no sound would be forthcoming. Can you imagine me quiet? Only the next problem sucked so bad that it forced me to go to the doctors. I got an awful sore throat. It was so bad that I had to white knuckle it to swallow.
I hate doctors! Let me tell you why: First there was a two hour wait. I can’t swallow and I am forced to wait two hours behind morons who don’t actually need to be there. There was a mother there who brought her children in to see the doctor because they were tired; only the “tired brats” ran around the office full blast screaming and having a good old time. Then there was this guy who needed a doctor’s note to get off of work because he didn’t feel so hot; however for the two hours he took it upon himself to chat up all of the young ladies. He seemed fine to me. There were people there that did need to see a doctor, so I didn’t begrudge them at all. I just think the most pathetically sick looking people should get to by-pass the line, and yes I felt I looked pathetic enough to go ahead of “Smooth-Talking-Let’s-Try-And-Pick-Up-Chicks-At-The-Doctor’s-Office-Pete.” (I am glad he had to pony up $10 for his doctor’s note!)
The second thing I hate about doctors is that they seem to assume. The doctor I saw did all the doctor things. Checked my throat…yeah it was red and inflamed. Checked my chest and back; no everything looks good there. Then the first words out of the doctor’s mouth was,” You don’t need antibiotics; you have a virus.” I knew that! After all wasn’t he aware that this was VIRUS CRISIS 09! If I thought it was something else I would have called it: STREP INFECTION WATCH 09! I was pissed off that the doctor was ready to pat me on the head and send me out the door with the news that I would have to and I quote, “Fight this one on my own.” I didn’t just spend two hours in the waiting room with two monsters, and Pick-Up-Pete for this. You see I know a secret; I know doctors have the ability to write prescriptions for drugs that are stronger than over-the-counter stuff. (I hadn’t lost IQ points yet.) So after some croaking otherwise known as asking; he finally wrote me out a script for a strong-kick-ass-numb-your-throat-now-you-will-be-able-to-swallow-stuff. See was that so hard? The green stuff he prescribed worked like a charm.
Did I dare say I was on my way to recovery; or was the worse yet to come? I started to feel better, and yes I also started to feel a little smug, because I was just a day away from victory over this silly cold. However my body had other plans…
It started as a cough. (Well these things usually do.) Then it turned into a violent acute cough. David said it sounded like an old car trying to start. My cough seemed to be escalating to ridiculous status. I would cough if I did the following: Stand up, take a step, sit down, move my head, walk, and even breathe. After two days of non-stop coughing I went to the doctor’s again. This time no wait. Same procedure, check me out, no antibiotics. What do I have stupid on my forehead? I am here because I can’t breathe, dummy. I need something for my lungs; I need air. “Oh okay, you need steroids for your lungs to heal.” Bingo! “It won’t work right away, so you can’t start moving until your lungs clear up, and you can move without coughing. Try not to talk, and drink plenty of fluid.” How long will that take? “It could be two weeks or more.” Wait I am going to have to park my butt in my chair for two weeks or more? We are going to have to come up with a different catch-phrase like: Bitch Watch 09!
As it stands today I still am trying to hack out various parts of my lungs when I get up to go to the bathroom. (At times I can spend an hour or more wondering if it is worth it, which by that time it becomes VERY worth it.) I don’t get fresh air because the coldness of the air sends me into a fit. I am spending my days watching my housework pile up, and watching the world go by. Stupid virus.
*For all your information on VIRUS CRISIS 09! and BITCH WATCH 09! keep your eyes on my blog. We will continuously up-date you when and if conditions change.
OMG you know what this means? This is: VIRUS CRISIS 09! (Kind of catchy, huh?) After many years of watching the media I have caught on to something important, and it is this: The folks in the media love to sensationalize EVERYTHING! For instance I was watching the news last night and there was a tiny-weenie bit of snow falling; this “snow” didn’t even dust the grass. It was no big deal. Or so I thought. The local news station was dubbing it: Storm Watch 09! Come on! Really? Honestly? There wasn’t anything better to report on last night? My point is this; if you want to make people sit up and take notice these days you have to come up with a catching two and three word title, and then add the year with an exclamation point with it. Try it for yourself it works. Maybe when you’re at work and the photocopier needs paper you can start informing your colleges that you are in the middle of “The Paper Shortage of 09!” See if that doesn’t get them moving to fix the problem. And another side benefit is maybe my local news station may come down there and do an exclusive on your situation, because after all it is a crisis and you did put an exclamation point at the end, and that seems to be good enough for them.
Getting back to VIRUS CRISIS 09! As you probably can guess I am still under the weather. What started out to be a cold turned into me completely losing my voice, which was kind of cool. I would speak but no sound would be forthcoming. Can you imagine me quiet? Only the next problem sucked so bad that it forced me to go to the doctors. I got an awful sore throat. It was so bad that I had to white knuckle it to swallow.
I hate doctors! Let me tell you why: First there was a two hour wait. I can’t swallow and I am forced to wait two hours behind morons who don’t actually need to be there. There was a mother there who brought her children in to see the doctor because they were tired; only the “tired brats” ran around the office full blast screaming and having a good old time. Then there was this guy who needed a doctor’s note to get off of work because he didn’t feel so hot; however for the two hours he took it upon himself to chat up all of the young ladies. He seemed fine to me. There were people there that did need to see a doctor, so I didn’t begrudge them at all. I just think the most pathetically sick looking people should get to by-pass the line, and yes I felt I looked pathetic enough to go ahead of “Smooth-Talking-Let’s-Try-And-Pick-Up-Chicks-At-The-Doctor’s-Office-Pete.” (I am glad he had to pony up $10 for his doctor’s note!)
The second thing I hate about doctors is that they seem to assume. The doctor I saw did all the doctor things. Checked my throat…yeah it was red and inflamed. Checked my chest and back; no everything looks good there. Then the first words out of the doctor’s mouth was,” You don’t need antibiotics; you have a virus.” I knew that! After all wasn’t he aware that this was VIRUS CRISIS 09! If I thought it was something else I would have called it: STREP INFECTION WATCH 09! I was pissed off that the doctor was ready to pat me on the head and send me out the door with the news that I would have to and I quote, “Fight this one on my own.” I didn’t just spend two hours in the waiting room with two monsters, and Pick-Up-Pete for this. You see I know a secret; I know doctors have the ability to write prescriptions for drugs that are stronger than over-the-counter stuff. (I hadn’t lost IQ points yet.) So after some croaking otherwise known as asking; he finally wrote me out a script for a strong-kick-ass-numb-your-throat-now-you-will-be-able-to-swallow-stuff. See was that so hard? The green stuff he prescribed worked like a charm.
Did I dare say I was on my way to recovery; or was the worse yet to come? I started to feel better, and yes I also started to feel a little smug, because I was just a day away from victory over this silly cold. However my body had other plans…
It started as a cough. (Well these things usually do.) Then it turned into a violent acute cough. David said it sounded like an old car trying to start. My cough seemed to be escalating to ridiculous status. I would cough if I did the following: Stand up, take a step, sit down, move my head, walk, and even breathe. After two days of non-stop coughing I went to the doctor’s again. This time no wait. Same procedure, check me out, no antibiotics. What do I have stupid on my forehead? I am here because I can’t breathe, dummy. I need something for my lungs; I need air. “Oh okay, you need steroids for your lungs to heal.” Bingo! “It won’t work right away, so you can’t start moving until your lungs clear up, and you can move without coughing. Try not to talk, and drink plenty of fluid.” How long will that take? “It could be two weeks or more.” Wait I am going to have to park my butt in my chair for two weeks or more? We are going to have to come up with a different catch-phrase like: Bitch Watch 09!
As it stands today I still am trying to hack out various parts of my lungs when I get up to go to the bathroom. (At times I can spend an hour or more wondering if it is worth it, which by that time it becomes VERY worth it.) I don’t get fresh air because the coldness of the air sends me into a fit. I am spending my days watching my housework pile up, and watching the world go by. Stupid virus.
*For all your information on VIRUS CRISIS 09! and BITCH WATCH 09! keep your eyes on my blog. We will continuously up-date you when and if conditions change.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
I Just Wanna Complain.
I am still ill. Can't sleep due to hacking. Ice cream is now gone, so I am in a bad mood. Day-time TV is starting to suck. I am so tired. AHHHHH!
Monday, February 2, 2009
Don't Write While You Sucking on Cough Drops
I am sick; I have a cough due to a cold; or is a cold due to the flu? Let me start with a big smooch and hug to David for being able to endure me while I am needy, and hard to please. Poor feller he has had to endure the task of taking care of me while I sit here trying not to die. (*Drama Queen Alert) Don’t expect this blog to be stellar as I am doped up on Dimetapp.
I haven’t moved from my chair in two days. I have proof. There is an actual indentation of my bum on in the cushion. I know it’s bad. Yesterday I logged in 10 hours of TV, and I don’t dare mention the ice cream that I ate to sooth my cough and achy throat. I was wondering if you burn more calories when you’re sick. Does anyone know? I hope so. My bloated tummy says no, but what does it know. I’d rather hear lies and half truths to ease my guilt.
On a positive note I did finish the hat I was working on. On a negative note it looks like a Smurf would wear it The hat is beige; what was I thinking? My daughter LOVES the hat. She wore it to school today. The hat doesn’t fit her; hell it wouldn’t fit a 20 pound bowling ball- it’s that big. It is so big it covers her eyes, so she has to keep pulling the hat back to see. And the worse part is: It’s ugly. I am too sick to describe it to you, so you just have to take my word on this one. I am in the process of making her a new hat; hoping that I will learn from my mistakes. If I don’t I will have to donate the new hat to the Smurf’s hat drive, and hope I get better.
I am starting to get sleepy, so I am going to take a nap
I haven’t moved from my chair in two days. I have proof. There is an actual indentation of my bum on in the cushion. I know it’s bad. Yesterday I logged in 10 hours of TV, and I don’t dare mention the ice cream that I ate to sooth my cough and achy throat. I was wondering if you burn more calories when you’re sick. Does anyone know? I hope so. My bloated tummy says no, but what does it know. I’d rather hear lies and half truths to ease my guilt.
On a positive note I did finish the hat I was working on. On a negative note it looks like a Smurf would wear it The hat is beige; what was I thinking? My daughter LOVES the hat. She wore it to school today. The hat doesn’t fit her; hell it wouldn’t fit a 20 pound bowling ball- it’s that big. It is so big it covers her eyes, so she has to keep pulling the hat back to see. And the worse part is: It’s ugly. I am too sick to describe it to you, so you just have to take my word on this one. I am in the process of making her a new hat; hoping that I will learn from my mistakes. If I don’t I will have to donate the new hat to the Smurf’s hat drive, and hope I get better.
I am starting to get sleepy, so I am going to take a nap
Friday, January 30, 2009
Being Boring!!!
Guess what? My life has been so boring lately. I have very little to blog about. At the moment I am crocheting a hat. I have been starting and re-starting this hat so many times that the yarn is staring to break. Let’s just say I am not going to be making hats for a living. The only thing I have going for me is the fact that I am very persistent; almost to a fault. When and if I finish my hat I will post it on my blog. I would cross my fingers, and hope for the best but I have calluses on them.
I have been doing very well losing my six pounds. So far I have lost 3.5 pounds. (Round of applause. I know you can’t see me, but I am bowing.) Here is my secret: I stopped eating at night. Sigh…I love to chow down at night, but I realized that it was one of the reasons why getting fat. I made the choice to not eat after dinner. I drink A LOT of tea, and go to bed very early, but so far so good. I keep reminding myself that it is working, so I keep sloshing around with tea in my tummy.
It has been hard to type my blog, because my hands are pretty busy. During the day I am crocheting, and at night my hands are white knuckling a book. I will see you all in a few days. I am hoping that there will be a hat on my head and I will be 2.5 pounds lighter.
I have been doing very well losing my six pounds. So far I have lost 3.5 pounds. (Round of applause. I know you can’t see me, but I am bowing.) Here is my secret: I stopped eating at night. Sigh…I love to chow down at night, but I realized that it was one of the reasons why getting fat. I made the choice to not eat after dinner. I drink A LOT of tea, and go to bed very early, but so far so good. I keep reminding myself that it is working, so I keep sloshing around with tea in my tummy.
It has been hard to type my blog, because my hands are pretty busy. During the day I am crocheting, and at night my hands are white knuckling a book. I will see you all in a few days. I am hoping that there will be a hat on my head and I will be 2.5 pounds lighter.
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