In one month and eleven days I will be 23 years old.
Tonight, in addition to my normal bedtime-girl routine such as brushing my teeth and putting on a light moisterizer I broke out the long forgotten tub of Laura Mercier Eyedration eye firming creme.
Yep.
Last week I got my hair done - a neccesity for any curly haired scottish girl. A even greater for any curly haired scottish girl whose Mother handed down the "platinum hair" gene. This gene turned my Mother completly gray by the age of 24. It's threatening to do the same to me. I was shocked at how silver I had gotten in the course of four weeks. I have a feeling I will need to adopt my hairdresser and have her family over for Christmas we're gonna see so much of one another.
After the "Oh my god - I'm Billy Idol with boobs" moment at the salon I was thrown for another shocker. In the course of moving chairs back and forth I somehow hurt - my - back. Hurt my back so much that I spent most of last week lying on our ironing board which I had converted to a floor mattress and when I wasn't pretending to be a starched shirt I limped around like Igor.
It hurt. A lot. It still hurts. I just popped two horse pill sized Naproxen provided by my neighborhood Corpsman at the base. "Take these and don't wear boots."
Where is any of this going? To the eye creme...I swear. While lying on the ironing board I found myself able to do little. I read books, whined, read more books, whined some more. I also somehow got a hand on my makeup mirror and tweezers. Not a bad thing unless your make-up mirror reveals to you (while you're lying on an ironing board whining) two fine wrinkles right under your bottom eyelashes. Not smile lines, not scrunched face issues...no...wrinkles. Actually Wrinkles with a capital W.
THAT'S what brought on the eye creme. It was a gift that came with my make-up...something I never thought I'd need. Something the sales lady said she never thought I would need...and yet I am well firmed my friend - well firmed.
What the heck is this? I'm 22, I'm young and feisty. I'm not supposed to be hiding gray hair and trying to smooth my wrinkles. I'm the girl who's supposed to stay up all night dancing and have sex with my legs over my head kama-sutra style - not lying on my ironing board in the middle of the living room reading "Enemy at the Gates". Geez, even my book is an old person book!
The jump from 22 to 23 cannot be this dramatic. I cannot go from semi-cute college co-ed to old soccer mom - ladies who lunch.
This is unfreaking acceptable. I demand to speak to the manager...or at best her assistant.
For my 21st birthday I got my navel pierced and attended a drinkfest farewell dinner for the USS Constellation. I had a good 21st year. I spent part of it blonde...
So for my 23rd I plan to get a tattoo, and another piercing...somewhere...where else can you get pierced...I don't care...I'll get them all. Heck I'm gonna get them and show 'em off. Get out those beads boys - I'm gonna go wild. I'm gonna shake it shake it like a polaroid picture. Get retarded in hah - retarded in here! Bring on the shots, bring on the tequila. I'm young, hip, hot, smoking - I'll burn the brick house down!
Or I'll go to Basken&Robins for my free ice cream cone and get an early night because a girl needs her beauty sleep and I have to work in the morning.
Tuesday, May 31, 2005
Email - The great equalizer
Working at the top level of a huge International Coporation I usually feel unworthy. I always expect CEO/CCO/CPO/(R2-D2)'s to be the cream of the crop. These are the big wheeler and dealers of the world. These men (and some women) are smart, ambitious, and sharp. Certainly the biggest companies in the US and the world would employ executives that are the greatest minds of our time. How could a 22 year old degree-less college student keep up with these great thinkers?
Then I have days like today.
An email was sent out with some random information. All the required people were copied and the original sender accidently also copied the ENTIRE North American coportation.
No big deal right? I got the email, had a "huh" moment of 2 seconds and then realized they must have typed ****ALL USERS***@****** by accident and went merrily on my way assured that it was an accident and there's no reason to focus on it any longer.
However, though the 22 year old assistant figured this out in less than a minute the following train of emails was sent, and copied to all senders. Below is the emails I recieved (as did the rest of the company on our continent) in order over the past three hours. (I've blocked out names and pertinent information with random "*****" to protect the stupid - and my job.)
This reached me in error. Please re send to the proper party.
Hi ********: I have no clue what this is about ......... did you send it to me by error ?
This also reached me in error.
This reached me in error. please resend to the appropriate individual(s).
It reached me in error also.
Thanks,
I believe I rec'd this in error.
THIS MESSAGE HAS REACHED THE WRONG ***** ***********
PLEASE CHECK YOUR ADDRESS BOOK AND RESEND TO *****
This reached me in error. Please resend to appropriate associate.
I have also received this in error.
Please, when you reply, only send to the original person, I have rec'd 9 of these. (Finally someone is catching on.)
STOP RESPONDING TO HER EMAIL.
I do believe she has got the point by now . (Ya think?)
It appears as though this has been sent to the entire company by mistake. I don't think there is any need for everyone to respond. *****, don't worry about it..........mistakes happen.
(That should be the end of that.)
This was sent to me by accident! (Or not.)
I am getting all of these messages and I don't know anything about this. I am ****************** in ********* **********.
It was a mistake as everyone received this.
Please send emails back to org sender not everyone on list. Thank you.
I am getting all of these messages and I don't know anything about this. I am ****************** in ********* **********. (They sent this email TWICE.)
This was sent to me by accident! (They sent this twice too.)
This was sent in error. Please disregard. I hit the wrong address for *******. Sorry for the mistake. Have a wonderful week. (This was sent with stars, in large, bold font, and pretty colors. But....)
this also reached me in error ,please take me off this mailing list !!!!!!
As I type this is STILL going on. Now we're getting emails like the above and emails telling the original sender that they forgive her for typing in the wrong address.
Yes sir, these are the big wigs, the greatest minds of our time, the men with the money and the power.
Who forgot to look at the "send to" part of the email.
Then I have days like today.
An email was sent out with some random information. All the required people were copied and the original sender accidently also copied the ENTIRE North American coportation.
No big deal right? I got the email, had a "huh" moment of 2 seconds and then realized they must have typed ****ALL USERS***@****** by accident and went merrily on my way assured that it was an accident and there's no reason to focus on it any longer.
However, though the 22 year old assistant figured this out in less than a minute the following train of emails was sent, and copied to all senders. Below is the emails I recieved (as did the rest of the company on our continent) in order over the past three hours. (I've blocked out names and pertinent information with random "*****" to protect the stupid - and my job.)
This reached me in error. Please re send to the proper party.
Hi ********: I have no clue what this is about ......... did you send it to me by error ?
This also reached me in error.
This reached me in error. please resend to the appropriate individual(s).
It reached me in error also.
Thanks,
I believe I rec'd this in error.
THIS MESSAGE HAS REACHED THE WRONG ***** ***********
PLEASE CHECK YOUR ADDRESS BOOK AND RESEND TO *****
This reached me in error. Please resend to appropriate associate.
I have also received this in error.
Please, when you reply, only send to the original person, I have rec'd 9 of these. (Finally someone is catching on.)
STOP RESPONDING TO HER EMAIL.
I do believe she has got the point by now . (Ya think?)
It appears as though this has been sent to the entire company by mistake. I don't think there is any need for everyone to respond. *****, don't worry about it..........mistakes happen.
(That should be the end of that.)
This was sent to me by accident! (Or not.)
I am getting all of these messages and I don't know anything about this. I am ****************** in ********* **********.
It was a mistake as everyone received this.
Please send emails back to org sender not everyone on list. Thank you.
I am getting all of these messages and I don't know anything about this. I am ****************** in ********* **********. (They sent this email TWICE.)
This was sent to me by accident! (They sent this twice too.)
This was sent in error. Please disregard. I hit the wrong address for *******. Sorry for the mistake. Have a wonderful week. (This was sent with stars, in large, bold font, and pretty colors. But....)
this also reached me in error ,please take me off this mailing list !!!!!!
As I type this is STILL going on. Now we're getting emails like the above and emails telling the original sender that they forgive her for typing in the wrong address.
Yes sir, these are the big wigs, the greatest minds of our time, the men with the money and the power.
Who forgot to look at the "send to" part of the email.
Attack of the new housewife!
Survey: Japanese meal traditions declining
A survey by a Japanese company suggests only 20 percent of married women in Japanese cities lay out eating utensils using traditional etiquette standards. The survey found women often place bowls in the wrong position or line chopsticks incorrectly, the Mainichi Daily News reported Tuesday. The condiment maker Ajinomoto also said soup is losing popularity, with Japanese city-dwellers drinking beverages with their food, instead of following the traditional custom of waiting until after the meal. "As main meals move to becoming more substantial instead of centering around white rice, people feel it is necessary to take a mouthful of a drink to serve as a link between different food tastes," an Ajinomoto spokesman said. Additionally, more than 50 percent of surveyed families did not have condiments on the dining table at all times. "For foods like grilled fish or sashimi, where the taste of the food is important, flavorings are left on the table, but not having condiments readily available is probably because of a recent increase in dishes like stir
fries, in which flavorings are added during cooking," the spokesman said.
Oooooh, they line their chopsticks incorrectly. Imagine if these people found out I sometimes put the fork on the right side with the knife...and no spoon!
Scandal!
(Article from Coffee Break.)
A survey by a Japanese company suggests only 20 percent of married women in Japanese cities lay out eating utensils using traditional etiquette standards. The survey found women often place bowls in the wrong position or line chopsticks incorrectly, the Mainichi Daily News reported Tuesday. The condiment maker Ajinomoto also said soup is losing popularity, with Japanese city-dwellers drinking beverages with their food, instead of following the traditional custom of waiting until after the meal. "As main meals move to becoming more substantial instead of centering around white rice, people feel it is necessary to take a mouthful of a drink to serve as a link between different food tastes," an Ajinomoto spokesman said. Additionally, more than 50 percent of surveyed families did not have condiments on the dining table at all times. "For foods like grilled fish or sashimi, where the taste of the food is important, flavorings are left on the table, but not having condiments readily available is probably because of a recent increase in dishes like stir
fries, in which flavorings are added during cooking," the spokesman said.
Oooooh, they line their chopsticks incorrectly. Imagine if these people found out I sometimes put the fork on the right side with the knife...and no spoon!
Scandal!
(Article from Coffee Break.)
Monday, May 30, 2005
Memorial Day
My husband's birthday is today. He turned 30.
Thank you. Thank you to all the men and women who didn't turn 30. Thank you to all the Mothers and Fathers who never saw their children reach 30.
Thank you for my Grandfathers and Uncles who used to tell me horror stories and scare me with missing fingers.
Thank you for my Father who was around for my whole life and read books to me.
Thank you for my brother who let me tag along with him and taught me to drive a stick shift.
Thank you for my husband who came home, dressed in white, with a green bag on his back and the biggest, sweetest smile I've ever seen. Thank you for letting him be with me. Thank you for letting him father our children and protect our family. Thank you for protecting them yourself.
Thank you for letting my love turn thirty years old and letting me hold him tight when he does.
To the women who didn't get to meet their husbands smiling, thank you for being so strong. To the women who haven't heard from their soldiers and sailors and marines and airmen yet, you're here with me and all my strength is yours.
To the people who are still over there, thank you for letting my husband be here.
Thank you to everyone who came back.
Thank you for making my life so blessed.
Thank you. Thank you to all the men and women who didn't turn 30. Thank you to all the Mothers and Fathers who never saw their children reach 30.
Thank you for my Grandfathers and Uncles who used to tell me horror stories and scare me with missing fingers.
Thank you for my Father who was around for my whole life and read books to me.
Thank you for my brother who let me tag along with him and taught me to drive a stick shift.
Thank you for my husband who came home, dressed in white, with a green bag on his back and the biggest, sweetest smile I've ever seen. Thank you for letting him be with me. Thank you for letting him father our children and protect our family. Thank you for protecting them yourself.
Thank you for letting my love turn thirty years old and letting me hold him tight when he does.
To the women who didn't get to meet their husbands smiling, thank you for being so strong. To the women who haven't heard from their soldiers and sailors and marines and airmen yet, you're here with me and all my strength is yours.
To the people who are still over there, thank you for letting my husband be here.
Thank you to everyone who came back.
Thank you for making my life so blessed.
Saturday, May 28, 2005
Good Eats
On the food channel is a show called Good Eats. It's hosted by Alton Brown and focuses on not only cooking but the chemistry of cooking. Very interesting.
Until you watch enough that you realize Mr. Brown is a food and cooking elitist. He's so picky about what ingredients he uses and how something is cooked. Which I suppose is what makes a good chef, but then he also mentions over and over how easy it is to do it his way.
Sure it's wasy if your job happens to be a hosting a t.v. show where all you do is cook. :P It is not easy - punk.
Furthermore, the more you watch the show the more you watch your favorite comfort foods of your childhood being dicked up.
Such as his banana split, which consists of caramelized banana's, homemade peach ice cream, and a caramel doo-hickey that he made from his homemade caramel sauce.
Um no Mr. Brown. Though that sounds good - a banana split is supposed to be two banana's swimming in vanilla ice cream with pineapple, strawberries and chocolate syrup AND a bunch of cherries. AND whipped cream too. From the can. It should not look pretty and should be messy to eat. THAT is a banana split.
I had to cry when he messed up macaroni and cheese - I tuned out when he stated that he ground his own meat for hamburgers.
What has this to do with anything?
Heard at our lunch table today:
Husband: You're not a good wife because you don't take the time to make all those nice things from Good Eats.
Roommate: You did not just say that.
Me: ...
Good Eats - making house wives and non-houses wives alike feel inadequate all over the world.
Until you watch enough that you realize Mr. Brown is a food and cooking elitist. He's so picky about what ingredients he uses and how something is cooked. Which I suppose is what makes a good chef, but then he also mentions over and over how easy it is to do it his way.
Sure it's wasy if your job happens to be a hosting a t.v. show where all you do is cook. :P It is not easy - punk.
Furthermore, the more you watch the show the more you watch your favorite comfort foods of your childhood being dicked up.
Such as his banana split, which consists of caramelized banana's, homemade peach ice cream, and a caramel doo-hickey that he made from his homemade caramel sauce.
Um no Mr. Brown. Though that sounds good - a banana split is supposed to be two banana's swimming in vanilla ice cream with pineapple, strawberries and chocolate syrup AND a bunch of cherries. AND whipped cream too. From the can. It should not look pretty and should be messy to eat. THAT is a banana split.
I had to cry when he messed up macaroni and cheese - I tuned out when he stated that he ground his own meat for hamburgers.
What has this to do with anything?
Heard at our lunch table today:
Husband: You're not a good wife because you don't take the time to make all those nice things from Good Eats.
Roommate: You did not just say that.
Me: ...
Good Eats - making house wives and non-houses wives alike feel inadequate all over the world.
Friday, May 27, 2005
The sun is coming out...
Joy!
Last night my husband and I braved the big charm city to attend Cirque Du Soleil - Varekai. I was lucky enough to win two tickets from a drawing at DuClaws so paying for ridiculous parking garages and trying to navigate through Fells Point and Inner Harbor didn't seem so bad.
The show was amazing. I was a tad worried that Craig would be too grouchy after the drive to B'more to enjoy it, but he seemed just as happy as I was. The seats weren't great, but they were still awesome (and free free free) and both of us were really taken in with the amazing performance. I loved it. He loved it. It was wonderful.
In the past I haven't been that taken with Cirque's costuming. Some shows have concepts that don't really speak to me, but these costumes were perfect. Everything was perfect.
I didn't get a lot of sleep last night, we got home late, but it still proved to be a nice morning once we dragged ourselves out of bed. Thankfully we both have short days today (Craig is off at noon, I'm off at 3pm) and can go home and nap with our kitty for a little bit.
Good news continues to abound. We think we have found the car we want to buy to replace my Acura. Hoorah.
We think we have found the house we want to rent. Hoorah.
And I was just offered my job on a permanent basis from my boss. I can't say how happy this makes me. Being a temp is great - and I love my agency, but the relief that I will have a job that can't be cut off early, that I won't be bounced around from company to company, it's overwhelming. No more indefinite dry spells with no work. Best of all, they don't mind my military dependant status. I've been doing temp long-term work for so long because no one wants to hire a woman who will have to move in 2-3 years (or less). No one wants to promote her (no matter how well she does the job) being military is worse than being pregnant in terms of job interviews.
But my boss doesn't care, the company is National (with offices in most of the towns we may be moved too), the parent company is International. And they're perfectly happy to keep people even if they move. I'm so...relieved.
A permanent job means other things too. Steady money means I can return to college (previously an off and on thing when I was temping...one semester with tons of classes, another with none). What's more my office is near the campus (community college) which means night classes are definitely an option again. Play my cards right and I may actually be able to finish my degree in the next few years.
A steady job also means that if my husband decides to get out of the military when he's last tour is over he can wait for a little while before he picks his next job/career. Any number of companies will hire him today - nice high paying companies. But I want him to have a chance to really research and choose which company he wants, which one will give him the greatest freedom and allow him to do the stuff he wants rather than a job that sorta uses his skills-but not really. I want him to finally be in an environment where he can be appreciated for the genius he is and allowed to grow - unlike the military where they discourage the smart ones and encourage the back-stabbing politics.
I guess this is a pretty unintelligible, rambling post - but I just need to let all these ideas flow. I'm in a really good place right now and I think that things may start to get better. And we really need things to get better for a little while.
Last night my husband and I braved the big charm city to attend Cirque Du Soleil - Varekai. I was lucky enough to win two tickets from a drawing at DuClaws so paying for ridiculous parking garages and trying to navigate through Fells Point and Inner Harbor didn't seem so bad.
The show was amazing. I was a tad worried that Craig would be too grouchy after the drive to B'more to enjoy it, but he seemed just as happy as I was. The seats weren't great, but they were still awesome (and free free free) and both of us were really taken in with the amazing performance. I loved it. He loved it. It was wonderful.
In the past I haven't been that taken with Cirque's costuming. Some shows have concepts that don't really speak to me, but these costumes were perfect. Everything was perfect.
I didn't get a lot of sleep last night, we got home late, but it still proved to be a nice morning once we dragged ourselves out of bed. Thankfully we both have short days today (Craig is off at noon, I'm off at 3pm) and can go home and nap with our kitty for a little bit.
Good news continues to abound. We think we have found the car we want to buy to replace my Acura. Hoorah.
We think we have found the house we want to rent. Hoorah.
And I was just offered my job on a permanent basis from my boss. I can't say how happy this makes me. Being a temp is great - and I love my agency, but the relief that I will have a job that can't be cut off early, that I won't be bounced around from company to company, it's overwhelming. No more indefinite dry spells with no work. Best of all, they don't mind my military dependant status. I've been doing temp long-term work for so long because no one wants to hire a woman who will have to move in 2-3 years (or less). No one wants to promote her (no matter how well she does the job) being military is worse than being pregnant in terms of job interviews.
But my boss doesn't care, the company is National (with offices in most of the towns we may be moved too), the parent company is International. And they're perfectly happy to keep people even if they move. I'm so...relieved.
A permanent job means other things too. Steady money means I can return to college (previously an off and on thing when I was temping...one semester with tons of classes, another with none). What's more my office is near the campus (community college) which means night classes are definitely an option again. Play my cards right and I may actually be able to finish my degree in the next few years.
A steady job also means that if my husband decides to get out of the military when he's last tour is over he can wait for a little while before he picks his next job/career. Any number of companies will hire him today - nice high paying companies. But I want him to have a chance to really research and choose which company he wants, which one will give him the greatest freedom and allow him to do the stuff he wants rather than a job that sorta uses his skills-but not really. I want him to finally be in an environment where he can be appreciated for the genius he is and allowed to grow - unlike the military where they discourage the smart ones and encourage the back-stabbing politics.
I guess this is a pretty unintelligible, rambling post - but I just need to let all these ideas flow. I'm in a really good place right now and I think that things may start to get better. And we really need things to get better for a little while.
Thursday, May 26, 2005
Questions
(I didn't try to give the below post any semblance of order or sense. I wrote it more so I could write out what I was thinking than to make a point or share a story. Imagine a great big white rubber room and put this post in it.)
I want to know two things:
1) Why am I such a pushover?
2) What the heck happened to the man I married?
Yesterday I was chatting with the new admin on my floor. She was telling me about her 15 year old son and his girlfriend. Apparently she is quite the well-manner young lady and keeps that boy in line. When he forgets to say "Yes Ma'am" to his mother she will fuss at him till he does and then tell him to apologize. Good for her. I have a feeling 15 year old boys need that.
However, I rarely do that. Even though I want to. The other night at DuClaws my husband was at his most uncharming drunken point when he made a snide remark to the harried (and very polite and kind) waiter who had come to take our order. It did take a little longer than it should have, but we were in a busy bar so it's to be understood. When my husband made his little underhanded remark I wanted to smack him. It was such a stupid, childish, ass-holish thing for him to do. I wanted to tell him to cut out his stupid snobby attitude and apologize. I wanted to at least say "knock it off." Instead the smack turned to a quick reminding squeeze on his thigh and I apologized to waiter and slipped him a nice tip, while my husband grinned and continued to act the rooster.
I'm more mad at myself than anyone else. I allowed my husband to ruin the night. I allowed my husband to ruin the morning. I generally just stand on the side and let him get away with behaviors he shouldn't be doing anymore as an adult and then I'll say sorry for him. Then I'll apologize to my husband for saying sorry for him. Even when I'm trying to take care of him, if I ask if he's hungry or if he needs something and he snaps me away I'll apologize for...for...well for being nice.
Why can't I just get really sarcastic and say what I mean. "Sorry for caring about you...I'll stop being in love now."
To the second question. When did my husband turn into this person? When we first started dating he was as meticulous about time as I am. If you're early you're on time, if you're on time you're late, and if you're late you're a horrible person. Never, ever would he be late for something. Now he doesn't even bother to try and get places early. He procrastinates till the end of days. It drives me nuts.
Likewise when we first starting our courtship he made perfectly clear that he would NOT date a smoker and if I ever started he'd go ahead and leave me. I was of the same mind, smoking is not that attractive and the second hand smoke makes me very ill. However, my husband is now a smoker. And instead of making his life a living hell for it I let him. I'll stand outside with him, because he asks me too, and wait for him to finish his cigarette. I was helping him try and quit, we had the patches, I set them out for him every morning and put it on him. I carry gum with me all the time. I try and keep him active when we're out. He was doing okay for awhile, but after three tries he's back smoking regularly. There had been a rule before that he was NOT to smoke in the car (he made that rule himself) and now he smokes in the car all the time.
And I let him.
It's not that I don't tell him that I don't like these behaviors, it's just that I don't want to say it so much that he starts snapping at me that I don't like him anymore.
The most annoying part of this though is the fact that it's all a double standard. If I ever started smoking, or slipped up and made a snarky comment; If I ever snap at him or decide to sleep in just a little longer, heck if I let my shoulders slouch a little - he is all over me like a pitbull. It is completely unacceptable for me to be less than perfect, but he's allowed to because "He's an adult and can make his own decisions and if he wants to do something he's allowed to."
I think my need for space and time to myself is a reaction to the changes both my husband and I have been going through individually. And I think these changes started once my husband got home from Iraq. I once brought this idea up with Craig, since his smoking started on the ship and his behavior was so vastly different when he came home the last time. He got angry that I was trying to analyze him. I let it be. I think maybe both of us might be in denial that something is different. I used to think it was because we were moving so much, his job was changing, and he had such crazy and incompetent leadership. Of course our life was hell. But now I think it's because he thinks differently than he used to about things. He's becoming overly dominant yet clingy and I'm becoming overly submissive yet detached.
I guess it's because he was used to being in charge and having a definite mission that he's suddenly become the bull of the house. And I suppose he's more clingy to me now because we were apart for so long.
For my part I'm more submissive because I want to be a good wife and take care of him since I wasn't able to for so long. And probably because he needs some kind of control somewhere in his life and I want to give that to him. But I'm messing it up. Even if I choose to be the second in a partnership, there should be a sense of...well...choice. Or power. I shouldn't feel like I've failed all the time. And I know that I'm detached and less clingy (though I suppose you can't tell from my blog, since all I talk about is him) because he was gone for so long and so many times I would get comfortable with him around and then he'd have to leave.
I guess I'm the guy with the fear of commitment and he's the girl with the fear of abandonment. Only our personalities don't match it.
I worry that I'm the only person in the marriage that is scared about these shifts. Change is normal right? I should embrace it like Craig does. But it frightens me...there is another piece of the puzzle that I can't quite grasp, but it's essential to the way our dynamic is changing. And I wish I knew what it was. It's like the word that's on the tip of the tongue but you can't figure it out. It's just there, lurking, and it hasn't shown itself yet.
I can only hope that when it does it will help mesh our new roles rather than dividing them.
I want to know two things:
1) Why am I such a pushover?
2) What the heck happened to the man I married?
Yesterday I was chatting with the new admin on my floor. She was telling me about her 15 year old son and his girlfriend. Apparently she is quite the well-manner young lady and keeps that boy in line. When he forgets to say "Yes Ma'am" to his mother she will fuss at him till he does and then tell him to apologize. Good for her. I have a feeling 15 year old boys need that.
However, I rarely do that. Even though I want to. The other night at DuClaws my husband was at his most uncharming drunken point when he made a snide remark to the harried (and very polite and kind) waiter who had come to take our order. It did take a little longer than it should have, but we were in a busy bar so it's to be understood. When my husband made his little underhanded remark I wanted to smack him. It was such a stupid, childish, ass-holish thing for him to do. I wanted to tell him to cut out his stupid snobby attitude and apologize. I wanted to at least say "knock it off." Instead the smack turned to a quick reminding squeeze on his thigh and I apologized to waiter and slipped him a nice tip, while my husband grinned and continued to act the rooster.
I'm more mad at myself than anyone else. I allowed my husband to ruin the night. I allowed my husband to ruin the morning. I generally just stand on the side and let him get away with behaviors he shouldn't be doing anymore as an adult and then I'll say sorry for him. Then I'll apologize to my husband for saying sorry for him. Even when I'm trying to take care of him, if I ask if he's hungry or if he needs something and he snaps me away I'll apologize for...for...well for being nice.
Why can't I just get really sarcastic and say what I mean. "Sorry for caring about you...I'll stop being in love now."
To the second question. When did my husband turn into this person? When we first started dating he was as meticulous about time as I am. If you're early you're on time, if you're on time you're late, and if you're late you're a horrible person. Never, ever would he be late for something. Now he doesn't even bother to try and get places early. He procrastinates till the end of days. It drives me nuts.
Likewise when we first starting our courtship he made perfectly clear that he would NOT date a smoker and if I ever started he'd go ahead and leave me. I was of the same mind, smoking is not that attractive and the second hand smoke makes me very ill. However, my husband is now a smoker. And instead of making his life a living hell for it I let him. I'll stand outside with him, because he asks me too, and wait for him to finish his cigarette. I was helping him try and quit, we had the patches, I set them out for him every morning and put it on him. I carry gum with me all the time. I try and keep him active when we're out. He was doing okay for awhile, but after three tries he's back smoking regularly. There had been a rule before that he was NOT to smoke in the car (he made that rule himself) and now he smokes in the car all the time.
And I let him.
It's not that I don't tell him that I don't like these behaviors, it's just that I don't want to say it so much that he starts snapping at me that I don't like him anymore.
The most annoying part of this though is the fact that it's all a double standard. If I ever started smoking, or slipped up and made a snarky comment; If I ever snap at him or decide to sleep in just a little longer, heck if I let my shoulders slouch a little - he is all over me like a pitbull. It is completely unacceptable for me to be less than perfect, but he's allowed to because "He's an adult and can make his own decisions and if he wants to do something he's allowed to."
I think my need for space and time to myself is a reaction to the changes both my husband and I have been going through individually. And I think these changes started once my husband got home from Iraq. I once brought this idea up with Craig, since his smoking started on the ship and his behavior was so vastly different when he came home the last time. He got angry that I was trying to analyze him. I let it be. I think maybe both of us might be in denial that something is different. I used to think it was because we were moving so much, his job was changing, and he had such crazy and incompetent leadership. Of course our life was hell. But now I think it's because he thinks differently than he used to about things. He's becoming overly dominant yet clingy and I'm becoming overly submissive yet detached.
I guess it's because he was used to being in charge and having a definite mission that he's suddenly become the bull of the house. And I suppose he's more clingy to me now because we were apart for so long.
For my part I'm more submissive because I want to be a good wife and take care of him since I wasn't able to for so long. And probably because he needs some kind of control somewhere in his life and I want to give that to him. But I'm messing it up. Even if I choose to be the second in a partnership, there should be a sense of...well...choice. Or power. I shouldn't feel like I've failed all the time. And I know that I'm detached and less clingy (though I suppose you can't tell from my blog, since all I talk about is him) because he was gone for so long and so many times I would get comfortable with him around and then he'd have to leave.
I guess I'm the guy with the fear of commitment and he's the girl with the fear of abandonment. Only our personalities don't match it.
I worry that I'm the only person in the marriage that is scared about these shifts. Change is normal right? I should embrace it like Craig does. But it frightens me...there is another piece of the puzzle that I can't quite grasp, but it's essential to the way our dynamic is changing. And I wish I knew what it was. It's like the word that's on the tip of the tongue but you can't figure it out. It's just there, lurking, and it hasn't shown itself yet.
I can only hope that when it does it will help mesh our new roles rather than dividing them.
Pushover
There haven't been a lot of posts about Operation Bedtime lately. There's a good reason for that - it failed. It failed the moment I put it into effect. I realize in order to carry out Operation Bedtime to a successful routine I'd need a platoon of Marines with the SEALs backing them up.
I am in short supply of Marines. And honestly the SEALs are hard to reach by phone.
Unless you have donuts. Then they're all yours. I happen to know from experience.
In any case I've come to the realization that I'm a big, horrible, push-over. This morning would be a prime example. I leave for work at 7:30am. My husband, who is going to the special doctor today, had to leave by 7:00am (later than normal). This would mean that he needs to take a shower before me and be out in time for me to jump in and get to work on time. Makes sense yes?
I got up as usual and ironed his uniform (lately he's refused to wear ANY of his uniforms but his old one - which means I need to wash and iron the same stupid uniform everyday...I have no idea why) went to hang it next to the sink so he could get out of the shower and get dressed when I noticed he was not in the shower yet. He was still in bed. Awake, but playing on the freaking laptop! In bed!
I started off well I said "Craig!" (in my most exasperated tone that automatically comes when I realize I now have the choice of being late for work or not getting to take a shower - neither are really an option) Then he said "I'm trying to get direction to Walter Reed for this morning. So I can't get up. (In his most whiney voice that really says "It's not fair that you used the exasperated voice on me because I'm not doing anything wrong - besides ruining your morning.) Basically I had come to the Mom-Meets-Teenage Son battle. And I failed...miserably. Instead of saying "You should have done that last night since you knew you'd have this appointment, now get your butt in gear and get in that shower NOW." I said "Sorry, I'll call the information line, why don't you take a shower."
Then he said "No, I'll find it myself"
Now also would have been a good time to say "Just do it my way." But I didn't. He took forever, I'm sure he was late to his appointment. I got to work at 8:02am so it wasn't that bad...but still late.
The results of my discovery this morning come in the next post.
I am in short supply of Marines. And honestly the SEALs are hard to reach by phone.
Unless you have donuts. Then they're all yours. I happen to know from experience.
In any case I've come to the realization that I'm a big, horrible, push-over. This morning would be a prime example. I leave for work at 7:30am. My husband, who is going to the special doctor today, had to leave by 7:00am (later than normal). This would mean that he needs to take a shower before me and be out in time for me to jump in and get to work on time. Makes sense yes?
I got up as usual and ironed his uniform (lately he's refused to wear ANY of his uniforms but his old one - which means I need to wash and iron the same stupid uniform everyday...I have no idea why) went to hang it next to the sink so he could get out of the shower and get dressed when I noticed he was not in the shower yet. He was still in bed. Awake, but playing on the freaking laptop! In bed!
I started off well I said "Craig!" (in my most exasperated tone that automatically comes when I realize I now have the choice of being late for work or not getting to take a shower - neither are really an option) Then he said "I'm trying to get direction to Walter Reed for this morning. So I can't get up. (In his most whiney voice that really says "It's not fair that you used the exasperated voice on me because I'm not doing anything wrong - besides ruining your morning.) Basically I had come to the Mom-Meets-Teenage Son battle. And I failed...miserably. Instead of saying "You should have done that last night since you knew you'd have this appointment, now get your butt in gear and get in that shower NOW." I said "Sorry, I'll call the information line, why don't you take a shower."
Then he said "No, I'll find it myself"
Now also would have been a good time to say "Just do it my way." But I didn't. He took forever, I'm sure he was late to his appointment. I got to work at 8:02am so it wasn't that bad...but still late.
The results of my discovery this morning come in the next post.
Wednesday, May 25, 2005
Dear Indian-Call-Center-Guy
Dear Indian-Call-Center-Guy
Listen, I know you're in love with me because you call my house every 30 minutes and can never bear to leave a message on my machine. It's cute in it's way but see I work in an office and will never get to pick up the phone as you call over and over and over again between the hours of 10 and 3. So stop.
And hey I know you really wanna talk with me because I can get you that nice commision that may someday allow you to buy a nicer tie, but if you don't leave a number. It's not gonna happen.
Furthermore, this romance is completely inappropiate. I'm a married woman. You can't keep calling me by my first name, we're not buddy-buddy. You're not my friend, and this fantasy in which you get to refer to me and my husband as your good relations needs to end. It's Mrs. to you buster.
One thing you need to realize Mr. Call-Center-Guy-in-India is that unlike 99% of the people you will talk to today, tomorrow, and Sunday I actually am one of those unfortunates who lost their job because of your eager willingness to be paid $3 an hour for a crappy customer service position. Before you came along I had a little desk and a little phone and got paid a nice salary to enter information quickly and correctly into a very complicated system. Have you ever been layed-off to find yourself without an apartment or a place to crash in New York City? No? I have. Thanks. So if you can't ten-key type the way I can ten-key type into your dumbed down version of a bare-bones database...then you need to double check. It's not only a matter of customer service to keep my number from going from 123 to 759...it's a matter of professional pride. Stop messing up!
And while we're on the subject of professional skill. It's called a call center for a reason. People will be calling you, and since you work for a company who only sells goods in a very small county in the United States, and for that matter goods that require a certain amount of knowledge of English to enjoy, you should expect people to call you and speak our particular form of English. It's called white-bread. If you do not KNOW English but still insist you can perform this job, do not try and cover up you inability to understand the sentence "Please enter my name onto the Do-Not-Contact list." by answering with the few words of Eubonics you picked up listening to Snoop Doggy-Doggity. Thanks.
In short Mr. Guy-in-India-who-stole-my-job-which-I-actually-liked-because-it-allowed-
me-to-do-detailed-oriented-work-in-a-friendly-environment-
rather-than-the-crappy-job-I-had-to-take-afterwards-
where-I-spent-long-hours-spreading-tar-on-hot-roads get your freaking act together or the next time I will do my entire transaction in morse code with a high pitched whistle.
Love always,
Katy
P.S. Thanks for ruining my Purple Socks with Yellow Flowers Day.
Listen, I know you're in love with me because you call my house every 30 minutes and can never bear to leave a message on my machine. It's cute in it's way but see I work in an office and will never get to pick up the phone as you call over and over and over again between the hours of 10 and 3. So stop.
And hey I know you really wanna talk with me because I can get you that nice commision that may someday allow you to buy a nicer tie, but if you don't leave a number. It's not gonna happen.
Furthermore, this romance is completely inappropiate. I'm a married woman. You can't keep calling me by my first name, we're not buddy-buddy. You're not my friend, and this fantasy in which you get to refer to me and my husband as your good relations needs to end. It's Mrs. to you buster.
One thing you need to realize Mr. Call-Center-Guy-in-India is that unlike 99% of the people you will talk to today, tomorrow, and Sunday I actually am one of those unfortunates who lost their job because of your eager willingness to be paid $3 an hour for a crappy customer service position. Before you came along I had a little desk and a little phone and got paid a nice salary to enter information quickly and correctly into a very complicated system. Have you ever been layed-off to find yourself without an apartment or a place to crash in New York City? No? I have. Thanks. So if you can't ten-key type the way I can ten-key type into your dumbed down version of a bare-bones database...then you need to double check. It's not only a matter of customer service to keep my number from going from 123 to 759...it's a matter of professional pride. Stop messing up!
And while we're on the subject of professional skill. It's called a call center for a reason. People will be calling you, and since you work for a company who only sells goods in a very small county in the United States, and for that matter goods that require a certain amount of knowledge of English to enjoy, you should expect people to call you and speak our particular form of English. It's called white-bread. If you do not KNOW English but still insist you can perform this job, do not try and cover up you inability to understand the sentence "Please enter my name onto the Do-Not-Contact list." by answering with the few words of Eubonics you picked up listening to Snoop Doggy-Doggity. Thanks.
In short Mr. Guy-in-India-who-stole-my-job-which-I-actually-liked-because-it-allowed-
me-to-do-detailed-oriented-work-in-a-friendly-environment-
rather-than-the-crappy-job-I-had-to-take-afterwards-
where-I-spent-long-hours-spreading-tar-on-hot-roads get your freaking act together or the next time I will do my entire transaction in morse code with a high pitched whistle.
Love always,
Katy
P.S. Thanks for ruining my Purple Socks with Yellow Flowers Day.
Purple Socks
It's 8:30am and already my day is insane.
But I am wearing purple socks with yellow flowers...and no one knows.
It's the little things that make me happy.
But I am wearing purple socks with yellow flowers...and no one knows.
It's the little things that make me happy.
Tuesday, May 24, 2005
Two days ago in a country not that far away...
24 May 2005
LIGHT-SABRE DUEL PUTS TWO IN HOSPITAL
TWO Star Wars fans are in a critical condition in hospital after duelling with lightsabres made by filling fluorescent light tubes with petrol.
The pair - a man aged 20 and a girl of 17 - are believed to have been filming a mock fight when one of the devices exploded in woodland on Sunday.
They were rushed to West Herts Hospital before being transferred to the specialist burns unit at Broomfield Hospital, Chelmsford, in Essex.
Police say a third person present at the incident was questioned.
(From Mirror.co.uk and Slashdot.)
Flowers for Algernon
Well actually Blueberry.
In addition to my gruff husband, cute kitty, and dog-like roommate my family is rounded out by a few African Ciclids. They are actually my husbands fish, a Holiday gift from me and a throw back from his childhood when he was surrounded by many lovely pets. Of course just because they are technically my husbands fish does not mean I'm not the one who doesn't clean the tank, feed them, treat their water, clean the filter and as last night will attest - weep for them.
We started with six baby fish. Zachary, Grape, Blueberry, Guava, Lemon and Pumpkin. Zachary didn't make it past the first day in his new home, he wasn't a travelling fish. Grape grew fast and seemed pretty strong but one night he got sick and I spent the night by his side trying to compel him through it. His fate was up to the fish gods though and he didn't make it. I was very sad.
However, for a long time the rest seemed to be doing very well, they got really big, ate tons, played fish games (which apparently consist of moving rocks around, pulling up plants and nipping at one another) - all of them were doing great except for Blueberry. While all the other fish grew inches upon inches he stayed baby size. And it wasn't for lack of eating. He was a spunky fish. Every morning, every night, he'd be right at the top of the tank ready to devour all the fishy flakes he could. He swam fast, played lots of fishy games. He even gave Pumpkin (our biggest fish and the Queen of the tank) a run for her money. I liked Blueberry, he was a runt, but he was a fighter.
Or so I thought. The weekend we went to Cumberland I left the fish in the hands of my roommate's what-I-thought-was-capable hands. I don't know what happened or how but by the time we got home Blueberry was no more. What's worse instead of him living in the flower pot with his brothers Blueberry had been unceremoniously flushed.
Stupid roommate.
I found out the Sunday we got back. After a long day of autocrossing, in the midst of a bad summer cold and a very long uncomfortable car ride home I just didn't have the emotional capabilities to process the death of a fish. My husband pouted at me for a little while, I patted his head sympathetically and we went to sleep. I woke up the next morning and like any other good psycho I continued to ignore the fact that Blueberry was gone.
I toyed with the thought that this is because I am growing up. In the face of the recent tragedies (My Aunt and Grandfather's death and my mothers new diagnoses of cancer) I was finally taking the small things in stride. I had finally, after 22 years of rather irrational emotional spikes, learned to not cry over spilled milk or flushed fish.
Yeah right.
Last night I attended another get together at the infamous DuClaws for a ticket drawing (by the way I won tickets to Cirque du Soleil...very nice) and a one day only beer release. I stayed away from the beer. Had my required glass of the special keg and stuck to water for the rest of the night. But inexplicably halfway through the night my husband brought up the death of Blueberry and in so doing brought on a wailing fest.
MY FISH IS DEAD!!!!!!! My poor little Blueberry. I wasn't there for him, I couldn't save him. My poor little spunky fish!!!!
Who can really say why I'm suddenly hit with overwhelming emotions for a little fish who died a week ago. Why didn't I cry when I found out? Why am I more depressed and overwrought over a fish than my family? Why did Blueberry die anyway. He was doing so well.
I can't answer these. I suppose one could say that I'm imprinting all my bottled up emotions over the big the things happening onto a small manageable thing. But that'd be a very grown-up thing to say...and grown-ups don't sit in bars bawling into their turkey sandwich over a fish.
I miss my fish.
In addition to my gruff husband, cute kitty, and dog-like roommate my family is rounded out by a few African Ciclids. They are actually my husbands fish, a Holiday gift from me and a throw back from his childhood when he was surrounded by many lovely pets. Of course just because they are technically my husbands fish does not mean I'm not the one who doesn't clean the tank, feed them, treat their water, clean the filter and as last night will attest - weep for them.
We started with six baby fish. Zachary, Grape, Blueberry, Guava, Lemon and Pumpkin. Zachary didn't make it past the first day in his new home, he wasn't a travelling fish. Grape grew fast and seemed pretty strong but one night he got sick and I spent the night by his side trying to compel him through it. His fate was up to the fish gods though and he didn't make it. I was very sad.
However, for a long time the rest seemed to be doing very well, they got really big, ate tons, played fish games (which apparently consist of moving rocks around, pulling up plants and nipping at one another) - all of them were doing great except for Blueberry. While all the other fish grew inches upon inches he stayed baby size. And it wasn't for lack of eating. He was a spunky fish. Every morning, every night, he'd be right at the top of the tank ready to devour all the fishy flakes he could. He swam fast, played lots of fishy games. He even gave Pumpkin (our biggest fish and the Queen of the tank) a run for her money. I liked Blueberry, he was a runt, but he was a fighter.
Or so I thought. The weekend we went to Cumberland I left the fish in the hands of my roommate's what-I-thought-was-capable hands. I don't know what happened or how but by the time we got home Blueberry was no more. What's worse instead of him living in the flower pot with his brothers Blueberry had been unceremoniously flushed.
Stupid roommate.
I found out the Sunday we got back. After a long day of autocrossing, in the midst of a bad summer cold and a very long uncomfortable car ride home I just didn't have the emotional capabilities to process the death of a fish. My husband pouted at me for a little while, I patted his head sympathetically and we went to sleep. I woke up the next morning and like any other good psycho I continued to ignore the fact that Blueberry was gone.
I toyed with the thought that this is because I am growing up. In the face of the recent tragedies (My Aunt and Grandfather's death and my mothers new diagnoses of cancer) I was finally taking the small things in stride. I had finally, after 22 years of rather irrational emotional spikes, learned to not cry over spilled milk or flushed fish.
Yeah right.
Last night I attended another get together at the infamous DuClaws for a ticket drawing (by the way I won tickets to Cirque du Soleil...very nice) and a one day only beer release. I stayed away from the beer. Had my required glass of the special keg and stuck to water for the rest of the night. But inexplicably halfway through the night my husband brought up the death of Blueberry and in so doing brought on a wailing fest.
MY FISH IS DEAD!!!!!!! My poor little Blueberry. I wasn't there for him, I couldn't save him. My poor little spunky fish!!!!
Who can really say why I'm suddenly hit with overwhelming emotions for a little fish who died a week ago. Why didn't I cry when I found out? Why am I more depressed and overwrought over a fish than my family? Why did Blueberry die anyway. He was doing so well.
I can't answer these. I suppose one could say that I'm imprinting all my bottled up emotions over the big the things happening onto a small manageable thing. But that'd be a very grown-up thing to say...and grown-ups don't sit in bars bawling into their turkey sandwich over a fish.
I miss my fish.
Monday, May 23, 2005
Enjoy the Silence
As an addition to the below Pavlovian Post I'm posting the song in question.
In case you don't have it burned into your memory like I do.
Words like violence
Break the silence
Come crashing in
Into my little world
Painful to me
Pierce right through me
Can't you understand
Oh my little girl
All I ever wanted
All I ever needed
Is here -- in my arms
Words are very unnecessary
They -- can only do harm
Vows are spoken
To be broken
Feelings are intense
Words are trivial
Pleasures remain
So does the pain
Words are meaningless
And unforgettable
All I ever wanted
All I ever needed
Is here -- in my arms
Words are very unnecessary
They can only do harm
Enjoy the Silence
In case you don't have it burned into your memory like I do.
Words like violence
Break the silence
Come crashing in
Into my little world
Painful to me
Pierce right through me
Can't you understand
Oh my little girl
All I ever wanted
All I ever needed
Is here -- in my arms
Words are very unnecessary
They -- can only do harm
Vows are spoken
To be broken
Feelings are intense
Words are trivial
Pleasures remain
So does the pain
Words are meaningless
And unforgettable
All I ever wanted
All I ever needed
Is here -- in my arms
Words are very unnecessary
They can only do harm
Enjoy the Silence
Ring a bell and I'll salivate...
Well perhaps I won't actually start drooling. And I'm unlikely to start barking either. And honestly bells don't do a lot for me. But the concept is the same.
I've been trying to list and recognize some of my triggers - of a sexual nature primarily - lately. Ironically on the same day I was set to write a little about it someone brought up the same idea from a different direction. He didn't mean to, and I'm sure he didn't know I was thinking about it before or during our conversation, nevertheless it's an example of something that happens to me all the time. I will have a thought, or begin to start forming a thought, randomly. There will be no impetus for it I'll just start thinking about it. Then a day or two later I will run across thousands of conversations, articles, or simple comments that would have made great catalysts for that particular thought - after I've already started chewing on it. The same comes from new words I'll come across once and will have to research, or words I've known but never used and by a fluke decided to use once - suddenly after I've used them others use them too. I often thought that this pattern may just be because now I am more inclined to notice things that would link my inner world with my outer world - but through a lot of trial and error I've found it's not the case. Just a freaky coincidence.
Anyway, back to the salivating dogs...
I'm sure I could find triggers in my mind of a none sexual nature - like whenever the temperature rises above 80 degrees I feel the need to become tragically vegetarian, or the way I immediately chirp out a "meep meep" whenever I see a Mini Cooper or Miata driving down the road, regardless if I have an audience or not (don't ask, it's a thing) - but honestly sex is more fun to think about.
Especially when you're a raging mess of hormones - teenage style and your choosen monogamous partner is "really tired and kinda sore" and has a headache too.
Prior to the last month I had two strong sexual triggers. Strong meaning the very hint of it and I could be slammed with arousal so hard my knees shook and I needed to sit down and will my heart to slow down. It was kinda fun. Now I have discovered a third trigger, not a strong, but boy does it do the trick.
Trigger #1: Depeche Mode
I know what you're thinking "She worked all the way up to the list and then she makes a stupid joke." I assure you gentle readers (who probably consists only of me two months from now - Hey future me, your hair is getting really long.) that I am not making a joke. Except for that last one. Depeche Mode is in fact a trigger. And maybe the strongest one I have.
My first orgasm was me snuggled up the covers of my bed in my parents house. I couldn't tell you how old I was, 16-17, I was a late bloomer. But it happened alone, by myself, in stifling, self-induced heat and to the soft sounds of Depeche Modes Violator. My rickety old stereo was right next to my bed on the same level as my mattress propped up on top of the small speakers. One on the front right corner the other on the back left. Thus I had a small area of open space where I could lie on my bed and hide my head in, a self made surround sound speaker system that made me feel like I had disappeared into a black hole and allowed me to listen to music to any hour of the night without getting the requisite "turn that radio off" from my parents down the hall. They couldn't hear the music outside my door and I couldn't hear the rest of the world. (I know you say, why no headphones? Because my mother didn't allow us to wear them for fear we'd blast the volume and damage our hearing - obviously her plan worked....) I spent many a late night secretly listening to Dr. Demento and old re-runs of Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy. Okay...I was a dork. And true to dorky nature I holed away one night, under heavy covers and sleeping bags, put my tape in and got swept away in the oh so sensuous voice of David Gahan. I've heard girls describe their first orgasm in a lot of flowerly hyperbole. "Like a flood" "Like finding God" "The earth shook" Yeah it wasn't like that. It was nice, I felt happy, but it wasn't all that...great. However, the songs I was listening to swept me away. His voice is dark and lilting and extremely erotic. It turned me on far more than any idea of sex and the songs, one song in particular, caressed me more softly, tenderly and expertly than my hands could. Long after my heart stopped pounding and my breathing was normal I heard the lyrics in my head.
And I still do. "Words like violence Break the silence Come crashing in Into my little world Painful to me Pierce right through me Can't you understand Oh my little girl" Back then I felt like he was sing directly to me. Now I dream that someone is singing that directly to me. It's a good song. And every time I hear it I can feel myself get hot. Physically, emotionally, sexually. I don't drool, but I get wet. It makes me want, not so much to have sex, but to feel sexy. It's not the sort of trigger that will turn me into a raving sex-mad slut - but if I'm in the right place and Depeche Mode is play, especially "Enjoy the Silence" I will start squirming and writhing until I can get under the "covers" and cum.
I think the fact that that song is so linked to my sexuality can explain a lot of the wants and desires I'm discovering now. But that's for another entry.
Trigger #2 The smell of sex
As a disclaimer I have only been with one man - and I married him so I'm unlikely to be with another man for as long as I live. So my experience and observations are somewhat limited and only linked to my husband.
Again the loss of my "virginity" wasn't all that amazing. I can't really pinpoint when it actually happened. It was after a few months of my husband-then-boyfriend trying to convince me to "put out" and me fighting it off because I hadn't yet decided if I wanted to continue to wait till marriage. It's a hazy, alcohol-clouded (my first experience with alcohol too) blur of awkward fumbling and a lot of insecure fear. He wasn't awkward - I was. Again I've heard the stories of all the wonderful first times...I don't really remember that. I couldn't cum, it hurt a lot, I bled, he held me too tight and pushed to hard, everything in my body cramped up and he seemed rather annoyed that he had to wear a condom. I ended up feeling sad, hurt and really guilty that he didn't seem to be that happy that I finally "gave in." But we snuggled a little and then we fell asleep. I'm sure there are tons of people who can tell me exactly what was wrong with that night...I don't care. It's how it happened.
But there is one part of the ordeal that really did turn me on. The smell of my husband after sex and consequently the smell of me. I'd never noticed a smell from myself after I'd cum before, but after sex as we held each other I could smell sweat and cum and just sex. I guess it could be pheremones or musk, or I don't know. It's a sweet, tangy, sticky kind of smell. I love it. I can't get enough of it. After the first time I had sex I finally felt ready for it. Ironically, this came a little too late, but still I got aroused. Different from the way the music gets me, more of a warming in my belly, my skin will flush and everything gets hard when I smell it. This trigger does turn me into a raving sex-mad slut. And it happens every time we have sex. I don't care how many orgasms either of us has had, how tired and worn out and bruised we are...I crave more when I smell it. Of course I think the smell is linked directly to his orgasm and his cum...so there is little to be done no matter how out of sorts I am. But still...if they could create this EXACT smell all those Men Body Spray commercials with the women going nuts would come to life. At least for me.
The nice thing about it coming after sex though is it doesn't seem to wash off completely. It'll stay with me at least a full day. And that day is an awful lot of fun. I'm always more confident, more self-assured. I like my body and I tend to dress to show it off afterwards. I am literally a cat in heat and I do prowl and hunt. By the end of the day I am so worked up that a repeat performance is necessary.
Unfortunately these effects only come in to play if I don't sleep after sex. Ah well.
Trigger #3 The Wall
This is my newest one and I'm not entirely sure if it's a trigger or just a nice fantasy that really does it for me now. As I've said I have a crush on a totally unattainable man currently. He's a little older than me (ten years) and far more experience. Also very inventive and imaginative and he shares the same kind of kink that I like. We've had a few conversations about sex and our preferences, the kind of conversations that make me lick my lips repeatedly and usually end with me under the covers again with my mp3 player playing Violator. With him I can be a real slut. In the safety of conversation though, of course.
In any case once upon one of our hot conversation I came across the knowledge that his favorite sexual position involved the wall. A big, flat wall with the girl pushed up against it, pinned and draped over him.
Wow. His description wasn't much different from that. But it has invaded my mind ever since. My husband and I could never try that. He's short, I'm short, I have a short torso, he has short legs. It just wouldn't work that way. But with a different man, someone bigger than me, taller, someone more forceful - the kind of guy that "pins". It's an intriguing thought. More than intriguing, I think about it all the time. With him, with faceless lovers, people from my past, I don't care I've tried it a hundred ways since he mentioned it. I've tried it in all ways too and with all sorts of extra fantasies interlinked with it. It's going to become a favorite of mine. Again I feel I need to point out that I can't subscribe to the idea that simply lusting in ones thoughts is being adulterous. I can't wrap my mind around the idea that something that comes and goes so freely and naturally is a sin. I'm not going to go out and seduce the first tall man I see, or even the hundredth tall man, I may think about it - fantasy only. However, just as it's a truth that no matter where I roam I always end up at home with my guy, no matter where I fantasize I always come back to my husband. It's the same circle in the real world as it is in my head.
Still and all...that's pretty damn sexy. And with my thoughts so ready to take me there to that day when we just can't stand it and we push ourselves against a wall to brace against this all consuming passion...any wall will do it. My eyes are drawn to big blank walls, in out of the way spaces, in the middle of public. I stare at them, I wonder, I can imagine two bodies pressed up against it. I wonder what the texture of the wall would feel like against my back. I think about my ass scraping against it, my head banging on it. Just touching stucco gives me electric shivers now. The same with our sturdy cubicle walls covered in cloth at work. Staring at a good wall will make me salivate, bells be damned. When I look at them I want something. I want to be taken, I want release, I want SEX.
I swear these things work every time. They may seem mundane but in my world...the little things are never boring.
I've been trying to list and recognize some of my triggers - of a sexual nature primarily - lately. Ironically on the same day I was set to write a little about it someone brought up the same idea from a different direction. He didn't mean to, and I'm sure he didn't know I was thinking about it before or during our conversation, nevertheless it's an example of something that happens to me all the time. I will have a thought, or begin to start forming a thought, randomly. There will be no impetus for it I'll just start thinking about it. Then a day or two later I will run across thousands of conversations, articles, or simple comments that would have made great catalysts for that particular thought - after I've already started chewing on it. The same comes from new words I'll come across once and will have to research, or words I've known but never used and by a fluke decided to use once - suddenly after I've used them others use them too. I often thought that this pattern may just be because now I am more inclined to notice things that would link my inner world with my outer world - but through a lot of trial and error I've found it's not the case. Just a freaky coincidence.
Anyway, back to the salivating dogs...
I'm sure I could find triggers in my mind of a none sexual nature - like whenever the temperature rises above 80 degrees I feel the need to become tragically vegetarian, or the way I immediately chirp out a "meep meep" whenever I see a Mini Cooper or Miata driving down the road, regardless if I have an audience or not (don't ask, it's a thing) - but honestly sex is more fun to think about.
Especially when you're a raging mess of hormones - teenage style and your choosen monogamous partner is "really tired and kinda sore" and has a headache too.
Prior to the last month I had two strong sexual triggers. Strong meaning the very hint of it and I could be slammed with arousal so hard my knees shook and I needed to sit down and will my heart to slow down. It was kinda fun. Now I have discovered a third trigger, not a strong, but boy does it do the trick.
Trigger #1: Depeche Mode
I know what you're thinking "She worked all the way up to the list and then she makes a stupid joke." I assure you gentle readers (who probably consists only of me two months from now - Hey future me, your hair is getting really long.) that I am not making a joke. Except for that last one. Depeche Mode is in fact a trigger. And maybe the strongest one I have.
My first orgasm was me snuggled up the covers of my bed in my parents house. I couldn't tell you how old I was, 16-17, I was a late bloomer. But it happened alone, by myself, in stifling, self-induced heat and to the soft sounds of Depeche Modes Violator. My rickety old stereo was right next to my bed on the same level as my mattress propped up on top of the small speakers. One on the front right corner the other on the back left. Thus I had a small area of open space where I could lie on my bed and hide my head in, a self made surround sound speaker system that made me feel like I had disappeared into a black hole and allowed me to listen to music to any hour of the night without getting the requisite "turn that radio off" from my parents down the hall. They couldn't hear the music outside my door and I couldn't hear the rest of the world. (I know you say, why no headphones? Because my mother didn't allow us to wear them for fear we'd blast the volume and damage our hearing - obviously her plan worked....) I spent many a late night secretly listening to Dr. Demento and old re-runs of Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy. Okay...I was a dork. And true to dorky nature I holed away one night, under heavy covers and sleeping bags, put my tape in and got swept away in the oh so sensuous voice of David Gahan. I've heard girls describe their first orgasm in a lot of flowerly hyperbole. "Like a flood" "Like finding God" "The earth shook" Yeah it wasn't like that. It was nice, I felt happy, but it wasn't all that...great. However, the songs I was listening to swept me away. His voice is dark and lilting and extremely erotic. It turned me on far more than any idea of sex and the songs, one song in particular, caressed me more softly, tenderly and expertly than my hands could. Long after my heart stopped pounding and my breathing was normal I heard the lyrics in my head.
And I still do. "Words like violence Break the silence Come crashing in Into my little world Painful to me Pierce right through me Can't you understand Oh my little girl" Back then I felt like he was sing directly to me. Now I dream that someone is singing that directly to me. It's a good song. And every time I hear it I can feel myself get hot. Physically, emotionally, sexually. I don't drool, but I get wet. It makes me want, not so much to have sex, but to feel sexy. It's not the sort of trigger that will turn me into a raving sex-mad slut - but if I'm in the right place and Depeche Mode is play, especially "Enjoy the Silence" I will start squirming and writhing until I can get under the "covers" and cum.
I think the fact that that song is so linked to my sexuality can explain a lot of the wants and desires I'm discovering now. But that's for another entry.
Trigger #2 The smell of sex
As a disclaimer I have only been with one man - and I married him so I'm unlikely to be with another man for as long as I live. So my experience and observations are somewhat limited and only linked to my husband.
Again the loss of my "virginity" wasn't all that amazing. I can't really pinpoint when it actually happened. It was after a few months of my husband-then-boyfriend trying to convince me to "put out" and me fighting it off because I hadn't yet decided if I wanted to continue to wait till marriage. It's a hazy, alcohol-clouded (my first experience with alcohol too) blur of awkward fumbling and a lot of insecure fear. He wasn't awkward - I was. Again I've heard the stories of all the wonderful first times...I don't really remember that. I couldn't cum, it hurt a lot, I bled, he held me too tight and pushed to hard, everything in my body cramped up and he seemed rather annoyed that he had to wear a condom. I ended up feeling sad, hurt and really guilty that he didn't seem to be that happy that I finally "gave in." But we snuggled a little and then we fell asleep. I'm sure there are tons of people who can tell me exactly what was wrong with that night...I don't care. It's how it happened.
But there is one part of the ordeal that really did turn me on. The smell of my husband after sex and consequently the smell of me. I'd never noticed a smell from myself after I'd cum before, but after sex as we held each other I could smell sweat and cum and just sex. I guess it could be pheremones or musk, or I don't know. It's a sweet, tangy, sticky kind of smell. I love it. I can't get enough of it. After the first time I had sex I finally felt ready for it. Ironically, this came a little too late, but still I got aroused. Different from the way the music gets me, more of a warming in my belly, my skin will flush and everything gets hard when I smell it. This trigger does turn me into a raving sex-mad slut. And it happens every time we have sex. I don't care how many orgasms either of us has had, how tired and worn out and bruised we are...I crave more when I smell it. Of course I think the smell is linked directly to his orgasm and his cum...so there is little to be done no matter how out of sorts I am. But still...if they could create this EXACT smell all those Men Body Spray commercials with the women going nuts would come to life. At least for me.
The nice thing about it coming after sex though is it doesn't seem to wash off completely. It'll stay with me at least a full day. And that day is an awful lot of fun. I'm always more confident, more self-assured. I like my body and I tend to dress to show it off afterwards. I am literally a cat in heat and I do prowl and hunt. By the end of the day I am so worked up that a repeat performance is necessary.
Unfortunately these effects only come in to play if I don't sleep after sex. Ah well.
Trigger #3 The Wall
This is my newest one and I'm not entirely sure if it's a trigger or just a nice fantasy that really does it for me now. As I've said I have a crush on a totally unattainable man currently. He's a little older than me (ten years) and far more experience. Also very inventive and imaginative and he shares the same kind of kink that I like. We've had a few conversations about sex and our preferences, the kind of conversations that make me lick my lips repeatedly and usually end with me under the covers again with my mp3 player playing Violator. With him I can be a real slut. In the safety of conversation though, of course.
In any case once upon one of our hot conversation I came across the knowledge that his favorite sexual position involved the wall. A big, flat wall with the girl pushed up against it, pinned and draped over him.
Wow. His description wasn't much different from that. But it has invaded my mind ever since. My husband and I could never try that. He's short, I'm short, I have a short torso, he has short legs. It just wouldn't work that way. But with a different man, someone bigger than me, taller, someone more forceful - the kind of guy that "pins". It's an intriguing thought. More than intriguing, I think about it all the time. With him, with faceless lovers, people from my past, I don't care I've tried it a hundred ways since he mentioned it. I've tried it in all ways too and with all sorts of extra fantasies interlinked with it. It's going to become a favorite of mine. Again I feel I need to point out that I can't subscribe to the idea that simply lusting in ones thoughts is being adulterous. I can't wrap my mind around the idea that something that comes and goes so freely and naturally is a sin. I'm not going to go out and seduce the first tall man I see, or even the hundredth tall man, I may think about it - fantasy only. However, just as it's a truth that no matter where I roam I always end up at home with my guy, no matter where I fantasize I always come back to my husband. It's the same circle in the real world as it is in my head.
Still and all...that's pretty damn sexy. And with my thoughts so ready to take me there to that day when we just can't stand it and we push ourselves against a wall to brace against this all consuming passion...any wall will do it. My eyes are drawn to big blank walls, in out of the way spaces, in the middle of public. I stare at them, I wonder, I can imagine two bodies pressed up against it. I wonder what the texture of the wall would feel like against my back. I think about my ass scraping against it, my head banging on it. Just touching stucco gives me electric shivers now. The same with our sturdy cubicle walls covered in cloth at work. Staring at a good wall will make me salivate, bells be damned. When I look at them I want something. I want to be taken, I want release, I want SEX.
I swear these things work every time. They may seem mundane but in my world...the little things are never boring.
Sunday, May 22, 2005
Quiz: Jewel
| What kind of jewel are you? Ruby You have a timeless elegance that never fails to stun and enchant. You are trusting, and at times completely transparent to those around you- which is a trait they admire and appreciate.
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| Click Here to Take This Quiz Brought to you by YouThink.com quizzes and personality tests. |
The nice thing is "Ruby" is also my birthstone - being a July baby. Woot...lots of pretty, shiny, red things.
Saturday, May 21, 2005
It's what kind of film...?
There are usually very few audition notices where I live. And usually they aren't that interesting. However, sometimes you come across one that is rather brazen:
INDIE FEATURE SEEKS ACTRESS
PSYCHOLOGICAL THRILLER, inspired by Luis Bunuel's BELLE DU JOUR Seeks Beautiful Female Actor. Nudity and Hetero- Coupling req. Send Headshot to: *****************
Now what kind of film is it again?
(Notice found at Baltimore Theatre Alliance)
INDIE FEATURE SEEKS ACTRESS
PSYCHOLOGICAL THRILLER, inspired by Luis Bunuel's BELLE DU JOUR Seeks Beautiful Female Actor. Nudity and Hetero- Coupling req. Send Headshot to: *****************
Now what kind of film is it again?
(Notice found at Baltimore Theatre Alliance)
Friday, May 20, 2005
10 Reasons I'd Rather Be a Kitty
10) They take naps.
9) They can take naps on windowsills.
8) They have pretty, soft fur and everyone would want to pet me.
7) They never have to wear bras or socks.
6) They can purr.
5) They can meow too.
4) They can crawl into anyone's lap and no one thinks they're too needy because of it.
3) The only time they worry about is dinner time and sleepy time.
2) They have pretty whiskers.
1) Their tails go swish and everyone knows what it means.
9) They can take naps on windowsills.
8) They have pretty, soft fur and everyone would want to pet me.
7) They never have to wear bras or socks.
6) They can purr.
5) They can meow too.
4) They can crawl into anyone's lap and no one thinks they're too needy because of it.
3) The only time they worry about is dinner time and sleepy time.
2) They have pretty whiskers.
1) Their tails go swish and everyone knows what it means.
Just a bunch of...cookies
I've been starting this post over and over again for the past thirty minutes trying to explain what the hell happened yesterday. I realize I can't describe it other than it was a day of crap. And it sucked. It was uber suxxors it sucked so bad.
I think part of the suckiness of yesterday has to do with people my age. (And a few adults that act like their my age.) Yesterday I was reminded that most younger people (and again people who forgot to mature too) like to pass the buck, create drama where there is none and are wholly self-centered bitches.
Even the boys.
Basically I spent my day yesterday looking for other peoples crap and then finding out (after an hour of looking and sheer panic) that they already had it and forgot to tell me to stop worrying. Then I spent the rest of the day making schedules for people without them telling me what they had already planned THEN having the gaul to complain to my boss that three hours was not enough time for them to get information to me...though two minutes is plenty of time to bitch to my boss. (The irony of this is that they sent the bitch-letter to me to send to my boss. I did...he laughed.)
When I finally sat down at the end of the day to relax, have some fun, and forget about the stupidity of my office I found a chain letter waiting for me.
Nothing brings on my wrath more than a chain letter from a grown-adult. I allow for the occasional mistake: it could be exceptionally believable, it could be the first time you've seen something like that, it could pull at your heartstrings enough you want to believe it's possible to change something by clicking send. But honestly after a month online you should know that CEO's of companies do not track instant messages by chain letters and Microsoft is not giving away money.
Irregardless I got a "Send this to everyone on your list if you want to keep your Instant Message Service free or they'll think you're inactive" letter. And to my credit instead of my usual reply which entails a lecture on why chain letters are illegal and why they should be avoided at all costs and why I'm requesting (FOR THE HUNDREDTH TIME) for certain persons to stop sending them to me, I was nice. I got goofy and I made a few jokes "Hey that's a chain letter. Shame on you. Tsk tsk. No cookies for you." And in response I got "**** you you ****ing bitch. I have Adult ADHD that's why I send them! What's your excuse? You're not my friend cause you don't carry about if I get charged or not."
No that's not a typo...he said I don't carry. I think he meant care...but apparently he has Adult ADHD which means he 1) can't read a message before he sends it to his entire list and 2) can't spell.
No matter. He wasn't on my friends list to begin with...I'm not sure how I got on his.
I say no matter, but yeah, it does matter. The internet doesn't mean anything, these passing people who use it as a tool to boost their own ego aren't worth the ones and zeros they take up. Yet I still get caught up in it. I still feel bad that I got berated. Okay I guess I could have been nicer. "Sweetie pie, honey pot, could you please not send those anymore pookie? 'Kay kisses." But after getting these messages over and over, and asking over and over for him to stop sending them, I felt I needed to get out the newspaper and bop his nose a little. Bad dog...bad bad dog. Again...no cookies for you.
And I know he meant to make me feel bad, which in turn would make him feel better. I knew that he tried to make me feel guilty because he has a "disease" that keeps him from being able to think things through. I know he wanted to make me feel like I was a bad person because a friend would never tell the truth to someone else and they always "carry" for each other.
It worked. Till today when I realized I was manipulated by a anonymous message of illiterate crap. Now I just feel bad because I'm that pathetic.
And I feel bad that I searched all day for someone elses letter when they had it the whole time and after the ordeal I said "Sorry".
I feel bad because I'm such a push-over and am so scared I'm not making everyone happy that I apologize for crap that has nothing to do with me.
Bad katy, bad bad katy. No cookies for me.
But I can have some brownies cause it wasn't really my fault - and brownies are good.
I think part of the suckiness of yesterday has to do with people my age. (And a few adults that act like their my age.) Yesterday I was reminded that most younger people (and again people who forgot to mature too) like to pass the buck, create drama where there is none and are wholly self-centered bitches.
Even the boys.
Basically I spent my day yesterday looking for other peoples crap and then finding out (after an hour of looking and sheer panic) that they already had it and forgot to tell me to stop worrying. Then I spent the rest of the day making schedules for people without them telling me what they had already planned THEN having the gaul to complain to my boss that three hours was not enough time for them to get information to me...though two minutes is plenty of time to bitch to my boss. (The irony of this is that they sent the bitch-letter to me to send to my boss. I did...he laughed.)
When I finally sat down at the end of the day to relax, have some fun, and forget about the stupidity of my office I found a chain letter waiting for me.
Nothing brings on my wrath more than a chain letter from a grown-adult. I allow for the occasional mistake: it could be exceptionally believable, it could be the first time you've seen something like that, it could pull at your heartstrings enough you want to believe it's possible to change something by clicking send. But honestly after a month online you should know that CEO's of companies do not track instant messages by chain letters and Microsoft is not giving away money.
Irregardless I got a "Send this to everyone on your list if you want to keep your Instant Message Service free or they'll think you're inactive" letter. And to my credit instead of my usual reply which entails a lecture on why chain letters are illegal and why they should be avoided at all costs and why I'm requesting (FOR THE HUNDREDTH TIME) for certain persons to stop sending them to me, I was nice. I got goofy and I made a few jokes "Hey that's a chain letter. Shame on you. Tsk tsk. No cookies for you." And in response I got "**** you you ****ing bitch. I have Adult ADHD that's why I send them! What's your excuse? You're not my friend cause you don't carry about if I get charged or not."
No that's not a typo...he said I don't carry. I think he meant care...but apparently he has Adult ADHD which means he 1) can't read a message before he sends it to his entire list and 2) can't spell.
No matter. He wasn't on my friends list to begin with...I'm not sure how I got on his.
I say no matter, but yeah, it does matter. The internet doesn't mean anything, these passing people who use it as a tool to boost their own ego aren't worth the ones and zeros they take up. Yet I still get caught up in it. I still feel bad that I got berated. Okay I guess I could have been nicer. "Sweetie pie, honey pot, could you please not send those anymore pookie? 'Kay kisses." But after getting these messages over and over, and asking over and over for him to stop sending them, I felt I needed to get out the newspaper and bop his nose a little. Bad dog...bad bad dog. Again...no cookies for you.
And I know he meant to make me feel bad, which in turn would make him feel better. I knew that he tried to make me feel guilty because he has a "disease" that keeps him from being able to think things through. I know he wanted to make me feel like I was a bad person because a friend would never tell the truth to someone else and they always "carry" for each other.
It worked. Till today when I realized I was manipulated by a anonymous message of illiterate crap. Now I just feel bad because I'm that pathetic.
And I feel bad that I searched all day for someone elses letter when they had it the whole time and after the ordeal I said "Sorry".
I feel bad because I'm such a push-over and am so scared I'm not making everyone happy that I apologize for crap that has nothing to do with me.
Bad katy, bad bad katy. No cookies for me.
But I can have some brownies cause it wasn't really my fault - and brownies are good.
Wednesday, May 18, 2005
I'm bored
I pride myself on being able to combat boredom pretty well. As a child my Mother encouraged crafting and projects. My Father encouraged reading and writing. I always found something to do whether it was curling up with a good book or creating some god-awful beaded jewelry. Sometimes I went out on my own and just danced to the music in my head. I do that a lot. I'm probably insane.
However, no matter what I was doing I 1) was not getting into trouble and 2) was never ever bored.
As an adult I'm the same way. At work when things slow down I will make the rounds and find chores and such to do. At home there is always something to pick up or clean. I do tend to "veg" out a little more than normal now, but I still "veg" out while sewing or watching a good t.v. show.
That's why it's incredible to me that today: I'm bored. I'm incredibly bored. I'm tearing-my-hair-out-wanna-scream bored. And I'm getting paid for it.
My boss is out of the office today. So being the good little secretary that I am I have already gotten all the tasks he needed out of the way before he left. Then I contacted all the people who I knew would be calling and informed them he wouldn't be available. Then I got everything that everyone else needed finished. And now, there is nothing to do. I have asked everyone if they need help, I've reorganized the supply cabinet, I've cleaned my desk, his desk and the breakroom kitchen.
I'm bored.
I spent a good deal of time reading news articles and some stories I had put away. But now I've exhausted that too.
Thirty more minutes of nothing to do, and nothing to blog about because nothing happened today.
The one significant thought I had today was the pondering why Police never use their turn signals. I've never seen a cruiser use their signal once in my entire life. I followed one today on my way back from lunch. He changed lanes five times and turned twice and didn't signal once. Even when he was about to get on the freeway.
Isn't that, er, against the law? Although I suppose that they deserve to get away with a little lazy stupidity since they do work for the public and dedicate themselves to protecting us and keeping us safe. I guess I can't complain too much. No one else uses signals.
I do though. It's so ingrained that I automatically do it in empty parking lots. Oh well. At least I know where I'm going.
And clearly it's straight to boredom hell.
I wonder if I can knit with two pencils and some rubberbands....
However, no matter what I was doing I 1) was not getting into trouble and 2) was never ever bored.
As an adult I'm the same way. At work when things slow down I will make the rounds and find chores and such to do. At home there is always something to pick up or clean. I do tend to "veg" out a little more than normal now, but I still "veg" out while sewing or watching a good t.v. show.
That's why it's incredible to me that today: I'm bored. I'm incredibly bored. I'm tearing-my-hair-out-wanna-scream bored. And I'm getting paid for it.
My boss is out of the office today. So being the good little secretary that I am I have already gotten all the tasks he needed out of the way before he left. Then I contacted all the people who I knew would be calling and informed them he wouldn't be available. Then I got everything that everyone else needed finished. And now, there is nothing to do. I have asked everyone if they need help, I've reorganized the supply cabinet, I've cleaned my desk, his desk and the breakroom kitchen.
I'm bored.
I spent a good deal of time reading news articles and some stories I had put away. But now I've exhausted that too.
Thirty more minutes of nothing to do, and nothing to blog about because nothing happened today.
The one significant thought I had today was the pondering why Police never use their turn signals. I've never seen a cruiser use their signal once in my entire life. I followed one today on my way back from lunch. He changed lanes five times and turned twice and didn't signal once. Even when he was about to get on the freeway.
Isn't that, er, against the law? Although I suppose that they deserve to get away with a little lazy stupidity since they do work for the public and dedicate themselves to protecting us and keeping us safe. I guess I can't complain too much. No one else uses signals.
I do though. It's so ingrained that I automatically do it in empty parking lots. Oh well. At least I know where I'm going.
And clearly it's straight to boredom hell.
I wonder if I can knit with two pencils and some rubberbands....
Tuesday, May 17, 2005
Strange Email
I got this email at work today after I did a small chore:
You the best! I am in Minnesota.
Thank you
Okay.
You the best! I am in Minnesota.
Thank you
Okay.
A second look...
I've been thinking more and more about what I wrote in the post Ignorance is Bliss. If this were an essay that would have been my rough, rough draft. I'm sure had I turned it in to my english professors (the ones I liked) they would have sent it back filled with red marks and new thoughts. Instead I need to weild the red pen myself.
As I keep thinking about this I wonder if I am defining ignorance, choosen ignorance, as naivete. Does one have to not know that they don't know something in order to be naive? Is it just simply stupidity to choose to ignore the hard parts, to avoid some feelings and thoughts that are painful? Is it better to know a lot and feel pessimistic about the world? Or know very little and still believe in the goodness of life? And is it really possible to know about all the awful terrible things, to feel all those destructive emotions, and still be able to see the world as wholly good? Is this the kind of thing that comes with age or am I destined to be either naive or jaded?
I sure wish I had a teacher around right now to bounce these ideas off of. I feel inadequate and ill-equipped to handle these issues.
As I keep thinking about this I wonder if I am defining ignorance, choosen ignorance, as naivete. Does one have to not know that they don't know something in order to be naive? Is it just simply stupidity to choose to ignore the hard parts, to avoid some feelings and thoughts that are painful? Is it better to know a lot and feel pessimistic about the world? Or know very little and still believe in the goodness of life? And is it really possible to know about all the awful terrible things, to feel all those destructive emotions, and still be able to see the world as wholly good? Is this the kind of thing that comes with age or am I destined to be either naive or jaded?
I sure wish I had a teacher around right now to bounce these ideas off of. I feel inadequate and ill-equipped to handle these issues.
Welcome to the Colosseum
When I was younger I found it strange that sports fans would get so worked up over their team-of-choice's wins and loses. I found it ridiculous that grown adults would find it necessary to fight with best friends all over a game. What makes someone align themselves with a sport team.
I have no clue now that I am older. But I find myself doing the same thing.
Last night I watched the WRC (World Rally Challenge) in Cyprus. (It was taped - and believe me it's hard to not look at the results before I watch the race.) My team of choice is Subaru's WRX and driver Petter Solberg. I think the cars are pretty darn hot (when not being driven my dorky punk boys at autocrosses) and I think Petter Solberg is pretty hot too. He's cute when he wins, he has a lot of personality - and I like that people make up songs to sing about him. I sing along myself (Solberg, my Petter Solberg, you make me happy....)
As I started to watch the race I was all set to cheer as Solberg trounced Loeb. Solberg was only one point away from Loeb in driver standings. He could be first...it would be great...there would be much jumping up and down at my house. But if you watched the race you know that Solberg had to end early to spare him from a 1 minute penalty in the next challenge and that was it.
I was crushed. Loeb is obviously an excellent driver. And the Citroen is an awesome car. But I found myself hating him. I silently cheered on the other drivers hoping that someone - anyone - would beat him. Of course no one did, and there were some great showings. Loeb took it.
But I wonder what makes me so involved. My emotions truly skyrocketed back and forth watch the race. So much so that I found myself exhausted and unable to stay awake to watch the interviews after the race. The fact I was so tired makes me think that I was subconsciously seeing the race as a cathartic experience. In my little life there are very few battles of devastating proportions. Sure there's passion in love (which I have lots of) and stress, a little strife, a lot of loss, but in general my emotions about those things are kept in check. I'm sad, I'm happy, I'm irritated - no emotions that could, essentially, cause harm.
And that's the key I think. Watching sports I can safely feel all those over-dramatic emotions that are so detrimental to real-life interactions. For an hour and a half I can despise a player and deify another. I can throw all caution to the wind and yell and scream. No one can hear me (save the cat and mu husband, but they don't mind) and no one is insulted or frightened. For that hour and half it is a battle, the safe kind, the kind without death and blood and no one really loses. So what if Solberg doesn't pass Loeb - he'll be back next year and so will Loeb and they'll do it again. All of my curses and spitefulness is expunged - and no one knows and no one is hurt.
Of course this makes sense. Sports is just theatre like anything else. It gives us a safe venue to feel unsafe things.
So the next race I'll still cheer on my little Norwegian Gladiator and curse the ancestors of all Citroen makers.
And Loeb will still probably win.
I have no clue now that I am older. But I find myself doing the same thing.
Last night I watched the WRC (World Rally Challenge) in Cyprus. (It was taped - and believe me it's hard to not look at the results before I watch the race.) My team of choice is Subaru's WRX and driver Petter Solberg. I think the cars are pretty darn hot (when not being driven my dorky punk boys at autocrosses) and I think Petter Solberg is pretty hot too. He's cute when he wins, he has a lot of personality - and I like that people make up songs to sing about him. I sing along myself (Solberg, my Petter Solberg, you make me happy....)
As I started to watch the race I was all set to cheer as Solberg trounced Loeb. Solberg was only one point away from Loeb in driver standings. He could be first...it would be great...there would be much jumping up and down at my house. But if you watched the race you know that Solberg had to end early to spare him from a 1 minute penalty in the next challenge and that was it.
I was crushed. Loeb is obviously an excellent driver. And the Citroen is an awesome car. But I found myself hating him. I silently cheered on the other drivers hoping that someone - anyone - would beat him. Of course no one did, and there were some great showings. Loeb took it.
But I wonder what makes me so involved. My emotions truly skyrocketed back and forth watch the race. So much so that I found myself exhausted and unable to stay awake to watch the interviews after the race. The fact I was so tired makes me think that I was subconsciously seeing the race as a cathartic experience. In my little life there are very few battles of devastating proportions. Sure there's passion in love (which I have lots of) and stress, a little strife, a lot of loss, but in general my emotions about those things are kept in check. I'm sad, I'm happy, I'm irritated - no emotions that could, essentially, cause harm.
And that's the key I think. Watching sports I can safely feel all those over-dramatic emotions that are so detrimental to real-life interactions. For an hour and a half I can despise a player and deify another. I can throw all caution to the wind and yell and scream. No one can hear me (save the cat and mu husband, but they don't mind) and no one is insulted or frightened. For that hour and half it is a battle, the safe kind, the kind without death and blood and no one really loses. So what if Solberg doesn't pass Loeb - he'll be back next year and so will Loeb and they'll do it again. All of my curses and spitefulness is expunged - and no one knows and no one is hurt.
Of course this makes sense. Sports is just theatre like anything else. It gives us a safe venue to feel unsafe things.
So the next race I'll still cheer on my little Norwegian Gladiator and curse the ancestors of all Citroen makers.
And Loeb will still probably win.
Monday, May 16, 2005
Thank God for the Blog
Back in the katy-doesn't-have-a-blog day I wrote in real journals. And still do. Mostly my poetry and the really, really dark things I want out of my head. Those are easier by ink and pen. But I have a horrible time writing, my hands can't hold pencils well and I have crazy writing calluses from years and years of writing non-stop.
The other good thing about having a journal online. You can type into it without raising suspicions of husbands.
Right now my husband is researching to buy yet another freaking car. And he won't shut-up about it even though it's fairly clear I'm not interested right now. It's bugging me. I can't speak - my throat hurts - I can't go for a run or a session at the gym because my cold is moving into my chest - and he just won't shut-up.
There are a lot of reasons why I don't want to think about our car situation right now. The most being that we need to move soon to a new apartment or house and I'd rather keep that money for our deposits. The car situation isn't immediate...moving is.
But even if I had the voice to remind him of this...he wouldn't stop. I just wish he'd stop sharing every little thing he's reading with me. I can't comment...I'm trying to read...I don't care...shut up shut up shut up.
And it feels good to be able to type that out without running off with a journal and having him get paranoid that I'm writing about him.
I love this guy, I'm honored that he wants to include me in every aspect of the big decisions. I just need some space! Again!!
The other good thing about having a journal online. You can type into it without raising suspicions of husbands.
Right now my husband is researching to buy yet another freaking car. And he won't shut-up about it even though it's fairly clear I'm not interested right now. It's bugging me. I can't speak - my throat hurts - I can't go for a run or a session at the gym because my cold is moving into my chest - and he just won't shut-up.
There are a lot of reasons why I don't want to think about our car situation right now. The most being that we need to move soon to a new apartment or house and I'd rather keep that money for our deposits. The car situation isn't immediate...moving is.
But even if I had the voice to remind him of this...he wouldn't stop. I just wish he'd stop sharing every little thing he's reading with me. I can't comment...I'm trying to read...I don't care...shut up shut up shut up.
And it feels good to be able to type that out without running off with a journal and having him get paranoid that I'm writing about him.
I love this guy, I'm honored that he wants to include me in every aspect of the big decisions. I just need some space! Again!!
Ignorance is Bliss
Something I'm chewing on right now, expect disjointed thoughts...
Earlier this morning I had a conversation (via chat) with someone who called me at once "good" (as in not a hooligan - I assume) and "naive". The word gets bandied out quite a bit around me. And at times I believe that yes I truly am naive and I know it. At other times I think my steadfast optimism is often misdiagnosed as naivete. And still again I think when people see me or speak to me they want me to be naive, or at least they want me to give off the impression that I am.
I haven't decided what I am or not. But I don't exactly live in a fairytale land.
I'm not sure what's really made me think about this today, it could be a passing mention of Boston, or the thought of young naive girls, or the fact that today I moved a particular folder filled with articles, but nevertheless I'm thinking about murder and rape and why I view newspapers with trepidation.
A few years ago a very good childhood friend of mine was raped and murdered by a "street gang" in Boston. I found out via my father who found the story off the AP wire at work and recognized her name. Her family is long gone, but that's another story for another day. At first reports my friend, who I'll call Beth even though that's not her name (even though I suppose there is no protecting her now), was being bullied to join the little punk gang and when she refused they exacted "revenge." Two teenage boys and two teenage girls.
Beth was brilliant. She was pretty and smart and overly eccentric. She had the reputation of "freak" in school because she was known to hang out in the art classrooms closet and speak to goblins and fairies that she swore lived there. I found this fascinating. We would spend hours in my yard under the tropical trees setting fairy homes and making up spells of our own. I found her idea heartening and joyful, though in hindsight it may have been less imagination at work and more the remnants of abuse from her father that brought out this other world. In any case I was very much the naive accomplice, wanting to believe there was a different world to escape to just as much as she did. Though this sounds crazy, and she very well may have been, she was a good person. She was brutally honest, trustworthy, worked hard. And I know when those kids in Boston asked her to steal something in order to be part of their group...she didn't want to do it because she didn't need a group and she wasn't going to break the law.
When the story came down my hometown wrote a story just for her, listing where she went to school and where she lived and what she did when she was there. I'm certain the Boston papers simply wrote "Homeless kid dead" and left it at that.
The four kids recently went on trial and my father diligently sent me all the articles about it...after the verdict came down. I'm glad he gave them to me all in one lump. I didn't go looking for the play-by-play though I wanted to read it. But like reading an especially long and depressing book, sometimes you have to skip to the end to make sure it turns out okay before you can push through chapter 15 again. I read the last article first. They're going to jail for the rest of their lives.
I went back and read the rest of the articles after that, feeling secure in the knowledge that they were going to jail. Then I read what that trial was like. I know that lawyers are there to fight tooth and nail for their clients, that it's there job to find every angle and exploit it to their clients advantage. I know too that they often don't get a choice in who they defend or prosecute, but they have the responsibility to look beyond their own bias and do their job. I know this. I know public defenders and district attorneys have a rough job. But I can't help but hate them at times when I see a person who seemed so pure and beautiful, was such a light in my life, being defined as some dirty homeless woman who got no better than she deserved. The defense went so far as to argue that his client was the victim in all this. Somehow this trial was really about bringing down a young man of random ethnicity and making him suffer for no reason. There WAS a reason - he murdered someone.
The trial got more disgusting from there. In the end they all received life in jail. I think they deserve it. They did it, they deserve it. And nothing is better for it. They'll go to jail, then probably get out on parole. Maybe they'll get a job and raise a family and become good citizens. It happens. Maybe they'll get out and go back to living on the street and bullying and intimidating strangers. Maybe they'll just rape and murder someone else. I'm sure they're all possibilities. But even if they rot in jail for the rest of their lives, or they turn around and truly repent and end up making the world a better place - it doesn't help. Beth is still dead. She never got the chance to turn her life around, she never got the choice to be bad or good. She's still gone. And this justice thing seems ineffectual. More than that it feels as if not only was she killed, she was sullied. Dirtied by people who didn't know her and didn't care, on either side, what some street kid was like.
If Beth and I were together right now I think we'd tell each other that it was okay if the lawyers and the judges and police didn't care because someone out there does. She'd say "Katy, you care, that's all that has to matter, that's all that does matter." and I'd say...
I don't know what I'd say. I'd want to say that I don't want to know about them, I don't want to know what happened or what will happen. I don't want to think that some reporter is unbiasedly writing about some kid that got murdered, and isn't it sad. I don't want to think about the people who read the paper and say what a pity, I knew those kids are up to no good. Or the random person who asks at the water cooler "did you hear about that girl who was raped...the streets aren't safe." I don't want the streets to not be safe. I don't want to think that my friend can't go live where she wants and do what she wants without some brats trying to prove they have the power.
I think I'd say "I miss you and please come back." I think I'd say "I wish you weren't dead."
And I don't think I'm supposed to be so selfish about it. I think that as a non-naive person I'm supposed to nod and say "Beth, the world is horrible. There are thousands like you, and your not alone. I'll miss you."
I think I'd rather be naive.
And I do wish she wasn't dead.
Earlier this morning I had a conversation (via chat) with someone who called me at once "good" (as in not a hooligan - I assume) and "naive". The word gets bandied out quite a bit around me. And at times I believe that yes I truly am naive and I know it. At other times I think my steadfast optimism is often misdiagnosed as naivete. And still again I think when people see me or speak to me they want me to be naive, or at least they want me to give off the impression that I am.
I haven't decided what I am or not. But I don't exactly live in a fairytale land.
I'm not sure what's really made me think about this today, it could be a passing mention of Boston, or the thought of young naive girls, or the fact that today I moved a particular folder filled with articles, but nevertheless I'm thinking about murder and rape and why I view newspapers with trepidation.
A few years ago a very good childhood friend of mine was raped and murdered by a "street gang" in Boston. I found out via my father who found the story off the AP wire at work and recognized her name. Her family is long gone, but that's another story for another day. At first reports my friend, who I'll call Beth even though that's not her name (even though I suppose there is no protecting her now), was being bullied to join the little punk gang and when she refused they exacted "revenge." Two teenage boys and two teenage girls.
Beth was brilliant. She was pretty and smart and overly eccentric. She had the reputation of "freak" in school because she was known to hang out in the art classrooms closet and speak to goblins and fairies that she swore lived there. I found this fascinating. We would spend hours in my yard under the tropical trees setting fairy homes and making up spells of our own. I found her idea heartening and joyful, though in hindsight it may have been less imagination at work and more the remnants of abuse from her father that brought out this other world. In any case I was very much the naive accomplice, wanting to believe there was a different world to escape to just as much as she did. Though this sounds crazy, and she very well may have been, she was a good person. She was brutally honest, trustworthy, worked hard. And I know when those kids in Boston asked her to steal something in order to be part of their group...she didn't want to do it because she didn't need a group and she wasn't going to break the law.
When the story came down my hometown wrote a story just for her, listing where she went to school and where she lived and what she did when she was there. I'm certain the Boston papers simply wrote "Homeless kid dead" and left it at that.
The four kids recently went on trial and my father diligently sent me all the articles about it...after the verdict came down. I'm glad he gave them to me all in one lump. I didn't go looking for the play-by-play though I wanted to read it. But like reading an especially long and depressing book, sometimes you have to skip to the end to make sure it turns out okay before you can push through chapter 15 again. I read the last article first. They're going to jail for the rest of their lives.
I went back and read the rest of the articles after that, feeling secure in the knowledge that they were going to jail. Then I read what that trial was like. I know that lawyers are there to fight tooth and nail for their clients, that it's there job to find every angle and exploit it to their clients advantage. I know too that they often don't get a choice in who they defend or prosecute, but they have the responsibility to look beyond their own bias and do their job. I know this. I know public defenders and district attorneys have a rough job. But I can't help but hate them at times when I see a person who seemed so pure and beautiful, was such a light in my life, being defined as some dirty homeless woman who got no better than she deserved. The defense went so far as to argue that his client was the victim in all this. Somehow this trial was really about bringing down a young man of random ethnicity and making him suffer for no reason. There WAS a reason - he murdered someone.
The trial got more disgusting from there. In the end they all received life in jail. I think they deserve it. They did it, they deserve it. And nothing is better for it. They'll go to jail, then probably get out on parole. Maybe they'll get a job and raise a family and become good citizens. It happens. Maybe they'll get out and go back to living on the street and bullying and intimidating strangers. Maybe they'll just rape and murder someone else. I'm sure they're all possibilities. But even if they rot in jail for the rest of their lives, or they turn around and truly repent and end up making the world a better place - it doesn't help. Beth is still dead. She never got the chance to turn her life around, she never got the choice to be bad or good. She's still gone. And this justice thing seems ineffectual. More than that it feels as if not only was she killed, she was sullied. Dirtied by people who didn't know her and didn't care, on either side, what some street kid was like.
If Beth and I were together right now I think we'd tell each other that it was okay if the lawyers and the judges and police didn't care because someone out there does. She'd say "Katy, you care, that's all that has to matter, that's all that does matter." and I'd say...
I don't know what I'd say. I'd want to say that I don't want to know about them, I don't want to know what happened or what will happen. I don't want to think that some reporter is unbiasedly writing about some kid that got murdered, and isn't it sad. I don't want to think about the people who read the paper and say what a pity, I knew those kids are up to no good. Or the random person who asks at the water cooler "did you hear about that girl who was raped...the streets aren't safe." I don't want the streets to not be safe. I don't want to think that my friend can't go live where she wants and do what she wants without some brats trying to prove they have the power.
I think I'd say "I miss you and please come back." I think I'd say "I wish you weren't dead."
And I don't think I'm supposed to be so selfish about it. I think that as a non-naive person I'm supposed to nod and say "Beth, the world is horrible. There are thousands like you, and your not alone. I'll miss you."
I think I'd rather be naive.
And I do wish she wasn't dead.
Cow kisses - Angel Dreams
A triumphant return! My husband came in first in his class for both days of autocrossing. He also placed very well overall in raw scores and placed second in the ever elusive and confusing PAX. Regardless of the technicalities and difficult math - I'm proud of my husband. He drives fast. Do a little cheer...yey for Craig.
It was a very nice weekend too. We managed to not get any rain whatsoever and both of us have returned sans sunburns (my only goal for the entire weekend). We're both pretty exhausted and as a Murphy's Law abiding citizen the cold I've been battling for the past week finally came and got me good on Saturday night. But we're still doing pretty well even with the stuffy nose and sore throat.
Normally when we go to Cumberland we'll stay at a B&B downtown. They were booked this weekend so I opted for another one that purported to be just as close to the airport (where the autocross was held) as any other place. It wasn't - but it wasn't that far. However we received the kind of directions to the place that Marylanders are so good at giving. "Get off the interstate where you see the barn then go north till you find ***** road and drive over the bridge and we're there."
Of course me being at work till five and my husband refusing to pack his things beforehand meant that we didn't get to Cumberland till well past sundown. Finding the barn was out of the question. I had yahoo-ed a map off the internet...but their directions weren't much better considering the area was full of unpaved and unmarked narrow roads. We crawled down a few of them for about 45 minutes before I finally figured out a new plan and after much searching we finally found a metal bridge and at the end of the road a big white house covered in christmas lights - blinking.
I should have guessed this place would be one of -those- B&B's. The name contained the words "Angelica" in it...and they didn't disappoint. The place was filled with angels. Angel paintings, angel candles, angel chain weights, angel toilet paper, wallpaper, carpet, furniture upholstery. ALL ANGELS. I was tired enough to not really care too much that night, but by morning I was beginning to feel freaked out by the constant staring of angels all around me.
I also found out later that this place advertises as a romantic getaway. (Not how I found them.) However, the fact that you have thousands of angels looking down on your sinful ways and that the owner of the B&B gives off the vibe of being a strict and disapproving mother to all young couples - and sleeps on the same floor and next door to all three available rooms - does not foster a romantic feeling. On Saturday night we left the autocross party early in order to make sure we got back to the inn before - well something - it felt like we were rushing so we wouldn't miss curfew.
I got my own back though, I was drunk, happy, and we threw the covers up and ignored the angels.
All that being said I wasn't impressed by the food and the kitch was a little much for me. But it was a roof over our head which is all we needed.
The party Saturday was great. It was on a farm owned by a huge corvette enthusiast. It was really quite impressive. He had two garages opened and walking through them is like walking through a museum. Also on the property was the most exciting part of my trip - COWS.
I often find it funny that when we go on trips for a specific reason my favorite parts are often the random and weird things having nothing to do with the actual purpose of our trip. Last year we went to a roadshow and autocross - my favorite part was the train we happened to see while walking to the carshow. We went to Pennsylvania for a driving school - my favorite part was seeing wild turkeys running around.
This time we went for a race and my favorite part was seeing a bunch of cows including a few babies. I've always liked cows and these were especially pretty cows. It was funny watching the young bulls try to look intimidating and protect the cows and calves. It was nearing sundown so we saw the rest of the herd (small herd) come in for dinner and to go to bed. The little babies would struggle up a mound of dirt, butting eachother off, and bleating for there moms. It was very nice. The best part though was when our hostess brought out old bread and treats for the cows. She handed us bags of the stuff and let us feed her cows. There was quite a push and it was a lot of fun. The best part though was giving a certain pretty chocolate colored cow a piece of bread and being rewarded with a few cow-lick-kisses on the hand. I was in love. All of the rest of that night and Sunday I would randomly giggle and smile, jumping around happily because I got kissed by a cow.
It still makes me happy thinking about it. Nice cows, sweet babies.
I got kissed by a cow!!!!! Yey!!!!!
It was a very nice weekend too. We managed to not get any rain whatsoever and both of us have returned sans sunburns (my only goal for the entire weekend). We're both pretty exhausted and as a Murphy's Law abiding citizen the cold I've been battling for the past week finally came and got me good on Saturday night. But we're still doing pretty well even with the stuffy nose and sore throat.
Normally when we go to Cumberland we'll stay at a B&B downtown. They were booked this weekend so I opted for another one that purported to be just as close to the airport (where the autocross was held) as any other place. It wasn't - but it wasn't that far. However we received the kind of directions to the place that Marylanders are so good at giving. "Get off the interstate where you see the barn then go north till you find ***** road and drive over the bridge and we're there."
Of course me being at work till five and my husband refusing to pack his things beforehand meant that we didn't get to Cumberland till well past sundown. Finding the barn was out of the question. I had yahoo-ed a map off the internet...but their directions weren't much better considering the area was full of unpaved and unmarked narrow roads. We crawled down a few of them for about 45 minutes before I finally figured out a new plan and after much searching we finally found a metal bridge and at the end of the road a big white house covered in christmas lights - blinking.
I should have guessed this place would be one of -those- B&B's. The name contained the words "Angelica" in it...and they didn't disappoint. The place was filled with angels. Angel paintings, angel candles, angel chain weights, angel toilet paper, wallpaper, carpet, furniture upholstery. ALL ANGELS. I was tired enough to not really care too much that night, but by morning I was beginning to feel freaked out by the constant staring of angels all around me.
I also found out later that this place advertises as a romantic getaway. (Not how I found them.) However, the fact that you have thousands of angels looking down on your sinful ways and that the owner of the B&B gives off the vibe of being a strict and disapproving mother to all young couples - and sleeps on the same floor and next door to all three available rooms - does not foster a romantic feeling. On Saturday night we left the autocross party early in order to make sure we got back to the inn before - well something - it felt like we were rushing so we wouldn't miss curfew.
I got my own back though, I was drunk, happy, and we threw the covers up and ignored the angels.
All that being said I wasn't impressed by the food and the kitch was a little much for me. But it was a roof over our head which is all we needed.
The party Saturday was great. It was on a farm owned by a huge corvette enthusiast. It was really quite impressive. He had two garages opened and walking through them is like walking through a museum. Also on the property was the most exciting part of my trip - COWS.
I often find it funny that when we go on trips for a specific reason my favorite parts are often the random and weird things having nothing to do with the actual purpose of our trip. Last year we went to a roadshow and autocross - my favorite part was the train we happened to see while walking to the carshow. We went to Pennsylvania for a driving school - my favorite part was seeing wild turkeys running around.
This time we went for a race and my favorite part was seeing a bunch of cows including a few babies. I've always liked cows and these were especially pretty cows. It was funny watching the young bulls try to look intimidating and protect the cows and calves. It was nearing sundown so we saw the rest of the herd (small herd) come in for dinner and to go to bed. The little babies would struggle up a mound of dirt, butting eachother off, and bleating for there moms. It was very nice. The best part though was when our hostess brought out old bread and treats for the cows. She handed us bags of the stuff and let us feed her cows. There was quite a push and it was a lot of fun. The best part though was giving a certain pretty chocolate colored cow a piece of bread and being rewarded with a few cow-lick-kisses on the hand. I was in love. All of the rest of that night and Sunday I would randomly giggle and smile, jumping around happily because I got kissed by a cow.
It still makes me happy thinking about it. Nice cows, sweet babies.
I got kissed by a cow!!!!! Yey!!!!!
Friday, May 13, 2005
Choo-choo Train!
There is a place so far North-West in Maryland that if you drive left or right to far you find yourself in Pennsylvania or West Virginia. It's called Cumberland...and we're going there for the weekend.
Woot.
I always find the fact that one can drive to another state novel. Growing up in Hawaii you could drive to another state...but you wouldn't make it. We did/do have an interstate...it's only on one island. And you can't drive very far on it anyway because it's always backed up.
Ah paradise.
I like Cumberland partly for the quaintness and quiet. Partly for the history. And mostly for the trains. Cumberland is right on the canal lines and the railroad lines. They have an old restored railway station and run old Diesel and Steam engines. I got to ride a Diesel once for a dinner show thing. I hated the show, the food was awful, but boy did I love being on that train.
I love trains. The steam trains come into the station in a great big whoosh. From the station you can see them coming from the valley and around the bend over the bridge. Once over the bridge they get louder and louder and start letting off amazing plumes of steam from the sides. A huge black engine forcing it's way through white clouds. The conductor usually blows his whistle in a song pattern. He's funny. He wears the real train conductor hat and leans out the window waving his hand up and down making the whistle go "toot-tootoot-toot" By the time the engine has pulled up to the platform I'm jumping up and down like I was five. It's spooky and scary and exciting and thrilling and amazing all at the same time. My heart is pounding right now just thinking about getting to see that again. And this time...we might even be able to take a trip on it for a sightseeing thing.
Woot! Wootwoot-woot!
Only three more hours of work, two hours of driving and we'll be in Cumberland. I can hardly wait.
Woot.
I always find the fact that one can drive to another state novel. Growing up in Hawaii you could drive to another state...but you wouldn't make it. We did/do have an interstate...it's only on one island. And you can't drive very far on it anyway because it's always backed up.
Ah paradise.
I like Cumberland partly for the quaintness and quiet. Partly for the history. And mostly for the trains. Cumberland is right on the canal lines and the railroad lines. They have an old restored railway station and run old Diesel and Steam engines. I got to ride a Diesel once for a dinner show thing. I hated the show, the food was awful, but boy did I love being on that train.
I love trains. The steam trains come into the station in a great big whoosh. From the station you can see them coming from the valley and around the bend over the bridge. Once over the bridge they get louder and louder and start letting off amazing plumes of steam from the sides. A huge black engine forcing it's way through white clouds. The conductor usually blows his whistle in a song pattern. He's funny. He wears the real train conductor hat and leans out the window waving his hand up and down making the whistle go "toot-tootoot-toot" By the time the engine has pulled up to the platform I'm jumping up and down like I was five. It's spooky and scary and exciting and thrilling and amazing all at the same time. My heart is pounding right now just thinking about getting to see that again. And this time...we might even be able to take a trip on it for a sightseeing thing.
Woot! Wootwoot-woot!
Only three more hours of work, two hours of driving and we'll be in Cumberland. I can hardly wait.
I miss the West Coast...
The American known as the human cat, Dennis Avner, plans to move from Guatay, Calif., to Washington state to find regular work in computers and electronics. The
Michigan-born Avner, 46, began his feline transformation 25 years ago -- adding tattooed stripes and fangs that have brought him appearances on more than 50 TV shows and travel around the world. He charges $1,000 a day for his appearances, but he told the San Diego Union-Tribune offers have been sporadic. Avner said his agent was pitching a potential TV show to FOX, but details had not been finalized. In the meantime, Avner said he planned to continue his catlike ways after the move. "I really don't care what people think," Avner said, "so I really don't pay much attention."
(From Coffee Break)
Thursday, May 12, 2005
Enneagram
Main Type | Overall Self |
 |  |
| Enneagram Test Results
Your variant is social |
Procurement Pin-up
In my office I am the only 22 year old girl. There are other women but they are all much older and what my husband would call "frumpy." Which isn't to say they actually are frumpy, they're very pretty. But this office being what it is they don't dress to show it.
I'm not saying I dress like the office slut. But I do attempt to put my best face forward. After all I'm a temp...I'm representing not just me, but my agency, the company I work for, everyone.
I'm also one of the very few women here who do not have children. If they're married they have kids. And if they're not married - there is a reason.
Not only am I the only young person - I work for a lot of older men. I'm an Executive Assistant for one of the VP's. And so anyone who works for him, I work for. Basically I exist to hide the fact that most Directors, VP's, CEO's, COP's, COO's, Managers, Analysts, and Specialist don't know how to use a computer. My VP especially.
All this in mind they whole gaggle of older men and one woman allows for two different situations to develop. 1) I become the mommy - making sure everyone is where they should be on time, that they have all there books and papers and haven't forgotten their lunch or 2) I become the playboy bunny of the procurement department
I think they've already decided what my role will be.
My first week everyone was very polite. I got lots of ma'am's and misses. Doors were help open for me, people smiled and said hello. People asked for thing politely. It was that kind of detached respect people have around one another when their forced to be in close contact with strangers. Being a temp I'm used to it and I know it will evolve.
Now, after they've interacted with me some more, they're a little bolder. I don't get any ma'am's. I get "hon" "sweetie" "cutie" "kiddo" and today the boldest of them all "thank ya sexy" *wink*
The other day I was fielding phone calls for my boss and sending them off to voicemail.
"Good Afternoon *************'s Office. No he's not available would you like to leave a message on his voicemail. Thank you."
Ring - Rinse - Repeat...until
"Good Afternoon **************'s Office. No he's in a meeting would you like to leave a message and have him get back to you?"
"What do you mean he's in a meeting. Is he there."
"Yes he's in this office today but is currently in another meeting. Would you like his..."
"Can you just tell him ***** called and have him call back.
"Of course"
And then 30 minutes later:
"Good Afternoon **************'s Office. No he's not available right..."
"He isn't back yet?"
"No, Mr. ***** I'm sorry he's not. He'll get back to you as soon as he is. Would you care to leave a detailed message on his voicemail so he can....
"No ma'am just tell him I called."
And then 30 minutes after THAT.
"Good Afternoon ***********'s Off..."
"Not yet huh."
"Nope. But if you leave a message on his voicemail he can listen to it on his blackberry in the meeting and email you right away."
"No honeypie, you just do like I say."
Followed by me considering banging my phone down on the desk - hard.
Do like you say? Do like you say? Clearly doing like you say hasn't helped you get your issue resolved has it? But now I'll see if Honeypie can go wiggle her ass into the boardroom and say ***** called and he wants you to call him back because he can't seem to be able to leave a message for you on the stupid blackberry like every other Tom, Dick and DICK!
Today was less annoying but still shocked me. I went to on of the managers to make sure he got his itinerary for a trip next week.
"Yes I did get that."
"Just wanted to make sure. Thanks. Remember to get the expense report to me right after and I'll get you your check early."
"You're just sweeter than sweetie. Thank ya sexy!" *wink*
"Uh...you're welcome?"
The really weird part was the wink. I feel certain if he was standing up next to me instead of sitting behind his desk he would have slapped my ass. It was an ass-slapping kind of a wink. And then later today as I was handing out the oh so elusive checks he saw me walking towards him in the hall and winked again.
I swear my butt hurt.
Now I can't even look him in the face. What happened to the "Could you book me a flight for next week ma'am?" Where did "sweeter than sweet" come from? I've noticed this comes from the more southern of the men here (Living in Maryland you get a mix of Southern and Northern.) Is this a southern thing? My father never said that to women. I know he thinks it...and he head does the tilting thing when a particularly cute girl walks by...but never would he deign to call a secretary sexy.
Or is this an older man thing in general? Is there some rule that if there is a young girl around they all have to turn dirty real quick?
How did I go from "Ma'am" to "Sexy"?
I'm not saying I dress like the office slut. But I do attempt to put my best face forward. After all I'm a temp...I'm representing not just me, but my agency, the company I work for, everyone.
I'm also one of the very few women here who do not have children. If they're married they have kids. And if they're not married - there is a reason.
Not only am I the only young person - I work for a lot of older men. I'm an Executive Assistant for one of the VP's. And so anyone who works for him, I work for. Basically I exist to hide the fact that most Directors, VP's, CEO's, COP's, COO's, Managers, Analysts, and Specialist don't know how to use a computer. My VP especially.
All this in mind they whole gaggle of older men and one woman allows for two different situations to develop. 1) I become the mommy - making sure everyone is where they should be on time, that they have all there books and papers and haven't forgotten their lunch or 2) I become the playboy bunny of the procurement department
I think they've already decided what my role will be.
My first week everyone was very polite. I got lots of ma'am's and misses. Doors were help open for me, people smiled and said hello. People asked for thing politely. It was that kind of detached respect people have around one another when their forced to be in close contact with strangers. Being a temp I'm used to it and I know it will evolve.
Now, after they've interacted with me some more, they're a little bolder. I don't get any ma'am's. I get "hon" "sweetie" "cutie" "kiddo" and today the boldest of them all "thank ya sexy" *wink*
The other day I was fielding phone calls for my boss and sending them off to voicemail.
"Good Afternoon *************'s Office. No he's not available would you like to leave a message on his voicemail. Thank you."
Ring - Rinse - Repeat...until
"Good Afternoon **************'s Office. No he's in a meeting would you like to leave a message and have him get back to you?"
"What do you mean he's in a meeting. Is he there."
"Yes he's in this office today but is currently in another meeting. Would you like his..."
"Can you just tell him ***** called and have him call back.
"Of course"
And then 30 minutes later:
"Good Afternoon **************'s Office. No he's not available right..."
"He isn't back yet?"
"No, Mr. ***** I'm sorry he's not. He'll get back to you as soon as he is. Would you care to leave a detailed message on his voicemail so he can....
"No ma'am just tell him I called."
And then 30 minutes after THAT.
"Good Afternoon ***********'s Off..."
"Not yet huh."
"Nope. But if you leave a message on his voicemail he can listen to it on his blackberry in the meeting and email you right away."
"No honeypie, you just do like I say."
Followed by me considering banging my phone down on the desk - hard.
Do like you say? Do like you say? Clearly doing like you say hasn't helped you get your issue resolved has it? But now I'll see if Honeypie can go wiggle her ass into the boardroom and say ***** called and he wants you to call him back because he can't seem to be able to leave a message for you on the stupid blackberry like every other Tom, Dick and DICK!
Today was less annoying but still shocked me. I went to on of the managers to make sure he got his itinerary for a trip next week.
"Yes I did get that."
"Just wanted to make sure. Thanks. Remember to get the expense report to me right after and I'll get you your check early."
"You're just sweeter than sweetie. Thank ya sexy!" *wink*
"Uh...you're welcome?"
The really weird part was the wink. I feel certain if he was standing up next to me instead of sitting behind his desk he would have slapped my ass. It was an ass-slapping kind of a wink. And then later today as I was handing out the oh so elusive checks he saw me walking towards him in the hall and winked again.
I swear my butt hurt.
Now I can't even look him in the face. What happened to the "Could you book me a flight for next week ma'am?" Where did "sweeter than sweet" come from? I've noticed this comes from the more southern of the men here (Living in Maryland you get a mix of Southern and Northern.) Is this a southern thing? My father never said that to women. I know he thinks it...and he head does the tilting thing when a particularly cute girl walks by...but never would he deign to call a secretary sexy.
Or is this an older man thing in general? Is there some rule that if there is a young girl around they all have to turn dirty real quick?
How did I go from "Ma'am" to "Sexy"?
Make it stop, make it stop
Ow. My head hurts.
This morning I decided to randomly surf the blogs at blogspot. I've found quite a few in the past that I love. CreativeWife, Clublife, The Common Bonds of Disinterest and Ennui. And then there are some that make my brain feel like it's been pushed through a meat-grinder and is about to be turned into chicken mcnuggets.
(Interesting thought there. A friend of mine wrote a play about a farmer who would kidnap people and treat them like his cows - then eat them. The farmer kept saying that people were just like a good cow steak. However, people are more akin to pigs than cows and our flesh would come out more like pork than beef. White meat, not red. It was a good play - but still...we really are the other-other white meat not the other red meat. However, my friend is a vegetarian...so I don't suppose it mattered. He's a great writer.)
The main thing that bothers me is chatspeak. I've read many an article saying how it's actually natural for a language to evolve in this way. English is a living language and very adaptable. Obviously spellings change. We don't get up in arms when someone spells "colour" "color" or "shoppe" "shop" We evolved...we dropped erroneous letters. And I do think it's neat that 133t speak (elite speak or hacker speak) is so diverse and has so readily permeated language. And l33t is all about finding new ways to get the same point across. Long ago there was an article on Slashdot about how one could get just the first and last letters of a word right, put gobble-de-gook in the middle and English being the way it was it could still be understood. I find deciphering l33t speak a challenge, like a puzzle. It can be fun.
But a paragraph of "chat speak" (different from elite speak) is less amusing ie.
Hi ppl...*** here..newly create blog sho wil b damn plain de lo..wil try to edit it..wif other ppl de help lah..i not dat smart..can do dis do dat without help..Byez now...
I don't mean to be mean...but ow. What the hell is that? When did baby talk become cool? Wif? Does de=to? Now I can understand that English may not be this particular bloggers first language. Perhaps there are smatterings of other languages interspersed in this...er...paragraph. But still. Isn't the point to be semi-comprehesible.
And they are. I know what they are saying. Somewhat. As an actress, and a primarily Shakespearean one, my first choice is to try and explicate this.
Here goes:
Hi everyone....I am ***...This is a newly created blog so it will be damn plain (unintelligible)...I will try to edit it...Other people may help (???)...I'm not that smart, I can do this and that without help though....bye now.
Um...even that seems a bit abrupt and unintelligible. And there is no chat speak.
Here's the thing. I basically understood that paragraph. I knew what they wanted to communicate. I filled in the gaps all by myself. And it's sorta cool. But there is a time when chat speak ends and real MLA must prevail. Unfortunately, people really don't get that. I can be forgiving of it on a blog if it stops in say...and a college english course. I was recently enrolled in an English 122 course online. Our assignments were posted on discussion boards where we read and commented on one anothers work. Four students (two high school students and two adults) posted their essays in chat speak.
wat I did on summer vac. i went to da beach. it was a long trip...but was good. my friend cam wif us and we all had good time. i ask why my friend came and she said cuz u asked me too. i forgot that so we waz rolf all the way home.
Not a direct quote...but pretty damn close. I was shocked at first. Then surprised when no one else mentioned "Er-uh-hey. How about writing full words." Then I was slowly disgusted as my well-researched and finely proof-readed essays were given the same points as my unpunctuated classmates. I worked hard on my essays. I tried to make them good. And they get A's for writing DRIVEL?
It's funny how that one little instance made me hate ALL chat speak. During the class I stopped being forgiving of blogs who used chatspeak. I was suddenly less tolerant of people who spattered posts with "u" and "cuz". Just because I knew that they weren't just saving time while they chat. They do it all the time. I imagined lawyers writing Wills in chat speak. Doctors writing my prescription filled with lol and lmao. It disgusted me.
I dropped the class.
But my indignation sometimes comes to a broil again. Usually when I find posts like ***'s. Because I know some day *** will be writing an email to his or her's business associate and it will come out.
Yo. Wuz up?
Can we meet in teh Bellagio Conf. Room today? I gots things 2 talk 2 u bot.
thx.
And that makes my head hurt.
This morning I decided to randomly surf the blogs at blogspot. I've found quite a few in the past that I love. CreativeWife, Clublife, The Common Bonds of Disinterest and Ennui. And then there are some that make my brain feel like it's been pushed through a meat-grinder and is about to be turned into chicken mcnuggets.
(Interesting thought there. A friend of mine wrote a play about a farmer who would kidnap people and treat them like his cows - then eat them. The farmer kept saying that people were just like a good cow steak. However, people are more akin to pigs than cows and our flesh would come out more like pork than beef. White meat, not red. It was a good play - but still...we really are the other-other white meat not the other red meat. However, my friend is a vegetarian...so I don't suppose it mattered. He's a great writer.)
The main thing that bothers me is chatspeak. I've read many an article saying how it's actually natural for a language to evolve in this way. English is a living language and very adaptable. Obviously spellings change. We don't get up in arms when someone spells "colour" "color" or "shoppe" "shop" We evolved...we dropped erroneous letters. And I do think it's neat that 133t speak (elite speak or hacker speak) is so diverse and has so readily permeated language. And l33t is all about finding new ways to get the same point across. Long ago there was an article on Slashdot about how one could get just the first and last letters of a word right, put gobble-de-gook in the middle and English being the way it was it could still be understood. I find deciphering l33t speak a challenge, like a puzzle. It can be fun.
But a paragraph of "chat speak" (different from elite speak) is less amusing ie.
Hi ppl...*** here..newly create blog sho wil b damn plain de lo..wil try to edit it..wif other ppl de help lah..i not dat smart..can do dis do dat without help..Byez now...
I don't mean to be mean...but ow. What the hell is that? When did baby talk become cool? Wif? Does de=to? Now I can understand that English may not be this particular bloggers first language. Perhaps there are smatterings of other languages interspersed in this...er...paragraph. But still. Isn't the point to be semi-comprehesible.
And they are. I know what they are saying. Somewhat. As an actress, and a primarily Shakespearean one, my first choice is to try and explicate this.
Here goes:
Hi everyone....I am ***...This is a newly created blog so it will be damn plain (unintelligible)...I will try to edit it...Other people may help (???)...I'm not that smart, I can do this and that without help though....bye now.
Um...even that seems a bit abrupt and unintelligible. And there is no chat speak.
Here's the thing. I basically understood that paragraph. I knew what they wanted to communicate. I filled in the gaps all by myself. And it's sorta cool. But there is a time when chat speak ends and real MLA must prevail. Unfortunately, people really don't get that. I can be forgiving of it on a blog if it stops in say...and a college english course. I was recently enrolled in an English 122 course online. Our assignments were posted on discussion boards where we read and commented on one anothers work. Four students (two high school students and two adults) posted their essays in chat speak.
wat I did on summer vac. i went to da beach. it was a long trip...but was good. my friend cam wif us and we all had good time. i ask why my friend came and she said cuz u asked me too. i forgot that so we waz rolf all the way home.
Not a direct quote...but pretty damn close. I was shocked at first. Then surprised when no one else mentioned "Er-uh-hey. How about writing full words." Then I was slowly disgusted as my well-researched and finely proof-readed essays were given the same points as my unpunctuated classmates. I worked hard on my essays. I tried to make them good. And they get A's for writing DRIVEL?
It's funny how that one little instance made me hate ALL chat speak. During the class I stopped being forgiving of blogs who used chatspeak. I was suddenly less tolerant of people who spattered posts with "u" and "cuz". Just because I knew that they weren't just saving time while they chat. They do it all the time. I imagined lawyers writing Wills in chat speak. Doctors writing my prescription filled with lol and lmao. It disgusted me.
I dropped the class.
But my indignation sometimes comes to a broil again. Usually when I find posts like ***'s. Because I know some day *** will be writing an email to his or her's business associate and it will come out.
Yo. Wuz up?
Can we meet in teh Bellagio Conf. Room today? I gots things 2 talk 2 u bot.
thx.
And that makes my head hurt.
Wednesday, May 11, 2005
Hot Hot Hot
Earlier this afternoon I was composing a post about work that I was going to complete at home and post.
Instead I'm sitting in my apartment wilting like an exotic orchid (okay maybe I'm more a dandelion - but even weeds have dreams) because it is currently 79 degrees outside (estimate) and 90 degrees inside my little apartment (known quantity).
Why? Because my roommate...a man who grew up in Alaska...who makes mention of the fact that he's a snow man...that he can never get cold...and who coincedently has more blubber on his person than a blue whale...he turned the heat on last night. He turned on the heat in mid-May on the warmest night of this year to date. I woke up last night thinking I had some strange fever and I was going to die of spontaneous combustion and take the cat with me.
This morning I turned off the heat. But our temperature control being what it is - the air conditioning (A luxury I've lived without until I got to Maryland, where after one summer I finally found out why God invented air conditioning men. Bless Him.) As I was saying the air conditioning won't come back on for the next two days.
So...it's hot. Very hot. And I can do nothing but stare daggers at my crazy roommate. Matters are not helped by the fact he left the butter AND the milk out this morning - in our 90 degree apartment - with no windows open - and I'm hot and now deprived of milk - and it's that time of the month - and I'm hot and in general really really crabby.
Grrr.
Did I mention I'm hot.
And grumpy?
I'm gonna go shove ice down my shirt and dance on the balcony as only a sister of the moon can.
Instead I'm sitting in my apartment wilting like an exotic orchid (okay maybe I'm more a dandelion - but even weeds have dreams) because it is currently 79 degrees outside (estimate) and 90 degrees inside my little apartment (known quantity).
Why? Because my roommate...a man who grew up in Alaska...who makes mention of the fact that he's a snow man...that he can never get cold...and who coincedently has more blubber on his person than a blue whale...he turned the heat on last night. He turned on the heat in mid-May on the warmest night of this year to date. I woke up last night thinking I had some strange fever and I was going to die of spontaneous combustion and take the cat with me.
This morning I turned off the heat. But our temperature control being what it is - the air conditioning (A luxury I've lived without until I got to Maryland, where after one summer I finally found out why God invented air conditioning men. Bless Him.) As I was saying the air conditioning won't come back on for the next two days.
So...it's hot. Very hot. And I can do nothing but stare daggers at my crazy roommate. Matters are not helped by the fact he left the butter AND the milk out this morning - in our 90 degree apartment - with no windows open - and I'm hot and now deprived of milk - and it's that time of the month - and I'm hot and in general really really crabby.
Grrr.
Did I mention I'm hot.
And grumpy?
I'm gonna go shove ice down my shirt and dance on the balcony as only a sister of the moon can.
Monday, May 09, 2005
Happy Thank-God-I'm-NOT-a Mother Day
This Saturday my husband had an autocross. It being a pretty, sunny (though very windy and chilly, as I found out later) day I decided I'd go along with him. Part of my acquiescence to his request for a spectator was also the fact that he gave me those big puppy-dog eyes and flapped his arms like a duck. (...it's a thing.)
I actually don't mind these events for the most part. I have a comfy lawn chair and while Craig is racing or working the course I either watch the cars drive past or read. This weekend I was working on my other guilty-girl-pleasure "Glamour". This months issue isn't that interesting though so my mind wandered and I looked for other things to distract me.
The first was procuring lunch for Craig. Not my favorite job because it requires actually getting into the thick of the stupid uber-competitive boys and old men who don't know their muffler from their steering wheel. Not that I'm that knowledgeable in car things or in racing techniques: but I've read the books, watched the pros and been to enough of my husbands classes to be able to know what's a good thing to do and what's not. For instance: When a course worker is jumping up and down waving a big red flag and yelling at you; it's probably an indication that they want you to stop.
A car got scrapped up after a rather bad spin in the turn right in front of me. And he tried to get off the course but couldn't get any speed so they put out the red flag. However the person right behind not only ignored it...he didn't hit the brakes until he right on the messed up guys bumper. The scary thing about this was...the third car behind them also ignored the red flag and I was certain I was about to witness a three car pile-up on a race course and one dead open-wheeled car driver.
I didn't. But it makes you wonder about these people who blatantly ignore the rules. As my roommate says "Some people's kids."
I was privy to another "Some people's kids" moment that same day. Again thrust into the throng of people around the food tent I hear some kid bragging to her mother that she found $20 on the ground. The kids was five or so and just about the burst into a joyous chorus of "Finders Keepers, Losers Weepers" when her sister of nine said:
"That's not yours."
"I don't care I found it and they lost it so it's mine."
The mother said nothing. Standing next to me a boy of about 19 heard the same thing and starting frantically patting himself down. The nine-year-old saw it and asked him if the $20 was his. No...it wasn't. The boy found his twenty and breathed a sigh of relief explaining that that was his only money today and he needed it to fill up the tank so he could get home. I've been there...I'd be freaked too.
Still the mother said nothing to the five year old who was still blissfully announcing that she was the "Finder" and it was alllllllllll hers.
I stood there waiting for a minute or two to her how the mother would explain to her daughter that obviously someone who was standing in line for sandwiches must have dropped it and she should try and find the proper owner.
Nothing.
I was expecting her to mandate, like my husbands parents and my father used to, that she stand near the food tent and look around for people who might be looking for something on the ground to ask if they had lost something and thus find the rightful owner of the money.
Nothing.
I was hoping that she would make her daughter go up to the workers of the food tent and explain that someone must have lost this bill and would they hold it and if anyone was looking for it make sure they received their money.
Nothing
I was waiting for the mother, in her rightful place as a guide, mentor and role-model for social politeness and consideration for other people, to tell her five year old toddler that she had to put aside selfishness and make an effort to get that money to the person it belonged to. To think of the boy who had just said that if it was his twenty he'd be unable to get home. I was waiting for the mother to take this opportunity to teach her five-year-old about taking others feelings into consideration. That $20 may be the only money that person has and they'd be a lot worse off than she would without it. I wanted the mother to explain that doing the right thing is far better than being a little richer. That money is hard worked for and it wouldn't be fair for someone to lose it and never get it back just cause some little girl couldn't spend a little time trying to help out.
I wanted the mother to say something...ANYTHING.
Instead the nine-year-old went to the event leader and told him about the lost $20 that the five year old was still prancing around with happily. The leader said he'd ask around and if anyone asked him about it he'd let them know where to go to get the money back.
The mother meanwhile said nothing and the five-year-old proceeded to berate her older sister for telling on her. The happy family went on there way and I'm sure some poor schmuck is $20 dollars poorer while the five-year-old is that much sicker for spending it on too much candy or cookies.
But why didn't the mother say anything? It's inherent for people to be selfish. Young children are all about the ID. They want what brings them pleasure and they don't think about other people. That has to be learned. It has to be learned so we can have a society, so we can work in teams and get things done, invent things, create things, save lives, build homes. Life is so hard already, why make it harder for each other? Why be inconsiderate?
I know everyone says don't blame the parents...but this was definitely a blame the parent moment. If the mother had spoken up just a little to explain an complexity of life to her daughter in context her daughter would have had one more memory that would help her learn how to live in the world. She's not going to figure it out on her own. If she continues to find and keep $20's without thinking of the people who may have lost them then she will forever believe that anything she happens to "find" is hers. She'll turn into the teenager who doesn't get up to let adults sit down. She'll turn into the kids at my college who walk out of lectures or talk on their cellphone while the instructor is talking. She will become the person who doesn't stop for red flags because they'd rather win the race then protect the life a fellow racer. And by the time she has grown-up to that point it will be too late for her mother to use the "mom" card and say "NO."
Some people's parents.
Unfortunately, this makes me not want to have any children of my own. The fury in me at seeing inaction in parents made me think I just would not be a good PTA member. And in the process I'd probably embarrass my kid. Also, I just don't want a child of mine to grow-up with a bunch of adults who still act like children leading them and a bunch of peers who will never know what compassion and consideration mean.
So to my own Mother and Father (and to my Mother-in-law and Father-in-law) thank you for making me (us) do the things we didn't want to do. Thank you for being so nosey and demanding that no one wanted to invite us to parties. Thank you for raising me to help others and think about the whole before I think about myself. Thank you for forcing me to learn the skills that make me a good worker, a good student and a good person. Because of all that I have the greatest husband ever, a good job, and a nice life that's hard...but not any harder than what you helped me learn.
And after all that...you'll have to wait a whole hell of a lot longer for those grandkids.
I actually don't mind these events for the most part. I have a comfy lawn chair and while Craig is racing or working the course I either watch the cars drive past or read. This weekend I was working on my other guilty-girl-pleasure "Glamour". This months issue isn't that interesting though so my mind wandered and I looked for other things to distract me.
The first was procuring lunch for Craig. Not my favorite job because it requires actually getting into the thick of the stupid uber-competitive boys and old men who don't know their muffler from their steering wheel. Not that I'm that knowledgeable in car things or in racing techniques: but I've read the books, watched the pros and been to enough of my husbands classes to be able to know what's a good thing to do and what's not. For instance: When a course worker is jumping up and down waving a big red flag and yelling at you; it's probably an indication that they want you to stop.
A car got scrapped up after a rather bad spin in the turn right in front of me. And he tried to get off the course but couldn't get any speed so they put out the red flag. However the person right behind not only ignored it...he didn't hit the brakes until he right on the messed up guys bumper. The scary thing about this was...the third car behind them also ignored the red flag and I was certain I was about to witness a three car pile-up on a race course and one dead open-wheeled car driver.
I didn't. But it makes you wonder about these people who blatantly ignore the rules. As my roommate says "Some people's kids."
I was privy to another "Some people's kids" moment that same day. Again thrust into the throng of people around the food tent I hear some kid bragging to her mother that she found $20 on the ground. The kids was five or so and just about the burst into a joyous chorus of "Finders Keepers, Losers Weepers" when her sister of nine said:
"That's not yours."
"I don't care I found it and they lost it so it's mine."
The mother said nothing. Standing next to me a boy of about 19 heard the same thing and starting frantically patting himself down. The nine-year-old saw it and asked him if the $20 was his. No...it wasn't. The boy found his twenty and breathed a sigh of relief explaining that that was his only money today and he needed it to fill up the tank so he could get home. I've been there...I'd be freaked too.
Still the mother said nothing to the five year old who was still blissfully announcing that she was the "Finder" and it was alllllllllll hers.
I stood there waiting for a minute or two to her how the mother would explain to her daughter that obviously someone who was standing in line for sandwiches must have dropped it and she should try and find the proper owner.
Nothing.
I was expecting her to mandate, like my husbands parents and my father used to, that she stand near the food tent and look around for people who might be looking for something on the ground to ask if they had lost something and thus find the rightful owner of the money.
Nothing.
I was hoping that she would make her daughter go up to the workers of the food tent and explain that someone must have lost this bill and would they hold it and if anyone was looking for it make sure they received their money.
Nothing
I was waiting for the mother, in her rightful place as a guide, mentor and role-model for social politeness and consideration for other people, to tell her five year old toddler that she had to put aside selfishness and make an effort to get that money to the person it belonged to. To think of the boy who had just said that if it was his twenty he'd be unable to get home. I was waiting for the mother to take this opportunity to teach her five-year-old about taking others feelings into consideration. That $20 may be the only money that person has and they'd be a lot worse off than she would without it. I wanted the mother to explain that doing the right thing is far better than being a little richer. That money is hard worked for and it wouldn't be fair for someone to lose it and never get it back just cause some little girl couldn't spend a little time trying to help out.
I wanted the mother to say something...ANYTHING.
Instead the nine-year-old went to the event leader and told him about the lost $20 that the five year old was still prancing around with happily. The leader said he'd ask around and if anyone asked him about it he'd let them know where to go to get the money back.
The mother meanwhile said nothing and the five-year-old proceeded to berate her older sister for telling on her. The happy family went on there way and I'm sure some poor schmuck is $20 dollars poorer while the five-year-old is that much sicker for spending it on too much candy or cookies.
But why didn't the mother say anything? It's inherent for people to be selfish. Young children are all about the ID. They want what brings them pleasure and they don't think about other people. That has to be learned. It has to be learned so we can have a society, so we can work in teams and get things done, invent things, create things, save lives, build homes. Life is so hard already, why make it harder for each other? Why be inconsiderate?
I know everyone says don't blame the parents...but this was definitely a blame the parent moment. If the mother had spoken up just a little to explain an complexity of life to her daughter in context her daughter would have had one more memory that would help her learn how to live in the world. She's not going to figure it out on her own. If she continues to find and keep $20's without thinking of the people who may have lost them then she will forever believe that anything she happens to "find" is hers. She'll turn into the teenager who doesn't get up to let adults sit down. She'll turn into the kids at my college who walk out of lectures or talk on their cellphone while the instructor is talking. She will become the person who doesn't stop for red flags because they'd rather win the race then protect the life a fellow racer. And by the time she has grown-up to that point it will be too late for her mother to use the "mom" card and say "NO."
Some people's parents.
Unfortunately, this makes me not want to have any children of my own. The fury in me at seeing inaction in parents made me think I just would not be a good PTA member. And in the process I'd probably embarrass my kid. Also, I just don't want a child of mine to grow-up with a bunch of adults who still act like children leading them and a bunch of peers who will never know what compassion and consideration mean.
So to my own Mother and Father (and to my Mother-in-law and Father-in-law) thank you for making me (us) do the things we didn't want to do. Thank you for being so nosey and demanding that no one wanted to invite us to parties. Thank you for raising me to help others and think about the whole before I think about myself. Thank you for forcing me to learn the skills that make me a good worker, a good student and a good person. Because of all that I have the greatest husband ever, a good job, and a nice life that's hard...but not any harder than what you helped me learn.
And after all that...you'll have to wait a whole hell of a lot longer for those grandkids.
Sunday, May 08, 2005
If you were sitting nearby...
What was overheard coming from our table at dinner last night:
Him: Are you growing a pair?
Me: *...*
And yeah...it was that random.
Him: Are you growing a pair?
Me: *...*
And yeah...it was that random.
Friday, May 06, 2005
I need a little space.
Last night we didn't go back to DuClaws. We didn't go out at all. Husband was feeling poorly and tired. He ended up playing WoW and then hit the pillow at seven or so. He slept in late too. I'm really hoping he's not sick.
Meanwhile I watched a marathon of my girl-shows. Gilmore Girls, Buffy re-runs (I'm still trying to see the last season...haven't yet.) and Sex and the City. I TiVo them all and usually wait till 6:00am on Saturday to sneak into the living room, curl up with the kitty, eat yogurt and watch unaccosted. My husband is pretty forgiving now of my guilty t.v. pleasures. He has even gotten into watching the new season of Gilmore Girls. Well he'll watch a little then ask me what happen to Luke and Lorelai - the only ones he really cares about. I think it's cute he gets so caught up. Wait till next week when they are hinting that she may be pregnant...
However, we have a roommate. He is also a sailor, but younger than my husband. Basically he's like our very large puppy. And a major pain in my neck most of the time. He likes to make sure he yells as loud as he can through anything I'm watching and make terrible fun of it all. Which would be cute if it wasn't for the fact that I'm trying to hear the t.v. He also gets my husband all riled up. He's really just a bad influence. Most of the time this isn't a problem though because I never get to watch the t.v. He's usually on it playing with the X-box or the PS2 or watching some really really really bad shows. Much worse than mine. We're talking cut-rate fluff that was cancelled in it's first season, but due to the magic of cable television comes back over and over and over again. It's the cancer of t.v.
Anyway, last night was a rare exception where I got home before the roommate and Craig wasn't watching t.v. I got to watch my weeks worth of shows at night while there was still warm pizza. It was nice. Although I sorta miss the living-room-is-all-mine feeling I get on Saturday mornings.
I miss not having a place just to myself for a few hours a day. Besides commuting in my car there isn't anywhere I am where someone isn't invading my space. At the office I live in a cubicle right outside my boss, the VP's, office. People are always coming in to have me do something for them. We're like a bunch of merekats and I have the big hole with all the food. Likewise, at home either one or both of the boys are always home. My roommate has no life outside of work and is a permanent fixture on the couch. I don't know if this annoys me so much because he's always there or because he never does anything. He still hasn't fully unpacked from moving over a YEAR ago. Nor does he ever do dishes or vacuum or pick up around the house. He never gets the mail, rarely he will take out the trash usually after his mother has called and fusses at him. He literally is a puppy...and I run around cleaning up after him and my husband and listening to their assinine comments about crap.
Our bedroom isn't even a good place for solitude. For awhile I kept putting up a chinese screen around my computer desk which gave me a sense that I was in a place that was all mine to read or play on the computer. But everytime I put it up it would mysteriously get taken down as soon as I left the house for anything. My husband doesn't like it and still hasn't told me why. I gave up trying to put it up anymore. Anytime I went into the bedroom my husband would follow me anyway. Which is cute and romantic and I do appreciate the gesture. But sometimes I just need space!
Likewise, outside isn't much better. I go to the gym...but people are of course always there. And while I've heard the gym is much like the subway or the bus...you stare straight ahead and don't talk to people - people always talk to me. Even when I look grouchy and have my headphones turned up all the way...I suppose I'm still approachable. The same goes for running alone. I live across the street from a park with a pretty running path, unfortunately everyone else likes that path and they love to come and converse with me while I jog.
*pant* Can't-talk-now-busy-trying-to-run-faster-than-you. *pant - die*
I suppose if I were willing to turn to strangers who come up and start little chats and say "Back the f*** off" I'd soon get a reputation for being unapproachable. But I hate doing it. If someone tells me their troubles I instantly feel pity...and burdened. If they want to share something happy I'll stand and listen and nod. And if they just say hello I'll smile back and say hello. And most of the time I'm happy to talk to them. I like people - but right now I feel over-peopled. I need a place that's comfortable where I can crawl into some pajamas, not brush my hair, not wear lipstick, and be left completely alone.
Ironically - that's what my mother used to say.
How's that for scary?
Meanwhile I watched a marathon of my girl-shows. Gilmore Girls, Buffy re-runs (I'm still trying to see the last season...haven't yet.) and Sex and the City. I TiVo them all and usually wait till 6:00am on Saturday to sneak into the living room, curl up with the kitty, eat yogurt and watch unaccosted. My husband is pretty forgiving now of my guilty t.v. pleasures. He has even gotten into watching the new season of Gilmore Girls. Well he'll watch a little then ask me what happen to Luke and Lorelai - the only ones he really cares about. I think it's cute he gets so caught up. Wait till next week when they are hinting that she may be pregnant...
However, we have a roommate. He is also a sailor, but younger than my husband. Basically he's like our very large puppy. And a major pain in my neck most of the time. He likes to make sure he yells as loud as he can through anything I'm watching and make terrible fun of it all. Which would be cute if it wasn't for the fact that I'm trying to hear the t.v. He also gets my husband all riled up. He's really just a bad influence. Most of the time this isn't a problem though because I never get to watch the t.v. He's usually on it playing with the X-box or the PS2 or watching some really really really bad shows. Much worse than mine. We're talking cut-rate fluff that was cancelled in it's first season, but due to the magic of cable television comes back over and over and over again. It's the cancer of t.v.
Anyway, last night was a rare exception where I got home before the roommate and Craig wasn't watching t.v. I got to watch my weeks worth of shows at night while there was still warm pizza. It was nice. Although I sorta miss the living-room-is-all-mine feeling I get on Saturday mornings.
I miss not having a place just to myself for a few hours a day. Besides commuting in my car there isn't anywhere I am where someone isn't invading my space. At the office I live in a cubicle right outside my boss, the VP's, office. People are always coming in to have me do something for them. We're like a bunch of merekats and I have the big hole with all the food. Likewise, at home either one or both of the boys are always home. My roommate has no life outside of work and is a permanent fixture on the couch. I don't know if this annoys me so much because he's always there or because he never does anything. He still hasn't fully unpacked from moving over a YEAR ago. Nor does he ever do dishes or vacuum or pick up around the house. He never gets the mail, rarely he will take out the trash usually after his mother has called and fusses at him. He literally is a puppy...and I run around cleaning up after him and my husband and listening to their assinine comments about crap.
Our bedroom isn't even a good place for solitude. For awhile I kept putting up a chinese screen around my computer desk which gave me a sense that I was in a place that was all mine to read or play on the computer. But everytime I put it up it would mysteriously get taken down as soon as I left the house for anything. My husband doesn't like it and still hasn't told me why. I gave up trying to put it up anymore. Anytime I went into the bedroom my husband would follow me anyway. Which is cute and romantic and I do appreciate the gesture. But sometimes I just need space!
Likewise, outside isn't much better. I go to the gym...but people are of course always there. And while I've heard the gym is much like the subway or the bus...you stare straight ahead and don't talk to people - people always talk to me. Even when I look grouchy and have my headphones turned up all the way...I suppose I'm still approachable. The same goes for running alone. I live across the street from a park with a pretty running path, unfortunately everyone else likes that path and they love to come and converse with me while I jog.
*pant* Can't-talk-now-busy-trying-to-run-faster-than-you. *pant - die*
I suppose if I were willing to turn to strangers who come up and start little chats and say "Back the f*** off" I'd soon get a reputation for being unapproachable. But I hate doing it. If someone tells me their troubles I instantly feel pity...and burdened. If they want to share something happy I'll stand and listen and nod. And if they just say hello I'll smile back and say hello. And most of the time I'm happy to talk to them. I like people - but right now I feel over-peopled. I need a place that's comfortable where I can crawl into some pajamas, not brush my hair, not wear lipstick, and be left completely alone.
Ironically - that's what my mother used to say.
How's that for scary?
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