I've been really quiet lately. Having a death in the family and various little dramas has drained me to the point that I just can't quite manage to do anything. People have been reaching out to me and, while I appreciate it, I can't seem to manage to meet them in the middle at all. Mentally and emotionally, I'm just wiped.
I signed up for a basic yoga class that will be every Wednesday evening in March. Hopefully getting out of the house and focusing on something other than the inside of my brain for a couple of hours will do some good. And it'll give me some time with my friend R, since she's going with me! (It was actually her idea, to give credit where such is due.) Total win all around.
There are a bunch of things that I've dropped over the past few days that I need to pick back up on. Drawing, writing, cleaning, cooking, packing, blogging... I feel so far behind.
For now I need to get ready to go supervise some cello-ing.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
**I considered not posting this here because, well, I'm not sure how I feel about airing my dirty laundry in a public forum. But here we go anyway.
Look, ok, here I am. Right here, in this space, existing between just then and in a second. And no matter how much I can wish to be just me right now, I'm not. I'm a collection of every me that came before, a running tally of mistakes and triumphs in human form. There's nothing to be done for it. It is what it is.
And my mother is... well, my mother. She is what she is. It's what she chooses to be, and I can neither fault her or pity her for it. The former is roughly akin to slamming one's head repeatedly into a brick wall, and the other is an emotional black hole. She thrives on pity, on attention, on being the victim. The more pity she gets, the more she does to get it.
It sounds like a cruel thing to say, but it's the truth.
There are so many of the previous incarnations of me that she feels she owns. Rather, I think she feels she owns me wholesale, but *I* feel like she owns my childhood. It was never mine, even as I lived it. That's why I couldn't wait to be free of it, as though I would suddenly stop being the girl and become some self-sufficient woman. As it turns out, growing up doesn't work that way. It's more like building a house than a metamorphosis, and no matter what you do to change it you're still the same person you were.
Which would, obviously, mean that I'm still under her control in some vague sense. My subconscious believes that, even as I'm rolling my eyes at the notion. This is why I never fight back. It's why I apologize when she places blame at my feet. It's been easier to keep my mouth shut to keep things somewhat peaceful.
But perhaps age or distance or just my general lack of good humor lately has caused a shift in the dynamics. I am no longer content to be the punching bag so that no one else is.
So I am here, and she is there, and there are vicious, paranoid notes in my inbox. We are in different places, different worlds almost. I cannot speak her language well enough to make her understand what I'm saying. Simple ideas, like "I don't want to talk to you while you're drinking" become something akin to quantum physics when you aren't speaking the same language.
What if I don't see the beer? No.
What if it's on the phone so I don't know for sure that she's drunk? No.
What about email? No.
Text messages? Myspace? No. And also? No.
So the obvious answer, in her mind, is to call and hang up 12 times in five minutes. It's brilliant! She's not actually talking to me, as per my request, but she makes sure that I know she's there so I can't somehow forget.
Of course, this is my fault, and complaints will be met with that assertion. I may apologize whenever I'm done being juvenile. Of course.
And the answer is so easy. So easy. All I have to do is demand, in my firmest tone of voice (or set of pixels) that she knock it off Right This Second. Because, for all of this nonsense, she cannot stand in the face of confrontation. That's the weak spot, the place that I can lean into and completely own the situation.
One of two things will happen. Choice A is that she starts to behave like a normal human being and badmouths me to everyone in the family and any of my friends she comes across. Choice B is that she stops talking to me due to hurt feelings and badmouths me to everyone in the family and any of my friends that she might come across.
And honestly? Nothing sounds better than having her never talk to me again. This is not hyperbole. This is fatigue from putting up with someone who is very, very mentally ill (and PROUD of it) for all of my life. She won't get help, ever. We've discussed it before, she admits that she has problems... and then laughs about them and says that she's too old to change her ways. Old ladies, she insists, are allowed to do whatever they want. They've earned it, and everyone should just put up with it and respect their elders.
Having that drilled into my head from a young age is probably the reason that I haven't done anything before now. Respect your elders! They've had a hard life! They're allowed to drink as much as they want and throw tea pots at your head when they're too drunk to find their keys!
But last night I began the process of either completely burning the bridge or building one that works. It might not actually become a process, because I may have been auto-disowned and will hereby be shunned. It is difficult to continue a process involving communication when one is shunned and not spoken to, I would guess. But assuming that she decides to continue talking to me in any way, shape, or form, it will be a process.
I am manipulating little old ladies via negative reinforcement, basically. It sounds bad, but I figure that it's slightly more legal than faking the death of my entire family and living under assumed names.
Worst case, as I said to a friend, it will cause a spectacular blowup that will then be cause for many laughs when looking back in a few years. At least it has the potential to make a good story, even if it makes my life hell for a while.
PS - A friend of mine told me today that my situation reminded her of this quote:
"Adulthood isn't an award they'll give you for being a good child. You can waste... years, trying to get someone to give that respect to you, as though it were a sort of promotion or raise in pay. If only you do enough, if only you are good enough. No. You have to just... take it. Give it to yourself, I suppose. Say, I'm sorry you feel like that and walk away. But that's hard."
--- Lois McMaster Bujold, A Civil Campaign, 1999
Look, ok, here I am. Right here, in this space, existing between just then and in a second. And no matter how much I can wish to be just me right now, I'm not. I'm a collection of every me that came before, a running tally of mistakes and triumphs in human form. There's nothing to be done for it. It is what it is.
And my mother is... well, my mother. She is what she is. It's what she chooses to be, and I can neither fault her or pity her for it. The former is roughly akin to slamming one's head repeatedly into a brick wall, and the other is an emotional black hole. She thrives on pity, on attention, on being the victim. The more pity she gets, the more she does to get it.
It sounds like a cruel thing to say, but it's the truth.
There are so many of the previous incarnations of me that she feels she owns. Rather, I think she feels she owns me wholesale, but *I* feel like she owns my childhood. It was never mine, even as I lived it. That's why I couldn't wait to be free of it, as though I would suddenly stop being the girl and become some self-sufficient woman. As it turns out, growing up doesn't work that way. It's more like building a house than a metamorphosis, and no matter what you do to change it you're still the same person you were.
Which would, obviously, mean that I'm still under her control in some vague sense. My subconscious believes that, even as I'm rolling my eyes at the notion. This is why I never fight back. It's why I apologize when she places blame at my feet. It's been easier to keep my mouth shut to keep things somewhat peaceful.
But perhaps age or distance or just my general lack of good humor lately has caused a shift in the dynamics. I am no longer content to be the punching bag so that no one else is.
So I am here, and she is there, and there are vicious, paranoid notes in my inbox. We are in different places, different worlds almost. I cannot speak her language well enough to make her understand what I'm saying. Simple ideas, like "I don't want to talk to you while you're drinking" become something akin to quantum physics when you aren't speaking the same language.
What if I don't see the beer? No.
What if it's on the phone so I don't know for sure that she's drunk? No.
What about email? No.
Text messages? Myspace? No. And also? No.
So the obvious answer, in her mind, is to call and hang up 12 times in five minutes. It's brilliant! She's not actually talking to me, as per my request, but she makes sure that I know she's there so I can't somehow forget.
Of course, this is my fault, and complaints will be met with that assertion. I may apologize whenever I'm done being juvenile. Of course.
And the answer is so easy. So easy. All I have to do is demand, in my firmest tone of voice (or set of pixels) that she knock it off Right This Second. Because, for all of this nonsense, she cannot stand in the face of confrontation. That's the weak spot, the place that I can lean into and completely own the situation.
One of two things will happen. Choice A is that she starts to behave like a normal human being and badmouths me to everyone in the family and any of my friends she comes across. Choice B is that she stops talking to me due to hurt feelings and badmouths me to everyone in the family and any of my friends that she might come across.
And honestly? Nothing sounds better than having her never talk to me again. This is not hyperbole. This is fatigue from putting up with someone who is very, very mentally ill (and PROUD of it) for all of my life. She won't get help, ever. We've discussed it before, she admits that she has problems... and then laughs about them and says that she's too old to change her ways. Old ladies, she insists, are allowed to do whatever they want. They've earned it, and everyone should just put up with it and respect their elders.
Having that drilled into my head from a young age is probably the reason that I haven't done anything before now. Respect your elders! They've had a hard life! They're allowed to drink as much as they want and throw tea pots at your head when they're too drunk to find their keys!
But last night I began the process of either completely burning the bridge or building one that works. It might not actually become a process, because I may have been auto-disowned and will hereby be shunned. It is difficult to continue a process involving communication when one is shunned and not spoken to, I would guess. But assuming that she decides to continue talking to me in any way, shape, or form, it will be a process.
I am manipulating little old ladies via negative reinforcement, basically. It sounds bad, but I figure that it's slightly more legal than faking the death of my entire family and living under assumed names.
Worst case, as I said to a friend, it will cause a spectacular blowup that will then be cause for many laughs when looking back in a few years. At least it has the potential to make a good story, even if it makes my life hell for a while.
PS - A friend of mine told me today that my situation reminded her of this quote:
"Adulthood isn't an award they'll give you for being a good child. You can waste... years, trying to get someone to give that respect to you, as though it were a sort of promotion or raise in pay. If only you do enough, if only you are good enough. No. You have to just... take it. Give it to yourself, I suppose. Say, I'm sorry you feel like that and walk away. But that's hard."
--- Lois McMaster Bujold, A Civil Campaign, 1999
Sunday, February 10, 2008
I'll be the first to admit that I'm a bit of a Lush fangirl. For all the not-girlie-girl that is my personality most times, I have such a weak spot for bath stuff and skin stuff. And perfume. And lip balm. And... hm. Maybe I am a girl? Who knew?
Anyway. So I bought a massage bar because, well, if I buy it then someone has to get a massage, right? Otherwise it'd be a waste of money! (I love my logic.) And I finally got around todemanding asking nicely for a massage last night. It smelled yummy (like cinnamon, which I like, though some people on the site gripe that they felt like a cinnamon altiod) and wasn't greasy, and it was good. But that's not the awesome part.
The awesome part is that when I woke up this morning all of the loose skin that I had from having two kids and losing a bunch of weight was gone. Like, not there. Like, at all. Holy shit! I keep poking at my tummy because I'm in awe and slightly baffled.
You know, I'm investing a ton of money in shea butter and cocoa butter at my earliest convenience, because I could totally make this stuff for a lot less than $9 a pop.
In other news, I've been doing drawing exercises and have been amazed. I'm following the book Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain, and it teaches you how to see differently. I've only done the first 5 things, and there's already this shift in perspective that honestly kind of weirds me out in a way. It's just so bizarre to feel your brain working, to see proof of the shift between hemispheres.
I think I'm going to take pictures and post them, like a friend suggested, so that those interested can watch the change.
But for now I'm going to write up a grocery list and go get the stuff for jambalaya. I feel the need to declare war on my tastebuds. ^^
Anyway. So I bought a massage bar because, well, if I buy it then someone has to get a massage, right? Otherwise it'd be a waste of money! (I love my logic.) And I finally got around to
The awesome part is that when I woke up this morning all of the loose skin that I had from having two kids and losing a bunch of weight was gone. Like, not there. Like, at all. Holy shit! I keep poking at my tummy because I'm in awe and slightly baffled.
You know, I'm investing a ton of money in shea butter and cocoa butter at my earliest convenience, because I could totally make this stuff for a lot less than $9 a pop.
In other news, I've been doing drawing exercises and have been amazed. I'm following the book Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain, and it teaches you how to see differently. I've only done the first 5 things, and there's already this shift in perspective that honestly kind of weirds me out in a way. It's just so bizarre to feel your brain working, to see proof of the shift between hemispheres.
I think I'm going to take pictures and post them, like a friend suggested, so that those interested can watch the change.
But for now I'm going to write up a grocery list and go get the stuff for jambalaya. I feel the need to declare war on my tastebuds. ^^
Thursday, February 7, 2008
Today was a total trainwreck.
- Woke up, found B with a fever. Again. Still. Some more. Called him in, went back to sleep.
- Woke up with my first ever nosebleed. Well, the first one that wasn't the direct result of the impact of a fiberglass pole. My face looked like I was an extra in a horror movie. I have a blood phobia. Good times!
- Got the kids up, ran out of cereal. Luckily, B has no appetite! *sigh*
- Got in the shower. The apartments pick the moment that I'm getting ready to rinse the shampoo out of my hair to do the fire alarm test that they've been talking about for a week.
- Called the doctor, who wanted me to bring B in. In like 15 minutes. O hai, not going to happen. We agreed that either the minor med (affiliated with their office) tonight or their office in the morning is a good idea.
- K came home super early! With flowers and coffee for me! And a nastygram about the office getting a report of "excessive door slamming" that was left on the door. :/
- He took B in to the doctor. His flu has turned into pneumonia. Luckily, we caught it in time so he doesn't have to be hospitalized.
- I found out that a friend of mine's ex-boything broke into her email and whatnot, which means that he read all of our conversations. Aside from pissed off because someone screwed with my friend, I feel kind of violated. Also? He's telling people that she's stalking him. Lol?
- Lil b sliced his finger open. "I'm bleeding!" he said, shoving his finger in my face. Please reference the blood phobia above.
- My computer freaked out. I apparently had a virus. I decide that perhaps now is a good time for a nap.
- Naps are a bad idea. I wake up feeling 1000x worse than previously. Flu relapse? Do I have pneumonia? I don't feel like I have pneumonia, but then I've never had it so I wouldn't know. Promise K that I'll go to the doctor tomorrow if I'm still feeling bad.
Cliff's notes: Boo has pneumonia. Life sucks. People better be glad that I can't get up the energy to hunt them down and go stabby at them.
On the upside, the interest rate has gone down so our dude updated our good faith estimate with the new numbers. That's happy. If we could lock it in right now, I'd be thrilled.
I'm trying to think of things that I want to learn once my brain cells are no longer suffering from the flu. (I'm picturing cartoon brain cells passed out with ice packs on their heads and thermometers in their mouths.) I miss the intentional, "I'm sitting down and learning now" sort of feeling that comes with taking classes. Not that the accidental or on the fly sort of learning isn't fun and useful, but maybe I miss structure. I just don't have the time or money for actual classes now.
I think one of the things I'm going to do is attempt to teach myself how to draw. I keep hearing that it's something that can be learned through study and practice, despite the assumption that you've either got it or you don't. So, I'll test that theory. It's not like I could get any worse at it, right? ;)
- Woke up, found B with a fever. Again. Still. Some more. Called him in, went back to sleep.
- Woke up with my first ever nosebleed. Well, the first one that wasn't the direct result of the impact of a fiberglass pole. My face looked like I was an extra in a horror movie. I have a blood phobia. Good times!
- Got the kids up, ran out of cereal. Luckily, B has no appetite! *sigh*
- Got in the shower. The apartments pick the moment that I'm getting ready to rinse the shampoo out of my hair to do the fire alarm test that they've been talking about for a week.
- Called the doctor, who wanted me to bring B in. In like 15 minutes. O hai, not going to happen. We agreed that either the minor med (affiliated with their office) tonight or their office in the morning is a good idea.
- K came home super early! With flowers and coffee for me! And a nastygram about the office getting a report of "excessive door slamming" that was left on the door. :/
- He took B in to the doctor. His flu has turned into pneumonia. Luckily, we caught it in time so he doesn't have to be hospitalized.
- I found out that a friend of mine's ex-boything broke into her email and whatnot, which means that he read all of our conversations. Aside from pissed off because someone screwed with my friend, I feel kind of violated. Also? He's telling people that she's stalking him. Lol?
- Lil b sliced his finger open. "I'm bleeding!" he said, shoving his finger in my face. Please reference the blood phobia above.
- My computer freaked out. I apparently had a virus. I decide that perhaps now is a good time for a nap.
- Naps are a bad idea. I wake up feeling 1000x worse than previously. Flu relapse? Do I have pneumonia? I don't feel like I have pneumonia, but then I've never had it so I wouldn't know. Promise K that I'll go to the doctor tomorrow if I'm still feeling bad.
Cliff's notes: Boo has pneumonia. Life sucks. People better be glad that I can't get up the energy to hunt them down and go stabby at them.
On the upside, the interest rate has gone down so our dude updated our good faith estimate with the new numbers. That's happy. If we could lock it in right now, I'd be thrilled.
I'm trying to think of things that I want to learn once my brain cells are no longer suffering from the flu. (I'm picturing cartoon brain cells passed out with ice packs on their heads and thermometers in their mouths.) I miss the intentional, "I'm sitting down and learning now" sort of feeling that comes with taking classes. Not that the accidental or on the fly sort of learning isn't fun and useful, but maybe I miss structure. I just don't have the time or money for actual classes now.
I think one of the things I'm going to do is attempt to teach myself how to draw. I keep hearing that it's something that can be learned through study and practice, despite the assumption that you've either got it or you don't. So, I'll test that theory. It's not like I could get any worse at it, right? ;)
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
Catching up
I kind of slacked this weekend. Oops! Here's somet catch up.
On Saturday we had thundersnow! It was amazing. I wish I hadn't been sick so I could have gone outside instead of watching it from my room... then again, a house down the road from me got hit by lightning, so maybe it was for the best.
I wrote this Sunday:
I dreamt last night that I was drowning in dark, deep, black water in the middle of an icy lake. I tried to pull myself up but the ice broke under my hands, cutting my palms and re-submerging me.
The never-ending sickness of doom has started wearing on me, emotionally. I'm irritable as all hell, to the point that I just want someone to piss me off about something substantial so that I can tear into them. It's been difficult to reign myself in and not just metaphorically chew the faces off of completely undeserving people. Hence, very little in the way of communication with anyone.
The flu can't last forever. It either has to go away or kill me. ... right?
Apparently my upstairs neighbors are Giants fans. I'm surprised they didn't end up in my living room toward the end of the game, to be quite honest. As I told someone else, I'll be glad when we move to a house and the only loud ass people upstairs are the ones related to me. ("And you can poke them with a stick," they pointed out. Exactly!)
Tomorrow... I'm going to make a post that doesn't involve ANY whining at all. I swear it.
Right now I'm going to go throw a bath bomb in some hot water and just relax.
And on Monday:
You know, I promised an entry without whining. And I'll be damned if today didn't go and make that difficult. But! I shall prevail.
So I was working on a manuscript around the second week in January, you might remember. Set a goal of 5k, blew the deadline, reset it, met it with time to spare? Yes, that one. Well, I dropped it when Becca came to visit and then crap kept getting in the way, but I picked it up again tonight. It was difficult to get back into, but it felt good to do something productive while I'm sitting around waiting on my body to vanquish the virii. Hopefully it'll get easier tomorrow.
Is it extremely sad that I find comfort in hearing that Neil Gaiman is having issues with the chapter he's on, too? Heh.
Things with the house are kind of in that between stage. We haven't done the appraisal yet, and probably won't for at least a week. That hasn't stopped me from plotting things, of course. I cannot wait to get in and start painting things. I don't know why I'm looking forward to that so much, but the urge to go make some of those walls NON-WHITE is almost overwhelming.
I wonder how dude would feel if I started before he moved out..?
Yeah, probably not a good idea. Oh, well. ;D
Ohh, you know what? I totally have cheese dip around here somewhere. Time to terminate this entry early and go get some snacks. NOM NOM NOM.
I'm feeling a little better today, but who knows for how long. Everyone is passing this flu around like mad. 1/3 of the kids in B's school were out yesterday, today, or both. K's boss is not helping things by insisting he come into work while he's still contagious, either.
New plan: write a book, make several billion dollars, buy K's company, fire his boss. Hey, it's good to have goals, right?
On Saturday we had thundersnow! It was amazing. I wish I hadn't been sick so I could have gone outside instead of watching it from my room... then again, a house down the road from me got hit by lightning, so maybe it was for the best.
I wrote this Sunday:
I dreamt last night that I was drowning in dark, deep, black water in the middle of an icy lake. I tried to pull myself up but the ice broke under my hands, cutting my palms and re-submerging me.
The never-ending sickness of doom has started wearing on me, emotionally. I'm irritable as all hell, to the point that I just want someone to piss me off about something substantial so that I can tear into them. It's been difficult to reign myself in and not just metaphorically chew the faces off of completely undeserving people. Hence, very little in the way of communication with anyone.
The flu can't last forever. It either has to go away or kill me. ... right?
Apparently my upstairs neighbors are Giants fans. I'm surprised they didn't end up in my living room toward the end of the game, to be quite honest. As I told someone else, I'll be glad when we move to a house and the only loud ass people upstairs are the ones related to me. ("And you can poke them with a stick," they pointed out. Exactly!)
Tomorrow... I'm going to make a post that doesn't involve ANY whining at all. I swear it.
Right now I'm going to go throw a bath bomb in some hot water and just relax.
And on Monday:
You know, I promised an entry without whining. And I'll be damned if today didn't go and make that difficult. But! I shall prevail.
So I was working on a manuscript around the second week in January, you might remember. Set a goal of 5k, blew the deadline, reset it, met it with time to spare? Yes, that one. Well, I dropped it when Becca came to visit and then crap kept getting in the way, but I picked it up again tonight. It was difficult to get back into, but it felt good to do something productive while I'm sitting around waiting on my body to vanquish the virii. Hopefully it'll get easier tomorrow.
Is it extremely sad that I find comfort in hearing that Neil Gaiman is having issues with the chapter he's on, too? Heh.
Things with the house are kind of in that between stage. We haven't done the appraisal yet, and probably won't for at least a week. That hasn't stopped me from plotting things, of course. I cannot wait to get in and start painting things. I don't know why I'm looking forward to that so much, but the urge to go make some of those walls NON-WHITE is almost overwhelming.
I wonder how dude would feel if I started before he moved out..?
Yeah, probably not a good idea. Oh, well. ;D
Ohh, you know what? I totally have cheese dip around here somewhere. Time to terminate this entry early and go get some snacks. NOM NOM NOM.
I'm feeling a little better today, but who knows for how long. Everyone is passing this flu around like mad. 1/3 of the kids in B's school were out yesterday, today, or both. K's boss is not helping things by insisting he come into work while he's still contagious, either.
New plan: write a book, make several billion dollars, buy K's company, fire his boss. Hey, it's good to have goals, right?
Friday, February 1, 2008
Oh, my god. I feel like crap. I have cuts and bruises on the bottoms of my feet from running around barefoot on the never-swept concrete floor and metal stairs the other day. My left leg hurts from my ankle to my knee because I apparently wrenched it at some point. My stomach hurts every time I eat (yay stress!) but I get dizzy if I don't eat enough. I might have come down with the flu, because I'm having hot/cold flashes, a nagging cough, shortness of breath, and muscle aches.
Oh, and I woke up with a migraine. Fucking hell.
I had a dream last night that I went to visit Becca and Chris (who, despite not knowing one another, had simultaneously moved to the same town that was neither Memphis nor Denver) and got bitten by a snake. While I was at the doctor, the guy that Becca is dating was trying to basically tell me that I was faking a snake bite. Of course! And he kept telling me that she was too busy to hang out with me because they were going to be doing stuff for the entire weekend that I was there. But I couldn't call and talk to her because I didn't have my phone on me.
Then I went to track down Chris and found out that he was working at a Catholic high school and didn't want to be seen with me for fear of damaging his reputation. (Oh, the lols all around on that one.) So I got a snake bite for no reason! But then Rachel's friend Adam, who also worked at this random Catholic high school (again with the amusement), saw me and left work to take me dancing at the local gay club and bought me jello shots from gothic lolita girls.
In the real world, we did the inspection on the house yesterday. It's in amazing shape for being 58 years old, but there were a few things that need to be fixed (mostly common electrical goofs) and a few things that are kind of dumb. Like the walk up to the house has settled a little unevenly, and it's considered a "tripping hazard"... ok, but what is one supposed to do? Lift up the slab of concrete and put some sugar packets underneath the far corner, a la the desk that won't stop wobbling? :P
There's some weirdness with a grant from the local environmental foundation... or something... that needs to get cleared up, though. I couldn't want a house that is normal, could I?
And now... it's time to drag myself out of the bed and get dressed to go get the boy. Ugh.
Oh, and I woke up with a migraine. Fucking hell.
I had a dream last night that I went to visit Becca and Chris (who, despite not knowing one another, had simultaneously moved to the same town that was neither Memphis nor Denver) and got bitten by a snake. While I was at the doctor, the guy that Becca is dating was trying to basically tell me that I was faking a snake bite. Of course! And he kept telling me that she was too busy to hang out with me because they were going to be doing stuff for the entire weekend that I was there. But I couldn't call and talk to her because I didn't have my phone on me.
Then I went to track down Chris and found out that he was working at a Catholic high school and didn't want to be seen with me for fear of damaging his reputation. (Oh, the lols all around on that one.) So I got a snake bite for no reason! But then Rachel's friend Adam, who also worked at this random Catholic high school (again with the amusement), saw me and left work to take me dancing at the local gay club and bought me jello shots from gothic lolita girls.
In the real world, we did the inspection on the house yesterday. It's in amazing shape for being 58 years old, but there were a few things that need to be fixed (mostly common electrical goofs) and a few things that are kind of dumb. Like the walk up to the house has settled a little unevenly, and it's considered a "tripping hazard"... ok, but what is one supposed to do? Lift up the slab of concrete and put some sugar packets underneath the far corner, a la the desk that won't stop wobbling? :P
There's some weirdness with a grant from the local environmental foundation... or something... that needs to get cleared up, though. I couldn't want a house that is normal, could I?
And now... it's time to drag myself out of the bed and get dressed to go get the boy. Ugh.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
The worst 10 minutes of my life.
K (my partner in crime) stayed home sick today and went to go grab the boy from school this afternoon. Lil b (who is almost 3) was happily playing with his laptop in his room, so I went to go figure out why my left contact was freaking out. After a few seconds of removing, rinsing, putting it back in, removing, etc. I heard a really loud thud from the other room. Immediately I thought that little dude had either dropped something or managed to kill himself somehow, so I ran into his room.
He wasn't there. I looked in the living room and kitchen. Not there, either. Not in his brother's room. Not in the bathroom or the laundry room. Not on the other side of my bed. WTF? By this point I'm calling his name, telling him that this is NOT funny and he needs to come out right now.
And then I saw the the door was unlocked.
So I stuck my head outside and looked in the hall. No sign of him. I threw on a hoodie (I wasn't wearing a shirt, just a bra) and skipped the shoes and ran outside.
From the front door there are a few ways to go. On either side there are metal stairs with concrete at the bottom. A fall down either one of those is going to be an ER visit at best. Then there's the landing to the parking garage full of people who can't be arsed to go slow or look where they're going. Further up is the elevator which goes all the way up to the roof of the parking garage.
I figured he went to the parking garage to look for K, so I ran out there first. No one. So then I thought that he'd maybe gone down the stairs (which is what we do when I let him walk to go places) so I ran down the set closest to the apartment and the set down the hall. Then I thought maybe he went up, since I never let him do that. So I ran up to the third floor. Nothing.
I went back in the apartment to see if maybe he'd been hiding and came out when he realized that no one was looking for him. That would have been too easy, though.
I ran back to the parking garage, thinking maybe he was on the other side of a car and I just hadn't seen him. There are a couple of cars exactly like ours in the garage, so maybe he was trying to get into one of them. I searched our level, looking under cars and yelling for him. The whole time I was running around and freaking out, I was speed-dialing K, who was not picking up. (Turns out his phone never went off. Fucking Verizon.)
By the time I came out of the parking garage the second time, my vocal cords were shot and I was hyperventilating and taking out my phone to call 911 because it'd been long enough that he could be anywhere at that point. And then I heard, from my right, the sound of a very small person running and crying. So I ran down the landing and turned the corner to find lil b, with no coat and no shoes, running toward me. I scooped him up, and he said "I was in the elevator! I was lost! I pushed the buttons and I waited on you and I was scared!"
So we came back inside and I collapsed into a coughing, hoarse mess on the floor and had a nervous breakdown with little dude on my lap having a nervous breakdown of his own. And of course K and B walked in at that point.
Yet another reason I want OUT of this apartment. The doors are impossible to childproof and we can't install more locks up higher or switch out the knobs.
I have hunch that this will be funny in like 12 years when he's dating and I get to retell the story. But right now? Yeah, not so much.
He wasn't there. I looked in the living room and kitchen. Not there, either. Not in his brother's room. Not in the bathroom or the laundry room. Not on the other side of my bed. WTF? By this point I'm calling his name, telling him that this is NOT funny and he needs to come out right now.
And then I saw the the door was unlocked.
So I stuck my head outside and looked in the hall. No sign of him. I threw on a hoodie (I wasn't wearing a shirt, just a bra) and skipped the shoes and ran outside.
From the front door there are a few ways to go. On either side there are metal stairs with concrete at the bottom. A fall down either one of those is going to be an ER visit at best. Then there's the landing to the parking garage full of people who can't be arsed to go slow or look where they're going. Further up is the elevator which goes all the way up to the roof of the parking garage.
I figured he went to the parking garage to look for K, so I ran out there first. No one. So then I thought that he'd maybe gone down the stairs (which is what we do when I let him walk to go places) so I ran down the set closest to the apartment and the set down the hall. Then I thought maybe he went up, since I never let him do that. So I ran up to the third floor. Nothing.
I went back in the apartment to see if maybe he'd been hiding and came out when he realized that no one was looking for him. That would have been too easy, though.
I ran back to the parking garage, thinking maybe he was on the other side of a car and I just hadn't seen him. There are a couple of cars exactly like ours in the garage, so maybe he was trying to get into one of them. I searched our level, looking under cars and yelling for him. The whole time I was running around and freaking out, I was speed-dialing K, who was not picking up. (Turns out his phone never went off. Fucking Verizon.)
By the time I came out of the parking garage the second time, my vocal cords were shot and I was hyperventilating and taking out my phone to call 911 because it'd been long enough that he could be anywhere at that point. And then I heard, from my right, the sound of a very small person running and crying. So I ran down the landing and turned the corner to find lil b, with no coat and no shoes, running toward me. I scooped him up, and he said "I was in the elevator! I was lost! I pushed the buttons and I waited on you and I was scared!"
So we came back inside and I collapsed into a coughing, hoarse mess on the floor and had a nervous breakdown with little dude on my lap having a nervous breakdown of his own. And of course K and B walked in at that point.
Yet another reason I want OUT of this apartment. The doors are impossible to childproof and we can't install more locks up higher or switch out the knobs.
I have hunch that this will be funny in like 12 years when he's dating and I get to retell the story. But right now? Yeah, not so much.
Monday, January 28, 2008
note: this was written around 12pm today. it's just making its way over here some 12 hours later.
We finally signed papers for an offer and put down earnest money (*choke*) yesterday.
All of this slow-crawl stuff has made me twitchy. We just got the last W2 on Saturday so we could estimate the taxes. We only estimated because the student loan place isn't going to have their form ready until Thursday... way to wait til the last minute, there. But if they accept the offer, it'll be a whirlwind of "omg get it done NOW" for the next two weeks.
Please, please don't let the seller be the asshole that his agent made him out to be. I'm banking on the whole "grumpy seller" story being just a trick of the seller's agent to keep us from making a ridiculously low offer. I hope I'm not wrong. (ETA: I was wrong. Goddamnit. Time to counter-counter.)
Anyway. I'm not going to think about that any more until someone tells me what they had to say to the offer.
In other news, got invited to run Kara last night on Draka, which turned out to be a lot of fun despite dying a bunch. The group was mostly a family (mom, dad, daughter, uncle, some other unidentified family members) from Australia, and none of us were really geared for a Kara run, so it was just for shits and giggles. Still, we took down the Big Bad Wolf in Opera and I got a purple gun. Not bad for my first run, right?
And I came in 3rd on the damage meter. ^^
Unrelatedly, I've started trying to cook something new and interesting after every trip to the grocery store. It's not like I don't have a dozen cookbooks and the internet at my disposal. Why in the hell should I be cooking spaghetti or hamburgers or whatever over and over again? Exactly.
So, I made some raspberry chicken from a book recipe (book recipes make me nervous because they don't come with reviews... viva le interwebs!) that turned out well. I was expecting something light and sweet, but it turned out to be spicy. It was still pretty damn good, though, and I think I'm going to steal the marinade to use instead of store bought raspberry-chipotle sauce on the pork loin I normally do.
I also made some lemon spinach cous cous which... did not turn out as well. Ah, well. You win some, you lose some.
I'm feeling a bit random today. Obviously. Time to go entertain small children.
We finally signed papers for an offer and put down earnest money (*choke*) yesterday.
All of this slow-crawl stuff has made me twitchy. We just got the last W2 on Saturday so we could estimate the taxes. We only estimated because the student loan place isn't going to have their form ready until Thursday... way to wait til the last minute, there. But if they accept the offer, it'll be a whirlwind of "omg get it done NOW" for the next two weeks.
Please, please don't let the seller be the asshole that his agent made him out to be. I'm banking on the whole "grumpy seller" story being just a trick of the seller's agent to keep us from making a ridiculously low offer. I hope I'm not wrong. (ETA: I was wrong. Goddamnit. Time to counter-counter.)
Anyway. I'm not going to think about that any more until someone tells me what they had to say to the offer.
In other news, got invited to run Kara last night on Draka, which turned out to be a lot of fun despite dying a bunch. The group was mostly a family (mom, dad, daughter, uncle, some other unidentified family members) from Australia, and none of us were really geared for a Kara run, so it was just for shits and giggles. Still, we took down the Big Bad Wolf in Opera and I got a purple gun. Not bad for my first run, right?
And I came in 3rd on the damage meter. ^^
Unrelatedly, I've started trying to cook something new and interesting after every trip to the grocery store. It's not like I don't have a dozen cookbooks and the internet at my disposal. Why in the hell should I be cooking spaghetti or hamburgers or whatever over and over again? Exactly.
So, I made some raspberry chicken from a book recipe (book recipes make me nervous because they don't come with reviews... viva le interwebs!) that turned out well. I was expecting something light and sweet, but it turned out to be spicy. It was still pretty damn good, though, and I think I'm going to steal the marinade to use instead of store bought raspberry-chipotle sauce on the pork loin I normally do.
I also made some lemon spinach cous cous which... did not turn out as well. Ah, well. You win some, you lose some.
I'm feeling a bit random today. Obviously. Time to go entertain small children.
Think twice before you touch my girl
So, I have a friend. My friend has a relatively new boyfriend. My friend and her boyfriend are having issues of various sorts.
The boyfriend, in a bid to do... something... decided that he would email (well, MySpace message) a few of her closest friends and ask for advice on how to "help her through this difficult time" or somesuch. I don't know the exact wording because I didn't actually get one of these messages.
Why? Because, apparently, he considers me her "go get 'em girl" who would probably tell him to go fuck himself if I thought that they were fighting. Now, keep in mind that he did message her extremely loyal very best friend who has recently been to a mental hospital (not a joke, I'm serious) and her scary bald-guy friend that her ex-husband felt was some sort of big threat. But not me.
Which means I'm more intimidating.
... SWEET! I've always wanted to be intimidating! Gr. GRRR I SAY! Fear me!
Of course, he's right. I would have been tempted to say "well, you know, it'd probably help her a lot if you'd stop being a passive-aggressive asshole. But that's just a theory." I wouldn't have actually said it. But I'd have considered it.
But yes, I'm enjoying being intimidating. GR.
The boyfriend, in a bid to do... something... decided that he would email (well, MySpace message) a few of her closest friends and ask for advice on how to "help her through this difficult time" or somesuch. I don't know the exact wording because I didn't actually get one of these messages.
Why? Because, apparently, he considers me her "go get 'em girl" who would probably tell him to go fuck himself if I thought that they were fighting. Now, keep in mind that he did message her extremely loyal very best friend who has recently been to a mental hospital (not a joke, I'm serious) and her scary bald-guy friend that her ex-husband felt was some sort of big threat. But not me.
Which means I'm more intimidating.
... SWEET! I've always wanted to be intimidating! Gr. GRRR I SAY! Fear me!
Of course, he's right. I would have been tempted to say "well, you know, it'd probably help her a lot if you'd stop being a passive-aggressive asshole. But that's just a theory." I wouldn't have actually said it. But I'd have considered it.
But yes, I'm enjoying being intimidating. GR.
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Mommyness
B (my oldest, who is 7) came home on Wednesday all excited. "Tomorrow is backwards day!" he told me. I was a little confused, because normally they do their spirit day things on Fridays. So I asked if he was sure. Of COURSE he was sure. Positive? Yep. Not on Friday? No, already! Ok.
So, Thursday morning we put on a button-up shirt backward and buttoned it up. He also wore his watch upside down and put his backpack on his front.
Thursday afternoon he came out of school with his shirt on right, looking all dejected. I immediately flashed to what it would have been like for me to get the wrong day and wear my clothes backward when I wasn't supposed to when I was in second grade. Oh, the mortification! I would have been praying all day for a hole to crawl into. It would have been horrible!
So I asked what was wrong, and he said he'd had a bad day. While he re-tied his shoes, I asked about the shirt. "Oh, it's not backward day today after all, so I turned it around," he said, casually.
"Is that why you had a bad day?" I asked. "Because you went in with your shirt backward on the wrong day?"
He gave me his patented are-you-on-something? look and said, "No. I just turned my shirt around. I had a bad day because I lost my Spiderman watch."
Oh, well, right then. Heh.
I am totally confused as to how two people who were painfully shy, dorky kids managed to produce a kid that honestly doesn't much care what anyone thinks and is naturally social. I'm going to take it as a sign that we're doing something right, though.
He's also shaping up to be a bit of a leader, which is slightly less surprising to me. He is the oldest child, after all. But the game of chase from last year (where three little girls chased him all recess long every day) has now turned into a giant game of capture the flag, minus the flag. The boys have their "castle" and the girls have their "fort" on opposite ends of the playground equipment, and they try to sneak over and capture each other's space.
"... so, then [girl] snuck into our castle, so we all had to slide down the slides and run away, but [boy] went and snuck into their fort so they all ran away too and we got our castle back. And then I gave out medals to people who were brave. I gave [boy] the sticker from my banana, too, as an extra reward. He's putting it in his roly-poly house."
"So, what, you're the leader of the boys' team or something?"
"Nah. I'm just the one with all of the ideas. It's because I read a lot of books, I think."
That he does. And our local library doesn't have a lot in his reading range, so I'm going to have to go buy some more soon. Yay for used bookstores and Barnes and Noble gift cards...
In other news, today is catch-up-on-housework day. Woo?
So, Thursday morning we put on a button-up shirt backward and buttoned it up. He also wore his watch upside down and put his backpack on his front.
Thursday afternoon he came out of school with his shirt on right, looking all dejected. I immediately flashed to what it would have been like for me to get the wrong day and wear my clothes backward when I wasn't supposed to when I was in second grade. Oh, the mortification! I would have been praying all day for a hole to crawl into. It would have been horrible!
So I asked what was wrong, and he said he'd had a bad day. While he re-tied his shoes, I asked about the shirt. "Oh, it's not backward day today after all, so I turned it around," he said, casually.
"Is that why you had a bad day?" I asked. "Because you went in with your shirt backward on the wrong day?"
He gave me his patented are-you-on-something? look and said, "No. I just turned my shirt around. I had a bad day because I lost my Spiderman watch."
Oh, well, right then. Heh.
I am totally confused as to how two people who were painfully shy, dorky kids managed to produce a kid that honestly doesn't much care what anyone thinks and is naturally social. I'm going to take it as a sign that we're doing something right, though.
He's also shaping up to be a bit of a leader, which is slightly less surprising to me. He is the oldest child, after all. But the game of chase from last year (where three little girls chased him all recess long every day) has now turned into a giant game of capture the flag, minus the flag. The boys have their "castle" and the girls have their "fort" on opposite ends of the playground equipment, and they try to sneak over and capture each other's space.
"... so, then [girl] snuck into our castle, so we all had to slide down the slides and run away, but [boy] went and snuck into their fort so they all ran away too and we got our castle back. And then I gave out medals to people who were brave. I gave [boy] the sticker from my banana, too, as an extra reward. He's putting it in his roly-poly house."
"So, what, you're the leader of the boys' team or something?"
"Nah. I'm just the one with all of the ideas. It's because I read a lot of books, I think."
That he does. And our local library doesn't have a lot in his reading range, so I'm going to have to go buy some more soon. Yay for used bookstores and Barnes and Noble gift cards...
In other news, today is catch-up-on-housework day. Woo?
Friday, January 25, 2008
Apparently it is required by law that one discloses if a property has ever been used as a meth lab to potential buyers. Which, I mean, I totally can get behind that because I'm not keen on the idea of owning a house that's a health hazard. But on the other hand, what person in their right mind is going to be like "Please pay me lots of dollars for this house, and also, I... I mean... my friend whipped up some illegal narcotics in the basement! Hope you don't mind."
Exactly. Kind of funny that they have to have a clause in the contract for it, though.
Kind of like how the townhouse in Cordova had a clause in the lease agreement where we had to agree that we understood that they would not be cleaning our fridge for us. No kidding. Though, I wish I could find an apartment that WOULD clean my fridge. How awesome would that be?
So, last weekend I went to the eye doctor to check on the contacts and get my eyes dilated. I've never had the dilation done, so I wasn't quite sure what to expect. He put the drops in and then sent me out to the waiting room, where Becca and I read gossip rags and made fun of people's outfits for a while. I'm not sure what I was expecting, but I was not expecting to be sitting around and have my left eye suddenly go *poink!* It was like something out of a cartoon.
So, I was sitting around looking like this: O.o
The other one caught up at some point and we did the exam and I don't have any of whatever they were looking for. So yay. When I got home, Krys informed me that I was still "fully dilated" which made me giggle. It's been a while since I've had to worry about being fully dilated.
A few hours later I went to the dentist. I made the mistake of mentioning to the lady who was cleaning my teeth that I'd done the dilation a few hours previously and she made me wear one of the face masks over my eyes. On one hand, it was kind of nice. I'm not a big fan of bright lights in my eyes on a normal basis, so cleanings generally bother the hell out of me.
Ooooon the other hand, I looked like a dork. Nothing new there, though, I suppose.
Anyway, I apparently have two wee bitty cavities that I have to go get fixed on Thursday. First cavities I've had in 20 years, so I guess I can't complain. Especially with the amount of crap I've put my poor, poor teeth through. I keep waiting for my body to rise up and take revenge on me for surviving on candy bars and Dr. Pepper throughout high school and college...
And that train of thought brings me to the following quote:
You see life is like that...we change, that's all. You see, the guy I am now is not the guy I was then. If the guy I was then met the guy I am now, he'd beat the shit out of me. Those are the facts. Stevo, SLC Punk
Of course, in my case it would be "If the girl I am now met the girl I was then, I'd sit her down and give her a good talking to and possibly a glass of wine."
There are so many things that I want to remember later that I'm forgetting now, so I can't write them down. Frustrating. Of course, I'll remember them when I'm doing something that makes me unable to sit down with the computer, like cleaning the shower or sleeping. Dammit.
In other news: The stupid tax paperwork can come in ANY SECOND NOW. Seriously. I'd like to get all of this over with, one way or another.
Exactly. Kind of funny that they have to have a clause in the contract for it, though.
Kind of like how the townhouse in Cordova had a clause in the lease agreement where we had to agree that we understood that they would not be cleaning our fridge for us. No kidding. Though, I wish I could find an apartment that WOULD clean my fridge. How awesome would that be?
So, last weekend I went to the eye doctor to check on the contacts and get my eyes dilated. I've never had the dilation done, so I wasn't quite sure what to expect. He put the drops in and then sent me out to the waiting room, where Becca and I read gossip rags and made fun of people's outfits for a while. I'm not sure what I was expecting, but I was not expecting to be sitting around and have my left eye suddenly go *poink!* It was like something out of a cartoon.
So, I was sitting around looking like this: O.o
The other one caught up at some point and we did the exam and I don't have any of whatever they were looking for. So yay. When I got home, Krys informed me that I was still "fully dilated" which made me giggle. It's been a while since I've had to worry about being fully dilated.
A few hours later I went to the dentist. I made the mistake of mentioning to the lady who was cleaning my teeth that I'd done the dilation a few hours previously and she made me wear one of the face masks over my eyes. On one hand, it was kind of nice. I'm not a big fan of bright lights in my eyes on a normal basis, so cleanings generally bother the hell out of me.
Ooooon the other hand, I looked like a dork. Nothing new there, though, I suppose.
Anyway, I apparently have two wee bitty cavities that I have to go get fixed on Thursday. First cavities I've had in 20 years, so I guess I can't complain. Especially with the amount of crap I've put my poor, poor teeth through. I keep waiting for my body to rise up and take revenge on me for surviving on candy bars and Dr. Pepper throughout high school and college...
And that train of thought brings me to the following quote:
You see life is like that...we change, that's all. You see, the guy I am now is not the guy I was then. If the guy I was then met the guy I am now, he'd beat the shit out of me. Those are the facts. Stevo, SLC Punk
Of course, in my case it would be "If the girl I am now met the girl I was then, I'd sit her down and give her a good talking to and possibly a glass of wine."
There are so many things that I want to remember later that I'm forgetting now, so I can't write them down. Frustrating. Of course, I'll remember them when I'm doing something that makes me unable to sit down with the computer, like cleaning the shower or sleeping. Dammit.
In other news: The stupid tax paperwork can come in ANY SECOND NOW. Seriously. I'd like to get all of this over with, one way or another.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Reiteration
So, check it out... here I am again at ye olde Blogger, where all of this started in the first place. Weird. It actually looks kind of slick now, some 5 years later.
I guess that's what selling out to Google will do for you. (I kid, I kid! Mostly.)
Basically, I'm starting this with the intention of reposting stuff that I'm already posting elsewhere so that my favorite blogger can read it from work. Anyone who stumbles by is welcome to read along as well, of course. And talk to me! I miss adult interaction. ;)
Why not just use the site I actually own for this? Well, see, everyone kind of knows about that one and I'm perfectly happy being sort of e-anonymous. You'd be amazed at the sort of people who STILL hit that site despite it being down for like 2 years. Besides, I might have some sort of uses for it later that don't involve a blog. I'm still deciding.
What can you expect to find here? I promise a lot of random, an occasional deep thought, and very few memes or quiz results.
Who knows where this is going to go. Maybe I'll end up posting more here than anywhere else. Let's jump in and see.
I guess that's what selling out to Google will do for you. (I kid, I kid! Mostly.)
Basically, I'm starting this with the intention of reposting stuff that I'm already posting elsewhere so that my favorite blogger can read it from work. Anyone who stumbles by is welcome to read along as well, of course. And talk to me! I miss adult interaction. ;)
Why not just use the site I actually own for this? Well, see, everyone kind of knows about that one and I'm perfectly happy being sort of e-anonymous. You'd be amazed at the sort of people who STILL hit that site despite it being down for like 2 years. Besides, I might have some sort of uses for it later that don't involve a blog. I'm still deciding.
What can you expect to find here? I promise a lot of random, an occasional deep thought, and very few memes or quiz results.
Who knows where this is going to go. Maybe I'll end up posting more here than anywhere else. Let's jump in and see.
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