The Salt Shaker

Quote me, I'm brilliant!

2011-09-26T17:47:00.000-07:00

I had to share this, just because I think it's pretty amazing.

"I protect my brain cells by NOT drinking; I wouldn't expect my aunt to understand the helmet thing either."

Backstory: My family is full of alcoholics. I've recently found out that one of my aunts continuously accuses me of being socially awkward because I refuse to hang out and get drunk with the rest of my family. This is also the same aunt who started the rumor that I was a lesbian, because I haven't dated much.

The latest gossip from said aunt is that wearing bicycle helmets when riding bikes "is stupid." When my mother tells her that it is the safe thing to do and that my sister and I wear our helmets, she replies, "I know, they look stupid."

So I repeat: "I protect my brain cells by NOT drinking; I wouldn't expect my aunt to understand the helmet thing either."

End rant.

My Pickle

2011-09-23T17:27:00.000-07:00

This morning, it hit me.

I'm the girl with daddy issues.

I'm sure I thought it before, but every now and then it just hits me again.

I spent years not realizing it, and quite a few pretending "it's not so bad." But there it was, right before me this morning. I'm the girl with daddy issues, and there isn't a thing I can do about it.

I'm stuck, and it's really pissing me off.

I almost broke down this morning, but I held it together. Too much stuff going on in my own life to be bothered with all that family drama, but at the same time, stress tends increase thinking about it. Don't know why, but it does. Whenever I'm stressed, more stress comes to my mind. Whenever I'm happy, I tend to not think about unhappy things.

I'd say I'm typically an easy going kinda gal.

Well, like I said, this morning I almost lost it. When my sister came home this past weekend, we somehow wound up talking about our father. I sort of angrily, accidentally spilled the beans about his feelings. "If we don't care, he doesn't care" was basically the message I got from him.

If we don't want to have anything to do with him, fuck us.

Thanks Dad, love you too.

Well, I know that is just anger talking, and I've tried to work it out. I actually called him several weeks ago in an attempt to make communication. I was going for a job interview, and I decided to spend the day in the local Borders, hoping to brush up my study skills. Still, I felt obligated to call and talk to him and let him know WHY I wasn't seeing him that particular weekend after we'd had a fairly decent weekend together.

He never answered. Nor did he call back. Nor has he called me. So....

On one hand I feel like I should call and make more of an effort. On the other hand, I feel like calling just to tell him to go fuck off. I mean, seriously, if he doesn't give a shit enough to call me, why should I care?

I thought about calling him this morning, but with my birthday less than 9 days away, I refuse. Why call him so he can think I'm just fishing for presents.

The last thing I said to him was "My birthday is coming."

It sounds really selfish, but I assure you the conversation was nothing of the sort. He kept bugging me to take the iPad he'd gotten me for Christmas. "I got it for you." "I got it before the fight" "You should take it."

You would think any person in their right minds would take it, but I just cannot. It's a symbol of how sucky our relationship is. It's fake, and materialistic. The only time we ever see each other is on holidays--gift-giving and gift receiving holidays. How can anyone consider that a healthy relationship?

"Hi, Dad, thanks bye! See you at Christmas."

Is he fucking blind? He really thought we had a great relationship. How could anyone consider that a great relationship? I even said it to him, and I will never forget the look on his face as he registered it in his brain. "Things have not been good between us for a while."

I just want to call and scream at him, but I can't. Instead I just sit here and want to implode. I've had a headache all night just thinking about it. And work. I've got so much stress at work, and then I think, "He doesn't even know I Have a new job. He doesn't even care."

So why should I care? I should hate him. But I know what will happen. I will hate him, and then he'll die, and I'll be stuck hating myself for hating him. I'll be stuck regretting that I didn't try, and I'll be stuck feeling like shit.

So I can't fix this, and I can't ignore it. What the hell am I supposed to do?

Now the sister is pissed, and hurt. She didn't know the whole "Fuck off" I had gotten beforehand, and now that she's put two and two together, I don't know what she's thinking. I feel opted to send her the same message I sent her years ago, the "oh it's not so bad," but really it is. I mean, how should I fix things with them, if I cannot even fix things between us? And why should I? Why the fuck do I have to be the person to fix everything?

Then the logic sets in.

Alcoholic. Alcoholic. Alcoholic. Alcoholic.

They don't care about anyone. Not even themselves. They just want their drug. Just like junkies.

He doesn't have a single caring bone in his body. He is so filled with denial that he just doesn't get it.

But why do I have to suffer?

I hope he doesn't call me on my birthday and pretend everything is fine and dandy.

I will lose it.

I feel so tempted to just bitch him out on facebook. Let the world see him for the cowardly loser he is. Then I think, don't be such a freak. That's what drama queen teenage girls do with their stupid mental break-downs over idiots. It won't do any good, and it will just make you look crazy.

But, Grr. Just grr.

I wish I knew what to do. Why won't this just disappear from my mind? I have so many better things to waste my energy on.

I can see the light at the end of the tunnel!

2011-08-25T15:29:00.000-07:00

My one goal for this summer has been to complete the story I'm writing--or, rather, the story I've been writing for the past 4 years.

Granted, 4 years is a long time for a story, but it's not like I spent the past 2,103,795 minutes of my life actually writing. No, subtract the time I've spent working, and sleeping, and the weeks I've gone through dry spells. I would estimate that I've actually spent less than a few weeks actually writing.

But chapter by chapter, I continued to plug away at it, and with 3 days left of vacation, I am literally only a chapter or two away from closing the first story! I just have to figure out if I want to squeeze the ending into one chapter or spread it out over two. I'll probably post two, but I don't see it taking more than that!

I cannot wait to spend the next 4 years of my life writing the second story!! ha =)

My really bad mood.

2011-08-23T10:43:00.000-07:00

Ironically, I am in another really bad mood.

I guess it is just stress, because this is my last week of vacation, and I am feeling slightly stressed about going back to work. I'm feeling disappointed that I will not have my own classroom for a third consecutive year since my graduation. I'm feeling stressed about the whole dating thing. The dad thing. Everything. I'm just feeling stressed about everything today.

I promise one day to come back and write happy notes about how great life is, but for the time being I apparently just like to bitch about stuff. So, here it is. My latest rant:

My sister's birthday present has arrived. A brand new laptop. Congratulations. I've worked my ass off so that I could buy myself 2 laptops, and here she is getting a second one.

Backstory. When I was 16 I got a laptop for my birthday. It wasn't the greatest laptop, but it was my very own, refurbished, laptop. It had its flaws, but I absolutely loved it. It was better than getting a cell phone--it was the best present ever.

When I started college, I worked at the computer department as a work study. Now, I was not the average work study, because I actually worked. The department head would always praise my hard work and dedication--and loved me because I would actually do work for them--and not just sit down and read books all day. Yay me! The hard worker!

I saved up enough money so that I could buy my own, brand new, laptop. It was the greatest computer ever, and I would still be using it today if it did not burn in a house fire. Yeah, my favorite laptop is melted into the ground.

Well, after the fire, my sister and I both got new laptops to replace our old ones. The one I got was not the greatest machine ever; it was actually a huge pain in the ass. So when it broke this year, I was quite excited because it meant I could buy myself a new one. And I did. Well, I actually wound up buying myself two new ones, because the first new one I bought was broken and had to be returned. This second one is working better, still has its quirks, but I am thinking I might keep it.

Well, I didn't have the money to buy this new laptop, but I put it on my credit card figuring I'd be back to work this month and would be able to pay it off shortly. That is all fine and dandy. I have a job, and I work for the nice things that I want in my life. Unlike my sister.

Not a week after I buy my new laptop, Mom starts talking about how she wants to buy a new one for my sister. Well, isn't that just dandy. I'm one part frustrated as hell, and one part jealous. Jealous because, um, I would have liked someone to buy me a new laptop, but I'm mostly frustrated because here we are in debt, and talking about perhaps selling our house because of said debt, and you want to go out and buy her a new fucking laptop? Thanks for that. Really.

Not for nothing, but you made this kid promise you she would get a summer job, and she didn't even try. She made ONE lame-ass attempt to get a job after the summer was already over. You bitched about how she didn't work all summer, and how she doesn't help out at all, and yet you want to go and buy her a laptop??

Is it just me, or does this seem like the most idiotic enabler's plan ever????

First off, she doesn't need a laptop. Contrary to popular belief, it is possible to go through college without a laptop. Yes, it makes it easier, but there are other options. (IE, School library, or repairing broken laptop, which I've suggested can be done by actually bringing broken laptop to my friends to fix in exchange for food.) Use of other people's computers typically adds to the frustration of computerless college students, which then motivates said college students to get off their asses and get jobs to pay for new laptops.

I'm sorry, but when I needed a new laptop for school, I paid for it myself. We didn't have the money to go buy me a new laptop when I needed it, and here we are--in worse of a financial situation--actually talking about perhaps selling our house--and Mom goes out and buys her a new laptop??

I mean, that makes sense to me. I told her again and again, but she doesn't care. And she didn't care. She kept asking me, "Which one do you like better?" and I would kindly plead the 5th.

Seriously? Mom wants her to grow up and wonders why she is so lazy, yet everything my sister needs is handed to her on a silver platter. And they wonder why I'm in a bad mood. Maybe because no one listens to me?

What really set me off today, though? This completely insane happy bitch on the coworkers page. I won't speak much about it, because I don't want this to be traced back to my own identity, but outside of work I am a consultant for a certain company. And there is this one consultant who thinks her shit doesn't stink if you know what I mean. If I ever wanted to smack someone upside the face, it is this woman. The frigging Richard Simmons of the company if you know what I mean. Always posting her inspirational, "You can do it; my life is awesome yours can be too" shit that makes me want to reach through the computer and strangle her.

First off, she is always the first to reply to messages posted on our coworkers page--unless I post them. For some unknown reason, my messages often go unanswered or ignored. Which is frustrating. Whenever someone posts something positive, she comments. Whenever I post something positive, its ignored. Whenever I say "I'm frustrated with this... any advice" she tells me not to be so negative--like she doesn't have a emotional bone in her frigging body.

Is she so detatched from reality that she doesn't get frustrated by people? Oh wait, she's plastered her face all over the internet like some freak, so she has 30+ recruits she is profiting from. If I had that many, I'd be happy too, but I wouldn't rub it in to other people's faces, because guess what? People aren't all vain like you, and people aren't all as lucky as you.

She apparently thinks she is SO GREAT she is now posting her own personal videos in our coworkers page. So she's too good to write messages to us now?? You have to get your face all plastered into our personal group? NEWSFLASH! NOBODY WANTS TO SEE YOUR FACE! Who cares!

God I am in a bad mood.

Why are parents so incredibly frustrating?

2011-04-18T19:19:00.000-07:00

Could someone explain that to me?

Mom and I just had a fight over the dumbest thing, but she just gets to me sometimes, and I lose it. Like, tonight. She has a bean bag that needs a cover. One of her friends left it behind when she moved out of another friend's house, which is great, I've always wanted to buy a bean bag, now I get to save money. But out of the blue she tells me to buy a cover or she is throwing it out.

Uhm, hi, but my budget doesn't exactly work like that.

Not when I'm about to be paycheck-less because I work in a school and do not get paid throughout the summer. And, not for nothing, but we already had this conservation two days ago when she told me to buy it the first time, and I told her I would buy it when I went back to work.

"What's five bucks?" She says, like it is nothing. Five bucks is nothing when you have a job or some reliable form of income. In a few months I will have neither of those things, so excuse me for wanting to save the money that I do have for things that are a little more important than stupid bean bag chairs.

Now the sis is mad because we fought, and mom is being pissy with me because the sis is mad. Gotta love being home.

Bleh

2011-04-09T17:38:00.000-07:00

I feel Bleh.

I can't explain it, I just feel Bleh. No motivation, no ambition, just bleh. I think I am feeling overwhelmed.

Got out today, went for Chinese. Met an old friend, and had a lot of fun talking. Met a new Scentsy customer, which was great. Now I'm just sitting here again feeling bleh. I want to write, but I can't force myself to get up and go do it. Instead I sit here... Thinking about planning. I should do planning, but I don't want to. I should also clean my room, or pick up the kitchen, but I don't want to do that either... Just want to sit. How depressing.

How bleh.

What's with me?

Last night I went to bed at 9. I feel like I should just go to bed now; why not? I'm not doing anything anyway. Then tomorrow I will wake up and do nothing again. I'll think about all the stuff I want to do, and I won't do it because I will be too busy feeling bad about all the things I SHOULD be doing.... but I won't do those either. I need to find a way out of this slump.

I hate feeling Bleh.

Well that just put me in a bad mood.

2011-02-23T15:37:00.000-08:00

(Note: This rant obviously excludes the relatives: LapNoodles & Homemakerman)

It has been on my nerves for a while now--the fact that my family is pretty unsupportive as far as my new business goes. They complain about how much I advertise. And while my neighbors will literally pinch their pennies (just ask my bank teller) to help me make a sale, do they offer to at least look at a catalog? No. I cannot even GIVE them free stuff.

But, whatever, you don't want to spend your money. Fine. I am ok with that. I just expect you would have the common courtesy to tell your friends to me promote. Is that really asking too much?

Tonight was the last straw, though. A complete slap in the face! My Aunt called to tell me that her friend signed up to sell. Great. Thanks a lot! Two minutes later, I log in to find the other consultant in MY TOWN, the one I took under my wing so to speak was the recruiter.

Maybe I am over reacting, but another person to my team would have been nice. My 3rd recruit would have lined me up to a better promotion. And you would THINK that since EVERYONE I am related to knows this particular person, it MIGHT JUST ONCE have come up in conversation that I sell too. But, nope. My family just sucks.

Thanks guys! Really appreciate all your help!

An Awkward Conversation

2011-02-13T20:09:00.000-08:00

So, how did this happen & what do I do?

My new years resolution was to expand my social life and maybe find a guy, but now it appears I may have two. Does this mean there is a love triangle forming above my head? I sure hope not. I don't care for the drama.

As you know, I met cheesepuff guy a few weeks ago, and met him again Friday. I think things are going well, despite my lack of experience in the dating field. But out of no where, Camera Guy sends me a message on facebook today.

Now, I have not yet mentioned Camera Guy, because I did not feel he was worth mentioning. That sounded sort of harsh, so let me clarify. Camera guy is a guy I still haven't figured out. I am not sure if I am attracted to him, because the few pictures he has online seem sort of goofy. But he went to the same college I did (which made me feel safe enough to add him on facebook) and he is a real good photographer (hence the nickname camera guy). Still, camera guy never asked me out or showed any interest so I always assumed he was just a friend. Until, of course, last night when out of no where he sent me a message. "hi".

I was not paying attention, because I was writing my story, but when I did notice, I replied "hey" and I sort of got the feeling this awkward feeling that the out-of-the-blue message was regarding an earlier facebook post about the date I had been on with cheesepuff guy.

Well, he did not respond until today. We casually talked about my Scentsy business for a while because I had the sneaking suspicion he was maybe curious about the date, but I wasn't going to bring it up. Then he asked, "Well any big plans for V-day?"

I said I didn't know, because I don't. And he asked about Cheesepuff guy and the date. I said that he hadn't mentioned it yet, but it was sort of an awkward time to start seeing somebody because we had only been on two dates and boom! Valentines Day PLUS his birthday.

Well, Camera guy then informed me that if Cheesepuff guy did not do anything on Valentines Day he was a loser, and probably gay. (Although reading that also sounds a bit harsh, so I will note it wasn't said in a mean or vindictive way; just a joke) I couldn't help but laugh, as honestly the seemingly too-good-to-be-true cheesepuff guy may have had a smile that threw me off.

So now I am completely confused. A fish out of water. I am confused about so many things, and I know I have to take things one step at a time, but for someone who is learning how to walk in this crazy, dating world, I could sure use some advice!

Do I get a birthday present for Cheesepuff guy? I was thinking a Ninja Turtle card, as he has mentioned them before, and maybe some Jelly Beans. Do I consider Camera Guy a second player in this game? Do I tell Cheesepuff guy about Camera guy? Should I be disappointed if I don't get a Valentine? Oye. I am ready to crawl back up to my cat-lady mountain and give up!

Drugs Bug Me

2011-02-08T17:11:00.000-08:00

We had an interesting visit last night, from a drug addict?

I put the question mark there as to hopefully not wrongfully incriminate an innocent person, but I'm pretty sure he is a drug addict. It's just such a harsh term to throw around, I wish I knew for sure. But I'm pretty sure, otherwise I wouldn't be posting this here and now.

Anyway, if he was not "high" he was probably under the influence of something, because I don't know too many people who would show up at your house, irate, about something that happened ?days? ago, especially when his own idiocy is to blame?

Here's the scoop.

Our neighbors hired Drug Addict 1 to shovel off their roof. Drug addict (in question, anyway) never showed up to do the job he was hired to do, so our neighbors hired a second drug addict to do the job the first failed to do.

Are you with me so far?

Well, before Drug addict 2 could get to the job, drug addict 1 had already started the job. But Drug Addict 2 had already been PAID for the job, so when my mom saw Drug Addict 1 shoveling, she informed him that he was not going to get paid, as DA 2 had already been paid.

Well that was fine, until 9 O'clock at night when DA1 showed up all upset about not getting paid.

Now, not helping the situation is the fact that the original "supervisor" of the neighbors roof is also under the influence of something, and has a hard time getting stories straight to begin with. So what happens when all this goes down?

My mom calls and screams at the neighbor, who is listening to regurgitated stories from a drug addict and delusional individual, and I spend all night sleeping with one eye open, just in case the pissed off drug addict decides to come slash my tires or something.

What a fun world I live in!

AHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!

2011-02-08T17:02:00.001-08:00

I just had to get that out there because I feel like screaming.

Have you ever talked to someone who just irritates the hell out of you? You may feel as though they take random stances because they know it will set you off? I have this one Uncle who always gets into it with me on online "debates." But his definition of "debate" means ignoring your side and just telling you what he feels, all the while trying to be humorous by throwing out lame, and insulting jokes.

Imagine arguing with a textbook.

"Is it going to snow today?"
"On this day in the 15 hundreds it snowed."
"Yeah, but is it going to snow today?"
"Snow is white and cold form of precipitation that falls from clouds in the form of ice crystals"

Excuse me while I go and spontaneously explode out of sheer frustration.

A Crazy Awesome Day

2011-02-03T17:51:00.000-08:00

Last night I didn't get much sleep. All I remember is having an odd nightmare about the DOP. Not sure of the DOP is an actual governmental organization, or anything, but it my dream it was sort of like the DOD, but instead of defense it was protection. Anyway, I dream that I am sleeping in my old house in Everett, and this old black guy knocks at my door. I half hear the conversation he has with my mother, but regardless of the dire urgency there is to get us out of the house, I continue sleeping.

"You need to evacuate right away!" he says, "There is a problem with the water."

I think I actually got up and looked at my cell phone at this point, because I consciously remember reading "3AM" on my LG chocolate. About an hour later, the man appeared again and said, "YOU NEED TO GET OUT OF THIS HOUSE NOW!!"

It had been exactly one hour on my clock, so either I woke up at 4AM or dreamed that I looked at my clock and it said 4AM.

As if this was not a weird enough dream, I apparently had another which I do not seem to recall at all. The only reason I know I had it was because my mother informed me I disrupted her sleep screaming, "RACHEL* IS THE KILLER!! RACHEL HAS THE KILLER'S FACE!!!!!!!!!!!"

*Rachel is a pseudonym for my stepmother's name. Apparently I convicted her of murder last night.

Well, by the time my alarm clock went off, I was dreading the day ahead. The ride in to work was rough, with all the snow we had just had from our latest snowday. If that isn't a horrible enough way to start a new day, then how about this one. I put my coffee on the roof so I could reach in and get my bag, and what does the coffee decide to do? Well, it sat perfectly on the roof until I stuck my head in the car to get my things. Probably a half a minute AFTER I placed it on the roof, it comes spilling down on my jacket! My newly washed, white jacket.

After work, I also had (what I consider anyway) my first real date. There has been some controversy about that. I suppose prom does count, even though I spent half the night trying to avoid the guy I went with. But anyway, Cheesepuff guy invited me out to a Thai food place around the block from where I work. So, of course, I'm trying to kill some time, and I head to the copier to make some copies. (I am currently looking for a fish sitter for our class fish. If anyone is interested, please call 555-2893 {please note, that is a fake number so please don't actually call it.})

But, seriously, I don't want to bring the Beta home over vacation, as I live so far away, so I was making copies of a letter home to see who would be interested in watching the fish over vacation. Murphy's law says that BOTH photocopiers are broken. So I try to fix one. I get the paper out, but can't find the switch it is telling me to fix. I look at my coworker who is struggling with the same issue on her end. I showed her what I did to get the paper out of mine, remove her jammed paper, and the same error message pops up.

"You're on your own from here, I can't find that little thing." I tell her; Most of the parts are labeled A, B, C1, but this was just a little tab they wanted us to switch. She found it quickly, which made me feel quite dumb. Still didn't fix the issue, though. We kept working at it until my pants were covered in toner, or ink or something, and I sit back and think, "I have to go on a date. I am covered in coffee and ink. Who the hell cares?"

On my date, I was quite honest. I even told Cheesepuff guy, "The last time I tried to impress a guy, I wound up in the ER." (Please see, The Snake Snack for more information) All and all, I think the date went well. We talked for about 3 hours!! It only ended when I looked out the window and said, "I should get going." Then we talked a bit longer until I said it again.

I just hope I didn't talk too much. I can do that, sometimes.

Apparently I'm a bitch.

2011-02-01T15:18:00.001-08:00

I'm sort of confused.

Imagine a big, fancy vase on the edge of the table. This isn't just any vase. It is one-of-a-kind, and priceless. You jump, and see it wobble. You continue to jump, regardless of the fact you KNOW something bad could happen and the vase falls and shatters to pieces.

Mom walks in, and _______________________.

Can you fill in the blank?

Apparently, I'm a bitch. My blank does not include, "going easy on the kid who makes a stupid choice." My blank includes accountability, and responsibility. The "kid" should have known better and taken steps to insure the vase would not get broken.

I should probably fill in a little more details. The "kid" is not really a kid, but a 50+ year old man with a drinking problem. The vase is more or less his relationship with his children, and the thought of jumping is actually the act of really pissing me off. More specifically, having a major pissing contest with yours truly, the designated driver. So now the question is, what do I do?

I talked to a cousin last night who basically told me I was being too hard on him. I suppose I'm slightly offended. If the kid knows there is a chance jumping will break the vase, and still the kid continues to jump, are we really supposed to look the other way and make excuses for this kid? Or do we hold him accountable? What is the lesson learned from looking the other way? Am I supposed to just let things slide? Until every vase I own is smashed to pieces? Is it my job to be more careful with my glassware? When this kid refuses to stop jumping, do I just ban him from my house?

I guess I haven't thought much about it until now. Not sure why it's stuck in my head now. I guess I've just been too busy with life to figure it out. That and the fact I had a nice, hour-long conversation with one of my aunts about just how much my family sucks. It's stirred up a lot of thoughts I'd rather suppress.

I actually started thinking ahead. I can't have a phone conversation with him. Tried and he just pissed me off. Started blaming everyone else for the choices he made. That is a peeve of mine. Thought to the best advice I've had so far, and that is simply to avoid him when he is drinking. Then I started to wonder, when exactly will that be? First thing in the morning? I don't wake up early. In fact, I don't feel like doing much of anything until late afternoon. Maybe we could have lunch, but I can't see that happening. He would just have another macho pissing contest. I would say, "I won't go out with you if you drink," and he might agree, but what if he decides he has the "right to drink" as he has told me time and time again it is his life and he can do what he wants with it? Then what? I never go to lunch with him again?

I tried picturing what talking to him would be like, this summer. We're together in the kitchen, and I can't even think of what to say to him. I just don't know what to do. I just want to stop thinking about it.

You make a stupid choice, and

Today was PJ Day at work.

2011-01-28T19:23:00.001-08:00

I figured it was a school-wide thing, but when I got out of the parking lot and saw several of the other teachers in their normal attire, I started feeling out of place. There was me, in my froggy PJs and bathrobe... Yup. The lazy, new girl who didn't feel like getting dressed.

Most of the people stared at me; a few told me they were jealous; and a few others just asked, "PJ Day?"

"Yup."

I will admit, it was very hard to sit at the breakfast table and look down at my Pajamas. I kept telling myself, "YOU NEED TO GET DRESSED!! Oh wait.... IT IS TIME TO GO!!! YOU ARE STILL NOT DRESSED.... Oh Yeah.."

If that wasn't hard enough, imagine my reaction when my boss came in and told me I needed to go to a PBIS training.. My eyes grew wide and I looked down at my outfit. Seriously, you know those bad dreams where you find yourself naked in school?? It was just like that. My boss came in and told me I had to go to a meeting, and so I took off in my Princess Sorority PJs.

So, off I walked into the wrong meeting, and sat in my PJs until I was told to go to the smaller conference room. Fortunately 3/4 of the others in the room were also in the wrong conference room, so I was able to get all the awkward stares and questions (and jokes) out of the way before moving to the right room.

Yup. So that was my fun day!!!

What else? I almost ripped the steering wheel off my car on the way in this morning. Yup. I was just imagining it was the radio announcer's head. Was listening to the moron praise Charlie Sheen's pathetic life. Like, literally, this is what he said on the radio this morning.

><><><

"You'd never guess what Charlie Sheen's done now! It is so amazing! Every guy in the world is going to be jealous! He is like a god, or something. So what did he do? He had a brief case of cocaine. Yup! A briefcase! Full of cocaine!! He knows how to party!! And that isn't all! He was watching porn. With Porn Stars. How amazing is that??"

Uh, yeah, that womanizing bastard is a drug addict and should be thrown in jail. Anyone else would be in jail, but why not him? And why is that soo amazing and sooo desirable? ME+HEARING THAT+SOMETHING IN MY HANDS= DECAPITATED RADIO ANNOUNCER.

><><><><

..What else? I know there was something else... Hm.

Oh yeah. Cat fight in work.

This has been going on for quite some time, and it is starting to get on my nerves. There are these two people who get along like oil and water. Fortunately for me, they are the two people I work closest with, so, yeah, big ball of fun. I just want to go in and do my job, not have to pick sides and play counselor. But every day they come to me and complain about the other. I just listen, nod, and shrug. I've got it down to a science, and I try to stay as neutral as I can, but today I was really annoyed.

One of them actually said to me, "Sorry to put you in the middle. I know you like ___. I just really was bothered." And I listened, nodded, and shrugged. I was actually surprised when A went to talk to B about her feelings and B shut down and stuck to her guns, which pissed A off, and I was just like... Why didn't I just go straight home???

Uggh. I was so tempted to give them a pair of gloves and have them duke it out, just so they could be done with it. But then if I had said, I'm sick of you both putting me in the middle of your crap, I would have upset them both. A would be mad that B talks about her, and vice versa. And then they'd be mad at me for betraying their confidences, and madder at each other for knowing they'd been talked about. Whatever. People clash. At the end of the day, what matters is the kids. GRR!!!!

><><><

Final laugh? Well, I wore my PJs today and got pulled into a last minute training with the state REP for PBIS as well as some other people I had never seen before. Fun, fun. But the topping on the cake was when I realized I had to go shopping for my Scentsy party tomorrow. Oh boy. Me. Pjs. Walmart. Never a dull moment!

Ok, So Is It Me Just Being Me?

2011-01-25T17:03:00.000-08:00

Really, I need to know. Maybe I'm making a big deal out of nothing, but what if I'm not?

As you all know, my dating life is pathetic. And I am apparently intolerable as far as internet dating goes. Though, in all fairness, I'm not entirely to blame for my lack of dates. For instance, take Soysauce guy. Really cute, really funny, real potential. Until I look him up on facebook. Status: in a relationship.

Hmm, just call me home wrecker. Or did I miss a memo? Is that the new thing these days? You can officially break up with your girlfriend once you've secured a new one? Or maybe he thought he was cool enough to keep us both in the dark. Uh, not in this day and age buddy.

Then there is Creep-o. I felt bad for him, up until he admitted to me that he hated his parents so much he'd kill them if he ever saw them again..... Yeah, conversation ender there!

Then there is the guy who drives me crazy. Every time I sign on, he starts talking to me, but he doesn't say much. In addition, he likes to argue. So if I told him, "I had yesterday off because it was a workshop day." He would sit and argue with me about it. Forgive me, but I think I know a thing or two about MY LIFE.

Then there was this last guy, who had a lot of potential. I really liked him, and was just waiting for him to ask me out. Never did. We were swapping horror stories about our lives and he tells me, "My girlfriend jumped off a building to get back at me. It was pretty messed up, so I have trust issues."

Ok.....

Well, I said "I wouldn't blame yourself because anyone who does that to themselves to hurt someone else is clearly unstable and needs help. " Apparently, something about that was wrong because he never wrote me back afterwards. I don't get it.

So that ship has sailed, and out of nowhere this other kid e-mails me. I will call him Cheese Puff. (Story to follow). I sort of like Cheese Puff. We have a lot in common. In fact, we have so much in common, I've asked him twice if he is plagiarizing my profile. Doesn't drink, sort of shy, on track with his life, wants to have kids before he's old. We both like the Red Sox. I say I like Orlando Cabrera, he likes Orlando Cabrera. I say I loved Kevin Millar, he loves him too. It's like I'm talking to a mirror. So creepy.

Everything I like, he likes too. It's like he is my twin. My opposite-sexed twin. Is this humanly possible? He's afraid he is too boring for me because he likes to hang around and play board games..... ..... (More ellipses for effect)... I AM BORING AND LIKE BOARD GAMES!! Except, it isn't boring when I'm hanging with the right people.

This guy would be almost extremely perfect, except for the fact that I feel like he is fake. The conversations are so real it is pretty awesome, but every now and then he says something that strikes me as fake. Like he keeps telling me I'm the coolest person he has talked to....it is almost like he is coaxing me up, and then today he writes:

"I'm guessing you would want to meet at a public place, so I was thinking maybe we could meet somewhere to eat and I'll get us some lunch or dinner. "

I am probably over reacting, but that sentence just stuck out. Like in a creepy way. Maybe he was just being nice, but maybe he is a serial killer. You never know. SOMEONE TALK SOME SENSE INTO ME!!!

Black Friday Shoppers

2010-11-25T09:59:00.001-08:00

Just a warning from my personal experience: Don't buy Kodak, or you will probably regret it like I do.

So disgusted with this company, it's not even funny. We purchased a $500 printer a few years ago, and it never worked properly. Would have been more adamant about getting it replaced if we hadn't been burnt out of our house at the time. Not that it would have mattered. I'd asked twice for them to take it in for repairs, but they just told me these things "happen" and would have to send me a new print head, free of charge.

Fine. I could print my homework in approximately 7-10 business days....

This issue was constant. If I did not use my printer for more than a week, I would need to replace the print head to get it up and running again. Major pain in the ass, if you ask me, but at least I didn't have to pay for it, right?

Well, conveniently, my printer is now out of waranty and they want me to pay for the print heads. Seriously??

Thanks a lot Kodak, you suck!!! Called customer support, they refused to transfer me to someone who could help, then the IT guy actually hung up on me.

Hmmm, will I ever trust your company again? What do you think?

What a pleasant surprise.

2010-07-30T09:35:00.000-07:00

So I was sort of disappointed today when I logged in to check my e-mail and didn't see a message from this guy I've been talking to online. We've been e-mailing back and forth for a few days, and I've been wondering whether or not he was going to ask me out. My theory was that if he was interested he would, unless he was too interested and then he would have already asked me out? I overthink these things, but I like to understand where people are coming from and what they are thinking. Thusfar, I've been good at weeding out the people who just want to get into my pants. (All you in your 40s with your midlife crisis mobiles, yes you, I'm on to you)

Anyway, the messages from this particular guy have been slowing down, so I started thinking that I either bored him or scared him away. I logged in to the dating site to see what this other guy had written to me, and there it was: the guy I liked had asked me out. I just didn't get an e-mail alert because it had been sent too late.

So now the ritual freak out begins. What do I wear? What do I say? Do I really like him enough? Do I even want to go? I mean a booze cruise is hardly my idea of a good time--me and drunk people don't get a long. Plus I don't even know where it is, and I don't want to be driving around some place I don't know at night by myself. Maybe I'll pass and offer an alternative. Coffee. Yes. That plan is looking better and better every second.

I Got Digits

2010-07-27T14:34:00.000-07:00

This expression is new to me, and slightly fantastic. Seems like all my weeding and pruning has finally paid off. My fingers are crossed because he seems really nice and smart and wonderful. Damn, I'm already in love with the guy, but what can I say? He has horses. 3 horses. Building his own house. Can alter a wii remote as a walking aid for blind people. Seriously? Am I jumping the gun too fast? He seems pretty darn perfect.

Here are the two problems I have: (1) I am taller than him, which for whatever reason makes things awkward for me. It's only 3 inches, and I'm sure it won't be a big deal, but I just always assumed the guy was supposed to be taller? (2) He won't, or hasn't, asked me out yet. He gave me his number, and told me to call him. I'm old fashioned, I want to be chased, damn it! Chase me!

Anyway, that is me just being extremely picky, and in comparison to the other people I've met, I can definitely deal with these "shortcomings."

I can't wait to see where this one goes!

Oh look, here comes the loser brigade! (REVISED)

2010-06-29T20:20:00.001-07:00

I am so terrible, but those were my thoughts as I logged into my "Dating Page" and was bombarded with IMs. I am so vain it kills me, but I just don't see myself dating Mr. Starwars. I'm also contemplating if not being attracted to someone because of race is considered racist, but I think I've already blogged about that.

Regardless, I am talking to two Asians and a dweeb--the three of them message me every single time I log on. They always ask me how I am and what I look for in a man. Great. Am I overthinking this? Why does it matter what I look for? I just feel when someone asks you that, it is just because they are trying to be something they are not. Smokescreens and mirrors to be shattered years into a marriage after 5 kids and a dog named Pete. I actually used this analogy on one of the guys, and he argued with me:
-------------------
(loser 1): that not true
(me) haha well i am cynical and i beg to differ
(loser 1) well in ur profile states u want get married and have 3 kids
(me) I was just being sarcastic
(loser 1) so what ideal date?
-------------------
What a compelling argument!! You can see why he'd be a winner.

Anyway, I told Loesr 1 I didn't want to give him my name because I worked in the schools and didn't want my info to get out. So, he proceeds to ask me how long I've been a single teacher. Realizing I had just over-shared and created some sicko-fantasy in this guy's mind, I informed him that I was, in fact, a janitor. I was going to tell him my ideal date was to go to an extravagant restaurant with fine dining and a cello player, to see if he'd deliver (not that I'd ever meet him). Not the way the conversation turned. He started guessing local districts where I might work. Again, the brain screams," BLOCK HIM! BLOCK HIM NOW!!"

Moving on to asian guy.
-------------------
(asian guy) how's your luck been here
(me) don't know yet, i've been sort of reluctant to give it a full shot; i take it you haven't had much ?
(asian guy) huh? what do you mean
(me) i take it you havent had much luck on the site?
(asian guy) oh yeah. I think it's easier for girls here?
(self) ha, right (and I think--oh yeah, I remember this guy now. the pity party, poor me, poor men)
(asian guy) what are you looking for here btw ((I HATE THIS FRICKING QUESTION))
(me- continuing the argument) i found out guys actually get free memberships to some dating services because there are so many girls and not enough guys. can you believe that?
(asian guy) oh I think you getit wrong. it's actually the other way around
(me, being humble yet fact-delivering)i don't know, that is what i've been told by a guy with a free subscription to match.com
(asian guy) actually it's the girl in many case I guess
-------------------
Compelling evidence, yet again. I can't argue with that. Now I'm a jerk. A big jerk. But I can't see myself with someone I'm not attracted to--especially if I can't stand talking to them. And I'm not talking about just a physical attraction, but an emotional and academic attraction too.

EXAMPLE: (Emotional attraction) when a guy tells you that he'd kill his parents if he had the chance, it sorta screams BLOCK HIM NOW!!!

EXAMPLE: (Academic attraction) The whole idiot-grammar thing really irritates the hell out of me. Not saying I'm perfect* I'm just saying I'm well-versed.

So maybe I'm picky, but I'm holding out for the full package. I have high standards now, thanks to my cousins. Homemakerman and even Mr. Jerk. Yep. That's right. You guys did me in. I cannot lower my expectations. I want a nice guy who can cook, clean, and spell. And so I continue to wonder who the first guy to break my heart will be.... I guess I keep thinking that if I study the game and learn the system it will help, but I sometimes wonder if I'm just prolonging the inevitable. Like everyone says, love is unpredictable.

Anyway, for now, tormenting these guys seems fun. One now, and for whatever reason, thinks I work for the FBI. I seriously don't know where this came from.

-----------------------------
Edit: Yeah, that was pretty bad; actually I was missing two or three whole sentences. I think it's polished now. HaHa!

My cousins hate me and only send me bad news.

2010-05-27T08:53:00.000-07:00

I love my cousins, but I fear they only call me with bad news. It's actually gotten to the point where I look at my cell phone, see a message from them, and go, "Uhoh, they aren't coming."

This makes me sad.

They have yet to come up because of this "supposed" birch allergy (I've never heard of such a thing, so I think they mean to say, "Sorry, I don't like the way you stalk our children with your fancy camera and it's a little nervy to want to play with them 24/7 so we can zonk out on the couch or have some time to ourselves for a change.")

They were supposed to come up last weekend, and after lunch on Friday I looked at my phone to see the time: "One missed call from tumbelweed" At first I was excited, but then I thought about it.. "Why would they call me this early? They aren't supposed to be leaving until 3.... Oh no!" My heart fluttered with panic. "They aren't coming."

It was torture all day, because all day I'd been bragging about how I'd get to see my adorable niece and nephew, and hang out with my cousins, and play boardgames, and have intellectual conversations that don't seem to happen as much when they aren't around. I had to wait two whole hours to find out if I'd have a glum weekend.

It's ok, though. I would rather know in advance. It's easier to be disappointed from noon on than it is to go another few hours with the delusion of happiness. The fall is easier, I think. Think first story, rather than 24th floor, you know?

Anyway, it's ok, because they said they'd come up the 11th. But, as I am out on my way to my doctor's appointment I realize I have a text from Tumbelweed. This is highly unusual, because 1) tumbleweed does not text; and 2) Well... it is just weird because she doesn't text. Anyway, the message had been a reply to a picture I'd texted to her e-mail. So I read it over and it read, "I have bad news."

Ug!!! Why!!! No!!! A second bad-news call!!!

Again, I'd rather know in advance, because thinking they are coming for 2 weeks is more like a fall from the moon than a 24 story building. And I understand the point; if I had a chance to make some extra money, I would definitely keep working. I almost chaperoned a field trip, but got rejected because I wasn't a guy. Not entirely fair, but I wouldn't want to share a bunk with a lot of teenage boys.

Anyway, regardless. I feel bad posting this because I don't want to hurt any feelings, but I'm pretty bummed, and bored, so I needed to do something. I do wish they would call me with some good news, though!!!!

Love you guys!!!

The Snake Snack

2010-05-24T10:17:00.001-07:00

I was officially labeled "food" today. It was quite interesting. Apparently I tasted good--so good that the class pet did not want to give me up.

It was around 8AM, and my student and I entered the classroom to find a substitute teacher. He was kind of cute, so I decided to show off by taking out the class pet, Monty, a California King Snake. Now, I've done this dozens of times throughout the year, so I didn't think twice when I opened his cage. The only time I got that wonderful, "this was a bad idea" feeling was when he lunged for my knuckle.

This was certainly not the sort of attention I had aimed to receive, so I wasn't quite sure how to react. He coiled around my hand, as if to crush the mouse he thought I was.

>>Remain Calm<< My head told me, and, surprisingly I did. Even as he encompassed my wrist with his death-grasp, I stayed cool, calm, and collective. I tried to pull him off, but he didn't want to let go. The most I could do was unwrap him and hope he'd give up.

"Uhm, I need a little help over here." I said softly; no one heard me. Everyone was on the other side of the room talking about the day's agenda. "Guys?" I called again; eventually they caught on. I was so embarrassed I stared at the ground, but I wish I could have seen their reactions--half of them feared the snake. No, more than half. Most of them feared the snake. All but 2, and me, the lunch meat.

A few of them came over to me, my student included. She took charge of the situation like a pro. "Could you call the nurse?" She asked the sub, and started squishing the snake's head hoping he'd release me. I didn't want him to get hurt, though. He squeezed tighter, too, irritated by our plans to interfere with his breakfast. Eventually the nurse was called, and everyone stood around me thoughtless. I felt my legs start to wobble a little, but laughed when the sub told me how calm I was.

Honestly, I thought the snake was never going to let go. He was hungry, and he had his little snake brain set on a nice, big, "hand-mouse." I knew his teeth were in me, and I didn't know they'd be removed. I was afraid they'd have to kill the snake. Then I got the genius idea to run my hand under the sink. The nurse showed up on my way over.

"He's still attached??" She said alarmed. Great. Another ophidophobic person.

I ran my hand under the sink, careful to make sure the water wasn't hot. Then I debated on turning the water hot. Then I decided my idea was stupid.

A student who'd run to talk to the snake owner said to put my hand under water and pry him off with a knife. I was sure I'd lose my finger then, but it's good the class had plastic silverware.

I put my hand under the water, the nurse got tongs and a knife. It worked like a charm, but felt weird as his fangs left me. I threw a paper towel over my injury and watched the snake angrily slither around the counter. My student still had his tail, the nurse still had the knife, but no one wanted to touch him! Upon his release, he'd tried snapping at me, or so I was told. I was just glad to have my hand back to myself. I told the nurse to hold his head down with the knife and I'd grab him. She looked at me like I was crazy. "You're going to touch him again?" She said surprised. I shrugged. No one else was going to. It wasn't a big deal either.

I grabbed him and my student and I put him, tail end, back into his tank. I was quick to put the top on, too, and clamp it into place. It was over, or so I thought. The nurse made me go to some ER clinic for precautionary reasons. Not a big deal except I absolutely HATE missing work. I also am not too keen on city driving, but my GPS saved my life. (Though it did want me to get on the freeway; hell no!) I made it back eventually, with antibiotics and a sore arm. They gave me a tetnus shot, also precautionary.

It was funny; the secretaries teased me and said they'd never seen a snake bite before. I felt horrible, too, because some guy came in with a hole in his skull; they made me switch rooms because they needed to stitch him up. I passed him on the way out; he had a napkin to the left of his skull. I had 4 fangmarks and a little bacteria.

Got lost trying to find the supermarket to fill my prescription. Found my way back to work eventually, and treated myself to Tim Horton's just because I deserved it!

This entire incident has been portrayed in two different ways, which I find interesting. The kids say I was completely freaked, and that my legs were wobbling. I'd say that was an exaggeration. They shook a little, but they only knew about it because I said so. And there wasn't as much blood and drama as they claimed. It was pretty hush hush, IMHO.

The other story describes me as a hero--they say I was so calm and cool with it--when they themselves would have screamed and flung it against the wall. I've been trying to cover for Monty's digression. Truth is, I feel bad for him. I think he's being evicted from his home because of this whole situation. They say they have to get rid of him, because he is a liability. I understand the point, but it's sad when "no pets [are] allowed."

Today is now Thursday and I have a check-in back over at the clinic. Feels like such a waste. Waste of gas, waste of time, waste of money. I'm fine. My finger is still attached, I haven't turned into a snake (though my colleagues now refer to me as Medusa). Maybe I should call and cancel? I don't know. I just know

I volunteered to help clean Monty's cage, and, of course, by "clean" I mean hold him for an hour and watch. It seems stupid, but I'm hoping that by showing that I am not afraid and that his little tirade was just an accident, people will get over the whole incident. They seem to think he is a rabid animal that needs to be put to sleep, when really he was just hungry.

I hate that they are taking away the class pet, and I hate that it is basically my fault. That's all I have to say.

Wow. A Part of Me Died Today.

2010-05-18T08:43:00.000-07:00

I just got a text from my mom, via e-mail.

What it said shocked me.

"Crazy Woman" is the pseudonym I choose to use for my old neighbor, Crazy Woman.

Mom: Crazy Woman was murdered. (Text confirmed by NECN)

Before my sister was born, my parents bought a house on Lynn Street, in Everett. We bought the house from my aunt, who warned us that our neighbor was a bit screwy in the head--to put it mildly. It was a long time before we realized just what she meant. We lived beside her for 13 years. We did not part on good terms.

In fact, the year we moved away, as we were trying to sell the house, we noticed Crazywoman attempting to drain her pool into our basement!! Now, I don't say this to be petty, but I clearly remember her, every single year prior, draining the pool into Lynn Street. She had the hose, and even plumbing (I think) out to the front her her house. Yes, I think there was a white tube for draining her pool; but I remember the tidal wave of water splashing out to our street; except for when we were moving.

Fortunately, we had a good foundation, and caught her as she was doing it, but that just goes to show what kind of a person Crazywoman was. She was nuts. The kind of nuts that attacks your mom because your mom forgot to pick her up milk that night... I wish I was kidding, but I can still see the cops' lights flashing on our old, white house (which is now purple).

Crazy Woman was your typical, old, highly-religious grandma figure. (And I believe the more religious you are, the crazier you are!) To my knowledge, she had only two children. One was a big-wig beautician out in NYC--whom I never met but was told wanted nothing to do with her--the other, sadly, passed away from AIDs. I believe there was a third, whom died in a fire, but I never heard Crazywoman talk about her.

Kerry; I liked him. A lot. Not in the "I was attracted to him" sort of way--although the only image I have of him is wearing a speedo--Ha! I liked Kerry because he was so nice, and misunderstood. He was your stereotypical, super-sweet, gay guy. I don't remember him to be flamboyant, I just remember he was awesome. I can't even remember why. It depresses me that I didn't know he died, and I wish I could have known him better. All I remember of him is that I'd see him over the fence, and I'd jump up on to the metal fence to talk to him. (Crazywoman had a tall, wooden fence, and we had a short, metal fence; they lined up perfectly, and so I would always hop up onto ours, while hanging on to hers, and talk to them both. One time, I actually snapped off the point of her fence; must have been weakened by years of use. She was not happy, but I don't remember her being mad at me.

Crazy Woman was the kind of woman who most likely beat her dogs. We didn't talk to her for a year or two before we moved away, but I remember watching her out my bedroom window. Her on her hands and knees, gardening in her tight-purple spandex. Her second dog, Rainbow, went from a healthy, happy, pup to a cripple. Literally, I remember him in a diaper, dragging his back legs around the back yard. I wish to hell that I'd called the ASPCA, but I was young and didn't know better. Plus she was crazy. That isn't much of an excuse, though. Rainbow used to cry some nights; We think she locked him up in the bathroom. You never really know what goes on behind closed doors, though.

I remember, towards the end, I was afraid to go into my front yard. She was always there, always watching. For some reason, she went from loving gestures of "I Love You" to solid glares. Whenever my mom would walk by, she would curl her fingers to the side of her head to represent devil's horns. That's one of the last things I remember her saying to me, too. She told me my mother was the devil. Something along the lines of, "God help you, Spawn of Satan."

I remember bits and pieces of her house. You would enter, and there was a hutch to the right. She had gum there, and a bunch of crap that I never bothered to look at. Pictures, I think. Once she told me to get a piece of gum out of the drawer; I think it was a medium colored wood. I told her "no thanks" and she was insulted. She asked "Why not?" And I told her, honestly, I didn't want to eat old gum. I thought it had been there for years. Old ladies didn't chew gum--that was my logic, anyway. She was unimpressed.

To the left of the entrance was her living room. There was a sofa, I think? Light colored. I remember the carpet. I remember her Christmas displays took up the whole room. Big statues of Santa, and dolls. I think her tree went in there too. That room lead to her living room; there may have been a sofa in there too--I don't quite remember. I know she had a TV in there, because I remember her showing me her illegal set-up. She had a black-box, and some sort of contraption that allowed her to watch her living room tv on her kitchen TV. I remember playing with Rainbow in that livingroom. Scruffy little dog. When she first brought him home, he was amazed by his image in a mirror. It was hilarious. I think she had a computer desk there too; big and light colored. It's weird what you remember, sometimes.

Somewhere between there and the kitchen was a bathroom; I think it actually branched off of the kitchen, but I'm not sure. But picture a square, broken into 4 sections, and that was her house. the first block on the bottom right was the entrance, to the left was her living room, above it was the other living room, to the right of that was the kitchen, and back down is the entrance. Somewhere between the kitchen and the second living room was her bathroom. Regardless, I bring up the bathroom because of two particular memories. She bought a fancy sink, so fancy that I laughed and called it a bird bath. She was insulted, but it eventually turned to a game. "Bird bath, bird bath," I would harass her. She would retaliate by giving me raspberries on the neck, or back, embraced in a big hug. It was funny. The other memory, which I'm not entirely sure of, but hope is not true is that I remember her underwear. I had an odd flashback of someone washing her underwear in her sink, which is completely weird. I think I either watched her washing her underwear in the sink, or she had me wash them. Why I would do it is beyond me, but I was a pretty dense kid. If she told me I had to do it, I probably would have. Anyway, I have apparently repressed that memory, because I can't remember what really happened... Moving on.

That was Crazywoman; she could be really nice, and she could be senselessly nasty. I remember the stories of when she threatened a woman down the street with a knife; She hosed another one down in an argument. Her road rage almost got her thrown in jail (or it did get her thrown in jail, and she was bailed; I will probably never know the true story.) But she followed a woman home and tried beating her up because the woman had cut her off on the highway. This is the woman who brought me to church prior to my back surgery, and asked the church pray for me.

My aunt says she once spilled kitty litter on the sidewalk, and Crazy Woman retaliated by taking a bag of kitty litter, and shit, squirming with maggots, and dumped it on her front door. Knocking to ask my aunt how she liked the mess. My aunt retaliated by grabbing it and running it to the second floor of her home--tossing the bag out the window and into Crazywoman's pool.

The stories are endless. And so I am fascinated with this story. I wonder if that is normal? This was once my home, that was once my neighbor, that is my old house in the corner of the news articles. I sold lemonade in front of her house. I rode my bike around that corner. She came to my birthday parties. Took pictures of me when I went to my Jr. High Prom. She probably still has them!

I want to know what happened, exactly as it happened, and what's more is that I want to know who killed her. Was it random, as they says? Or did she finally push someone too far? Did she still remember me? Did she still take pity on me? Does she still have pictures of my family, or the old home videos she shot of us? Did she know I thought she was crazy? Did she know she was crazy?

I will never know. I hate not knowing.

Peeve of the Day: RECYCLING!!!

2010-04-08T04:55:00.001-07:00

Now that I've complained about audiobooks and toilet paper dispensers, I need to talk about recycling. It's great, don't get me wrong, but the "big man" who does it is a complete hypocrite. (Say what??)

Ok, I went to a small Catholic college in Maine, and one of my core classes was "Environmental Science." I learned lots of things like, anything white is bleached is bad for either you or the environment, or both. For instance. It is much safer for the environment if you use the brown toiletpaper and paper towels because the process in staining the supplies white is very bad. Yet, just about any public building (including my college) used white. This is how I learned about the hypocrisy's of the "big man."

Another example: Bottles and cans. EVERYONE recycles bottles; but what about #4 plastics and cans? Cans are usually recycled, but any other material is hardly worth the effort (after all, you don't get 5 cents for a can or a Dunkin Donut's cup! Why bother?

Do you know how many Dunkin Donuts cups I see in the classroom every day? At least 7 between the 3 classrooms I frequent. All that plastic is thrown in a landfill because it is not profitable to recycle.

So, yes, I had a huge grudge against my Environmental Science teacher in college. I have a huge beef with all schools in general, and I test the system every chance I get! Whenever I have a yogurt, or plastic cup--anything recyclable--I put it in the bottles' bin. I hope one day it will catch on....

Audio Books [Annoyance of the day]

2010-04-07T05:45:00.000-07:00

My annoyance today is Audiobooks. They are great, really, unless they are CDs and you import them to a computer. Have you ever done this?

I have. I've imported a good number of CDs onto my student's computer, and I've come to the conclusion that whoever actually makes the CDs is either really stupid, or a monkey. I'm sure of this, really!

Most Audiobooks have about 5-10 CDS. And, when you import them into computers, you would think (with all the idiot-proof technology we have today) the importation would be idiot proof. But, sadly, you would be mistaking. The tracks of the CDs never really import in order. In fact, sometimes, they don't import the right at all! For instance, I was importing the book "Black Like Me" for my student; When I imported it on my computer, the tracks were labeled something like "The Speed Act of Seduction" (There was a jaw dropper!) So, iTunes doesn't always get it right; I'm not really sure who to blame, there. It might be Apple's fault for being a freaking control freak and wanting to download the CD's info from the web, rather than importing it from the CD. Or, it could be the publisher's fault for not burning the proper information on the CD in the first place (thus forcing iTunes to have to download track and titles). I don't know! But I do know this:

CD1: 1aa, 1ab,1ac, 1ad.... 1az--- 1ba, 1bb, 1bc, 1bd ... 1bz
CD2: 3a, 3b, 3c, 3d (note how the pattern changes)
It gets better! The tracks on CD 3 are EXACTLY THE SAME as CD3, making it impossible to sort by track title!!!

After that CDs 4 & 5 are quite similar, though distinguishable. Disk 6 is gospel music. If you listen to it, it's the same book, but the tracks are labeled:

1. Amazing Grace
2. Holy, Holy, Holy
3. What Yo Want
4. Now Thank Our God
5. A Mighty Fortress is Our God

I don't get it. Fortunately, I can usually sort the 215+ tracks by Album Title or Artist--but every book is different! Sometimes the titles are "Book Title CD 1" and two disks later it switches to "Book Title [Disc 04]" It is much easier to sort these than the actual tracks, though!

Summary of this annoyance is: Audio books on CD should be created by people; not monkeys.
The End.

Annoyance of the Day

2010-04-07T05:42:00.001-07:00

My annoyance today is myself.

It's not technically "me," though. I'm just using "me" as an example.

My annoyance is really when people say something like, "Here I will post my daily annoyance." and then actually post once every two weeks. You can't say, "I'm going to post daily," and then not post every day. Anyway, I give up. Posting again soon, though. Maybe that will make up for my lie =(

Someone has stolen all the un-store-bought-cherries!!

2010-03-29T05:59:00.000-07:00

I went shopping last night; it's my favorite past time.

Although, it was a whole lot more fun when I didn't need someone to do all my heavy-lifting for me. It sucks watching from the sidelines feeling completely useless. But, anyway, last night my sister and I went on a quest.

We had to get swiss cheese and cherries.

That's a winning combination right there, I tell ya. If you haven't had cherry-swiss you don't know what you're missing. I don't know what I'M missing because I've never had it either. In fact, I'm pretty sure NOBODY on earth knows what they are missing, because anyone who has tried it has probably died. I hope you all can tell I'm kidding by now, but I'm going to add this disclaimer anyway: Disclaimer: I am not responsible for any illness, sickness, or death that may result in anyone or anything's attempt to mix cherries and swiss cheese together. Eat at your own risk.

Ok, back on track: The cherries were actually for our ham. The swiss was for onion soup my mother made. The shopping was just for getting out of the house.

We went to Walmart, got our things, but could not find cherries! They had the lame, surefine brand of cherries that tasted awful. They were so bad last time we got them that I refused to put them on top of my ice cream sunday. Imagine, an ice cream sunday without a cherry on top--it's indecent!

Well, after we got all our things, I said "Let's go to Shaw's to get cherries." My sister put up a fuss and said we should just buy the surefine ones at walmart. I said, "No, you don't understand. Storebrand and surefine cherries suck. I want the real ones."

So I made her go over with me and we continued our quest for the cherries. We searched the store but only found Shaw-brand cherries. I rolled my eyes. "What are we going to do now?"

She didn't know, and I didn't know, so we debated for a minute. Then another minute. Then about an hour. Just kidding. But we eventually said, "The hell with it--Shaws cherries it is!"

I made my sister open them up on the ride home to taste them; She thought I was being a pain. An overly-anal, cherries-have-to-be-absolutely-perfect pain in the ass. But that pain in the ass was right. She had the cherry in her mouth for about 5 seconds before she started gagging on it. It was so disgusting that she had to use every ounce of her being just to swallow it. It was so bad that she wouldn't give me one to taste while I was driving. I had to pull over just to taste it--and she was right.

I can only describe the taste because I was unfortunate enough to have a pill start to dissolve on my tongue that very morning. It was the same taste, basically. Disgusting. Makes the other half of your tongue climb up your throat and your shoulders curl, disgusting.

So we stopped at a gas station. "Odd question, but do you have maraschino cherries?" That got the clerk to think.

"Yes, I actually think we do." She said bringing me to the back of the store. There she pointed to the bottom shelf, and there sat two kinds of cherries. White Swan and Mother's Maid. With everything I had been through, I didn't dare run the risk of picking the "wrong brand" so I bought both.

I made my sister try them, and they, for the record, were both delicious!

Thus, making the moral of the story: when it comes to cherries, don't skimp!

Crappy Idea? [Peeve of the day]

2010-03-25T05:17:00.000-07:00

I was sitting in the bathroom stall when I got the idea for this post.

Question:

Why do they put toilet paper holders, especially the covered-wagon type, so low to the ground? I mean, if they were any lower, they would be on the ground and unsanitary. Is there a reason for putting them at toilet-level? Besides torment?

My biggest peeve at the moment is those damn covered type. I guess they look more like a hot air balloon than a covered wagon, but you see what I mean. (and if you don't see what I mean, look left and catch on, ok?)

Why am I annoyed by these? Well, as mentioned before, they are hung too low in the stalls, so you have to do the reverse-limbo just to get your toilet paper. And, to further complicate matters, most toilet seats have pee all over them, so rather than do this sitting, you have to hover. )

Let's not forget that this gets worse! If you're not fortunate enough to find some paper dangling when you enter, that means you have to suspend your bend and spin the wheel 1-1,000 times before you find the start of the roll. Might as well be a game-show, with prizes; at least it would be worth the trouble: "Find the Toilet Paper-- win a car!"

Seriously, though, finding the start of the toilet paper is sometimes more difficult than finding the start of scotch tape. What's with that? Static? Or just a cleverly devised mechanism called "messing with people."

Another thing I dislike about these stupid contraptions is that occasionally, the restroom-keep will cruelly stuff in a roll of toilet paper that is too large for the holder. Has that ever happened to you? They cram it in there, so tight, that you need two hands and some sort of a lever to spin it (not to mention you are hunched over as far as you can go just to gain access to the damn thing). I have literally dug through 10-20 layers of toilet paper just to get some. The bathroom attendant must love me.

I bought perfume.

2010-02-23T10:13:00.000-08:00

I think it is a big step for me, you know? Like a life changing experience.

Seriously, though, a lady at work sells Avon, and I recently bought perfume. Two bottles, actually. Go me!

I was sitting at my table flipping through the catalog when I discovered the "scratch and sniff" page. O0oh-La-La! Despite mockery by my student, I flipped and smelled each available fragrance until I found one that I really liked. "Windscape." It was advertised by a pretty lady in a blue dress, surrounded by a blue background--light and happy. Serene. Beautiful. Damn advertising.

The other scent I liked was for a guy, so I was happy to get away with an order under $30. Then, I found "Sassy." I liked Sassy too, though it smelled quite similar to Windscape. And it was on sale! Only $8!! Wow!! I am my father's daughter! I wound up buying that too.

Anyway, it was a very riveting thing for me. The only perfume I have is from my mother. She bought me a set for Christmas once, and I haven't worn it. 1) Because I work in a school and that would just be weird (and more than likely against school policy) 2) Because I have no social life or need to smell good. 3) I think it all smells gross!!!

But not this stuff; this stuff was pleasant. So I bought it with the wonderful fantasy of having a date sometime. That is part two of my plan: finding a date.

Bought my mom some eye-pencil sharpeners, because I think I broke her last one with a colored pencil.... Maybe it had been a crayon, I can't quite remember. I also bought some cute bath-paint-soap for my niece. Her birthday is coming, and I thought it would be awesome if she could paint her brother. Plus the scents were awesome! Coconut, Bubblegum, and Cotton Candy? Who wouldn't want to smell like food? And be painted on? Seriously?

Anyway, I get the order yesterday, and my sister reads the warning label. Leave it to her. (Granted, I thought about whether or not her parents would like putting "chemicals" on their kids, but it's Avon so it's got to be good, right?) Well, after the huge list of disclaimers, it alerts us that it is flammable and to keep kids away from fire. Which makes me wonder, what idiot started a fire in his bathtub to discover that this product was harmful in this way? Really? Isn't a bath at the opposite end of camp fires, grills, and... oh, candles I guess? For couples who want to have a nice, romantic night painting each other? That makes sense... I guess.... Moving on....

Further research (from amazon.com) also states that the product has given at least 2 people hives. What a great auntie I am!

My Dog Eats Raw Venison and His Cousin Licks Kitty Litter

2010-02-15T20:03:00.000-08:00

So, yes. The above title is true--and all discovered this weekend when my cousins came for a visit...

Where to start? So much to say... I just don't know.

I guess the title is a great start. My dog --an 11 year old English Springer Spaniel-- eats raw venison. Literally. Bloody, nasty, guts and all, deer meat. Isn't that gross? Well, I can assure you that thought is not nearly as gross as actually catching him in the act-- and finding his white snout red with the obvious. GROSS!!

The deer washed ashore at least a day before my dog found it. It was Saturday when my mom woke me up to tell me that our 3 bald eagles were down by the beach. We didn't think much about it, as they have been seen hunting in the area on occasion. The last thing we suspected was them out scavenging deer parts yards from our front door. Anyway, later that day, after getting back from a walk with my dog, I noticed the carcass.

It was gross, but the eagle sighting made sense. It was still very disturbing, though. There was a huge hole in its gut and it's eyeballs were missing. Guts splayed out on the frozen ice. If that isn't bad enough, the next day, after all this, and after finding my dog and 2 of his buddies "digging in" the next day, we realized someone (or, actually some"thing") had run off with one of the poor thing's leg.

The whole thing is just gross, and we cannot get rid of it. We've called the game warden, the sheriff, and just about anyone else who is available over the weekend. No one wants to remove the deceased--except my mom. She wants to just bury it in the backyard, but I won't let her. I don't want her touching that thing. I don't want my dog touching it; I don't want her touching it. I just want animal control..

On a lighter note, his cousin, a 4 year old boxer, licks kitty litter. We discovered this when we crated her up for a day trip. How does a boxer eat kitty litter while crated? Long story, but the crate she was crated in was actually purchased for my cat. (Yes, I bought a large-breed dog crate for my cat--deal with it.) Unfortunately, my cat has an attitude problem, and when she gets angry with me she pees on things. In a desperate effort to keep my little, obnoxious, "brat-cat," I bought her a giant crate to create a condo. The idea was to crate her when we left the house--we constructed a resort for her to play in--complete with scratch post, food, drink, bed, and, of course, litterbox. Unfortunately, yet again, this doesn't work. When crated, she digs a hole in the center of the litterbox--spilling litter everywhere--and rests Moses-style in the center of the green box.

While the kitty condo is what kids today call an "Epic Fail," the idea behind it is great. It's a neat little place for the girls to do their business, and so it remains in the corner of my bedroom as an "accident deterrent." Where one litterbox fails the second seems to help--and now that you know that, you can understand why there might be a piece or two of kitty litter on the bottom of the crate.

Yes, even though I vacuumed 98% of the kitty litter up out of my room, a small percentage remained--at least until my cousins' dog came to help me with it. While locked up, she was apparently so distraught she needed to binge eat cat litter... And, you might ask, "What is better than that?" Well, how about the fact it took us nearly 10 minutes to figure out what smelled so awful once we got home (and where that awful smell came from)

So glad I could share this with you!!!!! Have a great night!

Damned Philosophy!

2010-01-24T09:11:00.001-08:00

Every now and then I catch myself in an ethical dilemma. Normally, it’s nothing much bigger than a simple, “Do I point out the fact that guy has food on his face, or let it go because I don’t want to embarrass him—although it’s embarrassing enough just because it’s freaking sloppy joe day in the café and he looks like a savage beast.”

That, for the record, has never happened, and I’m actually not sure it even constitutes the title of “ethical dilemma.” But the point is that every now and then you find yourself in a position where you have to make a choice that has harsh consequences either way. Just like the situation I’m in now.

I have the blessing of knowing a guy who knows a guy who can save me quite a bit of money on this project I’m working on. I have a truck that needs a new muffler, along with some other work. Money is tight (where isn’t it, right?) and so it’s great to think I have an alternative to the sleazy, over-priced mechanics at the local shop. (Not saying they are all sleazy, or even that ours are, but if you had one conversation with my father, you’d be convinced the sky is falling, ya follow?) Anyway, I have a great alternative to auto-mechanics because, as mentioned, I know a guy who knows a guy, and then some. The only problem is: if I pay the guy who is known by the guy, there is a good chance my money will be will be used for something I don’t approve of. I’m not talking football tickets, or a rap concert either. I’m talking about some bad stuff which I really don’t want associated with my blog. So, the ethical dilemma ensues: do I turn my head and save a pretty penny, or do I stand on a very expensive principal and go with the mark-up mechanics? I just don’t know.

About a year ago, I could have cared less about what people did with their own money, and sometimes I still could care less. I also tend to believe you should take the high road no matter how treacherous, just because it is the right thing to do. But, here, I am stumped. I am afraid that if I stand on principal it will break the trust this person has with my family—quite possibly the only connection said individual has with the real world. Potentially driving him/her to do something stupid. Then the “hammer” in me says, “Screw that, (s)he makes his/her own choices, and if that’s what they do, so be it. It wouldn’t be your fault.” If this is the case, I should just hire this individual. But, a year was a long time ago, and a lot has changed since then.

This person has been through a lot, which isn’t an excuse, but it is still a consideration. So would an all-out confrontation of her/his problems be wise? The Hammer says it don’t matter, but the moral conscience says, “Tread gently on thin ice.” I’m pretty sure science says, “Smash the damn ice until there is no place else to go but back to land.” If those metaphors don’t make sense, I apologize. They fit in my head with everything I know about the matter.

After all, this person is here now because no one had the <3 to stand up and straighten them up beforehand. (Inside joke on the <3, but I think you can figure it out.) I can do nothing, and nothing can happen. I can do nothing and something can happen. I can do something and something can happen, AND I can do something and nothing can happen. I just don’t know what I should do… except stop watching lifetime. Those feel good, stand up for change movies do NOT help.

It is weird to read.

2010-01-17T10:44:00.001-08:00

This post serves as my quarterly report (sounded good in my head) to Tumbleweed, as I was given a very strict ultimatum. If I had not read, in completion, the book "Moon Called" by author Patricia Briggs, by February, she (my cousin) would not come visit me (in February) thus intentionally depriving me of my rights as an Auntie to her children. With that said, I am proud to report I am nearly halfway through the book, very much into the story, and will have it read by said date. (And knocking on wood that I don't jinx myself for saying that much)

I refuse to admit that I "like" the book, on principal. Even though I've already began pricing the second book of the series, I still maintain that I don't like to read because I'm a stubborn jerk (Hey! Give me a break! It runs in my family.)

I am interested in the story, as far fetched as it seems sometimes, it seems realistic to--in regards to the whole fantasy/werewolf theme. What I like the most is the sensibility behind Briggs werewolf-mentality, such as the references to wolves, packs, and Alpha's (My cousin, Mr. Jerk, is a dog trainer, so when I read about dominance, submission, eye contact and territorial disputes, I laugh and say, "That sounds plausible." {but I don't actually use the word plausible in my head; my brain isn't really as sophisticated as I sound on paper }) Anyway!

I like the main character because the cover says she's pretty, and I'm vain like that. Had a huge debate with my high school friends about "pretty people" but I can get into that later. Moving on, I found a few grammatical errors (not that I should talk) and I think the dialogue is pretty weird. I don't know what it is about book-people but they never talk like normal people do. They're always so formal and precise. It annoys me. This is why when Mercy doubts herself I feel like she is more human.

Well, like I said, it's weird reading. It is very different from reading a book for school--my brain doesn't know what to do with it. A part of me says, "Get the notebook, that might be on the test." and the next part says, "You idiot, there is no test, there is no book report, read faster! Think babies!) And then I read on, but worry I might forget who is who, and then debate on whether or not I should draw some sort of venn diagram.

I've noticed two things in reading, this book, though. Three, actually. The first is that I'm not as bad a reader as I thought. The second being it is very lonely to read, because I have no one to talk about the story with. (watching TV is easier that way because we're all on the same page *chuckle*) And the third would be I miss my cousins because I always feel so much more "intellectual" when they are around. Even if I can't win a game of taboo with either of them.

*sigh*

Words Unspoken

2010-01-17T10:21:00.000-08:00

So, I started a new blog post, but it will never see the light of day. It makes me sad, because it had such potential, then I went off on a tangent about work. I suppose I could have edited it a bit, but when good words just come to you, I feel it is important to maintain their integrity. Hmm, that sounded better in my head. Like one time when I talked about a hotdog's integrity. Also sounded better in my head.

Random. Well, I have been gone for a while, and now I am back. I hope to stay back. I have several posts written out (Yes, that's right, in actual hand writing) but at the current moment I am too lazy to get up and retrieve them from my bag. I explained the reasons they were handwritten in my last post--the one you will never see-- sorry. Ha ha. Maybe one day I'll post it, and maybe one day I'll get those papers and type up what was written. Until then, I'm sitting on the couch and thinking about what I want for lunch.

My Haywire Muse

2010-01-03T17:12:00.000-08:00

My muse is like a lightbulb, flickering in a storm. It's almost on, but not quite. It's usually somewhere between working, being useful, and dead. Which is better than dead, I guess, but still as annoying.

I really wish there was an easier way to write. I need complete focus to get anything done now-a-days, and that's annoying too. Even when I have the time to sit down and get some writing done, I can't focus or get comfortable. Then I'll waste hours of time trying to channel my creativity into a single sentence, or idea, until I just give up.

I have been writing this one story for over a year. Over two years, really. I started, probably, around March of 2007, months after my house burned down. Since I lost virtually everything I'd ever owned or created, I was forced to start from scratch--which is had to do when you're broke, homeless, and a basketcase. (Though I think I held myself together well).

TV became a necessity to escape the stress. We had a show a night, and my favorite was Supernatural. I've always been a sci-fi buff, from X-Files, to Buffy, to Charmed, and then some, but it took me quite a while to get into Supernatural. I figured it was another knock-off, and refused to watch it--even as my younger sister drooled over Jensen Ackles. All her friends obsessed about this show, and I was convinced they were brainwashed.

Regardless, once the house was gone, I had nothing to watch on Thursday nights, so I started to watch Supernatural. It didn't take long for me to become addicted to the plot, the genre, or the characters. (More specifically, a single character played by the adorable Jared Padalecki)

Since my sister and I were still in school, one of the first things we replaced were our computers. (Homework comes first, you know!) Around that time, my sister's friend, who I shall refer to as Kidney, got us hooked on a virtual chat game. (Instead of the regular, old, text chat, you could create a character for your conversations and live in a 3-d world. Pretty nifty). Jokingly, I created a "Dean Winchester" character for my sister, and she created a "Sam Winchester" character. The game quickly morphed into a RPG game, and we would spend hours goofing off.

We had a reoccurring theme that "Dean was an evil SOB and he'd beat up Mariah for no apparent reason" I'm not sure why this was fun, but it was. We'd earn credits and give Dean this "Evil look" with glowing red eyes and fanged teeth. Mariah's articles included bruised skin and bloodied bandages. (Wow this actually sounds depressing on paper).

Regardless, we had fun, until school started picking up. One night, no one was online to chat with, and I had nothing to do, so I started writing it all down in story-format. The plot sucked, so I had to add to it, then twist it, then change it all together. It eventually made a few good pages (in my humble opinion) so I added more and more until I got to where I am today. 52,005 Words on 177 typed (12font) pages.

In my head, I have an additional 8 stories mapped out, not to mention countless spin-off plots. 2 Years, 1 Obsession, and it all boils down to me sitting here with writers block.

I need a life.

I blew it.

2010-01-02T20:57:00.000-08:00

It's 2010, and I actually thought I would be able to escape 2009 without being sick again.

I was wrong.

It happened just after 6PM, December 31st 2009. Yes, that is right. Just hours away from the new year, and my throat begins to itch. Only one side, of course, as I have a very unique tonsil problem. (Here is one of my infamous, 2-page side notes: I usually have tonsillitis on my right tonsil. It's unheard of, I know, and I only know this because the first time it happened my doctor rushed me to an Ear Nose & Throat Specialist because he thought I had an abscess on said tonsil. Granted, it wasn't actually my doctor, it was an intern or something, but it's needless to say I was freaked out. I thought I was going to die.

It had been a Friday, and I was supposed to have gone down to see my cousins that weekend. Needless to say, after that 911 visit, I don't think we made it. It's generally a bad idea to go visiting small children when you are getting sick. But, I can't remember more than that--oh wait.

When we realized that I wasn't dying, because the nice Dr. Man who STILL refuses to take out my tonsils bluntly, head-shakingly, said, "It's just an infection. Why did you come here? Who sent you here? And what was his name again?" we went for Chinese food feeling pretty stupid. The only reason I remember this is because the nice, deceitful, and totally unbiased Asian man told us it was "the best Chinese food in Maine," and that his food was "way better than our favorite Chinese food restaurant."

Well, he was biased, and he was lying, and he was nice. So nice we said we'd come back, although we never did. And never will. The lesson, though a hard one, was learned: never trust a restaurant who has double-pained glass windows with bullet holes in them. It's pretty creepy, even if it was only a few holes and they were potentially BB gun holes.

Regardless, I learned that night that his food sucks, there IS only ONE good Chinese food restaurant in Maine, and that I will forever be stuck with my one, stupid, defective tonsil. Seriously, I've been back to that "best ENT specialist" and he won't take my tonsils. He won't even take one! I can't even bribe him to take them. It's depressing.

Sidenote officially over. Where was I again? Oh right. My boogers. I've debated all day on posting about boogers, because honestly the thought of reading a blog about boogers makes me sick. But this isn't about me, now, is it? No, really, the only thing that changed my mind was a recent encounter with my niece and nephew, and there is just something about wiping up baby boogers that makes boogers less intimidating. So, I say to myself, I can do this. I can write about boogers.

I HATE BOOGERS.

Oh yeah, and if you are grossed out, like me, by this particular issue, skip to my next post NOW.

Boogers. They are nasty, and disgusting. I think mucus should be banned from the nose all together. Even when you're not sick you get that crusty, dry-nose shit in your nose, and it hurts. And what do you do? You can't pick your nose, because THAT is gross. But you have to breathe in pain? It doesn't seem fair.

Here I am, though. Two days in to 2010, and I'm already on my 3rd box of tissues. I can't stop blowing my nose, because I like breathing, and I strongly dislike the thought of not being able to do it. Even though I blow, and blow, and can't get anything out, I try because I just want to breathe again.

Have you ever seen a little kid with a runny nose? I see them all the time, and do you know what little kids do with those runny noses? Despite the fact they can't breathe from them? They take a nice, big, snuff in and swallow all that crap. Then they can breathe for a while, until it comes back, then they do it all again until their parents tell them, repeatedly, to blow their noses.

I, personally, remember doing this. I remember this vividly every single time I see a kid do it. It makes me shudder, because I can remember the salty taste, and I actually remember doing it. I'm sure you did too, even if you won't admit it. But that is why kids do it (1) because it vaguely reminds them of potato chips, and (2) because they don't know better.

I've learned better. In fact, I actually consider myself an expert nose-blower. (Not that you'd guess that by my current box-count). For instance, when you blow your nose, lifting up a nostril will allow more air-access, and it is far easier to blow a stuffy nose in a steamy shower than it is to blow on a tissue. I also know of this potentially-little-known thing I call (in my head) the raisin booger; the raisin booger is the best kind of booger, because if you get one of these, you can usually breathe for about an hour.

I actually discovered the raisin booger in the shower a long time ago. I was blowing my nose, in pure frustration, probably for hours, and it popped out. It was huge, lumpy, greenish-tinged-purple booger. It was so gross, and so huge, that I remember freaking out because I thought I broke my nose.

My mom always told me that if I blew both nostrils at once, I'd break my nose. (Yes, I used to try blowing both nostrils at once--how else does one become a professional nose-blower if one doesn't try absolutely everything possible?) So, yeah, I'm not sure if anyone else has these raisin-boogers, but they are the only good thing about being sick--like I said, if you get a hunk of raisin booger, you can usually breathe for about an hour. The only thing I'm not sure about is whether or not it's good to completely remove a raisin booger from it's habitat. Seriously, if you get all the mucus out of your nose, is that good or bad? Lately, as in this cold, I've been feeling like there has been a hole drilled into my nose. Raw nerve. Headache/eye ache sort of stuff. Maybe that's just sinus pressure. Maybe I've had too much cough syrup. Maybe I should just go to bed.

I just hope I haven't blown it and screwed up my nose. Ha. Pun, totally, intended.

I feel really blessed

2009-12-22T06:28:00.000-08:00

A few weeks ago, I ordered a pair of snowflake earrings from an Avon representative. On the day I ordered, I also had a doctor's appointment and, coincidentally, the secretary was wearing the exact pair I had ordered!

"Are those Avon?" I asked excited,

"Why, Yes!" She told me, and I explained that I had just ordered a pair.

Well, the earrings were discontinued and sold out, so I wasn't going to get them. When I told this news to the secretary, she offered me her pair.

"I will give you mine!" she said, and I thought she was joking.

"That's ok," I laughed.

"Don't you want them?" She asked,

"I don't want to take your earrings," I said,

"I want to give them to you."

"That's ok."

"What, do I have cooties? You can put them in alcohol."

I felt like a jerk. Here is this sweet lady trying to give me her earrings, and I felt like an awful jerk for refusing. "Call me tomorrow and remind me." She says, and I say I will.

But I am very fortunate to have the people I have around me around me. It's hard to find truly nice people, but I seem to find them. Even my old office. They invite me to their Christmas party every year, even though I graduated about 2 years ago. I am the only student worker alumni to go to this event; I just feel so loved.

The "Don't You Dare" Teacher Stare

2009-12-16T04:40:00.000-08:00

I think I've finally perfected it. You know, that little thing teachers do to discourage bad behavior. I've decided to call it my "Teacher Stare." Or, more correctly, my "Don't You Dare Teacher Stare."

This week is a milestone for me, I guess. I know it sounds funny, but I'm finally getting used to being in charge. I'm finally fighting the good fight in high school--ha.

I still find the thought of me being in charge laughable. For some reason, I just don't "feel" like a big, authoritative figure where I work. I try telling myself I need to inflate my ego, and that "you're the teacher, and it's your job to keep kids in line." But what line am I keeping them in? If I'm too strict, they'll hate my guts and dream up ways to make my life miserable, yet if I'm too easy going, they'll take advantage of me. It's hard to find the balance and figure out when to say something and when not to.

For instance, there is a general rule that there are no laptops allowed at lunch. Before I would pray that someone else would notice a kid online before I did, because I would dread approaching and correcting anyone. Most of the time, because they'd just ignore me anyway. So, the other day, I got the guts to approach this one girl and tell her to put her laptop away. She did instantly, and I felt all strong and noble inside, until I got back to my table--one of the teachers heard her say, "Well the principal said I could" in a snide and irritated manner that stole my pride and reminded me that I never knew anything.

I was just upholding the rules, and I don't regret saying what I said, but I still felt like a douche. I just don't like telling people what to do. I don't mind instructing, helping, and giving advice and suggestions, choices even. But I don't like being the "bad guy" and I guess that's just the novice in me talking.

That novice is slowly fading. I hope.

The other day, I was in a classroom where several teachers seem to be "walked upon." One student was ever so annoyingly playing with a doorknob. Now, I wish I could say "doorknob" was some new tech-toy, or even a code-name for something he was doing, but no. He was actually sitting at his desk spinning a door knob around for whatever reason.

The teacher said, "put it away" and turned to write something on the board. So, of course, he covered it with his hands and, as he got away with this murder, he smiled to his friends. Usually I'd have looked away, but I was irritated that day, so I told him to put it in his backpack. So, of course, he hid it in his sleeve.

"Put it in your back pack, or I am going to take it." I told him with my DYD Teacher Stare. He slowly put it away. Victory!

Just yesterday, when I was leaving the teacher's bathroom, I noticed a new face lurking around the door. Now, the teacher bathroom doors are locked, and I'm always concerned to make sure a locked door closes before I leave it--because they are locked for a reason, and that reason is to keep kids out.

Well, out of the corner of my eye, I see the kid run over to the door and I turn to see he's keeping it open with his foot. I turned back and said blankly, "Foot out." and he listened. "Thanks." I said and walked away, both laughing and confident.

While I'm enjoying this newfound power, I don't want it to go to my head. I see a lot of teachers abusing their "in charge" abilities, and I don't want to be one of them. I guess that's because I see the equations they create.

Bad student = stereotyped = disrespected and disregarded by teacher = problems

Whereas,

bad student + a chance + boundaries and clear guidelines + an understanding person = an opportunity to become a good student.

I want to be that teacher. The one that fixes problems and doesn't just ignorantly create new ones. I've seen the injustices, first hand. I remember them from when I was in school, and now that I work in a school, I see them again. I watch these kids get in trouble for the stupidest things, and I hate it.

When I was doing my student teaching, there was this one little kid I used to think was the Tazmanian devil. He'd run all over the place and drive everybody nuts. Zooming here, there, and everywhere. Never in his seat, always living life in fast-forward mode. I took a real interest in him, because I knew he was going to (more likely than not) fall through the cracks. He was going to keep getting in trouble, and start to be discouraged, and worse.

So I started watching him and began noticing what a wonderful kid he was. When someone ALL THE WAY across the room said, "I need a pencil." He would drop everything he was doing, grab a pencil, and run across the room to deliver it. It was amazing to watch his "Craziness" in that light, because he was doing good things, but getting into trouble for them. I hated that.

I'm not saying that all teachers are jerks, and anyone who says that they are are, in fact, the jerks. I can't think of a harder profession than education. You think your 9-5 office job is bad? Unless you have, or work with kids, you probably don't know what it's like waking up before 7AM. And you think meeting a deadline is rough? Try getting 20+ indifferent students to care to get a project done on time. The work teachers do today is amazing, and that is why it is such a tragedy to have students "fall through the cracks," but in reality, there is only so much ONE PERSON can do.

Teachers are amazing, and I'm not just biased, I'm informed. I see the sacrifices they make, each and every day to better the lives of others. How many people can say their jobs do that? How many people sacrifice their own talents and time for a small check and a classroom of germs and attitudes.

It seems I've gone off on another rant; I'll quit while I'm ahead!

I'm moving to Florida.

2009-12-15T05:50:00.000-08:00

GASP!

That's right. I'm moving to Florida. It was decided last week when I found this gorgeous 29 million dollar home in Manalapan. (Hopefully I spelled that right--too lazy to check it, though).

I'm not sure WHEN I'm moving, but it will probably be after I hit the lottery or inherit a large fortune from some distant relative I never knew I had. Perhaps a mysterious benefactor will come into my life, or I will find me a rich man to marry. Ha. Yep, I'm moving to Florida.

But, really, check out this house. There are freaking jellyfish laminated to the floor. Or holographed. Does the word I use really matter? Seriously? And check out the garden. It looks like it was ripped right out of a jungle. I bet I could have pet frogs in there! How cool would that be?

Imagine the sunrise from that master bedroom--one out of seven. Let's see: Me, Mom, and Sister. I'd still have four rooms to go. Homemakerman, Tumbleweed, are you guys interested in moving to paradise with me? LMAO.

The size of that kitchen leaves me speechless. I can't believe the fountains. And then the pool! The pool that you can see from the basement (which is slightly creepy depending on who is watching you swim, but still!) This is an amazing house.

This is my house. In my dreams. When I hit the lottery. Etc. Etc.

Oh yeah, and I forgot to mention the best part: Look at this bar.

Notice how the counter connects to the fish tank. Is that amazing or what????

P.S. If you are reading this and are rich, and decide to STEAL my house from me, just know I will be very angry and will seek revenge to the fullest extent of my abilities... Unless, of course, you grant me visitation rights as an honorary finders fee.

I need to jot down some ideas.

2009-12-15T05:06:00.000-08:00

Dear Future Scientists,

As an aspiring writer, I just wanted to let you know of a piece of technology I've been dreaming about since high school. See, I often get inspired by the smallest things, like driving to work in the morning, or sitting through a class. I'll be sitting somewhere completely random, and a great idea will pop into my head. I'll think about it for a while, then start playing with words in my head. Unfortunately, however, I do not have the ability to retain such genius ideas, and by the time I find a pen or make it to a piece of paper, I've forgotten my ideas.

So, think about this. Imagine if your brain had a "recording" feature installed to it. No, I promise I'm not doing drugs, this is just something I've thought about for a while. It would be truly amazing for everyone if you could just record the thoughts that go through your head, and upload them to your computer. A "black box" for your brain, if you will.

The more I think about it, the more amazing I think it would be. Especially for those of us (and I know I'm not the only one) whose brain goes through conversations with ourselves when we worry about how to say the things we mean to say: apologies, breakups, presentations, and more.

Just recently, I volunteered to teach a math lesson and it was terrible. I knew what I'd wanted to say, and I'd rehearsed the best way to transfer the knowledge that I had, but it just didn't come out. My brain black box would have been perfect.

While on the subject of futuristic technology, I would also like to see a multifunctional watch invented. Slim, and neat. Customizable, even. And programmable. Why should we carry a wallet when we could just wear a watch that stores all your personal information on it? Instead of fumbling for cash, your watch should have access to your bank account. Scan it like a bar code in a restaurant. That's it. How cool would that be?

Granted, you could never take it off, but you could never lose it either. Not while it is fastened safely to your wrist. Have you been pulled over? Have your license, and your registration information stored safely in your watch. Just put your hand outside the car window, and you're done.

Forget ID cards, just scan your watch for membership promotions and employee access. You'll never have to carry anything ever again.

I think it's brilliant. Crazy, but brilliant.

Thank you for your time, I hope my ideas will bring you many successes in your future.
Sincerely,
Me

The dilemma continues...

2009-12-14T07:18:00.000-08:00

So the internal war is still waging: should I be the worst daughter ever and flat-out abandon my mother on Christmas? Or should I stay and regret missing yet another holiday with the cutest babies on earth? I just don't know. The decision is too hard.

My gut has been pulling me towards Beantown. I'm awful, I know. But like I was trying to say, in a post I never published, my conversations with Jerk have gotten me to thinking about "me" as a person, and not a daughter. I'm a young adult who needs to get a life, because I can't live the rest of mine with my mother. And my mother can't live the rest of her life with me. Granted, our finances hinder any actual separation as far as housing goes, but still. I need to put "me" first. Grow up, spread my wings, and all that jazz.

I've been trying to think of ways to get my mother to come along with me for the ride. So far, I've tried the following: offering to let her drive (which sounds worse than it actually is because she is a slight control freak when it comes to driving--she is "the professional") offering to pay train fare, offering to put her up in a hotel, offering to take her to a hypnotist--if you catch my drift. But she is determined to be "home" for the holidays. Perhaps it is for the best. I did, after all, invite myself and entire family into my cousins home for Christmas--I suppose that could be considered nervy to say the least. (Sorry, guys!) But I just keep thinking of my own childhood Christmases and how exciting they were. Anyway, it means a bunch to me that my cousins were there with me, even though, if I think about it, it probably wasn't by choice.

Regardless, video tapes reveal what a truly spoiled brat I was, and it just means so much to me to look back and remember all the neat gifts I had growing up. The doll that peed her pants and got diaper rash, and the dancing ballerina. Barbies, dress up clothes, and The singing mermaid doll--I still hear her voice echoing in my head. These were all integral parts of my youth; they molded my creativity and imagination. So, I suppose it is only fitting to sign off with this video!

I found this ad

2009-12-13T10:19:00.000-08:00

So, I found this ad on Craig's list. It reads,

Does your big, happy family all live on one street? Do your parents, brothers, sisters, cousins, aunts and uncles all have houses next door? Are you the real "Everybody Loves Raymond?"

Then tell us your story!

An award-winning television production company based in New York is seeking LARGE families for a new reality series on a major television network. The ideal family has several relatives living on the same street, block or neighborhood. The bigger the family, the better.

If this description fits your family to a T, send us an email! We'd love to hear about your family, where you live, and what it's like being so close to your relatives.

So, I laugh.

I think of my family, and laugh. (And then I thank that poster for not mentioning "prize money").

I think it is safe to say they could write a decade long documentary of the dysfunction of my family. Both sides. Mom and Dad. Ironically, though, my dad's entire family owns real estate within walking distance from us. Granted, it's mostly summer homes, but since my parents have been divorced for 14 years, it's pretty... weird.

So, here is my family radius in a nutshell.

Me, Mom, Sister.

Down the street: My dad, and mom's ex husband.... I'll leave it at that.

Down the street: My dad's sister, my Aunt, whom has not had the best relationship with my mother since the divorce--to say the least.

Down the street: My dad's brother, my uncle, who has a physical and mental disability from an accident years ago. No one in his family talks to them, since they all hate his wife. Two kids, one sort of antisocial, the other, very ill from bad choices he's made, and very unpopular in his neighborhood, also due to bad choices he's made.

Down the street: Relatives who I commonly refer to as "Satan and his wife." Who take advantage of the weak and helpless--the true, kick you when you're down type Samaritan. The kind of people who, every time an ambulance goes racing by, the whole neighborhood wonder if they've finally gotten what karma's got coming to them. Sounds distasteful out of context, but if you only knew.

So, yeah, I laugh to myself as I read this ad. I wonder if there is a cash prize big enough to be worth the embarrassment of exploiting my family. I'm sure they'd get over their hatred of me if I were to offer them a piece of the prize. But how could I live with myself for bringing myself into the same light of "John and Kate Plus Eight" or one of those other lame reality shows. Then I think of Spouse Swap, where you can see the hatred on camera, but they edit it out to make everyone look all "happily ever after" in the end.

I couldn't imagine that in my family.

Christmas Shopping

2009-12-12T08:57:00.000-08:00

So, I've gotten most of my Christmas shopping out of the way. Translation: the people I care about most, I've already bought for. Just kidding. Well, maybe just kidding.

Let's try this:
Dad, CHECK
Homemakerman, CHECK
Tumbleweed, CHECK
Peanut, CHECK
Pumpkinman, CHECK... Wait... Oh, yeah, definite CHECK.
Jerk...... CRAP
McPreggers CRAP
Mom, Huge CRAP!
Sister, half CHECK half CRAP

Speaking of crap, have I mentioned I'm deep in doodoo? I mean, my sister can live. I bought her a game, some language learning software, and one other mystery gift--which is a mystery only because I can't remember what it was. But what about Mom? What can I get her? And what about Jerk and McPreggers?

Since they are expecting their first born, I was going to buy them baby stuff, but apparently that's too taboo. I'm really bad at this "people-being-pregnant" thing. They say it's bad luck to give baby presents before the baby is born. Stupid superstitions are cramping my gift-giving style.

It's sad, but I really want to give them something they want; "Nothing don't worry about us," they tell me, or sarcastically reply, "All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth."

Well, I give up, but what about Mom? I gave Dad a digital camera this year--bringing him, in style, into the technological age of cameras. I'd say he was tickled pink. But how do I upstage that? And what do I buy Mom? I've already gotten her an iPod, Nintendo DS, and jewelry... none of which she ever uses, unless I hound her to (and that doesn't count). I really don't know.

So, now I don't know what I'm doing for Christmas. I don't know what I'm buying people for Christmas. And I don't really know when Christmas is.. better look at a calendar... At least I'm in the spirit this year.

So Glad It's Friday

2009-12-11T18:52:00.000-08:00

Today was a rough day at work, but I won't complain about that here. I'll just say, TGIF!!!!

I've added a few new things to my resume, but it gave me pause. I've decided I'm nervous. With the circumstances of my current position, I feel confident in my abilities has increased. And decreased. Both, at the same time.

I feel I'm better in a crisis, but worse in the classroom. It's way easier when someone is there, behind you, patting your back. Today, I totally flopped a math lesson, and I say as I have said a hundred times before--I will never teach math.

They told me this would happen--that nothing is perfect, and that nothing goes according to plan. I'm good with that. Really, the anal perfectionist that I am can accept lower standards, but a complete flop is unacceptable to me. I had the lesson planned out, and I improvised as I taught. But I cannot do math.

For some reason, the second I got up in front of the class I got nervous--maybe it was all the new faces. Maybe it was that it was the hottest room in the school and I was wearing a thick sweatshirt and two pairs of paints--no wait. That's the reason for my face turning bright red and sweat pouring down my back. So what the heck went wrong?

Math.

Math is wrong. I know how to do it. I did it twice in preparation. And yet, the second I'm in front of the room, staring at a problem my brain goes blank. I forget. I look at the paper. I get nervous. I sweat. I joke and laugh, but I suck at math.

I'm trying hard not to take it too hard. I know some lessons work, and some flop. I think the fact I'm facing my fears, standing in front of teenagers, with math on (or somewhat on) my brain, trying to help people who really don't give a shit give a shit. Not to mention I have no obligation to do so! And I'm not frustrated with them, I'm frustrated with me. Why can't I articulate, and why can't I just plain think?

I'm starting to worry about the future, now. What if I can't do this? What if all I do is freeze? What if I have as much trouble planning lessons as I do thinking up math lessons? I've been trying for weeks to develop my own little curriculum. . . But all I've got is one assignment. That's it. Just one.

I'm going to stop beating myself up tonight. I'm going to enjoy my Friday night (and this last episode of Criminal Minds). I might do some writing, or . .. clean my room. Yikes. Don't want to think of that either.

Ouch

2009-12-10T04:42:00.001-08:00

So, taking my frustration out on a vacuum cleaner is not such a great idea. Apparently, they fight back now-a-days, and I've got the hole in my chin to prove it. Seriously, ouch.

Mom and I had a huge fight the other night. I'm a talking massive, screaming and cursing our lungs out fight. (This is what happens when you have two bad communicators under the same roof.)

I'm almost shamed to admit this, but I know anyone who says they don't have a good fight every now and again is full of crap. People fight. It's just what happens when they don't see eye to eye. People are stubborn. Hot headed. Determined. The more you believe you're right, the harder you fight for what you believe in. But, regardless, here is what went down.

We had a house fire a few years ago, and we lost everything. It has been hard, but I've come to terms with it for the most part. The one thing that has bugged me the most, though, has consistently been Christmas. I've tried, and I've tried, but I've just been so depressed around Christmas. I don't have the stocking my grandmother knit me, I don't have the ornaments I made in kindergarten, I don't have anything I used to have. The manger is gone, the nutcrackers are gone, the candles and the figurines are gone. All our old ornaments, gone. Everything is gone.

It was exciting to move into a brand new house, and buy brand new things, but a brand new Christmas seems sacrilegious. I know it's just "stuff," but it's like walking into a stranger's house. It just seems wrong.

Well, the past few years I've never cared less about Christmas. I've decided that I just didn't have the spirit anymore. But, over the past 2 years, something else changed too. My cousins had their first baby, and their second. Now they've got two, beautiful little babies having their first Christmases. That, to me, is a reason to be cheery.

I thought about it last year, and I thought my mother had agreed with me: we should go to Beantown for Christmas. We've both been depressed. We've both been miserable. So, we should go down and play with babies--our favorite past time.

That was the decision last year. I'm pretty sure we agreed upon it unanimously.

With our friend's recent passing, there has been stress. Normally, she is the one to throw a Christmas Eve party, and we'd all attend. Us, our neighbors, and her family--who likes to be waited on hand and foot. My mom has constantly said "I'm not doing it. I'm not cooking, I'm not cleaning, I'm not waiting, I'm not serving, I'm not doing crap."

She says this, but then she'll go and do it anyway. Which is why I thought our pact last year would be a solution. I've been telling Joe that we've been going down to Beantown for Christmas for about a week now. I know it's not what he wants to hear, but what am I supposed to do? That was the decision.

Well, now the family we were going to visit are coming up after Christmas--which is the greatest Christmas gift EVER. I've been saying, "All I want is to see my Babies" and now I've got them. But, when I said, "I still want to go down to Mass for Christmas, though," I became, in an instant, the world's most ungrateful, horrible, traitorous person ever to live.

I can't even remember how the fight started, but it went the way our usual fights go. She started bitching about me to one of her friends, filling their heads with false information and twisting my words as she saw fit.

"I still want to go see them on Christmas, I've been depressed" somehow translates to "You are a terrible mother and I hate spending Christmas with you, bitch."

I defend myself, and she gets mad, says she'll call her friend back, and then comes at me with stupid shit that happens weeks ago. Like, I came home one night and didn't feel like watching TV one night because we do it all the time--that loosely translates to, "Your lazy and fat and all you do is sit home all day and watch TV, Mom."

We yell and scream for a good 15 minutes, at least, until I lose it and kick over the litterbox. That's great. Now I'm a raging psychopath, but it's extremely frustrating to argue with someone who doesn't listen to what you're saying. Note to self: if you are arguing with someone, don't scream "Calm down, you're acting like a psychopath." It doesn't help. So I call her crazy, and she tells me to move out. I say fine I will, and she says good screw; Same old, same old.

Then, to be the incredible bitch that I am, I tell her to get me the vacuum. Normally I'd ask nicely, but since I was such an "ungrateful bitch" I decided to live up to my character.

Now, we have a central vacuum, so it's basically this big, long hose that attaches to a small roller-thing which just plain sucks. So in a frustrated attempt to detach the stupid, malfunctioning equipment, I wound up smacking myself in the face with the metal part of the hose.

Ouch.

Chin's better today, and it's not as bad as I exaggerate it to be for sympathy purposes, but it still sucks. The medicine I'm on thins my blood, so it took a good hour or more to clot and stop bleeding. Even the next day, it was leaking a bit. I may have chipped a tooth or two, not sure. I was sure I needed stitches. I'm sure I'll have a scar. Great. At least it's under my chin.

My jaw hurts when I open my mouth, or chew. And as much as I try out of pure habit, I cannot rest my head upon my fist. It hurts. I hurt. My whole body. I just want to go back to bed.

Still not sure what I'm doing for Christmas.

Who am I? Part Two.

2009-12-07T05:47:00.000-08:00

My cousin has inspired me to break this into two parts. Maybe three. Goodness knows I can ramble when I start going. It's a horrible thing, but let's make sure we covered everything so far:

PMS. Check
Burial. Check
Traffic. Check

So we get to the train station, and I'm feeling like the worst daughter ever. There I am, heading off to Beantown to go to a Christmas/Hanukkah/Kwanzaa/bah humbug party (heh) while my mom's running a fever, coughing her lungs out, and fighting traffic.

"Let's stop and get juice." I say.

"Nah, I'll get it later," She says.

Why didn't I think this out? I should have bought stuff on my way home from work Friday. Stupid me. Gr.

Well, I feel horribly neglecting and sad and lonely as I'm standing, waiting to board, there with my ticket. I brought a laptop, though, so that was something to look forward to. iPod too, which was good, because the wifi was TERRIBLE.

It was a nice ride, though. Fast. Over before I even knew it. I was pretty social too. Talked to at least two people. Usually I'm very shy around strangers, but I was on an adventure. It was fun.

The first lady I spoke with was an older woman who was lingering in the terminal with me. "You heading to Beantown?" I said. She smiled and said she hoped so.

"We booked our tickets last night, but we don't know where to get them." She told me, and I promptly told her where I'd gotten mine (as I'd bought mine the night previous too). "Thanks, my fiance is in there now. He should find them."

We chatted a bit, then got on the train. She sat in front of me in the handicapped section. An older older woman sat across from me, and a man and his son sat in the other handicapped spot.

At first, I was alarmed with that. Honestly, it's something some people in my family would do. He looked perfectly normal, and I wasn't sure he realized they were handicapped seats. But as the train ride progressed, I started to see how disturbed his son was. Then I felt like a jerk for doubting him. He looked at me a few times, the dad. Stared. Smiled. I felt bad. I wanted to say "hi" and start talking to him, but I didn't know what to say.

"Oh, I see your son is ..." or "What is wrong with him?" Those didn't seem too polite. I guess I should have asked where he was heading, but I felt like he was embarrassed or something. I felt even worse for staring and suspecting. Jerk me.

I talked a lot with the grandmother beside me. She was knitting, so I told her what I tell every knitter I see, "Oh I need to take classes. I can knit a straight-line scarf, but that is about it!" She said something else to me, but I didn't hear her and didn't want her to repeat herself. Oh well.

She then started drilling her granddaughter with multiplication and spelling. You could tell the little girl was irritated. She got on the floor and started staring out the window. Playing with the seat. Total avoidance. I wanted to say, "Leave her the heck alone, you bully. Can't you see you're pushing too hard?" but that would have been rude too. It irks me when I see people who are ignorant of young people's feelings, though. Instead of being rude, I just asked her if she knew the trick for the 9's. There is this finger trick that will tell you the answers to the nines tables: On your ten fingers, starting from the left, put down the finger of the number you are multiplying by nine.

IE 1x9= 9
-\\\\/////
If those were your fingers, you'd put your left pinkie down, and have 9 fingers remaining. 1x9=9

2x9=18

|-\\\ /////
So you put down your left ring finger. Your left pinkie automatically gains the value of a tens place, so you have 10 + your remaining 8 fingers = 18

3x9=27
||-\\ /////
Here you have your left pinkie and ring finger in the tens place (because they are separated by your middle finer. To the right of your middle finger, you now have 7.
10+10= 20+ 7 = 27

And it continues on. Hopefully I've enlightened you!

My cousin picked me up at the train station. I've been calling him Mr. Jerk since he refused to sleep in my tempur-pedic mattress with his horrible back, so I guess I'll just call him, affectionately, jerk from now on. I guess it's payback for calling my dog F-face during his puppyhood.

So Jerk (and now I feel like a jerk for committing that name to him) picked me up in the train station. We went to his house so I could help set up for the party. I will call his wife by her wii name, McPreggers. McPreggers was there setting up, so I helped where I could. Her sisters came shortly after I got there, and they did all the things I couldn't do. We made a great team.

Everything was set up, and it was really nice compared to the previous year. This was my second year attending, and during my first it was slightly awkward. McPregger's family had stayed in the kitchen, and my family had stayed in the waiting room. It was sort of awkward for me, because I hadn't known everybody, and am horrible with names. And faces. But after the wedding, and facebook, I now knew all sisters and most family members.

This year, everyone mingled. Everyone joked. laughed. and had fun. Well, everyone except for my niece. :( She cried and cried and hated everybody. It sort of made me feel horrible inside. I was a distant memory she wanted nothing to do with. Ouch. I mean, I know she gets that way, and it's just the way she is, but I still felt like I, the amazing aunt, should have been able to break that wicked spell of antisocial behavior. I just wasn't 'that' cool, though.

My aunt came in.. what do I call her? She's slightly loud and overbearing. . . I guess I'll call her by her trait mark cookies. Auntie Cookie. That makes sense. So Auntie cookie comes in, and my niece went to her without hesitance. She opened her present and colored with her. I felt like a deadbeat aunt... Maybe it was because her wrapping paper was the glorious red, and mine was just plain green... favorite colors are always big hits.. I don't know. I'll keep that in mind for when I wrap Elmo, I guess.

Eventually, I weaseled my way in. I got Aunt Cookie to get her to open my present--a handmade trick-or-treat bag with her name embroidered on it. I was so proud of that silly bag; found a yellow, white, and orange stripped shirt at the salvation army, cut it up, sewed it together, and braided yarn through the bottom seam. Hot-glued felt characters on and wrapped it in horribly offensive green Christmas paper.

Well, it made her day (I hope.) "Let's go trick-or-treating!" I said, "Want to go?" And she shook her head hesitantly. Then she was mine Mwahaha. We went to the living room and stocked up on red and green M&M's. Her favorite. Then we went to the hall and ate them, all the while screaming "M's!!!! Where'd you go!!!?" into the festive sack. She laughed hysterically, stopping only to glare at her brother as he crawled by.

After a while, I convinced her to go upstairs with me to get a present I'd brought for her mommy and daddy. She was excited to go upstairs, but not to deliver this gift. She'd much rather run into walls and jump up and down in closets. Seriously. She ran into a wall, SMACK, then we'd slowly slide down the wall making silly sound effects. Then we'd lay on our backs and laugh hysterically.

Occasionally, we needed to nap. So she would climb up onto the bed and lay down. "Can you sleep?" She'd ask me, so I said sure and I'd climb into bed. That was NOT OK. "No, you sleep on the floor." she instructed. I laughed. Then asked if I could take a pillow.

She said yes.

We'd run into McPreggers and Jerk's future son/daughter's room and stare into the crib. "Uncle Jerk and Auntie McPreggers are having a baby. Will you sing baby a lullaby?"

"Yes." She said sweetly. Staring. The crib was almost hypnotizing her. I wondered what she was thinking. Happy thoughts? Nervous thoughts? She'd stare for a good minute, then she'd run out of the room, across the hall, and jump in a giant closet. The only uncool part of the evening was when a little boy was dropped off to play with us. He was cute, but, for some strange reason, he didn't quite understand the concept of running into a wall and laughing hysterically. Instead he tried tickling my niece, who, again, is a pretty distant person. He reached over and tickled her, then received the stare of death. It was totally quiet... It was really awkward. You'd think he'd just beat her, or something.. It was like... dead silent. Stare.

I joined in, laughing, "Tickle tickle tickle!! ah ha ha!" like a loon. That didn't make things any better. So we ran and jumped in the closet again.

It took a while, but I eventually had a blast with her. Towards the end of the night, though, I became the BIGGEST JERK EVER. Bigger than Mr. Jerk himself. My niece wanted me to go sleep over her house.... And I had promised to help McPreggers clean up... and my own father was upset I wasn't staying at HIS house and visiting his puppies... and to make matters worse, as if I wasn't torn enough already, Aunt Cookie offered me an apartment LOL! I'm so glad everyone loves me, but it sure does make things hard sometimes.... <3

Well, I honestly wanted to go and see my babies in the morning. Little Chubby Cheeks and his big sister. But they had to leave early (curfews for 2 year olds aren't what they used to be ;) It was also snowing, so I couldn't make them come back for me, even though they would have. So then I decided to go with my dad. I was tired and torn, so I agreed, even though he wasn't sober enough to remember me telling him I changed my mind and wasn't going. Yeah...

Mr. Jerk said, "You're going home with him? Think about it. It's not a good idea." and thankfully talked me out of it. Mr. Jerk is such a good guy. A jerk at times, but a good guy, and I'm so proud he is my cousin.

"I'm going to stay here. I'll come over to see the puppies in the morning." I said at the end of the night.

"Ok." He said, "So are you ready? Where's all your stuff?" He said to me.

"I just said I'm going to stay here..." I said blatantly. He just said, "oh."

I know it bothers him that I don't see him enough, but Mr. Jerk was right.

On the way to the train station, Jerk and I had a wonderful conversation about my dad. "I love him, but I just can't take him. He frustrates me. He's so good, but he's so... Dad."

Jerk agreed with me. My Dad is the greatest guy ever, and there isn't a thing he wouldn't do for anybody... except stop drinking. That's the one thing he won't do.

Anyway, the party was great. The only thing that pissed me off was one thing he said to McPregger's grandmother. He'd been trying to get me to try some Kahlua cool whip, but I refused. He thought he was clever telling me it was just cool whip, but since I helped make it, I sort of knew better. "Come on, it's good."

And though I had actually been tempted to taste, it was the principal I refused. I refused to be tricked into getting drunk. I refused to let my guard down. I refused to take advantage of my adulthood. I said no. And I was proud of myself. The more he pushed, the harder my resistance came. What was the big freaking deal? I didn't want to try the cool whip.

"My daughter's anti-alcohol." He says to the table. "It's good, but one time she didn't want to be my designated driver and blah blah blah... "

I think my jaw hit the floor. Literally. One of my first blog posts on here was about that very same incident--the fact that I didn't approve of his abuse of alcohol and that I didn't want to cart around my drunk family. He was mad at ME for refusing to drive him around, and complaining about it.

Granted, if they really needed a ride, I would pick them up. But I wasn't going to waste my entire day, driving them from bar to bar, watching them get drunk. That just isn't my idea of a good time.

Anyway, I was so embarrassed, not that I had to be. But for him to hold on so strongly to that resentment was very upsetting. I got up and walked away, proud of myself for holding it together. I didn't want to cause a scene at the party... That would have made things worse.

I knew he was just drunk and rambling, so whatever.

So, yeah. With that said and done, I'm not sure what I did. I think the babies were gone, so I must have just gone and washed some dishes. Maybe I took some pictures.

The Yankee Swap went... Eh. It was fun, but played completely wrong. Two people went home with the gifts they brought, and it was just a game of appeasement more than anything else. I'll just stick with numbers to keep things straight. Person 1 picked a beach chair. Person 2 picked something random, and wanted to trade of the the beach chair, when someone, who I refuse to admit was my father, started to argue that "that's now how you do it."

"Yeah it is."

"No, it's not!"

"You can't trade with 1"

Yes, no, yes, no, yes, no, screw it.

So they gave up, confused, and #2 got screwed out of a beach chair.

I was numbers 6, 9, and 12. Pretty sweet. My cousins had left me in charge of their Swapping, so I thought I did them proud... until I realized two of the gifts were the two gifts they had brought! Oops!

Gift 6 was the game "Clue." Gift 9 was a Kappy's gift card. Gift 12 was a mini-dirt devil..

Since the game was completely screwed up, the rule was "you can only trade with the person before you--unless you're number two because then we hate you and you don't get jack squat." So, there came an opportunity for #8 to trade with #7.

7 was a bottle of wine with 3 scratch tickets. 8 was the gift I brought--a decorative "Let it Snow" box filled with hot cocoa mix, festive teas, cookies, and truffles. #8 was McPreggers, and she kept my gift; had she stolen the scratch tickets, I (#9) would have stolen them, but she kept the cookies and tea.

The scratch tickets were worth $140... What a blow.

I was #12, and I knew that #1 was gunning for my Kappy's gift card. I was determined to get my cousins something good for their swap, so I stole #11 (Aunt Cookie's) Wine and Scene it game. She was mad, but it was the only thing I could do. I couldn't go back, and I knew I was losing a gift card. How could I go back with chair, vacuum, and board game? Naw, I had to steal.

Aunt Cookie left with the vacuum she had brought, and I brought Tumbleweed and Homemakerman the board game and chair they had entered into the game (Oops). At least they got wine, though.

All the gifts were nice. There was a giant dart board, lots of booze, and a bunch of other random things that I can't quite remember.

After everyone had left, Jerk, McPreggers, her sister, and I all sat on the couch and talked about what a great party it had been. McPreggers went to bed, and so did Jerk. The two of us watched a movie, until 2ish AM. Then I went up to bed.

I woke up and helped clean up. Jerk made us crack-breakfast, which is delicious. I think he makes the best breakfast (next to my dad, of course). I love it when he uses pepper-bacon, though. It's soo good. But anyway, we cleaned a bit, then got ready for the train. We drove down, actually joking about missing the train.

"You know you don't want to go," Jerk said. I agreed. Of course I didn't want to go. I wanted to stay down and see my dad. The puppies. My babies. I actually felt pretty guilty about not going to see his puppies. I said I would, but that night he said, "No you won't."

Actually, I would have. I wanted to go see him, but after he told me "You're going to sleep late, get up, go to the train and go home." I figured, what the heck? Now I don't have to feel bad about not seeing him--only I do feel bad, so either way I was screwed. I was too irritated to go see him, so even though I had a bit of time, I said the heck with it.

I gave him a huge Christmas present; one that actually ticked off his wife. She turned to me and said, "You didn't have to get him that, that is too much!" She said whisperingly angry. I just shrugged. What the heck was I going to say?

Maybe she bought him a digital camera too.. Ha.

More to come in part three. I'm tired of typing.

Who I am? Part One

2009-12-06T15:27:00.001-08:00

So, I'm on a two hour train ride, reflecting upon this weekend.

I actually only have about a half hour left, so I've apparently done a lot of the reflection part already. But I'm just so happy, I can't stop smiling. I would have to say this weekend has been bittersweet. I've been happy and alive, as well as hunched over in pain and crying my eyes out. Angry too. Truly pissed. Typical train-wreck me.

Friday night, I went walking with Joe. We talked about his wife, and I tried talking him into going to Florida. Crazy things happen when emotions run high, and I love Joe like a grandfather. Don't want anything to happen to him. I don't want the stress of losing his wife to get to him, because you always hear about people who literally die when they lose their spouses. A part of them just dies.

Then I worry about his money. There is nothing he wouldn't spend on his family, that's for sure. I can't imagine the thousands he spent on his wife's funeral. Doesn't matter what it costs. Her plaque was beautiful. The spot they cleared, was beautiful. Everything was beautiful, and sweet. Just like the birthday party he threw for her last month; everything was perfect.

But word gets around that people are after his fortune. Rumor this, and fact that. I don't know what to believe, but I know that if he is paying a friend of his to run around and do things for him, then that person is not really his friend, and I will have a strong loathing of them. The things I do for Joe, I do because I care about him and not the money in his wallet. When I go over with a dinner, wash a few dishes, or just hang out and tell jokes, I'm not looking for a paycheck. I'm looking to keep a mourning old man from being miserable. I just hate that anyone would be looking at him with dollar signs in their eyes.

Anyway, I want to keep him busy, and happy. So we've been taking the dogs for walks in the park nearby our home. It's nice, but my dog is trying to steal Homemakerman's dog's title of world's dumbest animal. Just Thursday night, he ran into a bench. Granted, it was dark, he's ten, and possibly losing his eyesight, but he just ran smack into the bench. Ouch.

Not 5 minutes later, and he ran into Joe's flashlight. Yeah. A flashlight. He saw Joe, sitting on the bench, and ran right into him. The flashlight had been on and in Joe's lap, and my dog got it straight in his eye. Uh, really? Was he blinded by the light? Was he following the light? I don't know, but I know the light was bright, and I know he ran right into it.... So, yeah...

I caught a train Saturday morning, but not after almost dying 3 times.

First, I woke up to the worst pain I've ever experienced in my life. Pretty sure any woman can relate, to give you a hint. If you're squeamish about that sort of stuff, skip ahead a few paragraphs. Don't know how long I'll be; just skip ahead to the asterisks.

I've had pretty bad periods for a while now. Usually it's the first 2 days I'm in keel over pain. Saturday was the worst ever. I woke up with the worst pressure ever in my pelvis. So bad, that I felt like updating my facebook status to: "One day, many years from now, I will sit down my children and tell them to be thankful that on this day, so many years ago, I didn't claw out my uterus."

Really. It was that bad. I got up and wobbled to the bathroom and sat on the toilet, cringing, waiting for my brains to explode. I broke into a cold sweat, and felt dizzy. I tried standing and literally fell backwards. Thankfully, I caught my balance before landing back on the toilet. Dragged myself into the tub. Sat there. Crying. It was terrible.

Mom heard me after 10 minutes. Came in and asked me what was wrong. I told her I wanted a hysterectomy, and that I'd just adopt her grankids. She laughed and told me period cramps were far worse than giving birth. Still not sure I believe her.

I felt bad, but even worse knowing my mom was up coughing all night with a fever. Now I had to have her take care of me? She was great; Got me gingerale. breakfast. Meds. I stumbled down the stairs and fell into her bathtub. Ran it and took a 2 hour long bath. P.S. It's gross taking a bath with Aunt Flo. Too Graphic. Sorry. It just sucks to be a woman. Effing men have it so easy.

Still not sure if it was IBS, bowel movement, cyst, trapped gas, or just mother nature at it's finest. Pretty sure "all of the above" came into play.

**********
After my body returned to a semi-normal state, I was able to get ready for my cousin's Christmas party. That was great, except for the fact I had to go to a funeral first. Burial, really. They finally had the plot ready for Joe's wife, so we went up there to lay her to rest.

Oh yeah, P.S. #2, I'm going to hell.

I firmly believe that at a funeral, and in a time such as this, that people are supposed to be grown ups. Respectful, loving, understanding, grownups. Yet, that Saturday, I snubbed. And I knew I was probably going to hell for it, but I did it anyway. I snubbed, and I was angry. Pissed. Just plain pissed. You aren't supposed to be pissed at a funeral.

So what do you do when you see the one person, in the entire world, that you actually do hate? Despise. Loathe. Words aren't strong enough to describe my disdain. Which doesn't mean I'm consumed by a burning ball of hate, but does mean the thought of them taking a sledge hammer to my family and smashing it to pieces makes me wonder why God punishes the good and lets evil prevail.

Them. There are two of them. Husband and wife. The thought of them sickens me, but they were good friends with Joe and his wife, so what was I to do? There they were at the funeral. The get together. The burial. I felt mutinous just breathing the same air as them, like somehow being within 5 yards of them was betraying my family. I hated myself for not putting my feelings aside, because I felt I was disrespecting Joe's wife, but I just couldn't do it.

I hated them too. When "the Mrs." saw my mother crying she went over and hugged her. I nearly died. I couldn't blame my mother for not making a scene at her best friend's burial, but I couldn't believe it. I was mortified. The only thing I enjoyed about it was that my mother, quite possibly has swine flu and hopefully infected her. I'm going to hell. Poor Joe's wife has probably rolled over in her grave.

If it is any consolation, Joe's wife never believed in apologies. She said what she meant, and that was it; apologies meant nothing. So as much as she wanted us to forgive and forget our hatred, I don't think she'd appreciate lies.

"She's going to be hurting tonight." My mom said to me when we left. "Did you see what she did?" I was thinking, hey did I miss her fall or something? She's such a klutz; she probably fell. But apparently, her husband had been giving her the death-stare when she went over to hug my mother. (Towards the end of our relationship, we started to wonder how much of her bruises came from her klutziness, and how many of them, potentially, came from the husband.)

Again, I'm going to hell. But I don't quite care, and neither should anyone in the universe. Any spitfire woman who sells her soul to the devil for a million dollar mansion and life of luxury deserves neither respect nor sympathy. I am a firm believer in "life is what you make it" and if you make your life a bed of nails, abuse your family, and screw your friends--you're stuck with that life, and you have to live it. Have fun!

I was so glad when they left, and hadn't approached me. That way, I didn't have to appear "rude" or "grudge bearing." But then, on their way out, she said, "Hi." Hi. Hi to me. I wasn't sure how to respond, and in the seconds it took my brain to register that she actually dare speak to me, I took a breath and kept on walking. I wanted her to be miserable, and alone, and know that I hated her guts. I'm going to hell.

On another note, minus the stress, fury, and damnation, the burial was lovely. The flowers still looked beautiful, and the spot was perfect. You could see long lake from atop that giant hill. The plot was surrounded by giant rocks, and overlooked nothing but woods. It was perfect.

The kids were there. Her sister's grankids. Long, horrible, story there, but I won't get into it now. I'll just say they are now, currently, living happily with their aunt. But I love them. I love kids. They just make me smile. Life is so simple, and happy for kids. Everything is funny, and new, and exciting. Here goes the story, anyway. These kids lost their father a year or two ago from a supposed heart-attack. An autopsy was never preformed, but we've always slightly suspected the wife had something to do with his death. She's a money-sucking heroin junkie. 3 kids. Life insurance policy. No food, no clothes. Nothing. Nothing but an MIA mother. Sold the dog. Sold their toys. But it's ok. She'll just say people "stole" their stuff. And the school is just across the street, so they can get there themselves while she gets her fix in. Makes me sick.

Oh, the drama of my life. I love these kids so much, though. I hate that they have a crappy mom, and deceased father, and now their great aunt has passed. Their life has been tragically robbed of joy and innocence. That makes me sicks too.

During the burial, I played with the kiddos. 2/3 of them, anyway. The third had a different father who won custody after the mother abdicated all three to her sister-in-law.

The youngest disappeared into the woods; made me nervous. Him and that army-pattered jacket. Hunting season. Yeah. So I went off and found him sitting on a ledge. Not a huge cliff, or anything, but a few feet at least.

"Watcha' Doin?" I hugged him.

"Thinkin. I want to go down there."

"Well, maybe this summer. When we go fishing, we'll go hiking too." I said. What do you say to a kid who lost two very special people in his life? I don't know. He pulled a piece of straw to his lips. I grabbed one too. We sword fought with them, and I tickled him with it. We giggled, and then we made bird nests. Brought them back to the funeral.

Joe's wife. I'll call her Sharona. Heh. Sharona. The kids didn't quite understand why everyone was standing around, so I told them we were paying our respects to Sharona. They were very sweet, but then wanted to take flowers from the baskets. "One each." I said, go ahead and pick. So they each picked perfect red roses from the bunch. But the elder sister whined: "But he's got two! No Fair!"

Well, the brother's second was found on a rock beside the parking spot. It had been plucked out for looking dead and crumbled. "Ok, you can have ONE more," I said, "Then you'll each have two." So she picked another, which, naturally, made her younger brother jealous.

"I want that one!" He told me, but I reminded him he only had two, and we needed to leave them pretty for Sharona.

We left for the train shortly after, and I didn't think we'd make it alive. On the way two BRILLIANT drivers decided to cut out in front of us without signaling. Had my mother not been a professional driver, we'd probably never have made it to the train. Literally. Two morons. They were barely inches in front of us when they came into our lane. Morons.

So. Yeah. There is part one of Who am I. Not sure how it got so off track, but I'll get to more of the self-reflecting part later.

Until next time <3

PSYCH PCH

2009-12-04T10:26:00.001-08:00

So I'm starting to get sick of Publisher's Clearance House. I know what you're thinking. "That junk? Why would you subscribe to that crap?"

Well, here is the story: a few years ago, my mom got a notice saying she won a grand from the infamous "Publisher's Clearance House." I immediately told her it was a gimmick and suggested she shred it with the rest of the junk mail. But she didn't believe me. She never does, but this one she was sure was the real deal.

So I told her to do research on it, and she did. She paid for the shipping, or what not, and a few weeks later up showed a check worth $1,000 with her name on it. We couldn't believe it. She actually won!

I still thought she was being had, so I told her to be careful, but she put it in her bank account, and a few days later her name was on the PCH website under $1,000 winners.

Well, amazed by this, I've decided to sign up. Might as well have a 2/100,000,000 chance, right?

Every now and then, aka every other day, I get their spam--but one in particular stands out.

"Dear ______! Great news! Someone with the initials B.S. will win in your area this week!!"

For the record, B. and S. are NOT my initials, but I did pick them for a specific purpose. Because I think they are, again, selling B.S. My mom gets the same letters with her initials, so.... How can the two of us, in the same area, with totally separate initials BOTH win the same prize?

Go figure.

Don't subscribe to PCH unless they pay you too!

Angry enough to scream

2009-12-03T05:30:00.001-08:00

I'm somehow managing to maintain a cool exterior, as my student has yet to ask me, "What's wrong?"

When I'm really upset, I'll be asked that question, but not today. I'm smiling and making jokes, like I normally do when I'm in a good mood, but inside I just want to scream. I want to log into Facebook and share my anger and frustration with everyone else, but I'm holding back on that too.

As most of you know, our dear friend passed away last Wednesday. The funeral was Saturday, but I didn't post that entry, and the burial? On hold. ON HOLD!

The story is too outlandish to believe, but here it is:

Our friend's husband, we'll call him Joe, has a lot of property around town. He has a lot of tenants too. Low class, trash, tenants. Joe and his wife always try to see the good in people, and always bend over backwards for people. For his wife's last birthday, Joe bought lobsters for my family, their family, and our neighbor. (Not to mention a massive ice cream cake!) This is probably the 3rd time he's bought us lobsters.

Needless to say, Joe is a Saint. So is his wife. They should both be sanctified for the things they do for others. And now, here he is, with a restraining order against him. A restraining order from one of his tenants. A restraining order that keeps him off his own damn property and burying his wife.

I want to scream.

They went to court yesterday, and it seems they were the last case. "The judge just seemed bored" Joe said, "And she wouldn't stop crying. Then she walked out of the room and laughed at us."

She's lucky I have a reputation to uphold, because if I didn't I'd probably go down there and punch her myself. Oops. Did I say that? But seriously, can you imagine what Joe must be thinking; he just wants to bury his wife.

My mother has a theory about what happened; she thinks that they made the mistake of being tried together. Joe, his son, and her ex-boyfriend. This drama has been going on forever. Some dog fight, then she kidnapped someone's dog. I don't know the whole story, but I don't care to. It doesn't make sense that Joe can't go up to his own property and bury his wife. She should GTFO IMHO.

I just want to scream.

There is no way this should have been allowed to happen, especially when she has already been evicted. EVICTED. She should be gone. She was served papers and everything. They are just waiting on the hearing to give her the boot, so why would you LIVE in a place you feel so threatened in?

I just want to scream.

Get this, the lawyer says, "If you drop the eviction, I'll drop the restraining order."

I just want to scream!

Why would you offer to drop a restraining order if you feel so threatened??

I just want to scream!

LEAVE!! GO AWAY!!

Why is everybody so sick?

2009-12-02T10:03:00.000-08:00

My house is currently under quarantine with the dreaded "rhino virus," but no one believes me when I say it's just the common cold.

Fortunately, I've yet to catch it.

Mom and sis were diagnosed yesterday, and when I got home from work, there was a medical mask on the ground by the door. Originally, it had hung from the door knob and had been intended for me to wear. Walking onto the scene, however, I figured I was living with people with some deadly virus. Bubonic plague, or swine flu.

Kidding, of course. I've unfortunately been to the doctor's office quite a bit in the past few months, and I know that even if you suspect you are coming down with something, they will make you wear a mask. Great fun.

Well, my mother had grabbed one for ME to wear around the house--double standard, I think? They get sick, so I have to look like a weirdo? While they go around breathing and infecting the rest of the house? Eh, no thanks. I refused it, and they, ever so generously decided to wear theirs instead.

But, really. Why is everybody getting sick? (Besides the obvious answer of "germs".) Next weekend is my cousin's Christmas party. I'm flying solo if my mom and sister don't get better, and even if I go by myself, some family members have decided to go out and get the pig flu. They were all, "Oh, so and so is coming, let's go get sick so we can conveniently not see her because she banished us from Maine for 5 years...." Long story. Totally false from the word "some" on.

In other news, I'm running out of interesting things to write about.

So she's gone.

2009-11-26T21:11:00.000-08:00

I was going to post something brief when I found out, but I wasn't sure what to say. I guess all there is to say is that it's over. I wish it could be that simple, but the truth is is that it won't be over.

I made it home from work, stopped by the house I was watching, then went "home." I called my mom to see where she was, but she wasn't there yet. Can't quite remember where she was, probably at the hospital. Yes, that's right. She was visiting at the hospital. She asked me if I could go let their dogs out, and I said yes. I made it to their driveway before breaking down completely.

I went in and saw the dogs, and wondered if they knew. Lucy, I'm sure, knew. I'd stopped by the night it happened, and she went up to their bedroom and wouldn't leave it. Goober was unusually playful, chewing on my arm at times.

My mom eventually came in with my sister, and we all cried and hugged. Then my mom went to drive an accompanying neighbor home. My sister and I left a little later, and I eventually went home.

That was Monday night. Tuesday they pulled the plug, and Wednesday morning she passed away.

I only saw her every so often, so I'm sure it hasn't quite hit me yet. Like I've said to everyone, though: every so often it does. It hits me. It hits me when I look through my old pictures, and see how close her and my mom were. I mean, I knew they were close, but when I see the pictures I took of them together, at the fair or shopping for flowers. And then I think of all the times she's been over at her house, or gone out for lunch with her, and I can't even imagine how much time they spend together when I'm at work. It just sucks for her.

It sucks for her husband, too. Who is going to do the dishes, and who is going to cook? Who is going to sweep the floors--not to completely domesticate her, but that was who she was. She was the loving mother and wife, and everytime I'm in that house I think of her. Her cigarettes. White hair and smile. Her laugh, and the things that made me lose patience with her. I wish I had been more patient.

It was hard those first two nights at her house, but it was even harder last night. A friend and I went to check on her Thanksgiving Turkey. The one she'd bought and invited us over for. The dinner we politely declined because we didn't want to wait hand and foot on a select few of her family members; more than that we didn't want to watch HER wait on them. Would that be irony? I don't know.

It was hard enough walking in that first day, finding that oxygen mask in the Thanksgiving basket. Seeing the whole house festively decorated with turkeys, leaves, and pilgrims. But to go upstairs, to that long room where they held their get-togethers--and seeing all the decorations there, all the table cloths, and all the plates. That was hardest of all. I can't imagine her up there, decorating it all herself. So happy and excited for the holiday... It just... yeah, it sucks.

Mom cried a lot today. Sister slept all day. I teared up several times, but my only real, tears streaming down, emotional moment was when I first woke up. The rest of the time I kept my brave-face on.

I don't know what is more depressing, though. The fact that she's gone, or the fact life will go on. The world will keep turning, clocks will keep ticking, and life will go on. That stupid, logical part of my brain tells me that sooner or later we all must die.. I know that, despite the pain I feel, I will keep moving on. One day, I might not even remember this person. I might be browsing some old photographs, 30 years from now, and stumble upon her face. "Who...?" I might ask.. I might remember, I might not. I hope I remember.

They're making the funeral arrangements. Her husband is going to bury her on his land. At first,, I thought it was a tad creepy. Now that I think of it, I'd rather be buried with my family and not surrounded by strangers. Not that it matters, I guess.

They need to find a wig for her, though. They had to shave away a lot of her hair for the tubing that drained her brain... I can't imagine her without her hair. And worse--with some wig that isn't her hair. What if it is the wrong color? What if they can't mask the hole in her head? I just don't know what to expect. This is Maine we're talking about--a place where they think great pizza is... well... I don't know. I'm just scared. I'm scared to see her, and I know that's perfectly normal (or, at least, I hope it is perfectly normal) but yet.. I don't know.

My grandmother died from an aneurysm. Years ago. I didn't see her, but they told me it was bad. real bad. For years, I had some false assumption that if I had chosen to go and see her, I could have said "goodbye." That's the mind of a child, for you; incapable of conceiving just what "real bad" meant. Real bad is a shaved head with tubes everywhere. Real bad is eyes shut with tongue hanging out, as my mother visually depicted out of raw emotion. Real bad is something I couldn't bring myself to see. I had the choice to see her, but couldn't do it.

When I saw my grandmother, at her funeral, I had this one reoccurring nightmare that she'd wake up and we'd hang out together. But she wasn't right, she had these large, swirly blue-purple pinwheel eyes. That's all I remember.

I'm afraid of that too. Of what memories it will drudge up, and what I'll wake up seeing in the middle of the night. I guess that's selfish. Selfish like Thanksgiving.

I told myself, "On this Thanksgiving, I will be thankful for knowing an angel" and that was how I tried to live the day. I think that's just a lame excuse to eat turkey and pretend nothing really changed, but I don't know. I just don't know.

As of today

2009-11-24T15:29:00.000-08:00

They've taken her off life support. Nothing has changed. I'm not sure there is much else to say.

A part of me does feel better; like she's fighting. Maybe I should start fighting too. I just can't believe this is Thanksgiving.

2 Cups Cocoa; 2 Cups Tea. Maybe 3 or so Chocolate Milk

2009-11-24T10:32:00.000-08:00

Fasting is a type of prayer. Maybe That's why I'm not eating. I just know if I have a slice of pizza or eat my cereal and something happens, I'm going to feel cursed forever. I don't dare change my sudden liquid diet.

Last I heard was that there was no change, but that wasn't the last text I got from my mother. "Let me know when you're leaving work." She said. What does it mean? I can't bring myself to ask. I can't drive home in tears, and I certainly can't go get my sister. But both are things I must do, so I sit and wonder if anything has, in fact, changed.
I'm on my second cup of tea; burned my taste buds, and poured in too much powdered creamer.

I haven't told anyone, but they've noticed. One of the kids even told the science teacher not to pick on me today. A friend offered to cover my last two blocks, but then what would I do? Go home and sit? I can't.

I should have thought about getting my sister sooner; then maybe I would have left. But it's too late now, I'll just wait out the rest of the day--all of the 23 minutes before vacation.

What are we supposed to do? How can we celebrate Thanksgiving? How will all this end? Here come the tears again, better stop. Must hold it together, regardless of the impending doom I feel.

I'm not sure if blogging has helped or not. In a way it's like talking out my problems, and in a way it's like showcasing them. Staring right at them doesn't make them go away.

This sucks.

Haven't Eaten All Day; Perhaps I'm Superstitous... Just Maybe

2009-11-24T08:51:00.000-08:00

I haven't eaten all day. I'm not really hungry, and I don't quite feel like forcing myself to eat. It feels selfish.

I have taken in nourishment; Started with a big glass of half and half chocolate milk---half milk, half chocolate soy. (I don't drink coffee creamer.) Like I said, I started with that this morning, when I couldn't force myself to eat the Reeses Puffs I bought at the store the other day. I brought a container to work, thinking I'd be hungry, and I brought a container of milk. I brought a DanActive yogurt too. I drank the milk, I drank the yogurt, and I've since had two cups of cocoa, in addition to a chocolate milk I stored in the fridge last week. I guess I'm just afraid to eat.

She is still alive, whatever that means and as far as I know. Although, I was pretty sure my mother was lying to me this morning when she said she hadn't heard anything. I was sure it was over, and she just didn't want to tell me until after I'd gotten home. The same way she tried protecting my sister last night by not telling her.

What? What on earth happened? For those of you who don't know (the slim, zero to none of you readers I am not related to) a good friend of the family's (and quite possibly someone who is closer to us than 88.8% of the family we do have) was found on the kitchen floor of her home yesterday morning. Aneurysm. They rushed her to 3 hospitals during the day and were prepping her for a surgery last night. The surgery, as I last heard, was not preformed. There was too much swelling in her brain to try it.

Like I said, I thought it was over. And maybe I was just being hopeful. The damage, on a scale of 1-5 was a 4. As far as the surgery, the doctors said if she were to survive it she'd need to spend the rest of her life in a nursing home. They said "normal brains" function at a level 14, and she'd be a 3.

I know her son flew out from California, and he should have been there by 9AM. My mom left to visit her around 10. I don't know what to do. I still don't know what to think. I just know that this Thanksgiving will never be the same, and it's impossible for me to smile and wish anybody a happy vacation. What do I say when they ask me what I'm doing? I've been keeping my head down low and avoiding eye-contact. I've been trying not to cry. I've been trying not to think. I'm surprised I've held it together this long.

It's noon. Two hours to go. I can't wait to get out of here, and yet I can wait to leave. I know I'm just going back to the house to sit alone. Do I eat? Do I change my socks? Do I pray for the best? What is the best? I'm trying not to be superstitious, and I'm trying to convince myself not to give up, but I can't let go to my logic and set myself up for disappointment. I can't smile and say, "it's ok," and I can't let myself think things will get better. I want to, so badly, but I know that if I start thinking that I'll fall flat on my face.

So it's just a waiting game, now. To see what happens. How things play out.

I have a facemask and rubber glove in my car. The paramedics left it behind. In the Thanksgiving basket she got from the church. The sight of it makes me tear up. I took it to hide from her husband; I couldn't throw it out, though, either. I know it's stupid to be so superstitious, but I don't know what else to be.

I'll continue drinking chocolate milk and figuring out what I'm supposed to be feeling.

Distraction is Key

2009-11-24T06:32:00.000-08:00

So I've been reading up on my cousin's blog and I hope he doesn't mind me exposing his secret relatedness to me, or that I linked him to my insanity, but I don't think he will. If he does mind... oops. Too late.

I mention him because, as I've said, I've been distracting myself by reading his blog. It makes me laugh to think of my little niece telling everyone "It doesn't work" when she fails to produce poo on her potty.

I need to think about happier things, today. And since I've been meaning to write down my happy moments in life (since last December when I went to NYC with my dad) I think now it the appropriate time get those memories out there.

****
This past summer, Homemakerman, Tumbleweed, their daughter Peanut, and I were walking up a back road to loop around to my house; as I suspected, and had been hoping, I found a baby toad no larger than a cocoa puff. Smaller in fact, nearly as slim as a cornflake, no taller than two or three stacked.

"Look at the baby frog, Peanut." I said, lying and saying it was a frog because I wasn't sure if she'd understand the technical difference between frog and toad. "Look how small, Peanut." I said, as I've always been amazed by the size of them. Ever since I was a little girl, and my dad would take me to that exact spot on his moped.

"Look, Peanut, he is so small he is smaller than that bug!" I exclaimed so perplexed. I pointed to a long, greenish bug that just so happened to be on the ground beside us. No sooner than I had pointed out that bug did my niece stare, pause, and squash. She lifted her foot, and her tiny, colorful sandal landed square on it. She squished it around a few times, making sure it was good and dead as her parents and I looked at each other in disbelief. Then we burst into laughter. "I don't know where she learned that one!" One of her parents laughed. I think they may have been embarrassed because they respect nature and want to raise their children to do the same. Still, it was funny as hell.
******************
More recently, we went down to visit them on Mango Street. This was one of the first weeks of October, I believe. Mom and I had gone to the Fryeburg Fair on Friday, and Saturday we went down bearing Maple syrup cotton candy and other such goodies we had acquired. We sat on their black sofa, ate pizza, and busted out the cotton candy which caught Pumpkinman's attention. When no one was looking he latched onto the bag for dear life, and cried bloody murder when we took it away from him. Worst parents ever, those two--depriving their under-aged son of such a sweet (no pun intended) energy-increasing, cavity inducing treat.

Well Pumpkinman was quite upset until he stuck his fingers in the sofa and found a minuscule crumb of pizza, sauce and all. He was estatic, and when we figured out what he had uncovered, we laughed. The little darling stared at his Daddy, and if looks could kill (or steal pizza...) well, you get the picture.

What a great moment for poor baby pumpkinman.
****

THERE'S AN APE OVER-THERE!!

Well, first, I must explain the embarrassing context which preceded this exclamation.

See, as you already know, Homemakerman and Tumbleweed visited us this summer, and what you don't know is that we spent most of our nights up all hours of the night playing board games. Well, I have wanted to play Pictionary since I bought it years ago, but it has since vanished. I've searched for it where it sat for a year (in my closet) then I briefly browsed the basement, where it was moved to after I got sick of looking for it.

Obviously, when I heard my sister say, "Pictionary is in mom's room." I was excited. Beyond excited, really, and I jumped up to go get it--completely missing my cousin's subtly mortified expressions. See, the game in my mother's room was Scategories, and not, in fact, pictionary. This fact I loudly shared with the whole household upon discovering it.

Moron.

"Happy Birthday," They said to my sister, and it all made sense. Oops. Yes, I had blown my sister's birthday present and ruined their surprise..

With that detail out of the way, let's turn to the game:

The letter was A and the category was: something you'd exclaim.

Naturally, my mother wrote: Ape.

"Ape?" Homemakerman had asked,

My mom nonchalantly replied, "Yes, Ape. Like Oh my God There's an Ape over there!!"

She will never live that one down.

*****

What else? What else? How about the Fashion Show tent I bought for Peanut. I know there was a hilarious moment with that, but it has since slipped my mind. She went in and out and in and out of that tent about a million times. She crawled, seamlessly, through the cat tunnel too. Homemakerman... not so much.

Oh the memories.

More to come, when I think of them.

Not as Guilty as I Feel

2009-11-24T04:23:00.000-08:00

Right now, my life is on pause.

I'm suspended in mid-air, after just being off a cliff.

I know that at any minute the phone could ring, and that would be the end of that pause. I would either fall down, hard, into a land of miserable agony, or miraculously be spared. That is a horrible analogy, though. Really, if I were to be spared, I'd only be carted off into foreign territory of brain damage and despair. What am I to hope for? They tell us things will never go back to the way they were; do I cling to hope they are wrong? Faith in God and in miracles? The belief she had a good life? The humanity of not wanting to see her hooked up to a ventilator?

I don't know. I just wish I knew what to think. What to say. How to feel.

Merry Freakin Christmas

2009-11-23T06:41:00.000-08:00

I've decided that I am going to say Merry Freaking Christmas this year, and I've come to this decision after picking up some a Christmas present for my mother's bird. In fact, I might go as far as saying, "Merry Freaking Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Happy Kwanzaa, Bah-humbug!" Does that cover everything?

Here is what happened: I was standing in line checking out when the lady told me that part of my purchase was free due to frequent buyer points. Couldn't have come at a better time, with Christmas coming. Plus with all the bills, my paycheck was just about gone, and I wasn't getting another for a week. The two clerks were chatting about what a rough time of year it was, and I chimed in, "Oh yeah, especially with Christmas shopping."

Well, the second clerk shook her head behind mine, and said, "Oh no, don't say that!"

"Say what?" I asked, noticing the expression on my clerks face.

"Don't say Christmas," The second clerk responded. Again, my clerk's face remained stoic.

"Oh....." I said, and the rest of my time was incredibly awkward. What was I to do? Should I wish them a Happy Thanksgiving? Do I ask if she is Jewish and wish her a Happy Hanukkah? Or Kwanzaa? Do I apologize?

As she helped me to the car, I wanted to apologize, but I didn't want to offend her. And then, when she went back into the store, I said, "Wait a minute. I don't mind respecting other people's beliefs, but they should respect mine too! I shouldn't have to censor myself."

That woman should have simply said, "Sorry, I don't believe in Christmas, I'm Jewish." And I would have apologized and wished her a Happy Hanukkah. That would have been the end of it, but instead I spend the next 3 days feeling offensive and offended at the same time. Not fair!

I'm honestly the same way with all cultures; I don't want to say the wrong thing because I'm afraid to be considered "mean" or "rude." I remember when I was in Elementary school, I was told never to call a black person black. "Call them African American." My teachers would say, "That's the polite thing to do."

Well, it's wrong, and it peeves me when I hear it. What about the people from the Dominican. What about Hati? Doesn't categorizing people with dark skin as "African American" steal from their heritage?

I need to give up on being so politically correct. I'm tired of desperately searching for the right words to say. I'm sick of the inner turmoil: Merry Freaking Christmas!!!!

Weirdo

2009-11-08T06:49:00.000-08:00

So out of pure boredom and interest, I logged onto my dating page. To my surprise (and that's pure sarcasm there, so you know) I had no new messages. Yes, I have successfully scared away 10/10 potential interests with my blunt sarcasm and knack for pointing out the obvious. Why men have such delicate egos, I'll never know, but like I tell my mother: if I can't have a conversation with them online, why would I want to meet them??

Take this winner, for example. I dubbed him "Weirdo."

-------------------------------
From: Weirdo
Subject: I'm one of your favorites?

?
[Reply]
-------------------------------

No joke; that was his message to me.

Minus the subject line, his entire message was simply a question mark.

Well, so you know the background, I had spent about 10 minutes browsing through the new users (you know, the ones I hadn't scared away yet...) When I find a guy that I 'really' like, I'll shoot him a quick message, but when I find a guy that sounds interesting enough (and looks just about "kissable") I will add him to my "favorites." That, in my opinion is the equivalent to smiling at someone in public. It says, "I'm sort of interested, but not enough to send you a message" and if they like you back, they can initiate the conversation. If not, I could care less because I don't quite like you that much to begin with.

Unfortunately, it has become apparent that adding men to a favorites list goes straight to their heads. This isn't the first time that simple click has had this effect on men. It is, however, the funniest.

Anyway, my reply was as simple as his mind: "Please note "Note #4""

Note #4 on my profile basically states: "Just because I added you to my favorites doesn't mean you are God's gift to women and that I'm madly in love with you."

His response?

---------------------------------
"I already did note #4. I read your profile. But you didn't answer my question. If you don't want to talk to me, why are you adding me to your favorites?"

(Barely 3 minutes later)

Weirdo.
---------------------------------

So here is the message I sent him. Is it sad that I enjoy this?

Yes, I am such a weirdo for going to bed after the busy day I had--especially when I was feeling sick all day to begin with. Shame on me.

I am also so very sorry for having offended you by not answering your question--what was that again? Hmm, let me backtrack through your messages to make sure I didn't miss this "question" of yours.

"I'm one of your favorites?"

Oh, right. The subject line. Followed by a question mark. What a great conversation starter! How, ever, could I have ignored that lame attempt for an ego boost. I think that “question” probably went ignored because I thought it was a rhetorical question (given, of course, the obvious fact that I had already added you to my favorites list. Wouldn't an answer have been redundant?)

Silly, Silly me. Not realizing you were being serious. Here is my long awaited reply, if you are still interested…

"Yes, whatever your name is. I 'thought' you were a potentially interesting person. So, the sky is blue?"

Very sorry for misleading your ego; but I do thank you for proving just what a completely impatient and unstable individual you are. I love how my lack of response made you jump to call me names and assume I'm a “weirdo.”

Good luck in your quest of finding a woman who will jump to answer your dumb-ass questions. Oh yeah, and enjoy being blocked.

Insanely yours,
Weirdo.

Resolution

2009-10-28T09:29:00.000-07:00

So I may have made my peace with the infamous, notorious, Time Warner Cable. It seems too good to be true, which is why I'm having a hard time believing it.

My friends came up last weekend, and it was great. Great to see them, and sarcastically great because of the weather. It was hideous on Saturday, raining "cats and dogs" as the pictionary game we played would say (assuming, of course, a pictionary game could talk).

Well, regardless of the irony that board game brought us, it was raining cats and dogs, and that day we happened to have BIS-- Bad Internet Syndrome. I just made that up, but it is entirely appropriate. It would stop, then start but be really slow, then stop for a while and start up again. Then it went down for an hour. Then it was up again.

So, even though I was enjoying my time with my friends, I still had the urge to call and complain to TWC, which I did. The lady I talked to tried telling me it had been working perfectly. Same old song and dance, but I wasn't buying it. (I'm already paying enough for their shitty service, I don't need a side of bullcrap too.)

"No, it's not working, because I can't use it. ( YOU IDIOT. QUICK QUESTION: WHO LIVES HERE, ME OR YOU??) I know that you *see* it is working fine, but that is wrong. That is what the last guy said, but he was wrong, and the guy he sent out here confirmed that was wrong. He looked into the modem history and saw there were complications and errors. SO DON'T YOU DARE FREAKING TELL ME EVERYTHING IS ALL HUNKY DORY!"

My tone was pissed, but I refrained from hollering and using derogatory terms. I also didn't say the words capitalized above, but I sure thought them. I couldn't believe the nerve of this woman telling me I was wrong. "I unplugged from the wireless router, and was plugged directly into the modem." I said, "it's still not working.."

She didn't believe me, but she still asked, "Should I send out a technician?"

"Uh, well you've already sent out 3, and none of them could fix it. Everytime they come it's working fine, so what do you want to do?" I asked, seeing the 4th guy as a pointless waste of time.

"Well we'll send a guy out."

"Ok, when?"

"They will call with an appointment time,"

"Ok..."

"How's Tuesday? Would you rather have AM or PM?"

"Uh...?" Didn't she just say she the tech would schedule the appointment? Seriously? Do you have a brain? At all? Didn't think so.

So Tuesday came, and so did the technician. Jon. (and just as I used Level III Technician Ron's real name to shame him, I am using Jon's real name to thank him--and give him credit for proving my sanity)

It was actually quite funny, because on the way home, there were two TWC van's clogging the road. One was on one side of the road, up in the wire's at the Ranger's house; the other was on the other side of the road, talking to the driver. Ironically, I was stuck behind the guy who was going to my house, so at least if I was late I could blame him. Right?

Well he quickly put his car in gear and drove down the main road, pausing a bit when he came to my road. I boldly signaled to turn right by waving my arms in that direction, but I don't know if he saw me. He turned right, and drove right past my house. I pulled in and waited for him to figure that out, but he took so long so I went in the house and put the dog on a leash instead. (It's easier to control the jumping he does that way)

When the guy came in, he was very concerned about the issue, "So can you tell me what's going on here?"

I was like, "Well, you are the fourth guy to come out, I really don't know why they sent you; no one else can figure it out, but the problem is the internet will shut off. And I know that it's the internet because I've plugged directly into the modem and it still doesn't work. and blah blah blah"

So he questioned me to make sure I knew what I was talking about, then went downstairs to check the input. Took him about 5-10 minutes just to figure out where the cable was coming from---and he didn't like the setup one bit. "You have (or are losing) 14 dbs," He said before clarifying--because I had no idea what he was talking about, "You should have 3..."

"Oh? That doesn't sound good." I said, as he proceeded to test the cables and stuff like that. He said that the input was going into a 2 way splitter, that was going into a 3 way splitter, or something crazy like that; I should have paid attention, but I was honestly so sick of anything with the word "cable" in it I didn't care to listen. Instead I just hung out down there and waited to see if he could find anything; I hope he didn't think I didn't trust him, or anything. I just wanted to know if there was a problem.

So after that he went upstairs. I can't remember if he found something there, but my mom says he did. Then he went outside and found out the levels being sent into the house were way too high (which was why the basic cable channels were coming in so fuzzy--I told him, I thought it was just because we had a large TV and it distorted the quality)

He fixed that, and said that there was an additional problem he would send the guys out to fix. So what now, Level III Technician Ron? Who is crazy now?

Jon was so nice he gave us his card, and his supervisor's number too! Then told us not to deal with TWC anymore. He couldn't believe they'd set us up like that, and though he was professional about my complaining, I think he had sympathy for my situation. He was all, "Yeah, I don't see why you wouldn't be upset you just want your internet." After all the aggravation and stress, I would have given him a hug if it wouldn't have been that weird.

Well, with that all said, I think I may finally have faith in my cable company. I may finally like them----even if they won't give me my Motorola DVR, and even if my setup is from the 1990's, and even if I can only title search for TV shows by using the first letter, and even if every time I search for House I want to throw the remote through the TV because I have to scroll through 80 listings of home Makeover----I can now scream, not in anger but in joy, THANK YOU SO MUCH JON!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Damn it, Julia! Where did you go?

2009-10-20T05:38:00.000-07:00

I want to smash my head off a desk. Really, I do.

You see, for 3 maybe 4 years now, I've been trying to track down an old friend of mine. Not the most traditional of friends--we met on the internet either before or right after Y2K. Where did we meet? I'm not sure. Perhaps the old X-Files forum. Maybe it was just through another friend. I honestly can't remember much, other than her screen name.

Normally, a screen name can tell you so much about a person. Sounds crazy, but it's true. That's usually how I check up on people--Yes, I'm a spy. I don't just willingly trust myself, or my personal information to just anyone. Before I befriend someone, or add them to Facebook, I do my own little background checks to make sure they aren't insane. See, most people use the same screen name wherever they go, so a quick google check will show you an amazing amount of information. Their hobbies, their photos, their everything. Take one of my screen names, for example-- When I google it, I find my photobucket account, numerous posts looking for support on technical websites, and even some things I forgot I had posted (oops).

Anyway, the point I'm trying to make is people leave trails on the internet wherever they go--which is why I've adopted several usernames throughout the years. Julia, my dear lost friend, has none. I cannot find her. I've searched and I've searched forever. For years. She's gone.

Litchfieldduck8 and LibraDMK. All gone. It's driving me insane. I just want to find her. Julia S., from Michigan. Maybe she was from Anelldale, or Ann Arbor. In all my searches, those two towns stick out in my mind for some reason. That doesn't matter, though. She may have moved. She may have married. She could have died, for all I know. But the fact that I don't know is as annoying to me as a cracked fingernail when you don't have clippers or a file. I want to get to the bottom of it and know where she is, but I just don't have the tools. I can't remember enough about her to find her.

I've spammed facebook to the point where they have disabled my ability to send messages. I've googled till I've been blue in the face. I just can't find her--and why? Why do I want to find her? Out of sheer principal. I love my friends, and I never want "not" be able to contact them. I still have contact with everyone from my back-in-the-day "crew." Anya, Catherine, Racheal, Gabby, Kristina (sort of), even people I didn't know that well, I still have on my buddy list. But not Julia.

What inspired this insane obsession of mine? "Who let the Dog(get) In?" A short story she wrote for me years ago. I found it, randomly searching through old internet pages. I smiled for weeks after reading it--but almost cried when I couldn't find her online. The more I looked, the more memories began flooding back in my head. We were supposed to go to college together, back when I didn't have a plan, or any idea of what I wanted to do. I was supposed to go to Michigan, but it fizzled out.

As of today, I know her name; first and potentially last. I know where she once lived, and I may have her amazon account. One day, I swear, I will thank her for that story; She will laugh when she reads it, just like I did a few years ago. Just like I do every time I think of her.

I will find you, Julia Schnell(?) Unless you find me first.

Nice Girls Finish Last (Ode to Jared Padalecki)

2009-10-08T19:32:00.000-07:00

Thank you, Jared, for another night of happiness!!

Ah, yes, what else would I have to look forward to on Thursday nights, if not for your leading role on CW's Supernatural. Not my friends, and certainly not my sister. I'm sure she'd forget I'd even exist if I didn't text her every so often with some lame joke or picture. Apparently I can't even look forward to prospective boyfriends.

In fact, no sooner than I almost finish my blog entry about how excited I am that I may have finally met a guy worth dating, do I find out what a complete two-faced liar he is. Granted, a good portion of said blog was dedicated to my own insecurities--mainly the fact that I don't trust anyone with my heart--but that's apparently for good reason. I know this kid's first name, and the school he goes to, so I facebook-up some detective work. Yep, that's him--I recognize the picture from his dating page--he is sort of cute. What's this? He's in a relationship? Oh...

What do you say to someone after that? I can't pretend I didn't see it, and I can't ignore it. Should I call him on it, or just block him. Like my mother says, what if it's over? But why make excuses for a no-good cheat. Once a cheat, always a cheat, or so the saying goes. I just can't believe I finally go to let my guard down, and this is what I get. That's what you get for trying online dating. Like I said, all the good guys are dating, married, or gay. Or dead.

Now I'm torn. Do I message this girl and tell her? I don't want the target on my back, though. Plus, a girl is a girl; she'll probably love him, regardless, like some stupid fool until he moves on to someone who doesn't think to check facebook. Plus if he knows I checked his facebook, he'll just heighten his privacy settings to get away with cheating in the future. I thought about messaging one of the girls friends, or her sisters, but that would just put the problem between them. I don't want to be responsible for ruining relationships, but can I let him get away with cheating? I don't know what to do. The situation just all-around sucks. And the irony of it all? I sort of think it's romantic when guys fight over a girl, or when Prince Charming swoops in to save the woman he loves from Mr. Wrong. Roles reversed, however, the "other woman" is the homewrecking tramp or "skank."What sort of double-standard is that??

Whatever. I'm not going to be the "other woman" this girl potentially could be dumped for. And I refuse to "fight" for anyone pathetic enough to love someone--while keeping his options open.

So, like I was saying, I'm heading back to my imaginary boyfriend--Yeah. His name is Sam Winchester. Sure he has millions of fan-girls drooling over him, but at least he will never let any of them down. He will never cheat on them, or lie to them--because he is not real. Good to look at, yes. Smart and funny, yes. A heart-break waiting to happen, no so much. He'll be there every Thursday, fighting the all the big bad's the Supernatural world has to offer.

A girl can dream, can't she?

Reading

2009-10-08T05:45:00.001-07:00

I wish I could focus on reading.

Right now, I have two books in front of me. One is an autographed novel one of my college professors wrote years ago; The other is a non-fiction time-line of the Middle East. Both I have a sincere interest in reading, but both I cannot read.

Currently, my student is working independently on journal entries. It's a perfect time to read, so I turn to the massive book shelf behind me, and I pick out the a book on African American history. It's huge, and I know that even though I want to read it, I never will. So I look to the left of it and find that Middle East book. I think back to my Social Studies Method class, and how we were taught so much about the REAL Middle East. Not the fabricated propaganda Middle East, but the real, factual, Middle East.

Well, at the very beginning of that semester my house burned to the ground--so needless to say, learning about the Sunnis and Shiias was not my top priority. I made it through the class with decent and earned grades, but most of the lecture time I spent worrying about my family, thinking about the future, and wondering what would happen next.

I focused and as hard as I possibly could to avoid "sympathy grading," but I still missed a lot of good, unbiased information that I may never again have the chance to receive--unless I can focus on this dumb book.

I sit to read it,

1820 Britain concludes a General Treaty of Peace for suppressing piracy and slave... traffic....

Wait, what?

1820 Britain concludes a General Treaty of Peace...

Peace treaty. Ok. They were at war. What war? World War? No that was 1900's wasn't it? The Middle East wasn't part of that war anyway... Was it? Maybe it was World War II.... No that's even later in history... Oh well, it doesn't really matter. No, wait. It matters if I want to understand this stuff; I need to know when it happened in order to keep my history in order--I need to know why they were fighting too. Whatever. Just keep reading.

1820 Britain concludes a General Treaty of Peace for suppressing piracy and slave traffic witht he Arab tribes of the Persian Gulf. The signa...

Huh? Siga--sig...Siga-natory? Signatory? What does that mean? Oh wait. Student has a question for me.. How do you spell hault... H-a-u-l-t. Siginatory. .. .. Hault isn't right? Hault... h.a.u.l.t... uh.. Google it. Wait, my computer is rebooting from an install... Ok... Booting up. Oh, hey, the new IM client I installed works. Ew that icon is gross--didn't I change that? I thought I put my cat on there? Halt? Wait, what? There is no "U"? Seriously? That's disgusting. That's as bad as KERNEL being spelled colonel. Where the hell did that come from? Did the dictionary writer have a brain fart. KERNEL. /K/ER/NL/ not /K/OL/NL/ ...I don't think I spelled that "phonetically correct" Dr. Marshall would definitely give me a talkin' to. I hated that class. Note to self: don't learn spelling from a southerner; stick with accents of your own kind if you want to pass the reading methods class.

Ok, Definitely off track. What was I doing? Reading, right. Why can't I read? I know, let's google reading problems. Oh, this site looks promising. Ew, green. Who puts a green background on a webpage, really?

Oops, teacher meeting; time to move. Gotta get situated. Why do I bother even attempting to read? I don't know. I should write. Maybe I should bring a book with me to the next room. Naw, I won't read it. I know! I'll bring Dr. Lemke's book. But I don't really feel like reading. Maybe I'll listen to my iPod and write. "Say goodbye, these days are gone. And we can't keep holding on... lalala" I forgot the rest of the song, but that was very random. I love that song. I should look up the lyrics when I get to the next classroom.

Yeah, no reading today.

When life comes crashing down

2009-09-29T05:19:00.001-07:00

I hate that feeling, you know? That one where your entire world seems to shatter? Where you just can't breathe, and then you think to yourself, what the hell did I do wrong? Why didn't I think of taking the steps to prevent this?

Now here is the part where you realize I'm not talking about any real life shattering events, but rather a flash drive and a story I've invested almost 2 years into. Hopefully you can understand my distress.

When I was in high school, I started writing. Like, seriously writing. I would write fan-fictions (which I consider to be real writing) for the X-Files, my then-favorite show. Reading them back today, my ideas fascinate me--my grammar, though? Not so much.. But the point is, this was the start of my favorite hobby: writing.

After my X-Files phase faded, I dabbled with a few Buffy/Angel fictions which never seemed to go anywhere. Had the great ideas, and all, but I never got around to writing them. I started stories for Fastlane, and House, and even X-Men (the movies), but they've yet to make it out of my flashdrive.

My latest fanfic has been my biggest problem to date. It is a series I'm writing about Supernatural--a show one could argue that saved my life. Like all my other works, I have vested many a nights planning, plotting, and working through the fine print. There are days where I have to remind myself to eat, because I'm so engrossed, I don't dare to stop. Nevertheless, this entry is not about my story, or my sick obsession with it--it's about technology.

I've worked on this story for 2 years, and history has told me not to trust technology. Time and time again, I've lost my work due to: corruption, viruses, and crashing computers. This is why I find the concept of a flash drive so amazing. You can take your files with you, wherever you go. It's brilliant. Brings me back to high school and those darn floppy disks--yes you heard me right, floppies. I was part of the floppy generation, and I had a whole case of the colorful ones.

My most tragic floppy moment was when my mother spilled coffee over my fiction's disk; it was a blue one which eventually dried and worked again, but it was still traumatic. Almost as bad as the virus I got that corrupted my word douments--but not as tragic as losing all my work in a house fire; that one seems to top the cake.

History tells me not to trust this technology, but the technology makes it so easy and tempting to trust it. So what do I do? Currently, I use an 8GB flash drive my friends bought me as a graduation gift. I have all my stories on there, and can easily pull them on screen wherever I am. Home, office, library, a friends house. It's so easy to just sit down and continue writing no matter where I go. Imagine my amazement when I realized I could edit my stories from my work computer, I was ecstatic. When I'm not needed at work, rather than read a book, I can write one; it's amazing.

The only problem is that I'm using a MAC, and have not yet converted myself. No worries, though, neoOffice can read my files, and save them too.. So I work a little, here and there, and go home. Spent all Sunday writing When it Rains, only to save it and watch my life shatter in front of me. "Incompatible" "Encoding" "Decoding" My eyes lit up in horror. ABORT! ABORT! my head screams. Just close the document, and you will be ok! --ok!! I think and shut the program.

To my surprise, that catastrophe actually deleted my entire file. 20 pages of my story--gone in a flash. I felt sick to my stomach. I've lost things my whole life, and here I am losing more. It sucks! I try to find it, try to find a temporary word file, but there are none. It's gone forever. And how will I recapture what I've written? It took me about a week to perfect my "Dean tortures Mariah" scene, and who knows what else was in there. 20 pages, that's a ton! I just want to cry, and curl up and die.

My heart tells me not to give up. If the story is so important to me, which it is, I will be able to do it again. Better, maybe, although it never seems that way to me. I just want to throw my computer out the window; flush my flashdrive down the toilet. I'm so angry, but I somehow find the strength to search google for the answers. I type in the error fields, and what happened; nothing. I can't find any such error between macs and pcs, office and neooffice. I just give up. I watch tv, and try again in 15 minutes. Then I find Recuva, a free software which recovers lost files---Alas! my hope is restored. I try so hard not to get excited--will it find it? will it find anything? will it have the piece I worked on for hours today? Or will it find nothing and ask me to buy a registration code. I don't know. I run the scan, and find a bunch of files, but not my story.

I dig deeper; preform an advanced level scan, and cross my fingers. It finds it! I can't believe it! I'm so happy, but as I recover it and open it, there is that stupid encoding box, telling me it can't figure out the language of the text. ENGLISH! The default language of computers everywhere! Seriously, what the hell? How can it not figure this out? I want to cry again.

I recover a bunch of unnamed files, random numbers and such; most of them won't open either. Then I get to one that I overlooked, and there it was! I recognized the highlighted text immediately. I was so happy! I couldn't believe it. Was this happening? Was it real? I copied and pasted it into google documents for safe keeping. I don't think I'll be using anything else.

It sucks when life comes crashing down on you; you don't know what to do, or what you could have done differently. I know there are worse things in life than losing a computer file, but it still sucks, especially when you put so much work into it. I'm just glad this tale has a happy ending. I don't think I could have survived another loss.

Thank you cute cable guy!

2009-09-29T05:02:00.000-07:00

Alas, there is hope for me yet. The cute cable guy has restored my faith in Time Warner Cable... At least temporarily. Here is the story:

TWC came out on Friday, but no one was home, which prompted a second visit on Saturday. Fortunately, I was home for this visit, and fortunately this cable-guy was very knowledgeable.

When we explained the situation, he ran diagnostic tests on the modem to see that it "had been working for 5 days" but it also had a but load of errors. REDEMPTION! I am not insane! He also said it might have to do with the weather or poles, I'm not quite sure his final conclusion, because he was awfully attractive. I would even say we flirted, up until I figured out (or made the assumption) that he had a girlfriend. Bummer. But why else would a guy say, "we're going camping." Seriously? Who is we? It wasn't "I'm going camping with a few friends, or buddies, or my family," it was "we're going camping." Seems pretty suspicious to me--like he was hiding something. Freudian slip. Am I right? Or just too cynical? I don't know, but anyway....

My mom and I kept complaining about how much we hated TWC and how we'd get Direct or Dish, if only we could get a signal. I say, "I hate that stupid cable box. Scientific Atlantic is a piece of crap; I don't know why they stopped using Motorolat. I miss my old DVR--you know, the one I could actually not get a headache using? The one that let me do a full title search (rather than limiting me to searching for shows via first letter--what a pain in the ass!) or the fully customizable menu (the one that I could change color to? Yeah, that rocked) Instead I'm stuck back in the 1990's with the invention of cable and that awful blue box that is an eyesore as much as it is hard to read.

Vent over. I didn't get that in-depth, but I did say I hated TWC and missed Adelphia. Then the cute and possibly adulteress (ha) cable guy, told me to just move a few miles south or east, or west or something, and I could get it back; but he also said that Adelphia had totally screwed everything up, making tons of mistakes that TWC was still cleaning up. I might have bought it, since this was before the camping comment, but until I see proof I have to remain skeptical.

Cute cable guy, who also has the first two initials as the company itself (therefore I will now refer to him as TW) told me that in the next few years TWC will be upgrading to Motorola boxes with upgraded menu features (HOORAY!!!!) and that the only reason my Scientific Atlantic didn't work was because of the area in which we lived. "In Portland, these boxes work great. Here.. not so much." (BOO!! Shouldn't that qualify us for some sort of residential discount? It's not my fault we live where we live, why should we suffer bad cable because of it? Oh yeah, because TWC *****)

So needless to say, I was redeemed and given a new sense of hope from and for TWC. I am not crazy, and Level 3 Technician Ron remains a douche. The End.

Thank you, Jim; Ron, you're a **** and you *

2009-09-25T04:37:00.000-07:00

Feel free to fill in the above words however-so you choose, but this post is my rough draft to the complaint letter I'm writing to Time Warner Cable.

Yes, yes. Again I am waging war with the infamous company, because, yet again, they have managed to get under my skin. I'll fill you in on the details, in a little bit, but first here is the spark that ignited my freshly renewed loathing of their existence.

Home, after a long day's work, I sit down to enjoy the internet. Like many people, I'm usually on it off and on all night at random intervals, but around 7PM, just as I'm uploading some new photos to facebook, facebook disappears and all I see is that lovely "The connection has been dropped" page that tells me my internet connection is gone.

Now, maybe this is not such a big deal for most people--whatever. They will try back later, and everything will be ok, right? Well, that's not the case for me, because this is the exact same problem Time Warner cable had "allegedly" not seen when they had been out to check the day prior. This day was Thursday, and the (apparently very nice, and according to my mother possibly hunky) cable guy who had been out to our house on Wednesday had said the internet modem seemed to be functioning properly and giving good speeds.

Now, perhaps I was a little hot-headed after being deprived of my internet for another 3 hours (on top of the shitty service I'd had for the past 2 weeks) and maybe I was ready for bed, but I would have to say that I was pretty calm when I called them, the first time, at 10PM. I talked to a fairly understanding woman who told me she would transfer me to a "level three" technician.

Surely this "intelligent" third level technician guy can solve my problems and figure out what is wrong, but come to find out, his skill level was equal to his ego, and they both sucked. I explained to him that I had just recently gotten the internet back, but it had been out for about three ours (less a 10 minute spurt around 8 o'clock). He said, "No problem, Lane, let me pull up your modem."

For the record, I'd introduced myself as Lane's daughter, but he refused to hear me, or anything I had to say for that matter. A few seconds into the conversation, I realized he wouldn't be helping me at all.

"You said you didn't have internet for three hours? That's interesting, because it says your modem has been functioning at full speed for 5 days now."

Had I bothered to do the math, I would have realized he was full of shit. I had just talked to tech support last Sunday, and the guy I spoke with had told me that my house connection was giving no signal--this being what had prompted the house visit on Wednesday.

Let us do the math here: From Sunday night to Thursday is a grand total of 4 days at most, so how is it possible that it's worked wonderfully for 5 days when, again, just 4 days ago they told me it wasn't working? I wish Level 3 technician Ron could have explained that one to me, but when I tried to relay this fact to "Level Three Technician Ron" he decided to let me know that knew more about my internet situation than I did.

"I need you to go to the modem, that black box that the internet goes through, and look at the lights."

Thank you, I'm totally 5 years old and need to look for colors and lights to know what you're talking about.

"I worked in a computer department for 3 years, I know what a modem is, and PS my name is not Lane, for the 800th time! My name is not LANE! (remember I introduced myself as ___) I KNOW the problem is with the modem, because I've changed wireless routers 2x!! Therefore it is not my wireless router. I've done your basic troubleshooting!! It doesn't work!! I've even gone as far as plugging my computer directly into the modem, and it DOES NOT WORK!!!"I tell him, agitated, but still as politely as I can.

Could he not hear the words that were coming out of my mouth? Naw, he is "Level Three Technician Ron" who knows everything. I'm just a stupid girl who can't possibly have a problem other than her stupidity.

"Ok Lane, you need to look at the modem and look for the light that says connected"

"Don't have that one, Ron. I have online. Gee Wizz!! Pardon my ignorance, but could connected be the same thing as online?"

"Good. The online light. If that is constant, then you have internet."

"Uhm, no?"

"Yes. That means that you are online."

"Then why doesn't it work?"

"Perhaps it is your firewall. You probably have antivirus software messing with it. What OS do you use?"

"Vista."

"Ah, yes, Vista has lots of firewall problems. What antivirus are you running?"

"I don't use antivirus. I am very careful about what files I download and what websites I visit."

"Oh, well it's probably your antivirus."

"I don't use antivirus, remember?"

"Well the problem is with your firewall.."

To myself, I think. I've been using the same internet, the same firewall, the same computer for what? 3 years now? Yes, the problem is suddenly with me, and couldn't quite possibly be Time Warner Cable's fault. While tempted to tell him I have a work computer, a Mac, that is running a MAC os without Vista or antivirus, I'm not entirely sure it is true, so I bite my tongue.

"See, you need to look at this light, because if you have a light you have internet. You are dumb and couldn't quite possibly be having a problem, so now I'll just pretend to believe you and 'document' your complaint for future reference. Good night, stupid girl! Good night you crazy person who is going to realize how wrong she is, because I said so. Good night Lane."

Have a great night, you egotistical moron!

I hang up, go upstairs to see my--the real Lane--booting up the laptop. She waits for it to load and laughs when she realizes the internet isn't working. I go downstairs to check this "green light"which allegedly provides us internet. Can't say I was surprised when it was, as I assumed, solid green. So what did I do?

I disabled my firewall. Still no internet. I checked to make sure the PC didn't have anti-virus software--it did not. Still no internet. I bypassed the wireless router and plugged directly into my green-light-lit modem. Still no internet. I called up time Warner cable and spoke with Jim, who when I apologized for being so bitchy, laughed and said he understood. Told me my box was not functioning properly, and that he'd call tomorrow with an appointment time.

Redemption feels so good. Oh yeah, and thanks for nothing, Level three technician Ron. You *****

Dragging Today

2009-09-23T08:45:00.000-07:00

I'm dragging today, and I hate it. I feel like gravity is sucking me down to the center of the earth, and crushing my every ambition. I just iced myself down with "ActinOn" some sort of muscle-pain-reliever.

Not sure what's going on with me. Maybe it's the cold. Maybe it's the "going out to dinner" last night that killed me. Maybe it's the medicine. Whatever it is, I hate it. I just want to go home and take a muscle relaxant and sleep... For a month.

Yesterday was rough, and I will admit I was a little bit bitchy with my family. But, after having a deep conversation with my student about "stupid things people do" I had very little sympathy to share. I got out of work around 2, and home around 3 after running a bunch of errands. Picking up my inhaler, mailing some letters, and picking up the mail. Nothing too big, right?

Well, when I got home, I was hungry, and tired. And all I wanted to do was go lay down, but after my mother sent me a text saying she was up in town with a friend, I figured that was her way of telling me "Go spend some time with your dad" P.S. I found out Sunday night that my dad was on vacation for the week. Honestly, hadn't the clue he was even up this weekend.

I guess it's my fault, for not calling. I rarely call him, but it's complicated.

Well, he'd asked me Monday night if I wanted to go for Chinese food with him and some other relatives; I said, "Sure, I'll meet you when I get out of work." And he said, "Eh, we'll probably go at 5PM."

That sucks. I don't want to spend all night at a Chinese Restaurant with them. And, physically, I can't afford that--especially when I have to wake up early and go to work all day. So I told him this and we both agreed on "Maybes."

So, I figured I could stop by and hang out with them for a bit; Dad and Uncle were trying to fix a piece of machinery.. water cleaner.. hose... spray? something to stain the deck. My dad broke it I guess, and they were standing around trying to fix it. Aunt and the Mrs. were standing around, while the Yorkie barked at the machine.

The first thing I say, getting out of the car, when asked how I am? "I'm hungry, tired, and I have to the restroom facilities." It was the truth, but no one seemed interested in my problems.

I use the bathroom, grab a half a donut from the kitchen, and avoid the temptation of chips and junk food. I go outside to watch the guys stand over the machine, pull this, twist that, talk about this, wonder about that. I'm bored. I've got Aunt and the Mrs. telling me they are hungry too, and they can't wait to leave for Chinese. So I say, "Why don't you guys fix that tomorrow? When I'm in work.. Let's go eat"

Ignored.

Conversation turns to the Brewfest. Great. Beer, beer, and more beer. They tell me I should go, and that I might meet a cute boy. I tell them I'll probably meet a cute, drunk, boy who is way too immature for me. I know it's not the truth, but do I really want to be designated driver for my family? No... Not really. I've got better things to do with my time.

"What if your friends get a ticket for drunk driving? You don't want your dad to get a ticket, do you?" They guilt me. I'm in no mood for that shit. "It's not my choice, it's his." I say feeling pretty bold. I'm getting better at this whole, "leave me alone" thing I think. Nothing more was said.

I'm hungry, and I'm tired, and I'm sitting there watching them fight this hopeless battle of fixing a machine. I go in the house and get the other half of the donut, and return saying "Ok, you're down a donut." I eventually add that if we don't get movin' in a half hour, I'm out. No one seems to care. Maybe it's because I was bitchy, but I don't care. I'm tired, I'm hungry, and I want to go lay down.

Half hour goes by, and I go to leave. "You're leaving?" My dad asks shocked. Uhm, well, yeah, duh. Didn't I just say that? This is boring, why don't you people get that? I don't care, I just want to go home. "As fun as all this is," I waved my hands around, "I have things to do" I said because it sounded good.

Wow I feel like such a bitch, but what else am I going to do. Sit there being bored, hungry, and in pain when I could be home, relaxing, comfortable? Not to mention I'm sick, not that I needed another excuse to get out of there, but really.

I guess I have a lot to vent about, and even though I feel like an ass I'm glad I said what I said, because that ended the guilting and the drunk talk.

So what does that have to do with today? I don't know, I guess I just felt like ranting. Chinese was good; pretty average, really. and I was very talkative. Unusual for me, but I guess I was just trying to keep myself entertained. Maybe it was the cough syrup..

Highlight of my night? Probably seeing the dogs. I do like spending time with my dad (when he's not talking in circles or slurring words; don't know, maybe you have to be buzzed to enjoy that sort of stuff?) so that was pretty good. But I always like dogs more than people, because dogs can't piss me off. We stopped by some breeder place and she had puppy German Shepherds and the cutest Chihuahua--never seen a long haired one, but I want one!

Came home and saw my raccoon friend. Everyone is freaked out about him, but I love him. Not a huggy, my new pet kind of love, but a "Wow I'm this freaking close to a wild animal" kind of love. It's amazing. I fed him some Chinese noodle things and he loved them; came right up to the door and tried coming into the house.

I'm pretty sure he is friendly, but I don't want to chance that he isn't. I'm also pretty sure we've known him since last summer, when he was a baby... I wonder if he's the same, and if he remembers me? Weird thought. Science class is over. Time to pack up and hit the road

Chicken Shit

2009-09-22T10:18:00.001-07:00

My self-given nickname is chicken shit.

I'm afraid of everything, and most of the time it's for no reason whatsoever. But lately, and quite frankly since middle school, my phobia has been guys. Like I said, this stems back to when I was in the 7th grade. I had the biggest crush on this kid named Paul--no pseudonym used because to this day, I think he is a total jerk. It makes life easier, even if a part of me knows it's wrong.

Well, granted, I was a total dork in grade school, and that carried over to both middle and high school. And, for serious, I'm not the cute dorky genius type--I was the awkward, bucked teeth, giant pink glasses, bad hair, weird voice, complete loser dork-type, who barely had friends. Yeah, that girl--that was me. And I had this huge crush on the school jock who had the most beautiful eyes, and well, other than that he was average and ordinary, but this was middle school people--please! Damn hormones.

So, yeah, in addition to being this huge dorkapotamus, a little known fact about my childhood is that I had scoliosis, and when I was 12 I had a spinal surgery. 2 titanium rods fused to my spine, great fun. But actually, I kind of like the rods. They were my savior in that miserable portion of my life called "middle school" Before the rods, I had to wear braces--no joke--to school. So think of dorky little me with my big pink glasses, bucked teeth, bad hair, weird voice, all girdled up in some awkward position; then having to rip those braces off in the middle of class because I could barely walk in them, let alone breathe.

In addition to that, I was not "allowed" to carry a backpack. Because of this, my loving mother ever-so-thoughtfully went out and bought me a full-size luggage roller to cart around. Yeah...

Needless to say, it's no wonder no one wanted to associate with me, but the point of this flashback of mine was to get to the point of my guy-phobia. My had-been crush and I met in the library, and I'm not sure if I'd been staring or what not, but he stopped me on my way through the library *gasp* and told me he didn't want anything to do with me *bullet to the heart*

I'm not even sure if anyone was around, maybe a person or two, but it felt like the entire school was watching, and I still can't get over it today. My world was shattered, and even today I still feel like that dweeb-- totally transparent in my crushing for Mr. Jerk-Perfect.

The last time I remember seeing this kid was a few years later, maybe right at the start of high school, at one of my sister's concerts. I was wondering the halls, bored, and there he was approaching me!

Well, I imagined he was going to apologize for being a complete ass, but the dork in me didn't have it in me to stick around. I threw my hands up and walked away before he'd said anything more than "hey."

To this day, I wonder what he might have said--if anything. He probably doesn't have a clue about how I felt, or why I blew him off that night. And I know it's childish, and stupid, but I hope he felt the same way I did--even just a little bit. Still, I wonder what he would have said.

Regardless, that fear of rejection and "I'd rather not know" attitude has plagued my lovelife ever since. I'm still that chicken-shit dweeb, that would rather run away and not know, than have my heart broken. Today that is more clear than ever.

I started my job last year, and while the majority of the people I work with are oldER and or female, there haven't exactly been many people my age to connect with. There was, however, this one guy who was pretty young, and pretty cute. But I distanced myself because work-place romances are BAD. And everyone always says not to bother--they only end badly. I'm way too "smart" to make that mistake, I tell myself. In my head, though, I can't help but wonder.

Every day he would always be smiling, and he was always saying hi to me and everyone he met--he was like me, before the accident. Just plain chipper--a rarity in high school IMHO.

Well, I went through a rough patch, to say the least, and while I was struggling to just make it through the day smiling was the last thing I could think of doing. Still he greeted me, happily, and ask me how I was doing. Before the accident, I would have said "Super" or "Just dandy." We'd exchange jokes or just plain laugh at each other. But after the accident, "how do you do" was always replied to with a grunt or groan. I was miserable.

Well, this year, I was surprised to see this teacher had disappeared; moved, transferred, whatever. He was gone, and for the first few weeks of school I felt like a complete jerk for never explaining my "bad mood." Half the people I work with didn't even realize I was in an accident, most thought I'd been fired or had quit. I don't know, I just had that same feeling of regret with Paul. That sucky, "What if?" feeling.

Well, surprise! There he was today at school, checking in with some old colleagues. At first I didn't recognize him as he'd shaved off all his hair. So I walked right by him, slightly wondering, but not sure enough to stop. Towards the end of the day, there he was (definitely) across the hall. I was tempted to say hi, but he was already talking to someone else, so I didn't stop. Had to get my student right to work to meet a quickly approaching deadline. Then, there I was, pathetic old me, wondering if he saw me. Wondering if he cared enough to still say "hi." (Not that I would, because I'd been so depressing the last time he'd seen me)

So that was it. Then he was gone, and chicken-shit me is still left wondering.

Call Me Virgina

2009-09-22T08:37:00.000-07:00

So for a project, recently, my student was asked to pick her theme song. This got me thinking, what is mine? What song describes me perfectly? It's hard to say, I like so many. And certain lyrics to different songs strike me in different ways. I love "Beautiful Disaster" and "Her Elegance" But they don't always describe who I am. Then I thought of Train's Meet Virginia, and I don't think there is a lyric in that song that doesn't fit me to a T.

She doesn't own a dress, (well, I own several, but I'm too embarrassed to wear them)
Her hair is always a mess (How true! I like messy hair, because it's natural; But even when I deck myself out, it always ends up the same way--a disaster! Why bother?)
If you catch her stealin, (ok, not a thief, but I do try to get away with things I'm not always supposed to.)
she wont confess (I'm pretty stubborn like that)
Shes beautiful (So I'm told, but I don't always believe it)
She smokes a pack a day, (Nope, but... listen on..)
oh wait, thats me but anyway (I've had a few crushes on guys who smoke, and sadly I have that "I can stop that" mentality. BAD. People don't change! Don't date smokers!)
She doesnt care a thing about that, hey, (I hate that I don't care and would put up with that if I really like a guy)
She thinks Im beautiful (Damn me, why? Don't date smokers! Gross! Stick to your moral values!!)
Meet virginia She never compromises, (Damn straight! But to my defense, I don't always stick up for myself. I only do that if I'm 100% positive I'm right, and I hate it when others fail to recognize this. See? Totally stubborn!)
loves babies (Oh yeah!)
and surprises (I do love surprises)
Wears high-heels when she exercises (Whenever I get dressed up, shower, or whatever--that is when I feel most ambitious. Something about feeling good about the way you look makes you more likely to exercise, I think. And I definitely don't mind an extra long walk when I do wear heels, because I don't want to be "girlie" or weak. I bought a new pair of clogs, just recently, tried them on, and took them for a 1/2 hour walk. Had blisters for 2 weeks.)
Aint that beautiful (Maybe? Maybe not..."
Meet virginia
Well she wants to be the queen (I want to be loved and popular)
Then she thinks about her scene (I realize I'm not so great with the popular crowd)
Pulls her hair back as she screams (I get really frustrated with myself and others)
I dont really wanna be the queen (I like my simple life, and am generally uncomfortable in the lime light.)
Her daddy wrestles alligators (Hmm, what's a good metaphor?)
mama works on carburetors (Hmm, need another good one; but my mom does do pretty good with the tractor)
Her brother is a fine mediator for the president (Yeah, I got nothing. So maybe a few lines don't apply to me... but they aren't really about me anyway.)
Well here she is again on the phone (There's another; I hate the phone, but replace it with the computer, and we're golden!)
Just like me hates to be alone (I love to be alone until I realize I'm alone and then I'm lonely. More about that later!)
We just like to sit at home, (Totally love this; no wasting money, no embarrassing myself in public. Good times!)
and rip on the president (I've been known to make fun of some people, just not the president.. well, maybe bush. but I'll admist I'm not qualified
Meet virginia
Well she wants to live her life (I want to enjoy my life and be happy)
Then she thinks about her life (But sometimes thinking about it really pisses me off so I...)
Pulls her hair back as she screams (Yeah, that)
I dont really wanna live this life (Sometimes I wonder why I'm so happy)
She only drinks coffee at midnight, (I hate coffee, but it's growing on me, and I always crave it when it's the worst possible time--IE, I don't want to drink it in the morning. But in the afternoon, or at night, is when I crave a coolata from D+D--then I think....)
when the moment is not Right, (Great! If I drink this now, I'll never get to sleep tonight)
her timing is quite-unusual (My gosh, have you ever met me? My timing usually sucks!)
You see her confidence is tragic, (I am probably the least confident person on earth; but I'm slowly becoming more bold and sure of myself)
but her intuition magic (I can usually tell what people are thinking, and it's scary. Also, when I know who is around, I'm pretty good at figuring out who they are by the sounds of their breath and steps...)
And the shape of her body - (Eh)
unusual (That's what I'd say. People say they'd kill for my body, and the art teacher thinks I'm "Perfectly proportioned" but I usually hate myself. Especially when none of the clothes I like ever fit, and people keep bumping into me in uncomfortable places. *sigh*)
Meet virginia-
I cant wait to Meet virginia
(That's me.... in a nutshell. Really. It is. )

Birthday Bash

2009-09-17T05:08:00.001-07:00

So it's mom's birthday, and I'm always good with pulling one over on her. What do I mean? Well, when I buy a gift, especially for mom, I like to see that, "What on earth am I going to do with this?" face. When I bought her a Nintendo DS, I wrapped it up in a Glad trash bag box. When I bought her a cross just last August, I taped it to the back of a card. I like to be sneaky. I like to surprise. And I love to play pranks.

Well, This year I bought her a gold necklace (or at least I'm hoping it's a gold necklace--you never know with those fancy art stores. I first found it on a Wednesday. I know it was a Wednesday, because I've been seeing my Osteopath, in Ridgeville, every other week. Actually, now I'm not so sure it was a Wednesday. But I'm pretty sure it was a Wednesday.

Anyway, we'll pretend that I remember the day. It was, yes, a Wednesday, and I believe it was my first day of work (which was actually my third day of work, because of meetings, and me being an idiot and showing up on the wrong Monday, in the wrong place, etc) So, yeah, after that day of work, on Wednesday, I went to my appointment in Ridegville.

Mom and Elsa also had appointments in Ridgeville, so they convinced me to go meet them just as soon as I got out of work--and them being them, didn't tell me where they were, or answer their cell phones. So I gave up, and noticed a little artsy store next to my doctor's office. Me being me, decided to go in and investigate, and I found tons and tons of things I liked. There was a Siamese cat painted on a rock (which I immediately took a picture of on my camera phone and texted to my sister, and instructed to come over--but was ignored by). There were tons of afghans, and knitted hats, scarves, etc. They were gorgeous. There was jewelry. There were paintings. There was photography (and I'm doubting my grammar on those last 4 sentences, 'cus it sounds funny, but oh well). Needless to say, I was amused, but BROKE.

The one thing that caught my eye, though, was this one necklace. It was a decent sized gold heart, with two pink gold roses. There was also a set of matching earrings, which weren't as attractive, but still looked nice with the set. The set cost $119, and was supposedly real 14K gold. Not so great, but it was so pretty. I liked it, and I thought my mom would like it, so I said I would buy it for her when I got the chance. [End flashback]

Presumably 3 or 4 weeks later, when I had gotten my first paycheck, I knew I needed to get my mother a birthday present. I had totally forgotten the necklace, and the art store, and it had honestly slipped my mind that her birthday was so soon. I knew it was comming, but I didn't realize how fast. I felt awful, and trapped, because I had had a few chances to "sneak off" unnoticed and find the perfect gift. I blew them all. (mostly the mall trip)

WELL! There I was, in Ridgeville for my next Osteopath appointment. I knew I had to get a gift (and I'm now sure this was Tuesday the 8th). I was thinking Brenny's or that little Horn shop before it, but I really didn't want to buy some knicknack gift for my mother's 49th birthday. I parked behind the Osteopath's office and as I walked by, it hit me! The Art Store!!!!!

I went in, and mindlessly gazed at the crowded shelves until that heart necklace called to me. "Hey, Damn it!" It said, "Remember me??" And I did. I remembered it as if a holy light shone down on it. Angels sang majestically around me. And while none of that actually did happen, I knew that necklace before I'd even made it 3 feet to it's locaion.

To quote the cutest 2 year old ever, an AH-HAAH!! screamed in my brain, and I walked over to the necklace.

"This is real gold, right?" I asked the woman, who may or may not have had a British accent.

"It should be." She said, obviously unclear of what she was selling. I didn't care though, it was so beautiful and fated. It was honestly my destiny. I looked it over, debating on whether or not to make such an extravagant purchase without my sister's approval (we usually split the price of gifts, especially ones that large.)

"Twenty percent off Jewelry sale ends today," She tempted, and I hesitated until my guy said, "Knicknacks or necklace? Seriously, what else are you going to find, this nice, down here in Ridgeville?"

NOTHING! DUH! I said to myself, whipping out my ATM card and approaching the woman. "What the heck!"

I bought the necklace and texted my sister. Then I went to Brenny's and bought a small day planner, gift bag, and some tissue paper. Yellow and white. It was gorgeous, and the bag was a matching yellow with a "Happy Birthday cake," with glitter candles.

Since I know my mother can be snoopy, I decided against hiding the tissue paper wrappers (I've made that mistake in the past and busted myself). I intentionally placed the plastic in the downstairs barrel, and when my mom questioned what it was for, I pretended to sound guilty, and said, "Oh, gift for my friend..." Very shady, I know.

My intention was to hide the pretty jewelry in the planner, so when she opened it and saw it's red binding, she'd say, "What the heck?? Am I disorganized??" However, not to ruin the surprise, I hid the jewelry under my dresser until yesterday. I did, though, leave that bag in plain view, sneakily in my closet. Not sure if she snooped or not...

Well, the party planning was a horrible disaster, but I'll get to that in a later post! This is just about yesterday (minus the 3 paragraph flashback). I got home, and mom had already eaten. Bummer, because we'd been planning a lobster party for a few weeks. I gave her a Boston cream donut with a candle (and balloon tied to it), said happy birthday, and told her not to eat or go anywhere. Then I ran to my doctor's appointment. Then I came home again. What fun!

For an hour we hung out, because Blitzen? wasn't going to be home from Hindham until 5PM. I tried to be real sketchy in the meantime. Mom was assuming people were coming to the house, so she cleaned all day. When I returned from the doctor's appointment, I opened my TENS unit and made a mess on the table. "What are you doing?? You're making a mess? what time are they getting here??"

"Who??" I'd laugh. "I'm not having any people over! You are crazy!"

Several times she asked, and asked why she couldn't go anywhere or eat. Well, the eating was due to the lobster party, but the not going out was because Elsa had sent flowers. So.... Yeah, that sort of cramped my style, but whatever. The flowers arrived, and Mom instantly thanked me. I laughed and said, "I didn't send them."

We skyped Elsa later to thank her and show off the flowers. Then, while skyping, I pretended I had a wonderful gift I needed EVERYONE to see. I asked where we should go to show it off, then typed: TELL ME TO GO TO RUDY'S. Eventually, she replied the way I wanted her to, and I said, "Oh yeah, that's a good idea."

Rudy called me and said he was 15 minutes away. I called Sharon to see what she was doing. Then I told mom not to go upstairs (for no apparent reason, really, it was just funny). I went up to get her meds, then got the brilliant idea to blindfold her. It was hilarious. We couldn't stop laughing.

"Why? I know we're going to Rudy's" She said, but I just laughed. "No you don't!"

When we were all in the car, I knew I had to make it good. So instead of taking a right at the top of the hill, I went straight. I took her over the bridge and down one of the side roads--turning around in some random parking lot. The guy thought I was crazy, and lost, but I knew where I was going.

After that, I drove down my dad's road, and up another, and finally wound up Charlene's neighbor's driveway.Then I led her across the yard and past Charlene's house, did a few circles on the street, and eventually wound up leading her to the house, accidentally tripping her on a rock. Oops.

She was mad but laughing, and I was laughing too. Blitzen looked out the window and asked why my mom was blindfolded. There was no reason, I just wanted to have some fun. We went in and ate our lobsters, opened presents, and ate a blizzard ice cream cake topped with Peanut Butter cups. Mom supposedly loved all her gifts, but I'm still not convinced she liked my necklace. why am I always so.... skeptical?

Maybe it's because she thought the peanut butter cups were heath bars and said, "Oh, you got my favorite! Heath Bar, OO0o00!" I don't know when that changed, but what a blow to my planning. I wanted to get Oreo, but I got peanut butter because I knew it was her favorite.

Oh well.

This took all day to write, and I'm sure it's inconsistent. Oh well.

So Unloved.

2009-09-12T09:47:00.000-07:00

So my sister doesn't miss me. And, truth be told, I'm not sure I've really missed her. So what's wrong with us? Why don't we care?

She's off having fun, and she's far too busy to even talk to us. She won't call us. She won't text us (except, of course, as a courtesy reply). She won't make plans with us. Heck, she is not even sure she wants to come home for Mom's upcoming birthday.

Me? Honestly? I'm so busy with work, and so used to not seeing her already, that it really doesn't make a difference that she's not here anymore. When she was home, she'd sleep all day, and I never saw her anyway. When I get home at the end of the day, all I want to do is crash and bury myself into the internet. I truly feel like an awful person for "not" missing her, and, of course, at times I really do miss her. I just don't think I'm as sad as I think I am? If that makes sense.

When her cat does something cute, or something happens that I'd know she'd find hilarious, I want to tell her right away. Then I remember she's gone, and the humor is gone. So that's sad. And on the weekends, I'm torn. I'd like to do something with her, but even when she was home, doing something with her was like pulling teeth. When I get ambitious, I want to go out, but I feel bad about leaving my mom. So it sucks.

But I'm not really sure if I miss her? But it hurts a lot that she doesn't miss me. We talked about it last night. "I'm really having a good time," she says, "So I haven't thought about it."

Funny. Just as I was writing this, I got a call from my sister. Apparently she wasn't answering her phone because she was in the shower. Apparently she DOES want to see us (or just wants to hitch a ride down to the mall--she did say she wanted to buy new jeans).

More about the mall trip later to come.

Pathetic Addictions

2009-09-11T08:51:00.000-07:00

So, I wanted to make a post today, while I'm doing nothing, and the only thing I can think about is my pathetic addiction to the television.

Last night, as I was talking to a rather new friend and giving him the classic "brb," I realized that I am pathetically addicted to TV. I've known this for a while, but it never really seemed entirely pathetic until that very moment in time.

Big Brother was on at 8PM and Supernatural Premiered at 9. Monk and Psych on Fridays. Desperate Housewives on Sundays. Criminal Minds on Tuesdays. Wednesdays belong to NCIS. (or perhaps those last two are vise versa.) Regardless of the schedules, TV is a big part of my week, and sometimes it's all that gets me through the day.

Perhaps it's because I live in the middle of no where and have few friends. Maybe it's because I'm too cheap to go out every night; too poor to blow money on things I can't rationalize that I need. Or maybe I'm just plain pathetic. Whatever the reasoning, my obsession is not with purses, clothes, makeup, trading cards, knickknacks, collectibles, or anything like that; my biggest obsession is with the boob-tube.

I love watching TV, and will openly argue with anyone who says that it "rots the brains." Sure not all shows are complex and inquisitive. And sure, some shows do not capture the interests of all people, but I can't even fathom my brain to be rotting when I am delving so deep into characters, plots, and action.

Watching TV has brought me into the writing world, as an author. All the things I've learned in English class, have been present in the shows I love. By watching, and rewatching, their stories unfold on TV, I have seen irony, foreshadowing, and other literary devices one might encounter in a book. And having such a passion for the actors, it really (and obviously) makes the stories come to life. After all, isn't watching TV like reading a book for imaginatively-impaired?

No, my imagination is not dead. Perhaps corrupted by the instant-gratification society in which we live, but my imagination is not dead. I am highly creative individual who is great at problem solving, as well as thinking out side the box. Maybe I can't read about Joan of Arc, or Tolkien's mighty Aragorn, because I get bored staring at words in a book, but that doesn't mean I can't enjoy a great story when it's read to me--or played out on the big screen.

So, what's my point? I don't know. Maybe I'm pathetically addicted to TV and am simply rambling on to justify said addiction; or maybe I'm thinking outside of the box. You decide.

Things that irritate me

2009-09-10T13:40:00.000-07:00

What a misleading title; there are a lot of things that irritate me, but the inspiration for this post was something that happened to me the other day.

Ever since my first day of college, my professors have told me to stay away from "the drags." They said, to my class, "When you walk into a room and hear the teachers complaining, WALK RIGHT BACK OUT." Because once you listen, you'll start complaining, and it is just unprofessional.

In my current position, I work with primarily with special ed students. I am, for the most part, cheery and upbeat. I have an off day every so often, but I rarely complain 'seriously.' I'll joke, and tease, about being unhappy, but it's always with a smile on my face. I don't believe I have the seniority to complain, and I hope I never will.

Well, there are definitely some complainers where I work, but more than that there are people I find degrading. Not always, and not to me, but to the students. And, granted, their pokes and prods, go right over the students' heads--they don't have the mental capacity to see things on the same levels as we do. It irritates me.

This isn't to say the people I work with are bad; they are genuinely great people. However, I am not comfortable with the fact they choose to amuse themselves the way they do sometimes. Maybe I'll see things differently after 20+ years of teaching, but I hope not.

I am fortunate enough to work with a student who is completely "with it." My student keeps me from joining that dark side of the education world; i not for my student, who knows where I'd be or how I'd feel. She keeps me in line.

Well, the point of this post? I've recently volunteered myself to help out another student. I don't work with her, I just make sure she gets where she's going, because this student has, perhaps, a processing problem? I'm not sure. I don't ask, but I tried fishing for a little information to try to understand this student.

I was sitting at lunch with another, less gossipy, tech. I asked about said student, and the fact this student repeats and always asks questions, hoping to figure out more about this student I was working with. But it just lead to more stories and laughs.

All I wanted to know was how I could help said student, but I give up.

What to do? What to do? (unabridged version)

2009-09-09T09:06:00.000-07:00

I can't believe I'm mad at my cousin.

I'm hoping time will heal things between us, as I know it will, but every time I think about it, I just get frustrated. Even as I sit here, taking notes in Science class, I find my eyes welling up with tears. Frustrated tears. Imagine "the teacher" as the kids call me, sitting here crying as she stares blankly at her computer screen.

I'm an emotional train wreck; the littlest things make me cry. And I wish that I could say it is because I'm upset about my sister going to college, or blame it on the new medication, but the truth is I've always been this way. It sucks. I try hiding the heart I wear on my sleeve, but sometimes it's not that easy. So when I found myself angry with him this past weekend, it was hard for me to pretend otherwise.

So what happened? That's the big question.

Friday afternoon I received a text from my mother; I love her, but she sometimes strikes me as paranoid. She was sort of upset about something, which I later found out was with my aunt--whom she had called, and allegedly been ignored by, three times. I can't remember the specifics of the text, but I remember she was already upset about my cousins coming; not that they were coming, but that she thought she'd totally be abandoned by them.

I rolled my eyes and laughed her off, assuring her that they woutldn't do that. Don't be silly.

Well, Friday night comes, and I can't wait to see my cousins. I'm sad when I find out they won't be arriving until midnight, but that's ok. I'll see them in the morning. I think I talked to them around 8 or 9; they were already on the road. McPreggers had to pee, and I remember yelling (jokingly) at him to let the pregnant woman pee.

Saturday came; I think I want for a walk with him and Sargent Pollo (P.S. I suck at pseudonyms). I'm pretty sure it was Saturday, because Sunday I avoided him. Maybe it was Sunday night, and not Saturday; I really don't remember. All I know is that after the morning walk, and hearing McPreggers rave about my mother's mattress (they'd slept on the first floor, because mom has been sleeping up in Elsa's room) Mom and I ran to the store. I felt like I was ditching them, but at the same time, I had to go to the store to buy the stuff I needed for my infused french toast. If I didn't go, Mom would have paid for everything, and I didn't want her doing that. Especially where I had just gotten a pay check.

Well, we tried to be quick with the shopping, but that never happens. I went and I bought my crushed pineapple, cream cheese, some crescent rolls, and half-and-half for their coffee. I also bought cool ranch doritos for McPreggers. Mom had previously purchased Nacho cheese, which was awesome for me (and maybe the guy who stole Chubby-cheek's identity) but I clearly remember the fact that pregnant women love cool ranch doritos. I ended my search for strawberries; there were literally no strawberries, which depressed me. I found my mom, and found that she had already gotten a thing of creamer, so she told me to go put mine back and pick up a red onion. So I went back and did what I was told; miraculously finding strawberries on the 3rd walk by the aisle. Whatever. I know they weren't there to begin with. Perhaps the stocking-lady had something to do with this. I'm betting she did. I'm positive she was hiding the onions too, but she told me where to find them.

I remember I called them 50x from the store; they usually forget their phones, so I was hoping they'd hear it ringing at least once. They wanted me to pick up white bread, but I wasn't sure what kind, so I figured I'd call to tease them. "Whole grain white bread? Giant white bread? Hearty Canadian White bread?" Everywhere I looked, there was another type of white bread. No one ever answered so I went with Giant.

On the way back from the store, we got a little distracted by a yard sale. (I, personally, blame Chubby-cheeks, because when we drove by there was this little worm-cycle bike thing that caught my eye.) Upon closer inspection, the wheels didn't work; but I did find an awesome wooden ship that would have been a great toy, had it not been broken and out of my price range.

Well, we got home a little later than anticipated; I knew they were on a walk, so I tried not to bug them; calling only to let them know we went down to the Wildwood Barbeque, and that they were more than welcome to stop down and grab some lunch. I grabbed my camera and took pictures of my neighbors (hoping to be able to identify them at a later date; seriously I don't know their names...)

It seemed like forever before they got back; and I'm 99.9% sure they played wii and farmville. Halfway through the day, his back started to hurt; so we gave him heating pads, patches, and medicine to try and help him out. I'm not sure if that's before or after we all fell asleep on the couch, though. After that, I can't really remember the full details of Saturday night. I know we had steak tips, and McPreggers' mac and cheese. That took up most of the evening. Somehow we wound up by my dad's campfire, though.

I think we drove over. That fits in my head--we drove over, and I sat with my dad for a bit. They walked up to the..... ReLays? Sure. They disappeared for quite a bit, and my dad and I talked about what? I don't remember. It was sort of awkward, as was the rest of the night. I know Mr. and Mrs. Poodle stopped by, and I occasionally talked with them, but really nobody talked to me. They were all off in their own conversations.

Between that boringness, and the fact my cousin could barely sit still, I got the bright idea to sneak home and change the sheets on my bed (great excuse in my book, though it didn't fly with my dad, who wanted me to stay and apparently twiddle my thumbs the rest of the night. Again, boring.) So I snuck off to do my heroic deed of back-saving with three thoughts on my mind: 1) the memory of how much my back hurt after sleeping on my mom's mattress, 2) the fact she'd been sleeping on my sister's mattress, and how it always made her back feel better, and 3) hoping they would both be able to get a great night's sleep.

I got a text from McPreggers shortly after I left--asking me where I was going.

So I told her, and asked her if she wanted to come with me. She never seems entirely enthusiastic about the campfires, so I figured she might want to escape with me. Surprisingly, the reply was a no. Well, we texted back and forth for several minutes, until I wound up walking into a tree on Gecko's lawn. I managed to find my way back to the road, minimally disoriented.

I went home and had a minifight with my mom. She didn't want to change beds at midnight, and I told her she didn't have to and that she just had to give me them. I proceeded to tear off my sheets, and stuff all my junk in my closet (sheets, blankets, extra pillows, room crap, furniture, etc) I put on the new sheets, brought up their blankets and pillows, the electric heating pad, and did my best to ensure the bed was easily accessible (it's sort of stuffed in the cove of my room, so I moved junk so it was easier to get in and out of) After this, I got the "I love daddy" onesy I bought for Numero Uno, and put it out on the bed so that when they came up they could have a little surprise.

Still being texted by Mcpreggers, and still trying to convince her that it was no big deal, I got the text, "well all our stuff is downstairs" so I moved that too. It was only two little bags, so it was really no big deal. I sent off my reply, "Not anymore"

Shortly after that, I went to lay down and rest. My phone rang, and it was him; I know he was drunk, though McPreggers would argue against it. I know what a drunk phone call sounds like, though; when people talk in circles and fail to let you interject. Yeah. I could tell just by the tone of his voice he was pissed. "We're fine! Just leave our stuff alone! We're fine! You won't take no for an answer! We're fine! Just leave our stuff alone!"

"It's already done" I tried interrupting three times, until I just bit my tongue and shut up. "Fine. I'll move it back." I finally said, and one of us hung up. My initial reaction was to jump up and go throw his stuff down the stairs, but I resisted. I actually laid there for maybe 15 minutes to see if they'd come back and apologize. Maybe hangout. With me. But I wound up going upstairs and stripping my bed; carrying down their blankets and pillows, and belongings. I grabbed my blankets from the closet and tried to sleep; it was impossible. I was furious. I didn't fall asleep until long after they'd come back, and I was half-tempted to go yell at him, but as it was, things were already going to be awkward come morning. I just cried myself to sleep instead.

Mom, oblivious to everything in her state of slumber, texted me around 230 or so telling me there was no toilet paper in the upstairs bathroom. I snuck downstairs, hoping to avoid everyone, and brought back some toilet paper.y

Sunday Morning, I stayed upstairs. I didn't know what to do or say, so I hid upstairs. Stupid, I know, but I didn't know what else to do. I didn't want to be alone, especially where I was still so upset. And did they even know I was upset? How could I sit there and return a smiley "Good morning" when my insides were boiling.

Finally, mom woke up and went downstairs. I went and hung out with her and McPreggers. I think we talked about it a little, but it was really uncomfortable. I tried keeping conversation light and off-topic. McPreggers wanted to have the infused french toast, that morning, but I wasn't feeling so generous. Instead I stalled and said, "Well I wanted to wait for Elsa to come home" (obviously wanting to have a big, happy breakfast with my sister). I had also had a bagel, already, not wanting to have to wait to eat and take my meds until they were ready to wake up and eat. I texted Elsa, but she was unclear as to whether she was coming home Monday, or if she wanted to come today.

He came in, and immediately came over to give me a hug, kiss on the side of the head, and an apology. I said it was "ok" and called him a jerk with a half smile on my face. I asked him how his back was, and he said better. I said "good." I don't know if that was the truth, or just a lie to keep me from saying "I told you so," but I'm glad he was better. (Although, I really did want to be right about the mattress thing)

Then, in an effort to forget my hostility, I ran upstairs to get the gift I had intended on surprising him with. "Here you go, you big jerk." I told him, deciding then that I would just call him a big jerk for the rest of their visit.

I was hoping the gift would smooth things over for me; I'm always happy when I make other people happy, so that should have been the end of it. But things were still a little weird. Especially when I started thinking about the texts from the night before. We'd texted back and forth, and at one point I had said, "pick one: mine or elsa's" In regard to tempur-pedic mattresses. The reply to that had been, "But where would your mom sleep"

In the back of my head, I was thinking, "why such the fuss about sleeping in my room?"... "why would they be willing to sleep in Elsa's room?"... "What's wrong with my room?"

I'd been offering them my room since before they'd even been pregnant, or staying with us. It finally started clicking in my head that maybe they didn't want to sleep in my room for some reason. Why would they stay in my mother's room and my sister's room so easily? What was wrong with my room?

"Screw them," I decided, and told myself to take the offer is off the table. But when we talked about it later that morning, and I was trying so hard to avoid the tension, confrontation, and blowing my lid, I told them they could sleep wherever they wanted. They may have picked up on the insincerity of my tone, but I didn't quite care. I still had done a lot of work for them, and if they wanted to sleep in my room (with apparent cooties) I was going to make them do all the work themselves.

"So let's talk about sleeping arrangements, " Mcprggers stated; as mentioned, I was less than enthused. I remember saying it was whatever was best for his back, and I remember them saying "we're fine where we are."

So, whatever, my room had cooties. After that, I'm pretty sure McPreggers started playing Farmville again, and, I know for sure, he played wii. I know this because during one of his rounds of tennis, I said, "Well I know you didn't come up here to lay around and play video games; what do you want to do today?"

No response.

How awkward was that? No one said anything. Did they not hear me? Or what? I know my mother had tried to make plans with them the Saturday morning. She told me that she had told McPreggers she wanted to get me out of the house. Why was it that they really didn't want to even discuss making plans? Let's go for an ice cream? Let's go to North Conway? Let's play that freaking board game I've been talking about every night since you got here? Let's go for a walk? Let's do something??

Mom went for a walk after this; she went down to the CrazyLumber Docks. After about 10 minutes or so, I followed. It was sort of awkward watching them play video games with no intention of talking. I went down and talked with Mom, and saw that she was frustrated too. She just wanted to do something, and so did I.

I called Elsa to see what she was doing, and she said her plans had been canceled. She wanted to come back today, so I think, GREAT! Something to do!! It will totally be less awkward if she's here--we can all talk about college, and stuff like that.

Well, I talked with her at the docks and then went back to share the good news. He'd been standing there, playing wii, and he stopped to talk. I could tell, just by the tone and pace of his voice, I wasn't going to like it. He was tense, I could just tell. Like he had something to say that he knew I wasn't going to like, but he had to say it anyway, so he was just going to get it over with. "so," He paused, "I talked to [your father]. He's going to the sandbar."

AKA, "We're ditching you yet again, we're going to the sandbar."

I was disappointed, but what was I going to do? The tense stand, and the way he'd said it had been awkward enough for us both. I wasn't going to make matter worse and argue about it. I wasn't going to tell him that the only reason Els was coming home from college was to see THEM. Or that she was so excited to see them that she was willing to clean her dorm room to show it off to THEM. Maybe I should have mentioned this beforehand?? But it was too late now.

I can't remember what I said, but I remember trying to be upbeat. Then I decided I'd go with my mom to get Elsa, because I really didn't want to hang out on the beach. I really didn't want to ditch my mom. I just wanted to have some fun, and after thinking about both options (going to the beach and being ignored vs going for a ride to see my sister) the car ride seemed more fun.

As if that wasn't bad enough, adding to the awkwardity was the fact he told wouldn't be coming back from the sandbar until 7PM. "We don't want to rush, so we'll be there until 7PM" or something like that. "We'll eat dinner when we get back"

I'm sure what he said was less demanding, and I know he only said it to avoid what happened last time (where my mom freaked out when the three of us came back and asked if the 3 cooked chickens were ours or what not; come on, that's confusing. Why would a person cook 3 chickens for 2 people--and get mad when 3 people wonder if 3 chickens are for them or not)

Anyway, what he said had been one of those things that you say and sounds wrong no matter how you say it--even though it wasn't wrong to say.

Still, the damage had been done. We left to go get Lys and were back by 4PM We stopped for the ice cream I'd been craving (not custard--unfortunately--but I got a root beer float with chocolate chip icecream--hey don't diss it until you've tried it!) I got to see my sister. We caught up and laughed. Talked about boys, and school. Then we fell asleep on the sofa.

I think we woke up around 6-6:30 and they were back from the sandbar. We talked, and it was ok, but it stunk that Elsa came all the way back to eat dinner with them and leave. When my mom went to drive her home, I stayed to hang out with them. They decided to go to another campfire--third night in a row.

Goodbye board game. Goodbye face masks. Goodbye fun evening. Hello drunk half-conversations in which my sanity is lost. Sure I sometimes have fun, but that's only sometimes. It's not cool listening to your dad talk in circles. It's not cool sitting by yourself because everybody else talks to everybody else, and you only get into a conversation when you (a) know what is being talked about and (b) are acknowledged as a participant in said conversation. Like I said, sometimes it's fun, but more often than not, people are so enthused with hearing themselves talk, or so excited about the story they are telling, they rarely let you in.

So I decided to make an appearance. This time, I didn't get ditched for the ReLays, and instead I went in to see their new extension. It was nice seeing them, but depressing at the same time. Gwen could barely walk, and apparently she'd fallen off the extension several times. She was drugged, and confused. It was sad. It's also sad that I always get along better with people's pets than I do with the people themselves. They were all doing shots of Mead, and I guess one of the girl's husbands was attempting to drive home shitfaced.

Great, I think to myself. In a few days I'll be attending a funeral. What a great way to spend the night! Before I had even gotten to say "hello" I could tell the guy was hammered. He was slurring his words, and barely able to stand up. Now he was going to drive home?

I don't get why people drink, so seeing them drink always puts me in a bad mood to begin with. Alcohol ruined my life and destroyed my family, but that's a ranting for another time. Let's stay on topic, shall we? I've already written a minibook here as it is.

Cut to the fire: Amanda sits by herself again. Big shocker. Topic of conversation: drug addicts you once knew in high school. I went and talked to my dad--about what I can't remember. But I know I helped him in the kitchen, so that made me feel good.

I went back out and stood in front of the fire--waiting for someone to ask me to move. No one seemed to notice, though.

It was cold, so I got a chair and sat by the fire. Checking my phone every few minutes to see if it was 11Pm yet. Mom had left at 9; it had been an hour there and back. Occasionally I chatted with a ReLay girl, but it never got serious. I just tried butting in on a few conversations, but they never went anywhere. Finally it was 11 and I went home. My excuse was that I couldn't stay up too late, because I needed to stay on my schedule for work. Really I was just bored. Bored and feeling bad for having my mom sit home, alone, for the second night in a row. Especially after she had worked so hard on the dinner--chicken, peas, stuffing; it was like thanksgiving. Cranberry sauce. etc, etc.

So I went home to hang out with my mom, assuming my cousins would follow wanting to spend some time (on their last night here) with us. But you know what they say about when you assume. (When it's an ASS U make of ME---ASSUME) I didn't see them again until morning. Heard them come in, though. It's hard to sleep when you are upset.

So I evaluated my situation, I posted a somewhat-angry facebook status of being "disappointed with the weekend." I knew it was going to be hurtful to them, and I debated upon it, but I was really upset. I bragged all week about getting to see my cousins. It was the "finish line" I used to get through work, even when I was miserable. "It's ok. I get to see my family this weekend." I'd tell myself, and the hurdles seemed less large. I still don't get how I could be so excited to see someone, and then wind up crying myself to sleep 2/3 of the nights they were here. Mom had been right; they had basically ditched us; we should have just gone out ourselves.

The more I thought about it, the more angry I became, and it just builds and builds into tears of frustration. I'm a bottle up when it comes to emotions, that's no secret; so what am I supposed to do when I reach this point of explosion? I know I'm too upset to be thinking clearly, so I have to bite my tongue. I have to resist the urge to march down there and tell them how disappointed I was in the way things turned out.

I didn't want to increase the awkwardness, or have them be mad at ME for being so "crazy."
I didn't want to create some schism in our relationship, but at the same time, I feel it has already split, because it seems like they don't really care about me--which is stupid, because I know they love me--so I wonder if I'm being irrational--but I wonder how can I be irrational if I have a legitimate reason to be upset--which I have--or think I have--I didn't know anymore, I just wanted to cry.

I blasted my ipod, but that didn't help. I couldn't get my mind off of it. I tried listening to an audiobook, and loud music, but I couldn't stop my head from thinking. Maybe I was crazy; Maybe I wasn't; Maybe I shouldn't be angry; maybe I should be. I was just confused, and as much as I wanted to sort things out, I knew going downstairs to talk about it would probably end badly. Was I too upset to not lash out? Was he too drunk to not take offense and understand where I was coming from? How would it end? I didn't care to find out.

I just had to contain myself one more morning. McPreggers had already said they were "leaving early" because they didn't want to spend the day in traffic. I knew it was probably just because things had gotten really awkward, but I didn't care. It was just uncomfortable to be that upset with someone you love so much.

I just continued my internalization until I fell asleep. Morning came, and I hated myself for wishing they'd just go without saying goodbye. I thought I was being stupid, but I distanced myself just in case. I pretended to fall asleep on the sofa so I didn't have to talk to any of them. I eventually started talking to McPreggers. She wanted to use my computer to play farmville again. I took my time handing it over because I was pretty insulted that's how she wanted to spend the last of our time together. I try hard not to use the computer when people I like are around, and it's a little known etiquette of ours (Elsa's friends come over, then go on her computer, and ignore us most of the time; that's how we figure out which of our guests really are our guests or just people looking to take advantage of our luxuries.)

They went along with their plans, and packed the car. They didn't feed Sargent Pollo before they left, which surprised me. Somehow I was more surprised that when they said they were going over to my dads, yet again, to say goodbye. Secretly, I figured they were going to spend the day with him, and the leaving early was just a ploy. I don't know. I don't care. I just wanted them gone. How can I say that? I love them so much, but things just did not work. The chemistry was wrong. The timing was off. It was just a terrible visit.

I guess I'm not really "mad" at him. I'm extremely disappointed in him, but mad at the situation. Pissed with the situation. Raging insane about the situation. I'm mad that things turned out the way they did, and I'm mad at myself for being so upset that I made things awkward. And I don't know what to do next: do I call and talk about it? or just let it go? I don't know.

I know that I don't want to make things even more awkward--if that's possible. They probably haven't even thought twice about the situation; why bring it up? why risk inflicting more damage? why not just let it go?

What to do? What to do? I don't know.

Internet Dating Sucks.

2009-08-31T18:34:00.000-07:00

So pathetic old me has been dreaming about finding a boyfriend for, what? 11+ years? But, seriously, who doesn't want to fall in love and live happily ever after. Right?

Well, here has been my luck with men: My heart was totally crushed in junior high school, when the cutest boy in school stopped me in the library and told me he didn't want anything to do with me. Ouch. Why not just scar me for life? Since then, I've had several crushes that have gone absolutely no where, either because I've been deemed "unapproachable" or just plain "unworthy." Needless to say, I've become a shy, self conscious, single woman.

Moved to a new state to go to college--tons of cute guys--all already in relationships. I see a hot guy in the movies and notice him holding hands with the guy beside him. Seriously, I'm sick of guessing at who is single, who is straight, who is sincerely interested. I gave up.

I have truly become a cynical person when it comes to dating; I'm angry with most of the male population, and I'm angry with myself for being so damn shy and untrusting. So, despite the fact I harassed my mother for trying a dating website, I found myself signing up for the same site.

So far, I've ironically found more fights than flirts on this. I've been deemed a racist, for not finding black men particularly attractive. I've been stalked by an old geezer, or two, who, for the record, could not spell to save their lives. The creeps sure know how to find me, and none of the "cute" guys find me attractive, or interesting enough to talk to--and the guys who ARE interested are upset because I refuse to give out my cell phone number, or send them more pictures of myself. So I give up!

Internet dating sucks, and I will proudly live out the rest of my days as a strong, single, woman... alone, on the top of a mountain, with my 7 cats.

The End.

Bye Bye Baby

2009-08-29T17:56:00.000-07:00

My baby sister has gone off to college. We dropped her off today, and I'm not sure what to feel.

I'm happy, obviously, but sad too. That's an obvious one too, I guess, since we have always been so close... I'm going to miss her a lot, but at the same time I'm sort of jealous too. I actually feel sort of lame. Like my life is set to pause and her's is on the fast forward track.

Sure, I had the same opportunity. I could have gone to college and lived there. I could have made friends, and I could have taken part in campus activities and events, but I didn't. I was under the impression it was too much money. That, and I was too scared to be on my own. I even had the chance to live on campus, after the house fire. The college gave me a room for free, but I only stayed there twice a week for internship. I never stayed longer because I felt like I was abandoning my family in time of need. I was always homesick, not for a house, but for my family.

Today I woke up early, and used a cat leash to tie my sister (jokingly) to her bed. "It's ok, mom!" I hollered. "I tied her up and now she can't go anywhere!"

She woke up, and it was crazy. We had a few hours to finish packing, then went to dad's for birthday cake! Birthday cake at 11AM. Insane! We joked around with Bonnie, John, Pam, and Steve, Dad and Denise, and of course my Mom and sister. Ate cake, and then took a nauseating ride to USM.

We checked in at the dorm, and unpacked her things. well, I didn't do much of this, but I sure tried my best. We had yoohoo's and then toured the campus. I got a free notebook and about 50 USM stickers. I figure I can collage them for Alysia later.

We walked around, and found the library, theater, and places to eat. The library was closed; the theater was spooky (especially the top, where the lights are kept--heck yes, we snuck up there!) The food was good, too, I guess. Not SJC food, but pretty good. I had a "Husky Burger" and so did Dad and Denise. Except, my dad had a double Husky Burger, with two burgers, instead of one, for only a dollar more. That's my Dad. Always bargain hunting..

After that, we dropped Alysia off at her dorm and left. It was weird. Really weird. I came home and hooked the video camera up to the TV. (I'm retarted like that and like to watch something just as soon as I record it) The second I heard Alysia's voice on TV I thought she was upstairs. I almost called up to her, but caught myself. It was weird.

I hope I can do this.

Take it with a grain of salt

2009-08-18T10:10:00.000-07:00

Being the wreck that I am, I have sort of shied away from the blogging industry.

While I love to complain, especially for humorous effect, I try hard not to be the "downer" that no one wants to hang around with. Even more so, I tend to be hyper-sensitive about other people's feelings, as well as my own. I have always been afraid to say the wrong thing, the wrong way, to the wrong person, at the wrong time... Imagine my horror at the idea making that one thought or opinion set in stone, on paper (or in this case, on screen) to the entire world's population.

In this crazy world we live in, the "wrong idea" can cost you everything. Your friends, your job, your life. Everything. Public image is everything, and I think we are all so concerned about our own that we are too quick to judge and jump. We live in the moment, and while that sounds good in theory (and on a fortune cookie) living in the moment can be just as harmful as it is good. It may make us hot-headed. Quick to forget the past. Blind us of our futures, and ultimately turn us into wrecks.

I'm not here to bash, slander, upset, or badmouth. I'm just here to vent. Laugh when I laugh, cry when I cry, bust most of all, forgive me when I'm angry and take what I write with a grain of salt. I'm only human after all.