to exercise. Okay, that was a lame one, so sue me. But this morning Joe and I tried to take Molly for a walk. We got halfway down the block, when a stray dog came darting out from between two houses. Okay, we thought, we'll go the other direction. We got almost to our house, when another loose dog darted out. So things got a little interesting. Joe got Molly to the front door while I kept telling both dogs to shoo. Then I took her in while Joe tried to find the owners of the dogs. One dog belonged to a family on our street, but the other did genuinely seem to be a stray. It ran off, and I thought it was safe for me to go ahead and take a very disconsolate Molly for her walk. Big mistake. The dog came back. So Molly and I walked at a very rapid pace while Joe distracted the other dog. I definitely earned some activity points this morning.
Then tonight I got the brilliant idea to watch Morgan Spurlock's Supersize Me. I love the movie, and I love it even more now that I've made tremendous progress in detoxing. I honestly couldn't tell you the last time I ate at McDonalds or Wendy's. I haven't had a soda in months, barring the three or four sips I reluctantly took (at Joe's insistence) of 7-Up on Christmas night. But as I watched the movie, I felt compelled to set up my Gazelle and do a fast-paced 20 minute workout.
It's funny to realize that over the last several months I have come to really enjoy exercising. It's something I look forward to, and enjoy doing. I must also confess that it was really exciting to find that my butt no longer touches both sides of the Gazelle. That was gratifying. And when I plugged in my height and weight into a BMI calculator, it was also gratifying to learn that I've gone from morbidly obese to severely obese. I don't feel severely obese. It's all a matter of perception, I suppose. Someone who doesn't know me at all would probably look at me and be appalled at how fat I am. But someone who does know me would look at me and call me a big loser, or, like one of my co-workers, call me slim and sexy. I'm obviously far from slim, but I feel slim, and I'm feeling confident and healthy and active, and it feels good. So does the confidence and health and activity and good that I feel make a difference in the perception of the total stranger? Would that total stranger perceive me as a little smaller than I actually am, because I feel so self-confident and healthy? Or would it make no difference?
It doesn't matter, of course, because I don't care overmuch what anyone thinks about me. It's too taxing to worry about anyone else's opinion. The people whose opinions matter love me anyway, and those who don't don't matter.
It's 10:43 on New Year's Eve. I'm valiantly fighting the urge to make resolutions. I tried to make anti-resolutions last year, and even that didn't work. I didn't read all the books I could have. I ate oatmeal a few times. And I refuse to go look at that list again to see all the other ways I failed. I could make absolutely no-fail resolutions, like resolving to stay a non-smoker, but I don't want to tempt fate. So I'm going to remain resolutely resolution-free. No resolutions. I'm boycotting the resolutions this year.
Now it's 10:46 p.m. on New Year's Eve. My tender-hearted husband just brought our spoiled dog a bowl of milk. Said spoiled dog is laying with her head on the pillows on the futon on top of my satin cover and on top of the blanket. I'm about to evict her. He is tender-hearted, and I am an evil bit-cah. Bwa-ha-ha-ha.
Dangit! I don't get to be evil. She just heard the neighbors' dogs barking, and jumped off the bed to join in the 10:47 bark. Oh, well. As long as I get the futon back, I don't care how. And besides, my tender-hearted husband also brought me half a banana. And it's okay that he only brought me half a banana, because he also gave me half his tangerine an hour ago. 'Cause he's just sweet like that.
Happy New Year, everybody. Peace, love, joy, harmony, and every good thing to you and yours.
Sunday, December 31, 2006
Saturday, December 30, 2006
Eragon
Go see it. You'll love it! :) The movie progresses a lot more smoothly and easily than the book did, and has plenty of eye candy. It was well cast, has beautiful scenery, and was just a good movie. I wanted to turn around and buy another ticket and go watch it all over again.
Went to DSW Shoes, and found an absolutely gorgeous pair of brown satin and lace pumps on clearance. I also found a pair of black high-heeled loafers on clearance. And they were having their clearance sale, which meant everything on clearance was an additional 50% off. And I had a $10 certificate from when they did their system changeover earlier in the year. And I had a $5 certificate that they sent me for my birthday. So I ended up spending only $15 out-of-pocket for both pairs of shoes. Color me very, very happy.
I also went to Barnes and Noble and finally purchased book 7 of the Pendragon series. So I'm looking forward to having a good read later on tonight. I'm nearly finished clearing out the Egypt room, so the good read will be a well-earned one.
And I nearly forgot to report my good news from this morning's weigh-in! I was down 3.8 pounds (for the last two weeks), and got another 5-pound star. I'm up to 36.4 pounds lost, which is very exciting.
Changing the subject here. I feel like I should say something about Saddam Hussein here. I was a little startled at how rapidly he was executed. Joe came into the bedroom last night to tell me that he was dead. I have been thinking a lot about him today. He is responsible for so many deaths; so much evil and horrors have been carried out under his orders and in his name. What is he seeing and feeling and experiencing now? I'm not glad he's dead. I don't mean that I wish he were still here, still in power, still able to do evil, because I'm not. I can't be. But I can't be glad in his destruction either. It's horrible. I know that the things I've done wrong torment me when I allow myself to think of them, and I cannot imagine the torment he must be feeling now. I don't know if I'm making any sense, so I'll stop. I guess I just had to take a moment and try to express my thoughts.
Went to DSW Shoes, and found an absolutely gorgeous pair of brown satin and lace pumps on clearance. I also found a pair of black high-heeled loafers on clearance. And they were having their clearance sale, which meant everything on clearance was an additional 50% off. And I had a $10 certificate from when they did their system changeover earlier in the year. And I had a $5 certificate that they sent me for my birthday. So I ended up spending only $15 out-of-pocket for both pairs of shoes. Color me very, very happy.
I also went to Barnes and Noble and finally purchased book 7 of the Pendragon series. So I'm looking forward to having a good read later on tonight. I'm nearly finished clearing out the Egypt room, so the good read will be a well-earned one.
And I nearly forgot to report my good news from this morning's weigh-in! I was down 3.8 pounds (for the last two weeks), and got another 5-pound star. I'm up to 36.4 pounds lost, which is very exciting.
Changing the subject here. I feel like I should say something about Saddam Hussein here. I was a little startled at how rapidly he was executed. Joe came into the bedroom last night to tell me that he was dead. I have been thinking a lot about him today. He is responsible for so many deaths; so much evil and horrors have been carried out under his orders and in his name. What is he seeing and feeling and experiencing now? I'm not glad he's dead. I don't mean that I wish he were still here, still in power, still able to do evil, because I'm not. I can't be. But I can't be glad in his destruction either. It's horrible. I know that the things I've done wrong torment me when I allow myself to think of them, and I cannot imagine the torment he must be feeling now. I don't know if I'm making any sense, so I'll stop. I guess I just had to take a moment and try to express my thoughts.
Friday, December 29, 2006
Still wishin' I were anywhere but here! I walked into the office this morning and my nostrils were assaulted by a really noxious aroma. No one seemed to know what it was, so one of the managers called the non-emergency number for the fire department. They ordered us to evacuate while they got some people over here to check it out. It turned out to be paint thinner; the building management had people painting the elevator last night. To add injury to injury, they started painting again in the common areas late this morning. So my chest is burning and I've got a rip-roaring headache. One wonders (actually, more than one wonders--I've had multiple people stop into my office to wonder) why they didn't do the painting on Saturday, when the building would be empty for three days. And of course our company can't allow us to go home! It's month-end AND it's December. December, for those of you who don't know, is never a good month for collections. December is the month when people would rather buy Christmas presents than pay their bills. So here I sit, trying to keep busy (I'm not a collector--I'm an admin assistant) and trying not to puke from the fumes.
But hey, three-day weekend coming up, always a good thing. And it's the last holiday weekend until Memorial Day, so I really need to enjoy it. I'm going to do some shopping tomorrow morning. And Liz and I have been planning for 6 weeks at least to go to a movie, and we keep putting it off. So we're going to a movie tomorrow, dangit, no matter what! And then I'll go back home and do laundry until I drop.
You think I'm exaggerating, don't you? You don't believe that a fully grown woman (I was about to say fully grown mountain troll, because I watched Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone last night) could really and truly procrastinate her laundry until she has as much laundry as I tell you that I have. You don't really believe that a responsible mature person could get by only washing enough underwear and wearing the lightly dirtied clothes so that she has huge and enormous piles of laundry, huh? Pardon me while I laugh hysterically.
*************************
Okay. I'm back. See, part of the problem is due to the fact that our house is laid out rather weirdly. The washing machine is in the kitchen. The dryer is in the room that used to be the garage but is now in the room we optimistically call the music room, but is really the hell room (don't know what the hell to do with something? Throw it in there). The other part of the problem is due to the fact that our house is hugely cluttered. That's not news to you, as I talk about this problem frequently. Joe has a lot of stuff piled up that blocks the way into the hell room. That means that it is virtually impossible for me to get a load of wet clothes from the washer into the dryer. If Joe's around, he'll do it for me. If not, then I don't mess with it. I'd rather not break my leg and have to call 911--the paramedics would tell everyone they know how messy my house was! So yeah, doing laundry is a huge hassle, which is why I have tons of laundry to do.
Yesterday Joe dismantled the daybed in the Egypt room and put the futon in there. I am happy with that change. I spent 4 hours in there yesterday moving furniture, throwing out trash, throwing dog toys in the hall (and how many toys does one dog need, anyway? She's got more toys than some people's kids have!), throwing dirty clothes into the hall, sorting through papers to see what was trash and what needed to be saved (and much more of it was trash than I realized), etc. So have you ever seen those huge contractor's trash bags? They're almost as tall as I am, and as big around as a regular black leaf-sized trash bag. Well, I have two of those full of dirty clothes that I have to wash this weekend. I would estimate that of those two bags of dirty clothes, at least half of them are too big for me, which means that some of them will go to my friend and the rest will go into storage. That means that half of those clothes are getting out of my house. That means less clutter.
Okay, yeah, I bought two shirts today during lunch at Target, but I'm still on the positive side here. One huge ginormous trash bag out, two tiny shirts in. And hey, the shirts were purchased in the Misses' section, NOT in the Women's section!!!!!!!!!!!!!
And I also took those handbags I'm getting rid of and put them in my car. I'll stop by the Goodwill drop-off on my way home from work today, and get them out of my life forever. Whee! See? Another big bag of clutter out of the house! And I found the three drastically overdue library books and they're also in my car and are going back to the library today. And I'm never going to a library again. Never. Never ever ever ever ever ever ever again. Never. As in, if I ever tell you I'm going to a library, stop me, with force if necessary. Don't let me do it. That is all.
But hey, three-day weekend coming up, always a good thing. And it's the last holiday weekend until Memorial Day, so I really need to enjoy it. I'm going to do some shopping tomorrow morning. And Liz and I have been planning for 6 weeks at least to go to a movie, and we keep putting it off. So we're going to a movie tomorrow, dangit, no matter what! And then I'll go back home and do laundry until I drop.
You think I'm exaggerating, don't you? You don't believe that a fully grown woman (I was about to say fully grown mountain troll, because I watched Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone last night) could really and truly procrastinate her laundry until she has as much laundry as I tell you that I have. You don't really believe that a responsible mature person could get by only washing enough underwear and wearing the lightly dirtied clothes so that she has huge and enormous piles of laundry, huh? Pardon me while I laugh hysterically.
*************************
Okay. I'm back. See, part of the problem is due to the fact that our house is laid out rather weirdly. The washing machine is in the kitchen. The dryer is in the room that used to be the garage but is now in the room we optimistically call the music room, but is really the hell room (don't know what the hell to do with something? Throw it in there). The other part of the problem is due to the fact that our house is hugely cluttered. That's not news to you, as I talk about this problem frequently. Joe has a lot of stuff piled up that blocks the way into the hell room. That means that it is virtually impossible for me to get a load of wet clothes from the washer into the dryer. If Joe's around, he'll do it for me. If not, then I don't mess with it. I'd rather not break my leg and have to call 911--the paramedics would tell everyone they know how messy my house was! So yeah, doing laundry is a huge hassle, which is why I have tons of laundry to do.
Yesterday Joe dismantled the daybed in the Egypt room and put the futon in there. I am happy with that change. I spent 4 hours in there yesterday moving furniture, throwing out trash, throwing dog toys in the hall (and how many toys does one dog need, anyway? She's got more toys than some people's kids have!), throwing dirty clothes into the hall, sorting through papers to see what was trash and what needed to be saved (and much more of it was trash than I realized), etc. So have you ever seen those huge contractor's trash bags? They're almost as tall as I am, and as big around as a regular black leaf-sized trash bag. Well, I have two of those full of dirty clothes that I have to wash this weekend. I would estimate that of those two bags of dirty clothes, at least half of them are too big for me, which means that some of them will go to my friend and the rest will go into storage. That means that half of those clothes are getting out of my house. That means less clutter.
Okay, yeah, I bought two shirts today during lunch at Target, but I'm still on the positive side here. One huge ginormous trash bag out, two tiny shirts in. And hey, the shirts were purchased in the Misses' section, NOT in the Women's section!!!!!!!!!!!!!
And I also took those handbags I'm getting rid of and put them in my car. I'll stop by the Goodwill drop-off on my way home from work today, and get them out of my life forever. Whee! See? Another big bag of clutter out of the house! And I found the three drastically overdue library books and they're also in my car and are going back to the library today. And I'm never going to a library again. Never. Never ever ever ever ever ever ever again. Never. As in, if I ever tell you I'm going to a library, stop me, with force if necessary. Don't let me do it. That is all.
Thursday, December 28, 2006
I wish I were almost anywhere but here. At home doing laundry, perhaps. At a concert, screaming my head off. At the gym, working up a muck sweat. Shopping, always an enjoyable pastime (and what does that say about me?!). Hauling loads of stuff I don't need off to Goodwill. It doesn't need to be something fun--just something different.
I did get quite a bit of work done at home last night. Threw the piles of laundry that I've been studiously ignoring for the last long bit of time into laundry bags. Went through all the purses that have been cluttering my closet and decided which ones to keep and which ones to give to Goodwill. Argued with Joe about the ones I want to get rid of. Well, maybe argued is a little too strong a word. We didn't quite argue, but I did explain my view and listened to him explain his view, and then made a rebuttal. It's just that we have far too much clutter in a very small house. And I really don't need 30+ handbags. If I had saved the $10-$20 each of those handbags had cost me, I'd have enough to go get the good Coach or BCBG bag that I really want. So when I get home today, I'm taking 15-20 handbags to Goodwill, and keeping 10-15 handbags. It will be a much more manageable pile, and the ones I'm keeping are the ones I really do use. Honestly, some of the ones I'm getting rid of I have never even used, or have used only once or twice. Just a waste.
I also got two bags of clothes set aside to give to a friend who's also losing weight. And as I get the laundry done, some of the clothes will go to her, and others will go into storage. Joe says he's fully confident that I'm not going to regain the weight I have lost and am continuing to lose, but he still wants me to keep some of my favorites just in case, so that if I do perchance regain any of it, at least I'll have some good quality clothes that I like. This is one argument I have learned I won't win, so I'm through trying. I'm splitting up the clothes--half to my friend and half to storage. That will get a good bit of clutter out of the house.
See, it's annoying. He is the first to complain about how much crap we have in the house, and the first to say we just need to throw everything out. He is then the first to get upset when I try to throw things out, give them to Goodwill, give them to a friend or a charity who could use them. I have to resort to subterfuge to get things out. He'd rather pay $38 a month to store junk than let me just get rid of it. Go figure.
Wow. The total shallowness of this post is just seriously underwhelming.
How about some good news? Clover's son got transferred back to the children's hospital in Fort Worth. That makes life a lot easier for them right there, even if it were for no other reason than juggling the commute. But it's also good because they've been working with C. since he was a baby, and have his care very well coordinated, unlike the hospital in Dallas. As soon as I'm no longer snarking up gobs of snot I'm going to go visit him. (And on a completely unrelated note, why is it that I can snark up gobs of snot, but when I try blowing my nose, nothing comes out? I realize now disgusting it is to go around sniffing and making disgusting snarking noises, but I do try to blow, to no avail. So I have to sniff. Sorry.)
I did get quite a bit of work done at home last night. Threw the piles of laundry that I've been studiously ignoring for the last long bit of time into laundry bags. Went through all the purses that have been cluttering my closet and decided which ones to keep and which ones to give to Goodwill. Argued with Joe about the ones I want to get rid of. Well, maybe argued is a little too strong a word. We didn't quite argue, but I did explain my view and listened to him explain his view, and then made a rebuttal. It's just that we have far too much clutter in a very small house. And I really don't need 30+ handbags. If I had saved the $10-$20 each of those handbags had cost me, I'd have enough to go get the good Coach or BCBG bag that I really want. So when I get home today, I'm taking 15-20 handbags to Goodwill, and keeping 10-15 handbags. It will be a much more manageable pile, and the ones I'm keeping are the ones I really do use. Honestly, some of the ones I'm getting rid of I have never even used, or have used only once or twice. Just a waste.
I also got two bags of clothes set aside to give to a friend who's also losing weight. And as I get the laundry done, some of the clothes will go to her, and others will go into storage. Joe says he's fully confident that I'm not going to regain the weight I have lost and am continuing to lose, but he still wants me to keep some of my favorites just in case, so that if I do perchance regain any of it, at least I'll have some good quality clothes that I like. This is one argument I have learned I won't win, so I'm through trying. I'm splitting up the clothes--half to my friend and half to storage. That will get a good bit of clutter out of the house.
See, it's annoying. He is the first to complain about how much crap we have in the house, and the first to say we just need to throw everything out. He is then the first to get upset when I try to throw things out, give them to Goodwill, give them to a friend or a charity who could use them. I have to resort to subterfuge to get things out. He'd rather pay $38 a month to store junk than let me just get rid of it. Go figure.
Wow. The total shallowness of this post is just seriously underwhelming.
How about some good news? Clover's son got transferred back to the children's hospital in Fort Worth. That makes life a lot easier for them right there, even if it were for no other reason than juggling the commute. But it's also good because they've been working with C. since he was a baby, and have his care very well coordinated, unlike the hospital in Dallas. As soon as I'm no longer snarking up gobs of snot I'm going to go visit him. (And on a completely unrelated note, why is it that I can snark up gobs of snot, but when I try blowing my nose, nothing comes out? I realize now disgusting it is to go around sniffing and making disgusting snarking noises, but I do try to blow, to no avail. So I have to sniff. Sorry.)
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
This is a short one, just to ask you to please send some thoughts/prayers/white light, or whatever kind of positive thing you do Clover's way. Chase is still in the hospital, and may be heading to Houston this week to be evaluated for a lung transplant. If so, Clover will be the one going to Houston, most likely, and Pat will remain here with the other kids. Joe and I have obviously offered to do whatever we can to help, but it's not enough. It's never enough.
Monday, December 25, 2006
Joyeux Noel!
Good morning. It is still morning, at least for 9 more minutes. And Happy Christmas!
It's been a weird weekend/holiday time. I've been sick, with a disgustingly nasty cold. And Liz has been sick as well, with bronchitis, which means we didn't get to do fun sisterly shopping & moviating on Friday. I finished up my shopping as quickly as I could on Friday and then came home and crashed. I went out briefly on Saturday morning to buy some more gift bags, and then wrapped gifts for about 4 hours on Saturday, before spending the rest of Saturday and most of Sunday in bed. This seems like a good place to mention the extremely twisted dreams that Sudafed Nighttime Cold medicine gives me. Bizarre nightmares that include murder of various people, really strange quests (in one dream I was searching for liquor in a Circuit-City type store, and then went to the liquor store to buy the latest season of The Biggest Loser, a show that I've never even watched), various personality twists (I turned into Veronica Mars--I love the show, love the character, but don't want to be her), etc.
But today came, and brought Christmas with it, and Liz came over for the opening of the gifts, and Joe was sweet and Molly was all cute and Mollyful, and it's been a very nice morning. I'm still congested but I'm starting to be able to smell again, and breathe a bit, which is pleasant. Joe's making his famous mashed potatoes, and I've been permitted to taste test every batch. This is significant. He uses three varieties of potato (I did all the peeling--that was my contribution to Christmas dinner) and three varieties of butter (including a French import), and they have a million calories. I only eat them once a year now. So yum!
When Joe asked what I wanted for Christmas, I gave him two or three suggestions. I wanted a jewelry armoire, since my jewelry box wasn't big enough to hold my collection of mostly junk jewelry with the few nice pieces he's given me. I mentioned an iPod nano, since he's been talking about claiming my shuffle. But I was more than happy with my shuffle, so the nano wasn't a huge desire thing. Well, I think that he made it his personal mission to just spoil me rotten this Christmas. I've never had a time that I not only was given everything I could possibly want, but some things that I would never have even imagined wanting. He did get me a jewelry armoire, one far larger and more beautiful than I'd have dreamed of. He got me a lovely necklace and a pair of warped diamond hoop earrings that are so me it's amazing that anyone else thought to make them. He got me the iPod nano. He got me Elizabeth Arden perfume and nailcare stuff from those pushy people at the kiosks in the mall (but it's great stuff, trust me!), and just made me feel like a pampered princess. It's a lovely feeling, but I don't want to get too accustomed to it.
My mother and stepfather sent me a totally delightful gift, one that is so out of character that it just completely blew me away. I totally never lost touch with my inner child, as anyone who has spent more than 5 minutes perusing this blog knows. So I like Archie comic books. I haven't read them in ages, because I think they're ridiculously overpriced. But my sweet Mom went on ebay and bought me a stack of old Archie comics! So I'm going to read them, and then go buy some protective sleeves and keep them stored away. I also collect old Mad magazines (pre "we'll sell out and sell ads"), but it's not safe to give me those as gifts because I have quite a few. I didn't have any Archie comics, and would never have thought of buying them, so it was just a totally delightful gift. I have tried calling to both thank them and wish them a Merry Christmas. I'm guessing that either my mother is still asleep, or my stepfather is feeling extremely cranky, however, because they've taken the phone off the hook.
Well, I need to go curl my hair before we go over to Dad's and the Monster's for dinner. I've been sleeping for the better part of the last two days, and I look like it. I've managed to get myself dressed, but I'm not made up and my hair has been brushed but not styled. I'm not looking pretty yet. I will shortly, though. Once again, happy Christmas to you all!
It's been a weird weekend/holiday time. I've been sick, with a disgustingly nasty cold. And Liz has been sick as well, with bronchitis, which means we didn't get to do fun sisterly shopping & moviating on Friday. I finished up my shopping as quickly as I could on Friday and then came home and crashed. I went out briefly on Saturday morning to buy some more gift bags, and then wrapped gifts for about 4 hours on Saturday, before spending the rest of Saturday and most of Sunday in bed. This seems like a good place to mention the extremely twisted dreams that Sudafed Nighttime Cold medicine gives me. Bizarre nightmares that include murder of various people, really strange quests (in one dream I was searching for liquor in a Circuit-City type store, and then went to the liquor store to buy the latest season of The Biggest Loser, a show that I've never even watched), various personality twists (I turned into Veronica Mars--I love the show, love the character, but don't want to be her), etc.
But today came, and brought Christmas with it, and Liz came over for the opening of the gifts, and Joe was sweet and Molly was all cute and Mollyful, and it's been a very nice morning. I'm still congested but I'm starting to be able to smell again, and breathe a bit, which is pleasant. Joe's making his famous mashed potatoes, and I've been permitted to taste test every batch. This is significant. He uses three varieties of potato (I did all the peeling--that was my contribution to Christmas dinner) and three varieties of butter (including a French import), and they have a million calories. I only eat them once a year now. So yum!
When Joe asked what I wanted for Christmas, I gave him two or three suggestions. I wanted a jewelry armoire, since my jewelry box wasn't big enough to hold my collection of mostly junk jewelry with the few nice pieces he's given me. I mentioned an iPod nano, since he's been talking about claiming my shuffle. But I was more than happy with my shuffle, so the nano wasn't a huge desire thing. Well, I think that he made it his personal mission to just spoil me rotten this Christmas. I've never had a time that I not only was given everything I could possibly want, but some things that I would never have even imagined wanting. He did get me a jewelry armoire, one far larger and more beautiful than I'd have dreamed of. He got me a lovely necklace and a pair of warped diamond hoop earrings that are so me it's amazing that anyone else thought to make them. He got me the iPod nano. He got me Elizabeth Arden perfume and nailcare stuff from those pushy people at the kiosks in the mall (but it's great stuff, trust me!), and just made me feel like a pampered princess. It's a lovely feeling, but I don't want to get too accustomed to it.
My mother and stepfather sent me a totally delightful gift, one that is so out of character that it just completely blew me away. I totally never lost touch with my inner child, as anyone who has spent more than 5 minutes perusing this blog knows. So I like Archie comic books. I haven't read them in ages, because I think they're ridiculously overpriced. But my sweet Mom went on ebay and bought me a stack of old Archie comics! So I'm going to read them, and then go buy some protective sleeves and keep them stored away. I also collect old Mad magazines (pre "we'll sell out and sell ads"), but it's not safe to give me those as gifts because I have quite a few. I didn't have any Archie comics, and would never have thought of buying them, so it was just a totally delightful gift. I have tried calling to both thank them and wish them a Merry Christmas. I'm guessing that either my mother is still asleep, or my stepfather is feeling extremely cranky, however, because they've taken the phone off the hook.
Well, I need to go curl my hair before we go over to Dad's and the Monster's for dinner. I've been sleeping for the better part of the last two days, and I look like it. I've managed to get myself dressed, but I'm not made up and my hair has been brushed but not styled. I'm not looking pretty yet. I will shortly, though. Once again, happy Christmas to you all!
Thursday, December 21, 2006
Boogers, Worms, and Pus
Boys like disgusting things, right? Izzybella saw some stress balls that, when squeezed, have really disgusting things pop out, like worms, and pus, and cockroaches. So she bought some for Clover's son. I was so grossed out by them, but can totally visualize the look on C's face as he gleefully shows them to all the unfortunate doctors and nurses who stop by. He is really going to have a lot of fun with those revolting balls.
Last night Izzybella and I went Christmas shopping. Have you seen those 20-questions electronic games? We got one of those for C as well. I experimented with it. If you get the chance to pick one up, try it out, thinking of a booger. The questions it will ask you are hilarious. Can it fit in an envelope? Yes. Can you walk on it? Well, yes, but it will stick to the bottom of your shoe. Is it multicolored? Well, that just kind of depends. Can you buy it at a store? No, not so much, unless you're buying Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans. And then you're not buying a real one, just a booger-flavored jelly bean. Needless to say, the game did not guess a booger. It guessed a fairy. I had way too much fun.
The creeping crud continues to creep. It is currently still in my nose, throat, and has crept down into my upper chest. I can feel it creeping toward my lungs. If I try to speak, I sound like a frog croaking. I'm at work this morning. Whether I will be at work this afternoon just kind of depends. When I do go home, whether it be at noon or at 4, I'm going to knock back some Nyquil and head straight for bed. It seems like I may have mentioned doing the same thing yesterday, but that so didn't happen. I ended up going Christmas shopping, then having some dinner (a bowl of tortilla soup and 5 french fries), and then having a very serious 3-hour discussion with my husband, and then a long, sleepless night.
I'm scheduled to be off work tomorrow for Christmas shopping purposes. Since Izzybella and I got so much done yesterday, there's not too much to be done tomorrow. And I suspect I felt better yesterday than I will tomorrow, so that works. And she's already kindly volunteered to wrap gifts. Fortunately, I have already wrapped everything I have previously bought up until last night, so there's not too much to wrap. Also fortunately I have a fairly large selection of gift bags, so the actually wrapping may not be as heinous a job as it could be.
Okay, well, I can't think of anything else disgusting to talk about, so I'll start working again. Well, that's not strictly true. I mean, I can always think of something disgusting to talk about. But I really should get back to work, right? Right?
Last night Izzybella and I went Christmas shopping. Have you seen those 20-questions electronic games? We got one of those for C as well. I experimented with it. If you get the chance to pick one up, try it out, thinking of a booger. The questions it will ask you are hilarious. Can it fit in an envelope? Yes. Can you walk on it? Well, yes, but it will stick to the bottom of your shoe. Is it multicolored? Well, that just kind of depends. Can you buy it at a store? No, not so much, unless you're buying Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans. And then you're not buying a real one, just a booger-flavored jelly bean. Needless to say, the game did not guess a booger. It guessed a fairy. I had way too much fun.
The creeping crud continues to creep. It is currently still in my nose, throat, and has crept down into my upper chest. I can feel it creeping toward my lungs. If I try to speak, I sound like a frog croaking. I'm at work this morning. Whether I will be at work this afternoon just kind of depends. When I do go home, whether it be at noon or at 4, I'm going to knock back some Nyquil and head straight for bed. It seems like I may have mentioned doing the same thing yesterday, but that so didn't happen. I ended up going Christmas shopping, then having some dinner (a bowl of tortilla soup and 5 french fries), and then having a very serious 3-hour discussion with my husband, and then a long, sleepless night.
I'm scheduled to be off work tomorrow for Christmas shopping purposes. Since Izzybella and I got so much done yesterday, there's not too much to be done tomorrow. And I suspect I felt better yesterday than I will tomorrow, so that works. And she's already kindly volunteered to wrap gifts. Fortunately, I have already wrapped everything I have previously bought up until last night, so there's not too much to wrap. Also fortunately I have a fairly large selection of gift bags, so the actually wrapping may not be as heinous a job as it could be.
Okay, well, I can't think of anything else disgusting to talk about, so I'll start working again. Well, that's not strictly true. I mean, I can always think of something disgusting to talk about. But I really should get back to work, right? Right?
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
Grrrr
I hate being sick. I particularly hate being sick at Christmas time. The world around me is full of happy jolly people who are happy and jolly around me. And I feel like shite. My throat's as raw as ground hamburger that, well, hasn't been cooked yet. My nose is stuffy. My head hurts. I don't feel happy and jolly. I wanna cry. I wanna go home and take some nasty disgusting Nyquil and pull the covers over my head and cry myself to sleep.
How petty of me.
Today we're having our potluck and Secret Santa gift exchange. The very manly manager whose name I drew didn't have his wishlist up for several days. Finally, in exasperation, I went to my boss (a senior manager) and asked her to tell him that if he didn't get his list up soon, he was going to receive Hello Kitty stuff for Christmas. She laughed, and made the threat. He believed her, and got his list up a day or two later. Shucks! So I got him a very manly Dallas Cowboys shirt. But I wrapped it in Hello Kitty giftwrap. Because I'm just a nasty bitcah.
My calendar picture this month is the Lady of Shalott. I am enjoying looking at it. In my poverty-stricken college student days at the University of Utah, I had a huge print of this hanging in my basement apartment. I loved this picture. Still do, although I don't think I want a huge print of it hanging in my living room. I need to hit the calendar store right after Christmas when the calendars go on sale for half-price but before they're all gone. I don't think I want another PreRaphaelite calendar. I've enjoyed it this year, but its lush gorgeousness has been a little too much. I'm ready for something a little more austere.
I'm sucking another sugar-free Halls lozenge. This is my second of the morning, and it's only 8:45. I can always tell that I'm really sick when I manage to keep one in my mouth long enough for it to dissolve completely. The things are so utterly disgusting, but so satisfying when I'm sick enough to really need them.
Whimper whine complain gripe. Why don't y'all tell me to just shut up?
How petty of me.
Today we're having our potluck and Secret Santa gift exchange. The very manly manager whose name I drew didn't have his wishlist up for several days. Finally, in exasperation, I went to my boss (a senior manager) and asked her to tell him that if he didn't get his list up soon, he was going to receive Hello Kitty stuff for Christmas. She laughed, and made the threat. He believed her, and got his list up a day or two later. Shucks! So I got him a very manly Dallas Cowboys shirt. But I wrapped it in Hello Kitty giftwrap. Because I'm just a nasty bitcah.
My calendar picture this month is the Lady of Shalott. I am enjoying looking at it. In my poverty-stricken college student days at the University of Utah, I had a huge print of this hanging in my basement apartment. I loved this picture. Still do, although I don't think I want a huge print of it hanging in my living room. I need to hit the calendar store right after Christmas when the calendars go on sale for half-price but before they're all gone. I don't think I want another PreRaphaelite calendar. I've enjoyed it this year, but its lush gorgeousness has been a little too much. I'm ready for something a little more austere.
I'm sucking another sugar-free Halls lozenge. This is my second of the morning, and it's only 8:45. I can always tell that I'm really sick when I manage to keep one in my mouth long enough for it to dissolve completely. The things are so utterly disgusting, but so satisfying when I'm sick enough to really need them.
Whimper whine complain gripe. Why don't y'all tell me to just shut up?
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
Yippee!!!!
Trista has GREAT news! Kristin didn't even have a ginormous booger. It was a cyst. A huge infection-filled cyst. Such a relief. I was dreading going to check this morning, but so glad to hear the good news.
I've got a monster sore throat today. It's been percolating for almost a week, and it's finally decided that it's going to be good and sore now, dangit, and I can suck on all the yummy Ricola sugar-free lozenges I want to, but they're not going to help. I can eat all the fresh-cut pineapple I want to, but it's not going to help, either. I can drink water and exercise and be as healthy as I feel like being, but I'm going to have a sore throat. So there. Nyah-nyah-nyah. I hate sore throats. Nasty little buggers.
Joe's been grumpy lately. Very grumpy. Very, very, very, very grumpy. He was all sweet yesterday and bought a $19 jar of soup from Whole Foods for dinner. It was made by Mansion at Turtle Creek, and it was good, although I debate whether it was worth $19. I ate a bowl last night for dinner, with a bit of cut-up grilled chicken breast and some shredded fat-free cheese in it. And my throat was hurting and I was tired, so I went to bed and watched an episode of Buffy. Well, technically I watched about 3/4 of an episode of Buffy, because I fell asleep at some point. I woke up at 12:39 when the hall light went on and a sock landed on my face. Joe decided to throw a fit because our house was a wreck. Granted, our house is a wreck, but it's been a wreck for a damn long time. And I'm not the sole, nor even the main, reason that it's a wreck. I was highly pissed at being awakened at 12:39 by my husband's temper tantrum. I shut the door and tried to go back to sleep, to no avail. I got up about 20 minutes later, by which time he was all nice and sweet again. But I was mad, so I told him how the cow ate the cabbage. That got him mad again, so we argued for half an hour. I then went back to bed, and lay there for an hour or so before I could fall asleep again. Since I didn't sleep well the night before, that means that I'm really damn tired today and kind of grumpy.
I love my husband. He can be the greatest guy in the world, thoughtful, compassionate, understanding. But sometimes he just gets on every nerve in my body, and I want to just scream out of sheer frustration. 12:39 this morning was one of those times.
DISCLAIMER: My husband loves me. I can be the greatest wife in the world, thoughtful, compassionate, understanding. But sometimes I just get on every nerve in his body, and he just wants to scream out of sheer frustration. Apparently, leading up to 12:39 this morning was one of those times.
I've got a monster sore throat today. It's been percolating for almost a week, and it's finally decided that it's going to be good and sore now, dangit, and I can suck on all the yummy Ricola sugar-free lozenges I want to, but they're not going to help. I can eat all the fresh-cut pineapple I want to, but it's not going to help, either. I can drink water and exercise and be as healthy as I feel like being, but I'm going to have a sore throat. So there. Nyah-nyah-nyah. I hate sore throats. Nasty little buggers.
Joe's been grumpy lately. Very grumpy. Very, very, very, very grumpy. He was all sweet yesterday and bought a $19 jar of soup from Whole Foods for dinner. It was made by Mansion at Turtle Creek, and it was good, although I debate whether it was worth $19. I ate a bowl last night for dinner, with a bit of cut-up grilled chicken breast and some shredded fat-free cheese in it. And my throat was hurting and I was tired, so I went to bed and watched an episode of Buffy. Well, technically I watched about 3/4 of an episode of Buffy, because I fell asleep at some point. I woke up at 12:39 when the hall light went on and a sock landed on my face. Joe decided to throw a fit because our house was a wreck. Granted, our house is a wreck, but it's been a wreck for a damn long time. And I'm not the sole, nor even the main, reason that it's a wreck. I was highly pissed at being awakened at 12:39 by my husband's temper tantrum. I shut the door and tried to go back to sleep, to no avail. I got up about 20 minutes later, by which time he was all nice and sweet again. But I was mad, so I told him how the cow ate the cabbage. That got him mad again, so we argued for half an hour. I then went back to bed, and lay there for an hour or so before I could fall asleep again. Since I didn't sleep well the night before, that means that I'm really damn tired today and kind of grumpy.
I love my husband. He can be the greatest guy in the world, thoughtful, compassionate, understanding. But sometimes he just gets on every nerve in my body, and I want to just scream out of sheer frustration. 12:39 this morning was one of those times.
DISCLAIMER: My husband loves me. I can be the greatest wife in the world, thoughtful, compassionate, understanding. But sometimes I just get on every nerve in his body, and he just wants to scream out of sheer frustration. Apparently, leading up to 12:39 this morning was one of those times.
Monday, December 18, 2006
Life, The Universe, and Everything
First of all, if you're a praying person, please take a minute to send a prayer in behalf of Kristin, Trista, and Julia. Kristin had surgery this morning for what I'm frantically hoping is an ancient World Record-worthy gigantic booger that has gotten stuck up in her sinuses and grown to gargantuan proportions and isn't a tumor and isn't cancerous and is nothing at all to worry about. Regardless of whether it's a ginormous booger, a pearl, a jelly bean, or something far more serious, their family needs your prayers, or your positive thoughts, or whatever type of thing you do in situations like this.
The other family who really needs some positive thoughts or prayers is Clover and her family. It looks as though her son is going to be in the hospital over Christmas, something we were all hoping wasn't going to be the case. On the positive side, he probably will not need a liver transplant. Yay! On the not-so-positive side, he may end up having to go to a hospital in Houston to have his spleen removed and a shunt installed to get the blood flowing where it's supposed to. I've tried calling Clover this morning to find out when I can take Christmas dinner over there, but just got her voice mail. I'll try again shortly.
Liz and I were at her apartment yesterday. We'd hoped to finish clearing and cleaning, but it didn't happen. We did get a lot of the clearing finished, and some cleaning done. Salvation Army is coming on Saturday to pick up the furniture and assorted household items that she is donating, so we are planning to finish things up on Saturday. It is definitely do-able, and we will both be extremely glad to be done with that task.
When I weighed in on Saturday morning, I was down another 2.2 pounds, for a total of 34.6 pounds. I've had people at work tell me that I look slim and sexy. It's nice to hear, and I will admit that I feel slim and sexy. However, with another 96 pounds to go to hit my official Weight Watchers goal, I am FAR from slim! I keep promising pictures but haven't managed to get any taken yet. I was all set to get Joe to take one of me the night we went to see Barenaked Ladies. I had just barely snapped one of him when a security guard was in my face, ordering me to put my camera away because no photos were allowed. I asked if we could take just one more photo, pointing out that it wasn't even going to be of the stage, and the band wasn't out, etc., but she refused. It really pissed me off later on when, during the show, hundreds of people were taking photos and she didn't bother to stop any of them.
Wendy commented on how much my avatar looks like Trista's. I think we have the same hairdo. My hair is a titch longer and fuller, but they didn't have a hairdo that comes any closer to mine. And my hair is reddish brown, but the red is too red, so I chose the brown as I think it's closer. Wendy also said she thought I had blonde hair. I've never had fully blonde hair, although I have, from time to time, had a lot of blonde highlights at Joe's request. Let me state here that I look absolutely hideous with blonde hair, and I think I have finally convinced Joe of that fact. I look great with red hair, or dark brown hair. I look horrible with light brown or blonde hair.
I don't know if you can read the writing on my avatar's tee shirt, but it says Happy Hanukkah. Joe and I aren't Jewish, but we do celebrate Hanukkah every year in honor of Joe's stepfather, who was. We have a lovely menorah, and our candles this year are just lovely. It gives me warm fuzzies every night during Hanukkah when we say the blessing and light the candles, and just watch as they burn down to nothing until the candles are gone. (The warm fuzzies are definitely gone the next day, however, when I have to pry the cold hardened wax out of the menorah so we can put the candles in that night. I'm going to buy an oil menorah next year, I swear!) Anyone who knew Dad Farber loved him, and anyone who didn't get to know him missed out on knowing one of the funniest, warmest, wisest men who ever walked this earth. I swear I never met a man I loved as much as my father-in-law. So we honor Dad Farber every year at Hanukkah as much as we honor the Lord, and remember the miracle that happened so long ago. I was planning to have guests over on Friday night, and cook a lovely dinner with latkes and roasted root vegetables and a slow-cooked London broil (my attempt to mingle tradition with the WW core program). However, I've spent so much time and energy helping Liz that my house has completely fallen by the wayside. (That's not to imply that Liz is a power-hungry slave driver who's been cracking the whip; we've just been on a deadline trying to get her moved out before the lease is up and wanting to get it finished before Christmas. And she even kindly let me bail last week, and I went home every day after work and pretty much crashed in front of the telly and watched How Do I Look?) So instead we're meeting at Logan's Roadhouse and having steak and baked potatoes. Shame on me, I know. But it'll still be a good meal with good friends and family, and we'll have fun.
Gotta run. Remember to send love to those in need!
The other family who really needs some positive thoughts or prayers is Clover and her family. It looks as though her son is going to be in the hospital over Christmas, something we were all hoping wasn't going to be the case. On the positive side, he probably will not need a liver transplant. Yay! On the not-so-positive side, he may end up having to go to a hospital in Houston to have his spleen removed and a shunt installed to get the blood flowing where it's supposed to. I've tried calling Clover this morning to find out when I can take Christmas dinner over there, but just got her voice mail. I'll try again shortly.
Liz and I were at her apartment yesterday. We'd hoped to finish clearing and cleaning, but it didn't happen. We did get a lot of the clearing finished, and some cleaning done. Salvation Army is coming on Saturday to pick up the furniture and assorted household items that she is donating, so we are planning to finish things up on Saturday. It is definitely do-able, and we will both be extremely glad to be done with that task.
When I weighed in on Saturday morning, I was down another 2.2 pounds, for a total of 34.6 pounds. I've had people at work tell me that I look slim and sexy. It's nice to hear, and I will admit that I feel slim and sexy. However, with another 96 pounds to go to hit my official Weight Watchers goal, I am FAR from slim! I keep promising pictures but haven't managed to get any taken yet. I was all set to get Joe to take one of me the night we went to see Barenaked Ladies. I had just barely snapped one of him when a security guard was in my face, ordering me to put my camera away because no photos were allowed. I asked if we could take just one more photo, pointing out that it wasn't even going to be of the stage, and the band wasn't out, etc., but she refused. It really pissed me off later on when, during the show, hundreds of people were taking photos and she didn't bother to stop any of them.
Wendy commented on how much my avatar looks like Trista's. I think we have the same hairdo. My hair is a titch longer and fuller, but they didn't have a hairdo that comes any closer to mine. And my hair is reddish brown, but the red is too red, so I chose the brown as I think it's closer. Wendy also said she thought I had blonde hair. I've never had fully blonde hair, although I have, from time to time, had a lot of blonde highlights at Joe's request. Let me state here that I look absolutely hideous with blonde hair, and I think I have finally convinced Joe of that fact. I look great with red hair, or dark brown hair. I look horrible with light brown or blonde hair.
I don't know if you can read the writing on my avatar's tee shirt, but it says Happy Hanukkah. Joe and I aren't Jewish, but we do celebrate Hanukkah every year in honor of Joe's stepfather, who was. We have a lovely menorah, and our candles this year are just lovely. It gives me warm fuzzies every night during Hanukkah when we say the blessing and light the candles, and just watch as they burn down to nothing until the candles are gone. (The warm fuzzies are definitely gone the next day, however, when I have to pry the cold hardened wax out of the menorah so we can put the candles in that night. I'm going to buy an oil menorah next year, I swear!) Anyone who knew Dad Farber loved him, and anyone who didn't get to know him missed out on knowing one of the funniest, warmest, wisest men who ever walked this earth. I swear I never met a man I loved as much as my father-in-law. So we honor Dad Farber every year at Hanukkah as much as we honor the Lord, and remember the miracle that happened so long ago. I was planning to have guests over on Friday night, and cook a lovely dinner with latkes and roasted root vegetables and a slow-cooked London broil (my attempt to mingle tradition with the WW core program). However, I've spent so much time and energy helping Liz that my house has completely fallen by the wayside. (That's not to imply that Liz is a power-hungry slave driver who's been cracking the whip; we've just been on a deadline trying to get her moved out before the lease is up and wanting to get it finished before Christmas. And she even kindly let me bail last week, and I went home every day after work and pretty much crashed in front of the telly and watched How Do I Look?) So instead we're meeting at Logan's Roadhouse and having steak and baked potatoes. Shame on me, I know. But it'll still be a good meal with good friends and family, and we'll have fun.
Gotta run. Remember to send love to those in need!
Thursday, December 14, 2006
What Type of Weather Are You?
| You Are Lightning |
 Beautiful yet dangerous People will stop and watch you when you appear Even though you're capable of random violence You are best known for: your power Your dominant state: performing |
What's Your Celtic Horoscope?
| You Are A Hornbeam Tree |
 You are a reserved person, looking in from the outside. Naturally attractive, you take good care of your looks. You are not egoistic, and you make life as comfortable as possible. You look for kindness in others - though you are seldom happy with yourself. A bit mistrusting and unsure, you dream of being swept away by someone unusual. |
How Quirky Are You?
| Your Quirk Factor: 71% |
 You're so quirky, it's hard for you to tell the difference between quirky and normal. No doubt about it, there's little about you that's "normal" or "average." |
What Art Movement Are You?
| You Are Surrealism |
 It's very likely that you've either dabbled in drugs or are naturally trippy. You are always trying to push beyond the boundaries of your culture and society. You believe that art, love, and freedom can change the world. |
What's Your Funky Inner Hair Color?
| Your Hair Should Be Purple |
 |
Today
I don't have anything illuminating to say. So I'll just babble for a bit.
At my last weigh-in, I was down a total of 30.4 pounds. So I have my bright-red 5-pound bookmark, and it's bearing 5 shiny 5-pound stickers. I don't remember if I mentioned making my 10% goal a little while back, but I did, so I also have a keychain from Weight Watchers that is shaped like a numeral 10. I also have a 25-pound magnet. So the weight loss is proceeding apace. Never as fast as I'd like, even though I know it's healthier to lose slowly, but it is proceeding. I'm getting compliments, and I even caught my husband checking out my butt. It's been a while since that's happened, which is kinda sad and kinda funny all at the same time.
I'm feeling very guilty over abandoning Izzybella last night. But Joe and I had been arguing quite a bit all day, over stupid misunderstandings. It was around 3 or so before we both apologized and meant it, and I was grouchy and tired and grouchy and sleepy and oh, did I mention grouchy? So Izzybella very graciously let me off the hook. I didn't know about any of the other stuff that happened to her last night until about 10 minutes ago when I read her blog. I did call her this morning, but she didn't tell me about it. She just told me to read her blog.
Okay, well, I really don't have anything to say. I'll leave you with these well-known words from a notable wise man: blubber. oddment. nitwit. tweak.
At my last weigh-in, I was down a total of 30.4 pounds. So I have my bright-red 5-pound bookmark, and it's bearing 5 shiny 5-pound stickers. I don't remember if I mentioned making my 10% goal a little while back, but I did, so I also have a keychain from Weight Watchers that is shaped like a numeral 10. I also have a 25-pound magnet. So the weight loss is proceeding apace. Never as fast as I'd like, even though I know it's healthier to lose slowly, but it is proceeding. I'm getting compliments, and I even caught my husband checking out my butt. It's been a while since that's happened, which is kinda sad and kinda funny all at the same time.
I'm feeling very guilty over abandoning Izzybella last night. But Joe and I had been arguing quite a bit all day, over stupid misunderstandings. It was around 3 or so before we both apologized and meant it, and I was grouchy and tired and grouchy and sleepy and oh, did I mention grouchy? So Izzybella very graciously let me off the hook. I didn't know about any of the other stuff that happened to her last night until about 10 minutes ago when I read her blog. I did call her this morning, but she didn't tell me about it. She just told me to read her blog.
Okay, well, I really don't have anything to say. I'll leave you with these well-known words from a notable wise man: blubber. oddment. nitwit. tweak.
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
Izzybella Had a Birthday!
Yesterday was Izzybella's birthday! She didn't do one dang thing that was fun. Nope. Not a thing. She moved. If you've moved before, as I'm sure you have, you know that moving absolutely stinks. Unlike me, she decided to stick with her calendar age this year, although she said she may choose a different age next year. Whatever age she decides to be, she will wear it beautifully.
Let me tell you a little about Izzybella. She is, with the exception of my husband, and sometimes not even excluding him, my best friend. A lot of people don't get that. They aren't really good friends with any of their siblings, and don't understand how she and I can be such good friends. But we just are. Always have been. When my mother was pregnant with her third child, everyone said it was going to be another boy. My brother was elated at the thought of having a baby brother. My dad was bursting his buttons at the thought of siring a second son. My mother spent hours with her Kreskin's ESP thingie asking it if the baby was a boy, and the answer was always a yes. No one listened to me when I said it was a girl.
They should have listened, dangit, because I'm always right! (Except when I'm wrong, of course.)
So on December 11th, 19??, my sister put in her appearance. She has a very strong personality, and made that known from the beginning. One of my chores from the time she was a wee thing, besides changing her diapers, was to get her out of her crib in the morning. Once she was old enough to stand and scream, she would move to the far corner of the crib, after first snatching a handful of my long, lustrous dark brown hair near the roots, and scream, "No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No!" My arms weren't long enough to reach to said far corner of the crib and remove her, so I would usually try to disentangle my hair from her fingers and hope I wouldn't go deaf before my mother or father would come and rescue me. Why the hell my mother would put me through such hell every morning was beyond me at the time, although it occurred to me much later that my mother didn't really want to go through that hell either, and figured eventually I'd grow another inch or so and manage to get her out of the damned crib myself, which of course I did, and that stage of purgatory ended.
Being eight years and three days older than my sister, I was her (usually) willing and devoted slave. I spoiled her rotten. I remember this one dress that I fell in love with at the store, and persuaded my mother to buy for her. It had a long blue skirt with a ruffle at the hem, and a white bodice with large blue polka dots. She looked so cute in it that it was absolutely revolting. Whenever I had any money, which wasn't nearly often enough, I liked to buy her things.
Things weren't always perfect in paradise, of course. She and I had our spats. It was the worst when we had to share a bedroom, because she was a neat freak and I was an utter slob. So on the not-rare-enough occasions when we'd be sent to clean our room, she'd be livid because she'd have to help clean up my messes even though she wasn't particularly messy. Usually these spats would end up in us screaming at each other, red-faced with anger, until the humor in the situation dawned upon me and I'd start laughing. That would infuriate her even more, upon which she'd start stomping around. I'd laugh some more, and say something taunting like, "Stomp a little louder, why doncha?" She would then make every effort to stomp louder, which made me laugh more, which pissed her off even more. She couldn't understand then why I was laughing. She thought I was laughing at her. What I was really laughing at was the fact that these two girls, who loved each other more than any other people on the earth, were screaming at each other like nobody's business, over something as insignificant as who threw something under the bed (I did) and who had to pick it up (she did) and was it fair (of course not, but I was the biggest and deal with it already). I was a rotten stinker, and I admit that.
I remember coming home from school or a friend's house or somewhere one day, and finding her with a too-innocent look on her makeup smeared face. With good cause I immediately got furious with her for getting into my makeup. She denied it, and cried because I was picking on her for no reason, and finally admitted it, and all was well. She never did figure out how I knew she'd been in my makeup until several years later.
I didn't know that she used to wear my clothes to school. I left for school/work before she did, and got home after she did. But then one year she made the mistake of wearing one of my Hawaiian shirts on school picture day. When her pictures came, she tried to hide them from me. When I finally insisted on getting one, because I love my sister, dangit, there she was, wearing my shirt. I wasn't too mad about that, although I pretended to be. (My Abbey Road tee-shirt, however, is another matter. ;p)
Her nicknames include Lizardbreath and Zard. She was called Betsy from the moment she was born until she got tired of it and managed to convince everyone in the family that they were never to call her Betsy ever again under pain of death. She was very convincing. I call her Liz or Lizzy or Lizardbreath or Lizardy or Zard or Bubelah or Sugar or Sweetie or Honey or Bit-cah.
When she was young--I don't quite remember how old she was, but her figure was about 18-18-18--she used to sing "Bill Bailey," and she could put quite a Mae West-like growl in the song. It was so cute, and she thought she was so hot and sex-ay.
She used to think I had eyes in the back of my head. Well, that's partly my fault, because I told her I did. Well, come on now--don't most mothers/older sisters say that? You see the kids come in from the back yard dripping wet, and you know they've been playing in the water. But they're not quite bright enough yet to realize that the evidence supports that conclusion, so you tell them you have eyes in the back of your head and they believe you. What I didn't know was that she would wait until I was asleep at night, and then try to find my eyes in the back of my head. But she never could. She decided they were invisible eyes, which made her even more impressed with me. Bwah-hah-hah!
There are other stories I could tell about Izzybella, but I won't. Partly because she'd kill me, and partly because you'd have to have been there. And you weren't. Nyah-nyah-nyah. Just know that she's the best sister a girl could have, and the best friend. I consider myself amazingly blessed to have had her companionship on my journey through life. If you get a chance, go by her blog and wish her a happy birthday.
Let me tell you a little about Izzybella. She is, with the exception of my husband, and sometimes not even excluding him, my best friend. A lot of people don't get that. They aren't really good friends with any of their siblings, and don't understand how she and I can be such good friends. But we just are. Always have been. When my mother was pregnant with her third child, everyone said it was going to be another boy. My brother was elated at the thought of having a baby brother. My dad was bursting his buttons at the thought of siring a second son. My mother spent hours with her Kreskin's ESP thingie asking it if the baby was a boy, and the answer was always a yes. No one listened to me when I said it was a girl.
They should have listened, dangit, because I'm always right! (Except when I'm wrong, of course.)
So on December 11th, 19??, my sister put in her appearance. She has a very strong personality, and made that known from the beginning. One of my chores from the time she was a wee thing, besides changing her diapers, was to get her out of her crib in the morning. Once she was old enough to stand and scream, she would move to the far corner of the crib, after first snatching a handful of my long, lustrous dark brown hair near the roots, and scream, "No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No!" My arms weren't long enough to reach to said far corner of the crib and remove her, so I would usually try to disentangle my hair from her fingers and hope I wouldn't go deaf before my mother or father would come and rescue me. Why the hell my mother would put me through such hell every morning was beyond me at the time, although it occurred to me much later that my mother didn't really want to go through that hell either, and figured eventually I'd grow another inch or so and manage to get her out of the damned crib myself, which of course I did, and that stage of purgatory ended.
Being eight years and three days older than my sister, I was her (usually) willing and devoted slave. I spoiled her rotten. I remember this one dress that I fell in love with at the store, and persuaded my mother to buy for her. It had a long blue skirt with a ruffle at the hem, and a white bodice with large blue polka dots. She looked so cute in it that it was absolutely revolting. Whenever I had any money, which wasn't nearly often enough, I liked to buy her things.
Things weren't always perfect in paradise, of course. She and I had our spats. It was the worst when we had to share a bedroom, because she was a neat freak and I was an utter slob. So on the not-rare-enough occasions when we'd be sent to clean our room, she'd be livid because she'd have to help clean up my messes even though she wasn't particularly messy. Usually these spats would end up in us screaming at each other, red-faced with anger, until the humor in the situation dawned upon me and I'd start laughing. That would infuriate her even more, upon which she'd start stomping around. I'd laugh some more, and say something taunting like, "Stomp a little louder, why doncha?" She would then make every effort to stomp louder, which made me laugh more, which pissed her off even more. She couldn't understand then why I was laughing. She thought I was laughing at her. What I was really laughing at was the fact that these two girls, who loved each other more than any other people on the earth, were screaming at each other like nobody's business, over something as insignificant as who threw something under the bed (I did) and who had to pick it up (she did) and was it fair (of course not, but I was the biggest and deal with it already). I was a rotten stinker, and I admit that.
I remember coming home from school or a friend's house or somewhere one day, and finding her with a too-innocent look on her makeup smeared face. With good cause I immediately got furious with her for getting into my makeup. She denied it, and cried because I was picking on her for no reason, and finally admitted it, and all was well. She never did figure out how I knew she'd been in my makeup until several years later.
I didn't know that she used to wear my clothes to school. I left for school/work before she did, and got home after she did. But then one year she made the mistake of wearing one of my Hawaiian shirts on school picture day. When her pictures came, she tried to hide them from me. When I finally insisted on getting one, because I love my sister, dangit, there she was, wearing my shirt. I wasn't too mad about that, although I pretended to be. (My Abbey Road tee-shirt, however, is another matter. ;p)
Her nicknames include Lizardbreath and Zard. She was called Betsy from the moment she was born until she got tired of it and managed to convince everyone in the family that they were never to call her Betsy ever again under pain of death. She was very convincing. I call her Liz or Lizzy or Lizardbreath or Lizardy or Zard or Bubelah or Sugar or Sweetie or Honey or Bit-cah.
When she was young--I don't quite remember how old she was, but her figure was about 18-18-18--she used to sing "Bill Bailey," and she could put quite a Mae West-like growl in the song. It was so cute, and she thought she was so hot and sex-ay.
She used to think I had eyes in the back of my head. Well, that's partly my fault, because I told her I did. Well, come on now--don't most mothers/older sisters say that? You see the kids come in from the back yard dripping wet, and you know they've been playing in the water. But they're not quite bright enough yet to realize that the evidence supports that conclusion, so you tell them you have eyes in the back of your head and they believe you. What I didn't know was that she would wait until I was asleep at night, and then try to find my eyes in the back of my head. But she never could. She decided they were invisible eyes, which made her even more impressed with me. Bwah-hah-hah!
There are other stories I could tell about Izzybella, but I won't. Partly because she'd kill me, and partly because you'd have to have been there. And you weren't. Nyah-nyah-nyah. Just know that she's the best sister a girl could have, and the best friend. I consider myself amazingly blessed to have had her companionship on my journey through life. If you get a chance, go by her blog and wish her a happy birthday.
Friday, December 08, 2006
All right, already!
Since Izzybella is so determined to ensure that everyone knows it's my birthday, I'll blog a bit about it.
Yes. It's my birthday. I was born on December 8th, 1963. I'm 20 years old today. The first time I was 20, it was 1983. It wasn't a good year. So I'm going to be 20 again.
I cannot, of course, guarantee that it will be a good year. I can, however, guarantee that it will be different. Interesting.
Isn't that some ancient curse? May you live in interesting times. It could also be a blessing, depending on how one looks at it. May you live in interesting times.
Whenever or wherever I am, things tend to be interesting.
And if you want to see what I looked like in 1979, go check out Liz's blog.
Yes. It's my birthday. I was born on December 8th, 1963. I'm 20 years old today. The first time I was 20, it was 1983. It wasn't a good year. So I'm going to be 20 again.
I cannot, of course, guarantee that it will be a good year. I can, however, guarantee that it will be different. Interesting.
Isn't that some ancient curse? May you live in interesting times. It could also be a blessing, depending on how one looks at it. May you live in interesting times.
Whenever or wherever I am, things tend to be interesting.
And if you want to see what I looked like in 1979, go check out Liz's blog.
Six Weird Things About Me
I got tagged by Izzybella, so here goes. Oh, and for the record, how I'm supposed to limit it to only six is beyond me.
- When I really like a CD, I listen to it over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over until everyone else within earshot totally hates it and me and their lives and wishes someone would just put them out of their misery. So it's probably a really good thing that I have a private office at work so that no one has to listen to Trista's Mix over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over because I've been listening to it almost exclusively since she sent it. I love it! What's not to love about it? It's fantastic! My favorite songs on it are Rowing Song by Patty Griffin, Painting by Chagall by The weepies, Gotta Have You by The Weepies, Useless Desires by Patty Griffin, World Spins Madly On by The Weepies, Volcano by Damien Rice, Comfortably Numb by Dar Williams, The Blower's Daughter by Damien Rice, It's Only Fear by Alexi Murdoch, The Deep by Clair Holley, and City Hall by Vienna Teng. Oh yes, and Ship Out on the Sea by The Be Good Tanyas. I like that one, too. And all the other songs on the CD. Sometimes I wake up in the morning singing, "Love is a feeling like a warm black stone." That's a bad thing why?
- I argue with people who aren't there. Like this: weird is such a subjective thing. Things that I think are perfectly normal you may think are weird. I mean, I think it's perfectly normal for me to listen to my CDs over and over and over and over and over and over and over, but you might define that as weird. In fact, everything I do is perfectly normal to me, or I wouldn't do it. So I'm going to continue with this completely illogical meme to satisfy my sister who's so totally in trouble for posting a photo of me from 1979.
- I decided that from today on, I'm not adhering to my calendar birthdays. I'm not going to do like my mother-in-law, who chose some years ago to remain 39 for the rest of her life. I am just going to pick certain ages at random. I decided today that I'm going to be 20 this year. Why 20? Why the heck not 20? I didn't particularly enjoy 20 the first time around. It was a rough year. I'm smarter now, and a heck of a lot cuter now. I have better taste in clothing. I have more discretionary income. I have a better job. So I'm going to be 20 this year. Is that weird? I don't think so!
- I sing to my dog every morning, and every evening, and at various moments throughout the day. I sing special Molly songs to her, and she loves it. In the morning she lays on her back and shows me her tummy and gives me kisses while I sing. Sometimes she growls "I love you's" back to me. Because she loves being sung to. Sometimes she shows me her butt so I can give her bootie scratches while I sing to her. Is that weird? Once again, I say no.
- I make up peepee songs when I really have to go to the bathroom really badly and for some reason can't get there. It's usually some variation about how badly I need to pee, and it may or may not rhyme, but I try to make it funny, which seems counterproductive, because one would think that making myself laugh could cause me to lose control. And yet, I do it anyway. I also do the peepee dance, but lots of people do that, so that's not weird even by other people's standards. I also, for some strange reason that's weird even to me, will drink more and more water when I'm stuck in a meeting with a desperately full bladder. I know logically that the more water I drink, the more urgent the need to pee will become. And yet I drink on. I don't know why I do that. And I obviously can't make up a peepee song or do a peepee dance when I'm stuck in a meeting that I can't get out of, so there's no other way to take my mind off my need to go. So yes, I will concede the weirdness of that one. Oh, and one more thing, since I'm on the subject of peeing--I HATE to go to the bathroom. So I put it off as long as possible. I don't get that one either. I'll casually mention to my sister that I need to pee, and she'll call me three hours later and ask if I've gone yet. At least six times out of ten, I haven't. That's weird as well.
- When I'm reading a book set in England, my inner voice has to read it with a British accent. But it makes me read more slowly, which drives me bonkers, because I'm a very fast reader. So then I just give up and read it aloud. Unless it's Harry Potter, in which case my need to swallow the book whole overrides my need for my inner voice to read it with a British accent. I guess that counts as weird, even by my definition.
I don't have anyone to tag, because few people read my blog, and those who have either don't do memes or have already done this one. So here's the deal. If you're reading this, and you don't do memes, do this one--consider yourself tagged. 'K?
Thursday, December 07, 2006
Wounds
Last night I received the most unkindest cut of all.
It's nothing I won't heal from, and the scar won't be visible from the outside. I just wonder that there's any space left on my heart that isn't already covered by scar tissue.
It's nothing I won't heal from, and the scar won't be visible from the outside. I just wonder that there's any space left on my heart that isn't already covered by scar tissue.
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