-
Donate to FET fund
-
The Groups
Unexpected kindness (& a slacker apology)
This morning I got up for my early morning walk and workout with my neighbor. No one to twinkle at except possibly the geriatric golf pro at the water fountain. The workout was great and I was able to increase some leg weights a bit. Go me.
Usually I work out for an hour total (that includes the 2 mile walk to and from the fitness center). I get home just after 7am and then begin my morning boring chores. Except this morning, when I got home Mother was wide awake and bringing in the trash bins from the curb.
“Good morning!,” she trilled at me.
My Mother is NOT a morning person. She doesn’t ever make it out the door for work before 9:30 (which sucks as that means she doesn’t get home until after 8 most days). Seeing her up early and DOING house type work kind of freaked me out. As I stopped, numb in my tracks, Mother continues being bubbly and says, “I have the stomach flu and called in sick to work.” Only when she said stomach flu it was accompanied by air quotes.
Um.
We walked in together and I see that she has laid out the weekend bagels (on a wednesday!) and sliced up a tomato for me. Wow. I mean, the fact that Mother even knew where the cutting board was is big news to me. We had a nice, mellow breakfast together and then she says, “So I was thinking that you should have today off. A day where you can do whatever you want or need to do.”
Um.
Pod people have stolen my Mother!
Of course since I am Queen dork I had NO idea what the eff to do on an unscheduled day off. Not a clue. Seriously, my first thought was something like, “I guess I could go hang out at the library…” Mother was having none of that. She had already thought about what I could do and when she said it I was shocked by how perfect her suggestion was.
She wanted me to take her car (her turquoise, super fun, convertible) to go to the new Mac store to get the mouse that I had talked about a few months ago and maybe an add on for Sims. Dude!! Yes please!
Driving around town on a warm day with my hair slapping my face in a battle with wind and aerodynamics, blasting 311 and feeling like a way cooler person than I really am - instant greatness.
I was out, just driving and grinning for most of the morning before I had a panic attack: Who will feed GM???
Rushing home I was all kinds of stressed at what I might find waiting for me at home. Of course what greeted me was a very cute GM, still in her nightie, and waiting to give me my morning hug. She and Mother were camped out in the den with crossword puzzles and good moods.
Of course I was a bit resentful by how smooth things had gone at home. (see, I am a sick, sick person) One likes to feel needed, that THEY are the only ones that can do a certain task. Seeing that Mother had such a breezy time of things nagged me a bit. So lame of me, but yes, I wanted Mother to experience a bad day with GM. Not to punish her, not at all, but just so she could see how things can really be.
Blah blah.
I wish that you all could meet me somewhere for lunch. Wouldn’t THAT be kick ass?!
_________________________________________
oh- & I am so slack on the photo friday theme for this week. My brain is just stalling on a new idea. All I can think of is something SO pathetic, but whatever. So here it goes: Your favorite cleaning tool/s.
SEE - I told you it was going to suck. (like a vacuum, baby) bwha ha ha
to be deleted
<a href=”http://technorati.com/claim/m2xwbp2h3i” rel=”me”>Technorati Profile</a>
Radio Therapy & Twinkling
Yesterday was a bit of a headache. I woke up resentful that I had to tend to GM 24/7, annoyed that I had agreed to feed and walk a neighbor’s dogs while she was out of town, and pissed off that the weather was turning warm. I was also extremely jealous that Mother was still fast asleep in her room and having a good and true day off. Where the fuck was MY day off.
Oh and I was super pissed that the pharmacy didn’t have a prescription in stock for pick up on Friday. I mean for cripe’s sake, we live in a town with a bazillion senior citizens and you are telling me that you don’t have aricept?
So I took my bad mood self and begrudgingly got into the car for a quick trip to the pharmacy. The car was too hot inside which pissed me off more so I rolled down all the windows. I cursed every single person that was out & looking like they were carefree and happy and all the things I wasn’t.
On the way home I realized that I wasn’t quite as bitchy. Then it hit me: the random satellite radio station that I was listening to had just played three songs in a row that utilized the phrase, “shake it”, within their chorus. And yes people, I had, without my realizing it, been “shaking it” within the confines of my cushy and over-sized driver’s seat. And “shakin it” felt damn good.
By the time I got home I was fucking singing and smiling. Radio killed the volatile girl.
AND the good vibes somehow managed to stay with me today. I woke up kinda late in the 8am genre and decided to call up a neighbor to see if she wanted to go for a walk. We ended up walking the 2 miles to the club’s fitness center and THEN we worked out.
I have been walking around 2 miles a day for the last week and a half (one perk of agreeing to dog sit) but the extra oomph of weight lifting and machine involvement was powerful. At one point I glanced over and saw a very studly looking man putting some weights back in their place. “Oh!” my libido woke up and suddenly I was checking myself out in the overly abundant gym mirrors to see how fugly I was looking.
As I was mentally giving myself lipo I heard an all too familiar rip. I looked over at the studly man and saw that he had slipped on his yoga style matt. But the sound, oh that sound, was so farty sounding that you couldn’t help but laugh. So, being the mature and sophisticated person that I am, I laughed. Which, in turn, made studly go all cute and pink in the face. Which made me make the, “I know you didn’t just fart, but it sure sounded like you did” gesture. Which made him make the, “well just as long as you know I didn’t really break wind then that is cool” nod. Which made me…TWINKLE at him.
In case you are not familiar with twinkling, it is the precursor to flirt. It is that extra something in your eyes or smile that lights up when you are considering going in for a full on flirt.
I haven’t twinkled at somebody in 600 years, and yet there I was in all of my spandex, large ass, red faced, sweaty head glory twinkling. Of course I couldn’t keep my gaze long enough to see if I got a twinkle back. Chances are that I didn’t, but I don’t give a shit. Just knowing that I still CAN twinkle is something to celebrate.
Photo Friday: My Room
I am nearly done with the big room reshuffle. But I knew I needed to go ahead & post these photos today or I would slack off until Monday - I’m lazy that way.
So without further ado, here is my room:
and here is a pretty obvious “in the midst” photo:
And finally the “before” photo:
I’ve also uploaded some “I’ve got new hair!” photos here and here. Just don’t laugh too hard at me trying to look all hot to trot…I ended up with some crazy eyes. Oh well. At least I think my hair looks fab.
Sorry, just had to share the cuteness.
So yes, I am still in the reorganizing my room groove. Talula made it very clear that her nap basket should still be kept by the window. But due to downsizing I had to give her some roommates. She napped very well in the sea of Grovers and when she woke up I got this adorable photo. Yes, you may squeal at the cuteness of my cat. It is mandatory.
Photo Friday: New Theme
Yesterday I got all ridiculously amped up on fancy coffee and did something that I very rarely ever do. I decided to rearrange the furniture in my bedroom/office. In our old house I had 2 rooms and that was just lovely and perfect. There was shit loads of storage and it was really nice to be able to separate work stuff from sleeping stuff.
In the new house I have one room over the garage. Don’t get me wrong, it is a cool room with a nice big window, but it is not so easy to make it feel like everything isn’t piled on top of each other. I have next to zero storage and since I am a gal that keeps shit from her previous lives in boxes I have to deal with corners of the room that have been taken over by the leaning tower of years 1997-2003.
But yesterday I decided that I could do a little something different. There might be a way where I could make it feel like two different spaces. So I began the big move.
I spent nearly 6 hours on it yesterday & it still isn’t done. Since the room isn’t wide I end up having to toss everything on my bed and then move around that. What got moved yesterday included 3 loaded bookshelves, 2 dvd shelf thingies, a desk, my bed, and nearly a decade’s worth of boxes. While I don’t feel like this gives me a right to have a full out bitch rant about how hard it was, I would like to offer up that I had to do all of this in a carpeted room (tough!) and with a curious cat and sniff happy dog underfoot.
The good part is that I got to listen to the new Patty Griffen cd on repeat and can now give it a 100% endorsement. Thank you Niffer for the soundtrack to my room reshuffle.
Ah, but you don’t really care about why my back is sore today (well maybe you do, & if so, thank you for caring. It is very sore.) you want me to clam all this back story bit & get to the theme.
YOUR BEDROOM. Yup. Let’s see where you snooze. My goal is to finish my room project by Saturday and then I will share it. Thrilling.
In a side note, if you haven’t already, please go give some love to Sophia. Sometimes all of this baby making shit can be so fucking overwhelming and right now she is wading through some tough and murky waters.
Is it me? Is it the holiday? Is it my computer?
Seriously- why is everyone so effing quiet today?
Take the poll so I don’t feel so in the dark.
As for me, I am trying to figure out if I am getting a cold. I’m also counting down until 4 when I will take my happy pills. And I am writing myself a reminder to talk to my doc about testing a new happy pill that will be safe for ttc. I am also about to set up a meeting with this lady about possibly taking some photos of building for a real estate site. And I am doing everything I can NOT to stress about the fact that my old blog didn’t delete properly and there is nothing I can do about all of the left over posts that are just out there for everyone (& my Mother as she now knows my old url) to see. Good times.
Photo Friday: Bad Hair
I am loving (LOVING!) the bad hair photos being uploaded into the pool. They are so fucking priceless. There is a certain freedom in being able to look back at a former version of yourself and be able to laugh.
There is a photo that I uploaded from my freshman year in college. I was such a fucking drama snob and so full of myself. And when I look at the photo from that era I smile. I think, “oh, you just don’t even know what the Universe has in store for you!” If you had told the 18 year old me that the 31 year old me would go days without putting on makeup, would still be struggling with food issues, was single, and living with her Mother - ha! That would have been a very amusing time travel episode.
I look back at the 18 year old me and I do feel a little bit sad, as if I have sorely let her down. Damn she had some massive dreams. She just knew that she was going to be famous and celebrated and loved. She couldn’t wait to run as far away from her family as possible.
And because the 31 year old version of myself is so very brave, I am going to share with you the absolute WORST bad hair day ever. And the irony is that it is my GM’s favorite photo of me.
In this photo I am 10 years old and I had just spent the day running errands with GM. The last errand was to accompany her to get her hair done by old Miss Stanton. Miss Stanton was THE go to lady for hair in GM’s town and she did not like/tolerate little girls in her shop. Somehow GM had convinced her that I was very angelic and so I was allowed to sit in the corner of the garage salon and make paper dolls out of women’s magazines from 1978.
When GM’s hair was complete Miss Stanton realized that she had a little time before her next appointment and wouldn’t it be just “darling” if I could have my hair styled just like GM! I had my hair washed and rolled and I was placed under the roaring dryer and forced to lipread what GM & Miss Stanton were discussing. Clearly they were talking about me and my “development” and I remember seeing Miss Stanton cupping her breasts and then taking a peek at my chest.
Once the hair was done it was set in an entire can of aqua net. When I first saw what had been created I burst into tears that were misconstrued as happy ones instead of mortified ones. GM was so proud and excited that she dragged me to the new fancy portrait studio at the mall. There I spent nearly another hour being tortured by a morbidly obese woman demanding that I place my hands JUST SO. I was also asked repeatedly to take off my swatch watch but I held my ground. It is the only honest thing about me in the photo.
When I look at it now I am a bit amused. It is a horrible photo, no doubt about it. But it does symbolize something very flattering: GM’s attention. Oddly enough I was not doted on by GM when I was a child. I was very much my GF’s pet. GM didn’t have much time for small children that asked questions - she had meetings and functions and bake sales and committees to run. GF was recently retired by the time I rolled around so he had oodles of time to dote on me.
When I was with GF we played and went on adventures. On the rare days that I was allowed to tag along with GM we ran errands and I was instructed to be silent and keep my hands either in my lap, or if we were in a shop, behind my back.
So the afternoon that she took the time to DO my hair and then have me photographed was sort of a turning point for us. She realized that I was a sponge for learning and could make a nice accessory to her ladies functions. So it was around this time that I stopped being the pest that demanded fresca and the girl that she could flaunt.
Now go upload your bad hair day photos so that we can get a glimpse at the former versions of you.
It never lasts very long.
Every once in a while I get so overwhelmed with wanting a child of my own that I can no longer deal with seeing a child without thinking jealous and envious thoughts about that child’s Mother. It is completely irrational, yes. But I genuinely have a good 1-2 minutes of just doing myself in with self inflicted covetness and thinking stupid thoughts such as, “how come SHE got a baby?” or “How come she got TWO babies?” or the real champ, “what else do I have to prove to the universe in order to have MY baby?”
There is no logic to it. It is the evolution of a primary school child’s longing for another child’s trendy gizmo or doll. (not that I am equating a baby to a gizmo or doll, but the emotion of wanting is very much the same.)
There are many, many new Moms in my neighborhood. I know this because when Charlie and I go for our early morning walks I see the tell tale signs of a new baby or an immanent baby. These signs can be as basic as seeing massive empty cardboard boxes from a baby store or as smack you upside the head as the trend of placing a ginourmous stork cutout with the birth specifics at the end of the driveway. And I know it is wrong, but sometimes I can’t stop Charlie from whizzing on the cutouts. Dogs are dogs, right?
Oh, I bet you think very poorly of me now. You should, I do. I detest when these stupid emotions flare up like a case of painful cystic acne on your jaw line. They make me feel like such a tool for having such displaced feelings of envy. The truth is that I do not, in any way shape or form, begrudge a woman for having a child. (ok, see, that isn’t true. If I am going to be full disclosure here I do begrudge some women, but I am willing to bet you might agree with me on those extreme cases) I don’t begrudge a woman for getting pregnant. Hell, it thrills me to no end when someone gets lucky.
But you see, that is the part that I hate. The luck aspect. We all know about those fertile ladies that seem to get knocked up just renting porn, but really it was luck. If I have learned anything from the eons of time I have invested becoming an infertility know it all, it is that for a woman to conceive it is all about the luck of timing.
So while I celebrate the luck that other women have I get more and more cranky putting nickles into my own slot machine and not seeing the cherries line up. After a while the crankiness turns into jealousy and then that jealousy evolves into envy and next thing you know the envy is a green eyed monster with red hair. (well half radiant ruby and half light auburn)
I HATE being jealous.
Luckily it never lasts very long. Usually I simmer with those unpleasant and unsavory emotions for about 48 hours and then something happens where my heart just melts. My confession is that I started to have those jealous thoughts on Monday (two new storks landed on my block over the weekend) and by the time yesterday rolled around I was feeling awfully sorry for myself and my fucked up female bits. Then this morning, in my daily blog reading, I was smacked up the head with all of these unbelievably cute and adorable photos from my internet friends who are Moms. Some even uploaded video.
Cute baby photos are the kryptonite to the bitter version of myself. Seriously- I see a photo, especially if it is a kid that I have actually met, and I just go all fucking mushy and giggly. I freakin love kids. And I love my friend’s kids. Even friends that aren’t on line. And in the moment when I have successfully swept those not so pretty emotions under the rug I am reminded that the very thing I want may be something that I may never have.
I may never get to be a Mom and I need to learn how to let go of the jealousy. To all of you bloggers that randomly (or was this an intervention?) posted cute photos yesterday and today- thank you.
Obligatory Single Girl V-day Post
MOTHERFUCKING valentine’s day. Stupid red roses. Lame ass chocolate hearts. Stupid chalky tasting cutie-pie etched in pepto bismol colored candies. Embarrassing thoughts about my last roll in the hay. Itching from all of the cobwebs cluttering up my crotch. Detesting every single smug person with someone to go home to. Regretting not stocking up on red wine to get me through the evening. Wishing I was a size 2. Size 2 women always have valentines. Bitches. Wishing that I could get away with smoking and not feel like crap or guilty about it - the kind of guilt where I imagine my ovaries shriveling up and exiting lke crusty bits of nicotine scented ear wax. Aware that this holiday was made to torture single people with no one to love, but still daydreaming that some day I will not be so bitter. Some day I will have someone to come home to.Until then, I will just keep on hating this day..
My hatred for all things Valentine’s day began in the 8th grade. I went to an all girls school. It was chock full of long legged horsey gals with ridiculously large white, perfect teeth and flawless complexions. The girls all called their fathers “daddy” and honestly believed that they would always be taken care of. On Valentines day the janitorial staff would assemble over 10 large lunchroom style tables and place them in the main rotunda. Before the end of first period the tables would start to fill with obscene floral displays. Giant arrangements of roses, monster truck sized teddy bears, those freaky giant balloon thingies with the weird shit inside. And as we made our way from one class to another the world slowed down allowing for a few extra minutes of wandering by the tables and fervently searching for your name.
In 8th grade almost all of the flowers were from Daddies and as I got older they started coming from boyfriends. Having neither a Daddy nor a boyfriend it was my perogative to become bitchy about the entire ordeal. There was a nice little group of us that bonded over the perversion and spectacle that was made over the holiday. How it set back the women’s movement! How it was hell for those of us with allergies! How it perpetuated the myth that love could be bought!But you so fucking know that we would have peed in our laura ashley underpants if we ever saw our name on something.
I have only been involved with someone twice when the relationship encountered a valentine’s day. Both times I made it very clear that I would not want to made a fuss over, that nothing special should be planned. And both times I got what I asked for and secretly hated it. You see a girl that didn’t have the flowers from Daddy or the 9th grade boyfriend is a bit damaged. There are tiny cracks on her heart. In order to prevent more cracks she sets herself up for bad things to happen so that when they do she is not shattered to pieces. But that doesn’t mean that she doesn’t pine for the day when her heart will melt and all of the cracks won’t be so fragile.
So if you are out there having a bit of a pout, I’m right there with you. If you are lucky enough to have a sweetie take care of them and let them take care of you. And PROMISE not to make out in front of me in the checkout line because I will never forgive you for that.
(have some of your own candy heart fun here.)
-
Great Hosting By:
