Fuck you, I said I was sorry

It may surprise you, but I am not the most genial person when it comes to apologizing.

Well, that's not quite true.  I will apologize when I am in the wrong, and I will mean it, but this is something I have had to work on for years.

But apologizing is something that still galls me from time to time.  Particularly when I feel like I'm being forced into an apology for something that maybe wasn't quite right but for fuck's sake, LET IT GO already. 

I don't particularly like this aspect of my personality.  I wish I was more forgiving, both of myself and others, but I am pretty much like a Mafia Don when it comes to slights.  I will always remember and it's always personal.

This may not be the best way to deal with people.  Particularly those in your family.  And I wish that I would actually apologize without it becoming an ordeal.

Example:

The girl is mad at me for something I did.

This something was not directed at her - you know what? Here's the actual story:

I was coming off a super long week - lots of work, lots of tiredness, lots of stuff still to do.  The husband was working long hours, too, and I was shuttling her to her lesson.  We were running a few minutes late, which was my fault as I was thinking, "I can just finish folding these towels that have been sitting here for 4 days and then we'll go." So we were late.

And I pull into the parking lot and some dumbfuck family and their dumbfuck 8 or 9 year old kids are meandering all over the driving area of the parking lot, like sheep who have lost their sheepdog to keep them in line, and I say, "Get out of the way, you little cuntface."

Which pissed the girl off.

I mean, sure, not the nicest thing for me to say.  But in my defense, the little kid didn't hear me and she was in my way.

Whatever, you can judge me.

So the girl is pissed at me for being mean to a kid WHO DIDN'T EVEN HEAR IT and I'm pissed at her for: 1. Not folding the fucking towels and 2. Being pissed at me for something that pretty much didn't even happen [If a crazy lady calls a kid a cuntface in a parking lot, did the tree actually fall in the forest?] and 3. JUDGING ME AND FINDING ME LACKING.

I wasn't thrilled with our detente, so I apologized to the girl.

Except it wasn't really an apology, because I felt I like I was apologizing for not being perfect.  Which, contrary to popular opinion, I am not.  So it was one of those non-apology apologies that have become all the rage lately, where people don't actually apologize for what they've done, or maybe they do apologize but then turn it into a blame session where the person they are apologizing to becomes the bad guy [I am excellent at this.  Ask the husband.]. So then I had to apologize AGAIN, which I did after leaving the room and stewing for a while and realizing I was being a big fucking baby and sometimes it's just better to get along than to be right.  But not very often.  [I'm not certain how calling a kid a cuntface is being right, but there it is.]

I think I should start giving parenting and relationship advice.  Any questions?

People: Alternately awesome and what the hell?

O.k., first, I have to say thank you all for the hilarious comments I get on my blog.  Honest to god, they make me happy to read and I still laugh when I think of them. [PS if you include your email address, I can email you back! Like a friend!] 

The one that is still killing me right now is this comment I got on my post about the simple things, which for me evidently includes finding a pubic hair in a library cookbook [a book of ice cream recipes, which makes it somehow so much worse]:

Gary Oxford said...

That's what you get for checking out Clarence Thomas' "The Federalist Recipes".

I am dying.  Truly.  You all are brilliant in your ability to make me laugh, but this? I can't breath for the genius.

Anyway, enough about how awesome you all are - I mean, this is MY blog, so I should just constantly be talking about how awesome I AM.  Because truly, where else are you going to find someone as spectacular as I am? Nowhere, because people like me? As rare as diamonds [which I know are artificially scarce, but come on, cut me a break, here].  I am wondrous and my fabulousness is known throughout the microphone - I get stupid, I mean outrageous, stay away from me if you're contagious, cause I'm a winner, no not a loser . . .

O.k., I'll stop channeling Rob Base. [Go ahead, click on this YouTube link and I defy you to not chair dance.]

Anyway, I think I'm a pretty nice person - I mean, I give to charity, and I'm polite and I'll only talk about you behind your back when I'm sure you won't hear what I'm saying.  I'm nice and people should want to get to know me.

It seems not everyone has gotten that message.

I was at the pool the other day [because it is 8,000 degrees and I also haven't had my fill of other people's urine polluting my space] and I thought I recognized this woman, but I wasn't sure from where.  I thought we had caught glances a few times, you know? A few of those Do I know you? glances.

So I went up to her and said, "Hi, you look very familiar to me.  I think I recognize you from somewhere."

And this bitch said, "Well I have no idea who you are."

Wow.  O.k., evidently we are not destined to be friends, and I wasn't going to ask for a kidney, but what the fuck? How is that an o.k. way to react to someone?  DOES SHE NOT KNOW WHO I AM?

She is so not allowed to read my blog.

People Who are Assholes - Public Pool Edition

I love swimming.

Or, more honestly, I used to love swimming and now I love floating around in the water, chatting with my friends and family and playing frisbee or catch or Marco Polo or taking part in our patented Cheating Races [which are awesome and I highly recommend - details at the end of the post].  What I don't love?  The assholes at the pool.

The kids who decided to aim the geyser of water at the adults sitting around the edge of the pool? Assholes.  It's o.k. to call kids that, right?  I may or may not have said, "You little fuckers" kind of under my breath [really out loud] as I walked past JUST EXACTLY WHEN they decided to aim Old Faithful and got soaked on one side when I wasn't planning on swimming because I'm still not feeling that great and just wanted to take a bunch of kids out swimming and keep them out of my hair.  Jerks.

The guy who is talking on his cell phone like he's part of NASA and is trying desperately to safely bring in the final shuttle landing instead of being a middle manager at CompuGlobalMegaMart trying to track down a missing shipment of copier toner.  Not that big a deal, dude.

The woman who thinks a public pool is the place to wear her slightly too small bikini.  This is not that crowd.  Not during daylight hours, anyway.

The teenagers.  Because they are teenagers.

The person who screams the entire way down the water slide.  THE ENTIRE WAY DOWN.  It's not that scary, and that really, really echoes and cuts in on my ability to eavesdrop on the group to my left who are talking about whether or not tiny bikini had her boobs done [probably yes].

Ah, summertime.  I need my own pool.  And possibly some happy pills.

Who pisses you off at the pool?  


**************
Cheating Races - these are a lot of fun, especially for mixed age groups.  You basically decide on a race, like whoever walks backward to the other side of the pool and back first is the winner and ALL CHEATING IS ALLOWED, which means kids can leap on adults, adults can pick up and move children, anything goes.  It's hilarious.

Week in Review - Good news or else.

As you may have noticed, I've been a bit cranky [What? No! You've been a regular bundle of joy!].  I've decided this week to focus on positive news, because otherwise the screaming will start and never, ever stop and I just don't have that kind of time, you know? You know.

Here we go.

Chinese artist/dissident Ai Weiwei has been released after three months in prison. He was ostensible arrested and imprisoned for tax evasion. He's now under house arrest and a gag order.  Not complete freedom, but I imagine it's probably miles better than being in a Chinese prison.  Or any prison.  [Has anyone read World War Z?  Do you get the feeling that it's perfectly reasonable that the zombie apocalypse would start in China?  I do.]

The inimitable J.K. Rowling is going to start selling the Harry Potter books as e-books.  To do so, she's setting up a site called Pottermore.com set to launch in July, where she'll not only have the books for sale [available in October] but also allow you to join a house, play games, gain points and get all kinds of dirt on the Harry Potter universe that she wasn't able to include in any of the books.  Professor McGonaggal's backstory? SIGN ME UP!

A woman who suffered the devastating effects of borderline personality disorder when she was a teen in the 1960s has spent her life as a therapist and psychologist who developed treatment for the most depressed patients.  What's even more remarkable is that she did so while suffering from the effects and did not openly discuss her fight until this past year at a conference on mental illness treatments.  I take heart that this woman was able to manage her illness and used her compassion and understanding to make a difference in so many people's lives.

Sneaky, sneaky.  Birds which were thought to be extinct have been found in areas of the rain forest that suffered from deforestation.  A triumph of nature, even though I think birds are creepy and evil and scary. 

Suck it, oppressors.  Women in Saudi Arabia have taken it to the streets and are defying the driving ban by tooling around posting video of themselves online.  I love that they're doing this - and that Facebook is being used for more than people's latest updates about their pets' crazy antics.  No one cares what your dog did.  Not even your dog.

[PS  I'm glad to find that you thought I did a good thing by not taking the candy, but it still irks me that I had to pay for the book.  I hate that getting screwed feeling.  I emailed the teacher, and got another lengthy email back, which left me feeling even more dissatisfied, so I'm just going to let it go.  I can't keep dwelling - although I am a world class dweller.  Maybe I shouldn't keep dwelling, is the thing.]

What good news do YOU have for me, friends?

Karma is a bitch. So am I. Two will enter. One will leave.

Kismet         [If it's fated]
Inshallah      [God willing]
Fate              [Destiny]
Karma          [You know this one]

All of these things conspired against and/or with me last week to keep me from sliding from bitchdom to jerkhood.

Let me explain:

As I may have mentioned a time or a million, I have been PTA president this past year at my daughter's school.  So I've spent a lot of my time and money on crap for this school that, quite frankly, sometimes was done grudgingly.  But I did it.  I did it and you know what? In the end, I'm glad I could help out.  I like to organize things and I like to be in charge and I like to make a difference.

I do NOT like it when I feel like I'm being dickslapped by the universe.

I spent hours and hours and money on the end of the year party for the school.  Fine.  Even though I thought it was ridiculous, I stepped up when no one else did and organized it.  I ran the set up and I ran the party and I oversaw the cleanup.  I worked my ass off for that school.

At which point I found out I owed the school $50.

The girl tells me that somehow she's had someone else's textbook for one of her classes all year, he's had someone else's, three or four other people have different books registered to them and no one seems to know what happened to hers. Obviously, there's been some sort of mix-up in registering the books.  OBVIOUSLY.

The teacher sends me a nice, very detailed email about the missing book.  And the note that he is truly, truly sorry, but I have to pay $50 or the girl's grades won't be sent to her new school.

FUCKING MOTHERFUCKING COCKSUCKING BULLSHIT. 

I'm sorry, did I not just spend countless hours dealing with school crap that, had I billed at even a reduced rate for writing and NOT legal work, would still mean I was a couple thousand dollars in surplus for who owes what to whom? And didn't I just spend money on party donations? 

I don't blame the teacher.  Much.  I mean, I get it, it's district policy. 

But I was pissed.  The secretary was on my side and felt bad that she had to take my check.

So the entire drive to the school to hand over my $50 check, I kept thinking, "Fuck this.  I know there's at least $50 worth of candy & stuff from the party that I can take to even shit out.  I DESERVE $50 worth of candy." Even though I knew the kids were going to use the stuff on their trip to the amusement park a few days later.

Except as I was thinking it, I was getting that shame feeling, like I knew I was doing something really, really, really wrong.

So I dropped off the check and went to the storage room, because I had told the staff I needed to stop in there and I had to keep up appearances and not say, "Yeah, I changed my mind.  I'm not taking $50 worth of candy in return for the $50 book check."  I wasn't going to take any candy because that would result in me waiting for karma to turn around and kick me in the ass HARDER than the $50 check.  Which it would. And frankly? I've got enough on my plate.

And you know what? The fates had my back - because the candy was gone, so I wouldn't even be tempted [and in the throes of PMS? I WAS TEMPTED.].

Tell me, truly, would you have taken the candy?  I like to think I wouldn't have, even if it was there, not only because I am trying to be a better person, but also because I kind of fear the retribution.  What about you?

Not as erudite as I thought.

Last week I got an email asking if I wanted tickets to go see Bizet's Carmen.  Well, sure.  I actually like opera and classical music and getting dressed up and going places. 

Granted, this wasn't New York or DC or even LA.  It was a Midwestern performance of an opera which, for some reason, I thought was Italian.  It's not.  It's French.  Strike one for my aura of smartitude.

Anyway, the tickets were cheap. 

So yeah, sure, the husband and I decided to go.

We get to Will Call and find that the tickets are so fucking cheap because the seats are in the LAST POSSIBLE ROW of the balcony.  I knew they'd be in the balcony, but last row? COME ON.

Did I mention to you that I get vertigo?  And not the Jimmy Stewart kind [which, seriously @modinkpeeb ? Jimmy Stewart is in no way sexier than Cary Grant.  NO WAY.].  The swoopy kind of vertigo.  It's not fun. 

So we climb and climb and climb stairs and finally get to the BACK of the place and sit down and I'm deep breathing [o.k., almost panting, whatever, I'm starting my water aerobics this week, let's relax, o.k.?] and trying not to look down except you know what? DOWN IS WHERE THE SHOW IS.

So I spent the show with my head turned sideways and looking out of the bottom corners of my eyes.  I highly recommend this viewing method next time you are at the opera.

ALSO - why the fuckity-roo do operas have to have those supertitles?  I first saw them about 15 years ago when we went to see a Wagner opera [of course I don't remember which one.  It was in German and had a boat.  Das Boot, maybe?]  I mean, I've got the libretto so I know what's going on, and I may not be fluent in the language, but I don't need to see exactly what words the people are singing, I can get that from the whole ambiance of the play, and also? The person in charge of the supertitles at Carmen? Was high or drunk, because they never matched up with what was going on.

So I kind of felt all superior and thought, "Screw these infidels, I'm not looking at the supertitles anymore because I am SO ABOVE ALL THAT [And not just because I needed a sherpa to get to my seat.  And also not just because it made me dizzy to look at them.]."

Until I recognized Carmen's first big number, Habanera, in Act I.  Because I recognized Carmen's song from Sesame Street.



I get props for it being Denyse Graves singing on Sesame Street, right?  [If you have never seen this, please do.  It's amazing.]

Then in Act II, I recognized the Toreador song from Gilligan's Island.  I was pretty mortified and leaned over to mention this to my husband, who said, "That's o.k., I recognize the songs from Bugs Bunny."  Yeah.  We're together.

At the end of Act II, I asked the husband if we could leave, because it had already been well over 2 hours of sitting with my head twisted & there were two more acts, which meant at least 2 more hours and frankly? I was more than willing to just get a DVD and watch the last two acts.  Don't get me wrong, I really love the music and I am a HUGE fan of live theater, but I realized that I am a huge fan of live theater on the main floor only.

So we left, after I carefully made my way down down down down down the stairs. 

I highly recommend classing up your day with opera to see how much of a rube you are.  I bet I win.

How to make PMS your bitch. Or be a bitch while PMSing. I'm not sure how this is going to go.

I wish I wasn't one of those women who had to deal with PMS. Or, really, anything except maybe making out with Johnny Depp on a regular basis [how pissed am I that I didn't it make it my mission back when I was young and hot to go after him? I could've kicked Vanessa Paradis's ass].

Anyway, I try and stay on top of my PMS by doing all sorts of calming bullshit, like doing yoga every morning [yes, while watching the news], and eating right and getting enough rest and not immediately telling my husband that I hate every single thing about him and my fervent hope is that he start RIGHT NOW to either change who he is or make enough money so we can divorce and I can break up Johnny Depp's non-marriage to the mother of his children.

Some days it goes better than others.

Yesterday? Was not one of those days.

It began thusly:

Wake up at 5:30am because the alarm went off, even though you haven't gotten up at 5:30am in . . . are we closing in on a year now? Maybe.  Fuck.

Roll over.  Try and fall asleep.  Realize it's not working.  Hate the husband because he's able to sleep.  Hate the wind for blowing a cool breeze into your bedroom.  Hate the fact that your pillows are just a 1/4" out of place.

Give up and get up.

Go get your paper in your nightgown and fuzzy slippers and Helena Bonham Carter hair.  Wave at the passing car.  Who cares? You're married and going to stay that way forever because nothing good ever happens to you.

Do yoga while watching the news and hating Matt Lauer more than anyone on earth right that minute.

Realize you hate Al Roker even more.  Debate going back to George Stephanopoulous, but know that you'll punch the t.v. if you do and you can't afford a new t.v.

Wonder if you'd miss the t.v. if you punched Matt Lauer.

Turn off the t.v.

Eat oatmeal and a banana while going through your email.  End up with oatmeal specks on your keyboard and screen because you can't believe the garbage coming through your email.

Sigh and get down to work.  Hate having to work.  Hate not having enough freelance work to make a dent in your enormous pile of debt.

Wonder if you can have an IPO or a garage sale.  Decide which would be easier.  Probably an IPO, even though you technically don't have anything to offer.

Eat a healthy, balanced lunch of chicken & veggies & undressed salad with only brown rice as your carb.  Put your dish in the kitchen sink.  Return to your desk and begin to do your work [read blogs].  Open two links from your reader.  Get up, go back into the kitchen and get 2 of the homemade chocolate chip cookies the girl made earlier in the week.  Eat them pretty much en route to your desk, which is MAYBE 15 feet away.  Sit down.  Open up a new link, but don't wait for it to finish loading before you jump up from your seat to go back to the cookie jar and snag another cookie.  Start to replace the lid before a hand that looks like yours but couldn't possibly be grabs another cookie.  Manage to get back to the desk before you finish eating them.  Feel sick to your stomach from all the sugar and flour.

Ignore every phone call you get because you cannot handle speaking to one more person today.  They all suck.  Completely.  Wonder why does everyone WANT something from you? WHY???

Eat another cookie.  Feel sicker.  Sigh and put your head down.

Hope that you get your period soon because this is ridiculous.

***********************

PS Freedom winner announced on Friday. GET READY TO RUMBLE, BITCHES.

PPS I'm not even sure what the hell is happening here.

An Area for Concern . . . Or Maybe . . . What Now?

I'm a little worried about myself.

I know, when AREN'T I worried about myself?

But.

The past few days I've gotten a little . . . forgetful.  More forgetful than usual.

I spent several minutes wandering around the parking lot the other day, trying to find my car.

I keep mistyping things.

I'm always forgetting words.  The ones I'm trying to say.  You know, "Hey, can you give me the . . . thing . . . you know, that thing . . . that I need," which usually ends up being something as esoteric as the remote control or a napkin.

Plus, there's the usual stumbling and bumping into the walls that I do.  Which I wouldn't worry about too much, except it seems like it's getting worse.  Whereas I used to just walk into the corner of the wall on my way into the bathroom, now it seems like the coffee table is out to get me, as is the dishwasher and, frankly, the side of the car. 

I'm fervently hoping that the Alzheimers gene floating in my paternal pool isn't making a spectacularly early entrance.  I realize that I've got a lot on my plate right now, and I'm sure you're all forgetful, too, right? RIGHT? PLEASE SAY YES!!!  It's probably just a passing thing, one that will disappear when I get a few minutes to just focus on one thing at a time.

Except - I actually worried the other day that I wasn't getting dressed completely before I left the house. You know? You're in a rush and you think, o.k., I'm good to go and then I ended up in the car thinking, "Did I put on underwear?" And then I checked under the waistband and found I did, but that moment of not knowing? TERRIFIED ME.  Because I'm sure it's only a matter of time before I head out in just my bra, and not a cute one.

Also, I find that I'm tempted to start staying things like, "You're motherfucking goddamn right," or "Hiya, Cuntface." 

Actually, I'm kind of o.k. with that.

Sharing is caring, in a way that staring never could be.

I feel like I've gotten to know you, my lovely readers & fellow bloggers & friends on Twitter.  But I want to know more about you.  Your thoughts, your hopes, your dreams.  Your propensity toward becoming a deranged serial killer.  I want you to share deep thoughts and amazing revelations with me. I want to know what your answers are to this highly scientific psychological profile:

1.  If, say, you had to pee and you were in a chlorinated public pool, or at the beach, would you trudge back to your room or the locker room, or would you pee in the pool?  Be honest.  Even if you're wearing a Depends laden swimsuit.  Would it make a difference if you were alone?

2.  What's your favorite popcorn flavor?  Is it something good, like butter or caramel?  Or something only a person who hears fish talk [and then answers them, in fish language] would like, like cheese?

3.  Is it wrong to wish ill upon someone who you feel has wronged you?  What if that person is a jackass?  What if that jackass makes you want to punch them?  What then, Mother Theresa?  HUH?

4.  Speaking of hating, if you got to make someone you hate listen to one song, over and over, on repeat, what would that song be?

5.  Coke or Pepsi?

6.  Clueless is the best adaptation of Jane Austen's Emma, True or False.

Looks like we're going to have to make a cameo at the Val party. Source.

Ok, friends, share!

The Dad Who Cried Wolf

My dad is something of a hypochondriac.  He tends to be sicker than anyone who actually is sick, even if he doesn't technically have that disease.  I get it.  I mean, I'm pretty good at discovering possible illnesses that I may have and then worrying myself into a frenzy about having them.  I really do get it.

The problem is when someone who constantly feigns illness is actually sick, you don't know quite what to do.  And then it turns out they ARE sick and need to go to the hospital. 

My dad is ill and will need surgery.  It's a routine procedure [gall bladder surgery] and he's in a good hospital with a good doctor, etc.  Basically, he's being well taken care of and will continue to be taken care of in a manner befitting his illness.

By the medical staff.

Because we?  His family?

Are making non-stop jokes.

This is what we do.  We come up with puns and gags and reel off one-liners.  We talk about hilarious situations that have happened in the past and how we'll deal with what is coming up.  We giggle about contingencies and who is going to tell what family member and how.

We smart off about how OF COURSE my dad's got to have surgery now, when it's 1,000 degrees and humid.  And how it should go without saying that I'm going to valet park at the hospital - I'm not going to the gym, why should I walk from the parking deck [where it's $3 to park, as opposed to $4 for valet - who's the sucker now?].  And then we laugh at our cheapskate relative who had 2 old ladies get out of his car and lift the gate so he wouldn't have to pay for parking.

We make fun of my germophobia and laugh until we're going to pee our pants.  And we talk about the delicious steak we're going to eat or the chili dogs we're planning on having for lunch to a man who is not allowed to eat until he has his surgery.

We laugh.  A lot.

So much so that when my mother broke her hip and ankle and had to have metal rods and pins in place, she kicked me and my siblings out of the hospital room for fucking around and laughing too much and having wheel chair races in the room.

So while we aren't the most sedate and calming people to have in a sickroom, I submit that we are the funnest.  And we'll take your mind off of your worries.

BOOBIES!

This is as close to a PSA as I'm going to get.  Unless it's about the need for people to stop being assholes.  Because I could go on all day about that.

Last week, I went in for a yearly mammogram.  Good times, I know.

I'm no fan of having my boobs squished [if you are, I'm not judging, I mean, everyone's got their own thing, right?], but I AM a fan of preventative care.  Especially with my need to live FOREVER.  How else will I control the world, if not through sheer longevity?  Isn't that how vampires do it?  Or Republicans? OH MY GOD! Are Republicans VAMPIRES? Dick Cheney has no heartbeat - it's true, isn't it?  They're Mormons and vampire - watch out! It's Mitt Romney!

Where was I?  Oh, right:

A few years ago, during my first mammogram, a tiny little lump was found.

It was biopsied and benign [greatest word EVER in the history of language].  I cannot tell you my relief. I also cannot explain to you the anxiety I had while waiting for the results.  I'm a dweller.  I'm also an ignorer.  It's a crapshoot as to which is holding sway over my mental faculties at the moment.  I can go along, just thinking tra la la la [or, more like it, "LOSE yourself in the MOMENT you better NEVER LET IT GO remember it's ONE SHOT --" You know where I'm going with this, right?

Is he thinking of dirty things he wants us to do? Yes. Yes, he is. From here.

That's where I'm always going with it.] anyway, I'm thinking tra la la la la, everything's fine and then WHAM I get the crazy anxiety shooting through my brain with a thousand WHAT IFs and even more MUST MAKE PLANS FOR EVERY CONTINGENCY!  It's kind of tiring.

But, most important, it reminds me that I should do whatever I can to take care of myself, and I need all of YOU to take care of yourselves, because you make my days brighter.  Always.  [As in forever, NOT as in the maxi pad.]

XO,

Suniverse

Your Anger May Be a Gift - My Anger is a Righteous Fury

I am a pretty easy person to get along with.

Stop laughing.

I'm pretty easy to get along with because I am a pretty friendly person - I mean, I'm not in love with people or humanity in general, but I am very polite [to your face] and a big believer in doing the right thing and behaving properly when out in public.  If I happen to go home and bitch about what a shitty driver you are or tweet things about how fucking stupid boys are, that in no way negates the fact that I will follow every protocol and treat you with respect.

I will make small talk.

I will act like your idiocy doesn't appall me.

I will nod and agree when you complain about kids these days and their rock music.

I will go out of my way to include you, particularly if your inclusion is the right thing to do.

That being said, don't ever, ever fucking cross me.

Ever.

There are two things that make me insane with anger* and which will make you dead to me:

1. Being called a liar**
2. Being called out for not being polite.

When those things are combined?

Oh.
My.
Fucking.
God.

I will end you.

It turns out that this weekend I found out that this situation occurred.

I'm not going to get into the who/what/when/where of it all, but I will say that the WHY is because some people are complete fucking narcissistic idiots.

And so I found myself on the horns of a dilemma:

A.  Correct the record, explain the truth, drop some motherfucking knowledge on people in an explosion of fact and fury

OR

B.  Just let it go

I'm having a REALLY, REALLY hard time letting it go, even though I know that option A is NOT really an option.

So I've been seething and bitching and then remembering that I need to set and example and then getting pissed off even more, because the husband is not a satisfactory person to bitch to.

So here is my query, friends:

What do you do when you find yourself impugned?  Chemical warfare or the high road?

--------------
* Recognize that quote? It's Mel Gibson's character in Signs.  Excellent movie - wtf, Mel? WHY SUCH A RACIST, CRAZYBAG TOOL?

** A subtopic is being told I'm wrong when I KNOW and empirical evidence WILL SHOW that I am right. I am still pissed that this guy I was dating over 20 years ago thought that Eberhard Faber was a silent film star and not a pencil. IT'S A PENCIL!!!

SEE? JACKASS! Source.

Maybe I'm pissed because that guy was an idiot. 

Learning Stuff About Myself

I'm finally home after a long day out and I'm tired. Still have some work to do, but I'm thrilled to be home.

Which is weird, because growing up, the last place I EVER wanted to be was home.

It took me a while to realize that being at home - MY HOME, that I created - didn't have to suck. In my house, I could create a space that I liked. It's still a work in progress, but it's still mine.

Right now, there are papers covering every available space (including the ottoman and part of the couch) but I'm glad I'm here.

*****

One of the things I did today was start physical therapy for my knee (and feet). My knee tends to buckle - it feels like it's no longer there. So one of the things the PT did was use electrical stimulation on the area around my knee. This completely freaked me out. Which kind of freaked out the people around me. I explained that I suffer from crippling anxiety and was afraid I'd die or something, and they were very nice about it. One woman said she'd be right next to me in the next cube. Another gave me a bell in case I needed her.

That was weird. I very seldom tell people about my anxiety because I feel like such an idiot, but it felt good to let them know and even if they do think I'm a freak? Well, what else is new?

Sunday. It's Better Than Nothing.

I went swimming this morning (I love swimming indoors when it's 28 degrees. God bless civilization.) and it was fun, except for the very young kid (I'd say 5/6 - 10 years old) swim meet and the SHRIEKING girls in the shower who would NOT SHUT THE FUCK UP. Gah. Stupid kids.

While I was out, I stopped at the market and bought myself some things I like to eat. This sounds innocuous, yes? Not really. I tend not to purchase things I enjoy. Or ask for them. Very sad, but true. So, after E spoke firmly last night reminding me of this defect in my personality ("Why the fuck won't you just tell me what you want and then have it?"), I thought, you know what? WHY DON'T I? (I know the reasons I don't. Or didn't.) So I've decided to get stuff I like. It was VERY HARD, though. I found myself justifying the purchase of a wedge of parmesan ($5) because I'm going to make lasagna for E's birthday and not just use it on my salads (mmmm . . . shaved parmesan). Still, I didn't buy anything specifically for E or the girl. That's progress. And next time I go to Target? I'm buying baked Doritos.

I just finished a 5 hour study session with a friend. I like studying with other people, because then I'm not always to blame for taking breaks!

Back to the grind.

How's YOUR Day Going?

I just talked to a friend who was stressing because she is only studying 6 or 7 hours a day for exams.

I told her to stop calling me during "What Not To Wear. "

NaWhatNow?

I forgot that it's November, and so on the internets, it's NaNo something or other.

I did NaNoWriMo a few years ago and actually finished a novel. I haven't sold it yet, but there is hope.

I tried to do NaNoBloMo a year or two ago, but couldn't manage it.

I like the idea of doing something every day besides just eating and breathing, but I'm not sure what.

I'd also like to be a nicer person, so we can see how I aim high and don't necessarily fulfill my plans. But I'm trying, so I think that's good.

**********

We were talking about Litter Critters today. God. Funniest SNL skit ever.
"I made a whistle!"

**********

I can't believe there are only 2 1/2 weeks until Thanksgiving. WTF? How did that happen?

**********

Having one car in the suburbs when both people commute to work is generally o.k. when things go according to plan. Particularly when one of us (me) carpools. But when there is a hitch, then it becomes frustrating beyond endurance. And when you add into the mix that I'm still having panic attacks about driving on the freeway and driving on surface streets into downtown . . . well, then it's just a monstrous pain in the ass. All of it.

There's that positive attitude!

It's Time to Get Wild and Loose

I don't know where the time has gone. It seems like I plan things out with the understanding that there are enough hours in the day to do them all, and then suddenly I'll realize I forgot to factor things in like drive time or waiting for other people to call you back or going to the bathroom (which can really add up, when you have a wee bladder). The day just flies! I do get disheartened when I try to factor those things in, because really? 1 1/2 hours to grocery shop? Should that take, like 25 minutes max?

Anyway, I've got megatons of homework and the house is filthy and we're expecting people tomorrow and I just don't have the energy or inclination to do anything about any of it. So in about 2 hours I'll spazz and try to do it all at once and then yell at E and it'll be great.

OR

I could choose to live my life in a new and better fashion. I could choose to say, you know what? It doesn't matter that there is a layer of cat hair on the ottoman. It also doesn't matter that the bathroom is . . . bathroomy and not sparkly shiny.

I'm trying to get to that point but it is hard.

************

In other news - we're getting a furnace on Monday! God willing and the river don't rise! (That's my new saying. It's awesome, isn't it?) I CAN'T WAIT!

It hasn't been too cold, and our house is insanely well insulated, so the temperature hasn't gone below 64 in the house (which is where I usually have it at night, anyway) and I try to use the oven every day which really kicks up the heat, but I'm so TIRED of people (meaning my parents) acting like I'm exposing the Girl to hypothermia. For the love of god. We're in MI, not the arctic!

**********

We're evidently having the 2nd Annual UM-OSU party at our house this year. E's been collecting returnables for the past year, so we're going to get our grub on. Join us, if you're in the area!

Sunday Evening

* Another illiterate update note from the kid's teacher. Seriously. She pains me.

* Had my twin five year old nieces here for the weekend. I'm tired. And thankful for the whole only child thing.

* So much work to do and I just spent oh, 2 1/2 hours putzing around online. Flickr, I'm looking at you.

* It's actually kind of cold, and I'm afraid to turn on the furnace because of the whole carbon monoxide thing. So, I'm baking a lot. Well, not a lot. But I'm actually baking things.

* I've been having shopping anxiety. I go to the store full of resolve to purchase shoes/shirts/jacket/pants/bras no matter what the cost and then look at the items and think - Do I really want that? Does it go with anything? Can I pull it off? Is it part of my "style" (Hahahaha - let's all move along now)? And then I don't buy anything even though I really desperately need some regular non-jean non-work-type pants and some comfortable shoes. Oh. And bras. I can't seem to do it, though. Part of it is money, part of it is hating the clothing options in my price range, part of it is . . . depressive indecisiveness. Still, I managed to buy some make up. It's Clinique Bonus Time at Macy's!

* It's time for dinner. Leftovers. Blech.

Hi! It's Me!

So very cranky and bitter lately.

I'm trying to think positive thoughts and reduce expectations and still I want to smack people.

~~~~~~~

I'm thinking of watching The Reaper in a couple of weeks.

I've got no shows right now. I'm Netflixing the Sopranos, which is good (DO NOT TELL ME HOW IT ENDS! I kind of know, but I don't want to know.) but that's about it.

I did get really sad when I was listening to XM the other day and heard a song that was on Gilmore Girls (I can't remember the name or even how it goes, but it was about a girl, or something - brain's not working so well lately). Why did that show have to be ruined? WHY?????

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bonus GG quote:

Lorelai: So, let me get this straight. Uh, you and some guys who actually know what they're doing are gonna come over and fix my house, and I can pay them back whenever I want?
Luke: That's right.
Lorelia: 'Cause I'm Tony Soprano?
Luke: Only scarier.


See what I did there? I connected the two shows! Well, not me so much as ASP. But you get where I'm going with this, right?

A Little Bit About Me

I've been unbearably cranky the past couple of days.

Mainly, it's because I've got a ton of work (both house and school) to do, and I can't seem to get myself motivated to do any of it. Not one little bit.

I've noticed that I can do pretty much anything for a year, but once that one year mark closes in (give or take a few months depending on how tedious or hateful or exciting the thing I'm doing is) I'm done. Just seriously, totally done. I've lost interest and am looking at ways to do the least amount of work possible while still doing an adequate job and finding something MORE exciting to do.

I worry that things don't hold my attention. I mean, sure, I've been married to the same guy for 11 years and I've managed to not kick my daughter out the door because I've had enough for 10 years, but still. Other stuff? Not sticking to it very well. Not decorating plans, not hobbies (except reading, which I consider less a hobby than a means of sustaining life), and even blogging dropped by the wayside there for quite a while.

So that's my rambling anecdote for the day. I'm flighty.