One of my many talents is putting off my workout. I should be running right now but I'm sitting here at my desk typing away. I'm going to run eventually...but I just couldn't resist putting this up.
Today was dance class. If you got through the loooooong post about the dysfunctional 3-year olds in SB's dance class, you will appreciate this video. I'm sure I don't need to point out that my favorite part is the pathetic Anna commando crawling her way desperately out of the room. In case you're wondering, SB is the one in the yellow tutu.
Enjoy.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Bmore Mama, Bookworm
Over the course of this weekend I read many a book. I had a lot of down time on airplanes, waiting in airports, and waiting for The Man to wake up after his 5:30am ending to a night on the town. Just to prove to y'all (see, I totally fit in in NOLA!) that I can read, I'm going to take this opportunity to tell you about these books.
I had finished Barrell Fever by David Sedaris a few days before I left. This was an awesome read, although not my favorite of his books. It was extremely entertaining, but I prefer his autobiographical essays to his works of fiction. Not that his fiction is bad...I just like hearing about his life more, knowing these things really happened and seeing how he describes even the most mundane events in his life as if they were fascinating hysterical episodes.
I went to Target to get something deep and philosophical for my next read- because I'm a deep and philosophical person. The selection there was pretty lame and I couldn't really find anything that sparked my interest. I censor my own reads. I refuse to read any book (or watch any show or movie, for that matter) that deals with animals unless they are cartoon. Actually, I can't watch Bambi or Dumbo so I guess the whole animated thing doesn't really matter. Even if it's fiction, any time an animal is abused or betrayed or neglected or hurt, I retreat into very dark place and lapse into a deep depression. So Marley & Me was pretty much out.
I have seen the book The Kite Runner pretty much everywhere. For a long time now. But someone warned me a long time ago that it's kind of depressing. For those two reasons, I have been successfully avoiding the book. I've heard wonderful reviews about it. But I don't really like depressing. Call me crazy. But here was The Kite Runner, staring me in the face at Target, screaming I'M ALL YOU'VE GOT...BUY ME...BUY ME. So just to shut it up, I caved and purchased the book.
O.M.G. My mother was born in Iran and spent much of her youth before being shipped to a British boarding school traipsing around the area. I'm pretty sure she's been to all those Middle Eastern countries at some point in her life. So this book, which was about an Afghani boy, kind of hit home. Kind of.
The book was fantastic, but there were a lot of really disturbing parts. Without giving too much away, there was a lot of raping of the boys involved, and any type of raping (including the raping of certain Bmore Mamas of her time by certain US Airlines) is really upsetting to me. And many others, I would imagine. There was also a lot of death in the book (really, I'm not giving much away- this is recent to modern Afghanistan we're talking about here. Death is to be expected). The story line was addicting, and the main character's father reminded me eerily of my mother with his stubbornness and self-righteousness. But it was an interesting read and I finished the fairly lengthy novel in a matter of days.
The last book I read was a hasty purchase at WalMart in LA. Apparently, the Super WalMart is the place to be on a Saturday night in Louisiana. The place was packed. I only had a handful of things, so I took my place in the Speedy Checkout, intended for those who had 20 items or less. Luckily a guy with 2 bikes and a shopping cart full of soda let me go in front of him, but we were so far back in line that it was still a good 20-minute wait until my turn arrived. So 80% of my time in the store was spent in line. Fun stuff.
Anyway, this book, The Doctor's Wife, was about an affair between two married people, one of whom was the wife of a prominent doctor who was moonlighting as an OB in an abortion clinic. Coincidentally, the wife of the other cheating party was an activist who was part of a Pro Life group that rallied against abortion clinics and used violence as a means to drive their point home. I'm not sure why I chose this book; probably because of the way it looked compared to other books there. I totally judge books by their covers. And probably because it had the words "psychological thriller" on the front. I'm a marketer's dream, I know.
The interesting thing about this book is that the Pro Choice group was definitely depicted in a more favorable light than the Pro Life group. Honestly I'm not sure where I stand on this issue. I'd like to think that each person should be responsible for his or her own actions, but it doesn't necessarily work out that way. Just because a woman or girl gets pregnant doesn't mean he or she is going to suddenly grow up and become a responsible adult looking out for the well-being of the child. Some would argue that adoption is a more humane option than abortion, but I've heard so many stories of unfit parents doing horrible things to their children that it's clear that many people choose not to put the child up for adoption, regardless of their capabilities as a parent. So maybe abortion is actually better for the baby in some cases- I would imagine it's better than suffering later on. But does anyone really know for a fact that the baby would suffer? Who knows what the parent will do once the child is in his/her arms? Maybe they will undergo an epiphany upon seeing the miracle they produced and actually do a good job of parenting. Maybe not. Is it worth taking the chance? I don't know.
Then there's the whole category of rape. I have heard stories of women being raped, then finding out they are pregnant with the rapist's child, and keep the baby to raise him/her on her own. I don't know if I could handle that. I don't know if I could look into my child's eyes and see not my husband in there, but some random creep who forced me to have sex with him. I've never been in that situation, so maybe it's not that hard to love that child. I don't know. And I don't know how my husband would feel if I were raped, got pregnant, and decided to keep the child. He'd be raising a kid who wasn't even his own, but the child of someone who took advantage of his wife.
It's a touchy subject, and I can see why there is such division among people in regards to feelings on this matter. I don't think there is a right or wrong answer.
At the same time, the couple involved in the affair was also depicted as a likable pair. There was even one part in the book where a third party was counseling the woman who had cheated, saying that what she did wasn't wrong, she just needed something that her husband wasn't giving her, and she got it from somewhere else.
My husband told me a long time ago that if I cheated on him, he'd probably forgive me, since he loves me so much. I can't remember the context in which he was telling me that, but those words stuck. I didn't take that as a free pass to go off and cheat, mind you, but I thought it was interesting that he felt that way. More recently, he decided he wouldn't be so forgiving if I cheated, and said it would probably be over between us. I asked him about his change of heart, and I can't remember what he said, but it was something to the effect of that's what he thought at the time, but now he thinks otherwise.
I'm not sure that the whole get what you need from somewhere else excuse is a valid one worthy of forgiveness. Isn't that what you vow not to do when you get married? If TB decided that he needed something more than what I have to offer him, then he has no business staying with me. I understand that people change, and circumstances change, but honesty and communication is the foundation of a successful marriage (not that I'd know since mine is apparently falling apart, only saved by a trip to NOLA ;o)). But again, I've not been in that situation so I really don't know if I would feel the same way if it happened to me. On either end- whether I was the cheater or the betrayed. And I'm not sure I could overlook it if I were cheated on, no matter what the excuse.
So these books opened my eyes in a lot of ways, and made me a more enlightened person as I reflect upon the subjects about which I read. And now you are a more enlightened person for reading my reflections on these subjects. Now go off and write me a paper describing your reaction to these reflections.
Typed. And double-spaced.
I had finished Barrell Fever by David Sedaris a few days before I left. This was an awesome read, although not my favorite of his books. It was extremely entertaining, but I prefer his autobiographical essays to his works of fiction. Not that his fiction is bad...I just like hearing about his life more, knowing these things really happened and seeing how he describes even the most mundane events in his life as if they were fascinating hysterical episodes. I went to Target to get something deep and philosophical for my next read- because I'm a deep and philosophical person. The selection there was pretty lame and I couldn't really find anything that sparked my interest. I censor my own reads. I refuse to read any book (or watch any show or movie, for that matter) that deals with animals unless they are cartoon. Actually, I can't watch Bambi or Dumbo so I guess the whole animated thing doesn't really matter. Even if it's fiction, any time an animal is abused or betrayed or neglected or hurt, I retreat into very dark place and lapse into a deep depression. So Marley & Me was pretty much out.
I have seen the book The Kite Runner pretty much everywhere. For a long time now. But someone warned me a long time ago that it's kind of depressing. For those two reasons, I have been successfully avoiding the book. I've heard wonderful reviews about it. But I don't really like depressing. Call me crazy. But here was The Kite Runner, staring me in the face at Target, screaming I'M ALL YOU'VE GOT...BUY ME...BUY ME. So just to shut it up, I caved and purchased the book.O.M.G. My mother was born in Iran and spent much of her youth before being shipped to a British boarding school traipsing around the area. I'm pretty sure she's been to all those Middle Eastern countries at some point in her life. So this book, which was about an Afghani boy, kind of hit home. Kind of.
The book was fantastic, but there were a lot of really disturbing parts. Without giving too much away, there was a lot of raping of the boys involved, and any type of raping (including the raping of certain Bmore Mamas of her time by certain US Airlines) is really upsetting to me. And many others, I would imagine. There was also a lot of death in the book (really, I'm not giving much away- this is recent to modern Afghanistan we're talking about here. Death is to be expected). The story line was addicting, and the main character's father reminded me eerily of my mother with his stubbornness and self-righteousness. But it was an interesting read and I finished the fairly lengthy novel in a matter of days.
The last book I read was a hasty purchase at WalMart in LA. Apparently, the Super WalMart is the place to be on a Saturday night in Louisiana. The place was packed. I only had a handful of things, so I took my place in the Speedy Checkout, intended for those who had 20 items or less. Luckily a guy with 2 bikes and a shopping cart full of soda let me go in front of him, but we were so far back in line that it was still a good 20-minute wait until my turn arrived. So 80% of my time in the store was spent in line. Fun stuff.
Anyway, this book, The Doctor's Wife, was about an affair between two married people, one of whom was the wife of a prominent doctor who was moonlighting as an OB in an abortion clinic. Coincidentally, the wife of the other cheating party was an activist who was part of a Pro Life group that rallied against abortion clinics and used violence as a means to drive their point home. I'm not sure why I chose this book; probably because of the way it looked compared to other books there. I totally judge books by their covers. And probably because it had the words "psychological thriller" on the front. I'm a marketer's dream, I know. The interesting thing about this book is that the Pro Choice group was definitely depicted in a more favorable light than the Pro Life group. Honestly I'm not sure where I stand on this issue. I'd like to think that each person should be responsible for his or her own actions, but it doesn't necessarily work out that way. Just because a woman or girl gets pregnant doesn't mean he or she is going to suddenly grow up and become a responsible adult looking out for the well-being of the child. Some would argue that adoption is a more humane option than abortion, but I've heard so many stories of unfit parents doing horrible things to their children that it's clear that many people choose not to put the child up for adoption, regardless of their capabilities as a parent. So maybe abortion is actually better for the baby in some cases- I would imagine it's better than suffering later on. But does anyone really know for a fact that the baby would suffer? Who knows what the parent will do once the child is in his/her arms? Maybe they will undergo an epiphany upon seeing the miracle they produced and actually do a good job of parenting. Maybe not. Is it worth taking the chance? I don't know.
Then there's the whole category of rape. I have heard stories of women being raped, then finding out they are pregnant with the rapist's child, and keep the baby to raise him/her on her own. I don't know if I could handle that. I don't know if I could look into my child's eyes and see not my husband in there, but some random creep who forced me to have sex with him. I've never been in that situation, so maybe it's not that hard to love that child. I don't know. And I don't know how my husband would feel if I were raped, got pregnant, and decided to keep the child. He'd be raising a kid who wasn't even his own, but the child of someone who took advantage of his wife.
It's a touchy subject, and I can see why there is such division among people in regards to feelings on this matter. I don't think there is a right or wrong answer.
At the same time, the couple involved in the affair was also depicted as a likable pair. There was even one part in the book where a third party was counseling the woman who had cheated, saying that what she did wasn't wrong, she just needed something that her husband wasn't giving her, and she got it from somewhere else.
My husband told me a long time ago that if I cheated on him, he'd probably forgive me, since he loves me so much. I can't remember the context in which he was telling me that, but those words stuck. I didn't take that as a free pass to go off and cheat, mind you, but I thought it was interesting that he felt that way. More recently, he decided he wouldn't be so forgiving if I cheated, and said it would probably be over between us. I asked him about his change of heart, and I can't remember what he said, but it was something to the effect of that's what he thought at the time, but now he thinks otherwise.
I'm not sure that the whole get what you need from somewhere else excuse is a valid one worthy of forgiveness. Isn't that what you vow not to do when you get married? If TB decided that he needed something more than what I have to offer him, then he has no business staying with me. I understand that people change, and circumstances change, but honesty and communication is the foundation of a successful marriage (not that I'd know since mine is apparently falling apart, only saved by a trip to NOLA ;o)). But again, I've not been in that situation so I really don't know if I would feel the same way if it happened to me. On either end- whether I was the cheater or the betrayed. And I'm not sure I could overlook it if I were cheated on, no matter what the excuse.
So these books opened my eyes in a lot of ways, and made me a more enlightened person as I reflect upon the subjects about which I read. And now you are a more enlightened person for reading my reflections on these subjects. Now go off and write me a paper describing your reaction to these reflections.
Typed. And double-spaced.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
The Lost Day
When I ended my last post, I think it was just before noon and I was waiting on the 12:30pm flight to take me to Philly before catching a flight home to Baltimore. Luckily, I did get on that flight and made it to Philly. We then were lucky enough to have a 2-hour layover in Philly where we took full advantage of the $40 worth of airport food vouchers given to us by the apathetic airline representative who had for some bizarre reason put us on standby for the 7:30am flight instead of booking us tickets, and decided to have dinner at Friday's. Where I indulged in this.
I'm not a big drinker. And this was a big drink. But it produced the desired effect of a slight buzz, which helped me get through the 30-minute taxi to liftoff that preceded a 20-minute flight. It also helped me commence RUI- Rolling Under the Influence. I kept smacking the little rolling suitcase we used as a carryon into random objects like walls. In fact as we were preparing to board the plane to Bmore, I smacked into the wall and the suitcase got stuck on one of the supports for the railing. I backed up and tried again and got stuck again. Tried one more time and finally TB helped me free myself, giving me his patented dimpled eye roll, meaning I was doing something characteristically stupid.
Anyway, we got home at 9pm Monday night. If all had gone according to plan, we should have been home by 11am. That's a 10-hour delay. We were stuck in freaking airports for 10 hours longer than we were supposed to be. That's almost an entire day.
Don't they realize that I'm 30 now- every day is precious to me because I don't have many of them left. They are numbered, and I basically was raped by US Airways of one of my precious days.
That's messed up.
I'm not a big drinker. And this was a big drink. But it produced the desired effect of a slight buzz, which helped me get through the 30-minute taxi to liftoff that preceded a 20-minute flight. It also helped me commence RUI- Rolling Under the Influence. I kept smacking the little rolling suitcase we used as a carryon into random objects like walls. In fact as we were preparing to board the plane to Bmore, I smacked into the wall and the suitcase got stuck on one of the supports for the railing. I backed up and tried again and got stuck again. Tried one more time and finally TB helped me free myself, giving me his patented dimpled eye roll, meaning I was doing something characteristically stupid.
Anyway, we got home at 9pm Monday night. If all had gone according to plan, we should have been home by 11am. That's a 10-hour delay. We were stuck in freaking airports for 10 hours longer than we were supposed to be. That's almost an entire day.
Don't they realize that I'm 30 now- every day is precious to me because I don't have many of them left. They are numbered, and I basically was raped by US Airways of one of my precious days.
That's messed up.
Monday, October 27, 2008
I Wanna Go Hoooommmmme!
New Orleans was a fun trip. It's a cool place to visit. I honestly couldn't say I would ever want to live there. But the weather was nice, the people were friendly and the music and food were stellar.
The Man and I spent a good amount of alone time on the trip. For dinner last night (my birthday), the guys in The Band helped me celebrate over pasta and cheesecake (mine came with a candle) at Adolfo's, the smallest Italian restaurant I have seen in my life. The kitchen was smaller than mine at home, and their refrigerator was the same size. No industrial restaurant fridge for them! And the soda was flat. The waiter was very brusque, but the food was awesome. So it was worth it.
We saw the outskirts of the Louis Armstrong Park, including Congo Square, which was a huge deal to both of us, especially The Man, being a musician and all, heavily into jazz, who teaches a music history course. We walked around the French Quarters, drove through the Garden District, saw the SuperDome from the car, and found ourselves in the New Orleans version of what we in Baltimore call The Block. A strip in the city that has a gay end and a porn end. I felt totally comfortable walking through both sections, but TB was visibly uncomfortable and sped through it.
We saw the place where they store the Mardi Gras floats (check back later, I'll post pics of all these things) and walked along the Mississippi River. We saw the Napoleon House and boats with satellite dishes. We ate real New Orleans cuisine.
And now I'm ready to go home.
Too bad I'm STUCK here at the Louis Armstrong Airport in LA, and have been since 4:30am. Right now it's 11:17 here. We got bumped off the first flight, then bumped off the replacement. We were put on standby for a 10:40 flight, which didn't work out, and now we're waiting for a noon flight. Which will put us in Baltimore at 6pm. We should have been home by 11am.
At least we got some vouchers for great airport food, which we're heading out to get now. Hopefully I will get home today....or at some point in this lifetime....
The Man and I spent a good amount of alone time on the trip. For dinner last night (my birthday), the guys in The Band helped me celebrate over pasta and cheesecake (mine came with a candle) at Adolfo's, the smallest Italian restaurant I have seen in my life. The kitchen was smaller than mine at home, and their refrigerator was the same size. No industrial restaurant fridge for them! And the soda was flat. The waiter was very brusque, but the food was awesome. So it was worth it.
We saw the outskirts of the Louis Armstrong Park, including Congo Square, which was a huge deal to both of us, especially The Man, being a musician and all, heavily into jazz, who teaches a music history course. We walked around the French Quarters, drove through the Garden District, saw the SuperDome from the car, and found ourselves in the New Orleans version of what we in Baltimore call The Block. A strip in the city that has a gay end and a porn end. I felt totally comfortable walking through both sections, but TB was visibly uncomfortable and sped through it.
We saw the place where they store the Mardi Gras floats (check back later, I'll post pics of all these things) and walked along the Mississippi River. We saw the Napoleon House and boats with satellite dishes. We ate real New Orleans cuisine.
And now I'm ready to go home.
Too bad I'm STUCK here at the Louis Armstrong Airport in LA, and have been since 4:30am. Right now it's 11:17 here. We got bumped off the first flight, then bumped off the replacement. We were put on standby for a 10:40 flight, which didn't work out, and now we're waiting for a noon flight. Which will put us in Baltimore at 6pm. We should have been home by 11am.
At least we got some vouchers for great airport food, which we're heading out to get now. Hopefully I will get home today....or at some point in this lifetime....
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Vive La Musique!
Just a quick post from NOLA while TB is in the shower.
After two delayed flights, we arrived in NOLA around 11pm. Ater settling into our hotel room we decided to try a taste of the local culture by getting a late dinner at one of the local restaurants famous for LA home cooking. So we went across the street to Applebee's.
Right now it's around 12:30 here, and so far today we had cereal and fruit salad for breakfast at the hotel's breakfast bar, then a Smoothie King smoothie after our morning workout. I feel really good that we're not holding back, and we're trying all these new and different things. Just imagine- if we were still in Baltimore right now I probably would have had Kashi GoLean cereal for breakfast, instead of Raisin Bran, we would have gone to Chili's instead of Applebees, and I would have had an Odwalla Super Protein bar after my workout instead of a Smoothie King.
I hope my stomach can handle all of this unusual cuisine.
OK enough joking around. As soon as TB gets out of the shower we're heading out for a truly native meal at a recommended restaurant downtown, then tonight, after The Band's gig I think we're headed out for a late night in the French Quarters.
The only bummer is that back home in Baltimore, there's a no smoking in bars law that was recently passed. They don't have that here. So I will probably be showering at 4am to get the smoke out of my hair.
So one more note before I sign off- I just realized that I am celebrating my 30th birthday by spending the weekend in NOLA with 7 boys. Very nice. I will be pointing that out for a long time to anyone who will listen....
Au revoir!
After two delayed flights, we arrived in NOLA around 11pm. Ater settling into our hotel room we decided to try a taste of the local culture by getting a late dinner at one of the local restaurants famous for LA home cooking. So we went across the street to Applebee's.
Right now it's around 12:30 here, and so far today we had cereal and fruit salad for breakfast at the hotel's breakfast bar, then a Smoothie King smoothie after our morning workout. I feel really good that we're not holding back, and we're trying all these new and different things. Just imagine- if we were still in Baltimore right now I probably would have had Kashi GoLean cereal for breakfast, instead of Raisin Bran, we would have gone to Chili's instead of Applebees, and I would have had an Odwalla Super Protein bar after my workout instead of a Smoothie King.
I hope my stomach can handle all of this unusual cuisine.
OK enough joking around. As soon as TB gets out of the shower we're heading out for a truly native meal at a recommended restaurant downtown, then tonight, after The Band's gig I think we're headed out for a late night in the French Quarters.
The only bummer is that back home in Baltimore, there's a no smoking in bars law that was recently passed. They don't have that here. So I will probably be showering at 4am to get the smoke out of my hair.
So one more note before I sign off- I just realized that I am celebrating my 30th birthday by spending the weekend in NOLA with 7 boys. Very nice. I will be pointing that out for a long time to anyone who will listen....
Au revoir!
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Dance Lessons and Stress
Last night was a very crazy, stressful night. I spent much of the day feeling sorry for myself and my aching back. But by around 3-4pm, my back miraculously healed itself, and I felt fine. Well enough, actually, to think about running to make up for my lack of movement during the earlier part of the day.
I never said I was smart.
Actually, I think I did say that. I am smart. I just inherited my mother's stubbornness, especially when it comes to arguing and working out.
But that's another post in and of itself. Just know that I spent much of the late afternoon/evening planning to run, and today I am regretting it slightly, and made sure to pack the Icy Hot in my gym bag.
So my afternoon consisted of taking SB to her dance lesson, stopping by a satellite location of the company I work for to pick up some stuff for a benefits fair we're doing today, rushing home to feed SB before my piano lesson got there, then trying to run before dropping SB into the bathtub and throwing her into her bed. Add in there various household chores like laundry, emptying and loading the dishwasher and cleaning the bathroom.
When I get stressed out- I mean really stressed out, my head itches. I know that sounds really weird but I swear it's true.
The last time I was that stressed was my second semester in grad school. I love the idea of taking classes and learning and furthering my education and all that good stuff, but I'm a very impatient person. I wanted that degree like, yesterday. So I went to school full-time while working full-time, plus overtime.
I didn't feel like I was making enough money at work (does anyone, really?) so when they had trouble filling an open spot in the back office of the physical therapy practice where I worked, I volunteered to work overtime to cover the duties of that spot. And make more money for myself.
So my typical weekday at this point would entail waking up at 4:30am to get to the gym, arrive at work at 7am, head to my "other job" at 3pm, then head to class around 5pm. My classes were back to back, and would end at 10pm, which is when I would head home and collapse into bed.
Weekends were mostly spent catching up on homework (this was grad school, so there was a ton of research article reading involved) and trying to maintain some sort of social life, since at the time I was in my early 20's.
So the second semester of this, my classes were a little tougher than the first semester (although no class I ever took was more difficult or gratifying than statistics, which I took the first semester. And got an A in. Which the DEAN commended me on, because the teacher apparently did not like to dispense of A's very much. But enough bragging....) and I was starting to stress a little.
Around the same time, I noticed that my head itched. A lot. I'd be sitting in my Motor Development class and find myself going at my own head like a dog with fleas. Because of all the scratching, I noticed some flakes.
I freaked out. I have very dark hair, and have never had a problem with dandruff. If anyone needs to not have dandruff, it's a person with dark hair. Or a person who has to wear black all the time. I was not happy about this. I bought dandruff shampoo and washed with a passion, but no matter what I did, my head would not stop itching.
I didn't really think the itching was stress related until it miraculously disappeared shortly after the semester ended. Since then, it's come and gone, and I've noticed it only rears its annoying little head during times when I'm stressed out for an extended period of time.
So yesterday, I'm running around, trying to fit everything in, including my run, while scratching my head to the point that SB asks me why I am scratching like Koko.
Thank goodness I had SB's pre-ballet/pre-tap class to take my mind off things.
There are four girls in her class. All four are dangerously adorable, in their Little pink leotards with pink tights and little underwear sticking out of the bottom. Two are very quiet, very well-behaved little girls. My daughter is not one of these. She is one of the rambunctious, curious, active two. Those are all euphemisms, by the way, for not focused, not obedient, and not attentive.
But at least she has personality! At first glance, Jordan would appear to be every parent's dream child. She's obedient, quiet, and actually attempts to do what the teacher is doing. SB and the other girls just kind of, at best, get the general idea of what's going on. For example, if the teacher, Ms. Carole, is trying to get them to go from first position to second position by moving their one foot out to the side, Jordan will actually try to do that. Meanwhile, Anna would be sitting on the ground looking at her toes, Gabriella would just be standing there with her arms out, and SB would be up at the mirror making faces at herself.
It's hard not to laugh. Admittedly, though, I don't try very hard.
The first couple of lessons, I was very envious at Jordan's impeccable behavior. I came very close to asking her father how he raised such an obedient and dedicated child. But now, after a few lessons, Jordan's hardly uttered a single sentence, except for "my favorite color is blue." I would take SB's randomness any day over the quietness that is Jordan.
Gabriella is another quiet one who tries to emulate Ms. Carole's movements, but kind of doesn't want to let herself go all the way with it. So she'll kind of commit herself partway to whatever's going on. And she complains a lot. I thought it was funny that one day she didn't want to do chasses because her stomach hurt, but as soon as Ms. Carole pulled out the horses for the girls to gallop with, she was first in line to receive one. But she's usually pretty quiet and paying attention to what's going on.
Then there are the other two. SB, sadly, is one of them. SB and Anna aren't really good at focusing or listening or following directions. Or staying on their spots. Or staying away from the mirror. Or refraining from talking to each other and holding hands during class. And....well, you get the message.
Ms. Carole has 4 rubber dots that are numbered, that she places on the floor. Each girl gets a spot, and is supposed to stay on it, unless otherwise directed. SB got into the habit of picking up her spot and moving it around. After being reprimanded for doing that two, three, twenty times, she finally settled for picking up her spot and smacking it repeatedly on the ground. While the other girls were trying to do releves and so on. At least she wasn't moving it around.
SB tends to lose interest in the lessons and find herself attracted to her reflection in the mirror. She'll run up to the mirror and stick her tongue out and make all sorts of goofy faces at herself. I think at one point she actually licked the mirror. Repeatedly. That's my girl!
I have video footage of the class all lined up, standing facing the mirror, doing something graceful with their arms, and SB is in the middle, with her back turned to the mirror. She is bent over, sticking her butt out and shaking her booty.
In all honesty, SB has gotten a lot better. She's received all sorts of compliments from Ms. Carole, and now, when I peek in, she's not only standing on her spot, but she's attempting to do what Ms. Carole is doing- and actually succeeding! Yet she still calls out randomly about holes in her tights (which was actually a piece of lint) and how Daddy is at work but Mommy likes to eat cake.
Some might call it ADD, I call it personality. And I think Ms. Carole appreciates it. SB is much better than Anna. Anna is a basket case. She comes in all cute and dolled up, but once she gets into class, she totally spaces out. At first, SB was her partner in crime and they'd just go off on their own tangents into outer space together. But now that SB is the model student that she is, Anna spends most of her time sitting on the floor and sulking. Sometimes, she reaches over and tries to pet SB. I'm not sure how I feel about that.
Yesterday, Anna decided she didn't like what they were doing so she just sat there in the middle of the floor and stared at her knees. Ms. Carole moved her over to the side of the room (probably for her own safety- this was during the tap portion, and those girls are dangerous), and she didn't like that one bit. I didn't see her reaction, but Ms. Carole actually came out into the waiting room and warned Anna's mom that she wasn't happy with her.
Anyway, the class is a riot. It was a great stress relief, if only for an hour. And the best part about yesterday's class was at the end when, as we were walking out, SB turned around and yelled out "Thank you, Ms. Carole" and gave her a big wave and a smile. I always make her thank the teacher, but this was the first time she did it on her own, and the first time it was so genuine.
I never said I was smart.
Actually, I think I did say that. I am smart. I just inherited my mother's stubbornness, especially when it comes to arguing and working out.
But that's another post in and of itself. Just know that I spent much of the late afternoon/evening planning to run, and today I am regretting it slightly, and made sure to pack the Icy Hot in my gym bag.
So my afternoon consisted of taking SB to her dance lesson, stopping by a satellite location of the company I work for to pick up some stuff for a benefits fair we're doing today, rushing home to feed SB before my piano lesson got there, then trying to run before dropping SB into the bathtub and throwing her into her bed. Add in there various household chores like laundry, emptying and loading the dishwasher and cleaning the bathroom.
When I get stressed out- I mean really stressed out, my head itches. I know that sounds really weird but I swear it's true.
The last time I was that stressed was my second semester in grad school. I love the idea of taking classes and learning and furthering my education and all that good stuff, but I'm a very impatient person. I wanted that degree like, yesterday. So I went to school full-time while working full-time, plus overtime.
I didn't feel like I was making enough money at work (does anyone, really?) so when they had trouble filling an open spot in the back office of the physical therapy practice where I worked, I volunteered to work overtime to cover the duties of that spot. And make more money for myself.
So my typical weekday at this point would entail waking up at 4:30am to get to the gym, arrive at work at 7am, head to my "other job" at 3pm, then head to class around 5pm. My classes were back to back, and would end at 10pm, which is when I would head home and collapse into bed.
Weekends were mostly spent catching up on homework (this was grad school, so there was a ton of research article reading involved) and trying to maintain some sort of social life, since at the time I was in my early 20's.
So the second semester of this, my classes were a little tougher than the first semester (although no class I ever took was more difficult or gratifying than statistics, which I took the first semester. And got an A in. Which the DEAN commended me on, because the teacher apparently did not like to dispense of A's very much. But enough bragging....) and I was starting to stress a little.
Around the same time, I noticed that my head itched. A lot. I'd be sitting in my Motor Development class and find myself going at my own head like a dog with fleas. Because of all the scratching, I noticed some flakes.
I freaked out. I have very dark hair, and have never had a problem with dandruff. If anyone needs to not have dandruff, it's a person with dark hair. Or a person who has to wear black all the time. I was not happy about this. I bought dandruff shampoo and washed with a passion, but no matter what I did, my head would not stop itching.
I didn't really think the itching was stress related until it miraculously disappeared shortly after the semester ended. Since then, it's come and gone, and I've noticed it only rears its annoying little head during times when I'm stressed out for an extended period of time.
So yesterday, I'm running around, trying to fit everything in, including my run, while scratching my head to the point that SB asks me why I am scratching like Koko.
Thank goodness I had SB's pre-ballet/pre-tap class to take my mind off things.
There are four girls in her class. All four are dangerously adorable, in their Little pink leotards with pink tights and little underwear sticking out of the bottom. Two are very quiet, very well-behaved little girls. My daughter is not one of these. She is one of the rambunctious, curious, active two. Those are all euphemisms, by the way, for not focused, not obedient, and not attentive.
But at least she has personality! At first glance, Jordan would appear to be every parent's dream child. She's obedient, quiet, and actually attempts to do what the teacher is doing. SB and the other girls just kind of, at best, get the general idea of what's going on. For example, if the teacher, Ms. Carole, is trying to get them to go from first position to second position by moving their one foot out to the side, Jordan will actually try to do that. Meanwhile, Anna would be sitting on the ground looking at her toes, Gabriella would just be standing there with her arms out, and SB would be up at the mirror making faces at herself.
It's hard not to laugh. Admittedly, though, I don't try very hard.
The first couple of lessons, I was very envious at Jordan's impeccable behavior. I came very close to asking her father how he raised such an obedient and dedicated child. But now, after a few lessons, Jordan's hardly uttered a single sentence, except for "my favorite color is blue." I would take SB's randomness any day over the quietness that is Jordan.
Gabriella is another quiet one who tries to emulate Ms. Carole's movements, but kind of doesn't want to let herself go all the way with it. So she'll kind of commit herself partway to whatever's going on. And she complains a lot. I thought it was funny that one day she didn't want to do chasses because her stomach hurt, but as soon as Ms. Carole pulled out the horses for the girls to gallop with, she was first in line to receive one. But she's usually pretty quiet and paying attention to what's going on.
Then there are the other two. SB, sadly, is one of them. SB and Anna aren't really good at focusing or listening or following directions. Or staying on their spots. Or staying away from the mirror. Or refraining from talking to each other and holding hands during class. And....well, you get the message.
Ms. Carole has 4 rubber dots that are numbered, that she places on the floor. Each girl gets a spot, and is supposed to stay on it, unless otherwise directed. SB got into the habit of picking up her spot and moving it around. After being reprimanded for doing that two, three, twenty times, she finally settled for picking up her spot and smacking it repeatedly on the ground. While the other girls were trying to do releves and so on. At least she wasn't moving it around.
SB tends to lose interest in the lessons and find herself attracted to her reflection in the mirror. She'll run up to the mirror and stick her tongue out and make all sorts of goofy faces at herself. I think at one point she actually licked the mirror. Repeatedly. That's my girl!
I have video footage of the class all lined up, standing facing the mirror, doing something graceful with their arms, and SB is in the middle, with her back turned to the mirror. She is bent over, sticking her butt out and shaking her booty.
In all honesty, SB has gotten a lot better. She's received all sorts of compliments from Ms. Carole, and now, when I peek in, she's not only standing on her spot, but she's attempting to do what Ms. Carole is doing- and actually succeeding! Yet she still calls out randomly about holes in her tights (which was actually a piece of lint) and how Daddy is at work but Mommy likes to eat cake.
Some might call it ADD, I call it personality. And I think Ms. Carole appreciates it. SB is much better than Anna. Anna is a basket case. She comes in all cute and dolled up, but once she gets into class, she totally spaces out. At first, SB was her partner in crime and they'd just go off on their own tangents into outer space together. But now that SB is the model student that she is, Anna spends most of her time sitting on the floor and sulking. Sometimes, she reaches over and tries to pet SB. I'm not sure how I feel about that.
Yesterday, Anna decided she didn't like what they were doing so she just sat there in the middle of the floor and stared at her knees. Ms. Carole moved her over to the side of the room (probably for her own safety- this was during the tap portion, and those girls are dangerous), and she didn't like that one bit. I didn't see her reaction, but Ms. Carole actually came out into the waiting room and warned Anna's mom that she wasn't happy with her.
Anyway, the class is a riot. It was a great stress relief, if only for an hour. And the best part about yesterday's class was at the end when, as we were walking out, SB turned around and yelled out "Thank you, Ms. Carole" and gave her a big wave and a smile. I always make her thank the teacher, but this was the first time she did it on her own, and the first time it was so genuine.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
It's Not Easy Being Old
Have I mentioned that I'm turning 30 this weekend? I don't think I've talked about it enough. It's 5:30am and I'm sitting here at work, not working out. I got here late and am moving very slowly this morning because somehow I hurt my back. And let me tell you, there's nothing that can make you feel older than a sore lower back.
I did something really stupid when I was in college. Actually I did a lot of stupid things, but only one really goes with the back pain theme of this post.
When I first moved out of my house to go to school, I got an apartment on the third floor. Why they call it the third floor I'm not sure, because it was actually 6 flights of stairs I had to mount before reaching this "third floor" so it should have been called the sixth floor.
Coincidentally, I chose this apartment for one reason: I had friends who lived in the same complex. I moved from Frederick, MD to Baltimore, where I knew no one, and I thought having friends nearby would be convenient. So I paid $625 for a one-bedroom piece of crap just for that reason. The reason my friends chose this place was because of its proximity to Towson University, where we all went. This complex was pretty much located in Towson's backyard. In order to get to class, I basically walked through the apartment's parking lot, down a steep hill that brought me through the woods that separated the campus from the apartments, and into the building. So that was pretty sweet.
Because it was practically on campus, you would think that my apartment complex would house pretty much only Towson University students. Ah, but you would be wrong. Apparently, the complex had some sort of deal for senior citizens, because there were a number of them living there. I don't know if the apartment company had to pay less in taxes or if it kept the cops away, or what. And I was lucky enough to live across the hall from one of these seniors.
There were only 2 apartments per floor, and we were on the top floor so I felt that the two of us were very isolated from everyone else. I didn't mind too much at first, because I loved my grandmother and I thought maybe this nice old lady would bake me cookies and be a nice sit-in. Boy was I wrong.
I came to refer to my elderly neighbor as the bearded goat lady from Hell (thanks to Jeff Foxworthy, who came up with that moniker and it stuck in my head until a suitable owner showed up). Her apartment smelled like death. I could always tell if she had recently had her door open because the entire landing would reek. I'm not sure exactly what caused that smell, and I was happy not knowing.
She hated me and would give me the death stare every time we ran into each other. Speaking of running into each other, there was one incident where my brother and I were leaving the apartment building, and she was entering. My brother held the door open for her and as she made her way up to it, she tripped and fell face first into him. He caught her and steadied her and she just gave him her patented death look and continued on her way. Didn't even thank him for catching her or holding the door, or apologize for nearly knocking him over.
Anyway, she has nothing at all to do with the stupid thing I did, I just thought you would want to know about her.
So as I'm living in this sixth story apartment, my mother got the bright idea in her head that I needed entire sets of encyclopedias and reference books to fill up my bookshelves. That I didn't have because there was no room for them. Even though I had the Internet, which is much better, and takes up less room.
So one Sunday morning she shows up at my place with her entire station wagon (The Boat) loaded up with copy paper boxes filled with huge reference books. Of course, there's no way that I'm going to make my 60-year old mother carry boxes of books up 6 flights of stairs to my place, so she hung out in my apartment, criticizing my lack of food while I carried all 20 or so boxes up.
Did I mention it was 6 flights of stairs? Because it was.
No elevator or anything.
I was working out at the time, and I was well aware that the proper way to lift is with your legs and not your back. And I thought that's what I was doing.
But the next day, when my alarm went off, I found I could not move. At all.
My entire back was screaming bloody murder. I had never experienced pain like this in my life. For almost an entire week I was bound to my bed, crawling on all fours if I had to go to the bathroom or get something to eat. Somehow I got some Icy Hot and would apply it to my entire back side, then sit in the bathtub in steaming hot water for as long as I could tolerate it. (If you've never done that before, give it a try- it's a really trippy feeling when the icy part kicks in, combined with the heat of the water.)
That was actually the only time I ever missed class that semester. Since then, I've been super careful about my back, because it gets messed up really easily. Not to the point where I can't walk, but as soon as I notice any type of pain there, I try to take it easy. Which is not the simplest thing, considering it's my job to move and work out and teach classes.
So hopefully taking it easy today will relieve the pain and I'll be able to enjoy turning 30 this weekend without feeling like I'm actually turning 70.
Did I mention it was 6 flights of stairs?
I did something really stupid when I was in college. Actually I did a lot of stupid things, but only one really goes with the back pain theme of this post.
When I first moved out of my house to go to school, I got an apartment on the third floor. Why they call it the third floor I'm not sure, because it was actually 6 flights of stairs I had to mount before reaching this "third floor" so it should have been called the sixth floor.
Coincidentally, I chose this apartment for one reason: I had friends who lived in the same complex. I moved from Frederick, MD to Baltimore, where I knew no one, and I thought having friends nearby would be convenient. So I paid $625 for a one-bedroom piece of crap just for that reason. The reason my friends chose this place was because of its proximity to Towson University, where we all went. This complex was pretty much located in Towson's backyard. In order to get to class, I basically walked through the apartment's parking lot, down a steep hill that brought me through the woods that separated the campus from the apartments, and into the building. So that was pretty sweet.
Because it was practically on campus, you would think that my apartment complex would house pretty much only Towson University students. Ah, but you would be wrong. Apparently, the complex had some sort of deal for senior citizens, because there were a number of them living there. I don't know if the apartment company had to pay less in taxes or if it kept the cops away, or what. And I was lucky enough to live across the hall from one of these seniors.
There were only 2 apartments per floor, and we were on the top floor so I felt that the two of us were very isolated from everyone else. I didn't mind too much at first, because I loved my grandmother and I thought maybe this nice old lady would bake me cookies and be a nice sit-in. Boy was I wrong.
I came to refer to my elderly neighbor as the bearded goat lady from Hell (thanks to Jeff Foxworthy, who came up with that moniker and it stuck in my head until a suitable owner showed up). Her apartment smelled like death. I could always tell if she had recently had her door open because the entire landing would reek. I'm not sure exactly what caused that smell, and I was happy not knowing.
She hated me and would give me the death stare every time we ran into each other. Speaking of running into each other, there was one incident where my brother and I were leaving the apartment building, and she was entering. My brother held the door open for her and as she made her way up to it, she tripped and fell face first into him. He caught her and steadied her and she just gave him her patented death look and continued on her way. Didn't even thank him for catching her or holding the door, or apologize for nearly knocking him over.
Anyway, she has nothing at all to do with the stupid thing I did, I just thought you would want to know about her.
So as I'm living in this sixth story apartment, my mother got the bright idea in her head that I needed entire sets of encyclopedias and reference books to fill up my bookshelves. That I didn't have because there was no room for them. Even though I had the Internet, which is much better, and takes up less room.
So one Sunday morning she shows up at my place with her entire station wagon (The Boat) loaded up with copy paper boxes filled with huge reference books. Of course, there's no way that I'm going to make my 60-year old mother carry boxes of books up 6 flights of stairs to my place, so she hung out in my apartment, criticizing my lack of food while I carried all 20 or so boxes up.
Did I mention it was 6 flights of stairs? Because it was.
No elevator or anything.
I was working out at the time, and I was well aware that the proper way to lift is with your legs and not your back. And I thought that's what I was doing.
But the next day, when my alarm went off, I found I could not move. At all.
My entire back was screaming bloody murder. I had never experienced pain like this in my life. For almost an entire week I was bound to my bed, crawling on all fours if I had to go to the bathroom or get something to eat. Somehow I got some Icy Hot and would apply it to my entire back side, then sit in the bathtub in steaming hot water for as long as I could tolerate it. (If you've never done that before, give it a try- it's a really trippy feeling when the icy part kicks in, combined with the heat of the water.)
That was actually the only time I ever missed class that semester. Since then, I've been super careful about my back, because it gets messed up really easily. Not to the point where I can't walk, but as soon as I notice any type of pain there, I try to take it easy. Which is not the simplest thing, considering it's my job to move and work out and teach classes.
So hopefully taking it easy today will relieve the pain and I'll be able to enjoy turning 30 this weekend without feeling like I'm actually turning 70.
Did I mention it was 6 flights of stairs?
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
To Do
Because I know you're all battling the effects of major Bmore Mama withdrawal, and I don't really have much to say that's of any interest to anyone (particularly myself) these days, and because I am efficient and organized, I present to you my current "To Do Before NO Trip" list.
Enjoy.
1. Renew drivers license. This sounds like a fairly easy task, but I imagine they're going to have to take a new photo, and if you've ever seen my hair come out in full force, you would understand that I need to hire an entire professional staff to tame it enough to fit within the frame of the photo. Upon viewing my current license photo, the word golliwog comes to mind immediately.
2. Get birthday present for SB's friend. While we are away, SB will be attending a friend's 5th (I believe) birthday party at one of those Play Zone places where everything's padded and the kids can basically fling themselves wildly around the room with minimal risk of injury. Grandma (aka MIL) will be bringing her. Lucky woman...
3. Figure out the weather in NO and pack accordingly. I don't get out much.
4. Clean, vacuum, sanitize and censor our bedroom. Our one guest bedroom is currently (and eternally) my office so Grandma will be sleeping in our bed while we're away. Grandma is not nosy at all, don't get me wrong. But there was one incident where she tried to help out by folding laundry for me. My laundry. She folded. My. Thongs. I don't like people touching my thongs in general (unless they're on me {snark})but who folds thongs in general??? How does one even fold a thong?
5. Prepare myself emotionally for turning 30. The actual event itself will occur once I'm in NO, preferably in a drunken state of numbness. But I still have to prepare myself for this whole new decade I'm entering. I still feel young, and certainly act juvenile enough, so I'm still kind of in denial. But I will be coming back a 30 year old, regardless of how I feel about it.
6. Panic. This is the first time we will ever be leaving SB overnight. And it's over 3 nights. While we're in another state. That is not reasonable driving distance. I miss her already.
7. Buy food. Something tells me Grandma is not as obsessed with organic pizza bites and Fiber One bars as I am. Something tells me she will want some real food in the house.
8. Take SB to dance class Wednesday evening. Nothing really special about this, besides the fact that it's hysterical. But it's something I have to do before we go so it gets a spot on the list.
9. Attend SB's preschool Halloween party on Thursday. See respective Halloween costumes below. I'm wondering if the adult costume comes with the Pamela Andersoon boobs or if I have to purchase them myself. I'm trying to get Grandma to dress up as well so there will be 3 generations of Wonder Woman...kind of like a past, present, future thing, but for some lame reason, she's not interested...
SB's costume, cute as it is, actually is really short in the back- so much that you can see her underwear when she just stands there. I don't know if I ever mentioned her boyfriend Sam, but I don't want him to get the wrong idea about her based on this costume....
10. Buy books for the trip. I am finishing up Barrel Fever by David Sedaris, probably tonight. I heart David Sedaris. If you haven't read any of his writings, and you enjoy witty, dry sarcastic disturbingly honest recollections of homosexuals' dysfunctional upbringings and adult life, then you will love his stuff. This is the first book of his that I've read that contains fiction, and this stuff is wild. My favorite so far is the Christmas letter (really- is there anyone out there who can actually stand Christmas letters? I make fun of every single one I receive relentlessly until my husband pushes me away and tells me to shut up. He actually tries to hide them from me so he doesn't have to go through all that) that describes how the bastard child her husband conceived while stationed in Vietnam who shows up at their doorstep and invades their house as if it was her own and ends up putting their baby in the washing machine and dryer.
Anyway.
Enjoy.
1. Renew drivers license. This sounds like a fairly easy task, but I imagine they're going to have to take a new photo, and if you've ever seen my hair come out in full force, you would understand that I need to hire an entire professional staff to tame it enough to fit within the frame of the photo. Upon viewing my current license photo, the word golliwog comes to mind immediately.
2. Get birthday present for SB's friend. While we are away, SB will be attending a friend's 5th (I believe) birthday party at one of those Play Zone places where everything's padded and the kids can basically fling themselves wildly around the room with minimal risk of injury. Grandma (aka MIL) will be bringing her. Lucky woman...
3. Figure out the weather in NO and pack accordingly. I don't get out much.
4. Clean, vacuum, sanitize and censor our bedroom. Our one guest bedroom is currently (and eternally) my office so Grandma will be sleeping in our bed while we're away. Grandma is not nosy at all, don't get me wrong. But there was one incident where she tried to help out by folding laundry for me. My laundry. She folded. My. Thongs. I don't like people touching my thongs in general (unless they're on me {snark})but who folds thongs in general??? How does one even fold a thong?
5. Prepare myself emotionally for turning 30. The actual event itself will occur once I'm in NO, preferably in a drunken state of numbness. But I still have to prepare myself for this whole new decade I'm entering. I still feel young, and certainly act juvenile enough, so I'm still kind of in denial. But I will be coming back a 30 year old, regardless of how I feel about it.
6. Panic. This is the first time we will ever be leaving SB overnight. And it's over 3 nights. While we're in another state. That is not reasonable driving distance. I miss her already.
7. Buy food. Something tells me Grandma is not as obsessed with organic pizza bites and Fiber One bars as I am. Something tells me she will want some real food in the house.
8. Take SB to dance class Wednesday evening. Nothing really special about this, besides the fact that it's hysterical. But it's something I have to do before we go so it gets a spot on the list.
9. Attend SB's preschool Halloween party on Thursday. See respective Halloween costumes below. I'm wondering if the adult costume comes with the Pamela Andersoon boobs or if I have to purchase them myself. I'm trying to get Grandma to dress up as well so there will be 3 generations of Wonder Woman...kind of like a past, present, future thing, but for some lame reason, she's not interested...
SB's costume, cute as it is, actually is really short in the back- so much that you can see her underwear when she just stands there. I don't know if I ever mentioned her boyfriend Sam, but I don't want him to get the wrong idea about her based on this costume....
10. Buy books for the trip. I am finishing up Barrel Fever by David Sedaris, probably tonight. I heart David Sedaris. If you haven't read any of his writings, and you enjoy witty, dry sarcastic disturbingly honest recollections of homosexuals' dysfunctional upbringings and adult life, then you will love his stuff. This is the first book of his that I've read that contains fiction, and this stuff is wild. My favorite so far is the Christmas letter (really- is there anyone out there who can actually stand Christmas letters? I make fun of every single one I receive relentlessly until my husband pushes me away and tells me to shut up. He actually tries to hide them from me so he doesn't have to go through all that) that describes how the bastard child her husband conceived while stationed in Vietnam who shows up at their doorstep and invades their house as if it was her own and ends up putting their baby in the washing machine and dryer.
Anyway.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Lazy Perfectionist
I have figured out my biggest flaw. I know what you're thinking. You're thinking Flaw? Bmore Mama, you are completely and utterly flawless. You must mean you've figured out what has to be your most endearing quality. No, fair reader...I am obligated to share the ugly ugly truth with you. I have a flaw. And here it is.
I am a lazy perfectionist. There is no doubt in my mind that I am a perfectionist. I am very competitive, I strive to do my best in every situation. My appearance must be completely polished at all times. My skin must be perfectly clear with every hair in place. My clothes must be in top condition with nary a wrinkle of which to speak. And every sentence out of my mouth must be well-thought, perfectly articulated, and exceedingly witty. My workouts must be consistent and tough. The classes I teach must be equally entertaining and challenging. My house must be in perfect order, with no dishes in the sink, no crumbs on the table and no white toothpaste residue in the bathroom sink. A ring around the bathtub is preposterous, and dog hair in the corner of the kitchen floor is a felony.
Definitely Type A personality coming through here. You'd think I was a neurotic nut with her life completely in order and everything always works out just fine.
But here's where the lazy part of all that comes in. I want and expect for all the above to occur in my life, as described. But I'm too lazy to do anything to actually ensure it.
I'm so low maintenance that it's impossible to achieve all that stuff about looking perfect. The way I see it, you people who see me on a daily basis are lucky that I brush my teeth consistently. My hair is always pulled back into a messy updo- so much so that it actually hurts when I let it down. I want to and expect to look good, and have a clean house, but I'm too apathetic (read: lazy) to do anything about it. Yet it frustrates me that I don't meet my own expectations.
Am I making sense?
Here's the perfect example of what I mean. The past few days have been really rough for me. No, my husband and I are not having problems ((big grin)) but there has been some other stuff going on my life that has really gotten me down. Can't really talk about it here, but I have been very bummed out recently. On Monday, just before I taught step class I found out more stuff that made it even worse (am I being vague enough here for ya? Sorry...). So I spent the entire warm up of the class just trying not to cry. And I'm not a big crier.
So, my little way of dealing with this self-critical and difficult time in my life is to renew my dedication to exercise and try to physically remove the morose feelings by sweating them out. So on Monday I killed my class by working them extra hard. I actually considered not stopping halfway through the class to allow them a drink break, like I usually do, but they were all so obviously struggling by that point that I felt I had to. I woke up extra early this morning to come in and do a grueling leg work out that would definitely take my mind off things, but got here and got distracted by face book and a funny picture of a homeless guy with a sign that said "I'm like Obama...I want change" and completely forwent the workout.
See what I mean? I can't live up to my own expectations. Which, admittedly, are high. But that's my problem. My one character flaw. It certainly affects me more than it affects other people, but it makes life very difficult for me. Because now I feel like I failed because I didn't work out. Even though I'm still hard core because I have a workout planned for later this morning with a member, then I'm hoping to get a run in tonight. We'll see if these actually happen.
I am a lazy perfectionist. There is no doubt in my mind that I am a perfectionist. I am very competitive, I strive to do my best in every situation. My appearance must be completely polished at all times. My skin must be perfectly clear with every hair in place. My clothes must be in top condition with nary a wrinkle of which to speak. And every sentence out of my mouth must be well-thought, perfectly articulated, and exceedingly witty. My workouts must be consistent and tough. The classes I teach must be equally entertaining and challenging. My house must be in perfect order, with no dishes in the sink, no crumbs on the table and no white toothpaste residue in the bathroom sink. A ring around the bathtub is preposterous, and dog hair in the corner of the kitchen floor is a felony.
Definitely Type A personality coming through here. You'd think I was a neurotic nut with her life completely in order and everything always works out just fine.
But here's where the lazy part of all that comes in. I want and expect for all the above to occur in my life, as described. But I'm too lazy to do anything to actually ensure it.
I'm so low maintenance that it's impossible to achieve all that stuff about looking perfect. The way I see it, you people who see me on a daily basis are lucky that I brush my teeth consistently. My hair is always pulled back into a messy updo- so much so that it actually hurts when I let it down. I want to and expect to look good, and have a clean house, but I'm too apathetic (read: lazy) to do anything about it. Yet it frustrates me that I don't meet my own expectations.
Am I making sense?
Here's the perfect example of what I mean. The past few days have been really rough for me. No, my husband and I are not having problems ((big grin)) but there has been some other stuff going on my life that has really gotten me down. Can't really talk about it here, but I have been very bummed out recently. On Monday, just before I taught step class I found out more stuff that made it even worse (am I being vague enough here for ya? Sorry...). So I spent the entire warm up of the class just trying not to cry. And I'm not a big crier.
So, my little way of dealing with this self-critical and difficult time in my life is to renew my dedication to exercise and try to physically remove the morose feelings by sweating them out. So on Monday I killed my class by working them extra hard. I actually considered not stopping halfway through the class to allow them a drink break, like I usually do, but they were all so obviously struggling by that point that I felt I had to. I woke up extra early this morning to come in and do a grueling leg work out that would definitely take my mind off things, but got here and got distracted by face book and a funny picture of a homeless guy with a sign that said "I'm like Obama...I want change" and completely forwent the workout.
See what I mean? I can't live up to my own expectations. Which, admittedly, are high. But that's my problem. My one character flaw. It certainly affects me more than it affects other people, but it makes life very difficult for me. Because now I feel like I failed because I didn't work out. Even though I'm still hard core because I have a workout planned for later this morning with a member, then I'm hoping to get a run in tonight. We'll see if these actually happen.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
I Heart Mr. Clean
OK Now that the whole not really breaking up with my husband thing is off my chest I can move on to the important things in my life.
First and foremost, I am in love with Mr. Clean. Remember a while back, I posted this photo of SB's artistry on my office wall? I finally got around to attempting to remove that, along with the brown sticky stuff caking the top of the table directly adjacent to this marker mess, that SB uses as a drawing table while Ilook at porn look at funny pictures of cats blog do work on my computer.
All it took was one Mr. Clean Magic Eraser, and the entire mess is GONE. Actually, the eraser got rid of the marker on the wall. It took powdered Comet and a scrubby sponge to rid the teak table of the quarter inch thick layer of brown sticky stuff. I'm really not sure what it was or how it got all over my table. But it's all gone now and my office is pristine.
I vacuumed up all the hard little Play-Doh chunks that stabbed me in the foot every time I walked in, threw away all the empty water bottles that were cluttering up my desk, and gave the entire office an overhaul.
I'm not sure what sparked this impromptu cleaning. Perhaps it was the fact that some graffiti artist tagged our truck the night before by painting the rear passenger window black? That forced me to remember what kind of a neighborhood we're living in. Although, in his (her?) defense, he was a considerate felon since he didn't blacken in the front windows, and he used paint that could be scraped off easily. But anyway, now more than ever, I want to move, and that was my first step of many in getting my house in order so we can do so (and yes, I will be bringing both my husband and SB with me).
Wish me luck!
First and foremost, I am in love with Mr. Clean. Remember a while back, I posted this photo of SB's artistry on my office wall? I finally got around to attempting to remove that, along with the brown sticky stuff caking the top of the table directly adjacent to this marker mess, that SB uses as a drawing table while I
All it took was one Mr. Clean Magic Eraser, and the entire mess is GONE. Actually, the eraser got rid of the marker on the wall. It took powdered Comet and a scrubby sponge to rid the teak table of the quarter inch thick layer of brown sticky stuff. I'm really not sure what it was or how it got all over my table. But it's all gone now and my office is pristine.
I vacuumed up all the hard little Play-Doh chunks that stabbed me in the foot every time I walked in, threw away all the empty water bottles that were cluttering up my desk, and gave the entire office an overhaul.
I'm not sure what sparked this impromptu cleaning. Perhaps it was the fact that some graffiti artist tagged our truck the night before by painting the rear passenger window black? That forced me to remember what kind of a neighborhood we're living in. Although, in his (her?) defense, he was a considerate felon since he didn't blacken in the front windows, and he used paint that could be scraped off easily. But anyway, now more than ever, I want to move, and that was my first step of many in getting my house in order so we can do so (and yes, I will be bringing both my husband and SB with me).
Wish me luck!
My Marriage is FINE
UNCLE!
OK I have to explain. There is absolutely nothing true about the last post. The reason I put it up was to fool a coworker. I'd go into the whole story but I'm laughing too hard to type right now.
So please rest assured that my dear husband never said any of those things to me, I am not pregnant, we are not breaking up (and if we were, I guarantee you that there would be a fierce custody battle over SB because both of us adore her so much), and most importantly,
I AM GOING TO NEW ORLEANS NEXT WEEKEND!!!!
Sorry, dear co-worker. I appreciate your genuine concern and your effort to help. I'm flattered that you care as much as you do and I know you only want to steer me in the right direction.
OK I have to explain. There is absolutely nothing true about the last post. The reason I put it up was to fool a coworker. I'd go into the whole story but I'm laughing too hard to type right now.
So please rest assured that my dear husband never said any of those things to me, I am not pregnant, we are not breaking up (and if we were, I guarantee you that there would be a fierce custody battle over SB because both of us adore her so much), and most importantly,
I AM GOING TO NEW ORLEANS NEXT WEEKEND!!!!
Sorry, dear co-worker. I appreciate your genuine concern and your effort to help. I'm flattered that you care as much as you do and I know you only want to steer me in the right direction.
Friday, October 10, 2008
NO Update
So last night my husband and I got into a huge argument about New Orleans. I had asked for the day off work, even though I wasn't crazy about using up even more of my vacation days. But I was able to work it out with my boss and I was all set.
I told my husband this and his response was that we are now leaving Friday morning and coming back really really late Monday night. I have to be at work at 6am on Tuesday, and I am rarely able to nap during the week because SB is usually up by the time I get home from work. So needless to say I was not happy about this.
Words were exchanged and the end result was not pretty. He felt that I should drop everything to go to New Orleans with his band while I thought it was interfering too much in my life, and thought it best that I stay home.
We stayed up very late last night, and all sorts of ghosts from our past were brought up. He accused me of being a bad mom. I told him he was a horrible person for saying that. He told me I was fat and ugly and he didn't know why he married me in the first place, but he is sure regretting it now.
I won't bore you with all the details, but long story short, we're breaking up. He's moving out today while I'm at work. The worst part about this is I have no idea what I'm going to do about SB because he made it clear that he doesn't want either of us in his life anymore.
I guess I won't get to tell him that I just found out I'm pregnant.
So if I don't post for a while, you'll know why.
Later.
I told my husband this and his response was that we are now leaving Friday morning and coming back really really late Monday night. I have to be at work at 6am on Tuesday, and I am rarely able to nap during the week because SB is usually up by the time I get home from work. So needless to say I was not happy about this.
Words were exchanged and the end result was not pretty. He felt that I should drop everything to go to New Orleans with his band while I thought it was interfering too much in my life, and thought it best that I stay home.
We stayed up very late last night, and all sorts of ghosts from our past were brought up. He accused me of being a bad mom. I told him he was a horrible person for saying that. He told me I was fat and ugly and he didn't know why he married me in the first place, but he is sure regretting it now.
I won't bore you with all the details, but long story short, we're breaking up. He's moving out today while I'm at work. The worst part about this is I have no idea what I'm going to do about SB because he made it clear that he doesn't want either of us in his life anymore.
I guess I won't get to tell him that I just found out I'm pregnant.
So if I don't post for a while, you'll know why.
Later.
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Scanner Fun!
SB has been running a slight fever for the past few days so her sleep schedule is kind of erratic and we've been bumming around the house more than anything. Today she took a marathon nap, from 1:30-4pm. Of course, I spent the entire time completely expecting her to wake up any second since my husband told me she had napped on and off earlier for about an hour. Even sick she doesn't sleep that much, usually.
So instead of immersing myself into some productive project sure to bring joy to some and financial security to others while providing myself with the do-gooder euphoria that only substantial efforts like hard work and sacrifice can offer, I decided to spend that time going through old photo albums and scanning random photos of myself.
Here's what I discovered: I don't think a good photo of me exists. I'm being completely serious here. I think that I am physically unable to take a nice, normal photo. It just doesn't happen. If I'm not dressed like a freak, in a strange predicament or having a really awful hair day, then I'm not in a photo. It's like a curse.
My evidence: (you can click on any photo to enlarge it...but do so at your own risk!)
This photo was taken maybe 5 years ago. At first glance it looks like an ok photo, if you don't count my flyaway frizzy hair. But at closer inspection, you would see that my legs look freaking emaciated. I have been thin but I have never been this freakishly skinny so it has to be the angle. But it makes my feet look huge, like I'm one of the Old School Bratz Girls. And I never noticed this, but a friend pointed out that the collar of my shirt is stained and asked if I had stolen the shirt from a homeless person. At least I'm not the only freak in this photo. Koko (on the right) has a freakishly huge tongue.
Rewind a few more years (like 10) and this is me at some point in college. I'm the one in the They Might Be Giants t-shirt that is only 17 sizes too big for me, rocking the purple-lensed John Lennon specs and the backwards baseball hat. Yeah, even back then I had a sense for fashion. Someone saw this and asked me why I was wearing men's' clothes. The sad part is that this wardrobe was all mine. Even the jeans, which were bought about 2 sizes too large and sat on my hips so ended up too long so I just ripped the bottoms off.
In my defense, this was taken at a work camp I attended, along with my friend Lisa's church group, in Appalachia, VA. While there, I was lucky enough to clean black crap out of someone's refrigerator, clean more, yet somehow genetically different black crap out of her toilet, then scrape another species of black crap out of her kitchen sink before trying to delicately explain to this woman how I need her to move off the couch so we can figure out how to get the pee stains out of it before she makes more. And many more fun and exciting volunteer activities that kept reminding me that I was doing good for these people despite the fact that I actually paid money to sit in smelly gunk that was more than likely a combination of human waste and dead animals.
Anyway...
This is me and my friend Brian at my 22nd birthday party. I know what you're thinking. You're really pissed that you weren't there. Because we look like we are freakin party animals. Yeah I'm pretty sure we tore down the house that night. F-ing life of the party. Yeah. Don't hate the players. And don't be jealous. Not everyone can be as wild and crazy and reckless as we are. Ok.
I must have been 16 or 17 in this shot although I look older. Some people, mostly guys taller than 5'10" who weigh over 200, call me small. Personally I never considered myself small, but whatever. I guess it's all relative. Compared to this guy I was definitely small. And the "nice" thing about being the fun-loving small girl in a group of fun-loving larger men is that you find yourself in interesting positions. I don't remember the details surrounding this particular incident, but I'm sure I did something blatantly wrong that earned me this coveted spot in the storage room, lost in a sea of keyboards. If I remember correctly, there's also a shot of me shoved into a comparably small space in the portable outside storage unit that was dumped behind the store to hold excess stuff during the busy season. And I probably have the same stupid grin on my face...
This photo could be a lot worse, but I like the story that goes with it so I shoved it into the scanner as well. I think I was 19 here, and I took a trip to New York City to see Sean Altman perform with Minimum Wage and Five O'Clock Shadow. What? You've never heard of them? Wow, you're really sheltered, you should get out more......Anyway, I'm walking down the street and I see this street performer attempting to make balloon animals. I say attempting because all he could produce was what was sitting on his head. People were requesting giraffes or poodles and walking away with a pathetic orb to put on their head.
So I walked up to this guy (which is very uncharacteristic of me- I was extremely shy at the time!) and offered to help, then proceeded to show him how to make a few animals. Don't ask me how I knew how to do this because I honestly don't know. But it sure came in handy!
OK I think that's it for now. That was only one album so I'm sure there will be a Part Deux post in the quasi-near future.
So instead of immersing myself into some productive project sure to bring joy to some and financial security to others while providing myself with the do-gooder euphoria that only substantial efforts like hard work and sacrifice can offer, I decided to spend that time going through old photo albums and scanning random photos of myself.
Here's what I discovered: I don't think a good photo of me exists. I'm being completely serious here. I think that I am physically unable to take a nice, normal photo. It just doesn't happen. If I'm not dressed like a freak, in a strange predicament or having a really awful hair day, then I'm not in a photo. It's like a curse.
My evidence: (you can click on any photo to enlarge it...but do so at your own risk!)
This photo was taken maybe 5 years ago. At first glance it looks like an ok photo, if you don't count my flyaway frizzy hair. But at closer inspection, you would see that my legs look freaking emaciated. I have been thin but I have never been this freakishly skinny so it has to be the angle. But it makes my feet look huge, like I'm one of the Old School Bratz Girls. And I never noticed this, but a friend pointed out that the collar of my shirt is stained and asked if I had stolen the shirt from a homeless person. At least I'm not the only freak in this photo. Koko (on the right) has a freakishly huge tongue.
Rewind a few more years (like 10) and this is me at some point in college. I'm the one in the They Might Be Giants t-shirt that is only 17 sizes too big for me, rocking the purple-lensed John Lennon specs and the backwards baseball hat. Yeah, even back then I had a sense for fashion. Someone saw this and asked me why I was wearing men's' clothes. The sad part is that this wardrobe was all mine. Even the jeans, which were bought about 2 sizes too large and sat on my hips so ended up too long so I just ripped the bottoms off.
In my defense, this was taken at a work camp I attended, along with my friend Lisa's church group, in Appalachia, VA. While there, I was lucky enough to clean black crap out of someone's refrigerator, clean more, yet somehow genetically different black crap out of her toilet, then scrape another species of black crap out of her kitchen sink before trying to delicately explain to this woman how I need her to move off the couch so we can figure out how to get the pee stains out of it before she makes more. And many more fun and exciting volunteer activities that kept reminding me that I was doing good for these people despite the fact that I actually paid money to sit in smelly gunk that was more than likely a combination of human waste and dead animals.
Anyway...
This is me and my friend Brian at my 22nd birthday party. I know what you're thinking. You're really pissed that you weren't there. Because we look like we are freakin party animals. Yeah I'm pretty sure we tore down the house that night. F-ing life of the party. Yeah. Don't hate the players. And don't be jealous. Not everyone can be as wild and crazy and reckless as we are. Ok.
I must have been 16 or 17 in this shot although I look older. Some people, mostly guys taller than 5'10" who weigh over 200, call me small. Personally I never considered myself small, but whatever. I guess it's all relative. Compared to this guy I was definitely small. And the "nice" thing about being the fun-loving small girl in a group of fun-loving larger men is that you find yourself in interesting positions. I don't remember the details surrounding this particular incident, but I'm sure I did something blatantly wrong that earned me this coveted spot in the storage room, lost in a sea of keyboards. If I remember correctly, there's also a shot of me shoved into a comparably small space in the portable outside storage unit that was dumped behind the store to hold excess stuff during the busy season. And I probably have the same stupid grin on my face...
This photo could be a lot worse, but I like the story that goes with it so I shoved it into the scanner as well. I think I was 19 here, and I took a trip to New York City to see Sean Altman perform with Minimum Wage and Five O'Clock Shadow. What? You've never heard of them? Wow, you're really sheltered, you should get out more......Anyway, I'm walking down the street and I see this street performer attempting to make balloon animals. I say attempting because all he could produce was what was sitting on his head. People were requesting giraffes or poodles and walking away with a pathetic orb to put on their head.
So I walked up to this guy (which is very uncharacteristic of me- I was extremely shy at the time!) and offered to help, then proceeded to show him how to make a few animals. Don't ask me how I knew how to do this because I honestly don't know. But it sure came in handy!
OK I think that's it for now. That was only one album so I'm sure there will be a Part Deux post in the quasi-near future.
NO?...No?
Remember a while back when I announced that I will be celebrating my 30th birthday in New Orleans? I'm not sure if I ever went into details about it, but the plan was that I would get to tag along with The Band to NO since they have some sort of a gig there the night before my birthday. I've never been, so it would be an interesting trip, and more importantly- one without SB. Our first, ever. Well, since she's been born, that is.
The original plans were to leave on Friday then come back on Sunday. Not too big of a deal. But now the plans seem to be to leave Friday night and come back Monday morning. Which would involve me trying to take that Monday off. Which I'm not too excited about doing. I just used a bunch of my vacation days when we went to the beach, and will be using a bunch at the end of October, when TB is away in Nashville for a gig (with another band). If I use another day then that would leave me with precious few days left- a chance I don't want to take in case someone gets sick or an emergency arises.
And to come back Sunday night, the plane ticket goes from $175 to $400. Not a good thing.
So now we're not sure if the NO thing is going to happen for me. If it doesn't, I'll spend my 30th birthday weekend home alone with SB.
I also tried to nail down a date when I could round up some friends for a local celebration of my entering a new decade of life but it seems that there is no good date for that- either TB's playing or I have to work the next day or my closest friends wouldn't be able to make it. Plus it's getting kind of close to the time so the longer we wait, the more unlikely it is that people would be able to attend or that we'll be able to get a sitter.
Bummer. Oh well, I guess that means more cake for me!
The original plans were to leave on Friday then come back on Sunday. Not too big of a deal. But now the plans seem to be to leave Friday night and come back Monday morning. Which would involve me trying to take that Monday off. Which I'm not too excited about doing. I just used a bunch of my vacation days when we went to the beach, and will be using a bunch at the end of October, when TB is away in Nashville for a gig (with another band). If I use another day then that would leave me with precious few days left- a chance I don't want to take in case someone gets sick or an emergency arises.
And to come back Sunday night, the plane ticket goes from $175 to $400. Not a good thing.
So now we're not sure if the NO thing is going to happen for me. If it doesn't, I'll spend my 30th birthday weekend home alone with SB.
I also tried to nail down a date when I could round up some friends for a local celebration of my entering a new decade of life but it seems that there is no good date for that- either TB's playing or I have to work the next day or my closest friends wouldn't be able to make it. Plus it's getting kind of close to the time so the longer we wait, the more unlikely it is that people would be able to attend or that we'll be able to get a sitter.
Bummer. Oh well, I guess that means more cake for me!
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Baby Got Back
I've never been a prouder mama....I particularly like the bent-over one-handed jazz hand near the beginning.
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Chez Bmore Mama
Le menu pour aujourd'hui:
(Little known fact about me: I spoke French before I spoke English.)
9am: Small bowl of Kashi Go Lean Crunch cereal with skim milk.
10am: Shared a box of organic pizza bites with SB (and by shared I mean SB ate one and I ate the rest).
1:30pm: Soft serve frozen yogurt with chocolate chips and caramel.
2:45pm: Bag of ranch flavored Doritos from vending machine at work.
4:30pm: Smart Ones frozen veggie quesadilla.
7:30pm: Twix bar
8:30pm: Entire box of Bagel Bites and 2 "tea cookies" from Mars.
Wow.
Well, I guess the purge is supposed to come next...although I don't throw up so I'm not sure how it's going to come. I haven't eaten so horribly for an entire day in a long time. Not that my eating's right on all the time. But most of the time I at least offset a bad meal with healthy food for the rest of the day. I wonder what's going on that possessed me to eat like that?
(Little known fact about me: I spoke French before I spoke English.)
9am: Small bowl of Kashi Go Lean Crunch cereal with skim milk.
10am: Shared a box of organic pizza bites with SB (and by shared I mean SB ate one and I ate the rest).
1:30pm: Soft serve frozen yogurt with chocolate chips and caramel.
2:45pm: Bag of ranch flavored Doritos from vending machine at work.
4:30pm: Smart Ones frozen veggie quesadilla.
7:30pm: Twix bar
8:30pm: Entire box of Bagel Bites and 2 "tea cookies" from Mars.
Wow.
Well, I guess the purge is supposed to come next...although I don't throw up so I'm not sure how it's going to come. I haven't eaten so horribly for an entire day in a long time. Not that my eating's right on all the time. But most of the time I at least offset a bad meal with healthy food for the rest of the day. I wonder what's going on that possessed me to eat like that?
Sunday, October 5, 2008
Weekend Post
How come no one else in the blogging world ever seems to post on a weekend? Am I that big of a nerd that I actually have time during my time off from work to post? Interesting...
This weekend was an interesting one. It was SB's grand debut as a flower girl in my brother's wedding. Needless to say, she completely stole the show. Never mind how ridiculously cute she looked, even with her Frankenstein scar running down her left cheek (she fell face first into a wall Monday night). She was all about staying with the "princesses" (aka bridesmaids) because "that's where she belonged" all day. The dance floor was hers. When she wasn't dancing with the princesses, or participating in the conga line, she was doing a solo dance to Baby Got Back on the dance floor. Oh yes. She was definitely getting down with her bad self.
The ceremony started at 1pm (or was supposed to but ended up starting about a half hour late), which is the same time as SB's nap time. Surprisingly, the only time she acted up was when the bride and groom had their first dance, SB started screaming that it was HER turn on the dance floor. It took a while to calm her down, but blowing bubbles with grandpa helped, and she was soon back to her cheery self. Everyone there, including my brother and his wife, agreed that it was really SB's show. No one cared that she only threw one handful of flowers, then stopped to pick them all up and put them back in the basket before continuing down the aisle.
I had kind of been dreading the whole wedding in general. It was about an hour and a half away, outside with portapotties, and both my parents were to be present. My mom and dad together- not a big deal. They're civil to one another. But the awkwardness arises when you put my mom and my stepmom in the same room, especially when my half-brother is there as well. The last time this happened was at my wedding in 2002, but there were a lot more people there, and the place was much bigger- so there was more of a buffer then.
Everything worked out well, though. The wedding went without a hitch, everyone seemed to have fun, and most importantly, my brother seemed happy.
This weekend was an interesting one. It was SB's grand debut as a flower girl in my brother's wedding. Needless to say, she completely stole the show. Never mind how ridiculously cute she looked, even with her Frankenstein scar running down her left cheek (she fell face first into a wall Monday night). She was all about staying with the "princesses" (aka bridesmaids) because "that's where she belonged" all day. The dance floor was hers. When she wasn't dancing with the princesses, or participating in the conga line, she was doing a solo dance to Baby Got Back on the dance floor. Oh yes. She was definitely getting down with her bad self.The ceremony started at 1pm (or was supposed to but ended up starting about a half hour late), which is the same time as SB's nap time. Surprisingly, the only time she acted up was when the bride and groom had their first dance, SB started screaming that it was HER turn on the dance floor. It took a while to calm her down, but blowing bubbles with grandpa helped, and she was soon back to her cheery self. Everyone there, including my brother and his wife, agreed that it was really SB's show. No one cared that she only threw one handful of flowers, then stopped to pick them all up and put them back in the basket before continuing down the aisle.
I had kind of been dreading the whole wedding in general. It was about an hour and a half away, outside with portapotties, and both my parents were to be present. My mom and dad together- not a big deal. They're civil to one another. But the awkwardness arises when you put my mom and my stepmom in the same room, especially when my half-brother is there as well. The last time this happened was at my wedding in 2002, but there were a lot more people there, and the place was much bigger- so there was more of a buffer then.
Everything worked out well, though. The wedding went without a hitch, everyone seemed to have fun, and most importantly, my brother seemed happy.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Thirsty
My husband and I don't work together very well when it comes to writing. We both produce brilliant stuff (as evidenced by this blog) but we have very different ways of producing it.
I tend to sit down and just get everything out of my head and onto the computer. I don't really care if it makes 100% perfect sense or if it flows well at this point. All I care about is getting my ideas out there. Then later I go back and edit until it's reached its level of perfection. You can see various stages of this process on my blog- it all depends on how quickly I lose interest in what I'm doing. For things like school papers, or articles for work, I have plenty of time to go back and re-edit and several occasions until the final product is to my satisfaction. I have to admit I don't do that much here, so what you see is usually in Phase I or maybe Phase II if you're lucky. And sometimes I even spell-check here.
My husband takes his time and forms each sentence deliberately and as if he will have no time to edit. When writing the first draft of a document, just one paragraph may take him 20 minutes to spew out. Not to say he's stupid or slow. He just thinks everything through very thoroughly before jotting it down. Granted, the process of editing his creations is usually quite easy, but the first draft is very time-consuming.
So I'm not saying either of us is right or wrong in our method. But I will say that when we try to work together, I get bored pretty easily while waiting for my husband to put his thoughts into words. I don't sit still much when I write. But I sit still a lot when he writes.
Last night was a prime example of this. He's writing a grant proposal so he can create a Jazz History curriculum at the college he works for. This is a very important document since he's asking for a lot of money. So I understand his need to be careful with how he sounds.
He asked me to help him, which usually means I type (since I'm light years faster than him) while he dictates, and if I have anything that I think doesn't sound right, I pipe up and we figure it out together. In theory, this plan should work. But I get antsy.
Last night, as I'm waiting for him to form his thoughts, I got bored and started looking around his studio. My attention was drawn to his desk, unsurprisingly, since that's where I was sitting. Sitting there right in front of me were 3 water bottles, all about 3/4 filled, a glass that was about 1/8 full of water, and 2 empty beer bottles. On his desk. Downstairs, in his studio.
Being the witty person that I am, I couldn't let this slide.
Do you have enough water on your desk?
He gave me a look, then went back to his thoughts. I sat there staring at the collection of bottles and glasses. A minute later:
Seriously, do you think there's enough water on this desk? I don't think you have enough drinks sitting here.
I got an irritated command to be quiet, and went back to staring at the mess. I picked up my bottle of water off of the piano next to me, finished it off and added it to the collection.
TB, do you have any water?
I think it was this point that he told me to just sit there and shut up. Or something similar. I was still bored though, so I asked him for his cell phone.
Thankful for the distraction, he took it out of his pocket and handed it to me. He probably assumed that I wanted to look through his photos, since I do that fairly regularly to see photos of SB that he takes when we're not together.
I snapped a photo of the wet bar that was my husband's computer desk and sent it off to Bucky with the caption "I'm Thirsty." From his phone. I am fairly confident that Bucky is fully aware that when she receives a text or picture message from my husband's phone, it's usually me sending it. I will say that I'm over my phase where I would take his phone and send text messages to random friends of his regarding the "pretty pink panties" he likes to wear, or his "unspoken yet fiercely strong love" he feels for his buddies. But Bucky still gets the random text from his phone.
In between all this, we had gotten a fairly comprehensive paragraph down for the grant, and my husband dismissed me, saying that he can work on it on his own, and then we'll look at it together lately. I hightailed it out of there and went to bed.
This morning as I was getting dressed I noticed TB's phone sitting on the ledge. I checked to see if Bucky had responded. About a minute after the message had been sent, she responded with Clearly.
I imagined TB sitting at his desk and receiving that message, completely unaware that I had sent her anything from his phone. I could see the wheels turning in his head as he looked at his text history and saw the photo. Then 2 minutes later, he responded to Bucky that the two of us need to stop using his phone....he's reclaiming it.
I tend to sit down and just get everything out of my head and onto the computer. I don't really care if it makes 100% perfect sense or if it flows well at this point. All I care about is getting my ideas out there. Then later I go back and edit until it's reached its level of perfection. You can see various stages of this process on my blog- it all depends on how quickly I lose interest in what I'm doing. For things like school papers, or articles for work, I have plenty of time to go back and re-edit and several occasions until the final product is to my satisfaction. I have to admit I don't do that much here, so what you see is usually in Phase I or maybe Phase II if you're lucky. And sometimes I even spell-check here.
My husband takes his time and forms each sentence deliberately and as if he will have no time to edit. When writing the first draft of a document, just one paragraph may take him 20 minutes to spew out. Not to say he's stupid or slow. He just thinks everything through very thoroughly before jotting it down. Granted, the process of editing his creations is usually quite easy, but the first draft is very time-consuming.
So I'm not saying either of us is right or wrong in our method. But I will say that when we try to work together, I get bored pretty easily while waiting for my husband to put his thoughts into words. I don't sit still much when I write. But I sit still a lot when he writes.
Last night was a prime example of this. He's writing a grant proposal so he can create a Jazz History curriculum at the college he works for. This is a very important document since he's asking for a lot of money. So I understand his need to be careful with how he sounds.
He asked me to help him, which usually means I type (since I'm light years faster than him) while he dictates, and if I have anything that I think doesn't sound right, I pipe up and we figure it out together. In theory, this plan should work. But I get antsy.
Last night, as I'm waiting for him to form his thoughts, I got bored and started looking around his studio. My attention was drawn to his desk, unsurprisingly, since that's where I was sitting. Sitting there right in front of me were 3 water bottles, all about 3/4 filled, a glass that was about 1/8 full of water, and 2 empty beer bottles. On his desk. Downstairs, in his studio.
Being the witty person that I am, I couldn't let this slide.
Do you have enough water on your desk?
He gave me a look, then went back to his thoughts. I sat there staring at the collection of bottles and glasses. A minute later:
Seriously, do you think there's enough water on this desk? I don't think you have enough drinks sitting here.
I got an irritated command to be quiet, and went back to staring at the mess. I picked up my bottle of water off of the piano next to me, finished it off and added it to the collection.
TB, do you have any water?
I think it was this point that he told me to just sit there and shut up. Or something similar. I was still bored though, so I asked him for his cell phone.
Thankful for the distraction, he took it out of his pocket and handed it to me. He probably assumed that I wanted to look through his photos, since I do that fairly regularly to see photos of SB that he takes when we're not together.
I snapped a photo of the wet bar that was my husband's computer desk and sent it off to Bucky with the caption "I'm Thirsty." From his phone. I am fairly confident that Bucky is fully aware that when she receives a text or picture message from my husband's phone, it's usually me sending it. I will say that I'm over my phase where I would take his phone and send text messages to random friends of his regarding the "pretty pink panties" he likes to wear, or his "unspoken yet fiercely strong love" he feels for his buddies. But Bucky still gets the random text from his phone.In between all this, we had gotten a fairly comprehensive paragraph down for the grant, and my husband dismissed me, saying that he can work on it on his own, and then we'll look at it together lately. I hightailed it out of there and went to bed.
This morning as I was getting dressed I noticed TB's phone sitting on the ledge. I checked to see if Bucky had responded. About a minute after the message had been sent, she responded with Clearly.
I imagined TB sitting at his desk and receiving that message, completely unaware that I had sent her anything from his phone. I could see the wheels turning in his head as he looked at his text history and saw the photo. Then 2 minutes later, he responded to Bucky that the two of us need to stop using his phone....he's reclaiming it.
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
100th Post!
Woo hoo! Actually if you look to the right, it says 96. But I guess that's not counting 4 that I deleted, or that never made it up. Maybe one day, friends.
There are a lot of thought fragments floating around in my mind right now so I'm not sure how much sense this post will make, or how much fluidity there will be so please bear with me.
First of all I'd like to apologize for my last post about 143. I was posting from work, and about halfway through the post I got distracted and pretty much lost interest in what I was saying. Which was then reflected in my lack of thought on the subject of Security Guy professing his undying love for me. So I'm sorry for my short attention span. Unfortunately, that happens a lot to me, in everyday conversation. I'm not kidding, I'll lose interst in something I'm saying halfway through the sentence, and just shut off. Why waste my breath? It drives my husband bonkers when I do that. Although sometimes I tend to make...........
Secondly, I learned tonight at dance class (SB's, not mine) that there is no class next week because of the holiday and I'm kind of embarrassed to say that I'm really kind of bummed about that. I've really taken to dressing SB up in her little pink tights and pink leotards and putting her shoes on her and sitting in the waiting room laughing along with all the other parents. It's almost the highlight of my week. Stupid holiday.....
I should be running right now, but I have half a Chik Fila milkshake sitting in my tummy, and that would not be very pretty splayed all over the treadmill. Or bouncing around in my belly. Speaking of bouncing, I took a bootcamp cycling class today (unplanned). Apparently the class was small and majorly lacking in estrogen. So my co worker Chris, who knows me very well, came out of the room to tell me that one of the participants was talking trash about me and I better get in there and prove him wrong. I was confused for a minute- today was my day to do high intensity intervals on the treadmill. Not take a bootcamp cycling class. I don't even really like cycling anyway. But Chris is very smart and he knew the 2 things that would make me take class: a challenge, and the potential of being the only girl in a roomful of sweaty guys. I had fun in class! But I remembered why I stay away from these bootcamp/sports drill types of class- too much jiggling around for this girl to take!
As we all know, I have a lot of hard. I work hard for my hard and I'm proud of it. But as LPP so kindly pointed out (then later tried to blame on the alcohol plus his lack of seriousness in general conversation), I have some squishy on top of my hard. And when you're bouncing around from side to side as fast as you can, that squishy moves around. I'm not sure how it looked to anyone watching- I was, after all wearing a regular t-shirt. But it felt icky to me. There might have been some chafing involved, especially in my rear end.
And speaking of my rear end (because who can get enough of my rear end??), remember that guy who made the comment to me about "that fine little ass of yours" in front of a co-worker friend of mine? Well today he was sitting on the recumbent bicycle closest to the door to the fitness center. I had to email some documents to a friend (who just happened to be the same friend who heard him talk about my fanny) to print out because my color printer was inaccessible today because they were working on the floors in the hallway. So Work Friend delivers the documents, one of which is a sign that was to replace one hanging right near the doorway.
So I took the old sign down and put up the new one. I stood back and looked, and of course, it was crooked. I'm the worst when it comes to hanging things straight. So I go back to fix it. And repeat that process several times. While I'm adjusting the sign, which requires reaching up and standing on my tippy toes, I suddenly get the creepy feeling that I'm being watched.
Not just watched. But ogled.
I hurry to finish the job, get the ok from the onlookers that it looks ok, and hurried back to behind the desk.
As soon as Work Friend left, I shot him an email.
Me: Were you watching AssMan?
WF: Yup.
Me: Was he looking?
WF: Yup.
I knew it! Guys are so freaking bold! But wait...guys? WF was a guy! And so were the other 3 people in the fitness center at the time....I continued to interrogate WF.
Me: Was he alone?
WF: Nope.
Me: Ha! I knew it! Piece of meat, I tell you.....
As much as I'd like to see it as a compliment, I just have to stand by my belief that most guys will ogle at anything with two legs, butt cheeks and a vagina.
There are a lot of thought fragments floating around in my mind right now so I'm not sure how much sense this post will make, or how much fluidity there will be so please bear with me.
First of all I'd like to apologize for my last post about 143. I was posting from work, and about halfway through the post I got distracted and pretty much lost interest in what I was saying. Which was then reflected in my lack of thought on the subject of Security Guy professing his undying love for me. So I'm sorry for my short attention span. Unfortunately, that happens a lot to me, in everyday conversation. I'm not kidding, I'll lose interst in something I'm saying halfway through the sentence, and just shut off. Why waste my breath? It drives my husband bonkers when I do that. Although sometimes I tend to make...........
Secondly, I learned tonight at dance class (SB's, not mine) that there is no class next week because of the holiday and I'm kind of embarrassed to say that I'm really kind of bummed about that. I've really taken to dressing SB up in her little pink tights and pink leotards and putting her shoes on her and sitting in the waiting room laughing along with all the other parents. It's almost the highlight of my week. Stupid holiday.....
I should be running right now, but I have half a Chik Fila milkshake sitting in my tummy, and that would not be very pretty splayed all over the treadmill. Or bouncing around in my belly. Speaking of bouncing, I took a bootcamp cycling class today (unplanned). Apparently the class was small and majorly lacking in estrogen. So my co worker Chris, who knows me very well, came out of the room to tell me that one of the participants was talking trash about me and I better get in there and prove him wrong. I was confused for a minute- today was my day to do high intensity intervals on the treadmill. Not take a bootcamp cycling class. I don't even really like cycling anyway. But Chris is very smart and he knew the 2 things that would make me take class: a challenge, and the potential of being the only girl in a roomful of sweaty guys. I had fun in class! But I remembered why I stay away from these bootcamp/sports drill types of class- too much jiggling around for this girl to take!
As we all know, I have a lot of hard. I work hard for my hard and I'm proud of it. But as LPP so kindly pointed out (then later tried to blame on the alcohol plus his lack of seriousness in general conversation), I have some squishy on top of my hard. And when you're bouncing around from side to side as fast as you can, that squishy moves around. I'm not sure how it looked to anyone watching- I was, after all wearing a regular t-shirt. But it felt icky to me. There might have been some chafing involved, especially in my rear end.
And speaking of my rear end (because who can get enough of my rear end??), remember that guy who made the comment to me about "that fine little ass of yours" in front of a co-worker friend of mine? Well today he was sitting on the recumbent bicycle closest to the door to the fitness center. I had to email some documents to a friend (who just happened to be the same friend who heard him talk about my fanny) to print out because my color printer was inaccessible today because they were working on the floors in the hallway. So Work Friend delivers the documents, one of which is a sign that was to replace one hanging right near the doorway.
So I took the old sign down and put up the new one. I stood back and looked, and of course, it was crooked. I'm the worst when it comes to hanging things straight. So I go back to fix it. And repeat that process several times. While I'm adjusting the sign, which requires reaching up and standing on my tippy toes, I suddenly get the creepy feeling that I'm being watched.
Not just watched. But ogled.
I hurry to finish the job, get the ok from the onlookers that it looks ok, and hurried back to behind the desk.
As soon as Work Friend left, I shot him an email.
Me: Were you watching AssMan?
WF: Yup.
Me: Was he looking?
WF: Yup.
I knew it! Guys are so freaking bold! But wait...guys? WF was a guy! And so were the other 3 people in the fitness center at the time....I continued to interrogate WF.
Me: Was he alone?
WF: Nope.
Me: Ha! I knew it! Piece of meat, I tell you.....
As much as I'd like to see it as a compliment, I just have to stand by my belief that most guys will ogle at anything with two legs, butt cheeks and a vagina.
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