Maybe it's my mood today or maybe I've been watching too many of those "To Catch a Predator" segments on Dateline, but I don't really see the point in having a blog. I have successfully boycotted MySpace, although I could see my 14-year-old self having a page and innocently assuming I'd meet a nice person I could email. I don't know if the world is changing or if I am getting older. I guess both, but I've been questioning my own contributions to cyberspace for a while. Why? Why do we think anyone cares? And if people read and comment, what then? But alas, I like to put my thoughts out there. I have always kept a journal and even as a kid I didn't know if anyone would read my thoughts on how cute Chris was or why Amy was my best friend, but I felt a need to write them down. I think I'm probably the only one who has read them and years later I think I must have been the lamest kid writing in a journal.
In other news, I don't miss work. I am seriously surprised by this. I thought I would feel unfulfilled or something or miss being out among people. I don't. I'm not sure if that means I am very good at being a bum or I'm really more anti-social than I ever thought. (Maybe my mother-in-law was right all those years ago when she said I'm just too anti-social.)
I do miss my co-worker, Jason, though. I guess it's because I read his blog and I could hear his voice in my head saying everything. There are a lot of times when I'm watching Survivor or Amazing Race when I wonder what Jay would say about it. I guess I just miss my friend.
September 27, 2006
September 14, 2006
I finally fired up my Clinton-era computer and got my lazy ass to check email. It only took 12 minutes to get into my in-box. Somehow I like to think my time is more precious than that, but it's probably not.
Now I'm giggling to myself as I was just reminded of a something we used to always say as kids:
Hit the deck!!!
I was sitting here reading my friend Jason's blog when the doorbell rang. I tiptoed to the peephole, and sure enough, it was my ultra-friendly eighty-year-old neighbor, Betty, and her trusty red umbrella. Suddenly the saying we used all the time as kids flooded my mind. We would hide and yell (which, yes, is very contradictory) and I did the adult equivalent: I tiptoed away, cursing myself for moving to this cutesy, friendly neighborhood.
It's not that I don't like Betty, but I'm one of those just-wave-hi-every-so-often-and-we're-cool kind of people while she's a hey-we're-best-friends-ain't-we-Spike kind of person. Never mind that there's a friggin' 50-plus-year age difference or that we have absolutely no reason to speak to one another other than she's bored. My parents and Dan talk to her, but me, I hide like David Koresh. Now she's invading my compound.
Why do people have to like me? I wonder if I scare her away for good if I answer the door naked...
Now I'm giggling to myself as I was just reminded of a something we used to always say as kids:
Hit the deck!!!
I was sitting here reading my friend Jason's blog when the doorbell rang. I tiptoed to the peephole, and sure enough, it was my ultra-friendly eighty-year-old neighbor, Betty, and her trusty red umbrella. Suddenly the saying we used all the time as kids flooded my mind. We would hide and yell (which, yes, is very contradictory) and I did the adult equivalent: I tiptoed away, cursing myself for moving to this cutesy, friendly neighborhood.
It's not that I don't like Betty, but I'm one of those just-wave-hi-every-so-often-and-we're-cool kind of people while she's a hey-we're-best-friends-ain't-we-Spike kind of person. Never mind that there's a friggin' 50-plus-year age difference or that we have absolutely no reason to speak to one another other than she's bored. My parents and Dan talk to her, but me, I hide like David Koresh. Now she's invading my compound.
Why do people have to like me? I wonder if I scare her away for good if I answer the door naked...
September 07, 2006
The Talk
Well, for the second time in my life I heard a sex talk from my mom recently. I must say that the second time around is a LOT easier to handle. I probably didn't grimace and giggle quite as much.
It all began when, for some reason, I asked my niece if her friends talk about sex much. I guess I have fallen victim to the hype that twelve year olds are having sex. You hear about it on 20/20, I've been warned about it in my education classes, and Maury Povich wouldn't have much of a show if they weren't. Which basically comes down to the realization that while a few kids are sexually active, most probably aren't. As usual.
I still remember first hearing about sex from my mother. She explained everything clearly and intelligently and never made me feel uncomfortable. But I do remember having moments when I was sure she was making things up. He does what? With WHAT?
Even though I knew the basics at twelve years old, I was no more interested in experiencing sex than learning how to change a flat tire. (Hell, even at nineteen years old, I was still clueless about it because I was waiting to fall in love.) We did talk about it as girls. I clearly remember in sixth grade getting a postcard from my friend who went to a beach in Delaware with her family. It had seagulls on it and on the back she wrote, "I thought you would like this card because it has BIRDS all over it!" I remember thinking everyone in the post office thought I was some kind of pervert. Or at least that I associated with vacationing perverts.
It all began when, for some reason, I asked my niece if her friends talk about sex much. I guess I have fallen victim to the hype that twelve year olds are having sex. You hear about it on 20/20, I've been warned about it in my education classes, and Maury Povich wouldn't have much of a show if they weren't. Which basically comes down to the realization that while a few kids are sexually active, most probably aren't. As usual.
I still remember first hearing about sex from my mother. She explained everything clearly and intelligently and never made me feel uncomfortable. But I do remember having moments when I was sure she was making things up. He does what? With WHAT?
Even though I knew the basics at twelve years old, I was no more interested in experiencing sex than learning how to change a flat tire. (Hell, even at nineteen years old, I was still clueless about it because I was waiting to fall in love.) We did talk about it as girls. I clearly remember in sixth grade getting a postcard from my friend who went to a beach in Delaware with her family. It had seagulls on it and on the back she wrote, "I thought you would like this card because it has BIRDS all over it!" I remember thinking everyone in the post office thought I was some kind of pervert. Or at least that I associated with vacationing perverts.
September 06, 2006
My Last Week
Well, this is my last week of work. It's an odd feeling when you get used to doing something every day for several years and then realize that you're not going to do it again. I'll miss the people I work with (not all of them, but most), especially Jason. He is one of the main reasons I like work. He certainly has a way of brightening a place and making it more fun. I'll miss our daily chats. Email just won't cut it—the comic timing is all screwy (and boy, do we have comic timing in person!!), although I will need some email in order to save myself from Jason withdrawal. It's a sad condition that affects at least one person per year. My time is up, kids.
Some of the ladies at work made cupcakes, sent a card around, and collected money for a gift certificate to celebrate my having a baby and leaving. (I don't know if they're exactly celebrating me leaving, but you know what I mean.) I was really touched. I've never had co-workers do that before and it was nice to feel like people are really going to miss me. It almost makes me sad to leave. Almost.
So my entries may slow down even more than the big gaps that have plagued this blog since its creation. I'm not sure if I will feel like warming up my archaic computer and DIALING in to blogspot. When you spend your whole day in front of a computer with high-speed internet (aka "work"), sitting in front of a computer at home is the last thing you want to do. Now I may actually need to break down and get my ass out of 1998.
Some of the ladies at work made cupcakes, sent a card around, and collected money for a gift certificate to celebrate my having a baby and leaving. (I don't know if they're exactly celebrating me leaving, but you know what I mean.) I was really touched. I've never had co-workers do that before and it was nice to feel like people are really going to miss me. It almost makes me sad to leave. Almost.
So my entries may slow down even more than the big gaps that have plagued this blog since its creation. I'm not sure if I will feel like warming up my archaic computer and DIALING in to blogspot. When you spend your whole day in front of a computer with high-speed internet (aka "work"), sitting in front of a computer at home is the last thing you want to do. Now I may actually need to break down and get my ass out of 1998.
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