Wow. I just realized that I didn't write to my blog at all last year. Not once. Not even one little measly post. I guess I know that all things have their exciting period and I guess a blog is one of them. Sometimes I wish I could write anything and everything that I think. Sometimes I don't want anyone to know my thoughts. I guess having a blog to share my thoughts has now been replaced by social media. It gives pretty instant feedback and seems more casual. For some reason, finding an actual website feels like work to most people these days.
Then there's the one thing that has been responsible for the large chunks of missing writing from my past: happiness. When I am happy and content, I don't feel a need to write. You could look back into my paper diaries from when I was a kid and see years missing. But, I am happy to report that I am happy. Maybe someday soon I'll add to this blog again, whether happy thoughts or passive-aggressive aggravated thoughts. Until then, dear reader, (or random guy who tries to spam my comments section as if the MASSIVE amounts of readers on here will get you business) I hope you're happy. Oh, and thanks for making your way to an actual website. With actual words. You're why the Internet was created.
February 05, 2012
September 03, 2010
So Easy to Fall
Well, I'm feeling down so here I am. As usual, I only seem to write when I'm upset or depressed. I guess it's a good sign that I haven't posted an entry in a while then.
I feel like a fool. I shouldn't, though, because my brain likes to believe that my body is like everyone else. But it's not. That's why I started this blog in the first place. It was supposed to be a place to vent my frustrations about my body and my inability to do what so many other women do: get pregnant.
If you know me, you're thinking, "But you DO have a daughter!" And you're right. She took the long way around, but we were finally fortunate enough to have her. So now that she's getting older, I have opened up slowly to the idea of having another child. Having your first child is kind of like bungee jumping. Sounds fun, but you can't really be sure what it feels like until you do it. Having a second child takes much more thought (in my opinion) but you know EXACTLY what you're in for. There's a lot of wonderful moments and then there's the moments you want to run away, preferably to Sandals or some other adult-only resort.
So after some thought, some consideration, and some reconsideration, we figured that it was a good time to "try." We tried the "non-not-trying" approach for a while, but it didn't work. I'm sure some frustrated woman who has the propensity for killing her kids would have had five by now, but my body doesn't work like that. At least I didn't think it did.
My doctor suggested I start charting my cycles. I didn't want to TRY because that takes too much effort. I know some previous times how easy it is to become obsessed and want a baby too bad.
"I don't want to think about it. I want it just to happen," I said to my doctor. Looking back on it, he probably was wondering why I thought he's a miracle worker.
"I think you're right," he said. "Sometimes you shouldn't think about it too much."
I agreed. We smiled. All would be fine in the world...except the fact that we were both trying to bullshit the universe.
The easiest way for him to be able to tell what's happening with my body without me doing too much is to chart. Basically, you shove a thermometer in your mouth when you first wake up. You record your temperature and when it rises and stays elevated, you know you've ovulated. I yawned at the thought of it. Taking a minute out of every day sounded like work. However, I bought a thermometer for $8.99 (which was money I could have spent on Doritos) and began charting. I discovered an online service where you enter the temps and it "charts" for you. So I charted and charted, all the while scoffing at my own dysfunction. Then, all of a sudden, it said I had ovulated a few days before. What? My body was/is working? How could that be?
It took me a few days to believe it. A few days after that, the excitment started to slowly creep in. I tried to shoo it away, but finally I gave in. Then I did what I know a lot of women who are trying to get pregnant do: I believed in myself and what my body could do.
It's funny how something that you're not exactly wanting at the moment could become something you so badly want in such a short time. I think it's because when you can't have it, you want it. Especially when a lot of other people get it without much effort.
So after two weeks of thinking I could be pregnant, then believing with almost 100% certainty, then even feeling pregnant, I got my blood work results back today. Negative. BFN. Big. Fat. Negative. (BFN is a popular, although not liked, abbreviation in the trying-to-conceive community.) The pessimist in me wasn't surprised, but the part of me who wanted to believe felt let down. And stupid. I am happy with the way things are now. In fact, there's a part of me that believes it's actually better if I don't have a baby yet.
I just have to rememeber that next time. That's if I allow myself to fall into the trap again. Who knew it would be so easy to fall?
I feel like a fool. I shouldn't, though, because my brain likes to believe that my body is like everyone else. But it's not. That's why I started this blog in the first place. It was supposed to be a place to vent my frustrations about my body and my inability to do what so many other women do: get pregnant.
If you know me, you're thinking, "But you DO have a daughter!" And you're right. She took the long way around, but we were finally fortunate enough to have her. So now that she's getting older, I have opened up slowly to the idea of having another child. Having your first child is kind of like bungee jumping. Sounds fun, but you can't really be sure what it feels like until you do it. Having a second child takes much more thought (in my opinion) but you know EXACTLY what you're in for. There's a lot of wonderful moments and then there's the moments you want to run away, preferably to Sandals or some other adult-only resort.
So after some thought, some consideration, and some reconsideration, we figured that it was a good time to "try." We tried the "non-not-trying" approach for a while, but it didn't work. I'm sure some frustrated woman who has the propensity for killing her kids would have had five by now, but my body doesn't work like that. At least I didn't think it did.
My doctor suggested I start charting my cycles. I didn't want to TRY because that takes too much effort. I know some previous times how easy it is to become obsessed and want a baby too bad.
"I don't want to think about it. I want it just to happen," I said to my doctor. Looking back on it, he probably was wondering why I thought he's a miracle worker.
"I think you're right," he said. "Sometimes you shouldn't think about it too much."
I agreed. We smiled. All would be fine in the world...except the fact that we were both trying to bullshit the universe.
The easiest way for him to be able to tell what's happening with my body without me doing too much is to chart. Basically, you shove a thermometer in your mouth when you first wake up. You record your temperature and when it rises and stays elevated, you know you've ovulated. I yawned at the thought of it. Taking a minute out of every day sounded like work. However, I bought a thermometer for $8.99 (which was money I could have spent on Doritos) and began charting. I discovered an online service where you enter the temps and it "charts" for you. So I charted and charted, all the while scoffing at my own dysfunction. Then, all of a sudden, it said I had ovulated a few days before. What? My body was/is working? How could that be?
It took me a few days to believe it. A few days after that, the excitment started to slowly creep in. I tried to shoo it away, but finally I gave in. Then I did what I know a lot of women who are trying to get pregnant do: I believed in myself and what my body could do.
It's funny how something that you're not exactly wanting at the moment could become something you so badly want in such a short time. I think it's because when you can't have it, you want it. Especially when a lot of other people get it without much effort.
So after two weeks of thinking I could be pregnant, then believing with almost 100% certainty, then even feeling pregnant, I got my blood work results back today. Negative. BFN. Big. Fat. Negative. (BFN is a popular, although not liked, abbreviation in the trying-to-conceive community.) The pessimist in me wasn't surprised, but the part of me who wanted to believe felt let down. And stupid. I am happy with the way things are now. In fact, there's a part of me that believes it's actually better if I don't have a baby yet.
I just have to rememeber that next time. That's if I allow myself to fall into the trap again. Who knew it would be so easy to fall?
June 19, 2010
I WAZ HERE
For your reading pleasure, we take a look back to my previous attempt at a blog...
Sunday, September 11, 2005
I WAZ HERE
My dad always said, "There's no such thing as a free ride."
But what happens when you feel you've already paid your toll? What happens when you feel like you've given everything you've got only to find out that you're the only one who has paid?
I have no one to blame except myself and even I acknowledge that I probably can't take responsibility for my problem. Hell, no one can. Unless there's a God who insists on fucking with me. Maybe Mother Nature? Fate? Or maybe I should just chalk it up to damn misfortune, like I have been trying to do. Luck of the draw. Short straw. Story of my life. Shitty end of the proverbial stick. It's certainly easier if no one is to blame.
But yet I feel broken. I feel dysfunctional. For some reason, something natural and easy for everyone else is a complete obstacle for me. But I like having a scientific reason. Balanced Robertsonian Transfer. I like the definite, point-to-it reason instead of looking into things I've done or said. We so often try to make sense of things, try to reason them out, but there there are some things that have no reason. They just simply suck.
There is a song by the Indigo Girls that contains the line: "If we ever leave a legacy, it's that we loved each other well." I like that idea. Is legacy the reason why we even choose to have children? We need someone to leave our 1st edition Hemingway to? Or does it go much deeper than that? Or perhaps even shallower? Perhaps we are all just a product of sexual pleasure, a remains to the act that was performed. Kind of like burnout from a tire or steam from a kettle. Just a temporary sign. A really elaborate way to write on the bathroom stall of life: I WAZ HERE.
I wish I knew what caused us to want to have children because then I would turn it off in my own mind. Just when I think I've done a successful job at switching it off, I am thrown to the floor by the force of it. It is my kryptonite.
I am on the floor. There's nothing like six billion examples in front of you showing you so many, many people that could do what you cannot do.
Sunday, September 11, 2005
I WAZ HERE
My dad always said, "There's no such thing as a free ride."
But what happens when you feel you've already paid your toll? What happens when you feel like you've given everything you've got only to find out that you're the only one who has paid?
I have no one to blame except myself and even I acknowledge that I probably can't take responsibility for my problem. Hell, no one can. Unless there's a God who insists on fucking with me. Maybe Mother Nature? Fate? Or maybe I should just chalk it up to damn misfortune, like I have been trying to do. Luck of the draw. Short straw. Story of my life. Shitty end of the proverbial stick. It's certainly easier if no one is to blame.
But yet I feel broken. I feel dysfunctional. For some reason, something natural and easy for everyone else is a complete obstacle for me. But I like having a scientific reason. Balanced Robertsonian Transfer. I like the definite, point-to-it reason instead of looking into things I've done or said. We so often try to make sense of things, try to reason them out, but there there are some things that have no reason. They just simply suck.
There is a song by the Indigo Girls that contains the line: "If we ever leave a legacy, it's that we loved each other well." I like that idea. Is legacy the reason why we even choose to have children? We need someone to leave our 1st edition Hemingway to? Or does it go much deeper than that? Or perhaps even shallower? Perhaps we are all just a product of sexual pleasure, a remains to the act that was performed. Kind of like burnout from a tire or steam from a kettle. Just a temporary sign. A really elaborate way to write on the bathroom stall of life: I WAZ HERE.
I wish I knew what caused us to want to have children because then I would turn it off in my own mind. Just when I think I've done a successful job at switching it off, I am thrown to the floor by the force of it. It is my kryptonite.
I am on the floor. There's nothing like six billion examples in front of you showing you so many, many people that could do what you cannot do.
June 02, 2010
I just googled myself.
Okay, I really just used Yahoo, but googled sounds so much cooler.
The most ironic thing about my blog is that the people who would most love to read it probably can't find it. And that is on purpose.
Doing a brief search for myself, I could tell by the Yahoo suggestions that someone is trying to find my old website--or anything connected to me that I may be writing. Why? Well, the person who is (probably) looking has been unable to be part of my life. I should use the word banished because that, too, sounds cooler. Okay. He was banished from my life and the life of my family.
I started a website back in 1995. It was the rudimentary prototype of today's blog. I played around with the html. I wrote various thoughts for years. I let people--anyone who found the site or knew the address--to get a glimpse into my thoughts and feelings. And that was my error. I wrote something very personal and the wrong person read it, exploited it, and the hassle of it caused me to delete the whole thing.
Now I won't do that. Maybe it's because I'm older. Maybe it's because I don't want the drama. Maybe it's both.
But the truth of it is that I don't want the banished to find out anything about my life. Living vicariously through my blog is what he is trying to do. Perhaps he's looking for photos of my daughter. Perhaps he's just obsessed with the possibility that I'll say something--anything--about him. Whatever the case, he's not getting anything from me. Sorry, you're banished.
Not you. You're welcome to read on.
Okay, I really just used Yahoo, but googled sounds so much cooler.
The most ironic thing about my blog is that the people who would most love to read it probably can't find it. And that is on purpose.
Doing a brief search for myself, I could tell by the Yahoo suggestions that someone is trying to find my old website--or anything connected to me that I may be writing. Why? Well, the person who is (probably) looking has been unable to be part of my life. I should use the word banished because that, too, sounds cooler. Okay. He was banished from my life and the life of my family.
I started a website back in 1995. It was the rudimentary prototype of today's blog. I played around with the html. I wrote various thoughts for years. I let people--anyone who found the site or knew the address--to get a glimpse into my thoughts and feelings. And that was my error. I wrote something very personal and the wrong person read it, exploited it, and the hassle of it caused me to delete the whole thing.
Now I won't do that. Maybe it's because I'm older. Maybe it's because I don't want the drama. Maybe it's both.
But the truth of it is that I don't want the banished to find out anything about my life. Living vicariously through my blog is what he is trying to do. Perhaps he's looking for photos of my daughter. Perhaps he's just obsessed with the possibility that I'll say something--anything--about him. Whatever the case, he's not getting anything from me. Sorry, you're banished.
Not you. You're welcome to read on.
October 21, 2009
Oblivion
Hello?
Anybody there?
Remember me?
I hardly remember how to do this. After a really long break, I have emerged. I stumbled upon a blog (well, it was more like looking up old friends and following links to other people) hosted by none other than blogger that reminded me that, I too, have a blog. It's usually the times when I read others' words that I long to write words of my own. Words. There. I did it.
As usual, things are very different than the last time I wrote. For the better, I must say, although at this point in my life I am wondering why I feel a need to tell anyone about my life. I mean, in a public way such as a blog. I guess it's the young kid in me who wanted to be a star. Aren't we all writers on the internet? Don't we have ourselves fooled into believing that people care about our lives? And then there's actually the ones who do care about what they read. They're the ones to whom I don't want to provide any information. That's the funny thing. The ones that care are the ones I don't want to know anything.
Doing a search for a person yields such odd results sometimes. The ones I search for are the ones I don't really want to find. It's hard to explain. I usually try to find out information on a person, but I don't actually want to know anything. I guess it's my own private way to torture myself. I'm looking up the people who have hurt me the most, just so I could simmer in my own juices at their little successes or to notice how different our lives have become.
Oddly, the people that I could list as the closest friends in my life are an obvious void from my friend lists now. One of my first friends, a friend in high school who I will refer to as "J" has been the hardest for me to get over. Our friendship was important to me. I thought she thought the world of me, until she just dropped me. I'm not sure what happened and that's probably what makes it the most difficult to accept. Most of the other friends--or so-called friends, as it turned out--I could explain away through faults of my own. But J was different. I thought we'd be friends forever, and that's not something I usually think. Since I'm young I have realized that most friends are more of a convenience than anything. They share something in common with you and your lives are similiar. It's difficult to be friends when your lives are different.
So I searched for J and found her friend online...the one who's blog inspired me to write this bumbling post. Will I write again soon? Who knows. Maybe. Until then, I'll send this out to the oblivion of the internet and imagine someone else stumbling upon it.
Anybody there?
Remember me?
I hardly remember how to do this. After a really long break, I have emerged. I stumbled upon a blog (well, it was more like looking up old friends and following links to other people) hosted by none other than blogger that reminded me that, I too, have a blog. It's usually the times when I read others' words that I long to write words of my own. Words. There. I did it.
As usual, things are very different than the last time I wrote. For the better, I must say, although at this point in my life I am wondering why I feel a need to tell anyone about my life. I mean, in a public way such as a blog. I guess it's the young kid in me who wanted to be a star. Aren't we all writers on the internet? Don't we have ourselves fooled into believing that people care about our lives? And then there's actually the ones who do care about what they read. They're the ones to whom I don't want to provide any information. That's the funny thing. The ones that care are the ones I don't want to know anything.
Doing a search for a person yields such odd results sometimes. The ones I search for are the ones I don't really want to find. It's hard to explain. I usually try to find out information on a person, but I don't actually want to know anything. I guess it's my own private way to torture myself. I'm looking up the people who have hurt me the most, just so I could simmer in my own juices at their little successes or to notice how different our lives have become.
Oddly, the people that I could list as the closest friends in my life are an obvious void from my friend lists now. One of my first friends, a friend in high school who I will refer to as "J" has been the hardest for me to get over. Our friendship was important to me. I thought she thought the world of me, until she just dropped me. I'm not sure what happened and that's probably what makes it the most difficult to accept. Most of the other friends--or so-called friends, as it turned out--I could explain away through faults of my own. But J was different. I thought we'd be friends forever, and that's not something I usually think. Since I'm young I have realized that most friends are more of a convenience than anything. They share something in common with you and your lives are similiar. It's difficult to be friends when your lives are different.
So I searched for J and found her friend online...the one who's blog inspired me to write this bumbling post. Will I write again soon? Who knows. Maybe. Until then, I'll send this out to the oblivion of the internet and imagine someone else stumbling upon it.
January 24, 2009
A Sad Post for a Sad Friend
Like so many other times in my life, I have received some terrible news and have turned to my oldest friend--the written word. Writing is the first thing I want to do when my mind swims with the confusing and unsettling thoughts of the world. This time a friend of mine is going through an extremely terrible situation and it reminds me of a similiar time in my life. It is not a chapter of my life that I want to revisit and I'm frustrated that I can relate to such devestation.
Suddenly anything that I might have thought was dragging me down or turning my blue skies to gray lately is put harshly in perspective. I realize that things are good with me. Very good. I feel a little too fortunate and I feel like an ass for wanting what seemed to be someone else's good thing.
My friend is dealing with a birth defect that will result in the loss of her baby. I know that feeling, but I won't pretend to know what she's going through. Everything that has happened to someone else could happen to you or to me. It's all been done before. But when something happens to us that is traumatic and terrifying, it is only happening to us. There's no words that can comfort. There's no comfort in knowing that someone else went through it. And there's certainly no way to convince yourself that someone else knows the pain you feel. Therin lies the horrible pit in my stomach because I know that the pain my friend is feeling will not be easily remedied. She feels alone and unique in this world. It's as if all the earth's population has disappeared and you stand on life's stage with a bright spotlight hiding any clear view. I know how she feels and I hurt because of it.
I recently found out that I was pregnant. On a Friday, I was pregnant. A week later, no longer. Such is life. Somehow the pain isn't as great when you have experienced it before or when you could put it in perspective. I can easily feel like a spontaneous abortion like that is a true gift when I hear of my friend's hardship. I remember sitting alone in the middle of the night, rocking myself back and forth and crying silently as to not wake my husband, damning my own body. In the bright moonlight I wished I could just run away and leave my whole self behind. And because of my own past, I realize that my body is on my side now. My body has given me a beautiful daughter once before and may again, but I hope that she helps me so that I don't have to feel the pain I've felt in the past...the same kind of pain my friend feels.
So tonight my thoughts are with my friend, yet I wish my mind would wander.
Suddenly anything that I might have thought was dragging me down or turning my blue skies to gray lately is put harshly in perspective. I realize that things are good with me. Very good. I feel a little too fortunate and I feel like an ass for wanting what seemed to be someone else's good thing.
My friend is dealing with a birth defect that will result in the loss of her baby. I know that feeling, but I won't pretend to know what she's going through. Everything that has happened to someone else could happen to you or to me. It's all been done before. But when something happens to us that is traumatic and terrifying, it is only happening to us. There's no words that can comfort. There's no comfort in knowing that someone else went through it. And there's certainly no way to convince yourself that someone else knows the pain you feel. Therin lies the horrible pit in my stomach because I know that the pain my friend is feeling will not be easily remedied. She feels alone and unique in this world. It's as if all the earth's population has disappeared and you stand on life's stage with a bright spotlight hiding any clear view. I know how she feels and I hurt because of it.
I recently found out that I was pregnant. On a Friday, I was pregnant. A week later, no longer. Such is life. Somehow the pain isn't as great when you have experienced it before or when you could put it in perspective. I can easily feel like a spontaneous abortion like that is a true gift when I hear of my friend's hardship. I remember sitting alone in the middle of the night, rocking myself back and forth and crying silently as to not wake my husband, damning my own body. In the bright moonlight I wished I could just run away and leave my whole self behind. And because of my own past, I realize that my body is on my side now. My body has given me a beautiful daughter once before and may again, but I hope that she helps me so that I don't have to feel the pain I've felt in the past...the same kind of pain my friend feels.
So tonight my thoughts are with my friend, yet I wish my mind would wander.
January 13, 2009
My Cat Kneads Me
Today I ventured to Target to get a folding potty seat. I have started potty-training my two-year-old daughter and I have already come to realize that I'm actually training myself. Despite what you'll hear from parents from previous generations who did not deal with the space-age absorption materials used in today's disposable diapers, changing diapers is easier. Besides, it's always difficult to change any routine you've gotten used to doing.
So off I headed to get my supplies. Now in a funny Pavlovian way, Kate knows that the Pizza Hut Express at Target is a regular part of the trip and heads there automatically. She's the walking incarnation of my taste buds.
I grab a personal pan pizza and head to the cashier, a middle-aged man I've seen there before.
"Just the pizza, a kid's Icee, and a small drink," I say, still proud of my New Year's willpower enabling me to resist grabbing some breadsticks for myself.
He tells me the total, I hand him the money, and I smile. I don't exactly know why and it's more of a reaction than anything. I don't realize I'm smiling until he smiles back.
"Wow, you're always smiling!" he says. I could feel myself thinking and blushing at the same time.
"Why not?" I say, a phrase giddy enough to start a big song-and-dance number in any musical I've seen. But it's true.
"You're totally right," he says as he smiles and giggles a little bit. Now I know why I'm smiling: I'm happy that I was able to make him smile.
So Kate and I sit down. Across from us sits an older woman reading a romance novel. She's noshing away on her pizza while wearing a sweatshirt that reads:
MY CAT KNEADS ME
I smile at the thought and wonder what kind of steamy words she's devouring along with her lunch. Loins has to be one of them. I also wonder how many people are kneaded by their cats that there would be a market for those shirts, but I let the thought float away like most of my other useless thoughts.
So there I sit underneath the bright florescent lights sipping my Diet Coke, observing others. Then my eyes fix on my daughter sitting across from me. She's happily squirming in her seat and her face is covered with sauce. She lifts her eyes from the pizza and looks at me. Then she smiles and giggles a little bit. I'm happy that I was able to make her smile. And I realize that at that moment, a small table with swiveling chairs at the entrance to Target is the best place in the world to be.
So off I headed to get my supplies. Now in a funny Pavlovian way, Kate knows that the Pizza Hut Express at Target is a regular part of the trip and heads there automatically. She's the walking incarnation of my taste buds.
I grab a personal pan pizza and head to the cashier, a middle-aged man I've seen there before.
"Just the pizza, a kid's Icee, and a small drink," I say, still proud of my New Year's willpower enabling me to resist grabbing some breadsticks for myself.
He tells me the total, I hand him the money, and I smile. I don't exactly know why and it's more of a reaction than anything. I don't realize I'm smiling until he smiles back.
"Wow, you're always smiling!" he says. I could feel myself thinking and blushing at the same time.
"Why not?" I say, a phrase giddy enough to start a big song-and-dance number in any musical I've seen. But it's true.
"You're totally right," he says as he smiles and giggles a little bit. Now I know why I'm smiling: I'm happy that I was able to make him smile.
So Kate and I sit down. Across from us sits an older woman reading a romance novel. She's noshing away on her pizza while wearing a sweatshirt that reads:
I smile at the thought and wonder what kind of steamy words she's devouring along with her lunch. Loins has to be one of them. I also wonder how many people are kneaded by their cats that there would be a market for those shirts, but I let the thought float away like most of my other useless thoughts.
So there I sit underneath the bright florescent lights sipping my Diet Coke, observing others. Then my eyes fix on my daughter sitting across from me. She's happily squirming in her seat and her face is covered with sauce. She lifts her eyes from the pizza and looks at me. Then she smiles and giggles a little bit. I'm happy that I was able to make her smile. And I realize that at that moment, a small table with swiveling chairs at the entrance to Target is the best place in the world to be.
December 12, 2008
Laundromat Heaven
A few weeks ago I decided to change the comforter on our bed to my big, white, fluffy one--the one that doesn't fit in my washing machine. I grabbed the comforter and some detergent and headed to a new Magtag Laundromat* I had just discovered a few weeks before. I hadn't been in a Laundromat since my college days--a dim, dirty whole-in-the-wall place filled with grumpy people dressed in sweat pants and/or the last clean remnants of their closets.
I walked in after large automatic doors opened, as if I was entering a posh store. Inside were dozens of shiny new white machines illuminated by bright lights. There were huge LCD TVs hanging from the ceiling. There were benches, tables, and snack machines. There were smiling, happy people. Wow. Laundry heaven. I stood there, mouth agape, trying to figure out where to go when a guy walked up to me.
"First time here?" he asked.
"Ummm...yes."
"I could always tell. Whattya got there?" He peeked inside my laundry basket.
"Just a comforter," I said feeling somewhat inadequate for bringing such a humble load of clothes to such a nice Laundromat.
"Well, then use this one," he said while leading me to a washing machine. "It's large enough for that. Let me know if you need anything!" He smiled. What kind of Laundromat is this? I wondered. I would have had cleaner clothes in college if I had a place like this to go.
So I wandered over to the quarter machine by following the signs and got change. I came back and put $5 in the machine. Seemed pretty expensive, but Laundry God said I should use this machine and not the hundreds of other ones, so...
I put it in and pressed the button. A little window told me the cycle would take 19 minutes. Wow. Washing machines have come a long way since my college days. So I hung out for a while. I sat on a nearby bench for 11 minutes.
Then I noticed something in the washing machine window. I walked over and looked closely at my comforter. A dark stripe periodically flashed through the suds and water and it dawned on me: this wasn't the comforter I wanted to wash. I squatted where I was, looking into the window, trying to think of where I put the right comforter.
"WHAT'S SO INTERESTING?"
I looked up to see Laundry God's head surrounded by bright light. (Did I mention the Laundromat had nice lighting?) Then he laughed and laughed while a Laundry Apostle stood next to him. She laughed, too.
I realized how stupid I must have looked, mesmerized by spinning laundry like a cat following yarn.
"It's the wrong comforter," I tried to explain rattling off what seemed like random words in an attempt to appease Laundry God. "Stripe. Closet. White. Hurry. Wash."
So I returned with the right comforter the following day. No longer was I laundromat virgin. I walked in with purpose. (TVs? What TVs?) I knew where the change machine was and I headed right for it. I chose a different washing machine, not the anointed one--just because I could, so there--and put in my clothes. I smirked with confidence as I looked around for Laundry God. I needed to show him I knew how to wash laundry in his little Laundromat and that I didn't need his help. He obviously wouldn't have noticed me this time since I knew what I was doing...
Damn.
I forgot detergent.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*Side note: Laundromat is always capitalized. When I worked as a copyeditor, I remember researching why it's capitalized (I thought it was a generic term and I think it looks stupid capitalized). The story is that it became a Copyright in the 1950's. Just thought I'd mention that.
I walked in after large automatic doors opened, as if I was entering a posh store. Inside were dozens of shiny new white machines illuminated by bright lights. There were huge LCD TVs hanging from the ceiling. There were benches, tables, and snack machines. There were smiling, happy people. Wow. Laundry heaven. I stood there, mouth agape, trying to figure out where to go when a guy walked up to me.
"First time here?" he asked.
"Ummm...yes."
"I could always tell. Whattya got there?" He peeked inside my laundry basket.
"Just a comforter," I said feeling somewhat inadequate for bringing such a humble load of clothes to such a nice Laundromat.
"Well, then use this one," he said while leading me to a washing machine. "It's large enough for that. Let me know if you need anything!" He smiled. What kind of Laundromat is this? I wondered. I would have had cleaner clothes in college if I had a place like this to go.
So I wandered over to the quarter machine by following the signs and got change. I came back and put $5 in the machine. Seemed pretty expensive, but Laundry God said I should use this machine and not the hundreds of other ones, so...
I put it in and pressed the button. A little window told me the cycle would take 19 minutes. Wow. Washing machines have come a long way since my college days. So I hung out for a while. I sat on a nearby bench for 11 minutes.
Then I noticed something in the washing machine window. I walked over and looked closely at my comforter. A dark stripe periodically flashed through the suds and water and it dawned on me: this wasn't the comforter I wanted to wash. I squatted where I was, looking into the window, trying to think of where I put the right comforter.
"WHAT'S SO INTERESTING?"
I looked up to see Laundry God's head surrounded by bright light. (Did I mention the Laundromat had nice lighting?) Then he laughed and laughed while a Laundry Apostle stood next to him. She laughed, too.
I realized how stupid I must have looked, mesmerized by spinning laundry like a cat following yarn.
"It's the wrong comforter," I tried to explain rattling off what seemed like random words in an attempt to appease Laundry God. "Stripe. Closet. White. Hurry. Wash."
So I returned with the right comforter the following day. No longer was I laundromat virgin. I walked in with purpose. (TVs? What TVs?) I knew where the change machine was and I headed right for it. I chose a different washing machine, not the anointed one--just because I could, so there--and put in my clothes. I smirked with confidence as I looked around for Laundry God. I needed to show him I knew how to wash laundry in his little Laundromat and that I didn't need his help. He obviously wouldn't have noticed me this time since I knew what I was doing...
Damn.
I forgot detergent.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*Side note: Laundromat is always capitalized. When I worked as a copyeditor, I remember researching why it's capitalized (I thought it was a generic term and I think it looks stupid capitalized). The story is that it became a Copyright in the 1950's. Just thought I'd mention that.
December 08, 2008
Another American Friendship is Destroyed
Christmas is the Christian version of the Super Bowl. It's a time for fans to annoyingly brag and believe that they are the best and the only ones who matter. And if you don't like football, the painted faces and thrust index fingers exclaiming #1 are horribly aggravating. Most of the Christians I know keep their beliefs to themselves, but some like to remind me every chance they get of what their beliefs are and it has annoyed me for years. I try not to do that because I have a lot of respect for various beliefs, but I chose for once not to hide my lack of beliefs.
I should know better. I should know not to expect the same respect that I give to others regarding religious tolerance. I receive emails and forwards that explicitly speak of something I don't believe in, but I politely ignore them.
I sent a "Christmas Survey" out to a lot of my friends. I didn't stop to think of who I was sending it to, but judging by the responses I got to the following question, I should have eliminated those with a brain too small to understand my answer:
Question: Do you have a nativity scene?
My Answer: No. I don't celebrate Christmas that way because I'm not religious. I celebrate Christmas as a time to show the people in your life that you love and appreciate them and to see the peace that's possible in the world, no matter what your beliefs are.
I guess my all-should-respect-others hippie thinking when it comes to religion is a lot to ask for. My point was that no matter what you believe in or don't believe in, you should be able to do so without persecution. Silly me! After all, why should we respect others? Why should we think that there could be more than one way to look at things?
I'm glad she showed me what a true friend is...and why she shouldn't be considered my friend any longer.
There's nothing like a little anger and hate to remind you of the real reason for the season... ;)
I should know better. I should know not to expect the same respect that I give to others regarding religious tolerance. I receive emails and forwards that explicitly speak of something I don't believe in, but I politely ignore them.
I sent a "Christmas Survey" out to a lot of my friends. I didn't stop to think of who I was sending it to, but judging by the responses I got to the following question, I should have eliminated those with a brain too small to understand my answer:
Question: Do you have a nativity scene?
My Answer: No. I don't celebrate Christmas that way because I'm not religious. I celebrate Christmas as a time to show the people in your life that you love and appreciate them and to see the peace that's possible in the world, no matter what your beliefs are.
I guess my all-should-respect-others hippie thinking when it comes to religion is a lot to ask for. My point was that no matter what you believe in or don't believe in, you should be able to do so without persecution. Silly me! After all, why should we respect others? Why should we think that there could be more than one way to look at things?
I'm glad she showed me what a true friend is...and why she shouldn't be considered my friend any longer.
There's nothing like a little anger and hate to remind you of the real reason for the season... ;)
December 05, 2008
Another American Family is Destroyed
I looked this up after reading my friend Jason's blog.
Here is a snippet from Lewis Black's HBO comedy special, Red, White & Screwed:
"Homosexuality is a threat to the family. Are you kidding me? How? No one ever explains it. How? It's not like there's a Jehovah's Witnesses of gaydom. 'Hi, we're here, we're queer, we're here, we're queer. I brought swatches! I brought swatches!'
But maybe I'm wrong. Maybe there are a group of gay banditos who get into a van every day and wander from village to dell. And as night begins to fall, they go back into a suburban neighborhood to that cul-de-sac where only one house stands. And in the window this young American family is setting down to their first meal and these queers don their black cloaks and hoods and matching pumps--very tasteful--and they charcoal up their faces and sneak up to that house...and open the door...and START FUCKING EACH OTHER IN THE ASS!
AND ANOTHER AMERICAN FAMILY IS DESTROYED!"
Isn't that the funniest?
Here is a snippet from Lewis Black's HBO comedy special, Red, White & Screwed:
"Homosexuality is a threat to the family. Are you kidding me? How? No one ever explains it. How? It's not like there's a Jehovah's Witnesses of gaydom. 'Hi, we're here, we're queer, we're here, we're queer. I brought swatches! I brought swatches!'
But maybe I'm wrong. Maybe there are a group of gay banditos who get into a van every day and wander from village to dell. And as night begins to fall, they go back into a suburban neighborhood to that cul-de-sac where only one house stands. And in the window this young American family is setting down to their first meal and these queers don their black cloaks and hoods and matching pumps--very tasteful--and they charcoal up their faces and sneak up to that house...and open the door...and START FUCKING EACH OTHER IN THE ASS!
AND ANOTHER AMERICAN FAMILY IS DESTROYED!"
Isn't that the funniest?
December 03, 2008
I Saw a Tool at Home Depot
I just got done with my outdoor Christmas decorations. Yes, it took that long. First I got a 6-outlet power stake with a timer that turned on at dusk. So I spent last night stringing lights along the ground on flimsy little plastic spikes after plugging them in to the timer. I was derailed when I lost a few plastic spikes (I found them with a flashlight), but I finally finished. I stood back to critique my work and then the lights went out. Then they came on. Then they went out. Then they came on.
I tapped on the living room window and yelled in to Dan, "Is Katie playing with the switch?" (My dad hooked us up with a switch on our outlet so we could turn the lights on and off without going outside.)
"No," he answered.
Then it dawned on me.
They turn on at dusk. My breathtaking lights were making it think it was daylight!
For some reason, it didn't turn off until I was completely done rigging them up. Frustrated, I turned off everything and went inside.
So today I went and got a new timer that turns on and off without a light sensor. So there, stupid timer.
I thought I was done but I realized I needed an adapter for my other set of lights, so off to Home Depot I went. Again. I was seriously beginning to question my need for outdoor lighting.
So I went to Home Depot by myself. I never know where anything is in that place, so I was wandering around aimlessly for a while. Then I remembered where the electrical stuff was, so I headed there. As I walked, I suddenly heard a squeak-ish, tap-ish sound and a loud "GASP!" to my left. I turned my head and saw Dan's father--who looked like he had stumbled upon a mountain lion or something. I just scoffed at him and kept walking. I kept walking and didn't look back but chuckled to myself. It's amusing that I could bring such fear into a grown man that he would feel like he has to scurry away from me.
The funny thing is that if he hadn't made such an awful "GASP!" sound and squeak his shoes from stopping, I wouldn't have even noticed him there.
Why was he so afraid of seeing me? The smartass I'm married to said it's probably because Home Depot has a lot of heavy objects that could cause physical damage if thrown and I have been known to throw objects at in-laws.
Hmmm...I guess I could picture myself wielding numchucks that I made out of nearby broomsticks.
I brought up the fact that the Home Depot was on my turf. Yes, I live in a West Side Story kind of universe where you don't cross into your enemy's territory. Home Depot is 2 miles from me and much further for him. I win.
Although I would have loved if I NEVER saw him again in my life (as I told him the last time I had contact with him two years ago), seeing that man made me feel powerful. I went and got my plug and all the while I was feeling victorious because I know that his failed relationship with his son is his fault. He and his family may have accused me of doing horrible things and think I ruined their family, but we both know the truth. That is why he shit his pants when he saw me and wanted to run away. That is why I smirked at him and laughed--because he's pathetic. That is why I blasted Pink's "So What" all the way home, singing the lyrics at the top of my lungs, laughing at my own little joke: "Guess what?/I'm having more fun/and now that we're done/I'm going to show you tonight/I'm alright/I'm just fine/and you're a tool."
Anyway, the plug fit and my lights are done. They shine brightly on a house filled with love. I'm alright and he's a tool.
I tapped on the living room window and yelled in to Dan, "Is Katie playing with the switch?" (My dad hooked us up with a switch on our outlet so we could turn the lights on and off without going outside.)
"No," he answered.
Then it dawned on me.
They turn on at dusk. My breathtaking lights were making it think it was daylight!
For some reason, it didn't turn off until I was completely done rigging them up. Frustrated, I turned off everything and went inside.
So today I went and got a new timer that turns on and off without a light sensor. So there, stupid timer.
I thought I was done but I realized I needed an adapter for my other set of lights, so off to Home Depot I went. Again. I was seriously beginning to question my need for outdoor lighting.
So I went to Home Depot by myself. I never know where anything is in that place, so I was wandering around aimlessly for a while. Then I remembered where the electrical stuff was, so I headed there. As I walked, I suddenly heard a squeak-ish, tap-ish sound and a loud "GASP!" to my left. I turned my head and saw Dan's father--who looked like he had stumbled upon a mountain lion or something. I just scoffed at him and kept walking. I kept walking and didn't look back but chuckled to myself. It's amusing that I could bring such fear into a grown man that he would feel like he has to scurry away from me.
The funny thing is that if he hadn't made such an awful "GASP!" sound and squeak his shoes from stopping, I wouldn't have even noticed him there.
Why was he so afraid of seeing me? The smartass I'm married to said it's probably because Home Depot has a lot of heavy objects that could cause physical damage if thrown and I have been known to throw objects at in-laws.
Hmmm...I guess I could picture myself wielding numchucks that I made out of nearby broomsticks.
I brought up the fact that the Home Depot was on my turf. Yes, I live in a West Side Story kind of universe where you don't cross into your enemy's territory. Home Depot is 2 miles from me and much further for him. I win.
Although I would have loved if I NEVER saw him again in my life (as I told him the last time I had contact with him two years ago), seeing that man made me feel powerful. I went and got my plug and all the while I was feeling victorious because I know that his failed relationship with his son is his fault. He and his family may have accused me of doing horrible things and think I ruined their family, but we both know the truth. That is why he shit his pants when he saw me and wanted to run away. That is why I smirked at him and laughed--because he's pathetic. That is why I blasted Pink's "So What" all the way home, singing the lyrics at the top of my lungs, laughing at my own little joke: "Guess what?/I'm having more fun/and now that we're done/I'm going to show you tonight/I'm alright/I'm just fine/and you're a tool."
Anyway, the plug fit and my lights are done. They shine brightly on a house filled with love. I'm alright and he's a tool.
December 02, 2008
November 30, 2008
Damn Those Reindeer
I had a wonderful Thanksgiving. It was ordinary--which is always nice. It was filled with the usual, you know: family, food, fun. We ate too much, played some games, and didn't deal with any in-law drama.
So now comes the Christmas season. It's a lot of work for such a small amount of time, but I have always enjoyed it. I love to decorate normally so having a good reason for it makes it fun. But I am a lot slower at getting things situated this year. I don't know why I'm not done yet, but I've narrowed it down to a couple of theories:
1. I have a lot more stuff than I used to have. When you get excited that 18-gallon totes are on sale at Home Depot, you're collecting too much holiday stuff. There was a point in my life when I didn't even own one of those totes. Now I'm exclaiming, "Dan, totes are 2 for $8!" across several aisles.
2. I have a two-year-old who insists on undoing any progress I have made. After flinging several non-breakable wreaths down from the attic while advising Kate to move out of the way of the flying evergreen, I lugged the aforementioned green and red totes down the rickety steps of the attic. (I have learned that wreaths roll well and could easily knock down an unsuspecting person that weighs, let's say, around 28 pounds, but I digress.) Opening the red lid, I recognized the little table-top Christmas tree my mom bought me last year at the end of the season and set it on the table. I then arranged its tree skirt, hung every tiny glass ball on pre-selected boughs, and strung tiny garland around it. Gently placing the gold star on top, I smiled at my achievement and turned to see what else I could find in my magical Christmas box. Seconds later, I turned to find the little tree on the floor, garland strung around my little girl's arms, star on top of her head. So much for my quest for holiday perfection.
3. Owning a home (rather than renting) shifts interior design attention to the exterior. Also, stupid neighbors think their plastic reindeer make good decorations. I think I hate plastic reindeer because of Joni Mitchell's song, River, which has the line: "They're putting up reindeer and singing songs of joy and peace; but I wish I had a river I could skate away on." When we dealt with the birth defect and eventual loss of our first baby a few days before Christmas in 2002, I sang that song every day. I still cry sometimes when I hear it, but it now serves me to remind me of what a great Christmas this year will be for us.) Anyway, I deserted my indoor decorating yesterday and headed outside with my retro ceramic lights and started to clip them to the gutter. I was done rather quickly. The rest of the decorating went rather smoothly, too, until I decided I needed "a little more light" on the far side of the house. Three stores and four hours later, I still couldn't find the kind of lights I wanted. It was now late, very cold, and I was aggravated. Defeated, I reluctantly turned off the lights, glancing over to the neighbor's plastic reindeer. They were shining brightly, taunting me.
Damn those reindeer.
So now comes the Christmas season. It's a lot of work for such a small amount of time, but I have always enjoyed it. I love to decorate normally so having a good reason for it makes it fun. But I am a lot slower at getting things situated this year. I don't know why I'm not done yet, but I've narrowed it down to a couple of theories:
1. I have a lot more stuff than I used to have. When you get excited that 18-gallon totes are on sale at Home Depot, you're collecting too much holiday stuff. There was a point in my life when I didn't even own one of those totes. Now I'm exclaiming, "Dan, totes are 2 for $8!" across several aisles.
2. I have a two-year-old who insists on undoing any progress I have made. After flinging several non-breakable wreaths down from the attic while advising Kate to move out of the way of the flying evergreen, I lugged the aforementioned green and red totes down the rickety steps of the attic. (I have learned that wreaths roll well and could easily knock down an unsuspecting person that weighs, let's say, around 28 pounds, but I digress.) Opening the red lid, I recognized the little table-top Christmas tree my mom bought me last year at the end of the season and set it on the table. I then arranged its tree skirt, hung every tiny glass ball on pre-selected boughs, and strung tiny garland around it. Gently placing the gold star on top, I smiled at my achievement and turned to see what else I could find in my magical Christmas box. Seconds later, I turned to find the little tree on the floor, garland strung around my little girl's arms, star on top of her head. So much for my quest for holiday perfection.
3. Owning a home (rather than renting) shifts interior design attention to the exterior. Also, stupid neighbors think their plastic reindeer make good decorations. I think I hate plastic reindeer because of Joni Mitchell's song, River, which has the line: "They're putting up reindeer and singing songs of joy and peace; but I wish I had a river I could skate away on." When we dealt with the birth defect and eventual loss of our first baby a few days before Christmas in 2002, I sang that song every day. I still cry sometimes when I hear it, but it now serves me to remind me of what a great Christmas this year will be for us.) Anyway, I deserted my indoor decorating yesterday and headed outside with my retro ceramic lights and started to clip them to the gutter. I was done rather quickly. The rest of the decorating went rather smoothly, too, until I decided I needed "a little more light" on the far side of the house. Three stores and four hours later, I still couldn't find the kind of lights I wanted. It was now late, very cold, and I was aggravated. Defeated, I reluctantly turned off the lights, glancing over to the neighbor's plastic reindeer. They were shining brightly, taunting me.
Damn those reindeer.
November 25, 2008
Through New Eyes
The header above took a while to get online. I guess I'm rusty with various programs and if you take any kind of break from the Internet, you return to a bunch of new things designed to make it easier. Yet it never seems easier. I kind of liked the "ease" of my website in 1996, where I self-taught myself HTML and had to do everything myself. Now I just tell the magical computer what I want done and it does it. (That doesn't let it be very unique, does it?) Although I still can't tweak this page enough for my tastes and I don't have the time to figure out how that would be possible. And someone else probably wouldn't notice anyway.
Did you notice the words on the header in back of the title are actual previous musings? I sure have been all over the board with my thoughts! It's amazing how different we seem if you go back a few years and read your thoughts. For years I kept a paper journal but it always seemed that by the time I got to the end, the entries I made from the beginning of the book were a different person. That introspective look helped me realize that we can't be sure of how we'll feel about anything in the future. We shouldn't say "never" because we don't know. And hopefully we'll grow and change. That bothers a lot of people, but change is what helps us extract all we can from life and enjoy it. There's so much to enjoy but we get caught up in the daily things and don't even see it.
When I take my two-year-old daughter anywhere, I try to picture seeing things the way she does: with newness and wonder. As adults we assume that everything is static and is the same, but there's a lot to see if we just look at it differently. She points to something with eyes wide open and a huge smile on her face and I realize that the shiny ribbon I passed so many times really is beautiful. Seeing things through new eyes is a great gift.
So just like the times at work that we hate, hate, HATED the newest edition of Quark only to eventually love it too much to update to the even newer edition, I will get to know Word 2007 and Windows Vista and the new blogger template thingy. And I'll probably be blogging about the newest thing next year that doesn't cut it. Unless I start looking through new eyes...
Did you notice the words on the header in back of the title are actual previous musings? I sure have been all over the board with my thoughts! It's amazing how different we seem if you go back a few years and read your thoughts. For years I kept a paper journal but it always seemed that by the time I got to the end, the entries I made from the beginning of the book were a different person. That introspective look helped me realize that we can't be sure of how we'll feel about anything in the future. We shouldn't say "never" because we don't know. And hopefully we'll grow and change. That bothers a lot of people, but change is what helps us extract all we can from life and enjoy it. There's so much to enjoy but we get caught up in the daily things and don't even see it.
When I take my two-year-old daughter anywhere, I try to picture seeing things the way she does: with newness and wonder. As adults we assume that everything is static and is the same, but there's a lot to see if we just look at it differently. She points to something with eyes wide open and a huge smile on her face and I realize that the shiny ribbon I passed so many times really is beautiful. Seeing things through new eyes is a great gift.
So just like the times at work that we hate, hate, HATED the newest edition of Quark only to eventually love it too much to update to the even newer edition, I will get to know Word 2007 and Windows Vista and the new blogger template thingy. And I'll probably be blogging about the newest thing next year that doesn't cut it. Unless I start looking through new eyes...
November 24, 2008
Crazy Napkin Note #1
Okay, so the changes I've made don't exactly justify the two-month hiatus that I have taken from blogging, but I wanted something new to mark my return. I come at you now with a new perspective, a new laptop, and a new look. I deleted my old blog template by accident so the change is a forced one, but a change nonetheless.
I have a lot to catch up on! I have all these little notes around my house that I jotted when I would get an idea about something I wanted to write about. (Not having a computer can be taxing, let me tell you.) I figured that if I had died under mysterious circumstances and the police came searching for clues, they would think that I was crazy because of my notes. They're very cryptic and I scrawled some of them on napkins and whatever I could get my hands on so they probably wouldn't make sense to anyone who found them. Here's the first one I'll get to since you've been waiting so patiently:
------------
Quarterback
Dan P
Presidency
------------
When I was in high school, I sat next to a guy named Eddie in homeroom. He was funny, charming, and quarterback of the football team. We would chat every morning and he would smile as soon as he saw me. We became friends and I didn't think much about it until one morning he asked me out. I didn't know what to say, but it wasn't because I didn't like him. I am embarrassed to say that it was because he was black. I declined because I knew it would be too difficult to be in a mixed relationship because of others' expectations.
One of my good friends named Dan was black, too. We were on a road trip when we ran into car trouble and had to stop to make a phone call. (Sadly, I remember times before rampant use of cell phones!) We walked into an old diner in a small Pennsylvania town and it was like a scene from a movie. Everyone stopped eating and speaking and just turned and stared at us. It took me a few seconds to figure out that a white girl and a black guy just wasn't usual there. It was uncomfortable and awkward and that experience happened just weeks before Eddie asked me out.
Later, when reconnecting with old friends for my ten-year high school reunion, I looked up Eddie only to find out that he had been killed in a car accident a few years previously. The years that had past from my teenage decision had made me regret my decision. I shouldn't have cared what others would think. I shouldn't have cared that it might cause problems. But I also realized at the time that although I didn't see Eddie differently, others would see us as black and white. Different. If I really saw us going somewhere--which I could--then what would our kids go through? Seeing kids of mixed race being called horrible names and teased made me think I shouldn't fall in love with someone if it would be difficult from the beginning. I probably would have had the same issues with a guy of different faith, too, but I never had to make that decision. (I wasn't asked out much!)
As a general aside: as an adult coping with infertility, I know I would welcome an adopted African-American child into my home as my son or daughter. Years have taught me that my own happiness and convictions override everyone's beliefs of how you're supposed to live your life.
So I cried tears of joy when Barack Obama gave his first speech as President-Elect. I cried thinking I'd never see an African-American become president because of the racism of this country. I mistakenly thought that there would be too many people that wouldn't trust or want a black president. I was proud casting my vote for him, but I wonder if my high-school mentality was the reason so many didn't vote for Obama. It isn't the norm. That's not what a president is supposed to look like. Others won't like it. Thankfully, enough people went against the "norm" and voted with their hearts and brains. I cried because I was so happy that we as a nation seemed in sync and that the world that people like Rosa Parks, Martin L. King Jr., and others lived in just 40 years ago no longer existed.
If only I had been brave enough then...
I have a lot to catch up on! I have all these little notes around my house that I jotted when I would get an idea about something I wanted to write about. (Not having a computer can be taxing, let me tell you.) I figured that if I had died under mysterious circumstances and the police came searching for clues, they would think that I was crazy because of my notes. They're very cryptic and I scrawled some of them on napkins and whatever I could get my hands on so they probably wouldn't make sense to anyone who found them. Here's the first one I'll get to since you've been waiting so patiently:
------------
Quarterback
Dan P
Presidency
------------
When I was in high school, I sat next to a guy named Eddie in homeroom. He was funny, charming, and quarterback of the football team. We would chat every morning and he would smile as soon as he saw me. We became friends and I didn't think much about it until one morning he asked me out. I didn't know what to say, but it wasn't because I didn't like him. I am embarrassed to say that it was because he was black. I declined because I knew it would be too difficult to be in a mixed relationship because of others' expectations.
One of my good friends named Dan was black, too. We were on a road trip when we ran into car trouble and had to stop to make a phone call. (Sadly, I remember times before rampant use of cell phones!) We walked into an old diner in a small Pennsylvania town and it was like a scene from a movie. Everyone stopped eating and speaking and just turned and stared at us. It took me a few seconds to figure out that a white girl and a black guy just wasn't usual there. It was uncomfortable and awkward and that experience happened just weeks before Eddie asked me out.
Later, when reconnecting with old friends for my ten-year high school reunion, I looked up Eddie only to find out that he had been killed in a car accident a few years previously. The years that had past from my teenage decision had made me regret my decision. I shouldn't have cared what others would think. I shouldn't have cared that it might cause problems. But I also realized at the time that although I didn't see Eddie differently, others would see us as black and white. Different. If I really saw us going somewhere--which I could--then what would our kids go through? Seeing kids of mixed race being called horrible names and teased made me think I shouldn't fall in love with someone if it would be difficult from the beginning. I probably would have had the same issues with a guy of different faith, too, but I never had to make that decision. (I wasn't asked out much!)
As a general aside: as an adult coping with infertility, I know I would welcome an adopted African-American child into my home as my son or daughter. Years have taught me that my own happiness and convictions override everyone's beliefs of how you're supposed to live your life.
So I cried tears of joy when Barack Obama gave his first speech as President-Elect. I cried thinking I'd never see an African-American become president because of the racism of this country. I mistakenly thought that there would be too many people that wouldn't trust or want a black president. I was proud casting my vote for him, but I wonder if my high-school mentality was the reason so many didn't vote for Obama. It isn't the norm. That's not what a president is supposed to look like. Others won't like it. Thankfully, enough people went against the "norm" and voted with their hearts and brains. I cried because I was so happy that we as a nation seemed in sync and that the world that people like Rosa Parks, Martin L. King Jr., and others lived in just 40 years ago no longer existed.
If only I had been brave enough then...
November 22, 2008
September 06, 2008
Things I Learned in Georgia
I just got back from vacation in Georgia (in your neck of the woods, Glenn) to visit my brother and his family. Georgia would never be my first choice if I had to pick an exciting vacation spot, but it was so wonderful to see my brother, whom I haven't seen since Christmas.
THINGS I LEARNED WHILE IN GEORGIA
1. Fire ants should not be provoked. I had never really heard of fire ants before my latest trip to GA, but I was intrigued when my six-year-old nephew told me to stay away from the little brown hills of dirt in their yard. Of course when I hear the word "don't" I usually try to do it, so I ran over a few of the ants' homes with various tires (a bike, the stroller) and was amazed at the fury of the ants. I still didn't really buy the story that they will surround your feet and sting you. Unfortunately, one solitary ant decided my foot would be the perfect place to bite and I spent the next few days feeling like a needle was in my foot. I guess I should have listened.
2. McCain is playing a good game. While at the airport, I ran into a gift shop to get some drinks before our flight and I was bombarded with the press conference coverage of John McCain announcing his vice president pick. Even with my contacts in, I still squinted at the screen expecting to see Romney's name. I was shocked when I saw "Sarah" and instantly felt a pang of anger.
"He picked a woman!?" I stated/kind of asked to the woman behind the counter who had been watching. She just smiled.
"Obama didn't pick Hillary and McCain picked a woman?" I asked, as if I was talking to a CNN legal analyst.
"Weird, huh?" she answered as she rang up my apple juice.
"I can't friggin' believe it!" I repeated as I walked back to our gate.
As a general aside, I was extremely disappointed when Hillary didn't get the nomination and I was even further devastated when she wasn't offered the VP position. I cried like a baby when I watched her video and speech from the DNC convention. It was a dream that came to an end. I will certainly not vote for McCain just because he picked someone with ovaries, but I was somewhat embarrassed that he had the balls to pick a woman. Well, I was impressed, too.
3. I am not going to fly US Air again. They charge you for your checked bags and they charge you $2 for a lousy can of soda on the plane. Do they really think anyone would notice two extra dollars tacked on to their plane fare? As someone who gets really excited (a little too excited one could argue) when I see the beverage cart coming ever-so-slowly down the aisle, I need the beverage cart. Being stuck in a big metal box in the sky makes everything consumed taste much better. For the record, we flew Delta to ATL and they gave free drinks AND peanuts. Kelly was happy.
4. I really like Pennsylvania.
5. Humidity really, really blows. I'd pay Jennifer Aniston $100 dollars to stand in Olympic Park for ten minutes on a hot August day. Then let's see how straight her hair stays.
6. When Coke is free, you don't really want to drink too much of it. Now charge me $2.49 for it and I'll drink it like a...well, like I usually do.
7. Did I mention I really like Pennsylvania?
1. Fire ants should not be provoked. I had never really heard of fire ants before my latest trip to GA, but I was intrigued when my six-year-old nephew told me to stay away from the little brown hills of dirt in their yard. Of course when I hear the word "don't" I usually try to do it, so I ran over a few of the ants' homes with various tires (a bike, the stroller) and was amazed at the fury of the ants. I still didn't really buy the story that they will surround your feet and sting you. Unfortunately, one solitary ant decided my foot would be the perfect place to bite and I spent the next few days feeling like a needle was in my foot. I guess I should have listened.
2. McCain is playing a good game. While at the airport, I ran into a gift shop to get some drinks before our flight and I was bombarded with the press conference coverage of John McCain announcing his vice president pick. Even with my contacts in, I still squinted at the screen expecting to see Romney's name. I was shocked when I saw "Sarah" and instantly felt a pang of anger.
"He picked a woman!?" I stated/kind of asked to the woman behind the counter who had been watching. She just smiled.
"Obama didn't pick Hillary and McCain picked a woman?" I asked, as if I was talking to a CNN legal analyst.
"Weird, huh?" she answered as she rang up my apple juice.
"I can't friggin' believe it!" I repeated as I walked back to our gate.
As a general aside, I was extremely disappointed when Hillary didn't get the nomination and I was even further devastated when she wasn't offered the VP position. I cried like a baby when I watched her video and speech from the DNC convention. It was a dream that came to an end. I will certainly not vote for McCain just because he picked someone with ovaries, but I was somewhat embarrassed that he had the balls to pick a woman. Well, I was impressed, too.
3. I am not going to fly US Air again. They charge you for your checked bags and they charge you $2 for a lousy can of soda on the plane. Do they really think anyone would notice two extra dollars tacked on to their plane fare? As someone who gets really excited (a little too excited one could argue) when I see the beverage cart coming ever-so-slowly down the aisle, I need the beverage cart. Being stuck in a big metal box in the sky makes everything consumed taste much better. For the record, we flew Delta to ATL and they gave free drinks AND peanuts. Kelly was happy.
4. I really like Pennsylvania.
5. Humidity really, really blows. I'd pay Jennifer Aniston $100 dollars to stand in Olympic Park for ten minutes on a hot August day. Then let's see how straight her hair stays.
6. When Coke is free, you don't really want to drink too much of it. Now charge me $2.49 for it and I'll drink it like a...well, like I usually do.
7. Did I mention I really like Pennsylvania?
July 14, 2008
Speaking of Vaginas...
While driving on the George Washington Bridge the other night, I looked over to see the city skyline. It reminded me of a time in my life when I wanted to be on the stage. The NYC skyline always has that effect on me--it epitomizes theatre to me. When I was in high school, I dreamed of going to New York University. (I was coming off the high of attending Nationals for dramatics.) I imagined myself walking down the streets of New York like I had so many times as a kid with my aunt and uncle who lived on Lexington. Unfortunately, my dad informed me that he couldn't afford to send me to NYU. My dreams of attending a school in the city faded as practicality set in, although I did start my freshman year at Penn State as a theatre major. I would change it to Comparative Literature before deciding on the generic English major because of some well-worded brochure for the English department. I could go in many directions with that kind of degree. Besides, who really makes a living as an actor?
Other than being involved in some theatre during college and making it to callbacks for an off-Broadway production locally a few years ago, I haven't done a thing in the theatre. So the other night I decided that I would get involved again, even if just to volunteer as an usher or something like that. It came on the heels of my dad's suggestion to get involved again. We went for dinner in town a few weeks ago and as we passed a local theatre, my dad said, "You should do something like that again. You were good."
Sure, my dad is biased, but I honestly had thought the same thing myself. Just because I haven't done it in a while doesn't mean I can't, right? So I pointed my browser at that local theatre's web page. I was so excited when I saw an OPEN AUDITIONS link. I clicked on it and it was calling for women to participate in The Vagina Monologues.
"Holy shit!" I said out loud as the feminist actor in me leapt out of my head and pranced on the couch. I can't be sure, but I think she was spouting some lines from Taming of the Shrew as well.
I suddenly pictured myself backstage before the show with that wonderful, alive nervousness of opening night. My dad would be proudly sitting in the front row, along with all of my friends and family. I would be on the stage again. I was so happy with the thought.
SEND AN EMAIL to be considered.
So I did.
I wrote an email professing my interest and hit SEND.
Oh my god.
There.
I did it!
I would possibly be realizing my dreams again, albeit on a small level.
Then it dawned on me. What was the date of the show?
February 9th, 2008.
As in...five months ago.
In my excitement, I guess I forgot it is 2008.
I'm an idiot.
I guess I got too excited...
Other than being involved in some theatre during college and making it to callbacks for an off-Broadway production locally a few years ago, I haven't done a thing in the theatre. So the other night I decided that I would get involved again, even if just to volunteer as an usher or something like that. It came on the heels of my dad's suggestion to get involved again. We went for dinner in town a few weeks ago and as we passed a local theatre, my dad said, "You should do something like that again. You were good."
Sure, my dad is biased, but I honestly had thought the same thing myself. Just because I haven't done it in a while doesn't mean I can't, right? So I pointed my browser at that local theatre's web page. I was so excited when I saw an OPEN AUDITIONS link. I clicked on it and it was calling for women to participate in The Vagina Monologues.
"Holy shit!" I said out loud as the feminist actor in me leapt out of my head and pranced on the couch. I can't be sure, but I think she was spouting some lines from Taming of the Shrew as well.
I suddenly pictured myself backstage before the show with that wonderful, alive nervousness of opening night. My dad would be proudly sitting in the front row, along with all of my friends and family. I would be on the stage again. I was so happy with the thought.
SEND AN EMAIL to be considered.
So I did.
I wrote an email professing my interest and hit SEND.
Oh my god.
There.
I did it!
I would possibly be realizing my dreams again, albeit on a small level.
Then it dawned on me. What was the date of the show?
February 9th, 2008.
As in...five months ago.
In my excitement, I guess I forgot it is 2008.
I'm an idiot.
I guess I got too excited...
July 06, 2008
Taking A Guilt Trip Down Memory Lane
When I was a kid, the 4th of July was such a fun day. I would spend the day at my grandmother's house playing with all of my cousins and at night we would light some firecrackers and catch lightning bugs. We could play for such a long time--the light of the day lasted until nearly 9pm--which was always so exciting. (How many of us even notice that as an adult?) I still love sitting in the warm summer air and watching the glow of lightening bugs...it's one of the simple joys of life.
I have a lot in my life that brings me such happiness. They're the little things that are difficult to express to someone else. I'm sure we all have things that make us smile or laugh, the you-had-to-be-there kind of inside joy that others don't understand or witness. As I sat here before, Katie came walking in from her room and came over to me. "That's Eeyore!" she said, clear as day, as she plopped an Eeyore stuffed animal on my lap. I looked at her, not realizing she knew his name nor could say it, and felt so proud. She gazed back at me with her huge eyes and just...smiled. She's growing and I'm happy about that. I am thankful she's healthy and smart and that I get to have such a source of joy in my life.
As we drove home from an enjoyable lunch at Fuddruckers today, Dan and I started talking and we recalled that just three years ago, we spent July 4th at Dan's aunt's house with all of his family. (GASP!!) We played games and actually had a good time, even though we ignored and were ignored by his sister. The situation wasn't new. (I guess we were feeling exceptionally friendly that day or something.) Unfortunately, after several hours Dan's father dramatically left the party and I learned later that he claimed that he had to leave because of the family feud. He and others complainted about that day, though in hindsight that was the last day they will ever get with us. Too bad they didn't appreciate what they had when they had it. I wonder if they ever look back on that same day and say, "Damn. I shouldn't have messed it up."
Naw.
I started singing "Memories" (the Elvis version, the one I heard WAY too many times growing up since my Mom was/is a huge Elvis fan) and we laughed.
"Memorieeeeees...pressed between the pages of my miiiiiind!"
Memory Lane is sometimes a road filled with potholes and ruts, the kind of road you wouldn't want to drive. It's the bad neighborhood that makes you say, "We don't need gas that bad. Let's keep going." Dan says his usually leads to Guiltsville. I have a lot of nice memories from my childhood.
"Memorieeeeees...sweetened through the ages just like wiiiiiiine!"
This past July 4th was fun, although it was cut slightly short because of Katie's fear of fireworks. I can't say I blame her; I never really enjoyed them myself. We spent the day at my grandmother's. Now my cousins and I are older, with jobs and spouses and kids, but I still try to see the simplicity in things.
As we arrived home, our front yard was filled with lightening bugs. I put Katie in her crib, leaving her to dream as I rushed outside. As I caught a glowing bug, I hoped that Katie's life would be as magical as the flashing lights of my childhood.
I have a lot in my life that brings me such happiness. They're the little things that are difficult to express to someone else. I'm sure we all have things that make us smile or laugh, the you-had-to-be-there kind of inside joy that others don't understand or witness. As I sat here before, Katie came walking in from her room and came over to me. "That's Eeyore!" she said, clear as day, as she plopped an Eeyore stuffed animal on my lap. I looked at her, not realizing she knew his name nor could say it, and felt so proud. She gazed back at me with her huge eyes and just...smiled. She's growing and I'm happy about that. I am thankful she's healthy and smart and that I get to have such a source of joy in my life.
As we drove home from an enjoyable lunch at Fuddruckers today, Dan and I started talking and we recalled that just three years ago, we spent July 4th at Dan's aunt's house with all of his family. (GASP!!) We played games and actually had a good time, even though we ignored and were ignored by his sister. The situation wasn't new. (I guess we were feeling exceptionally friendly that day or something.) Unfortunately, after several hours Dan's father dramatically left the party and I learned later that he claimed that he had to leave because of the family feud. He and others complainted about that day, though in hindsight that was the last day they will ever get with us. Too bad they didn't appreciate what they had when they had it. I wonder if they ever look back on that same day and say, "Damn. I shouldn't have messed it up."
Naw.
I started singing "Memories" (the Elvis version, the one I heard WAY too many times growing up since my Mom was/is a huge Elvis fan) and we laughed.
"Memorieeeeees...pressed between the pages of my miiiiiind!"
Memory Lane is sometimes a road filled with potholes and ruts, the kind of road you wouldn't want to drive. It's the bad neighborhood that makes you say, "We don't need gas that bad. Let's keep going." Dan says his usually leads to Guiltsville. I have a lot of nice memories from my childhood.
"Memorieeeeees...sweetened through the ages just like wiiiiiiine!"
This past July 4th was fun, although it was cut slightly short because of Katie's fear of fireworks. I can't say I blame her; I never really enjoyed them myself. We spent the day at my grandmother's. Now my cousins and I are older, with jobs and spouses and kids, but I still try to see the simplicity in things.
As we arrived home, our front yard was filled with lightening bugs. I put Katie in her crib, leaving her to dream as I rushed outside. As I caught a glowing bug, I hoped that Katie's life would be as magical as the flashing lights of my childhood.
July 01, 2008
Phone Phobia
My thoughts flow freely just as I'm trying to go to bed. So after a failed attempt, here I am in front of the computer. There's something very rewarding about a quiet house and only the glow of the screen in front of me. I'm drawn to it like a moth to a candle.
The thing about your thoughts is that when they are jumbled in your head, it doesn't really matter. Trying to pry them out and post them is a bit difficult when they're jumping around, but I'll try...
I had a missed call on my cell Saturday morning that I figured could have been one of my family members (a different area code), but considering that I have everyone I care about programmed into my phone, I couldn't think of who it could be. When the phone rang again and I was able to answer it, I saw the same number. I hit "accept" and I faintly heard someone already talking so I listened without saying hello. A deep voice was saying, "Bitch, bitch, you're a bitch..." then said the full name of my husband, who's last name could sort of rhyme with bitch, using bitch in his name. (That will soon change, as you'll read.) I won't lie, it scared me because I heard the name of my husband at the end. I normally would think it was just a prank and it wouldn't scare my "virgin" ears. I guess you need some back story to understand my concern...
We are in the process of changing our last name. It will be easier to understand and use. I especially won't be burdened with the horrible association to everyone who has that name...since they all hate me and blame me for the demise of their family. But no one (we assume) knows about it. I know it would make people in Dan's family angry and I know they would blame me. Since we had to publish it in the newspaper as part of our state's name change law, I assumed someone got word of it and somehow tracked down my number and decided to call. (We don't have a landline and no one has my number.) Since Dan's last name was used and the caller sounded angry, I immediately thought it was someone from his family. (YES, I'm paranoid. Maybe I'm watching too much Dateline or something.) I hung up without saying anything and nearly hyperventilated. That seems to be my body's reaction to anything involving THOSE people and it's rather annoying.
So after breathlessly explaining it to Dan, he says [enter macho tone here], "Give me the phone. I'll call them back."
I hand him the phone. Great. One more hangup (no pun intended) to add to my Phone Phobia.
He starts the phone call by saying, "Yeah, this is Dan X. You just called?" Not exactly the force I was hoping for.
Then he starts chatting. About what, I don't know. I just couldn't believe it.
"Wait--who is that?" I yell loudly.
"It's the guy from TruGreen lawn service." This guy had called about a dozen times in the last week after giving us a quote for lawn service but Dan was avoiding his calls.
"Give me the phone." He hands it to me as I try to remember that I should remain calm in stressful situations and not resort to harsh words or--god forbid--throwing anything.
"You just called me?" I ask, giving him a chance to lie. He admits he did. "I just heard you say 'bitch' and you are NEVER to call this number again." Sure, he tried to say that he was just talking to a colleague, but I was just relieved it wasn't anyone who was personally attacking me. I still plan on writing a letter to the jerk's company, though. And I won't rely on Dan to defend me, don't worry.
I have come to accept the fact that I will probably never be left alone by the people I hate so much. I know the feeling is mutual, but they won't admit it because I guess they think they can fool Dan. I am blamed for Dan not speaking to them. There's an old saying, though, that says: Give them enough rope and they will hang themselves. (Or is that just something my mom always says?) They prove how heartless they are every time they make a feeble attempt at getting their own way, but I wish they would just leave us alone. Dan has told them that so many times. [Enter a big sigh here.]
So hopefully our name changes come through and I could at least move on emotionally. I really feel like I am finally going to get the proud, old-fashioned excitement of being Mrs. X. I wasn't emotionally able to take Dan's last name for so long because of what I associated with it. My love for him wasn't enough. When I finally had our baby I went through the process and changed it. Then I felt like an idiot because I was carrying around the name of some of the people that I abhor.
I think if I didn't have children, I would never have wanted Dan's last name, no matter what it was or who it was. My feminist ideals were part of the reason. But my traditional ideals of having the same name as my child outweighs my Lucy Stoner attitude.
I'll keep you posted.
The thing about your thoughts is that when they are jumbled in your head, it doesn't really matter. Trying to pry them out and post them is a bit difficult when they're jumping around, but I'll try...
I had a missed call on my cell Saturday morning that I figured could have been one of my family members (a different area code), but considering that I have everyone I care about programmed into my phone, I couldn't think of who it could be. When the phone rang again and I was able to answer it, I saw the same number. I hit "accept" and I faintly heard someone already talking so I listened without saying hello. A deep voice was saying, "Bitch, bitch, you're a bitch..." then said the full name of my husband, who's last name could sort of rhyme with bitch, using bitch in his name. (That will soon change, as you'll read.) I won't lie, it scared me because I heard the name of my husband at the end. I normally would think it was just a prank and it wouldn't scare my "virgin" ears. I guess you need some back story to understand my concern...
We are in the process of changing our last name. It will be easier to understand and use. I especially won't be burdened with the horrible association to everyone who has that name...since they all hate me and blame me for the demise of their family. But no one (we assume) knows about it. I know it would make people in Dan's family angry and I know they would blame me. Since we had to publish it in the newspaper as part of our state's name change law, I assumed someone got word of it and somehow tracked down my number and decided to call. (We don't have a landline and no one has my number.) Since Dan's last name was used and the caller sounded angry, I immediately thought it was someone from his family. (YES, I'm paranoid. Maybe I'm watching too much Dateline or something.) I hung up without saying anything and nearly hyperventilated. That seems to be my body's reaction to anything involving THOSE people and it's rather annoying.
So after breathlessly explaining it to Dan, he says [enter macho tone here], "Give me the phone. I'll call them back."
I hand him the phone. Great. One more hangup (no pun intended) to add to my Phone Phobia.
He starts the phone call by saying, "Yeah, this is Dan X. You just called?" Not exactly the force I was hoping for.
Then he starts chatting. About what, I don't know. I just couldn't believe it.
"Wait--who is that?" I yell loudly.
"It's the guy from TruGreen lawn service." This guy had called about a dozen times in the last week after giving us a quote for lawn service but Dan was avoiding his calls.
"Give me the phone." He hands it to me as I try to remember that I should remain calm in stressful situations and not resort to harsh words or--god forbid--throwing anything.
"You just called me?" I ask, giving him a chance to lie. He admits he did. "I just heard you say 'bitch' and you are NEVER to call this number again." Sure, he tried to say that he was just talking to a colleague, but I was just relieved it wasn't anyone who was personally attacking me. I still plan on writing a letter to the jerk's company, though. And I won't rely on Dan to defend me, don't worry.
I have come to accept the fact that I will probably never be left alone by the people I hate so much. I know the feeling is mutual, but they won't admit it because I guess they think they can fool Dan. I am blamed for Dan not speaking to them. There's an old saying, though, that says: Give them enough rope and they will hang themselves. (Or is that just something my mom always says?) They prove how heartless they are every time they make a feeble attempt at getting their own way, but I wish they would just leave us alone. Dan has told them that so many times. [Enter a big sigh here.]
So hopefully our name changes come through and I could at least move on emotionally. I really feel like I am finally going to get the proud, old-fashioned excitement of being Mrs. X. I wasn't emotionally able to take Dan's last name for so long because of what I associated with it. My love for him wasn't enough. When I finally had our baby I went through the process and changed it. Then I felt like an idiot because I was carrying around the name of some of the people that I abhor.
I think if I didn't have children, I would never have wanted Dan's last name, no matter what it was or who it was. My feminist ideals were part of the reason. But my traditional ideals of having the same name as my child outweighs my Lucy Stoner attitude.
I'll keep you posted.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
