29 December 2008
He weighed 7 pounds 10 ounces and was 20 inches long. Not too shabby. A decade later, his stats are a little different, but he's still dang cute.
Happy Birthday First Born.
In unrelated news: Bought a new bed for the dog. That's not a dog.
The kids will no longer be able to do anything that is not Wii related
SHSO'C rocks out loud and now so can the boys
Steak knives are not to be used to open presents in lieu of asking for an adult's assistance
Sly believes his job is to keep blankets warm for later use, which he performs admirably
And a hundred years from now people will think my kids raised themselves as, once again, I cannot be found in any pictures.
24 December 2008
"The stockings were hung by the chimney with care..." (Because it's hard to rhyme with "half-assed")
"The children were nestled all snug in their beds, while visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads." (Times have changed, because I'm pretty sure sugar plums are the last thing dancing in my kids' heads.)
So, my bad attitude notwithstanding, I am ready for Christmas. Sort of. The last present has been wrapped, the stockings are stuffed, the plan for tomorrow has been set. But I'm such a loser, I'm still filling out Christmas cards (which I made off my SD card at Target for $11..already has our name printed on it and I'm skipping any personal message....LAZY!), my house could be declared a national disaster, and my Christmas care package to Afghanistan is not even close to being done. I suck. The holiday stress must be getting to me because one of the docs today said I needed a bottle of Stoli in my stocking. And then she asked if I were on the rag. Which is pretty rich, coming from Bubbles.
So, here I sit, blogging away, thinking of already putting away Christmas decorations (hey! you try having a kid with a birthday 4 days after Christmas, try to make it a special occasion and not a Christmas leftover, and see how long you want Christmas to hang around), watching my yearly viewing of A Christmas Story, and reflecting on my year and my life. All and all, nothing to complain about. My kids are happy and healthy, I'm happy and healthy, I've had a wonderful 6 months I wouldn't change for anything, my extended family is acting a little less crazy than last year....what's not to like?
So, here is my Christmas Eve wish to you:
Why can't I sing like this?
23 December 2008
Truly Finnish! Too sober to relax enough to actually make eye contact with the camera.
See, this is only pretty to those who have never lived in snow for long periods of time. Those who have, see it as pretty for about 4 seconds and then remember it's a pain in the ass. Keeping pipes from freezing, wrapping up in 16 layers of clothes until you look like an overstuffed sausage, 7 foot walls of snow in what used to be a turn lane because the plows only have so many places to put this crap, frozen doors, frozen keyholes, frozen windshield wipers, plugging your cars in at night so you don't have frozen crankcases, constantly semi-damp boots and gloves...the list goes on and on! The angst just isn't worth it. And it has nothing to do with driving in it, I'm confident in my snow negotiating skills. I'd rather drive in snow and ice than fog any day. It's just that snow is something I want to go visit, not co-habitate with.
The boys have been enjoying themselves but they keep forgetting, after having owned this dog for over a year, that he will steal and run off with any item they may deem useful or that they might desire. He only seems to take what will make them scream the loudest. You'd think they'd stop leaving things where he can easily get them, but nooooo! Which is how I found myself on my belly, in the snow, trying to fish a glove out from under the deck with a broom. Happy times indeed.
16 December 2008
"Sos rolled up some paper and stuck it in his ear and it is too far in there for us to try to get it out."
She: *sound of crickets*
Me: "Uh....is he saying his ear is bothering him?"
She: "No, but he keeps sticking his finger in his ear, and I'm afraid he'll push it in so far that you won't be able to get it out."
Me: *crickets* Thought bubble: what kind of training do you have, really? "Well, I'll see what I can do."
Mind you this was at 1400, school gets out at 1530. I tried calling my mother before remember that she was with my grandmother at the Major City Hospital doing something that was actually medically IMPORTANT. So, I call my BFF and ask her if she can go get him.
I finally get to my BFF's house after work and look in SoS's ear. I could see a piece of paper wedged pretty far into his ear canal. Miraculously, a pair of long forceps appeared in my hand *ahem* and I gently pulled not one, but two little balls of paper out of his ear. Apparently, it was a trifle loud in his classroom today, and he was trying for a little noise reduction.
My BFF then told me of her adventures with SoS, starting with "I'm not used to kids that don't stay right next to me." Her children are a little fearful of the world and stick to her like glue in public. Mine think the world is their toy box and need a leash and a shock collar to stay close to anyone who hasn't beaten them into submission. Like I have. "Oh, yeah, sorry about that, I should have warned you." She picked SoS up from school and then needed to run a few errands before she went back for the other kids. One of these errands was a bank deposit for the daycare, with the closest bank of choice being located inside a grocery store. She was in line for a while, looked down, no SoS. Looked around, no SoS. Asked the guy behind her if he had seen a little boy and, at his blank look of "it's your kid, lady," started panicking, hyperventilating, and tearing around looking for him, leaving her deposits and place in line. She found him over by the movies, perusing them intently. She towed him back to the line admonishing him to "stay close to me, you scared me!" He assured her he would and then proceeded to do the potty dance.
"Why didn't you go before we left school?"
"I didn't have to go then!"
"You didn't have to go five minutes ago?"
He then started holding the back of his pants. Signal a deuce! She races him into the bathroom, where he does what needs to be done and then shouts "I have poop on my hands." According to my BFF, she asked him how that happened and he said he wrapped the toilet paper around his hand, thereby mummifying it, to wipe. After 5 washings, a haz-mat clean up team and an ok from the EPA, they were ready to head back out on the town. This may be the last time she takes my kid anywhere.
11 December 2008
He wasn't in trouble, not at all, he just decided to see who would win a battle between his forehead and the sidewalk. The sidewalk won. First Grandma's beanball incident, now this. Our Christmas cards ought to be stellar.
His only concern was that his favorite shirt got dirty. This one could never be called a candy ass.
09 December 2008
I'm so cool, too bad I'm a loser/I'm so smart, too bad I can't get anything figured out/I'm so brave, too bad I'm a baby/I'm so fly that's probably why it feels like I'm fallin' for the first time.
All right! Outta my head!
And just for kicks: An acoustic "bathroom session" of one of my favorite songs. They're havin' some fun.
08 December 2008
07 December 2008
Well, it's up. The tree has been decorated without bloodshed, mayhem, or threats of being grounded. No small feat when decorating the tree makes me a little owly and I was in a shitty mood to begin with. But I'd hate for my children's memories of Christmas to include "Mom was a complete bitch during the season of joy," so I suck it up, grit my teeth and think of Christmas Carols. And wish I still drank.
To cement everyone's suspicion that I am a complete nerd, not only do I have a talking Star Wars ornament, but this is my Christmas star:
"What happened to your head?"
"Grandma hit me with my HARD baseball."
Grandma: "It left a little dye from the laces."
Ah, no Ma, it's sort of dark in here and I can still tell that is an abrasion!
Watch out when you play catch with the old lady, she'll give you some chin music.
I arrived in a not so swell mood after having had another knock-down, drag-out fight with insomnia (guess who won?) and assumed care of a patient whose water had broken at 0400 and she had been in the hospital roughly 2 hours. She had, at one time, been positive for tuberculosis but had been unable to finish her medication because she got fatty liver disease. However, she assured the nurse and doctor before me, she had had a negative chest x-ray. Great, I think. So, where's the documentation so I can get rid of the isolation cart and the particulate filtering mask that makes me so claustrophobic I may need psych meds. "Yeah, I can't find it." the resident tells me. Perhaps we could order one? I ask. This was disregarded as the resident was off-going and couldn't have given two shits whether I had to wear a hazmat suit just to take a temperature. The patient was also not contracting a whole heck of a lot and I inquired whether or not we should kind of help her along. This is at 0700. By 1000 the oncoming yahoos were out of a crash C-section and I asked them the same questions. The response I got was "Where did she have her x-ray done?" Call me crazy, but I think this is information someone should have had before the patient had been on the floor for 5 hours. I finally wrestled a chest x-ray out of them by noon, all the while badgering them regarding getting this chick's labor started. At one point my professionalism took a vacation, as it is wont to do, and I yelled across the nurse's station "We're looking at 10 hours since her water broke, do we feel like a little pit at any point or what?" The response? "Let me check on her x-ray." Okay, see, by this point I'm over worrying about that shit, and would like to move on to the whole reason she's on the floor in the first place. I was then informed that her lungs were negative for TB. Great. WHAT ABOUT HER UTERUS?!?
At 1400, just before they are ready to rush to the second crash C-section of the day, I practically tackled the attending and said, "What are we going to do with this chick?" She looked at me blankly and said, "well, she's on pit isn't she?" "Ah, noooo, I've been trying to get an order for that all day." She then whips around to the brain trust behind her, chews them a few new orifices, and says to me, "Start her on some pit." That's all I needed to hear. Morons!
06 December 2008
Read part I and II taken from the abandoned MySpace Blog:
Intrepid Christmas Tree Hunters Dec 2006
There must be a universal law that states if I am going to get a Christmas tree, especially at a U-cut tree farm, that there must pour forth a deluge that would make Noah think twice about venturing out. It has ever been thus. One of my most vivid childhood memories is of trudging through a tree lot in the rain and falling on my back into a mud puddle. Today was no different. No precipitation all week; the day I go to get a tree...downpour!
Since this is the normal course of my Yuletide season, I bundled my children into my father's truck (sure, you can use it Sisu, in fact, I just washed it! Great.) and off we went to Gorst, singing mightily to The Chipmunks Christmas Album. The trip flew by, as I spent the greater part of it explaining which chipmunk was which, why David Seville exists, and why Alvin still got presents if he was so naughty. What the hey, it was a nice break from the Pokemon dissertation I usually endure in a moving vehicle. (see previous blog, the one where I knocked the garage door off the track because I had been Pokemon-ed to death) I digress. We arrive at the tree farm, picked up a saw and left my ID (yes, I realize that the saw was in slot number 7 and it is numbered 2, but it doesn't matter. Yes, I know where to put it back. Because I recognize my own driver's license, that's how!) and began the official tree adventure. I spied a little used track and ventured down, believing that there must be some choice trees since no one seemed to know of it. No, everyone else just had the common sense to know, if it were little used, it was little maintained. This realization came to me about the time I noticed the mud. Deep mud. Lots and lots of deep mud. A plethora if you will. Hmmm. Dad's truck is not 4 wheel drive. MY 4-wheel drive sat dry and unreliable in my garage 30 miles away. I decided a retreat was in order. So began a 90-point turn, muttering expletives related to excrement. A lot. At one point the tires spun and I nearly wet my pants. Here I sat, mired in the mud, miles away from humanity with two little NON-DRIVERS in the pouring rain. Meaning, if I got stuck, we were hiking. Luckily, through sheer stubbornness, I got us turned around and headed back out. What do I then see? Not one, but four, large trucks headed toward us! Hello! Do not expect me to back up, I just got out of that quagmire and I was not voluntarily heading back in.
Finally, we found a place to pull over and with a little bit of hiking, a little more complaining, and a bit of search and rescue (let's hear it for the bright yellow SpongeBob raincoat) we found a tree. I press ganged FB into carrying it with me, using the flat of the saw like a pair of reins to steer him toward the truck. With dire threats of dismemberment if they got any mud in Grandpa's truck, (wincing at the rooster tails up the side from the stuck in the mud incident) I packed the varmints in the cab and off we went to the office to pay. All in all, a full rich day. So full and rich, I can't find the energy to decorate the dang thing. Oh, well, it needs to dry off first.
The Great Christmas Tree Hunt: part deux Dec 2007
So, once again it is time to venture out in search of the elusive perfect Christmas tree. As my dad is now retired and my parents are constantly around, they think that it is ridiculous for me to do anything by myself when one of them could do it. Mow your own lawn? Why? What's with you cleaning your gutters? You get the point. I had mentioned last week that since this was my weekend off, the boys and I would like to borrow their pick-up and go get a tree. My mother's expected response? "Why don't you go with us and Dad can cut down your tree? Or, we were looking at this place in (name anyplace advertised in the paper) and thought that would be a good place for us all to go." I calmly and gently reminded my mother that I always go to the same place in Gorst, they have great trees, and it is a tradition that FB, SoS, AND I like to do.
Today, dawned cold, clear and sunny. Brief pause while I administer 500 Joules of electricity to restart my heart. FB didn't have Tae Kwon Do today, so after little ninjas we were going to be off for a tree. We get home, pack up, and head over to borrow the truck. My parents aren't home. The truck is outside. I know the code for the garage and know where Dad keeps his keys. Damn my conscience! I call to see if we can use the truck and am informed that they will be there shortly. And they will go with us. And there goes my gentle afternoon. After many more minutes we are ready to go and I (foolishly as it turns out) say to my dad, "This will be the first time I've gotten a tree without precipitation of any kind!" Poor naive soul. What? The sun was still shining. We didn't get to the Port Orchard exit before big fat flakes of mashed potatoes fell from the sky. In any case, we got to the farm, picked up a saw (no questions from the kids this time, long term memory is a fabulous thing) and went to get a tree. Leaving my dad's truck and my fabulous 4-WHEEL DRIVE in a fairly bare area, avoiding all less traveled roads. We quickly find suitable trees and cut them down. My dad did the cutting, because at this point I have accepted my fate and have given myself to the dark side. It wasn't until the second tree that I remembered he was s/p lap chole by only 3 days, and shouldn't be doing a lot of what he was doing including lifting. But, we made it back to the vehicles without incident, breathing a sigh of relief until I hear "GODDAMMIT!" Thinking my father was now copiously bleeding out of one or all of four surgical sites I ran to him....no it would seem he had lost his Blackberry some time between parking the cars and bringing back the last tree. Ohhhhh. Heavy snowing going on for most of this time. Ohhhhhhhh. We began calling his cell and attempting to back track our rapidly disappearing footprints when wonder of wonders we found the thing. Obviously, a sign to get out of Dodge.
Now my mother has several of those Christmas lawn ornaments, you know the ones, spiral trees, animated deer and the like. They are white wire. She mentioned that they might look nice on my lawn, as she wanted the grapevine ones, and did I want them. "You know, I don't really think so, but thanks." They dropped us off at the house with our tree and said adieu. Thinking the rest of my day was to be free, I fed the kids, went to Target to get new snow gear for the rapidly growing parasites, and came home planning on putting the lights on my house while the kids frolicked in the mashed potatoes that littered the lawn. My parents pull up. The bed of the truck is brimming with white wire and crystal mini-lights. "WTF?" Oh just hell! In the manner of all complete nutjobs, my mother took it upon herself to bring this stuff to my house. Can I ask her to take it back? No. My father would likely have a stroke from having to load all that crap back up. So much for putting up my lights. I have a system and they will likely screw it up. I bite my inner cheek as my mother orchestrates the erection (ha!) of the glorious Winter Wonderland scene in my front yard. I pull out my trusty Little Giant Adjustable Ladder (also made famous about this time last year) and proceed to place cup hooks on a certain part of my house that I cannot use my handy-dandy-swear-inducing light hooks on. And I refuse to staple gun the stupid light strings up again. I will soon pierce the cancer causing protective covering and electrocute my self! As I am earnestly laboring, dripping blood from a staple induced injury (didn't remove them last year, just pulled on the light string 'til they popped...I was so over Christmas by then), my mother asks what I'm doing. Deep breath. Just putting up cup hooks so I don't have to staple my light string. My mother then says, "Well, I thought with these up, you wouldn't have to put up lights." What she meant was, I think these are a fine decoration and cease from decorating your house the way you want because my ideas are vastly superior. Never mind that SoS has been mewling like a starving kitten every day, because all the neighbors have their lights up and we still have pilgrims and autumn festival items bedecking our abode. Profound deep breath. Count to 10. Have to start over. Finally eke out, "Well, I like my lights." Clench teeth and cause massive headache. So, I guess the report of 30-40 mph winds tonight did not reach the ears of my omniscient mother cuz these white bastards have fallen over several times. I went to unplug them tonight and it looked like my yard was the scene of a massive logging expedition and deer massacre. It's like 14 degrees out there, wind blowing, slush falling from the skies and I'm trying to figure out how to put this deer, that is now in 3 distinct pieces, back together. I contemplate ditching the antlers and making the damn thing a doe, when the long buried (and freezing) analytical part of my brain says "it goes this way, nimrod!" and I am able to put them all to bed for the night. I see much deer induced angst in my future.
30 November 2008
Perhaps my lack of holiday spirit derives from the fact that Thanksgiving was Thursday and tomorrow is December. That's not right! I just need to get myself in the groove and it's going to take some high powered mojo to do it, cuz the thought of Christmas presents and baking is causing me to look up flights to Tahiti.
"4:00-wallow in self pity; 4:30-stare into the abyss." Heh.
29 November 2008
There is an explanation of the rotation of each planet complete with mathematical equations to prove the author of the site isn't just blowing smoke up your skirts, but since I heartily eschew (look it up!) all things math it just looked like "banana, banana, banana" to me. There is also a link to your weight on other planets which is just plain nosy IMO.
I love the Stumble add on to Firefox, but as I Stumble around (literally, in some ways) I keep hitting card game sites, WTF? How can there be that many card game sites? Are there really that many games in existence?
I've got some Christmas presents I should work on, but...meh. (It's an official word now! As a sheepskin carrying English major I can now use it with impunity! Yay Simpsons!) So, this is what I've spent my time on this evening:
Hmmmm....Perc or melatonin, Perc or melatonin....
26 November 2008
Number of songs: 512 (yes I have LOTS of free space)
Sort by song
First: ABC - The Jackson 5
Last: 3 Am - Matchbox 20
Sort by time
Shortest: 1:29 The Spanish Inquisition (ending) - Monty Python
Longest: 14:59 Voodoo Chile - Jimi Hendrix
Sort by artist
Last: Various Artist from On the Mountain 8
Search by album:
First: Abrakadbra - Mikko Kuustonen
Last: Holiday - Sammy Kershaw
Search by key word
search for your own name: 2 (well, derivatives of it)
Put iTunes on shuffle and name first five songs that play (no cheating to look cool!)
Hopealanka - Mikko Kuustonen
Try A Little Tenderness - The Commitments
Gimme, Gimme Shock Treatment - The Ramones
Cherry Poppin' Daddy Strut - Zoot Suit Riot
Sin Wagon - Dixie Chicks
As we can see, I didn't cheat, cuz no way does that shuffle look cool.
In other news, my insomnia kicked in with a vengeance at 0200 and I flopped around like a landed trout for 3 hours in the vain hope of regaining the sweet oblivion of dreamland. No such luck, although the dog did get to escape his imprisonment several hours early to go ravage the nocturnal rodents in the yard. Luckily I didn't have to deal with the psycho drug addict on the floor, who for some reason, despite being homeless and unemployed, thought that she could kick nurses out of her room because (and I quote) "I'm paying for it, it's mine!" Her first nurse of the day maintained great restraint in not firing back, "You're paying for it with MY money!" And this girl is not known for her great restraint.
As I sat in my super cool, nearly as smart as the Transformers car, with the remote start option that starts the engine, heating system and seat heaters, I was waxing nostalgic for my 1978 Ford Fiesta. No longer will I be called upon to scrape my windshield with any handy object like a credit card or a case to a cassette tape. I will never again have to pour several gallons of boiling water on the driver's side door to thaw it so I can enter the car, thereby freezing the latch in the open position. Which then resulted in needing to bungee cord the door to the underside of my driver's seat to keep it closed while I drove. Meaning that I had to partially sit on the bungee cord and totally forgo using seat belts. Ahhh, those were the days.
I think my bra trying to assassinate me. Not that I don't view the damn things as a nuisance anyway (but a necessary nuisance since pregnancy left me packin', so to speak, with no relief in sight no matter how much weight I lose) but I seriously believe this thing is trying to kill me. I noticed a vague irritation all day that suddenly became a sharp pain and looked down to see the majority of my under wire displaced and trying, with malice aforethought, to pierce my left breast and, therefore, my pericardium. Which would then lead to cardiac tamponade and a really bad day! Avast, ye demon under wire, off with your head! Well, at least off to the trash, I've had little sleep and even less caffeine today.
Happy Turkey Lurkey day my friends and remember only one more day to donate to Valour-IT!
19 November 2008
17 November 2008
Me: "Did you do your homework?"
FB: *sound of crickets*
Me: "It's a yes or no question."
Me: "Then give me the DS and get upstairs and do your homework."
Ten minutes later as I am helping SoS with his homework, I hear the drums from upstairs.
Me: "FB! Is your homework done?!?"
Me: "Then you better get off the drums and do it!"
About 30 minutes later a friend of FB's comes to the door and asks if he can play.
Me: "Did you finish your homework?"
FB: "Um, I forgot it at school."
I now have to ask, WTF?
11 November 2008
It was the first time I felt whole since I’d woken up wounded in Landstuhl.
–Major Charles "Chuck" Ziegenfuss, on using a voice-controlled laptop
Project Valour-IT, in memory of SFC William V. Ziegenfuss, helps provide voice-controlled/adaptive laptop computers and other technology to support Soldiers, Sailors, Airmen and Marines recovering from hand wounds and other severe injuries. Technology supplied includes:
- Voice-controlled Laptops - Operated by speaking into a microphone or using other adaptive technologies, they allow the wounded to maintain connections with the rest of the world during recovery.
- Wii Video Game Systems - Whole-body game systems increase motivation and speed recovery when used under the guidance of physical therapists in therapy sessions.
- Personal GPS - Handheld GPS devices build self-confidence and independence by compensating for short-term memory loss and organizational challenges related to TBI and severe PTSD.
The experience of Major Chuck Ziegenfuss, a partner in the project who suffered serious hand wounds while serving in
January 18th, 2006
Dear Mrs. Smith,
It was brought to my attention that your organization, Soldier's Angels, did something very special for the Marines of our Injured Support Battalion. I want to take this time and thank you so much for your contribution to make special memories for those who sacrifice so much.
Your contribution of laptops is quite above and beyond. I am grateful that you have taken time to honor our injured heroes.
Very cool. The fund raising goal is $250,000. The bloggers representing the branches of the military are having a friendly competition to see who can reach the goal of $50,000 quickest. Chuck is part of Team Army, Greyhawk from Mudville Gazette is part of Team Air Force, Laughing Wolf from Blackfive is also part of Team Army, you get the picture. This morning Team Navy had already raised $3K while the other branches were not so flush. Much as I love the Navy, I was thinking the little squids had enough help and I needed to help out the other branches and got waylaid by children. Checking back this evening I see Team Army has caught up, but that the poor little Coasties are hurting....like usual. So, I am rethinking to whom I will donate. As Chuck Z says
Look, you don't have to donate your life savings. Just figure out how much you spend on mini-luxuries for a week. Five trips to starbux is $30. Drink coffee at work instead, and you've sacrificed little, but you can now contribute three percent of a laptop. Think about your weekly luxuries. What can you do without, so that you can give the gift of modern functionality to someone who needs it?So, guys and dolls if you're feelin' it here are the donation links and the running tally!
It's important. It's something you can do to give, really give, someone such a great gift this holiday season. While we focus on being thankful for what we have , take a little time to remember what others have recently lost, and know that the only thing stopping them from regaining a piece of what they've lost--is you.
Which, really, is great because, face it she's in her 50's and she's hot. The problem as I stated it was, "There is no way I can reproduce this." Michael assured me I could "It's like when you used to feather your hair, but more extreme." Well, sure, but 1979 was a hell of a long time ago.
And frankly, my hair never turned out that well anyway. But my never say die personality kicked in and I have attempted, on several occasions, to style my hair in Michael's spectacular fashion. Unfortunately, the girl gene for style was left out of my DNA and my attempts look more like Nigel Tufnel than Reba.
Happy Veteran's Day
I may overload you with videos today, but I love these. This one specifically talks about the women in the military, and the pictures of the (nurses?) women in WWII (or Korea now that I think of it) are great, not to mention the picture of the obvious nurse (with the cap I'm going with Vietnam)
Powerful images, fabulous choir, and religious or not, it may be hard not to be moved by "as He died to make men holy, let us live to make men free" with that amazing crescendo.
This is a long one, but worth it if you have the time. "Adagio for Strings" is beautiful music and I think extremely appropriate for a tribute. But that's just me.
Okay, back to our regularly scheduled programing of inane babbling after the break. Hug a vet people! But ask first so you don't get hit with a pesky sexual harassment suit or a restraining order. I plan to...well, the hugging, not the sexual harassment suit or the other thing.
06 November 2008
I realize it is overexposed, but bear with me here. That seal is the AARP seal. Yes, folks, the American Association of Retired Persons sent me a membership flyer. Now, disregard the fact that there is no way I will retire in this lifetime, because I will have to work until the day I die. They will have to cart me off the floor and pry whatever medical instrument I may be holding at the time from my cold, dead hands. I will never have the opportunity to be a retired person, but that is not the point. The point is this: I am 41 years old! Why the hell am I getting membership requests from an organization to which my PARENTS belong? My RETIRED parents. I don't dread getting older, I didn't "stop" having birthdays at 39, I enjoy being the age I am. But come ON! Cut me a little slack.
The next interesting piece of mail was this:
Okay, this one is underexposed, sue me. But the letterhead is from Regence, the company from which I receive my incredibly sucky insurance courtesy of Multiscare. The gist of this correspondence is that Regence loves me and wants to make sure I'm satisfied with their services and could I please take an independent survey about how great they are? ($3000 yearly deductible? $6000 out of pocket maximum? Yeah, you rock.) My favorite part of the letter is this sentence:
(Don't ask me why it's oriented this way, this is not the way I took the picture. But I'm too freaking lazy and/or tired to correct it, so you'll have to adjust.) What is this worth now; 13 cents? Not to mention that after January, these yahoos aren't even going to be my insurance carriers. So, I'm gonna have to pass. But I will keep the buck so I can buy a piece of gum. Thanks.
My last piece of mail was a magazine called Uncommon Goods. I buy most of my Christmas presents from quirky little magazines and every year around this time, I seem to receive more. This one in particular is a little crunchy with most of the products being the "love your mother earth/made of recycled whatever" variety. No big, it's nice stuff and my SIL happens to be a little crunchy herself. Some may regard me as crunchy, but that's probably because I'm nuts. But I digress. I'm flipping through the pages and come across these little gems: The Global Warming mug and the Disappearing Civil Liberties/Bill of Rights.
As you can see, the mug on the left is our little planet and as you can't see, the mug on the right is the Bill of Rights. (heh. I didn't even plan that) When you add your favorite hot beverage to these mugs, the polar ice caps melt, the water level raises and the majority of the Bill of Rights disappear. Classy. Buy these as heartwarming gifts to celebrate the joy of the season!
28 October 2008
Who in the hell developed the Brazilian Wax and how in the hell did he get women to go for it?
Really, think about it. I knew what was involved and so I couldn't fathom why someone would put themselves through this. The preponderance of patients who have obviously gone through this procedure notwithstanding. I also have many friends who have had this experience and the tales of position changes that require you to be a cross between a contortionist, a Cirque du Soliel performer and a pretzel increased my confusion. So, I decided to find out for myself what it was like. Why? Because I'm RETARDED!
I entered my usual waxing room already giggling in the way I do when I am nervous about something. It starts as giggling and escalates rapidly to hysterical laughter. I was also sweating like an expectant father with the clap. (Thank you Meatballs.) My dear aesthetician and I discussed the plan and she stepped out so I could disrobe and cover up. Unfortunately for me, the beds are heated which, in no way, helped with the sweating. Johnna came in and instructed me to frog my legs. "Assuming the position" as I call it in my line of work. The first part was really no big deal, as I was used to waxing anyway. Then she moved closer to *ahem* midline as it were. The first pull of the wax bowed my back like a electro-shock therapy patient. Yeowza! At this point I began breathing like I was in transition. It didn't help any better here than it did when I was in labor. My favorite word did NOT make an appearance, I didn't even think it. This may be because I'm sure I blacked out or had an out of body experience. Pretty sad I'm more professional when I'm being denuded faster than the Amazonian rain forest than when I'm in my place of business.
It was at this point that I decided being an aesthetician was a far weirder job than mine. And I deal with strange women and their girl parts all day long. Still not as weird.
The job got finished amid more laughing ( I was NERVOUS!) and discussions about other clients who got halfway through and decided they had had enough. I don't know if a Brazilian wax is a good time to go 40 Year Old Virgin and bail. Seems to me to be a bad look.
So, my unhealthy curiosity is assuaged and I can sleep easier knowing what exactly is entailed in a Brazilian wax. Now I just get to look forward to grow out. Sheesh.
As a Post Script: I got beat like a dog at work for the last few days, so when the phone rang at 0539 this am I didn't even say hello. All they got was "Uh-uh!" Click.
26 October 2008
Do not think the tracks in the gravel were caused when going over the embankment because that would imply someone, ANYONE, had employed the brakes. Instead SoS , the neighbor and the Mule tumbled over the embankment, rolled several times, popped out the windshield and came to rest about half way down.
See that cross way tree in the picture? Riiiiiiggghhhht there? That's where my offspring ended up wrapped up in neighbor and Mule. Here's a close up:
Way cool. Needless to say, we're not doing that again.
In other news: yet another sign that your private personality is sneaking into your professional life. I went in to work at 0300 today and got a patient that was later found out to be a face presentation (coming out face first instead of back of the head first for anyone who might land here by accident). After many hours of trying to position changes, pitocin, and aggravation it was decided that perhaps this kid wasn't coming out that way and we should deliver her surgically. The oncoming doc asked if her water had broken and if it was clear fluid. I said that she had meconium and the offgoing doc said, "But it was clear when she came in yesterday." My response: "Well, if you slammed my face into a wall for several hours I'd shit my pants too." Oh, jeez.
22 October 2008
19 October 2008
18 October 2008
I removed both header and footer of the shade, not really knowing what I would find and whether it would be fixable.
Imagine my surprise and joy when I saw that there was a convenient little bracket for the cord to go through and all I needed was a way to get it through all the way to the bottom. Aha! I thought, as I often have such exclamation when talking to myself, I will pull the remaining cord tight and tie the shade together so I can effect my repair. Once again I only fake being Handy Manny, or Mannette in this case, and so I tied it not with zip ties....jeez, I actually had those, but they were in the frosty garage....but with nice. cozy, yarn.
I then completed my repair, released the shade and extended it so that I had plenty of length, and voila! Repaired shade. Not too shabby if I do say so myself. I did, however forget to accommodate the length of the drapery cord to the height of the window, so when it is retracted all the way up....I may need a chair to release the shade. But! Redneck no longer.
My project today consisted of replacing the towel bar in the kids bathroom. This towel bar was placed by my a-hole contractor who told me, "That will fall down; call me when it happens and I'll replace it." Yeah, you'll be the first one I call when you just told me you did a half-assed job putting it up in the first place. And really, it has hung on for almost 6 years.... .which coincides with how long SoS has been on the planet. So, now that he is old enough to shower and dry off all by himself and he wants to put the towel back like he's supposed to..........you get the picture. I had some nice, heavy duty toggle screws to replace the cheap ass plastic mollies the a-hole used but when I went to get my drill, I couldn't seem to find my screwdriver bits. I can attribute this to FB and SoS feeling the need to string my tools from one end of the garage to another, kick them under cabinets and all manner of mayhem. I needed to go to Home Depot to see if they had brackets to replace the one I obliterated with my brute mommy strength anyway, so I thought I could pick up a screwdriver bit for my drill while I was there. The drapery people at Home Depot acted like I was from another planet and suggested I call the manufacturer, even though I purchased the shades through them. Crapped out on the bracket. Then, I found I couldn't buy single bits, but I did find this:
Oh, my heck, I almost creamed my jeans, and I'm sure my nippies got hard! See, I'm easy. Give this chick a Home Depot gift card and a chance to run wild, and I am yours forever! I've got the guts of one more toilet to change out and a set of roman shades to make and then, nothing but painting. Woohoo. I friggin' hate painting.
In other news, SoS had a belt test for a belt that wasn't for Little Ninjas. It was, in fact, the first grade belt for kids who are continuing on in Tae Kwon Do. He did very well in his counting, skipping only 2 numbers and never slipping from Korean to Spanish. And he sat quietly and respectfully for the next hour while others tested. Take that kindergarten Nazis! Of course, he did spend his afternoon grounded on bed arrest, but I don't know if that had any bearing on anything.
12 October 2008
We got a little souvenir from Carlos:
25 dolla for what amounts to a Polaroid in a card frame. Not that I'm complaining, because really, how often is this going to happen? It's like going on vacation to Disneyworld. Celluloid memories don't come cheap, but you're so hopped up on endorphins you don't realize you've hemorrhaged money all week until you get home. Totally worth it.
Here is a Carlos skit from about 2001. NSFW probably and defintely not for the easily o-ffended!