When I was a little girl, I loved Shel Silverstein. I still love him, and have gotten most, if not all, of his books for my daughters. My favorite compilation was "Where the Sidewalk Ends". I remember the cover art, with the kids and the dog hanging over the craggy end of the sidewalk, staring down into the nothing below.
The most interesting thing about the cover art versus the poem, I always thought, was that the art seemed to invoke some sense of impending doom, as the sidewalk's end seemed to crumble - little bits by little bits - under the weight of the children. Yet the poem speaks of a beautiful place...
*There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.
Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.
Yes we’ll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we’ll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.
Maybe this is an intentional dichotomy. I couldn't say. As a child, and even now as an adult, it's really the cover art that speaks to me. Sometimes I feel like I am standing on the edge of the precipice, and the sidewalk is crumbling beneath me. My sidewalk is coming to it's ending, and I am not feeling so certain that there is going to be a peppemint wind to soothe me when I finally reach that end. I can feel it ending, even now, as I write these words in an effort to convince myself that what lies ahead is beautiful, like in the poem...Yet there is the ever-present, nagging voice that assures me I am only in for more of the same...I cannot walk this walk, however measured and slow it may be, if I cannot enjoy it. Sometimes, I don't seem capable of allowing myself to just enjoy it. It's the years of self-doubt and denial that continue to push me down the rocky path, staggering past the danger signs, and then blindly off the edge.
Endings aren't always bad things. Sometimes endings can create beautiful new beginnings. Sometimes they don't. I believe that we are responsible for the outcomes...our actions are what determine them. Fate, chance and hope are lovely, but they don't stand a chance against determination, force of will and fortitude. And although I wish I were the kind of person who could just let go, and be carried off by the peppermint winds of fate, in the off chance that my hopes for an amazing future will manifest themselves, I simply know better. I know that when my sidewalk ends, the only way I can save myself from plummeting into the unknown is by simply counting to three...and jumping.
*"Where The Sidewalk Ends", Shel Silverstein, 1974
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
It's Totally a Reflection on Me
I have the most hilarious friends in the world. Or as one friend would put it, "HI-Lairous"...It's so very Dane Cook of her. Well, tonight's blog is pure, unadulterated plagiarism. The following is a comment left by perhaps my most witty and sardonic friend...She may just upstage me here...but that's okay. I know that she will never find the time to sit down and write a blog of her own, as she is too busy picking out pavers for her new pool. Ooh, la la! The spotlight shall remain mine!!
Anyway, here is a comment left by said friend. Just for her, I will use the word "fuck", as in, this comment is just so fucking funny! (Look, I even conjugated that shit!) And a big thanks to my friend, for making me laugh out loud, in public, seemingly at random, allowing all those around me to fear for not only my sanity, but their safety. Damn iPhone...Always alerting you to new e-mail at the most inopportune of times! So as promised, LWS's Top Ten Reasons Not to Abandon Your Blog comment:
Ten Reasons Not to Abandon your Blog:
10. Real therapy is damn expensive.
9. You have no one to blame but yourself for high expectations--you created them by being brilliant.(Sorry, but feel pretty sure shameless flattery might work for you)
8. In Blog, one day of depression followed by a day of euphoria is interesting. In real life they call it Bipolar.
7. Blogging is one of the few hobbies that can be pursued while eating bacon.
6. Blogging increases your Facebook friend count.
5. Allows me to live vicariously through you while I am too lazy to create own blog.
4. Can discuss reckless alcohol usage while seeming edgy and fun!
3. Writing on the job loses its charm. So, with Blog you get "the beds of boat world."
2. Where else can you write "Fuck" and get away with it?????
1. There's a dude in Denmark with a cat who reads your Blog. Isn't that enough?????
Anyway, here is a comment left by said friend. Just for her, I will use the word "fuck", as in, this comment is just so fucking funny! (Look, I even conjugated that shit!) And a big thanks to my friend, for making me laugh out loud, in public, seemingly at random, allowing all those around me to fear for not only my sanity, but their safety. Damn iPhone...Always alerting you to new e-mail at the most inopportune of times! So as promised, LWS's Top Ten Reasons Not to Abandon Your Blog comment:
Ten Reasons Not to Abandon your Blog:
10. Real therapy is damn expensive.
9. You have no one to blame but yourself for high expectations--you created them by being brilliant.(Sorry, but feel pretty sure shameless flattery might work for you)
8. In Blog, one day of depression followed by a day of euphoria is interesting. In real life they call it Bipolar.
7. Blogging is one of the few hobbies that can be pursued while eating bacon.
6. Blogging increases your Facebook friend count.
5. Allows me to live vicariously through you while I am too lazy to create own blog.
4. Can discuss reckless alcohol usage while seeming edgy and fun!
3. Writing on the job loses its charm. So, with Blog you get "the beds of boat world."
2. Where else can you write "Fuck" and get away with it?????
1. There's a dude in Denmark with a cat who reads your Blog. Isn't that enough?????
Monday, September 22, 2008
Close to Perfect
It is just so like me to quit.
Anytime I start to enjoy something, creatively at least, a point comes when people develop expectations of that creativity. Then, sadly, I lose all interest in doing said something. Isn't that pathetic? No, really...It's okay to say "yes", because I am fully aware of how pathetic it actually is. I have been blessed with some interesting creative skills...Dabble a little bit here, dabble a little bit there...But once anyone notices what I have done, expresses an interest in what I have done, or really freaking likes what I have done, I don't want to do it anymore. What is up with that? Suggestions and comments are welcome, cause I don't think I have a clue why this phenomenon occurs. What I do know is it has occurred time and time again. I'm not really proud of it, and I don't really like it, but it seems to be an infallible reality just the same. I worry my blog is succumbing to the same fate. It's a little disappointing.
I work my ass off to exceed people's expectations. So much so, that sometimes I get pedestalized, for better or for worse. In spite of this insatiable desire to be the best person/lover/mother/wife/worker/friend/etc that I can be to whomever is needing it, I feel like I need to prepare those individuals, immediately, for the fact that I will disappoint them. It has occurred to me recently, however, that everyone disappoints some one at some time. Hell, I am disappointed by something almost everyday...Actually, no, I take that back...There is a big difference in being "disappointed" and being bummed-out or let down. I may get bummed-out by something everyday, but that can be as minuscule as chipping one of my black lacquered fingernails. Saying you are disappointed, on the other hand, is just so final. So grave. Usually quite unnecessary, really. I mean, think about the last time someone told you they were "disappointed" in you...It really hurt, didn't it? Made you feel a bit like a failure, right? Even if the expectations were never made clear to you from the beginning...So how can we justify being disappointed if we never articulated exactly what was expected? When did it become okay to anticipate the expectations of others and strive for over achievement of something that may, or may not, even exist....
It would be so much easier if the expectations people have of me could be put into a neat little list. Then I would know just what to strive for. Instead, I overeach...overextend...then find myself over my head. It's just what I do. I understand that this list will never materialize, yet I will never stop trying, trying, trying to make all the people in my life as pleased with me as they can be.
But still I wonder what would be on your list. What is it that I can do to keep you from ever being disappointed in me? Is that even realistic? No, it's not. To be fair, you have never made your expectations clear, and maybe it's because you don't really have any. Maybe that's just what you do. If you never place your expectations of others into the ether, maybe you will never have to say they have disappointed you...It's not a bad approach. But for me, it will never do. In my constant struggle to be perfect (a struggle that I will never win) I require expectations. They help me to know how close I am coming to my impossible goal of perfection. And when I fail, and invariably disappoint you, I can curl up in the dark little corners of what's left of my heart and listen to the voice that repeats, "I told you so, I told you so, I told you so". And although I really hate that little voice, her expectations are clear. Fail. And I will. And somehow, that makes me feel like I have gotten ever closer to my goal. It's Perfect.
Anytime I start to enjoy something, creatively at least, a point comes when people develop expectations of that creativity. Then, sadly, I lose all interest in doing said something. Isn't that pathetic? No, really...It's okay to say "yes", because I am fully aware of how pathetic it actually is. I have been blessed with some interesting creative skills...Dabble a little bit here, dabble a little bit there...But once anyone notices what I have done, expresses an interest in what I have done, or really freaking likes what I have done, I don't want to do it anymore. What is up with that? Suggestions and comments are welcome, cause I don't think I have a clue why this phenomenon occurs. What I do know is it has occurred time and time again. I'm not really proud of it, and I don't really like it, but it seems to be an infallible reality just the same. I worry my blog is succumbing to the same fate. It's a little disappointing.
I work my ass off to exceed people's expectations. So much so, that sometimes I get pedestalized, for better or for worse. In spite of this insatiable desire to be the best person/lover/mother/wife/worker/friend/etc that I can be to whomever is needing it, I feel like I need to prepare those individuals, immediately, for the fact that I will disappoint them. It has occurred to me recently, however, that everyone disappoints some one at some time. Hell, I am disappointed by something almost everyday...Actually, no, I take that back...There is a big difference in being "disappointed" and being bummed-out or let down. I may get bummed-out by something everyday, but that can be as minuscule as chipping one of my black lacquered fingernails. Saying you are disappointed, on the other hand, is just so final. So grave. Usually quite unnecessary, really. I mean, think about the last time someone told you they were "disappointed" in you...It really hurt, didn't it? Made you feel a bit like a failure, right? Even if the expectations were never made clear to you from the beginning...So how can we justify being disappointed if we never articulated exactly what was expected? When did it become okay to anticipate the expectations of others and strive for over achievement of something that may, or may not, even exist....
It would be so much easier if the expectations people have of me could be put into a neat little list. Then I would know just what to strive for. Instead, I overeach...overextend...then find myself over my head. It's just what I do. I understand that this list will never materialize, yet I will never stop trying, trying, trying to make all the people in my life as pleased with me as they can be.
But still I wonder what would be on your list. What is it that I can do to keep you from ever being disappointed in me? Is that even realistic? No, it's not. To be fair, you have never made your expectations clear, and maybe it's because you don't really have any. Maybe that's just what you do. If you never place your expectations of others into the ether, maybe you will never have to say they have disappointed you...It's not a bad approach. But for me, it will never do. In my constant struggle to be perfect (a struggle that I will never win) I require expectations. They help me to know how close I am coming to my impossible goal of perfection. And when I fail, and invariably disappoint you, I can curl up in the dark little corners of what's left of my heart and listen to the voice that repeats, "I told you so, I told you so, I told you so". And although I really hate that little voice, her expectations are clear. Fail. And I will. And somehow, that makes me feel like I have gotten ever closer to my goal. It's Perfect.
Friday, September 19, 2008
The One That Started it All
This is the blog that started it all. I posted it on May 31st, 2008. It is a short blog, and didn't even touch on the reason I wanted to start blogging in the first place. I enjoyed it so much, I started blogging almost every night thereafter. Subsequent blogs were more "revealing". As you can tell from this entry, I started this blogging nonsense on MySpace. I got so many visitors, I decided to move to a bigger forum. I am glad I did! This free therapy thing seems to be really working out for me. Who would have thought that blogging would help me get where I am right now. Who would have thought you would benefit from my blogging.
Originally blogged on 5/31/2008
Really.
I just need to go to bed and end this endless cycle of feeling exhausted. Yet, here I sit, with my third glass of wine watching my third episode of Penn & Teller's Bullsh*t. It does get increasingly interesting based on the amount you have had to drink, I must say...So, instead of going to bed, I am creating this MySpace profile. Will my life become somehow more glamorous? Shit, I hope so! I am in desperate need of additional glamour.
My 6 year old has fully mastered the art of parental manipulation, it's freaky. She and her partner-in-crime, Olivia, came up with a brilliant scheme to have asleep-over tonight...and what monster parent says "no" to a simple sleep-over, right? Yah, right. THEY ARE STILL AWAKE!!! The best part is, they will wake up at 6:15 in the morning, as if they got a solid 8-9 hours of sleep. Youth is so wasted on the young.
All I know is, in 10 years, she better NOT try having sex in the front yard underneath the tree, cause I am so ON TO THAT YOUNG LADY!!! Oh, sorry..Memories
Originally blogged on 5/31/2008
Really.
I just need to go to bed and end this endless cycle of feeling exhausted. Yet, here I sit, with my third glass of wine watching my third episode of Penn & Teller's Bullsh*t. It does get increasingly interesting based on the amount you have had to drink, I must say...So, instead of going to bed, I am creating this MySpace profile. Will my life become somehow more glamorous? Shit, I hope so! I am in desperate need of additional glamour.
My 6 year old has fully mastered the art of parental manipulation, it's freaky. She and her partner-in-crime, Olivia, came up with a brilliant scheme to have asleep-over tonight...and what monster parent says "no" to a simple sleep-over, right? Yah, right. THEY ARE STILL AWAKE!!! The best part is, they will wake up at 6:15 in the morning, as if they got a solid 8-9 hours of sleep. Youth is so wasted on the young.
All I know is, in 10 years, she better NOT try having sex in the front yard underneath the tree, cause I am so ON TO THAT YOUNG LADY!!! Oh, sorry..Memories
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
The Business End of Drama
Today I was told that I was a great butt-wiper.
No, I don't work in a Convalescent Home. The aforementioned high praise came straight from my three year old. Although she is fully potty-trained and has been wiping herself with some skill for many, many months now, she has recently decided that she would prefer that I do it. Well, lucky me. But that's how it is with kids. You will find yourself doing all kinds of things that you would have never imagined doing for another living soul. When you have children who are prone to drama, the requests become increasingly insane. "Here Mommy, I didn't like this Tic-Tac, you finish it", or "Mommy, Mommy, something is happening to my eye!!" (then when nothing is found to be wrong), "Mommy, Mommy something is happening to my other eye!!", or even, "Mommy, my butt itches, can you scratch it?" Nice.
I am so grateful to have my two beautiful, amazing, insanely articulate girls. They light up my day, even when I am completely in the dark. They probably deserve better than me, but I feel certain every Mother thinks that at some point. My Mom, on the other hand, has always been amazing. If she ever had a bad parenting day, I cannot recall it. I can remember getting mad at her for some misperceived injustice she caused me at the time, but now I can totally see she was always right. I hope she never had a day where she sat at the kitchen table, head in her hands, and wept over mistakes made in the care and keeping of me. I am sure she did, but she should know that those tears were never necessary, because she is quite possibly the best Mom in the entire world - then and now. And such a Mom should never have to worry that what they are doing for their child(ren) isn't enough. Although I think the broader message is that, even if there were struggles, they were all unbeknownst to me. There is no greater gift you can give your children than the gift of blissful ignorance. As I begin to face the trials of my own making, I hope I can take a page from her book and never let my girls see my disappointment, sadness or dispair. I actually have much, much hope that these things won't play as big a role in my life as they might want to. Because I have an amazing support structure. Thank God there is a business end for all my drama...
Do you remember cheerleaders in high school? They would do all those crazy human pyramid structures...And do you remember those girls at the bottom of the pyramid? They were always the bigger, stronger, more hulking girls. They would be responsible for supporting the shorter, lighter, more nimble girls. Although I am a well-porportioned woman, neither short nor light, I feel like one of those cheerleaders on the top of the pyramid, getting ready to do my double back-flip high into the air, to the thunderous applause of the croud, and land safely in the arms of the support cheerleader below. My Mom, who on her worst day is a size 2...petite, delicate, non-hulking...is all of those support cheerleaders wrapped into one super-human mega-cheerleader. She has always caught me. Always allowing me to have the spotlight, the cheers of the crowd, never once seeking it out for herself when it came to me. It is my fervent hope that one day I can be like her. She may be diminutive to the casual observer, but she is more strong than anyone can ever know...That strength is what keeps me in the air...That and the hope that I can one repay her for the role she has played in my life. The support. The base of the pyramid. The one things that keeps the whole structure from falling apart. I hope I can offer that up to her when she needs it the most. I hope I can pass her lessons on to my girls. I hope that one day I can be worthy. Until then, I will continue to flip, flip, flip...And be eternally grateful for my support, because without it I would come crashing to the ground...
No, I don't work in a Convalescent Home. The aforementioned high praise came straight from my three year old. Although she is fully potty-trained and has been wiping herself with some skill for many, many months now, she has recently decided that she would prefer that I do it. Well, lucky me. But that's how it is with kids. You will find yourself doing all kinds of things that you would have never imagined doing for another living soul. When you have children who are prone to drama, the requests become increasingly insane. "Here Mommy, I didn't like this Tic-Tac, you finish it", or "Mommy, Mommy, something is happening to my eye!!" (then when nothing is found to be wrong), "Mommy, Mommy something is happening to my other eye!!", or even, "Mommy, my butt itches, can you scratch it?" Nice.
I am so grateful to have my two beautiful, amazing, insanely articulate girls. They light up my day, even when I am completely in the dark. They probably deserve better than me, but I feel certain every Mother thinks that at some point. My Mom, on the other hand, has always been amazing. If she ever had a bad parenting day, I cannot recall it. I can remember getting mad at her for some misperceived injustice she caused me at the time, but now I can totally see she was always right. I hope she never had a day where she sat at the kitchen table, head in her hands, and wept over mistakes made in the care and keeping of me. I am sure she did, but she should know that those tears were never necessary, because she is quite possibly the best Mom in the entire world - then and now. And such a Mom should never have to worry that what they are doing for their child(ren) isn't enough. Although I think the broader message is that, even if there were struggles, they were all unbeknownst to me. There is no greater gift you can give your children than the gift of blissful ignorance. As I begin to face the trials of my own making, I hope I can take a page from her book and never let my girls see my disappointment, sadness or dispair. I actually have much, much hope that these things won't play as big a role in my life as they might want to. Because I have an amazing support structure. Thank God there is a business end for all my drama...
Do you remember cheerleaders in high school? They would do all those crazy human pyramid structures...And do you remember those girls at the bottom of the pyramid? They were always the bigger, stronger, more hulking girls. They would be responsible for supporting the shorter, lighter, more nimble girls. Although I am a well-porportioned woman, neither short nor light, I feel like one of those cheerleaders on the top of the pyramid, getting ready to do my double back-flip high into the air, to the thunderous applause of the croud, and land safely in the arms of the support cheerleader below. My Mom, who on her worst day is a size 2...petite, delicate, non-hulking...is all of those support cheerleaders wrapped into one super-human mega-cheerleader. She has always caught me. Always allowing me to have the spotlight, the cheers of the crowd, never once seeking it out for herself when it came to me. It is my fervent hope that one day I can be like her. She may be diminutive to the casual observer, but she is more strong than anyone can ever know...That strength is what keeps me in the air...That and the hope that I can one repay her for the role she has played in my life. The support. The base of the pyramid. The one things that keeps the whole structure from falling apart. I hope I can offer that up to her when she needs it the most. I hope I can pass her lessons on to my girls. I hope that one day I can be worthy. Until then, I will continue to flip, flip, flip...And be eternally grateful for my support, because without it I would come crashing to the ground...
Monday, September 15, 2008
Shattered
I have been told that I am getting a little brazen in my blogging. A little to transparent, maybe? I suppose that may be true. I have also been told that my blog speaks to people in a voice that they aren't always able to find for themselves. That is a nice complement, indeed. I have never hidden behind my blog, I speak my truth, even if it is thinly veiled. I wrote a blog the other night that was so straight forward that I wont publish it here. Actually, that's not true. One day, I will...And when I do, it will be so much more than transparent...It will be fucking see-thru.
Need something to interpret? How bout this little ditty from the soundtrack of my life:
As per your request, lyrics are as follows:
In a way, I need a change
From this burnout scene
Another time, another town
Another everything
But it's always back to you
Stumble out, in the night
From the pouring rain
Made the block, sat and thought
There's more I need
It's always back to you
But I'm good without ya
Yeah, I'm good without you
Yeah, yeah, yeah
How many times can I break till I shatter?
Over the line can't define what I'm after
I always turn the car around
Give me a break let me make my own pattern
All that it takes is some time but I'm shattered
I always turn the car around
I had no idea that the night
Would take so damn long
Took it out, on the street
While the rain still falls
Push me back to you
But I'm good without ya
Yeah, I'm good without you
Yeah, yeah, yeah
How many times can I break till I shatter?
Over the line can't define what I'm after
I always turn the car around
Give me a break let me make my own pattern
All that it takes is some time but I'm shattered
I always turn the car around
Give it up, give it up, baby
Give it up, give it up, now
Now
How many times can I break till I shatter?
Over the line can't define what I'm after
I always turn the car around
All that I feel is the realness I'm faking
Taking my time but it's time that I'm wasting
Always turn the car around
How many times can I break till I shatter?
Over the line can't define what I'm after
I always turn the car around
Don't wanna turn that car around
I gotta turn this thing around
So, there you go. I feel like I am shattered. The only difference between the song and my reality is that I am not turning the car around anymore. I have done that for the last time. I will slowly put the shattered pieces back together until I am whole again, and once I am, I will superglue all the little bits so they don't fall away, and I wont forget what it takes to fix myself...It's not long now, my friend. It's not long now.
Need something to interpret? How bout this little ditty from the soundtrack of my life:
As per your request, lyrics are as follows:
In a way, I need a change
From this burnout scene
Another time, another town
Another everything
But it's always back to you
Stumble out, in the night
From the pouring rain
Made the block, sat and thought
There's more I need
It's always back to you
But I'm good without ya
Yeah, I'm good without you
Yeah, yeah, yeah
How many times can I break till I shatter?
Over the line can't define what I'm after
I always turn the car around
Give me a break let me make my own pattern
All that it takes is some time but I'm shattered
I always turn the car around
I had no idea that the night
Would take so damn long
Took it out, on the street
While the rain still falls
Push me back to you
But I'm good without ya
Yeah, I'm good without you
Yeah, yeah, yeah
How many times can I break till I shatter?
Over the line can't define what I'm after
I always turn the car around
Give me a break let me make my own pattern
All that it takes is some time but I'm shattered
I always turn the car around
Give it up, give it up, baby
Give it up, give it up, now
Now
How many times can I break till I shatter?
Over the line can't define what I'm after
I always turn the car around
All that I feel is the realness I'm faking
Taking my time but it's time that I'm wasting
Always turn the car around
How many times can I break till I shatter?
Over the line can't define what I'm after
I always turn the car around
Don't wanna turn that car around
I gotta turn this thing around
So, there you go. I feel like I am shattered. The only difference between the song and my reality is that I am not turning the car around anymore. I have done that for the last time. I will slowly put the shattered pieces back together until I am whole again, and once I am, I will superglue all the little bits so they don't fall away, and I wont forget what it takes to fix myself...It's not long now, my friend. It's not long now.
Forgetting My Panties
Okay. I am a bit on the ashamed side to actually admit this to you, my friends, and even more so to you, random reader...But sometimes...I forget to wear underwear. I truly, truly forget. It is not that I don't like underwear. In fact, I almost exclusively wear these little numbers appropriately called "Hanky Panky". The Hanky Panky brand makes a multitude of different intimate tops & bottoms, but the very best thing they make is the original thong. This might encite quite a heated debate, between myself and those who prefer the "low-rise" version of the thong. Yes, the low-rise is cool. However, I am at an age where my pants don't end at my butt-crack, so I don't really have to worry about thong exposure. And what's with the whole "muffin-top" thing anyway? Don't you know that it just makes you look fat?
Anyway...The forgetting of the underwear...How does this happen, you might ask? Let me put it simply: Kids. Yes, I am blaming my children for the forgetting of my underpants. That's the kind of Mommy I am. And here is how it happens...I usually wake up (read: am jolted awake by the repetitive poking of my eye from my 3 year old) around 6:30 am. I have to leave the house with the girls NO LATER than 7:30 am to get them to school on time. If you don't have the kids in the school by 7:55 am, you are forced to park your car, and walk the walk-of-shame through the lower school parking lot, into the lobby of the building, where your kids have to wait until assembly is over and the can go on to their classrooms. The entire time they are waiting in the lobby they scowl at you and glare disapprovingly, because you (the parent) are just sooooo embarrassing. So, between 6:30 and 7:30 am I am forced to madly dash though out the house, feeding, dressing, collecting and otherwise preparing the girls for school. I also have to dress, feed and otherwise prepare myself for work. Sometimes, in all of the hullabaloo, I forget to put on my panties. It's really more important to me that the girls have on their underwear...See, for me, it's all about priorities.
Forgetting to wear underwear when I am running errands about town is just a bit of a nuisance, makes you feel a little naughty - like you have a little secret. Forgetting to wear underwear to work however, is no happy accident. I like to rock my sexy secretary look at work. Nice little sweater, nice little skirt, 80-90 mm heels...I digress. The point is, even though that whole look is naughty yet fun, it somehow takes on a borderline pervy feel when you know you don't have on your breeches. I get freaked out that I might pull a Fatal Attraction, a la Sharon Stone, during a meeting. I worry that people will just know that I have forgotten my skivvies...Like it's written on my face or something. I feel naked. Since I work for "whisper-whisper, mumble-mumble", it should be easy enough to mosey over to the intimate department and pick up a new pair of Hanky Panky, purchase them, and shuffle off to my office and slip them on. No one would need to know. Yet, I haven't ever done this...
Sometimes I am an enigma, even to myself. I like to think this just adds to my overall charm, but I am now thinking it makes me seem a little crazy. I'm not crazy, I 'm just tired. And in my exhaustion, I forget to do things, like put on underpants...In the grand scheme of things, though, this doesn't seem like such a big deal. Therefore, I wont let it bother me...for now. So if you see me at work, and I am looking a little sheepish, maybe even a little "frisky", then it looks like my secret is out. It very well might be that I have forgotten my panties, yet again...But don't think, for one moment, you can come up to me and ask me if I am wearing underwear, cause with or without my panties on, I can still totally punch you in the face.
Anyway...The forgetting of the underwear...How does this happen, you might ask? Let me put it simply: Kids. Yes, I am blaming my children for the forgetting of my underpants. That's the kind of Mommy I am. And here is how it happens...I usually wake up (read: am jolted awake by the repetitive poking of my eye from my 3 year old) around 6:30 am. I have to leave the house with the girls NO LATER than 7:30 am to get them to school on time. If you don't have the kids in the school by 7:55 am, you are forced to park your car, and walk the walk-of-shame through the lower school parking lot, into the lobby of the building, where your kids have to wait until assembly is over and the can go on to their classrooms. The entire time they are waiting in the lobby they scowl at you and glare disapprovingly, because you (the parent) are just sooooo embarrassing. So, between 6:30 and 7:30 am I am forced to madly dash though out the house, feeding, dressing, collecting and otherwise preparing the girls for school. I also have to dress, feed and otherwise prepare myself for work. Sometimes, in all of the hullabaloo, I forget to put on my panties. It's really more important to me that the girls have on their underwear...See, for me, it's all about priorities.
Forgetting to wear underwear when I am running errands about town is just a bit of a nuisance, makes you feel a little naughty - like you have a little secret. Forgetting to wear underwear to work however, is no happy accident. I like to rock my sexy secretary look at work. Nice little sweater, nice little skirt, 80-90 mm heels...I digress. The point is, even though that whole look is naughty yet fun, it somehow takes on a borderline pervy feel when you know you don't have on your breeches. I get freaked out that I might pull a Fatal Attraction, a la Sharon Stone, during a meeting. I worry that people will just know that I have forgotten my skivvies...Like it's written on my face or something. I feel naked. Since I work for "whisper-whisper, mumble-mumble", it should be easy enough to mosey over to the intimate department and pick up a new pair of Hanky Panky, purchase them, and shuffle off to my office and slip them on. No one would need to know. Yet, I haven't ever done this...
Sometimes I am an enigma, even to myself. I like to think this just adds to my overall charm, but I am now thinking it makes me seem a little crazy. I'm not crazy, I 'm just tired. And in my exhaustion, I forget to do things, like put on underpants...In the grand scheme of things, though, this doesn't seem like such a big deal. Therefore, I wont let it bother me...for now. So if you see me at work, and I am looking a little sheepish, maybe even a little "frisky", then it looks like my secret is out. It very well might be that I have forgotten my panties, yet again...But don't think, for one moment, you can come up to me and ask me if I am wearing underwear, cause with or without my panties on, I can still totally punch you in the face.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
More Engrish!!
I can't get enough of this! You can thank me later, after you have cleaned the pee from your pants!
To the blue water offer, I say, no thank you!
more the engrish!
I like my tooth paste to remove the crust…
more the engrish!
Some days, I really relate to this phone.
more the engrish!
Or rather, for my safety.
more the engrish!
If you had been thinking of my safety, this wouldn’t be an issue!
more the engrish!
To the blue water offer, I say, no thank you!
more the engrish!
I like my tooth paste to remove the crust…
more the engrish!
Some days, I really relate to this phone.
more the engrish!
Or rather, for my safety.
more the engrish!
If you had been thinking of my safety, this wouldn’t be an issue!
more the engrish!
Thursday, September 11, 2008
There is No Medication to Fix Me Yet
My stress is taking on a life of it's own. I no longer know how to control it. It has taken on such wild proportions that I can't even eat! I have been on a "diet" for the past three months, and was trying to go about the process of weight loss rationally and sensibly. Now, however, I am dropping pounds like so many juggling balls...Did I mention I can't juggle?
I am prone to drama, and thus, prone to the stress that accompanies the drama. In fact, I am almost too stressed to blog, and that's saying something right there!! However, I have some very good things in my life that alleviate the stress somewhat. Unfortunately, I don't have access to those things in such a way that their healing effects can really take hold. They are truncated and abbreviated and generally leaving me wanting...And did I mention that I hate wanting?
But I have no choice, no real say. If I get what I want, then there is no need for wanting. But I am not in control here, I am just...just a piece of a puzzle that is so much bigger than me. Under normal circumstances, I hate not being in control, but right now, I relinquish it fully. What I wouldn't give for the pieces to just fall into place with out all of the posturing. There is a theory that all things happen for a reason, but do they? How much of the future are we willing to leave up to "reason" and how much are we willing to take into our own hands and manipulate. And what are these reasons, anyway? Are they reasons that we have predetermined, or do we make them up as we go...
No matter what, things in my life are happening. I am still unsure of the reasons, but I am not questioning them. I am grateful to them. I want more reasons. I am very, very selfish. Very, very, very selfish...
I am prone to drama, and thus, prone to the stress that accompanies the drama. In fact, I am almost too stressed to blog, and that's saying something right there!! However, I have some very good things in my life that alleviate the stress somewhat. Unfortunately, I don't have access to those things in such a way that their healing effects can really take hold. They are truncated and abbreviated and generally leaving me wanting...And did I mention that I hate wanting?
But I have no choice, no real say. If I get what I want, then there is no need for wanting. But I am not in control here, I am just...just a piece of a puzzle that is so much bigger than me. Under normal circumstances, I hate not being in control, but right now, I relinquish it fully. What I wouldn't give for the pieces to just fall into place with out all of the posturing. There is a theory that all things happen for a reason, but do they? How much of the future are we willing to leave up to "reason" and how much are we willing to take into our own hands and manipulate. And what are these reasons, anyway? Are they reasons that we have predetermined, or do we make them up as we go...
No matter what, things in my life are happening. I am still unsure of the reasons, but I am not questioning them. I am grateful to them. I want more reasons. I am very, very selfish. Very, very, very selfish...
Saturday, September 6, 2008
It's Official...
There are many crazy things about my blogging habits. Some nights, when I am feeling especially inspired, I will write multiple blogs. Sometimes, I will publish all of them, and other times I will save them for later...For nights like this one, where I don't have any creative juices flowing. I mostly just want to drink and be sorta numb. However, rabid monkey blog fans like YOU insist upon new material on the regular. Hence the need for the "older" blogs. This one is an "older"-new blog. You have never seen it before, so shoosh! Oh, and I always find it "fun" to see what point I was at in my life when I wrote these "older" blogs...What has changed, what has stayed the same...
Enjoy!
Yup. It's official. I am a lost cause. You might say that I am surrounded by a "bozone". Not familiar with the bozone? Well! Let me enlighten you!
The Bozone (n)
The substance surrounding stupid people, that stops bright ideas from penetrating. The Bozone layer, unfortunately, shows little sign of breaking down in the near future.
Yup, yup. That's me. No, I is not a stupid people. Sometimes, however, I struggle to absorb mildly complex concepts. Take today for example...I had to write "reviews". I was informed that they had to fall within certain parameters. I didn't understand the forms. They could not penetrate my "bozone". I did have a great deal of fun laughing about them, but never quite got around to writing them. I am not only a bozo but a putter-offer-procrastinator.
It's okay, for today.
Today was a very, very, very good day. My Mom arrived from out-of-town, and I wasn't certain that she would make it, considering Tropical Storm Fay just couldn't take a hint & get the heck outta dodge! Plus, I got a great blog suggestion from my California Sister (and yes, being from California makes you infinitely cooler than me). And, I delivered a pretty decent speech on the merits of the Parents' Association to an entire student body (and their parents, otherwise it would have been pointless)...Also, a big thanks to my BFF for adding to the mindless glee-melee. I really like how with your help, I am able to rise above the bozone, and just make fun of the people around me. It's good times. And although I have little to no interest in swimming in a retention pond or toilet papering your place of business, I am eager to pursue other hazing avenues. Let's chat.
Until then, I will be floating about, oblivious, in the bozone. I like it here. it's warm...and they have beer in the bozone. And my dear reader, you should join me, sometimes playing stupid is a whole hell of a lot easier than having to plunge your own toilet or change your own tire, if you know what I mean...
Enjoy!
Yup. It's official. I am a lost cause. You might say that I am surrounded by a "bozone". Not familiar with the bozone? Well! Let me enlighten you!
The Bozone (n)
The substance surrounding stupid people, that stops bright ideas from penetrating. The Bozone layer, unfortunately, shows little sign of breaking down in the near future.
Yup, yup. That's me. No, I is not a stupid people. Sometimes, however, I struggle to absorb mildly complex concepts. Take today for example...I had to write "reviews". I was informed that they had to fall within certain parameters. I didn't understand the forms. They could not penetrate my "bozone". I did have a great deal of fun laughing about them, but never quite got around to writing them. I am not only a bozo but a putter-offer-procrastinator.
It's okay, for today.
Today was a very, very, very good day. My Mom arrived from out-of-town, and I wasn't certain that she would make it, considering Tropical Storm Fay just couldn't take a hint & get the heck outta dodge! Plus, I got a great blog suggestion from my California Sister (and yes, being from California makes you infinitely cooler than me). And, I delivered a pretty decent speech on the merits of the Parents' Association to an entire student body (and their parents, otherwise it would have been pointless)...Also, a big thanks to my BFF for adding to the mindless glee-melee. I really like how with your help, I am able to rise above the bozone, and just make fun of the people around me. It's good times. And although I have little to no interest in swimming in a retention pond or toilet papering your place of business, I am eager to pursue other hazing avenues. Let's chat.
Until then, I will be floating about, oblivious, in the bozone. I like it here. it's warm...and they have beer in the bozone. And my dear reader, you should join me, sometimes playing stupid is a whole hell of a lot easier than having to plunge your own toilet or change your own tire, if you know what I mean...
Friday, September 5, 2008
Oh, I Have Peed My Pants!
As I mentioned before, I lived in Japan for a while. I saw this kinda stuff everyday. It's as funny now as it was back then...Which either means that it's hysterical, truly, or I am still totally immature! Check out EngrishFunny for more of these delights!
Oh, But I am a Smug Twat
more the engrish!
Sage Advice
more the engrish!
Again, Sage Advice
more the engrish!
I Wouldn’t Even Try!
more the engrish!
Hell, Ya! Take That Consumerism!
more the engrish!
More Angry Consumers!
more the engrish!
Oh, But I am a Smug Twat
more the engrish!
Sage Advice
more the engrish!
Again, Sage Advice
more the engrish!
I Wouldn’t Even Try!
more the engrish!
Hell, Ya! Take That Consumerism!
more the engrish!
More Angry Consumers!
more the engrish!
Thursday, September 4, 2008
The Soundtrack of My Life
As I am sure you know by now, I have a song for just about every event in my life. They play on a loop in my mind. I think I might be a little bit crazy, but I kinda like having a soundtrack for my life. Right now, I keep hearing the Nine Inch Nails song, Closer...Ain't gonna put a link to it here, my Mom and Dad read this blog...But if you know the song, well...There you go then.
Instead, I offer you this fun ditty. I don't understand it, but I know it has to do with liking cake. If you like cake, the you will love the site Cake Wrecks. There is a link to it on the left. It's HI-Larious!
Instead, I offer you this fun ditty. I don't understand it, but I know it has to do with liking cake. If you like cake, the you will love the site Cake Wrecks. There is a link to it on the left. It's HI-Larious!
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
WTF!?!?
If you know me, you know my love of bacon. I think there is even a bacon lover's club out there, named in my honor. This video, however, disturbs even the most forthright bacon lover. Really, what the fuck is that thing flying around on the bacon? Something out of a Stephen King novel, perhaps?
Isabella's Expletives.
Expletive: The word expletive comes from the Latin verb explere, meaning "to fill", via expletivus, "filling out". It was introduced into English in the seventeenth century to refer to various kinds of padding — the padding out of a book with peripheral material, the addition of syllables to a line of poetry for metrical purposes, and so forth. Use of expletive for such a meaning is now rare. Rather, expletive is a term in linguistics for a meaningless word filling a syntactic vacancy (syntactic expletives). Outside linguistics, the word is much more commonly used to refer to "bad language". Some linguists use it to refer to meaningless, "filler" use of "bad language" ("expletive attributives"), distinguishing this from meaningful use.
Thanks Wikipedia.
So, referring to my giant ass as being expletive might have been okay in the seventeenth century, but now it will just get you a punch in the nose. Today we are exploring the secondary usage of the word, and how it relates to the world of Isabella.
Some of Isabella's expletives (verbatim. I am NOT exaggerating, people...I only wish I was):
1. Isabella drops a book on the floor. It hits her toe on the way down. She says, "God Dammit, that hurt"! I confess, she has heard this from me.
2. Isabella drops another book on the floor. It hits the same toe. She says, "God Dammit! That hurt like a Motherfucker"! Hmmm...I am not sure I have said this one in front of the kids...
3. We are eating dinner. I made mashed potatoes. Considering I hate mashed potatoes (unless I am in the last trimester of pregnancy, then I LOVE them), it's unusual for me to make them. Anyway, Isabella takes a bit of the mashed potatoes and says, "Holy Shit! Those are good mashed potatoes"! I consider this praise of the highest caliber.
4. We are watching SpongeBob SquarePants. An everyday occurrence in my house. I know all the words to all the SpongeBob SquarePants songs. My favorite is the "Sweater Song" that SpongeBob sings in the episode where his hat and spatula were featured in an infomercial for the Krusty Krab. Through a series of hilarious foibles, SpongeBob mistakenly thinks that everyone sees him as a local celebrity...So you can see how I love SpongeBob SquarePants so much...It's in keeping with my everyday life. Isabella says, "SpongeBob is one stupid Fucker". Yes, Isabella, yes he is a stupid fucker...But we don't really need to say that out loud. Somethings are better left unsaid. We don't want to hurt SpongeBob's feelings.
5. Isabella also likes to say "shut-up", "stupid", and "crack-head". I can tell you for a fact that I have called both her and her sister not only "crack-heads", but "crack-babies". But I have NEVER called her "stupid", and I mostly only tell her Daddy to "shut-up". And Butters. He gets a whole shit-pile of "shut-ups".
So, anyway...I know your hand is at the ready to speed-dial the Department of Children and Families, but before you do...For every "Holy shit! Shut the fuck up you stupid crack-head motherfucker" there must be a bilionty "I Love You" and "You're So Special"s. The curse of cursing is no matter how innocuous you think it might be, there is always a three year old out there prepared to say the "F-word" over and over and over while you are standing in the line at Target. So I think the lesson here must be, don't cuss in front of kids. I also think this is a great example of the Mother's Curse. No, not a string of expletives, but the curse that every Mother places on their child just before they are about to bear the new generation..."I hope your children turn out to be JUST LIKE YOU". And if Isabella's sheer mastery of profanity tells you anything at all, then my Mother certainly cursed me...Just ask her to tell you the story of me, the custard store and the f-word. Or me, the bald man and the airplane. Or the time we spilt the soda in the elevator....Yah, it's definitely the curse.
Thanks Wikipedia.
So, referring to my giant ass as being expletive might have been okay in the seventeenth century, but now it will just get you a punch in the nose. Today we are exploring the secondary usage of the word, and how it relates to the world of Isabella.
Some of Isabella's expletives (verbatim. I am NOT exaggerating, people...I only wish I was):
1. Isabella drops a book on the floor. It hits her toe on the way down. She says, "God Dammit, that hurt"! I confess, she has heard this from me.
2. Isabella drops another book on the floor. It hits the same toe. She says, "God Dammit! That hurt like a Motherfucker"! Hmmm...I am not sure I have said this one in front of the kids...
3. We are eating dinner. I made mashed potatoes. Considering I hate mashed potatoes (unless I am in the last trimester of pregnancy, then I LOVE them), it's unusual for me to make them. Anyway, Isabella takes a bit of the mashed potatoes and says, "Holy Shit! Those are good mashed potatoes"! I consider this praise of the highest caliber.
4. We are watching SpongeBob SquarePants. An everyday occurrence in my house. I know all the words to all the SpongeBob SquarePants songs. My favorite is the "Sweater Song" that SpongeBob sings in the episode where his hat and spatula were featured in an infomercial for the Krusty Krab. Through a series of hilarious foibles, SpongeBob mistakenly thinks that everyone sees him as a local celebrity...So you can see how I love SpongeBob SquarePants so much...It's in keeping with my everyday life. Isabella says, "SpongeBob is one stupid Fucker". Yes, Isabella, yes he is a stupid fucker...But we don't really need to say that out loud. Somethings are better left unsaid. We don't want to hurt SpongeBob's feelings.
5. Isabella also likes to say "shut-up", "stupid", and "crack-head". I can tell you for a fact that I have called both her and her sister not only "crack-heads", but "crack-babies". But I have NEVER called her "stupid", and I mostly only tell her Daddy to "shut-up". And Butters. He gets a whole shit-pile of "shut-ups".
So, anyway...I know your hand is at the ready to speed-dial the Department of Children and Families, but before you do...For every "Holy shit! Shut the fuck up you stupid crack-head motherfucker" there must be a bilionty "I Love You" and "You're So Special"s. The curse of cursing is no matter how innocuous you think it might be, there is always a three year old out there prepared to say the "F-word" over and over and over while you are standing in the line at Target. So I think the lesson here must be, don't cuss in front of kids. I also think this is a great example of the Mother's Curse. No, not a string of expletives, but the curse that every Mother places on their child just before they are about to bear the new generation..."I hope your children turn out to be JUST LIKE YOU". And if Isabella's sheer mastery of profanity tells you anything at all, then my Mother certainly cursed me...Just ask her to tell you the story of me, the custard store and the f-word. Or me, the bald man and the airplane. Or the time we spilt the soda in the elevator....Yah, it's definitely the curse.
Monday, September 1, 2008
Pon & Zi
My daughter is so cool. She doesn't even know how cool she is. But I do. And if you have ever met her, you know it, too.
She loves Pon & Zi, even though she doesn't really get them. She does get that they are basically about love. A little too "EMO" for me, but what do I know...I like Nine Inch Nails.
Anyway, I found this video for her, and I feel compelled to share it with y'all. I am a good friend like that. The Meiko song playing is on my MySpace page, as well. I like it. It makes me smile. And, well, I kinda like Pon & Zi...They're cute.
Shit...I am EMO, aren't I? No! I couldn't possibly be...I like Burberry & Chloe waaaay to much! I swear I haven't shopped at Hot Topic in years!!
She loves Pon & Zi, even though she doesn't really get them. She does get that they are basically about love. A little too "EMO" for me, but what do I know...I like Nine Inch Nails.
Anyway, I found this video for her, and I feel compelled to share it with y'all. I am a good friend like that. The Meiko song playing is on my MySpace page, as well. I like it. It makes me smile. And, well, I kinda like Pon & Zi...They're cute.
Shit...I am EMO, aren't I? No! I couldn't possibly be...I like Burberry & Chloe waaaay to much! I swear I haven't shopped at Hot Topic in years!!
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