It's 0200 on Christmas morning, and I'm feeling like Scrooge still.
So we all know I work graveyards, and my regular schedule is Tuesday through Friday nights. I sleep for hours when I'm not at work so that I don't totally screw up my system. This weekend, though, I made an effort to screw up my system just so that this morning, Christmas, I could go and be with people that don't like me.
To put it mildly, my in-laws don't particularly care for me. I don't think I ever cross their minds, other than when it's the holidays and they realize that they have to tolerate me for a couple of hours. Hubby and I have been married for 7 years, and we were together for just over 2 years prior to getting married, so there's 9 years of resentment on my behalf. In-laws say things that I find rude and disrespectful to Hubby, and it makes me mad (things about him not having a real job and therefore he'd never understand travelling for work--this was like 6 years ago, and it still makes me mad). In-laws tell private jokes around me and don't include me--and since we only see them once a year or so (despite the fact that we live less than a mile away from them), it's hard to learn the jokes when you're having to guess at them. In-laws make comments about me not having a college degree, and therefore I'm stupid or wasting my life--never mind that I was the responsible one with a full time job and a home owner at 19; nor the fact that I'm the only one out of my sibling-in-laws and even Hubby that has never lost a job.
Hubby and I had a really rough couple of years, and even separated for a while. Of course, according to in-laws, it was my fault--and they even knew most of the story. That Christmas, Hubby was invited to go to Colorado to be with them, but I wasn't--although we were trying to work on our marriage, and we were still married. I haven't seen the in-laws for more than say a half hour since we were separated, and it's been a couple of years now. But I'm sure I'm the paranoid one and it's not that they hate me.
So anyway, this year, we were supposed to go to Colorado for Christmas. We weren't invited, it's more like Hubby told his mom that I got the time off and we were planning to join them up there for the holidays. I did get the time off, and they moved Christmas back here. I then sort of felt guilty for taking the week off, and we lost someone at work, and I was assigned a trainee that would have had to just sit there all week long, so I agreed to give up my leave and work all week. Trouble began to rear its ugly head when I remembered that in-laws celebrate on Christmas morning...and I ended up with extra hours at work on top of my regularly scheduled 40 hours.
Hubby asked in-laws if this year we could have brunch and I would be up and functioning by 1100. In-laws called yesterday to say that they were having brunch at 1000 and Hubby said he'd be there. Is it me or is this really like a rude gesture? What the heck is wrong with waiting one more hour? I seriously am offended. And what's wrong with Hubby that he didn't say to them, gee too bad--Kate and I will be there at 1100 like I told you we could be. Hubby tells me that this is much later than they wanted it to be--and I told Hubby that he should have just told them to do whatever they really wanted since one hour obviously meant the world to them. Considering that I am the one that's responsible for providing police/fire/EMS to the whole freaking community, I don't think it's wrong of me to want to have at least 5 hours of sleep in me before going in to work for a 12 hour shift. I think it would be incredibly irresponsible and WRONG to not sleep and then I put the community--and much more importantly, my officers and firefighters--in harms way when I'm falling asleep at work and am sluggish.
So I have spent this whole weekend trying to readjust to day time, which is futile. I was awake all night long on Saturday night, and went to sleep around 0700. Then Sunday night I was awake all night long and went to sleep around 0800. And I spent most of yesterday in bed, sleeping until 1600 and then falling back asleep at 0900--and so now it's 0200 and I'm wide awake. I have to work tonight from 1830 until tomorrow morning at 0630, and I'm thinking things don't look good. There's not enough energy drinks in the world to propel me through 26 hours of life and to keep me a reasonable human being.
And now there's the whole in-law dilemma. They got their way of keeping me out by having the blasted brunch earlier than I said I could be there--and Hubby told them I wouldn't actually come until after noonish--but if I'm awake, can I really let Hubby go without me so I can sulk for a couple of hours? Or do I go to show them? Do I go and leave right after to go home to bed? We're supposed to go to my parents' house around 1630 for presents and dinner before I go to work--a place that we're both welcome and always have been welcome even in the midst of crap--and I'd much rather just go there and skip the in-laws. Who wants to go somewhere they're not welcome and are treated poorly when they could be at a comforting place?
And who says that Christmas has to be spent with family anyway?
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
Sunday, December 23, 2007
Holiday Spirit
You know how people are always saying "in the spirit of Christmas" or something of the sort? Here's my horrid thoughts on it this year.
We took my parents to see "Christmas in Dublin," a show in Albuquerque that was to feature the Three Irish Tenors, the Irish Divas and maybe something else...I can't really remember any more. The day started with the long drive down, which we did separately because I of course had to go into work immediately following the show (although it was my day off--this is an increasingly common theme). This meant that we had to go to lunch with the 'rents instead of dinner with them, and we didn't get to invite my brother to join us because lunch is WAY before his waking hour. So we go to lunch (I of course have had 2.5 hours of sleep because I worked extra the day before), and then we head off to the parking structure. My parents drive a bug...a little electric blue Volkswagen. They were directly behind us. Hubby zips into a parking space, and Dad takes the bug the other direction and throws it into reverse to back into a spot one up from us. As the reverse lights come on the bug, a huge donkey (of course that's not really the word I want to use to describe him) in a large sedan pulls up and goes into the spot that Dad was beginning to back up into. Never mind that all over the parking structure, other New Mexicans with an ounce of common courtesy are waiting for other vehicles to back into the parking spaces as Dad was intending to do because it makes it much faster when it's time to filter out of the spot if you can just pull out into the line. Anyway, Hubby has gone to get the tickets from the office, and Donkey says to me "Wonder who gave that guy his license" referring to Dad who is now trying to back up into the spot next to the large sedan Donkey has parked ONE THE WHITE LINE (and that drives me nuts--even if Donkey hadn't already just shown terrible driver etiquette, he would have teed me off with the parking on the white line). So I say sweetly to Donkey "THAT man is my father, and he was reversing into the spot you just raced into." Donkey doesn't even look ashamed. Donkey's wife is trying to unload Grandma out of the back seat with the door flung open into the spot Dad is now trying to back into. Donkey's wife is glancing at Donkey and I and shaking her head as if the whole dilemma is Dad's fault. Here's another thought--we were like 35+ minutes before the show even was scheduled to start. It's not like an extra 5 minutes would have made anyone late for the show.
The other issue is that my family motto is "don't get mad; get even," so Dad comes raring out of the bug (he's 6'2 and I'd guess around 350 lbs., so take a minute to picture this climbing out of a bug) and is ready to charge the Donkey and his family. I too am mad, but then it occurs to me that Grandma had a walker and we have handicapped seating inside the theater, and what if we now have to sit next to Donkey? I was in total fear of this possibility--but that didn't happen. What was the point of holding onto the anger really? Everybody attending had spent good money for the show, it was about Christmas, and it was lovely. I guess the whole incident had me thinking that common sense and courtesy has totally escaped the world and I don't know why. And I'm having a hard enough time feeling the love of the season (let me be clear--I love the Reason for the season, and I know He loves me and I'm not doubting that--I'm doubting the rest of humanity) without spending my fun family holiday time with a Donkey and his attitude.
Of course my terrible thoughts about the holiday spirit are that really the world has changed more into what can I get and not celebrating the birth of my Savior. I'm almost over the Santa Claus thing--I think he's pretty cute, and while my children will never wait for gifts from him or sit with him, he can be a fun thing like the Coke Polar Bears are a fun thing. To me, Christmas is about 1st) the birth of Christ; 2nd) time with family and friends; and 3rd) Christmas letters and cards.
I love getting Christmas letters because let's be honest, I like to see what everybody else has been up to, and these letters are the perfect brag time. There's almost always a common theme, and when I write a letter/posting, I feel that I have to do the same thing. Sentences are always such as the "We traveled the whole world twice and are ready to embark on our third trip"; "we've adopted a third world child and have singlehandedly rebuilt a village in her honor;" "little James has completed college at the age of 4 and is beginning medical school next year;" "we have built our new home and it is called the Taj Mahal III;" "Hubby has promoted so much that he's now known as Lord and Master instead of just Hubby at work;" and pictures of everybody's too cute for words children are always included. I love to see the children--I've always loved kids. I love to hear that others are achieving their goals and that it's been a good year for them. I joke with my mom that I may just borrow a line from everyone else's Christmas letter and send it out as my own, because I think my life is truly too boring to be relayed. If I had kids, maybe I'd have more fun stories. I don't know. In all honesty, when I start to write a letter, it occurs to me that there is so much else that we should have been focusing on throughout the year, and ways that we should have been spending our time, and then I get bummed, and then slowly and surely the spirit sneaks out of me bit by bit.
You wouldn't know that this is my favorite time of year by the way I've been feeling/acting this year. I guess this post is a definite example of that. I've been assured by many of my officers that the best way to get into the holiday spirit is with "spirits" (you know, Jack and Jim), but I'm hoping that it's more like when I see my family and friends, the true meaning of Christmas will wrap me up and propel me to a happier mood. And I hope it also promotes a better attitude towards Hubby's family that in going on 10 years with Hubby I've been yet to find. If it doesn't, you'll see a spirit of fire about me on the 26th :)
Happy Holidays!
We took my parents to see "Christmas in Dublin," a show in Albuquerque that was to feature the Three Irish Tenors, the Irish Divas and maybe something else...I can't really remember any more. The day started with the long drive down, which we did separately because I of course had to go into work immediately following the show (although it was my day off--this is an increasingly common theme). This meant that we had to go to lunch with the 'rents instead of dinner with them, and we didn't get to invite my brother to join us because lunch is WAY before his waking hour. So we go to lunch (I of course have had 2.5 hours of sleep because I worked extra the day before), and then we head off to the parking structure. My parents drive a bug...a little electric blue Volkswagen. They were directly behind us. Hubby zips into a parking space, and Dad takes the bug the other direction and throws it into reverse to back into a spot one up from us. As the reverse lights come on the bug, a huge donkey (of course that's not really the word I want to use to describe him) in a large sedan pulls up and goes into the spot that Dad was beginning to back up into. Never mind that all over the parking structure, other New Mexicans with an ounce of common courtesy are waiting for other vehicles to back into the parking spaces as Dad was intending to do because it makes it much faster when it's time to filter out of the spot if you can just pull out into the line. Anyway, Hubby has gone to get the tickets from the office, and Donkey says to me "Wonder who gave that guy his license" referring to Dad who is now trying to back up into the spot next to the large sedan Donkey has parked ONE THE WHITE LINE (and that drives me nuts--even if Donkey hadn't already just shown terrible driver etiquette, he would have teed me off with the parking on the white line). So I say sweetly to Donkey "THAT man is my father, and he was reversing into the spot you just raced into." Donkey doesn't even look ashamed. Donkey's wife is trying to unload Grandma out of the back seat with the door flung open into the spot Dad is now trying to back into. Donkey's wife is glancing at Donkey and I and shaking her head as if the whole dilemma is Dad's fault. Here's another thought--we were like 35+ minutes before the show even was scheduled to start. It's not like an extra 5 minutes would have made anyone late for the show.
The other issue is that my family motto is "don't get mad; get even," so Dad comes raring out of the bug (he's 6'2 and I'd guess around 350 lbs., so take a minute to picture this climbing out of a bug) and is ready to charge the Donkey and his family. I too am mad, but then it occurs to me that Grandma had a walker and we have handicapped seating inside the theater, and what if we now have to sit next to Donkey? I was in total fear of this possibility--but that didn't happen. What was the point of holding onto the anger really? Everybody attending had spent good money for the show, it was about Christmas, and it was lovely. I guess the whole incident had me thinking that common sense and courtesy has totally escaped the world and I don't know why. And I'm having a hard enough time feeling the love of the season (let me be clear--I love the Reason for the season, and I know He loves me and I'm not doubting that--I'm doubting the rest of humanity) without spending my fun family holiday time with a Donkey and his attitude.
Of course my terrible thoughts about the holiday spirit are that really the world has changed more into what can I get and not celebrating the birth of my Savior. I'm almost over the Santa Claus thing--I think he's pretty cute, and while my children will never wait for gifts from him or sit with him, he can be a fun thing like the Coke Polar Bears are a fun thing. To me, Christmas is about 1st) the birth of Christ; 2nd) time with family and friends; and 3rd) Christmas letters and cards.
I love getting Christmas letters because let's be honest, I like to see what everybody else has been up to, and these letters are the perfect brag time. There's almost always a common theme, and when I write a letter/posting, I feel that I have to do the same thing. Sentences are always such as the "We traveled the whole world twice and are ready to embark on our third trip"; "we've adopted a third world child and have singlehandedly rebuilt a village in her honor;" "little James has completed college at the age of 4 and is beginning medical school next year;" "we have built our new home and it is called the Taj Mahal III;" "Hubby has promoted so much that he's now known as Lord and Master instead of just Hubby at work;" and pictures of everybody's too cute for words children are always included. I love to see the children--I've always loved kids. I love to hear that others are achieving their goals and that it's been a good year for them. I joke with my mom that I may just borrow a line from everyone else's Christmas letter and send it out as my own, because I think my life is truly too boring to be relayed. If I had kids, maybe I'd have more fun stories. I don't know. In all honesty, when I start to write a letter, it occurs to me that there is so much else that we should have been focusing on throughout the year, and ways that we should have been spending our time, and then I get bummed, and then slowly and surely the spirit sneaks out of me bit by bit.
You wouldn't know that this is my favorite time of year by the way I've been feeling/acting this year. I guess this post is a definite example of that. I've been assured by many of my officers that the best way to get into the holiday spirit is with "spirits" (you know, Jack and Jim), but I'm hoping that it's more like when I see my family and friends, the true meaning of Christmas will wrap me up and propel me to a happier mood. And I hope it also promotes a better attitude towards Hubby's family that in going on 10 years with Hubby I've been yet to find. If it doesn't, you'll see a spirit of fire about me on the 26th :)
Happy Holidays!
Monday, December 3, 2007
The Healing Power of Giraffe Spit
We have just literally arrived home from a whirlwind weekend in Phoenix.
We have some fabulous friends in Phoenix, and each year, Hubby says--hey, let's go harass them and visit them while we spend every penny we've made all year long on Christmas gifts.
Ok, so that's not really how it goes. However, Hubby is good to me, and he knows I miss these friends, and he misses them, and they're really good to both Hubby and me because they let us visit each year, and each year they actually invite us back!
So we booked it out there on Friday, and after 8 hours in a car, most of which I slept because I'd just gotten off work and was grumpy and hungry and desperately in need of some zzz's, we arrived on K&A's doorstep. K&A whisked us in, let me get cleaned up, and we were off on a grownup date because their daughters had plans that night. We ate out, laughed a lot, and began our shopping.
Every year I get us in what could possibly be over our heads, but God is truly great, and He always has the bigger plan worked out beyond what I can see. My sorority has run the local Adopt A Family program for several years, and Hubby and I have always adopted--not always officially. Usually, some family ends up being the only family not adopted, or somehow their Adopters forget the delivery date, or misunderstand the program, and Hubby and I (along with begging my bleeding heart parents--it's genetic, I come by it honestly) race out and purchase items for these cases. The last two years, Hubby and I have intentionally adopted a family and then still done last minute madness. Even the year that we lived in the wealthiest community in NM, and yet made less than $25K/year combined and paid over $300/month solely in utility bills, Hubby and I maxed out our cards to be sure that others were taken care of for the holiday.
I'm not trying to brag, and I sincerely don't run around screaming "look at us and what we do;" I'm sharing this for a couple of reasons. The first and foremost being that no matter what our situation, we've always been able to pay off Adopt A Family come January. A surprise refund, profit-sharing when Hubby worked private sector, Christmas bonuses when I worked private sector, a winning poker game, whatever--we've never gone into debt for longer than we had to pay it off before interest. I really believe that this because God knows what's on our hearts, and He knows how blessed we already are, but He also knows that there's always a greater lesson every year that we learn during Adopt A Family, and He always provides.
We don't deliberately run up debt thinking that God will magically pay it off--we're completely prepared to pay it off in whatever way we have to. I don't want to sound glib about it. It is never a good idea to go further into debt for anything. However, we know that we make a ridiculous amount of money and that we have an absurd amount of crap that wasn't necessary--and if we can jack up our bills on non-necessities, we can certainly do it for a family that asks for toothbrushes for Christmas.
So there we were in Phoenix, doing our typical I want to buy everything on the list (we have a family of 6 this year) and Hubby doing his they don't need everything, when I somehow just lost it. In the middle of the little girls clothing section. Even the little saleshelp tried to pretend she didn't see me. I don't know if it's the season, or the time of month, or the fact that I was on the eve of turning another year older and realizing that life isn't what I thought it was--not good and not bad, but we'll go into that on another post--but I just started to cry. And I realized that this really sucked. We could only make a tiny difference for a day with a physical something, and it wasn't enough. And I remembered the lady last year that prayed so hard that her grandson (she was a disabled grandmother raising a 12 yoa boy) would have gotten snow boots because it snowed the day of the deliveries and he hadn't had any to wear to school, and sure enough there were the boots. So I cried some more, and Hubby tried to put me together again, and we finished for the night.
The next day was more shopping, and wouldn't you know it if Hubby didn't disappear around a couple of aisles and return with something that almost made me cry again? Everyone in the family needs jackets, and the littlest two need diapers, all children need toothbrushes, and the little boy needed a used car seat. And none of that was fun for a child, so I wanted to find toys and coloring books and dolls and Tonka trucks. After we bought everything on the list (well, we're missing Mom's jacket because I can't find a winter all purpose coat for women in Phoenix--go figure), I thought that Hubby would strangle me for also wanting a new car seat, and I was planning to call the hospital for a donation. Here comes Hubby around the baby aisles, and there's a brand new car seat on top of the basket. I don't know how I didn't lose it in the middle of that store too. I think he was relieved not to have waterworks less than 12 hours apart too!
After the second day of shopping, we went with K&A to their church (it was fun! plus, we don't usually get to see other churches when we travel, and I like that!), and then we went to dinner, where I think I spent too much time between meals (11am-8pm is longer than my grazing schedule normally allows), and I think I was drained, so I got a headache and pretty much collapsed and was no fun once we got back to K&A's house. Sorry I was a bummer if you read this!
So after we bought for our families and jacked up some credit cards for our siblings and parents, and then, as all good traveling exhausted couples do, especially when one is not feeling well, we hit the road to come home. We left at noonish, and by the time we grabbed lunch and were leaving Anthem outlet area, we were fighting. I don't know why we both claim to like traveling when it always includes a day of arguing loudly with each other and at least one of us (not me unless there are two of us doing so, of course) pouting in the car. This time I was driving, and I cranked up Carrie Underwood's new CD that's slightly angrier than the Christmas music and the hymns we had in the Jeep. In my best put off voice I announced that we were now passing the Wildlife thing I always wanted to see but of course never got to see when the great Pout became a martyr and announced we could go, so he'd look like the good guy. Trying to fix him, I pulled over, and we paid $60 for a 2 hour entrance to the park.
Watching the personnel feed raw meat (think heads and such) to lions and jaguars and bears and cougars and tigers and hyenas and wolves put us in a better mood. By the time it was time for the safari adventure (or whatever it's called), and the guide gave everyone a cookie for the giraffe, we were talking and smiling. And by the time the giraffe nuzzled each of us and ate out of our hands, we were ready to be married and in a car together again. Definitely recommend paying $60 to get slobbered on if it means you can remain married and travel home together.
Of course, I needed the giraffe again when Hubby ate corn chips that stunk up the car and I was grouchy about it. Hubby needed the giraffe when I got mad at the jerk in the truck hauling a trailer that didn't move to the left when I was trying to merge back onto I40 and flipped the truck off. Maybe I needed a giraffe again then too. And we both needed the giraffe each time we realized that by now Kiddo has landed in Iraq.
Maybe they loan out the giraffe? Or maybe they at least bottle the spit?
We have some fabulous friends in Phoenix, and each year, Hubby says--hey, let's go harass them and visit them while we spend every penny we've made all year long on Christmas gifts.
Ok, so that's not really how it goes. However, Hubby is good to me, and he knows I miss these friends, and he misses them, and they're really good to both Hubby and me because they let us visit each year, and each year they actually invite us back!
So we booked it out there on Friday, and after 8 hours in a car, most of which I slept because I'd just gotten off work and was grumpy and hungry and desperately in need of some zzz's, we arrived on K&A's doorstep. K&A whisked us in, let me get cleaned up, and we were off on a grownup date because their daughters had plans that night. We ate out, laughed a lot, and began our shopping.
Every year I get us in what could possibly be over our heads, but God is truly great, and He always has the bigger plan worked out beyond what I can see. My sorority has run the local Adopt A Family program for several years, and Hubby and I have always adopted--not always officially. Usually, some family ends up being the only family not adopted, or somehow their Adopters forget the delivery date, or misunderstand the program, and Hubby and I (along with begging my bleeding heart parents--it's genetic, I come by it honestly) race out and purchase items for these cases. The last two years, Hubby and I have intentionally adopted a family and then still done last minute madness. Even the year that we lived in the wealthiest community in NM, and yet made less than $25K/year combined and paid over $300/month solely in utility bills, Hubby and I maxed out our cards to be sure that others were taken care of for the holiday.
I'm not trying to brag, and I sincerely don't run around screaming "look at us and what we do;" I'm sharing this for a couple of reasons. The first and foremost being that no matter what our situation, we've always been able to pay off Adopt A Family come January. A surprise refund, profit-sharing when Hubby worked private sector, Christmas bonuses when I worked private sector, a winning poker game, whatever--we've never gone into debt for longer than we had to pay it off before interest. I really believe that this because God knows what's on our hearts, and He knows how blessed we already are, but He also knows that there's always a greater lesson every year that we learn during Adopt A Family, and He always provides.
We don't deliberately run up debt thinking that God will magically pay it off--we're completely prepared to pay it off in whatever way we have to. I don't want to sound glib about it. It is never a good idea to go further into debt for anything. However, we know that we make a ridiculous amount of money and that we have an absurd amount of crap that wasn't necessary--and if we can jack up our bills on non-necessities, we can certainly do it for a family that asks for toothbrushes for Christmas.
So there we were in Phoenix, doing our typical I want to buy everything on the list (we have a family of 6 this year) and Hubby doing his they don't need everything, when I somehow just lost it. In the middle of the little girls clothing section. Even the little saleshelp tried to pretend she didn't see me. I don't know if it's the season, or the time of month, or the fact that I was on the eve of turning another year older and realizing that life isn't what I thought it was--not good and not bad, but we'll go into that on another post--but I just started to cry. And I realized that this really sucked. We could only make a tiny difference for a day with a physical something, and it wasn't enough. And I remembered the lady last year that prayed so hard that her grandson (she was a disabled grandmother raising a 12 yoa boy) would have gotten snow boots because it snowed the day of the deliveries and he hadn't had any to wear to school, and sure enough there were the boots. So I cried some more, and Hubby tried to put me together again, and we finished for the night.
The next day was more shopping, and wouldn't you know it if Hubby didn't disappear around a couple of aisles and return with something that almost made me cry again? Everyone in the family needs jackets, and the littlest two need diapers, all children need toothbrushes, and the little boy needed a used car seat. And none of that was fun for a child, so I wanted to find toys and coloring books and dolls and Tonka trucks. After we bought everything on the list (well, we're missing Mom's jacket because I can't find a winter all purpose coat for women in Phoenix--go figure), I thought that Hubby would strangle me for also wanting a new car seat, and I was planning to call the hospital for a donation. Here comes Hubby around the baby aisles, and there's a brand new car seat on top of the basket. I don't know how I didn't lose it in the middle of that store too. I think he was relieved not to have waterworks less than 12 hours apart too!
After the second day of shopping, we went with K&A to their church (it was fun! plus, we don't usually get to see other churches when we travel, and I like that!), and then we went to dinner, where I think I spent too much time between meals (11am-8pm is longer than my grazing schedule normally allows), and I think I was drained, so I got a headache and pretty much collapsed and was no fun once we got back to K&A's house. Sorry I was a bummer if you read this!
So after we bought for our families and jacked up some credit cards for our siblings and parents, and then, as all good traveling exhausted couples do, especially when one is not feeling well, we hit the road to come home. We left at noonish, and by the time we grabbed lunch and were leaving Anthem outlet area, we were fighting. I don't know why we both claim to like traveling when it always includes a day of arguing loudly with each other and at least one of us (not me unless there are two of us doing so, of course) pouting in the car. This time I was driving, and I cranked up Carrie Underwood's new CD that's slightly angrier than the Christmas music and the hymns we had in the Jeep. In my best put off voice I announced that we were now passing the Wildlife thing I always wanted to see but of course never got to see when the great Pout became a martyr and announced we could go, so he'd look like the good guy. Trying to fix him, I pulled over, and we paid $60 for a 2 hour entrance to the park.
Watching the personnel feed raw meat (think heads and such) to lions and jaguars and bears and cougars and tigers and hyenas and wolves put us in a better mood. By the time it was time for the safari adventure (or whatever it's called), and the guide gave everyone a cookie for the giraffe, we were talking and smiling. And by the time the giraffe nuzzled each of us and ate out of our hands, we were ready to be married and in a car together again. Definitely recommend paying $60 to get slobbered on if it means you can remain married and travel home together.
Of course, I needed the giraffe again when Hubby ate corn chips that stunk up the car and I was grouchy about it. Hubby needed the giraffe when I got mad at the jerk in the truck hauling a trailer that didn't move to the left when I was trying to merge back onto I40 and flipped the truck off. Maybe I needed a giraffe again then too. And we both needed the giraffe each time we realized that by now Kiddo has landed in Iraq.
Maybe they loan out the giraffe? Or maybe they at least bottle the spit?
Monday, November 26, 2007
I Never Make Mistakes
I had the privelege of taking the car into be serviced today.
I'm very proud of us--we've been very responsible with this car. Normally we just pay the loan on time and ignore everything else about a vehicle. Ok, so that's what I do--Hubby pays attention to the oil changes and when I gripe about a noise/tug on the wheel/etc., Hubby will figure something out. I was trained at a young age to take care of vehicles--most of my memories of hanging out with my dad involve learning about carburetors and changing brakes. My earlier cars gave us chances to bond over replacing numerous starters and just about everything under the hood of an '85 Pontiac Sunbird (that's right, a sunbird--I was cool with the grandma car until it just stopped running). I have no idea why I'm so lax about it now.
So with this car, (which has all the bells and whistles possible on it except for satellite radio--we chose the other option that I can't remember now and you couldn't have both--and the DVD player--again, can't have sunroof and DVD player--because Hubby is instant-gratification-man and because I'm the type that has to prove a point) we've really strove to make all the appointments and all the deadlines. We're actually 1500 miles ahead on our services because we don't even drive it as hard as the other cars we've owned have been driven (case in point--Hubby's PODD--that's doggie doo--that has well over 130K miles on it and we've owned that for 6 years and put all but 35K on it ourselves).
The bigger point of this long story is that I hate taking the car to get it serviced, because I hate the dealership. I will never, ever, EVER purchase a vehicle from anything that has to do with the Lithia dealerships. The way we got the car was absurd. We went to the dealership and meandered the parking lot for 45 minutes without any car salesperson coming near us. In July. How is it that NO car salespeople wanted to help us? I was in shorts and grubby sneakers, Hubby in shorts and a grungy shirt, so we assume that the evil car people thought we were a)too young to afford a new car and/or b) too poor to talk to. Never mind that we had studied up on Jeeps and checked out safety ratings and prices and packages and were therefore not only willing to walk onto the lot and purchase a Jeep then and there, but fully aware of the costs and able to purchase one. After being ignored, we left and went down the road to another dealership, deciding to check out other cars. We explained our terrible experience to a nice salesman (that followed us to the parking space and greeted us enthusiastically despite our appearances), who said that he used to work for Lithia and HE called over to the first dealership and told them that two nice people had left and that they had almost lost a sale but that he was giving up his potential commission and sending us back. Wouldn't you know it--upon our return to the first dealership, they were magically willing to help us! Who begs a dealership to sell a ridiculously priced vehicle to them? Us. I had to buy the car to prove to these people that we could so afford it and Hubby had to buy the car because it is a sweet ride and has a lot of bells and whistles and things I don't know how to work now 2 years later.
As we were learning the "benefits" of financing the Jeep with Chrysler/Dodge, the finance man had the nerve to complain about it being after his normal hours and that's why he was in a hurry to get through the paperwork. That made me determined to make him stay longer. Hubby told him it was his own dealership's fault, and we asked a million questions about purchasing some terribly expensive additional warranty. The finance man told us it covered things like towing, rental cars when the Jeep was being serviced, the majority of the parts that aren't covered after the original warranty, and a zillion other things I can't remember. Turns out none of that is true. On average, the Jeep spends about 3-6 hours being maintenanced whenever I take it down (I usually have the big months, Hubby gets the oil change only months). However, there's no rental car offered. Never mind that we drive an hour to get it serviced, or that in order for me to do anything else during this time, a friend or Hubby has to drive that hour as well and then cart my happy rear end around Santa Fe. All that the additional several thousand dollar warranty is good for is lifetime oil changes. Guess while I was trying to make him stay longer to piss him off, the finance man was figuring out how to screw me royally.
Then there's the fact that a part was recalled on the Jeep. Nobody mentioned this to us--we had to take the Jeep in 3 times before they heard the noise and agreed something was wrong, and then when they agreed, they announced that the part had been recalled anyway, so they were replacing all the parts. Of course, we scheduled a separate appointment for that--an appointment that would last 2-3 hours according to the maintenance manager. After 4 hours, the manager confessed to me that they didn't order enough parts for all the tires (everyone knows that a car only drives on 3 wheels, right?) and I would have to come back again. So I made yet another trip down where I sat for 5 hours. And the noise is still in the back of the Jeep, like it was last January when we began this quest for finding the noise.
So as I pull in today, and I give my last name, the manager says, "Oh, _____(insert Hubby's name here)." Of course Hubby has chewed them out several times in the past, and I sent scathing remarks back on a recent survey about the dealership. Manager tells me it'll be another 2-3 hour appointment--which Hubby failed to tell me, but my past experience has taught me to bring a book. I bet it really should have only taken 15 minutes, but again, Lithia is out to screw me.
Why do we still go there? It ain't the service--see all of the above paragraphs. It ain't the coffee--they don't even offer free coffee (but if we'd bought at the dealership next door, we'd get coffee and doughnuts--that's what my parents get). It ain't the other clientele--although the scruffy toothless man and his friend the volunteer fireman in an even more podunk town that hit on me in the waiting room did soften me up...it's been a long time since anyone tried to flirt with me. We're afraid of voiding the several thousand dollar warranty that nobody knows what it's good for other than lifetime oil changes.
That, and I don't really want to look like we made a mistake, because I never make mistakes :)
I'm very proud of us--we've been very responsible with this car. Normally we just pay the loan on time and ignore everything else about a vehicle. Ok, so that's what I do--Hubby pays attention to the oil changes and when I gripe about a noise/tug on the wheel/etc., Hubby will figure something out. I was trained at a young age to take care of vehicles--most of my memories of hanging out with my dad involve learning about carburetors and changing brakes. My earlier cars gave us chances to bond over replacing numerous starters and just about everything under the hood of an '85 Pontiac Sunbird (that's right, a sunbird--I was cool with the grandma car until it just stopped running). I have no idea why I'm so lax about it now.
So with this car, (which has all the bells and whistles possible on it except for satellite radio--we chose the other option that I can't remember now and you couldn't have both--and the DVD player--again, can't have sunroof and DVD player--because Hubby is instant-gratification-man and because I'm the type that has to prove a point) we've really strove to make all the appointments and all the deadlines. We're actually 1500 miles ahead on our services because we don't even drive it as hard as the other cars we've owned have been driven (case in point--Hubby's PODD--that's doggie doo--that has well over 130K miles on it and we've owned that for 6 years and put all but 35K on it ourselves).
The bigger point of this long story is that I hate taking the car to get it serviced, because I hate the dealership. I will never, ever, EVER purchase a vehicle from anything that has to do with the Lithia dealerships. The way we got the car was absurd. We went to the dealership and meandered the parking lot for 45 minutes without any car salesperson coming near us. In July. How is it that NO car salespeople wanted to help us? I was in shorts and grubby sneakers, Hubby in shorts and a grungy shirt, so we assume that the evil car people thought we were a)too young to afford a new car and/or b) too poor to talk to. Never mind that we had studied up on Jeeps and checked out safety ratings and prices and packages and were therefore not only willing to walk onto the lot and purchase a Jeep then and there, but fully aware of the costs and able to purchase one. After being ignored, we left and went down the road to another dealership, deciding to check out other cars. We explained our terrible experience to a nice salesman (that followed us to the parking space and greeted us enthusiastically despite our appearances), who said that he used to work for Lithia and HE called over to the first dealership and told them that two nice people had left and that they had almost lost a sale but that he was giving up his potential commission and sending us back. Wouldn't you know it--upon our return to the first dealership, they were magically willing to help us! Who begs a dealership to sell a ridiculously priced vehicle to them? Us. I had to buy the car to prove to these people that we could so afford it and Hubby had to buy the car because it is a sweet ride and has a lot of bells and whistles and things I don't know how to work now 2 years later.
As we were learning the "benefits" of financing the Jeep with Chrysler/Dodge, the finance man had the nerve to complain about it being after his normal hours and that's why he was in a hurry to get through the paperwork. That made me determined to make him stay longer. Hubby told him it was his own dealership's fault, and we asked a million questions about purchasing some terribly expensive additional warranty. The finance man told us it covered things like towing, rental cars when the Jeep was being serviced, the majority of the parts that aren't covered after the original warranty, and a zillion other things I can't remember. Turns out none of that is true. On average, the Jeep spends about 3-6 hours being maintenanced whenever I take it down (I usually have the big months, Hubby gets the oil change only months). However, there's no rental car offered. Never mind that we drive an hour to get it serviced, or that in order for me to do anything else during this time, a friend or Hubby has to drive that hour as well and then cart my happy rear end around Santa Fe. All that the additional several thousand dollar warranty is good for is lifetime oil changes. Guess while I was trying to make him stay longer to piss him off, the finance man was figuring out how to screw me royally.
Then there's the fact that a part was recalled on the Jeep. Nobody mentioned this to us--we had to take the Jeep in 3 times before they heard the noise and agreed something was wrong, and then when they agreed, they announced that the part had been recalled anyway, so they were replacing all the parts. Of course, we scheduled a separate appointment for that--an appointment that would last 2-3 hours according to the maintenance manager. After 4 hours, the manager confessed to me that they didn't order enough parts for all the tires (everyone knows that a car only drives on 3 wheels, right?) and I would have to come back again. So I made yet another trip down where I sat for 5 hours. And the noise is still in the back of the Jeep, like it was last January when we began this quest for finding the noise.
So as I pull in today, and I give my last name, the manager says, "Oh, _____(insert Hubby's name here)." Of course Hubby has chewed them out several times in the past, and I sent scathing remarks back on a recent survey about the dealership. Manager tells me it'll be another 2-3 hour appointment--which Hubby failed to tell me, but my past experience has taught me to bring a book. I bet it really should have only taken 15 minutes, but again, Lithia is out to screw me.
Why do we still go there? It ain't the service--see all of the above paragraphs. It ain't the coffee--they don't even offer free coffee (but if we'd bought at the dealership next door, we'd get coffee and doughnuts--that's what my parents get). It ain't the other clientele--although the scruffy toothless man and his friend the volunteer fireman in an even more podunk town that hit on me in the waiting room did soften me up...it's been a long time since anyone tried to flirt with me. We're afraid of voiding the several thousand dollar warranty that nobody knows what it's good for other than lifetime oil changes.
That, and I don't really want to look like we made a mistake, because I never make mistakes :)
Friday, November 23, 2007
Thought for the Day
As I'm prepping the other post (which was rather dry, I confess), an officer posed an interesting thought. We were discussing the imbibing on Thanksgiving, and the fact that it makes us stuffed to the point were we could be ill (pleasant thought, I know). Officer Homeboy pondered how grizzly bears eat enough to hibernate and don't get sick. We discussed that that could be how they sleep for months. Then came the inevitable question of how their bodies shut down and necessary functions aren't necessary for months--especially after consuming so much food. Any ideas?
That's rhetorical of course :)
That's rhetorical of course :)
The Kiddo, C, and CO
I got so caught up in the dog and in Hubby's new hobby (to be fair, he's only had 1 out of the 6-pack), that I forgot to share about Colorado last weekend.
I love Colorado. I think that if we could live anywhere, I'd totally live there. Beautiful scenery, great mountains, blue skies (even when it rains!)--and I hate the outdoors. However, the ease of flowing from one city to the next and the comforts that come with suburbia, and the option of having all four seasons and green grass can't be beat. Every time we come home from CO, we talk about how great it would be to live there. Of course, we said that about Phoenix too--but Hubby confessed that he doesn't want the heat that comes with Phoenix in July :)
So our mission was to see our kiddo before he ships out to Iraq. I tease Kiddo that he's the little brother I never wanted but got stuck with somehow, and he responds in kind to me. Years ago, Hubby was a Sunday School teacher for junior high kids at the old church, and he caught wind that there was a need for a junior high youth group. I can't even swear that we were married when he started working with jr. highers in a youth group setting, and that evolved into Hubby being the deacon dude in charge of the youth ministry--which we did for like 7 years. Kiddo was part of the first junior high youth group, at the tender, impressionable age of 11. Hubby took on a big role in several teenagers' lives, but he took on an even bigger role with Kiddo. Hubby and Kiddo did everything together for years, and Hubby was a big brother/mentor/friend/leader/authority for Kiddo. Kiddo moved in with us his senior year in high school, and when Hubby and I separated and Kiddo had to move out, it broke all of our hearts. Kiddo was "adopted" by my parents, and I am truly blessed that Kiddo's mom is a good friend and sister in Christ and that she "adopted" me. Bottom line is that our lives are totally mixed with Kiddo's life, and I can't imagine not having Kiddo in it. So when Kiddo entered the Army to be in the Infintry, my heart sank.
The military is a good place for Kiddo to be, and he has grown and matured since entering it over a year ago. Unfortunately, Kiddo got pulled for 24 hour duty the weekend we were going to see him, so we only got him for a couple of hours Friday night. We took him to dinner and to an awful movie (hey, he chose it!), and then it was time to part ways. I asked Kiddo if he was frightened about going to Iraq, and he answered that he knew it wasn't a matter of if he was going to be hit, but when and whether it kills him or not is not in his hands. Kiddo currently drives a big machine, and it will take a ton of prayers for him and his crew to return safely. So start praying now! His tour is for 15 months, and they leave in the next week to 10 days reportedly.
I'm a nervous wreck for him, and I know Hubby is worried for him as well. We're so proud of him, and we're so thankful to our men and women of the Armed Forces--especially today they're on my mind, because without them, I wouldn't be free.
Saturday we met a friend from my work in Castle Rock and blew my paycheck. How weird is it that I don't get together with this friend in my own state, but put us both out of state and we hang out? Her daughter is gorgeous, and 2, and she was quite taken with Hubby. We did the shopping thing for hours, and went to meet my long lost friend C for the evening.
I lived in the big city in NM for about a year when I was young and single, and it was there that I met C and her husband and their darling boys. The boys will always hold a very special place in my heart, as will C and her husband. I don't think I can ever thank C enough for her support when we lived in the city--she was my main support system--and it was in my friendship with C and while I was living there that I really began to discover who I was. Unfortunately, the boys were sick, and C's husband stayed home with them, so we didn't see them.
It totally rocked to hang out with C. She and Hubby are a lot alike, and have the same sense of humor and trains of thought. C was great enough to venture into Victoria's Secret with me, and she was good enough to Hubby to prevent some "underwear disasters" that she thought may happen. C and Hubby are so much alike that it's a little scary to sit at the table between them. We closed down PF Changs and then went to Dennys for pie. Is it a bad sign that the first thing I noticed about a dude in Dennys was his prison tats across his neck? After we ran out of room and places to go, we parted ways and agreed not to let another 4 years go by without seeing each other. We won't go into how she's been to NM a hundred times and just hasn't seen me...or how I've been in CO a hundred times and just haven't seen her :)
So we're home this weekend, and then we're off to Phoenix next weekend for another weekend of blowing my paycheck...hopefully that trip will involve actually purchasing items for others too!
I love Colorado. I think that if we could live anywhere, I'd totally live there. Beautiful scenery, great mountains, blue skies (even when it rains!)--and I hate the outdoors. However, the ease of flowing from one city to the next and the comforts that come with suburbia, and the option of having all four seasons and green grass can't be beat. Every time we come home from CO, we talk about how great it would be to live there. Of course, we said that about Phoenix too--but Hubby confessed that he doesn't want the heat that comes with Phoenix in July :)
So our mission was to see our kiddo before he ships out to Iraq. I tease Kiddo that he's the little brother I never wanted but got stuck with somehow, and he responds in kind to me. Years ago, Hubby was a Sunday School teacher for junior high kids at the old church, and he caught wind that there was a need for a junior high youth group. I can't even swear that we were married when he started working with jr. highers in a youth group setting, and that evolved into Hubby being the deacon dude in charge of the youth ministry--which we did for like 7 years. Kiddo was part of the first junior high youth group, at the tender, impressionable age of 11. Hubby took on a big role in several teenagers' lives, but he took on an even bigger role with Kiddo. Hubby and Kiddo did everything together for years, and Hubby was a big brother/mentor/friend/leader/authority for Kiddo. Kiddo moved in with us his senior year in high school, and when Hubby and I separated and Kiddo had to move out, it broke all of our hearts. Kiddo was "adopted" by my parents, and I am truly blessed that Kiddo's mom is a good friend and sister in Christ and that she "adopted" me. Bottom line is that our lives are totally mixed with Kiddo's life, and I can't imagine not having Kiddo in it. So when Kiddo entered the Army to be in the Infintry, my heart sank.
The military is a good place for Kiddo to be, and he has grown and matured since entering it over a year ago. Unfortunately, Kiddo got pulled for 24 hour duty the weekend we were going to see him, so we only got him for a couple of hours Friday night. We took him to dinner and to an awful movie (hey, he chose it!), and then it was time to part ways. I asked Kiddo if he was frightened about going to Iraq, and he answered that he knew it wasn't a matter of if he was going to be hit, but when and whether it kills him or not is not in his hands. Kiddo currently drives a big machine, and it will take a ton of prayers for him and his crew to return safely. So start praying now! His tour is for 15 months, and they leave in the next week to 10 days reportedly.
I'm a nervous wreck for him, and I know Hubby is worried for him as well. We're so proud of him, and we're so thankful to our men and women of the Armed Forces--especially today they're on my mind, because without them, I wouldn't be free.
Saturday we met a friend from my work in Castle Rock and blew my paycheck. How weird is it that I don't get together with this friend in my own state, but put us both out of state and we hang out? Her daughter is gorgeous, and 2, and she was quite taken with Hubby. We did the shopping thing for hours, and went to meet my long lost friend C for the evening.
I lived in the big city in NM for about a year when I was young and single, and it was there that I met C and her husband and their darling boys. The boys will always hold a very special place in my heart, as will C and her husband. I don't think I can ever thank C enough for her support when we lived in the city--she was my main support system--and it was in my friendship with C and while I was living there that I really began to discover who I was. Unfortunately, the boys were sick, and C's husband stayed home with them, so we didn't see them.
It totally rocked to hang out with C. She and Hubby are a lot alike, and have the same sense of humor and trains of thought. C was great enough to venture into Victoria's Secret with me, and she was good enough to Hubby to prevent some "underwear disasters" that she thought may happen. C and Hubby are so much alike that it's a little scary to sit at the table between them. We closed down PF Changs and then went to Dennys for pie. Is it a bad sign that the first thing I noticed about a dude in Dennys was his prison tats across his neck? After we ran out of room and places to go, we parted ways and agreed not to let another 4 years go by without seeing each other. We won't go into how she's been to NM a hundred times and just hasn't seen me...or how I've been in CO a hundred times and just haven't seen her :)
So we're home this weekend, and then we're off to Phoenix next weekend for another weekend of blowing my paycheck...hopefully that trip will involve actually purchasing items for others too!
Monday, November 19, 2007
Boozing It Up
First, a quick update on Malachi: I groveled at Animal Control's feet (and the officer was very nice). AC is pleased with our fence (thank God it's completed) because now Malachi can be banished outside (if it was still chain link, that's too risky as some jerk could put his/her hand through the chain link). Also, Hubby and I are allowed to play with Malachi, but he can't be around other people or other animals, including the cats. So now we alternate who's allowed out when and when some are outside, the other is in and vice versa. The 10 days can't pass quick enough!
Secondly, I realize that I ended yesterday's post with a note that Hubby was drinking and that we don't do that much. There's a couple of reasons for that: I can't hold my liquor (half a wine cooler and I'm giggling at everything) and Hubby has never liked the taste of beer and apparently spent enough college years with the hard stuff that he's outgrown that interest other than on rare occasions--or so I thought.
We're in the local grocery store (there's only one option for MILES) and I ask Hubby if we have everything. Hubby responds that he's decided to start drinking beer, so we need to get some. Fascinated, I ask why now he's interested in beer. Hubby's response? "I feel guilty when I turn down a beer."
Thank God he's not in charge of the Pentagon. "Why are you sending soldiers and tanks to Switzerland?" "I feel guilty they don't ever have any tanks hanging around."
What if he were in charge of the Victoria Secret catalog? "Why are there fat people on the pages?" "I feel guilty that some people should never ever wear thongs."
Seriously. What sort of an answer is "I feel guilty when I turn down a beer?" I'm sure it doesn't hurt anybody's feelings that they spent whatever amount on a six-pack and Hubby is not going to drink their last one.
So what sort of beer is Hubby starting with? Guinness.
And to think that this is what a higher education can buy you. I'm sure one of his MBA courses was "How to Win Friends and Influence People" and step one was "Always accept a beer."
What an excuse to booze it up :) What happened to learning say no so you could watch everyone else get smashed at the company party and you'd be holding the pictures on Monday morning?
Secondly, I realize that I ended yesterday's post with a note that Hubby was drinking and that we don't do that much. There's a couple of reasons for that: I can't hold my liquor (half a wine cooler and I'm giggling at everything) and Hubby has never liked the taste of beer and apparently spent enough college years with the hard stuff that he's outgrown that interest other than on rare occasions--or so I thought.
We're in the local grocery store (there's only one option for MILES) and I ask Hubby if we have everything. Hubby responds that he's decided to start drinking beer, so we need to get some. Fascinated, I ask why now he's interested in beer. Hubby's response? "I feel guilty when I turn down a beer."
Thank God he's not in charge of the Pentagon. "Why are you sending soldiers and tanks to Switzerland?" "I feel guilty they don't ever have any tanks hanging around."
What if he were in charge of the Victoria Secret catalog? "Why are there fat people on the pages?" "I feel guilty that some people should never ever wear thongs."
Seriously. What sort of an answer is "I feel guilty when I turn down a beer?" I'm sure it doesn't hurt anybody's feelings that they spent whatever amount on a six-pack and Hubby is not going to drink their last one.
So what sort of beer is Hubby starting with? Guinness.
And to think that this is what a higher education can buy you. I'm sure one of his MBA courses was "How to Win Friends and Influence People" and step one was "Always accept a beer."
What an excuse to booze it up :) What happened to learning say no so you could watch everyone else get smashed at the company party and you'd be holding the pictures on Monday morning?
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Why I Don't Have Children Yet
Whomever it was that said that pets were good practice for children may have had a valid point.
We used to wonder why we didn't have children. We assumed, stupidly, that it really was because of my bizarre medical issues. Then we assumed it was because God knew our marriage was going to need some work (He was right, of course!). Now that we're back on solid ground, and back to pondering the child question, we have discovered the truth: if we can't properly raise a puppy, we don't deserve a child.
We just got home from Colorado. We raced in and dropped of the bags and bags of crap we bought (Merry Christmas to ourselves...and again, we always wonder why we can't get the credit card debt paid off and left paid off!..maybe there's a lesson there too) and raced out to pick up our "heathens" from our friend that's way too good to us and always watches them.
For those of you that don't really know me, we have a zoo. There's Thomas, the fat cat (he's like 21 pounds--for real), Elsa, the kitten (who is actually not a kitten after being here for 2 years), Thor, the old dog (Rottweiler/doberman mix), Andy, the middle child (golden retriever/cocker spaniel mix), and Malachi, the baby (German Shepard and possibly greyhound cross). And there's a family of mice that sometimes take up residence, but Thomas is pretty good at evicting them. All of this in a house that is under 1100 square feet.
So Malachi is just about 3 years old. Malachi and Thor have a long running record of jumping the fence in our backyard, and we have finally gotten a large privacy fence to contain them. Malachi and Thor attended puppy obedience school, and Malachi passed with flying colors (Thor was a doggie school dropout--The Fire came during the last 2 weeks of class, so Thor never graduated).
So, we left to go see our kiddo that's shipping off to Iraq in under a month, and our friend L, who truly is a saint, agreed to keep the dogs and we had a teenager come to watch the cats. Saint L often watches our "boys" and we watch her dog (a very well behaved Brittany Spaniel) when she's out of town. This has been our arrangement for over 4 years, and in fact, L has been upset when we've hired a doggie sitter in the past. I think she's changed her mind.
Apparently at 1300 this date, Malachi bit L's neighbor. On the arse. Hard.
Said neighbor is a former co-worker of Hubby, and a current co-worker of L. Said neighbor has a dog, and a hundred years ago (well, at least over a year, and we think around two years ago), Thor and Malachi jumped the fence and went to play with the neighbor's dog. That's the only time we know about the dogs interacting. Since that time, L has only permitted the dogs into the side yard, that has a large fence and nobody has jumped that fence.
When neighbor got bit today, he announced that the dogs always are jumping the fence and attacking his dog. L didn't even know it had happened. Neighbor came over to talk with L about trimming some bushes, and L opened the door and when Neighbor was done talking with L, he turned and Malachi ran out, did the criminal deed, and L chased him to keep him from running into the street. She had no idea it happened. Neighbor took a picture of the injured area, and showed it to L. L burst into tears, and told us what happened when we arrived to get the dogs, about 5 hours later.
Seeing as how I work with the Poh-lice, and I know that it's against the law not to report an animal bite, I called the PD. I had to explain the story twice to my dispatch co-workers. Hubby went to Neighbor to apologize and to tell him that the police were coming and would need to talk with him (at which point the Neighbor told Hubby that because sometime Neighbor had said hello to Hubby and Hubby didn't acknowledge Neighbor, Neighbor didn't think Hubby was sincere in his apology). Then I had to listen as it was explained to the 3, yes, that's not a typo, 3 officers that came to take the report.
So now Malachi is under quarantine at our house. This means he's locked in the extra bedroom while the other animals are loose in the house. Malachi is not allowed near other animals or people for 10 days. The animal control officer will contact us tomorrow, and I'll get further instructions. We'll most likely be issued a citation and have a mandatory court appearance. Malachi will have a black splotch on his record, and so will Hubby and I.
There's no explanation for Malachi's behavior--he's never been aggressive, and nobody thinks he was provoked. However, about two months ago, before the big fence, there was a teeny-bopper and her friends walking by the little fence, and Malachi jumped the fence and jumped up on the teeny-bopper, scratching her. Mom of teeny-bopper and Hubby met, and agreed there was no bite, but just a scratch...until Mom got home and called the police, where yours truly answered the phone. The officer that responded that time agreed it was just a scratch and there was no proof of a bite--but that was the same officer that responded tonight. So now I look like a jerk in front of my co-workers.
And Malachi's pitiful wails of woe and his whimpers are enough to have me sitting with tears rolling down my face and to have Hubby drinking...something we very rarely do in this house. And the other two dogs just watch us like they are condemning us for being terrible pet parents. Even the cats are hiding from me.
It's painfully obvious to me why we don't have children yet.
We used to wonder why we didn't have children. We assumed, stupidly, that it really was because of my bizarre medical issues. Then we assumed it was because God knew our marriage was going to need some work (He was right, of course!). Now that we're back on solid ground, and back to pondering the child question, we have discovered the truth: if we can't properly raise a puppy, we don't deserve a child.
We just got home from Colorado. We raced in and dropped of the bags and bags of crap we bought (Merry Christmas to ourselves...and again, we always wonder why we can't get the credit card debt paid off and left paid off!..maybe there's a lesson there too) and raced out to pick up our "heathens" from our friend that's way too good to us and always watches them.
For those of you that don't really know me, we have a zoo. There's Thomas, the fat cat (he's like 21 pounds--for real), Elsa, the kitten (who is actually not a kitten after being here for 2 years), Thor, the old dog (Rottweiler/doberman mix), Andy, the middle child (golden retriever/cocker spaniel mix), and Malachi, the baby (German Shepard and possibly greyhound cross). And there's a family of mice that sometimes take up residence, but Thomas is pretty good at evicting them. All of this in a house that is under 1100 square feet.
So Malachi is just about 3 years old. Malachi and Thor have a long running record of jumping the fence in our backyard, and we have finally gotten a large privacy fence to contain them. Malachi and Thor attended puppy obedience school, and Malachi passed with flying colors (Thor was a doggie school dropout--The Fire came during the last 2 weeks of class, so Thor never graduated).
So, we left to go see our kiddo that's shipping off to Iraq in under a month, and our friend L, who truly is a saint, agreed to keep the dogs and we had a teenager come to watch the cats. Saint L often watches our "boys" and we watch her dog (a very well behaved Brittany Spaniel) when she's out of town. This has been our arrangement for over 4 years, and in fact, L has been upset when we've hired a doggie sitter in the past. I think she's changed her mind.
Apparently at 1300 this date, Malachi bit L's neighbor. On the arse. Hard.
Said neighbor is a former co-worker of Hubby, and a current co-worker of L. Said neighbor has a dog, and a hundred years ago (well, at least over a year, and we think around two years ago), Thor and Malachi jumped the fence and went to play with the neighbor's dog. That's the only time we know about the dogs interacting. Since that time, L has only permitted the dogs into the side yard, that has a large fence and nobody has jumped that fence.
When neighbor got bit today, he announced that the dogs always are jumping the fence and attacking his dog. L didn't even know it had happened. Neighbor came over to talk with L about trimming some bushes, and L opened the door and when Neighbor was done talking with L, he turned and Malachi ran out, did the criminal deed, and L chased him to keep him from running into the street. She had no idea it happened. Neighbor took a picture of the injured area, and showed it to L. L burst into tears, and told us what happened when we arrived to get the dogs, about 5 hours later.
Seeing as how I work with the Poh-lice, and I know that it's against the law not to report an animal bite, I called the PD. I had to explain the story twice to my dispatch co-workers. Hubby went to Neighbor to apologize and to tell him that the police were coming and would need to talk with him (at which point the Neighbor told Hubby that because sometime Neighbor had said hello to Hubby and Hubby didn't acknowledge Neighbor, Neighbor didn't think Hubby was sincere in his apology). Then I had to listen as it was explained to the 3, yes, that's not a typo, 3 officers that came to take the report.
So now Malachi is under quarantine at our house. This means he's locked in the extra bedroom while the other animals are loose in the house. Malachi is not allowed near other animals or people for 10 days. The animal control officer will contact us tomorrow, and I'll get further instructions. We'll most likely be issued a citation and have a mandatory court appearance. Malachi will have a black splotch on his record, and so will Hubby and I.
There's no explanation for Malachi's behavior--he's never been aggressive, and nobody thinks he was provoked. However, about two months ago, before the big fence, there was a teeny-bopper and her friends walking by the little fence, and Malachi jumped the fence and jumped up on the teeny-bopper, scratching her. Mom of teeny-bopper and Hubby met, and agreed there was no bite, but just a scratch...until Mom got home and called the police, where yours truly answered the phone. The officer that responded that time agreed it was just a scratch and there was no proof of a bite--but that was the same officer that responded tonight. So now I look like a jerk in front of my co-workers.
And Malachi's pitiful wails of woe and his whimpers are enough to have me sitting with tears rolling down my face and to have Hubby drinking...something we very rarely do in this house. And the other two dogs just watch us like they are condemning us for being terrible pet parents. Even the cats are hiding from me.
It's painfully obvious to me why we don't have children yet.
Friday, November 9, 2007
Of Measurements and Mexico
Ah....to be on solid ground...actually, it's very unnerving because I keep swaying like I think the Earth is moving or something!
We're finally home, and I just walked in the door. Well, I walked in about an hour ago, but there was mail and e-mail and it's all piled up. Good thing I'm not someone important, or I'd be overwhelmed :)
The cruise was a lot of fun! I'm going to try not to bore you all the long details, but I'm going to give you some play by play action. The drive down was a million miles (we didn't go all the way to Galveston--we stopped about 45 minutes away), so I did get to know at least the names and some brief information on the ladies in the van with me (there were 11 in the van and another 5 in another car--and I did talk with them on food breaks). What a fabulous group of ladies--and I'm being totally sincere, as none of them have my blog address yet ;) It was really nice to be able to surround myself with Christian women and to have a great sense of peace about the trip.
The boat was actually not as big as I thought. I mean, it was huge (crew of 900 and 2500 passengers), but I think it's one of the smaller that Carnival has. And Carnival is a party cruise line to be sure. It didn't take long at all to get on the ship, and I was able to room with my long lost friend "K" aka Kristin (check our her blog linked to this page). That was another great blessing because K and I have been friends since high school, and I feel totally comfortable with her and it's like although months go by, our friendship picks up where it left off.
I guess it's a good thing that I've outgrown the must be drunk to have a good time phase (actually, I never hit that phase but did manage to get slightly sloshed on a conference once before--that's the only claim to fame I have as a drunk...oh, and the time I set the oven on fire because I hid the alcohol in the oven when I wasn't quite so clear and had to call the fire department). However, it was refreshing to see that you never outgrow the need to have fun, and even more interesting to see that the most intoxicated on board were all over 60 years old. Totally have K's permission to share this story, and I'm sure she'll post it better on her site. We were at formal night and K was dressed dashingly, but needed to take off her slip after dinner as she discovered that it was longer than her slit in the dress would allow. We meet up with two ladies that must have been 297 years old, and they had been having a "good time" for hours. One of them decided that she needed to help K, and much to everyone's surprise (there were like 7-8 ladies in the area of the restroom), she launched herself on the floor and put her whole upper body under K's dress. This very....friendly...lady became so intent on assisting K, and with the ship rocking (apparently the roughest seas are between Galveston and Cozumel), let's just say that she wasn't very successful. I don't think any of us have laughed so hard--we were literally on the floor with laughter, and that had nothing to do with the fact that one couldn't walk straight because of the sea!
Everyone talks about the food on a ship, and as I am the pickiest eater (you can't tell from looking at me!), I loved having so many choices. My favorite was of course the dessert--and the fact that you can as many as you want. To work it off, I walked a ton on the ship (almost always took the stairs and walked the boat each night)...I'm sure I only gained 20 pounds instead of 21, but that's okay.
K and I rented a moped to see Cozumel. We ended up with a double seater, and I left the driving up to K. K was very sweet about my trusting her to drive, but I don't think I actually thought twice about it--which is odd, because after a rollover a couple of years ago, I barely trust Hubby to drive me around. If anyone can explain to me why the United States doesn't use the same systems for measurement as the rest of the world, that would be great. Obviously everything was in meters and the speed limit would be posted like 40 km or something...not that any of the Mexicans followed it. The moped topped out at 60 (or that was the recommended speed for it), and I think we stayed pretty close to it. We went all the way around Cozumel, and the beaches are gorgeous--just like the pictures. I proved that I should never ever get in an ocean, as the minute I got in the rocks were being washed ashore and onto me and I did get a cut--a teeny, tiny scratch really--on my foot. We didn't leave the shore to venture into the ocean though. We found a really neat restaurant on top of a cliff purely by accident, and had our first lesson in how many pesos make up a US dollar (it's not 100 pesos=1 dollar, by the way). Spent some money (I actually spent more money on the ship with the spa!), watched K talk several dealers down in price, and got back on the ship.
Second stop was the Yucatan/Progresso. Progresso is very dirty and very poor and very depressing....like Juarez by the ocean. There's a strip of a boardwalk that looks fairly nice, but as soon as you head a half a block into the town, you see the poverty. I didn't actually stop in Progresso because I took an excursion into Merridia (probably am spelling that wrong) where I rode a segway for the first time ever. You may recognize the segway from the commercials with all the little old people cruising a street aboard a two wheel scooter--the scooter is not vertical but horizontal--and you control it by leaning forward or backward. It's much harder than it sounds to get started, and the turning controls are under your left hand. You push forward for one way and backwards for the other--and I never got that right. It's all about balance, and after being on the choppy water, it was hoot to watch us. We were all dressed nicely in the helmets and the little elbow and knee protectors--I felt like a little kid, but I'm really glad we had them because had we not, I would have fallen off. The excursion included a tour of the museum of history in Merridia, and our tour guide was fantastic. He was very proud of his Mayan heritage and speaks Mayan, Spanish and English fluently. He also speaks Italian--but not as well as the others. He learned them all as a child. He also told us that in the Yucatan, teachers in the smaller villages have to speak Mayan and Spanish in order to teach school. How is it that other countries can teach children multiple languages but the United States doesn't consider it important enough to be mandatory?
It was interesting because our group was 44 women with ages varying from 19 to 83 years old (and two 12 year olds). I was doubly glad to have K with us because there's a bit of a gap where the ladies are 19-24 and then the others were mostly I'd say late 30s and up, so although most of my friends are over 30, I don't really see us as being the older crowd, but I'm definitely not the younger crowd. I think they were surprised by my age too (the younger crowd) because one of them finally ventured to ask me how old I am--and then was unable to ask anything else :) And watching three or four of them made me very reminiscent of the days when we used to take the youth group all over.
So after another day at sea, and another ridiculously long drive last night (I actually drove from outside of Ft. Worth to Amarillo hauling a trailer for the first time ever and I didn't cause any accidents!) where we stopped in Amarillo at 0200 and then left at 0900 to come home. The trip was definitely worth it, and I will feel so much better about recognizing faces in church. I was really ready to come home, too. And that feeling will only last until work figures out I'm in town and calls me to come in.
We're finally home, and I just walked in the door. Well, I walked in about an hour ago, but there was mail and e-mail and it's all piled up. Good thing I'm not someone important, or I'd be overwhelmed :)
The cruise was a lot of fun! I'm going to try not to bore you all the long details, but I'm going to give you some play by play action. The drive down was a million miles (we didn't go all the way to Galveston--we stopped about 45 minutes away), so I did get to know at least the names and some brief information on the ladies in the van with me (there were 11 in the van and another 5 in another car--and I did talk with them on food breaks). What a fabulous group of ladies--and I'm being totally sincere, as none of them have my blog address yet ;) It was really nice to be able to surround myself with Christian women and to have a great sense of peace about the trip.
The boat was actually not as big as I thought. I mean, it was huge (crew of 900 and 2500 passengers), but I think it's one of the smaller that Carnival has. And Carnival is a party cruise line to be sure. It didn't take long at all to get on the ship, and I was able to room with my long lost friend "K" aka Kristin (check our her blog linked to this page). That was another great blessing because K and I have been friends since high school, and I feel totally comfortable with her and it's like although months go by, our friendship picks up where it left off.
I guess it's a good thing that I've outgrown the must be drunk to have a good time phase (actually, I never hit that phase but did manage to get slightly sloshed on a conference once before--that's the only claim to fame I have as a drunk...oh, and the time I set the oven on fire because I hid the alcohol in the oven when I wasn't quite so clear and had to call the fire department). However, it was refreshing to see that you never outgrow the need to have fun, and even more interesting to see that the most intoxicated on board were all over 60 years old. Totally have K's permission to share this story, and I'm sure she'll post it better on her site. We were at formal night and K was dressed dashingly, but needed to take off her slip after dinner as she discovered that it was longer than her slit in the dress would allow. We meet up with two ladies that must have been 297 years old, and they had been having a "good time" for hours. One of them decided that she needed to help K, and much to everyone's surprise (there were like 7-8 ladies in the area of the restroom), she launched herself on the floor and put her whole upper body under K's dress. This very....friendly...lady became so intent on assisting K, and with the ship rocking (apparently the roughest seas are between Galveston and Cozumel), let's just say that she wasn't very successful. I don't think any of us have laughed so hard--we were literally on the floor with laughter, and that had nothing to do with the fact that one couldn't walk straight because of the sea!
Everyone talks about the food on a ship, and as I am the pickiest eater (you can't tell from looking at me!), I loved having so many choices. My favorite was of course the dessert--and the fact that you can as many as you want. To work it off, I walked a ton on the ship (almost always took the stairs and walked the boat each night)...I'm sure I only gained 20 pounds instead of 21, but that's okay.
K and I rented a moped to see Cozumel. We ended up with a double seater, and I left the driving up to K. K was very sweet about my trusting her to drive, but I don't think I actually thought twice about it--which is odd, because after a rollover a couple of years ago, I barely trust Hubby to drive me around. If anyone can explain to me why the United States doesn't use the same systems for measurement as the rest of the world, that would be great. Obviously everything was in meters and the speed limit would be posted like 40 km or something...not that any of the Mexicans followed it. The moped topped out at 60 (or that was the recommended speed for it), and I think we stayed pretty close to it. We went all the way around Cozumel, and the beaches are gorgeous--just like the pictures. I proved that I should never ever get in an ocean, as the minute I got in the rocks were being washed ashore and onto me and I did get a cut--a teeny, tiny scratch really--on my foot. We didn't leave the shore to venture into the ocean though. We found a really neat restaurant on top of a cliff purely by accident, and had our first lesson in how many pesos make up a US dollar (it's not 100 pesos=1 dollar, by the way). Spent some money (I actually spent more money on the ship with the spa!), watched K talk several dealers down in price, and got back on the ship.
Second stop was the Yucatan/Progresso. Progresso is very dirty and very poor and very depressing....like Juarez by the ocean. There's a strip of a boardwalk that looks fairly nice, but as soon as you head a half a block into the town, you see the poverty. I didn't actually stop in Progresso because I took an excursion into Merridia (probably am spelling that wrong) where I rode a segway for the first time ever. You may recognize the segway from the commercials with all the little old people cruising a street aboard a two wheel scooter--the scooter is not vertical but horizontal--and you control it by leaning forward or backward. It's much harder than it sounds to get started, and the turning controls are under your left hand. You push forward for one way and backwards for the other--and I never got that right. It's all about balance, and after being on the choppy water, it was hoot to watch us. We were all dressed nicely in the helmets and the little elbow and knee protectors--I felt like a little kid, but I'm really glad we had them because had we not, I would have fallen off. The excursion included a tour of the museum of history in Merridia, and our tour guide was fantastic. He was very proud of his Mayan heritage and speaks Mayan, Spanish and English fluently. He also speaks Italian--but not as well as the others. He learned them all as a child. He also told us that in the Yucatan, teachers in the smaller villages have to speak Mayan and Spanish in order to teach school. How is it that other countries can teach children multiple languages but the United States doesn't consider it important enough to be mandatory?
It was interesting because our group was 44 women with ages varying from 19 to 83 years old (and two 12 year olds). I was doubly glad to have K with us because there's a bit of a gap where the ladies are 19-24 and then the others were mostly I'd say late 30s and up, so although most of my friends are over 30, I don't really see us as being the older crowd, but I'm definitely not the younger crowd. I think they were surprised by my age too (the younger crowd) because one of them finally ventured to ask me how old I am--and then was unable to ask anything else :) And watching three or four of them made me very reminiscent of the days when we used to take the youth group all over.
So after another day at sea, and another ridiculously long drive last night (I actually drove from outside of Ft. Worth to Amarillo hauling a trailer for the first time ever and I didn't cause any accidents!) where we stopped in Amarillo at 0200 and then left at 0900 to come home. The trip was definitely worth it, and I will feel so much better about recognizing faces in church. I was really ready to come home, too. And that feeling will only last until work figures out I'm in town and calls me to come in.
Thursday, November 1, 2007
Beached Whale Warnings
If you get any sightings of a beached whale somewhere along the lines of Mexico, check to be sure it's not me.
I'm embarking on my first cruise ever tomorrow. I don't know why exactly I haven't been a cruise before. I seem to remember that my grandmother (my paternal one) took my cousin on several cruises and had discussed taking me when I got older--but when I got older, her cancer reoccurred, and then I got married and she died, so it never happened.
Anyway, Hubby has been attending a church for just over 18 months now. Initially I went with him (the first 2 Sundays), but then I've been on weekend shifts at work, and it's never worked out. So when the ladies of the church decided to take the cruise, Hubby decided with two of my friends that are members of the church, it was time for me to get involved and go meet some of the other ladies. I signed up, and over time, I am sad to say, my other friends that were initially going are no longer able to go. So I thought I was going to take this cruise bravely and put on my we're-all-family-of-God brave face and tackle the world with a bunch of strangers.
Fortunately, I was reviewing some of the e-mails that have come out, and have discovered that my friend K that I've known since high school is also going. So I sent her a message via her blog and we finally connected, and I'm probably going to be holding her hand the whole trip :) YAY!
The cruise leaves Texas and over the course of a bunch of days (see, I really have no clue what's going on!) we dock in two ports in Mexico--one of which is Cozumel and the other starts with a Y or something like that. I am at work now, but in just under 7 hours I'll be meeting a large portion of the group--meeting for the very first time as I don't know anybody but the pastor's wife who is graciously arranging everything--and we'll get in the church bus and a few cars and drive to...somewhere in Texas. I don't even know if we're going all the way to Galveston or not.
I'm totally panicked over what to pack (because you know that hasn't been done yet and I have 1.5 hours between work and meeting the others). I don't know what one wears on a cruise ship. I'm freaked that none of my clothes will fit. I'm pretty certain the swimsuits won't fit and I can't stop remembering Dan Rather's comments during a Presidential election and the whole Gore/Bush scandal and something about a long ride with a too small swimsuit (no, I don't know how that fits into anything in regards to the cruise but I didn't get it back then either). I'm petrified that I'm going to make a horrible impression on these women because I'm pretty sure I'll sleep and snore most of the way since I'm totally a night owl now and I don't want them to think I'm rude (the only time I've even seen some of their faces was at a quickie meeting and the pastor's wife introduced me saying that the women would know Hubby as he's always at church with other women--those women being said friends above--and there was a horrified look on one woman's face at the meeting). I'm afraid that I'll sleep all day and miss the ports and all the fun and bother my roommate (although we're trying to switch rooms so I can hang onto K with all my strength).
And my partner at work keeps telling me how brave I am to travel, and especially how she admires me going with a bunch of people I don't know because she could never do it. Little does she know I'm like a child going away for her first sleepover!
I'm pretty good about meeting new people when it's a situation I'm comfortable in, like when I go to trainings for work or when I'm doing something for the sorority or even when I was at a church that I'd been attending for several years. It's totally irrational that I'm this freaked out given that they are my sisters in Christ and that I'm very confident in who I am (it's only taken almost 29 years of life on this Earth to get there!). I'm sure it'll all be fine.
Of course, there are also things like people going missing on cruises that have been on Dateline recently that I should be worried about. So seriously, if you hear of a beached whale, make sure it's not me after I fell overboard!
I'm embarking on my first cruise ever tomorrow. I don't know why exactly I haven't been a cruise before. I seem to remember that my grandmother (my paternal one) took my cousin on several cruises and had discussed taking me when I got older--but when I got older, her cancer reoccurred, and then I got married and she died, so it never happened.
Anyway, Hubby has been attending a church for just over 18 months now. Initially I went with him (the first 2 Sundays), but then I've been on weekend shifts at work, and it's never worked out. So when the ladies of the church decided to take the cruise, Hubby decided with two of my friends that are members of the church, it was time for me to get involved and go meet some of the other ladies. I signed up, and over time, I am sad to say, my other friends that were initially going are no longer able to go. So I thought I was going to take this cruise bravely and put on my we're-all-family-of-God brave face and tackle the world with a bunch of strangers.
Fortunately, I was reviewing some of the e-mails that have come out, and have discovered that my friend K that I've known since high school is also going. So I sent her a message via her blog and we finally connected, and I'm probably going to be holding her hand the whole trip :) YAY!
The cruise leaves Texas and over the course of a bunch of days (see, I really have no clue what's going on!) we dock in two ports in Mexico--one of which is Cozumel and the other starts with a Y or something like that. I am at work now, but in just under 7 hours I'll be meeting a large portion of the group--meeting for the very first time as I don't know anybody but the pastor's wife who is graciously arranging everything--and we'll get in the church bus and a few cars and drive to...somewhere in Texas. I don't even know if we're going all the way to Galveston or not.
I'm totally panicked over what to pack (because you know that hasn't been done yet and I have 1.5 hours between work and meeting the others). I don't know what one wears on a cruise ship. I'm freaked that none of my clothes will fit. I'm pretty certain the swimsuits won't fit and I can't stop remembering Dan Rather's comments during a Presidential election and the whole Gore/Bush scandal and something about a long ride with a too small swimsuit (no, I don't know how that fits into anything in regards to the cruise but I didn't get it back then either). I'm petrified that I'm going to make a horrible impression on these women because I'm pretty sure I'll sleep and snore most of the way since I'm totally a night owl now and I don't want them to think I'm rude (the only time I've even seen some of their faces was at a quickie meeting and the pastor's wife introduced me saying that the women would know Hubby as he's always at church with other women--those women being said friends above--and there was a horrified look on one woman's face at the meeting). I'm afraid that I'll sleep all day and miss the ports and all the fun and bother my roommate (although we're trying to switch rooms so I can hang onto K with all my strength).
And my partner at work keeps telling me how brave I am to travel, and especially how she admires me going with a bunch of people I don't know because she could never do it. Little does she know I'm like a child going away for her first sleepover!
I'm pretty good about meeting new people when it's a situation I'm comfortable in, like when I go to trainings for work or when I'm doing something for the sorority or even when I was at a church that I'd been attending for several years. It's totally irrational that I'm this freaked out given that they are my sisters in Christ and that I'm very confident in who I am (it's only taken almost 29 years of life on this Earth to get there!). I'm sure it'll all be fine.
Of course, there are also things like people going missing on cruises that have been on Dateline recently that I should be worried about. So seriously, if you hear of a beached whale, make sure it's not me after I fell overboard!
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Having My Cake and Eating it too.
So after a long, long time and 40+ pounds, I have finally decided that SOMETHING has to be done about my aversion to exercise. A hundred months ago I decide to start running again (something I haven't done since 1998), and when you're running, it feels like flying sort of, so I thought it would be fun. That escapade ended with me begging the chubby dog to pull me back up the hill to our house...so I know running is out of the question this time--at least initially.
I decided last night to start walking. I took the chubby dog with me, and he and I did a very brisk walk. Everything from my house is uphill, and if you're not careful where you go, you have to come uphill at the end too. So I decided we'd do a loop up the street a bit, onto another street and then connect with the street that eventually reconnects at the top of my house and we'd come back down (that's the only downhill way I know!). So chubby dog perked his ears and we took off. Five houses or so later, my thighs were killing me and the i-Pod did nothing to distract me from the reminders that I used to walk everywhere in town (unless my friends were going the same way/place) because I was a deprived child without a car all through high school (another story, another time!). How is it that 15 years later I can't make it up a hill past five houses?
I did do the whole loop (in about 1/2 hour--I say it was about a mile, Hubby couldn't even give me that--where's the loving support?) and didn't collapse coming in the door to my house. I didn't even take a break--once chubby dog gets going, there's no stopping him!
I grabbed a bottled water, and realized that it has expired. How does water expire? I always thought that water tasted boring to begin with--if it's expired does it not rehydrate the body? Will it actually work in reverse? This panic lead me to eat a large piece (okay, 2 pieces) of cake. Now I probably need to walk the stinking loop twice and run it once. Now I'm panicking about how on earth I'm going to ward off the calories and how I'm going to make the pain stop and how on earth am I supposed to motivate myself to get up and get moving?
Maybe I need another piece of cake to debate this.
I decided last night to start walking. I took the chubby dog with me, and he and I did a very brisk walk. Everything from my house is uphill, and if you're not careful where you go, you have to come uphill at the end too. So I decided we'd do a loop up the street a bit, onto another street and then connect with the street that eventually reconnects at the top of my house and we'd come back down (that's the only downhill way I know!). So chubby dog perked his ears and we took off. Five houses or so later, my thighs were killing me and the i-Pod did nothing to distract me from the reminders that I used to walk everywhere in town (unless my friends were going the same way/place) because I was a deprived child without a car all through high school (another story, another time!). How is it that 15 years later I can't make it up a hill past five houses?
I did do the whole loop (in about 1/2 hour--I say it was about a mile, Hubby couldn't even give me that--where's the loving support?) and didn't collapse coming in the door to my house. I didn't even take a break--once chubby dog gets going, there's no stopping him!
I grabbed a bottled water, and realized that it has expired. How does water expire? I always thought that water tasted boring to begin with--if it's expired does it not rehydrate the body? Will it actually work in reverse? This panic lead me to eat a large piece (okay, 2 pieces) of cake. Now I probably need to walk the stinking loop twice and run it once. Now I'm panicking about how on earth I'm going to ward off the calories and how I'm going to make the pain stop and how on earth am I supposed to motivate myself to get up and get moving?
Maybe I need another piece of cake to debate this.
Friday, October 26, 2007
Selfish
Okay, so I realize how terribly selfish my last post sounded, and I'm sorry--I'm not trying to take anything away from anyone, nor am I really comparing my experience to what those in California are going through. I hope nobody took it that way.
And I know that there are many different circumstances surrounding the two various disasters, and I'm really not a big enough moron to only think of myself when there are so many suffering. If you're in CA, please know that I am thinking of you and praying for you.
And I know that there are many different circumstances surrounding the two various disasters, and I'm really not a big enough moron to only think of myself when there are so many suffering. If you're in CA, please know that I am thinking of you and praying for you.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Flashbacks
As we watch the tragedy in California, and as our town and state graciously provide numerous "prescribed" aka "controlled" burns around Los Alamos, I can't help but flashback. I know it's irrational, because I didn't lose anything. You'd think after over 7 years, I'd be over Cerro Grande, but in reality, I guess I just keep waiting for the other shoe to drop and for Cerro Grande II to strike. Stupid also because now I know many firemen, and I know the "inside lessons" we learned, and rationally I know that shouldn't ever happen again. I know that I'll be one of the first to know if there's even any hint of danger of it happening again...but it's hard not to go back in time.
Maybe that's why I'm a little more sympathetic to the callers that call in a panic asking about evacuations. Maybe that's why I listen to each caller's story of where they were years ago during it all. Maybe that's why I don't mind the millions of 911 calls about smelling smoke. Maybe that's why I myself can picture myself digging the ash out of my ears and nose and mouth again.
I can't make those that didn't live here during The Fire understand what it's like to be all alone in the town--even though there were 3 other dispatchers, hundreds of firemen from all over, multiple police agencies and the National Guard here. I can't make people imagine what it's like to not know where your family is or where they're staying or what they've done with your animals, because you're too busy answering the frantic calls of those that stayed behind during evacuations and attempting to coordinate rescue efforts--just to have those same frantic people refuse assistance once your officers have put themselves in danger to rescue them and their young child--to talk with your family. I can't begin to tell of the fear I felt when I had to tell several officers that they were trapped because the fire had taken over the bridge back to downtown and back to the station. I don't know how to describe the pain of returning the messages neighbors and judges and community members begging for information about their homes just to tell them that everything they had to leave behind in the mass evacuation is gone. I can't explain how it feels to know that every citizen but the 4 or 5 that refused to evacuate the town, every member of the fire department, every member of the police department but those 3 dispatchers and your supervisor and one officer and 4 National Guard members have been taken out of the town with the promise that somehow someone will be back for you all while the ash is so thick that you can't see more than 2 feet in front of you and you hear the roar of the fire echoing against the sound of the helicopters. I can't make someone feel the dirt and grunge and ash on a uniform that's been on you for over 40 hours as you've had literally 5 minutes of sleep, and you're still trying to smile and reassure those that ask that things will be okay. I can't imagine where the strength to hold scared co-workers or, once everything is gone and the town is reopened, the citizen that lost or that almost lost everything, in your arms came from, nor why I tried not cry with them. I don't know how to describe what it's like to watch grown men with badges and guns hold their heads in their hands, soiled with ash from fighting flames themselves, and cry like little boys. I don't know how to explain that those of us that lived here are bonded together--and those of us that worked emergency services then have an unbreakable respect for each other. It's a horrible club, and one that more and more are becoming a part of.
I don't know how to make myself forgive and stop reliving the emotions, so how can I help others understand why the majority of the town also cannot move on?
I totally forced myself on another blogger, The Imperfect Complainer (she's linked on the side of this blog), and I read tonight that she and her husband have had to evacuate. Please keep her and her husband in your prayers. I know many of us have been where they are, and I know that things can look very bleak for a long time--once the flames go out, the memories and the damage left behind can last forever.
Maybe that's why I'm a little more sympathetic to the callers that call in a panic asking about evacuations. Maybe that's why I listen to each caller's story of where they were years ago during it all. Maybe that's why I don't mind the millions of 911 calls about smelling smoke. Maybe that's why I myself can picture myself digging the ash out of my ears and nose and mouth again.
I can't make those that didn't live here during The Fire understand what it's like to be all alone in the town--even though there were 3 other dispatchers, hundreds of firemen from all over, multiple police agencies and the National Guard here. I can't make people imagine what it's like to not know where your family is or where they're staying or what they've done with your animals, because you're too busy answering the frantic calls of those that stayed behind during evacuations and attempting to coordinate rescue efforts--just to have those same frantic people refuse assistance once your officers have put themselves in danger to rescue them and their young child--to talk with your family. I can't begin to tell of the fear I felt when I had to tell several officers that they were trapped because the fire had taken over the bridge back to downtown and back to the station. I don't know how to describe the pain of returning the messages neighbors and judges and community members begging for information about their homes just to tell them that everything they had to leave behind in the mass evacuation is gone. I can't explain how it feels to know that every citizen but the 4 or 5 that refused to evacuate the town, every member of the fire department, every member of the police department but those 3 dispatchers and your supervisor and one officer and 4 National Guard members have been taken out of the town with the promise that somehow someone will be back for you all while the ash is so thick that you can't see more than 2 feet in front of you and you hear the roar of the fire echoing against the sound of the helicopters. I can't make someone feel the dirt and grunge and ash on a uniform that's been on you for over 40 hours as you've had literally 5 minutes of sleep, and you're still trying to smile and reassure those that ask that things will be okay. I can't imagine where the strength to hold scared co-workers or, once everything is gone and the town is reopened, the citizen that lost or that almost lost everything, in your arms came from, nor why I tried not cry with them. I don't know how to describe what it's like to watch grown men with badges and guns hold their heads in their hands, soiled with ash from fighting flames themselves, and cry like little boys. I don't know how to explain that those of us that lived here are bonded together--and those of us that worked emergency services then have an unbreakable respect for each other. It's a horrible club, and one that more and more are becoming a part of.
I don't know how to make myself forgive and stop reliving the emotions, so how can I help others understand why the majority of the town also cannot move on?
I totally forced myself on another blogger, The Imperfect Complainer (she's linked on the side of this blog), and I read tonight that she and her husband have had to evacuate. Please keep her and her husband in your prayers. I know many of us have been where they are, and I know that things can look very bleak for a long time--once the flames go out, the memories and the damage left behind can last forever.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
The Mouse
There's a mouse in my house. And he ain't Mickey Mouse.
He's about 3-4 inches long, grey and very, very fast. He is also a magician, as he's on my counter tops in the kitchen.
I'm afraid of mice. I scream like a little girl and panic when I see them. Years ago, my first experience with a mouse resulted in my grabbing the zoo (we seriously have a million animals that are allowed to live here--dogs, cats, the occasional ant that finds its way inside the house--I won't even kill a spider, but there's just no room for a mouse) and racing upstairs, closing and locking the bedroom door and demanding that Hubby return home from work RIGHT NOW to take care of the problem. The second mouse encounter was as I was walking through the house and turning back to where I'd been and I saw the mouse (dead of course) in the middle of the path I'd just walked. Again, I called Hubby and demanded that he return home from work RIGHT NOW to retrieve the body--I was trapped in the kitchen until Hubby came to get the body...who's going to cross a dead body knowingly?
I have gotten better. I praise God that the cats don't eat the mice, but rather play with them until the mice stop playing and then leave them where they stopped. However, I still cannot do removal myself.
So this Sunday, I was putting dishes in the dishwasher. I have been aware that we have a mouse hole (they seriously ate a hole in my wall) for a while. It's on the floor behind the water heater that has a hole to the ground, because we live in a government built hovel that has no insulation or really foundation--it was temporary housing that's lasted about 40 years longer than was intended. Anyway, Hubby was supposed to fix the hole, but since he works some weekends and I work every...well, day, we haven't made the trip to the only home store chain I'm allowed in (allowed by Hubby to go in...there was an unfortunate incident several years ago at a home store chain that resulted in my sitting on the floor in hysterics and tears, and nobody wants that incident relived, so we just don't return for fear of flashbacks--another story for another time) and gotten foam or something to take care of the hole.
I should break here and explain that I don't want to kill the mice. The first encounter with the mouse years ago where Hubby had to race home was because I was trying to save the mouse's life. I swear it looked up at me with its beady little eyes and begged me for mercy as Tom Cat swatted at it...I seriously heard a voice reminding me that this horrid little creature that had me on a couch screaming my head off was also God's creature. That mouse got away because after I dragged the then 2 dogs and 2 cats upstairs, Hubby couldn't find it. Because of that first mouse, I will not set a trap. (Well, that and because then I'd still have the removal issue.) I don't think the glue traps are at all humane (and then I'd still have the removal issue and sticky paws on 2 cats to boot) and I've heard that the mice actually cry out when they are stuck to the glue trap. I don't want one of the traps that has poison in it that the mice then take back to their nests (then I just have dead mice in the walls and possibly dead cats from following the mice into the poison source). I just want them to move to another house. In fact, I'd like to plant them in my neighbor's house that's attached but down two units from my house...but that's again, another story for another time.
So this Sunday I'm loading the dishwasher when this grey blur tears out in front of me ON THE COUNTER TOP and takes off for the other end of the kitchen. I'm hyperventilating, trying to escape the kitchen, but the government built hovel we live in is a two butt kitchen, and Hubby is behind me with the fridge door open so there's no exit. I begin to climb onto the washer (who else but the government would put a washer in a kitchen?), when I realize that if the mouse is ON THE COUNTER TOP, it's quite likely he could make the short leap onto the washer. I was stuck, and I don't know the last time so many prayers have been sent in such a short compact time. Fortunately for the mouse, Hubby is so distracted by me that the mouse escapes behind the stove and is not caught for the Mouse Relocation Program.
Since Sunday, I have been afraid of the kitchen. I know he's there. I know he's waiting for me. I believe that every creak, every clatter, every little sound is him, plotting his revenge. I don't know how he's getting on the counter, but I believe that he's teaching all of his brothers and sisters how to get up there and no matter how much scrubbing and bleaching I do, he will have been there, laughing at me. He may be only 3-4 inches, and I may be 66 inches; he may weigh under one pound, and I may weigh--well, let's not go there--but he has my rear end kicked.
And somehow I'm supposed to use the kitchen to make meals, bake for a bake sale and get my medication that's stored in a cabinet there. Maybe I'll try to pretend that I live in Mickey's Playhouse. Maybe I'll write Mickey for some ideas. After all, they probably are related somehow.
He's about 3-4 inches long, grey and very, very fast. He is also a magician, as he's on my counter tops in the kitchen.
I'm afraid of mice. I scream like a little girl and panic when I see them. Years ago, my first experience with a mouse resulted in my grabbing the zoo (we seriously have a million animals that are allowed to live here--dogs, cats, the occasional ant that finds its way inside the house--I won't even kill a spider, but there's just no room for a mouse) and racing upstairs, closing and locking the bedroom door and demanding that Hubby return home from work RIGHT NOW to take care of the problem. The second mouse encounter was as I was walking through the house and turning back to where I'd been and I saw the mouse (dead of course) in the middle of the path I'd just walked. Again, I called Hubby and demanded that he return home from work RIGHT NOW to retrieve the body--I was trapped in the kitchen until Hubby came to get the body...who's going to cross a dead body knowingly?
I have gotten better. I praise God that the cats don't eat the mice, but rather play with them until the mice stop playing and then leave them where they stopped. However, I still cannot do removal myself.
So this Sunday, I was putting dishes in the dishwasher. I have been aware that we have a mouse hole (they seriously ate a hole in my wall) for a while. It's on the floor behind the water heater that has a hole to the ground, because we live in a government built hovel that has no insulation or really foundation--it was temporary housing that's lasted about 40 years longer than was intended. Anyway, Hubby was supposed to fix the hole, but since he works some weekends and I work every...well, day, we haven't made the trip to the only home store chain I'm allowed in (allowed by Hubby to go in...there was an unfortunate incident several years ago at a home store chain that resulted in my sitting on the floor in hysterics and tears, and nobody wants that incident relived, so we just don't return for fear of flashbacks--another story for another time) and gotten foam or something to take care of the hole.
I should break here and explain that I don't want to kill the mice. The first encounter with the mouse years ago where Hubby had to race home was because I was trying to save the mouse's life. I swear it looked up at me with its beady little eyes and begged me for mercy as Tom Cat swatted at it...I seriously heard a voice reminding me that this horrid little creature that had me on a couch screaming my head off was also God's creature. That mouse got away because after I dragged the then 2 dogs and 2 cats upstairs, Hubby couldn't find it. Because of that first mouse, I will not set a trap. (Well, that and because then I'd still have the removal issue.) I don't think the glue traps are at all humane (and then I'd still have the removal issue and sticky paws on 2 cats to boot) and I've heard that the mice actually cry out when they are stuck to the glue trap. I don't want one of the traps that has poison in it that the mice then take back to their nests (then I just have dead mice in the walls and possibly dead cats from following the mice into the poison source). I just want them to move to another house. In fact, I'd like to plant them in my neighbor's house that's attached but down two units from my house...but that's again, another story for another time.
So this Sunday I'm loading the dishwasher when this grey blur tears out in front of me ON THE COUNTER TOP and takes off for the other end of the kitchen. I'm hyperventilating, trying to escape the kitchen, but the government built hovel we live in is a two butt kitchen, and Hubby is behind me with the fridge door open so there's no exit. I begin to climb onto the washer (who else but the government would put a washer in a kitchen?), when I realize that if the mouse is ON THE COUNTER TOP, it's quite likely he could make the short leap onto the washer. I was stuck, and I don't know the last time so many prayers have been sent in such a short compact time. Fortunately for the mouse, Hubby is so distracted by me that the mouse escapes behind the stove and is not caught for the Mouse Relocation Program.
Since Sunday, I have been afraid of the kitchen. I know he's there. I know he's waiting for me. I believe that every creak, every clatter, every little sound is him, plotting his revenge. I don't know how he's getting on the counter, but I believe that he's teaching all of his brothers and sisters how to get up there and no matter how much scrubbing and bleaching I do, he will have been there, laughing at me. He may be only 3-4 inches, and I may be 66 inches; he may weigh under one pound, and I may weigh--well, let's not go there--but he has my rear end kicked.
And somehow I'm supposed to use the kitchen to make meals, bake for a bake sale and get my medication that's stored in a cabinet there. Maybe I'll try to pretend that I live in Mickey's Playhouse. Maybe I'll write Mickey for some ideas. After all, they probably are related somehow.
Sunday, October 14, 2007
Another Day of OT
Another day off and I've been suckered into work, so you know it's time for more useless babble from me. What's on my mind? A couple of things:
1) Why is it that I agree to come into work for a mere 4 hours to cover someone that calls in sick, and my relief waits until AFTER I'm in the door at work to announce that she's not coming in at 1830 as agreed? Shouldn't there be some sort of "NO" course of action for this? I can't leave until she does meander in. She did agree to come at 2030, but seriously, at that point I've already missed my family commitment, and I might as well stay until her regularly scheduled shift at 2230. So I called her and told her so. Ok, so I didn't tell her that since I had to miss my family thing--but I did say that I might as well stay the extra 2 hours.
2) This is the second night that I've been called to cover for someone on the weekends. It's a darn good thing that I switched to the weekdays--who else would cover? Last night we were watching the Mythbusters in Albuquerque, so I didn't come in when I was called...which gives another co-worker the chance to be a martyr since she worked 12 hours, left for 4 hours, and came back to work 16 hours. When I worked the weekends, nobody would cover for us, and we ended up hardly ever calling in--we just came and sniffled/groaned/took a million over the counter drugs and suffered. I do feel bad for the co-worker that had to work a zillion hours, and I did offer to come in once we got back to town this morning at 0100, but she was adamant that I have a day off...perhaps because we sort of had a warning that I was going to have to work today, and I'm working some awful hours this week (like 9 days in a row, and 6 of those are 12 hour shifts).
3) Thank God for DVRs and TiVO. Apparently, the only time anything can happen in Podunk happens during "Extreme Makeover: Home Edition" and "Desperate Housewives." No, I don't know why the power is off or how long it will be off--I'm 9-1-1/Police/Fire/Ambulance, and although I can sound like the voice of God, I'm not an electrician and my crystal ball is out of commission :)
4) Why is it that the more clothes I buy, the less I have to wear? Maybe it's because I haven't done laundry in a while...or because when I work, I eat a million more calories than when I'm off and I keep outgrowing the clothes...I'm sure it's not either of those.
5) Thinking of outgrowing things, I think I broke my couch. We got the couches about 2 years ago (we'd ordered them way before they arrived), and while sitting on the couch the other weekend, the couch made a groaning noise and felt like the legs were flying out to the other side of it (know what a colt looks like attempting to get to its legs for the first time and the legs keep splaying out awkwardly while it struggles to get them under its belly?). We flew off the couch, but there are no broken legs or visible sinking in the middle, no coils sticking out or boards dropping. However, when you sit in the middle, you can feel yourself sinking. If I'm not at work tomorrow, I'm supposed to call La-Z-Boy and ask what's up.
6) OOH! We got new end tables and a coffee table. That means we now have 2 whole rooms in the house that don't have any hand-me-downs/other peoples' taste in them. YEA! We're almost grownups!
7) WOW! We just got a B&E in progress...and my co-worker kicks butt :) The town is safe tonight.
8) Can't remember this point because it turns out the B&E was an animal in a yard. The town is still safe tonight.
9) Know those little vacation scams? The ones that offer you so many nights/days/cash back if you listen to a 2 hour sales speech? We got another offer, and it's tempting, because since I was traveling every month earlier this year, it seems odd not to be traveling until Christmas, and since I have weekends off, I'm forcing Hubby to run away with me to quick weekend getaways. Ok, so actually, it's his idea to go back to Phoenix in November, and I think I'm going to ask him to go to Colorado Springs in a couple of weekends to see our kiddo that's shipping off to the Middle East right before Christmas (and maybe I can finally see my homegirl that I haven't seen in a million years). However, this offer is for Las Vegas, and we were just there a year ago, and we don't really drink or gamble. Hubby likes the idea I think, and there are always shows, so maybe we will go...and then we'll get suckered into the timeshare thing because we always do.
10) Okay, I lied. I'm actually going on a cruise in November, like in just over 2.5 weeks. With a bunch of women I don't know. There will be 2 friendly faces in the group, and they're all ladies of the church that Hubby has been attending for over a year (and that I'm supposed to attend now that I have weekends off--hahaha--the one Sunday I had off and that I hadn't worked the night before until 0630 that Sunday morning, I did go). I'm a little nervous because I don't know the majority of them even by sight, and I have no idea who my cruisemate is. However, you can't go wrong with a cruise to Cozumel!
11) If all my leave slips get approved, I'll be off every Friday in November except the day after Thanksgiving, which is a holiday and therefore double time and a half. Now who's being a work slacker?
I'm all out of thoughts other than my tummy growling and I get to go home! Yippee!
1) Why is it that I agree to come into work for a mere 4 hours to cover someone that calls in sick, and my relief waits until AFTER I'm in the door at work to announce that she's not coming in at 1830 as agreed? Shouldn't there be some sort of "NO" course of action for this? I can't leave until she does meander in. She did agree to come at 2030, but seriously, at that point I've already missed my family commitment, and I might as well stay until her regularly scheduled shift at 2230. So I called her and told her so. Ok, so I didn't tell her that since I had to miss my family thing--but I did say that I might as well stay the extra 2 hours.
2) This is the second night that I've been called to cover for someone on the weekends. It's a darn good thing that I switched to the weekdays--who else would cover? Last night we were watching the Mythbusters in Albuquerque, so I didn't come in when I was called...which gives another co-worker the chance to be a martyr since she worked 12 hours, left for 4 hours, and came back to work 16 hours. When I worked the weekends, nobody would cover for us, and we ended up hardly ever calling in--we just came and sniffled/groaned/took a million over the counter drugs and suffered. I do feel bad for the co-worker that had to work a zillion hours, and I did offer to come in once we got back to town this morning at 0100, but she was adamant that I have a day off...perhaps because we sort of had a warning that I was going to have to work today, and I'm working some awful hours this week (like 9 days in a row, and 6 of those are 12 hour shifts).
3) Thank God for DVRs and TiVO. Apparently, the only time anything can happen in Podunk happens during "Extreme Makeover: Home Edition" and "Desperate Housewives." No, I don't know why the power is off or how long it will be off--I'm 9-1-1/Police/Fire/Ambulance, and although I can sound like the voice of God, I'm not an electrician and my crystal ball is out of commission :)
4) Why is it that the more clothes I buy, the less I have to wear? Maybe it's because I haven't done laundry in a while...or because when I work, I eat a million more calories than when I'm off and I keep outgrowing the clothes...I'm sure it's not either of those.
5) Thinking of outgrowing things, I think I broke my couch. We got the couches about 2 years ago (we'd ordered them way before they arrived), and while sitting on the couch the other weekend, the couch made a groaning noise and felt like the legs were flying out to the other side of it (know what a colt looks like attempting to get to its legs for the first time and the legs keep splaying out awkwardly while it struggles to get them under its belly?). We flew off the couch, but there are no broken legs or visible sinking in the middle, no coils sticking out or boards dropping. However, when you sit in the middle, you can feel yourself sinking. If I'm not at work tomorrow, I'm supposed to call La-Z-Boy and ask what's up.
6) OOH! We got new end tables and a coffee table. That means we now have 2 whole rooms in the house that don't have any hand-me-downs/other peoples' taste in them. YEA! We're almost grownups!
7) WOW! We just got a B&E in progress...and my co-worker kicks butt :) The town is safe tonight.
8) Can't remember this point because it turns out the B&E was an animal in a yard. The town is still safe tonight.
9) Know those little vacation scams? The ones that offer you so many nights/days/cash back if you listen to a 2 hour sales speech? We got another offer, and it's tempting, because since I was traveling every month earlier this year, it seems odd not to be traveling until Christmas, and since I have weekends off, I'm forcing Hubby to run away with me to quick weekend getaways. Ok, so actually, it's his idea to go back to Phoenix in November, and I think I'm going to ask him to go to Colorado Springs in a couple of weekends to see our kiddo that's shipping off to the Middle East right before Christmas (and maybe I can finally see my homegirl that I haven't seen in a million years). However, this offer is for Las Vegas, and we were just there a year ago, and we don't really drink or gamble. Hubby likes the idea I think, and there are always shows, so maybe we will go...and then we'll get suckered into the timeshare thing because we always do.
10) Okay, I lied. I'm actually going on a cruise in November, like in just over 2.5 weeks. With a bunch of women I don't know. There will be 2 friendly faces in the group, and they're all ladies of the church that Hubby has been attending for over a year (and that I'm supposed to attend now that I have weekends off--hahaha--the one Sunday I had off and that I hadn't worked the night before until 0630 that Sunday morning, I did go). I'm a little nervous because I don't know the majority of them even by sight, and I have no idea who my cruisemate is. However, you can't go wrong with a cruise to Cozumel!
11) If all my leave slips get approved, I'll be off every Friday in November except the day after Thanksgiving, which is a holiday and therefore double time and a half. Now who's being a work slacker?
I'm all out of thoughts other than my tummy growling and I get to go home! Yippee!
Saturday, October 13, 2007
What Are Your Names?
Finally, a way to name my personalities :)
1. YOUR ROCK STAR NAME: (first pet & current car)
Pilgrim Cherokee Thats right, baby--opening now for the Rolling Stones
2.YOUR GANGSTA NAME: (fave ice cream flavor, favorite cookie)
Vanilla Chocolate Chip Don't mess with me or I'll go all gooey
3. YOUR “FLY Guy/Girl” NAME: (first initial of first name, first three letters of your last name)
KSto Hopefully not related to KFed...
4. YOUR DETECTIVE NAME: (favorite color, favorite animal)
Blue Monkey Would you question my authority?
5. YOUR SOAP OPERA NAME: (middle name, city where you were born)
Elisabeth Towson (Baltimore) I know that you're my mother's second dead husband's son's brother, and therefore also my cousin--but I can't help but love you!
6. YOUR STAR WARS NAME: (first 3 letters of your last name, first 2 letters of your first)
Stoka I am really Luke's mother
7. SUPERHERO NAME: (”The” + 2nd favorite color, favorite drink)
The Green Lemon Drop (Martini) I am the questionable sidekick
8. NASCAR NAME: (the first names of your grandfathers)
Russell Kenneth Francis See--I must be true Nascar from the South--I have a hundred names!
9. DANCER NAME: ( the name of your favorite perfume/cologne/scent, favorite candy)
Angel Junior Mint Sister to Devil Senior Mint?
10.WITNESS PROTECTION NAME: (mother’s & father’s middle names )
Ellen Bradford Guess I won't be going into hiding now
11. TV WEATHER ANCHOR NAME: (Your 5th grade teacher’s last name, a major city that starts with the same letter)
Dean Dallas I hope the weather is as dry as this name!
12. SPY NAME: (your favorite season/holiday, flower)
Christmas Lily Maybe I could hide under the tree since we know I won't fit behind a lily!
13. CARTOON NAME: (favorite fruit, article of clothing you’re wearing right now + "ie" or "y")
Apple Booty Sounds more like my "dancer" name!
14. HIPPY NAME: (What you ate for breakfast, your favorite tree)
Barbecue Aspen How appropriate for Podunk
15. YOUR ROCKSTAR TOUR NAME: (”The” + Your fave hobby/craft, fave weather element + “Tour”)
The Sleeping Lightening Tour If lightening is sleeping, it must not be that exciting :(
1. YOUR ROCK STAR NAME: (first pet & current car)
Pilgrim Cherokee Thats right, baby--opening now for the Rolling Stones
2.YOUR GANGSTA NAME: (fave ice cream flavor, favorite cookie)
Vanilla Chocolate Chip Don't mess with me or I'll go all gooey
3. YOUR “FLY Guy/Girl” NAME: (first initial of first name, first three letters of your last name)
KSto Hopefully not related to KFed...
4. YOUR DETECTIVE NAME: (favorite color, favorite animal)
Blue Monkey Would you question my authority?
5. YOUR SOAP OPERA NAME: (middle name, city where you were born)
Elisabeth Towson (Baltimore) I know that you're my mother's second dead husband's son's brother, and therefore also my cousin--but I can't help but love you!
6. YOUR STAR WARS NAME: (first 3 letters of your last name, first 2 letters of your first)
Stoka I am really Luke's mother
7. SUPERHERO NAME: (”The” + 2nd favorite color, favorite drink)
The Green Lemon Drop (Martini) I am the questionable sidekick
8. NASCAR NAME: (the first names of your grandfathers)
Russell Kenneth Francis See--I must be true Nascar from the South--I have a hundred names!
9. DANCER NAME: ( the name of your favorite perfume/cologne/scent, favorite candy)
Angel Junior Mint Sister to Devil Senior Mint?
10.WITNESS PROTECTION NAME: (mother’s & father’s middle names )
Ellen Bradford Guess I won't be going into hiding now
11. TV WEATHER ANCHOR NAME: (Your 5th grade teacher’s last name, a major city that starts with the same letter)
Dean Dallas I hope the weather is as dry as this name!
12. SPY NAME: (your favorite season/holiday, flower)
Christmas Lily Maybe I could hide under the tree since we know I won't fit behind a lily!
13. CARTOON NAME: (favorite fruit, article of clothing you’re wearing right now + "ie" or "y")
Apple Booty Sounds more like my "dancer" name!
14. HIPPY NAME: (What you ate for breakfast, your favorite tree)
Barbecue Aspen How appropriate for Podunk
15. YOUR ROCKSTAR TOUR NAME: (”The” + Your fave hobby/craft, fave weather element + “Tour”)
The Sleeping Lightening Tour If lightening is sleeping, it must not be that exciting :(
Saturday, October 6, 2007
Bleeding Green and Gold
So I may be the saddest person on Earth...I sincerely remember LOVING high school. In fact, I remember loving it so much that I have gone to Homecoming parades and games ever since high school (which was long enough ago that I'm embarrassed to tell because it just reminds me how old I am becoming...but that's another post another day). For the past several years I have forced my sorority sisters to dress themselves and their children and spouses in Topper colors and to brave the cold afternoons/evenings in the spirit of celebrating with the town Homecoming--it doesn't even matter to me that a number of my sorority sisters aren't from here and weren't Toppers; I've made them honorary Toppers.
Let's pause here for a moment, while we discuss what a truly ridiculous thing a Topper is. Legend has it that millions of years ago (OK, so the town is just now approaching 60 years, so it couldn't be "millions" of years ago), the high school mascot was actually a top hat and cane. That's absurd enough--how do you dress up like the mascot?--but apparently it was offensive, as if those of us in Podunk were rubbing in the status of being better off than 90% of New Mexico*, and the Hilltopper mascot changed into this big, hairy red-headed man that stood on top of a mountain with his hands held out to the side. That then became an issue, because the man's hands were reported to be shaped so that he was passing on a racist slogan. The artist had painted the forefinger angled out with the middle and ring finger together and the pinkie out stretched so that it could be argued that his hand was arched as if making a "W", and that offended somebody that obviously had way too much time on HIS hands, because he thought it stood for White Supremacy**. So the Hilltopper is now a large hairy red-headed man on a mountain with all five fingers distinctively drawn out on both hands. Needless to say, nobody dresses up like this mascot either.
Instead, students, staff, alumni and the town have embraced the Topper colors, green and gold. Over the years there have been arguments about whether the green is forest green or Kelly green, and whether the gold is truly a golden yellow or just yellow, but as long as you're in some sort of green and some sort of yellow, we'll embrace you as a Topper.
Homecoming in Podunk is a huge deal. I love Podunk this time of year, because of the town bonding over Homecoming. The schools let out a little after noon, and most shops in town come to a standstill while the staff and patrons meander out to our Central Avenue (really is in the center of town) and watch all the organizations march with floats enthusiastically cheering on the current theme of "Lasso the Losers" or "Eliminate the Enemy" (no, we've never actually had those themes--that would be RUDE, and a big hairy red-headed man is not rude) and tossing candy to the children that are everywhere.
Typically, my mom and I watch the parade together, dressed in green and gold (I even humiliate Hubby by breaking out his Letterman jacket that's so old it's losing its pins), whether we're joined by the sorority sisters and their children or not. Immediately following the parade, I usually race home and load up a truck with my grill and goodies and head to the parking lot by the town's football field, where I'm joined by other crazy tailgaters (no alcohol allowed, as we're within so many feet of school property) until the sorority ladies trickle in with their families. We all then don face paint and pom-poms and race into the stands so we can freeze together and mainly not watch the game***, but visit with others around us that come out once a year for this occasion. We sing the fight song loudly and off key****--again, humiliating Hubby who usually is trying to watch the game with whatever other poor long suffering husband got suckered into attending with us--and have a great time.
This year, however, for the first time in 15 years, I did not attend the parade or the game. Instead, I had to work--and it was with great force that my supervisor got me into work, I'll confess (actually, it only took an e-mail saying "you will work" and my need for some sleep between shifts). I didn't see any floats. I didn't eat any hot dogs. I didn't catch up with the other alumni that turn out (there are a surprisingly large number of us). I didn't put on any face paint. Instead, I put on my green work uniform shirt and my khaki BDUs (the closest I can get to green and gold and still comply with the uniform requirements. My super awesome sorority secret sister made me a little Topper spirited koozy for my coke cans (it's green with pom-pom like stuff attached to the sides!), and I brought that in to work with me. And I only had a little pity party for myself. And the officers and other dispatchers only laughed a little at me.
However, I like to think that my spirit transmitted over the radio waves, as the town was flying high due to the Toppers major win (30-0!). Go Toppers!
*Some jackass announced that 1 in 10 of those living in Podunk are millionaires...I don't to whom they are referring, as I know more than 10 people, and most of us are paycheck to paycheck thanks to this circulating belief that we can afford milk that's $4.79 a gallon or spend $300/month for keeping the thermostat at 65 degrees (and that drops to 55 degrees after 10 pm because Hubby freaks over the bill!) for a 1078 square foot condo, because we're millionaires...it's an evil cycle!
**Before living in Podunk, I lived in some big cities--like Denver, the city that the Neo-Nazis were at one point trying to make a strong presence in--and, despite this jerk's insistence that everyone knew it was a White Supremacy sign, I had, and still have never have, heard anything of the sort. It's a good thing we're all millionaires, since we had to chip in our tax dollars to get the mascot repainted...
***Podunk isn't like other small towns with our high school football obsession--we only obsess at Homecoming and if we make it to the State Championships.
****Lyrics available.
Let's pause here for a moment, while we discuss what a truly ridiculous thing a Topper is. Legend has it that millions of years ago (OK, so the town is just now approaching 60 years, so it couldn't be "millions" of years ago), the high school mascot was actually a top hat and cane. That's absurd enough--how do you dress up like the mascot?--but apparently it was offensive, as if those of us in Podunk were rubbing in the status of being better off than 90% of New Mexico*, and the Hilltopper mascot changed into this big, hairy red-headed man that stood on top of a mountain with his hands held out to the side. That then became an issue, because the man's hands were reported to be shaped so that he was passing on a racist slogan. The artist had painted the forefinger angled out with the middle and ring finger together and the pinkie out stretched so that it could be argued that his hand was arched as if making a "W", and that offended somebody that obviously had way too much time on HIS hands, because he thought it stood for White Supremacy**. So the Hilltopper is now a large hairy red-headed man on a mountain with all five fingers distinctively drawn out on both hands. Needless to say, nobody dresses up like this mascot either.
Instead, students, staff, alumni and the town have embraced the Topper colors, green and gold. Over the years there have been arguments about whether the green is forest green or Kelly green, and whether the gold is truly a golden yellow or just yellow, but as long as you're in some sort of green and some sort of yellow, we'll embrace you as a Topper.
Homecoming in Podunk is a huge deal. I love Podunk this time of year, because of the town bonding over Homecoming. The schools let out a little after noon, and most shops in town come to a standstill while the staff and patrons meander out to our Central Avenue (really is in the center of town) and watch all the organizations march with floats enthusiastically cheering on the current theme of "Lasso the Losers" or "Eliminate the Enemy" (no, we've never actually had those themes--that would be RUDE, and a big hairy red-headed man is not rude) and tossing candy to the children that are everywhere.
Typically, my mom and I watch the parade together, dressed in green and gold (I even humiliate Hubby by breaking out his Letterman jacket that's so old it's losing its pins), whether we're joined by the sorority sisters and their children or not. Immediately following the parade, I usually race home and load up a truck with my grill and goodies and head to the parking lot by the town's football field, where I'm joined by other crazy tailgaters (no alcohol allowed, as we're within so many feet of school property) until the sorority ladies trickle in with their families. We all then don face paint and pom-poms and race into the stands so we can freeze together and mainly not watch the game***, but visit with others around us that come out once a year for this occasion. We sing the fight song loudly and off key****--again, humiliating Hubby who usually is trying to watch the game with whatever other poor long suffering husband got suckered into attending with us--and have a great time.
This year, however, for the first time in 15 years, I did not attend the parade or the game. Instead, I had to work--and it was with great force that my supervisor got me into work, I'll confess (actually, it only took an e-mail saying "you will work" and my need for some sleep between shifts). I didn't see any floats. I didn't eat any hot dogs. I didn't catch up with the other alumni that turn out (there are a surprisingly large number of us). I didn't put on any face paint. Instead, I put on my green work uniform shirt and my khaki BDUs (the closest I can get to green and gold and still comply with the uniform requirements. My super awesome sorority secret sister made me a little Topper spirited koozy for my coke cans (it's green with pom-pom like stuff attached to the sides!), and I brought that in to work with me. And I only had a little pity party for myself. And the officers and other dispatchers only laughed a little at me.
However, I like to think that my spirit transmitted over the radio waves, as the town was flying high due to the Toppers major win (30-0!). Go Toppers!
*Some jackass announced that 1 in 10 of those living in Podunk are millionaires...I don't to whom they are referring, as I know more than 10 people, and most of us are paycheck to paycheck thanks to this circulating belief that we can afford milk that's $4.79 a gallon or spend $300/month for keeping the thermostat at 65 degrees (and that drops to 55 degrees after 10 pm because Hubby freaks over the bill!) for a 1078 square foot condo, because we're millionaires...it's an evil cycle!
**Before living in Podunk, I lived in some big cities--like Denver, the city that the Neo-Nazis were at one point trying to make a strong presence in--and, despite this jerk's insistence that everyone knew it was a White Supremacy sign, I had, and still have never have, heard anything of the sort. It's a good thing we're all millionaires, since we had to chip in our tax dollars to get the mascot repainted...
***Podunk isn't like other small towns with our high school football obsession--we only obsess at Homecoming and if we make it to the State Championships.
****Lyrics available.
Friday, September 28, 2007
Family Ties
There are a million stories I can (and most undoubtedly will) tell, and I'll try not to put them all in this post. Basically, my grandmother (the only grandparent that I still have alive) is aging, and with her Parkinson's and the Dementia that she has that is rapidly progressing, it was time to have her placed in an assisted living facility. Consequently, Mom and Dad drove to Baltimore, and I flew out and drove home with them after we packed Granny up.
Let's just say that putting someone you love in a tiny room that's "NOT a nursing home" but that's not home is very difficult. I know it was miserable for me, and I imagine that it was a million times harder for Mom. For years, Granny has begged us not to put her in a nursing home, and the assisted living facility is not a nursing home, but it is a home with nurses and health aides and everything is monitored. Further, Granny had lived in her home for 58 years, through the deaths of both her husbands, raised two children and one grandchild, watched the world change as her neighborhood changed, and spent all of her adult life in this house.
It's also not easy to watch someone you love deteriorate, both physically and mentally. It's particularly scary when you realize that this could be you in another 50 years.
So I went to try to ease the situation for both Granny and for my mother. I'm not so sure I did anything for either of them. A little bit of background info on my family is that in addition to the medical issues for Granny, there's also family drama everywhere....I have an aunt that is not the best example of what a person should be that's fleecing Granny of every nickel and dime that she's ever saved--which Granny freely hands over fistful after fistful--and is married to an honest to God mental patient; a cousin that's trying so hard to get away from his mother (said aunt) that he has changed all his numbers and hasn't contacted the family in months--enough months that we didn't even know that he has another child; and a great uncle that is very lonely and has discovered in the past 10 years or so that his life wasn't what it could have been or what he wanted it to be--so he struggles to control everyone else's life. It wasn't just a matter of trying to move Granny, but a matter of dealing with all of them and the constant drama that surrounds them. We watched my aunt remove a couple of hundred dollars in a matter of days from Granny. Aunt announced that she hunted Cousin down and told Cousin that we didn't want to see him--not at all true; in fact, my mother and father have acted as pseudo grandparents to my cousin's children and desperately wanted to see them, but couldn't reach Cousin as he's hiding from Granny and Aunt. Great Uncle is really distraught to see his sister, Granny, in the state she's in and is depressed enough that Aunt and Mom are worried about his well being. Granny can't keep track of days or conversations, sees hallucinations, and honestly believes that she should be going to the house although she falls on a regular basis and the house is full of stairs and other obstacles.
I really did not get to spend much time with anybody as I was packing and searching the house for the valuables and memories that couldn't be replaced if something should happen to the house now that it's empty (because we all know what a safe city Baltimore is). I think I spent maybe a total of 4 hours with Granny, about 30 minutes with Aunt and a different 30 minutes with Great Uncle. I wish I could have spent more--this is what's left of my family, and I don't really know any of them. To be honest, I don't think I want to know my aunt, but my great uncle is a fascinating man, and I enjoy conversations with him. I find it difficult to spend time with Granny because of what's changed due to her medical issues, but I wish I had had more of an occasion to try with her.
Growing up, I didn't know my family on either side very well--we lived out West and everyone else lived on the East Coast. I knew my paternal grandparents better because they came out West a couple of times a year, but my maternal grandparents came once and then not until I got married. We did go East once or twice a year until I was in high school and then I didn't go any more. Once I graduated high school, I made an effort to go East myself and to see family, but that was only once a year or so. I've always envied those with close extended family. As my in- laws and I can't seem to get along with each other (probably because although we live less than a mile away from each other and my husband and I have been together for going on 9 years, there just hasn't been time to get to know each other--according to my MIL and FIL, it's not that they don't like me, but that they don't know me), it appears that should I ever have children, they won't have an extended family either. I guess it's just really hit hard, and picking through my grandmother's memories hasn't made it any easier.
On a more cheerful note, I did have a chance to visit with my Aunt and Uncle from my father's side of the family. That Aunt and I exchange e-mails every now and then, and I hadn't seen them since my father's father passed away back in 1994. I actually don't know if my Uncle came to the services then, but I don't remember him at all. They are a hoot--think New York, think Italian, and think fun--that explains them. They brought my cousin's baby, their newest grandchild, with them from NY and spent a couple of hours with us in Baltimore. They have invited/encouraged me to visit them at their home in Florida, and if I can figure out when I'll be able to do so, I'd love to see them again. I don't want to lose a chance to get to know any of my family, and other than occasional generic e-mails/Christmas cards, I don't have contact with anyone from my father's family since his parents passed away.
The other thing that keeps sticking out in my mind is that family is not just by blood, and I have been truly blessed to have a number of brothers and sisters by choice. I guess I really do have a large extended family in the ways that matter most--by love.
Let's just say that putting someone you love in a tiny room that's "NOT a nursing home" but that's not home is very difficult. I know it was miserable for me, and I imagine that it was a million times harder for Mom. For years, Granny has begged us not to put her in a nursing home, and the assisted living facility is not a nursing home, but it is a home with nurses and health aides and everything is monitored. Further, Granny had lived in her home for 58 years, through the deaths of both her husbands, raised two children and one grandchild, watched the world change as her neighborhood changed, and spent all of her adult life in this house.
It's also not easy to watch someone you love deteriorate, both physically and mentally. It's particularly scary when you realize that this could be you in another 50 years.
So I went to try to ease the situation for both Granny and for my mother. I'm not so sure I did anything for either of them. A little bit of background info on my family is that in addition to the medical issues for Granny, there's also family drama everywhere....I have an aunt that is not the best example of what a person should be that's fleecing Granny of every nickel and dime that she's ever saved--which Granny freely hands over fistful after fistful--and is married to an honest to God mental patient; a cousin that's trying so hard to get away from his mother (said aunt) that he has changed all his numbers and hasn't contacted the family in months--enough months that we didn't even know that he has another child; and a great uncle that is very lonely and has discovered in the past 10 years or so that his life wasn't what it could have been or what he wanted it to be--so he struggles to control everyone else's life. It wasn't just a matter of trying to move Granny, but a matter of dealing with all of them and the constant drama that surrounds them. We watched my aunt remove a couple of hundred dollars in a matter of days from Granny. Aunt announced that she hunted Cousin down and told Cousin that we didn't want to see him--not at all true; in fact, my mother and father have acted as pseudo grandparents to my cousin's children and desperately wanted to see them, but couldn't reach Cousin as he's hiding from Granny and Aunt. Great Uncle is really distraught to see his sister, Granny, in the state she's in and is depressed enough that Aunt and Mom are worried about his well being. Granny can't keep track of days or conversations, sees hallucinations, and honestly believes that she should be going to the house although she falls on a regular basis and the house is full of stairs and other obstacles.
I really did not get to spend much time with anybody as I was packing and searching the house for the valuables and memories that couldn't be replaced if something should happen to the house now that it's empty (because we all know what a safe city Baltimore is). I think I spent maybe a total of 4 hours with Granny, about 30 minutes with Aunt and a different 30 minutes with Great Uncle. I wish I could have spent more--this is what's left of my family, and I don't really know any of them. To be honest, I don't think I want to know my aunt, but my great uncle is a fascinating man, and I enjoy conversations with him. I find it difficult to spend time with Granny because of what's changed due to her medical issues, but I wish I had had more of an occasion to try with her.
Growing up, I didn't know my family on either side very well--we lived out West and everyone else lived on the East Coast. I knew my paternal grandparents better because they came out West a couple of times a year, but my maternal grandparents came once and then not until I got married. We did go East once or twice a year until I was in high school and then I didn't go any more. Once I graduated high school, I made an effort to go East myself and to see family, but that was only once a year or so. I've always envied those with close extended family. As my in- laws and I can't seem to get along with each other (probably because although we live less than a mile away from each other and my husband and I have been together for going on 9 years, there just hasn't been time to get to know each other--according to my MIL and FIL, it's not that they don't like me, but that they don't know me), it appears that should I ever have children, they won't have an extended family either. I guess it's just really hit hard, and picking through my grandmother's memories hasn't made it any easier.
On a more cheerful note, I did have a chance to visit with my Aunt and Uncle from my father's side of the family. That Aunt and I exchange e-mails every now and then, and I hadn't seen them since my father's father passed away back in 1994. I actually don't know if my Uncle came to the services then, but I don't remember him at all. They are a hoot--think New York, think Italian, and think fun--that explains them. They brought my cousin's baby, their newest grandchild, with them from NY and spent a couple of hours with us in Baltimore. They have invited/encouraged me to visit them at their home in Florida, and if I can figure out when I'll be able to do so, I'd love to see them again. I don't want to lose a chance to get to know any of my family, and other than occasional generic e-mails/Christmas cards, I don't have contact with anyone from my father's family since his parents passed away.
The other thing that keeps sticking out in my mind is that family is not just by blood, and I have been truly blessed to have a number of brothers and sisters by choice. I guess I really do have a large extended family in the ways that matter most--by love.
Thursday, September 13, 2007
What's Wrong with Us--an Update
Just a quick update about our health woes--thanks to everyone that commented here or e-mailed us :)
We've often wondered what's wrong with us, and after the trip, I wondered more than usual! However, my stitches did come out last Thursday as planned, and while I sport a nasty scabby mass on the side of my foot, I can walk normal, and even was able to wear those sexy combat boots with my uniform to work most of last rotation....of course, if I'd had to put those boots to use, I don't that I could have, but that has nothing to do with my injury. And if anyone can explain to me why I have to wear those boots (or the tactical pants for that matter), when I sit on the 2nd story of a "bullet-proof" room where you can't get in without a tank to get through the gate (well, it's probably not that strong--and the bullet-proof part we've always wanted to test) or a security card, I'd appreciate it! But again, I'm off track.
Hubby saw the doctor who thinks he just strained some neck muscles, and gave hubby Percocet, so he's REALLY just fine :) Actually, hubby hasn't complained in a while, and he's playing paintball sometime soon, so I'm guessing he's fine. I doubt he asked about the twitching thing, but I assume it's just a normal reaction, as I've heard others do so also.
So we're back to our semi-normal selves. You know, fat, dumb and always bitchy--well, in my case :)
We've often wondered what's wrong with us, and after the trip, I wondered more than usual! However, my stitches did come out last Thursday as planned, and while I sport a nasty scabby mass on the side of my foot, I can walk normal, and even was able to wear those sexy combat boots with my uniform to work most of last rotation....of course, if I'd had to put those boots to use, I don't that I could have, but that has nothing to do with my injury. And if anyone can explain to me why I have to wear those boots (or the tactical pants for that matter), when I sit on the 2nd story of a "bullet-proof" room where you can't get in without a tank to get through the gate (well, it's probably not that strong--and the bullet-proof part we've always wanted to test) or a security card, I'd appreciate it! But again, I'm off track.
Hubby saw the doctor who thinks he just strained some neck muscles, and gave hubby Percocet, so he's REALLY just fine :) Actually, hubby hasn't complained in a while, and he's playing paintball sometime soon, so I'm guessing he's fine. I doubt he asked about the twitching thing, but I assume it's just a normal reaction, as I've heard others do so also.
So we're back to our semi-normal selves. You know, fat, dumb and always bitchy--well, in my case :)
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
Priceless
Airline Tickets to Savannah, GA for 2: $780.00
Hotel Stay in Historic District for 6 nights: $700.00
Rental Car (upgraded to a fun Mustang so we can be cool): $300
Trip to the Ocean: $150.00 and counting...
Making Marriage Memories: Priceless
We're finally home, safe and sound and almost in one piece. Savannah is gorgeous, HOT, delicious, scary, fun and expensive! Here's how it went down:
Arrived on Wednesday after a million hours on a tiny plane. Ok, so not a million, but we were on a smaller jet, an "express jet" from Houston to Savannah, and it felt tiny and after the fact that we'd been awake since 3 am Mountain time, it felt like a long trip. I couldn't wait for hubby to see the ocean, so we checked in (score one for the hotel--valet parking is included in the hotel room; score two for the hotel--there was a garden whirlpool tub in the room separate from the bathroom) and I dragged hubby off to Tybee Island. We hit the sand, right before sunset, and I did everything but shove hubby into the Atlantic. It was perfect weather, and we agreed that it stinks that I forgot the camera, but we'd buy a fake-er, disposable, camera and recreate the moment that he saw the ocean for the first time again. We went to a crab shack--neither of us eats crab. In fact, neither of us really cares for seafood at all. I was adventurous, and I had a crab and shrimp Au gratin (still don't like shrimp, and I hate to confess, but I think I prefer imitation crab) while hubby had ribs. We were bit by all sorts of bugs (guess what else I forgot to pack?), so we ended the night with a soak in the garden whirlpool tub watching the boob-tube.
So we were full of energy and ready to hit the streets the next morning. We took a narrated tour on a trolley, and then I again couldn't stand being so close to water and not being in it. Added to that which someone forgot to pack was swimsuits, so off to Walmart we went. And really, what is a vacation without at least one Walmart run? So we grabbed suits, sunscreen and bug spray (see, thinking ahead!) and returned to the beach with ample time to swim and return to clean up for a murder mystery cruise we were booked for that night on the Savannah River. After two hours of frolicking in the waves, swallowing salt water, spotting a shark fin (which it turned out upon closer inspection, was a dolphin! I had no idea they were in the Atlantic! See how deprived we are being so stinking far away from the ocean?)and getting sunburned (80 minutes of continuous coverage is not quite enough for us...who wanted to get out?), we were about to get out when I just wanted to "jump" a few more waves, and in coming down, cut the bejeezers out of my foot on something sharp and excruciatingly painful. I grabbed my foot (almost drowned while trying to sit down in a wave) and hubby helped me to my feet (well, to my foot) as I hobbled up out of the waves leaving a bloody stream on the beach behind me. Hubby thought I was being a baby, but he gave me his beloved Chicago Bear's t-shirt which I bleed through in a bunch of spots, and tried to flag down the Fire/Rescue/Lifeguards that were driving around the beach for a band aid.
Southerners are known for their hospitality, but apparently, Fire/Rescue/Lifeguards are not Southerners, or they haven't been properly instructed that a man waving his arms over his head repeatedly and drawing the attention of other beach goers may need assistance. Good thing nobody was drowning, because they drove by--twice.
We went back to the hotel (not as easy as it sounds because we were trying to keep sand out of the cut but all I had were my flip flops, and hubby left me to soak clean the cut in the tub while he hiked to the CVS to buy band aids. I called my mommy for advice, thinking I needed a tetanus shot (who knows what's in the ocean?), and sympathy, and after she consulted with her nurse, she called me back and told me to go NOW to the Urgent Care for a shot. This began the battle with the insurance companies (this is why both hubby and I carry full insurance on each other--my HMO that covers more in my state wouldn't cover anything other than a full steam emergency in another state, but hubby's insurance said go here and agreed to pay--and gave us numbers of multiple providers in the area), and after some time we headed off into unknown parts of Savannah. Note--this was at 7 pm and our cruise started at 9 pm. We were in evening attire and I was (hoping against hope) carrying my heels as we entered the Urgent Care place.
Sure enough, the doctor wanted a tetanus shot and to clean the wound herself. In doing so, she apparently shocked herself and hubby at the depth of the cut (I know I'm a drama queen, but I'm not that good of a liar, and I was secretly relieved that I was not being over dramatic with the cut). Shocked hubby to the point where the next thing I know, hubby is bumping into the sink and then I realize that he (all 6 feet 4 inches, 250 pounds) is headed directly for the doctor (all 5 foot nothing, maybe 100 pounds) head first. Sure enough, hubby is lying face plant on the floor where he landed so that the doctor was on her rear, holding the tweezers/scalpel thingy in the air and saying "Okay" over and over, like she's reassuring herself. Hubby jerks while he's coming to and looks like he's having a seizure. Nurses and aides are running to the room and I'm trying to pick up equipment that has scattered as hubby went down. I say his name, and hubby looks surprised and says "Ow" in what has to be the understatement of the year. Nurse scrapes him off the floor and puts him in a chair and doctor says to me "it's quite a bit deeper that I thought and I think it's deeper than what he thought" and decides to stitch me up while the nurse attacks hubby with a tetanus shot of his own and ice packs. I think we made quite an impression.
So off we tottered to Target to fill prescriptions for me, and then it was on to dinner--to heck with the cruise. I drove, as who knows what really caused the fall of hubby...we had had a late breakfast and skipped lunch in favor of the ocean, and had only drank maybe a bottle of water between us, so I imagine that dehydration, low blood sugar and sun contributed to the shock of the sight of the inside of my foot. Hubby sports a lovely bruise on one arm and a big cut on the other arm, along with a cut on his lip. I sport a lovely bandage and the inability to walk.
Needless to say, Savannah is a walking town, and we spent the remainder of the trip in a car or on a trolley. Hubby spent a good portion applying creams of wonder to my foot and wrapping my foot, as well as holding me upright as the antibiotic makes me dizzy. I spent a good portion wondering if he would pass out again (the shaking as he came to and the twitching seriously make me freak about a serious problem--and he is still getting searing pains through his head to the point where we made an appointment from the Houston airport for him to go to the doctor) and trying to stand on one foot. For those of you that haven't seen me, I'm too big to imitate a flamingo.
We did do a ghost tour that let us into a house where the Ghost Hunters from the Sci Fi channel show (I know that's not really their real name because hubby keeps muttering TAPS at me, but I don't know what that means), and we were able to take the murder mystery cruise tickets and turn them into a moonlight cruise, which we enjoyed. We saw the Pirate House, which is supposed to be the inspiration for the Pirates of the Caribbean, and attended a murder mystery dinner there. We toured Juliette Gordon Low's home and had a carriage tour of the historic district. We ate at The Lady and Sons (Paula Deen!) and shopped in her store. We toured the oldest African American church in the nation that was built by slaves for slaves and used in the Underground Railroad. We walked River Street. We ate some more. It was a wonderful trip, and a truly memorable trip for more than one reason :)
Now it's back to the real world. Hubby works tomorrow, and I'm trying to stay up to acclimate myself back into the graveyard schedule. Hubby sees the doctor on Friday and I get the stitches out tomorrow...hopefully both will bear good news and we will keep the good memories of Savannah and this will just be a passing laughing memory next year.
Of course, next year, we're thinking of going camping in Utah, so only God knows what will happen there!
Hotel Stay in Historic District for 6 nights: $700.00
Rental Car (upgraded to a fun Mustang so we can be cool): $300
Trip to the Ocean: $150.00 and counting...
Making Marriage Memories: Priceless
We're finally home, safe and sound and almost in one piece. Savannah is gorgeous, HOT, delicious, scary, fun and expensive! Here's how it went down:
Arrived on Wednesday after a million hours on a tiny plane. Ok, so not a million, but we were on a smaller jet, an "express jet" from Houston to Savannah, and it felt tiny and after the fact that we'd been awake since 3 am Mountain time, it felt like a long trip. I couldn't wait for hubby to see the ocean, so we checked in (score one for the hotel--valet parking is included in the hotel room; score two for the hotel--there was a garden whirlpool tub in the room separate from the bathroom) and I dragged hubby off to Tybee Island. We hit the sand, right before sunset, and I did everything but shove hubby into the Atlantic. It was perfect weather, and we agreed that it stinks that I forgot the camera, but we'd buy a fake-er, disposable, camera and recreate the moment that he saw the ocean for the first time again. We went to a crab shack--neither of us eats crab. In fact, neither of us really cares for seafood at all. I was adventurous, and I had a crab and shrimp Au gratin (still don't like shrimp, and I hate to confess, but I think I prefer imitation crab) while hubby had ribs. We were bit by all sorts of bugs (guess what else I forgot to pack?), so we ended the night with a soak in the garden whirlpool tub watching the boob-tube.
So we were full of energy and ready to hit the streets the next morning. We took a narrated tour on a trolley, and then I again couldn't stand being so close to water and not being in it. Added to that which someone forgot to pack was swimsuits, so off to Walmart we went. And really, what is a vacation without at least one Walmart run? So we grabbed suits, sunscreen and bug spray (see, thinking ahead!) and returned to the beach with ample time to swim and return to clean up for a murder mystery cruise we were booked for that night on the Savannah River. After two hours of frolicking in the waves, swallowing salt water, spotting a shark fin (which it turned out upon closer inspection, was a dolphin! I had no idea they were in the Atlantic! See how deprived we are being so stinking far away from the ocean?)and getting sunburned (80 minutes of continuous coverage is not quite enough for us...who wanted to get out?), we were about to get out when I just wanted to "jump" a few more waves, and in coming down, cut the bejeezers out of my foot on something sharp and excruciatingly painful. I grabbed my foot (almost drowned while trying to sit down in a wave) and hubby helped me to my feet (well, to my foot) as I hobbled up out of the waves leaving a bloody stream on the beach behind me. Hubby thought I was being a baby, but he gave me his beloved Chicago Bear's t-shirt which I bleed through in a bunch of spots, and tried to flag down the Fire/Rescue/Lifeguards that were driving around the beach for a band aid.
Southerners are known for their hospitality, but apparently, Fire/Rescue/Lifeguards are not Southerners, or they haven't been properly instructed that a man waving his arms over his head repeatedly and drawing the attention of other beach goers may need assistance. Good thing nobody was drowning, because they drove by--twice.
We went back to the hotel (not as easy as it sounds because we were trying to keep sand out of the cut but all I had were my flip flops, and hubby left me to soak clean the cut in the tub while he hiked to the CVS to buy band aids. I called my mommy for advice, thinking I needed a tetanus shot (who knows what's in the ocean?), and sympathy, and after she consulted with her nurse, she called me back and told me to go NOW to the Urgent Care for a shot. This began the battle with the insurance companies (this is why both hubby and I carry full insurance on each other--my HMO that covers more in my state wouldn't cover anything other than a full steam emergency in another state, but hubby's insurance said go here and agreed to pay--and gave us numbers of multiple providers in the area), and after some time we headed off into unknown parts of Savannah. Note--this was at 7 pm and our cruise started at 9 pm. We were in evening attire and I was (hoping against hope) carrying my heels as we entered the Urgent Care place.
Sure enough, the doctor wanted a tetanus shot and to clean the wound herself. In doing so, she apparently shocked herself and hubby at the depth of the cut (I know I'm a drama queen, but I'm not that good of a liar, and I was secretly relieved that I was not being over dramatic with the cut). Shocked hubby to the point where the next thing I know, hubby is bumping into the sink and then I realize that he (all 6 feet 4 inches, 250 pounds) is headed directly for the doctor (all 5 foot nothing, maybe 100 pounds) head first. Sure enough, hubby is lying face plant on the floor where he landed so that the doctor was on her rear, holding the tweezers/scalpel thingy in the air and saying "Okay" over and over, like she's reassuring herself. Hubby jerks while he's coming to and looks like he's having a seizure. Nurses and aides are running to the room and I'm trying to pick up equipment that has scattered as hubby went down. I say his name, and hubby looks surprised and says "Ow" in what has to be the understatement of the year. Nurse scrapes him off the floor and puts him in a chair and doctor says to me "it's quite a bit deeper that I thought and I think it's deeper than what he thought" and decides to stitch me up while the nurse attacks hubby with a tetanus shot of his own and ice packs. I think we made quite an impression.
So off we tottered to Target to fill prescriptions for me, and then it was on to dinner--to heck with the cruise. I drove, as who knows what really caused the fall of hubby...we had had a late breakfast and skipped lunch in favor of the ocean, and had only drank maybe a bottle of water between us, so I imagine that dehydration, low blood sugar and sun contributed to the shock of the sight of the inside of my foot. Hubby sports a lovely bruise on one arm and a big cut on the other arm, along with a cut on his lip. I sport a lovely bandage and the inability to walk.
Needless to say, Savannah is a walking town, and we spent the remainder of the trip in a car or on a trolley. Hubby spent a good portion applying creams of wonder to my foot and wrapping my foot, as well as holding me upright as the antibiotic makes me dizzy. I spent a good portion wondering if he would pass out again (the shaking as he came to and the twitching seriously make me freak about a serious problem--and he is still getting searing pains through his head to the point where we made an appointment from the Houston airport for him to go to the doctor) and trying to stand on one foot. For those of you that haven't seen me, I'm too big to imitate a flamingo.
We did do a ghost tour that let us into a house where the Ghost Hunters from the Sci Fi channel show (I know that's not really their real name because hubby keeps muttering TAPS at me, but I don't know what that means), and we were able to take the murder mystery cruise tickets and turn them into a moonlight cruise, which we enjoyed. We saw the Pirate House, which is supposed to be the inspiration for the Pirates of the Caribbean, and attended a murder mystery dinner there. We toured Juliette Gordon Low's home and had a carriage tour of the historic district. We ate at The Lady and Sons (Paula Deen!) and shopped in her store. We toured the oldest African American church in the nation that was built by slaves for slaves and used in the Underground Railroad. We walked River Street. We ate some more. It was a wonderful trip, and a truly memorable trip for more than one reason :)
Now it's back to the real world. Hubby works tomorrow, and I'm trying to stay up to acclimate myself back into the graveyard schedule. Hubby sees the doctor on Friday and I get the stitches out tomorrow...hopefully both will bear good news and we will keep the good memories of Savannah and this will just be a passing laughing memory next year.
Of course, next year, we're thinking of going camping in Utah, so only God knows what will happen there!
Saturday, August 25, 2007
Trouble with Toilet Paper
I am a terrible human being. Cases in point:
1.) While shopping at the local grocery store, I saw a woman with something odd and white tucked into the backside of her pants and flapping in the wind. I stepped a bit closer, and discovered that it appears that a piece of toilet paper somehow got tucked up and her shirt was just short enough that the last square was visible. Do you think I stopped this poor woman from facing humiliation throughout the store as she unknowingly reached for a box of cereal or a can of spaghetti sauce and the world was drawn to her backside and therefore the square? Nope, I did not. I couldn't figure out how to approach this lady and tell her that I was watching her back end and saw the paper. I have no idea what made me see this...and I wasn't sure how to begin the conversation--"ooh, have you tried this...and by the way, you have something on your rear" didn't sound right. I actually started towards her twice, but couldn't bring myself to interrupt her shopping.
2.) While out and about in public, I magically ended up in the stall without any toilet paper. (No, this did not happen after the above incident, but rather a couple of days prior to the grocery store incident, so it wasn't fate or God's way of teaching me a valuable lesson for not helping the other lady). Fortunately, I am addicted to paper napkins from fast food restaurants, and almost always have some in my purse (I guess eating all the Happy Meals and such with my sorority sisters' children have taught me to be prepared, especially since I'm pretty quick to mop up the kiddos and their spills). So I am washing my hands and see a lady from another stall leave the restroom with a piece of TP attached to the heel of her shoe. I was so fascinated with the pondering of how it is that where TP is not needed, there it is, that I let her leave without saying anything. And in this case, I honestly would have told her!
Just to prevent fate from sticking me in a stall without TP or a situation that might lead me to be the person looking like a fool, I am getting ready to switch out purses that will a) carry a roll of TP and b) be large enough to push over my shoulder and around my back end so that most of my back end will be covered. Or I may try just checking out my rear in a mirror while I'm drying my hands.
1.) While shopping at the local grocery store, I saw a woman with something odd and white tucked into the backside of her pants and flapping in the wind. I stepped a bit closer, and discovered that it appears that a piece of toilet paper somehow got tucked up and her shirt was just short enough that the last square was visible. Do you think I stopped this poor woman from facing humiliation throughout the store as she unknowingly reached for a box of cereal or a can of spaghetti sauce and the world was drawn to her backside and therefore the square? Nope, I did not. I couldn't figure out how to approach this lady and tell her that I was watching her back end and saw the paper. I have no idea what made me see this...and I wasn't sure how to begin the conversation--"ooh, have you tried this...and by the way, you have something on your rear" didn't sound right. I actually started towards her twice, but couldn't bring myself to interrupt her shopping.
2.) While out and about in public, I magically ended up in the stall without any toilet paper. (No, this did not happen after the above incident, but rather a couple of days prior to the grocery store incident, so it wasn't fate or God's way of teaching me a valuable lesson for not helping the other lady). Fortunately, I am addicted to paper napkins from fast food restaurants, and almost always have some in my purse (I guess eating all the Happy Meals and such with my sorority sisters' children have taught me to be prepared, especially since I'm pretty quick to mop up the kiddos and their spills). So I am washing my hands and see a lady from another stall leave the restroom with a piece of TP attached to the heel of her shoe. I was so fascinated with the pondering of how it is that where TP is not needed, there it is, that I let her leave without saying anything. And in this case, I honestly would have told her!
Just to prevent fate from sticking me in a stall without TP or a situation that might lead me to be the person looking like a fool, I am getting ready to switch out purses that will a) carry a roll of TP and b) be large enough to push over my shoulder and around my back end so that most of my back end will be covered. Or I may try just checking out my rear in a mirror while I'm drying my hands.
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Georgia on my Mind
Vacation time is rapidly approaching, and as I'm at work on my day off wishing I was elsewhere, it's totally on my mind!
Every year hubby and I have gone to a different state for our anniversary. When we reach our 50th, we'll have been to all 50 states. What a fun idea--and not one we conjured up on our own. I actually stole it from an attorney that said she and her husband were going to do this--it was around the time of our second anniversary, and so I went home and announced we should be just like So-and-so...fortunately, hubby agreed.
So for the past six years we have gone to various states. Our personal spin on the idea--can't be total posers--was that we'll go some place we haven't been or wouldn't normally go. Our first year didn't really count; my grandfather had recently passed away and we were in Maryland to check on my grandmother and to attend a friend's wedding over our anniversary, so we'd been there before. The second year we went to Pagosa Springs, CO...had a "free" (sit through the resort presentation and stay in the area 2 nights for free) hotel and we're nothing if not thrifty! The third year we were broke, and stayed in NM but rode the Tram in Albuquerque--something neither of us had done. Year four found us in Liberty, KS at the Wizard of Oz Museum...surprising because neither of us just absolutely loved the movie; it was a place I'd wanted to go since I was like 10 because someone I knew went there and it sounded fun. Year five put us alone on a horse ranch in OK (haven't lived until you've watched my husband ride a horse for five days in a row, twice a day). Year six we waited until the last minute and had to break our rule of going somewhere to do something new, so we just went to Vegas (but we stayed in a new hotel and saw things we hadn't before, so that sort of counts, right?). Which brings us to this year.
Because last year we waited until the last minute because we were still pretty rocky, hubby was surfing the net and found ghost tours in Savannah. It was WAY too much money for a last minute ordeal, so we agreed to contact a travel agent and go the following year. After a year of repeatedly hunting down the travel agent (and having her tell us to book everything but the airline tickets ourselves--what a waste of time!), we are set to go. We're taking a mystery cruise, going to Paula Dean's restaurant, driving down the coast to see an island where wild horses roam, taking a ghost tour (if I get off my duff and book it!), and finally, FINALLY, hubby will see an ocean.
How does someone live to be over 30 and not see or swim in an ocean?
Anyway, as previously discussed, I love the south, and I'm sure I'll fall in love with Savannah. If I only make it that far...how is it that Tuesday feels like a million years away?
Every year hubby and I have gone to a different state for our anniversary. When we reach our 50th, we'll have been to all 50 states. What a fun idea--and not one we conjured up on our own. I actually stole it from an attorney that said she and her husband were going to do this--it was around the time of our second anniversary, and so I went home and announced we should be just like So-and-so...fortunately, hubby agreed.
So for the past six years we have gone to various states. Our personal spin on the idea--can't be total posers--was that we'll go some place we haven't been or wouldn't normally go. Our first year didn't really count; my grandfather had recently passed away and we were in Maryland to check on my grandmother and to attend a friend's wedding over our anniversary, so we'd been there before. The second year we went to Pagosa Springs, CO...had a "free" (sit through the resort presentation and stay in the area 2 nights for free) hotel and we're nothing if not thrifty! The third year we were broke, and stayed in NM but rode the Tram in Albuquerque--something neither of us had done. Year four found us in Liberty, KS at the Wizard of Oz Museum...surprising because neither of us just absolutely loved the movie; it was a place I'd wanted to go since I was like 10 because someone I knew went there and it sounded fun. Year five put us alone on a horse ranch in OK (haven't lived until you've watched my husband ride a horse for five days in a row, twice a day). Year six we waited until the last minute and had to break our rule of going somewhere to do something new, so we just went to Vegas (but we stayed in a new hotel and saw things we hadn't before, so that sort of counts, right?). Which brings us to this year.
Because last year we waited until the last minute because we were still pretty rocky, hubby was surfing the net and found ghost tours in Savannah. It was WAY too much money for a last minute ordeal, so we agreed to contact a travel agent and go the following year. After a year of repeatedly hunting down the travel agent (and having her tell us to book everything but the airline tickets ourselves--what a waste of time!), we are set to go. We're taking a mystery cruise, going to Paula Dean's restaurant, driving down the coast to see an island where wild horses roam, taking a ghost tour (if I get off my duff and book it!), and finally, FINALLY, hubby will see an ocean.
How does someone live to be over 30 and not see or swim in an ocean?
Anyway, as previously discussed, I love the south, and I'm sure I'll fall in love with Savannah. If I only make it that far...how is it that Tuesday feels like a million years away?
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