My family is quite unusual, as you might have observed if you've spent any amount of time on my blog. Being raised by the original party people was kind of like having a family with no parents sometimes, as they both were kids at heart.
The third Saturday of every month was game night. My Mom was an incredibly organized person, and we had different days like this. The fourth Saturday was window day, which wasn't nearly as fun.
Game night was special in many aspects. We ordered Pizza!! That was a huge treat. People order out food or go out to eat on a daily basis now, but 20 years ago that was reserved for birthdays, anniversaries, and good report cards in my family.
We had a closet dedicated to game night, and it was packed with every game you can imagine. My parents never dumbed their selves down because we were children, but we did tend to play easier games when we were younger.
My Dad was a huge fan of chess, and we would play that game all the time. He thought it was an important game for kids to learn, and he was right. I really excel with problem solving skills, and playing chess all those years taught me way more then my college degree.
On that Saturday we would go to the closet and pick what we wanted to play that night. When we were younger it was games like Game of Life!, Family feud, Trouble, Monopoly, Dominoes, Chinese Checkers, Yahtzee, and Clue.
As we grew older and all moved out, Trivial Pursuit, Tribond, Risk, Triopoly, Pictionary, and Outburst had taken over as our favorite games, as we would still gather that third Saturday of the month and play.
My brother brought my future sister-in-law over for the first time to one of these game nights. I was the only one who knew her, as we were friends before she started dating my brother.
We grabbed Trivial Pursuit out of the closet and began to play. We are cutthroat when we play anything. We are a bunch of over achievers, and none of us like to lose. Poor K didn't know what to think about all of this I'm sure.
I don't remember who won, but I remember we left K in the dust. The next time we had game night she was just a bit wiser, and she brought her own game with her, Scrabble.
Why we never got into Scrabble before is beyond me. We are all avid readers, and pretty well educated. Scrabble was actually in our closet, at the very bottom, covered in dust.
So sis-in-law suggested that we play Scrabble. She then proceeded to whip all our asses, and whip them bad. Turns out her Grandma was in a nursing home, and she would go there once a week and play Scrabble with her all day, making her a master at Scrabble.
There was only one solution. Bitch had to go down.
It became an obsession really. My Mom went out and bought a Scrabble dictionary. I was over one time and my Mom was banging on the bathroom door telling my Dad to get out. "What's wrong?" I asked her. "He's been in there with the damn Scrabble dictionary for 2 hours. He's hogging it!" she exclaimed.
Here.we.go.
That game at the bottom of the closet? It was dusted off and never left my parent's table as they (and myself, brother, and sister) played every chance we got. Yes, even my brother was plotting to bring his new girlfriend down.
A second Scrabble dictionary was bought to keep the peace between my parents. They studied relentlessly, and pretty soon began speaking in what seemed like foreign tongues, as none of us could understand a damn word they were saying.
The next game night approached with much trepidition. We were prepared this time, and she wouldn't get over on us again.
It started out friendly enough, but my future sis-in-law began to sweat as every word she challenged was in fact in the Scrabble Dictionary.
The game came to a head when my Mom, the proper southern belle that she is, spelled F-U-C-K for a triple word score. We all sat in amazed silence because we had never heard my Mom say that word, much less spell it. Hell, I don't ever remember her saying "Damn".
My future sis-in-law turned beet red and said, "You can't use that!" "It's in the Scrabble Dictionary!" my Mom said, and sure as shit it was.
Hence began the argument over "The Queen's English" vs. "The Scrabble Dictionary" and the Scrabble Dictionary won out of course, because once we knew we could spell dirty words, bitch was really going down.
My Dad layed "S-H-I-T-H-E-A-D" out across the board. Whaddya know? It was in there. An innocent game of Scrabble turned NC17 real quick, and we proceed to knock my future sis-in-law in the dirt.
My Mom ended up winning with the word "A-S-S-H-O-L-E". We would play Scrabble after that, but never with the future sis-in-law. She said if we weren't going to play right, she didn't want to play. Now we might not like to lose, but at least we weren't poor sports.
I'm sure she learned a lot about my family those first game nights. Considering she stuck around is a testament to how much she loves my brother I think.
Sunday, October 31, 2004
I Heart Falling Back
Spring forward sucks, but falling back is the best. Due to the time change, I am home from work a whole hour early. So what is there to do at 4:00 am on a Saturday? I decided to get a weather pixie and check out some of the new features @ Blog Explosion.
I was browsing through the different weather pixie's, and my nephew suggested the one that I ended up placing on the blog because she kind of looks like me. The kid is tired I think...
Anyhoo, I have one thing to say to pixie bitch. Put some damn clothes on. It says it is 46 degrees, FFS! The website claims that it changes clothes to go along with the weather. Resemblance or no resemblance, I have never worn a half top thingy when it was 46 degrees. She either straightens up and flies right, or she is out of here.
Next on to Blog Explosion expansions. They have a really cool feature where you can see who blogmarked you. Over a hundred people have blogmarked my site. Wow...Amazing...
I started clicking different sites to see the kind of people that were interested in my site. What really was amazing was it is so many different kind of people. Democrat blogs, Republican blogs, Libertarian blogs, Christian blogs, Wiccan blogs, SAHM blogs, Professional women blogs, Photo blogs, Teen blogs...It goes on and on. To attract such a diverse group of people is so cool.
Are the rest of you seeing the same results as me?
Mindy, I haven't forgotten your request from the hot 100, and I'm hoping to post it in the next couple of days.
One post that I do have nearly finished is how my family conspired to destroy my future sister-in-law at Scrabble. It should be up later today, after I get my extra half hour of sleep, since Pixie bitch took up the other extra half hour.
Nighty-nite!
*update*
I'm officially freaked out. After I uploaded this pixie bitch had on a full shirt. At least she listens?
I was browsing through the different weather pixie's, and my nephew suggested the one that I ended up placing on the blog because she kind of looks like me. The kid is tired I think...
Anyhoo, I have one thing to say to pixie bitch. Put some damn clothes on. It says it is 46 degrees, FFS! The website claims that it changes clothes to go along with the weather. Resemblance or no resemblance, I have never worn a half top thingy when it was 46 degrees. She either straightens up and flies right, or she is out of here.
Next on to Blog Explosion expansions. They have a really cool feature where you can see who blogmarked you. Over a hundred people have blogmarked my site. Wow...Amazing...
I started clicking different sites to see the kind of people that were interested in my site. What really was amazing was it is so many different kind of people. Democrat blogs, Republican blogs, Libertarian blogs, Christian blogs, Wiccan blogs, SAHM blogs, Professional women blogs, Photo blogs, Teen blogs...It goes on and on. To attract such a diverse group of people is so cool.
Are the rest of you seeing the same results as me?
Mindy, I haven't forgotten your request from the hot 100, and I'm hoping to post it in the next couple of days.
One post that I do have nearly finished is how my family conspired to destroy my future sister-in-law at Scrabble. It should be up later today, after I get my extra half hour of sleep, since Pixie bitch took up the other extra half hour.
Nighty-nite!
*update*
I'm officially freaked out. After I uploaded this pixie bitch had on a full shirt. At least she listens?
Saturday, October 30, 2004
Booooooooooo!
Beware of things that go bump in the night children, as all hallow's eve is upon us...
God, I love Halloween. I upload this to you on my break at work, because yes, I have to WORK. I took last weekend off for the big Halloween party, so I am stuck working on actual Halloween weekend. It was so worth it.
I have another Halloween post here, about my on-going problem with a Christian co-worker and Halloween. Poppy posted a great rebuttal to this post on her site, and it truly is a treat.
I stalked Poppy I mean asked her if she was going to post it yesterday, and I figured if I was going to be stalking/asking her to post it I should have my own adventures in Halloween as a child posted myself. I wrote this yesterday, and so now, without further adieu, here is how someone who grew up in a crazy ass household spent Halloween:
The original party people, my parents love any kind of a celebration. We prepared for said celebrations with enormous detail. Halloween was one of their all-time favorites.
Our town had what they called a "Monster March", a parade of all the children in their costumes. There was judging for best costume. Either myself, my brother, or my sister won it every year for 10 years straight.
This tended to piss the other people off. Just a bit.
To imagine some of the costumes my Mom came up with, some of the ones I really remember in detail are: Gene Simmons of KISS, Miss America (think Jon Benet before Jon Benet), Dolly Parton, Raggedy Ann (with my bro as Andy...we tied that year), and a Bumble Bee.
Store bought costumes they were not, young Jedi. She would make them from scratch. She would start in August. August, for f*ck's sake!
So the whole town hated us because their kid's never won. My parents made up for the fact by having the coolest trick-or-treat house ever. People used to drive from other towns to bring their kids to see the witch and the mummy, or as I called them, Mom and Dad.
The garage was set up as a haunted house type deal. Scary scenes were set up, and if you were brave enough you could sit in the "horror hour" room and listen to a tale of mystery and gore from the Mummy.
You had to face the witch to get your treat. She had a great big kettle that bubbled and steamed. Decked out in a long, flowing black dress and hat, this witch with the green face and great big nose was quite intimidating, even though she was only 5'1 and 105 lbs. Arbitrarily she would ask children if they wanted to get into the pot. She cackled wickedly, but she always gave the best treats to those brave children who would ask.
Those that weren't were usually chased down by my Grandpa and given one anyway.
My siblings and I would dress up as ghouls or vampires and work the haunted house. One of the good things about living in an area with two states that are next to each other is Trick-or-Treating was on two different nights, and we would Trick-or-Treat at the Grandparent's house in the next state one night, and help my parents scare the crap out of little kids the next.
Trick-or-Treating with my parents was unusual to say the least, as they Trick-or-Treated right along with us. My Dad is 6'5 and would wear a full Gorilla costume, pillow case in hand. My Mom would be different things each year, but my favorite was when she dressed up as a movie star, as she really did look like a movie star.
My Dad would pick her up and she would scream that King Kong had her. This amused some, and received more then it's fair share of dirty or disgusted looks from others. My parents have never been the type to care what anyone thinks. Obviously.
When we got back to our house our parent's had to "check" our candy, and it was amazing how Snickers bars were always the ones that had razor blades in them. The bags always were given back to us with at least half the candy missing, and for some odd reason we were never allowed to watch as they went through it. Must be because they didn't want us traumatized by how much candy they stole I mean by how many people out there wanted to hurt little children.
We would then drink hot apple cider, and if ON TV (my God, does anyone remember that?) had a scary movie on we would gather up under a comforter on the couch and watch. Before we went do bed my Dad would tell us a scary story, insuring that he would at some point and time have three children sleeping in their bed before the night was thru.
My Mom and my cousin's birthday were both in the first week of November, so they always celebrated with a big Halloween Extravaganza the weekend of Halloween. I'm not sure what happened at these Extravaganza's as we were shipped off to the Grandparent's house for the night. I can only imagine...Wait...No, I don't want to imagine.
So we needed at least 3 nights to celebrate Halloween...You should see how long it takes the original party people to celebrate a birthday...
Happy Halloween everyone! Be safe, be careful, but always have fun!
God, I love Halloween. I upload this to you on my break at work, because yes, I have to WORK. I took last weekend off for the big Halloween party, so I am stuck working on actual Halloween weekend. It was so worth it.
I have another Halloween post here, about my on-going problem with a Christian co-worker and Halloween. Poppy posted a great rebuttal to this post on her site, and it truly is a treat.
I stalked Poppy I mean asked her if she was going to post it yesterday, and I figured if I was going to be stalking/asking her to post it I should have my own adventures in Halloween as a child posted myself. I wrote this yesterday, and so now, without further adieu, here is how someone who grew up in a crazy ass household spent Halloween:
The original party people, my parents love any kind of a celebration. We prepared for said celebrations with enormous detail. Halloween was one of their all-time favorites.
Our town had what they called a "Monster March", a parade of all the children in their costumes. There was judging for best costume. Either myself, my brother, or my sister won it every year for 10 years straight.
This tended to piss the other people off. Just a bit.
To imagine some of the costumes my Mom came up with, some of the ones I really remember in detail are: Gene Simmons of KISS, Miss America (think Jon Benet before Jon Benet), Dolly Parton, Raggedy Ann (with my bro as Andy...we tied that year), and a Bumble Bee.
Store bought costumes they were not, young Jedi. She would make them from scratch. She would start in August. August, for f*ck's sake!
So the whole town hated us because their kid's never won. My parents made up for the fact by having the coolest trick-or-treat house ever. People used to drive from other towns to bring their kids to see the witch and the mummy, or as I called them, Mom and Dad.
The garage was set up as a haunted house type deal. Scary scenes were set up, and if you were brave enough you could sit in the "horror hour" room and listen to a tale of mystery and gore from the Mummy.
You had to face the witch to get your treat. She had a great big kettle that bubbled and steamed. Decked out in a long, flowing black dress and hat, this witch with the green face and great big nose was quite intimidating, even though she was only 5'1 and 105 lbs. Arbitrarily she would ask children if they wanted to get into the pot. She cackled wickedly, but she always gave the best treats to those brave children who would ask.
Those that weren't were usually chased down by my Grandpa and given one anyway.
My siblings and I would dress up as ghouls or vampires and work the haunted house. One of the good things about living in an area with two states that are next to each other is Trick-or-Treating was on two different nights, and we would Trick-or-Treat at the Grandparent's house in the next state one night, and help my parents scare the crap out of little kids the next.
Trick-or-Treating with my parents was unusual to say the least, as they Trick-or-Treated right along with us. My Dad is 6'5 and would wear a full Gorilla costume, pillow case in hand. My Mom would be different things each year, but my favorite was when she dressed up as a movie star, as she really did look like a movie star.
My Dad would pick her up and she would scream that King Kong had her. This amused some, and received more then it's fair share of dirty or disgusted looks from others. My parents have never been the type to care what anyone thinks. Obviously.
When we got back to our house our parent's had to "check" our candy, and it was amazing how Snickers bars were always the ones that had razor blades in them. The bags always were given back to us with at least half the candy missing, and for some odd reason we were never allowed to watch as they went through it. Must be because they didn't want us traumatized by how much candy they stole I mean by how many people out there wanted to hurt little children.
We would then drink hot apple cider, and if ON TV (my God, does anyone remember that?) had a scary movie on we would gather up under a comforter on the couch and watch. Before we went do bed my Dad would tell us a scary story, insuring that he would at some point and time have three children sleeping in their bed before the night was thru.
My Mom and my cousin's birthday were both in the first week of November, so they always celebrated with a big Halloween Extravaganza the weekend of Halloween. I'm not sure what happened at these Extravaganza's as we were shipped off to the Grandparent's house for the night. I can only imagine...Wait...No, I don't want to imagine.
So we needed at least 3 nights to celebrate Halloween...You should see how long it takes the original party people to celebrate a birthday...
Happy Halloween everyone! Be safe, be careful, but always have fun!
It's time to get the Duck
out of the shed. My poor nephew, the heavy lifter in my household is nominated. "It's a goose" he says.
Whatever.
My Mom called me all in a panic because someone had stripped her duck I mean goose. Hell, I'm calling it a damn duck because that's what I have always called it.
So someone had stolen her little hula girl outfit off her cement duck that sits on her front porch.
Yes, you heard me right. My Mom dresses up a ceramic duck on her front porch. When I bought my house, I received one of these ducks as a present. One of my very own. How lucky can a girl get?
This is what they look like for the fortunate people that don't live in the Midwest:
Ehh hem...
It's a Midwestern thing I think. I've never seen them anywhere else in the country. Some sick and demented Midwesterner one day looked at a cement duck and said, "Hey! We should dress that thing!"
They have every freakin' outfit you can image. Halloween costume (hence the hula girl outfit), Christmas outfits, Thanksgiving outfits, Rain Coats, St. Patrick's Day outfits....The list is endless....
What was I saying? Oh yes, so my Mom's duck is now naked on her front porch. The horror. She wanted me to go online and order her another hula outfit, because that is what she wants it to be for Halloween. She doesn't like to buy anything on the Internet unless it comes from Bloomies, because you know you can trust Bloomies, right??
Ok, we need to back the fuck up here for a minute. Why my Mother, who once wore a Channel suit to a biker party (long story) would ever be involved with something so so so...cheesy? Tacky? Corny? This is way beyond me.
So Mom wants me to order it a new hula outfit, and I tell her she won't get it in time. She doesn't care, as long as it's replaced. She also says she is going to be stalking little children on Halloween to see if they have on a little hula outfit.
For F*ck's Sake....
It gets worse, oh how much worse it gets...My Father also has a Duck. My Mom justified buying two by saying that she got one for my Dad.
Now my Father, being the manly man that he is, wasn't about to take this lying down. If it was his duck, it was his duck. It wears a cubs shirt and one of those hats with the beer can and the hose that goes to it's mouth umm beak?
I asked him one time if he wanted a different outfit for his duck, as finding a present for either of my parents is a major chore. "Mine's a guy duck. He doesn't need to change clothes. All he needs is the Cubs and beer."
Ok...
To hear my Father tell it, my Mom's duck took advantage of his duck after a long night of drinking beer, as his duck would never procreate with a girl duck dressed as Mrs. Santa Clause (it never ends...no really, it doesn't), and little baby ducks were left.
That's right. They have little baby ducks, in little baby duck outfits. Even though my Mom was thrilled to death with her present, my Dad deserves to get shot for buying those.
I bet those people she lives by think she is a fucking nut. It is bad enough to be a "yankee" living in the South, but then start dressing up ducks in your front yard. I'm surprised they haven't burnt down her house yet...
Where was I? Oh yes, so my Mom called to complain about the stripping of her duck, and it reminded me that I better get mine out of the shed.
I wouldn't ever want to hurt her feelings, and she was just so damn proud when she gave me my very own duck. My sister, the Evile person that she is, was a hell of a lot smarter then me and told my Mom that someone stold hers.
So I break out the duck whenever my parental units visit. She always comments on how I keep it's clothes so nice and how they don't fade at all up North.
Sure they don't. eh hem...
In exciting news, my Grandpa got his certificate in Basic Internet from an adult continuing education class at his local community college. He already has one for Basic Computing.
He is an emailing fool now, can use NetMeeting, and has found some people that were in his Platoon from WWII. I heart my Grandpa...
He's 90. He went back to college @ 89. We are all slackers. lol
In more unrelated news, what do you think of the design? If you come here a couple of times a day you would have noticed the different looks I was fiddling with. It's nothing major, but it's something that makes it my own I guess.
I started thinking Oooo I could do a flash movie for the top or I could animate this or that. Then I, as that weird lady with the shaved head used to say, "Stopped the Insanity!" and just kept it simple. You like?
Comment update: Mindy writes in that she wants to hear more about #41 and 42 in my hot 100 ok 50 list. She said she couldn't comment because she's not a Blog Spot member and emailed me, but take heart! If you are not a member you can post anonymously and just sign your name/blog url at the end.
I'll see what I can do Mindy, thanks for the email!
Whatever.
My Mom called me all in a panic because someone had stripped her duck I mean goose. Hell, I'm calling it a damn duck because that's what I have always called it.
So someone had stolen her little hula girl outfit off her cement duck that sits on her front porch.
Yes, you heard me right. My Mom dresses up a ceramic duck on her front porch. When I bought my house, I received one of these ducks as a present. One of my very own. How lucky can a girl get?
This is what they look like for the fortunate people that don't live in the Midwest:
Ehh hem...
It's a Midwestern thing I think. I've never seen them anywhere else in the country. Some sick and demented Midwesterner one day looked at a cement duck and said, "Hey! We should dress that thing!"
They have every freakin' outfit you can image. Halloween costume (hence the hula girl outfit), Christmas outfits, Thanksgiving outfits, Rain Coats, St. Patrick's Day outfits....The list is endless....
What was I saying? Oh yes, so my Mom's duck is now naked on her front porch. The horror. She wanted me to go online and order her another hula outfit, because that is what she wants it to be for Halloween. She doesn't like to buy anything on the Internet unless it comes from Bloomies, because you know you can trust Bloomies, right??
Ok, we need to back the fuck up here for a minute. Why my Mother, who once wore a Channel suit to a biker party (long story) would ever be involved with something so so so...cheesy? Tacky? Corny? This is way beyond me.
So Mom wants me to order it a new hula outfit, and I tell her she won't get it in time. She doesn't care, as long as it's replaced. She also says she is going to be stalking little children on Halloween to see if they have on a little hula outfit.
For F*ck's Sake....
It gets worse, oh how much worse it gets...My Father also has a Duck. My Mom justified buying two by saying that she got one for my Dad.
Now my Father, being the manly man that he is, wasn't about to take this lying down. If it was his duck, it was his duck. It wears a cubs shirt and one of those hats with the beer can and the hose that goes to it's mouth umm beak?
I asked him one time if he wanted a different outfit for his duck, as finding a present for either of my parents is a major chore. "Mine's a guy duck. He doesn't need to change clothes. All he needs is the Cubs and beer."
Ok...
To hear my Father tell it, my Mom's duck took advantage of his duck after a long night of drinking beer, as his duck would never procreate with a girl duck dressed as Mrs. Santa Clause (it never ends...no really, it doesn't), and little baby ducks were left.
That's right. They have little baby ducks, in little baby duck outfits. Even though my Mom was thrilled to death with her present, my Dad deserves to get shot for buying those.
I bet those people she lives by think she is a fucking nut. It is bad enough to be a "yankee" living in the South, but then start dressing up ducks in your front yard. I'm surprised they haven't burnt down her house yet...
Where was I? Oh yes, so my Mom called to complain about the stripping of her duck, and it reminded me that I better get mine out of the shed.
I wouldn't ever want to hurt her feelings, and she was just so damn proud when she gave me my very own duck. My sister, the Evile person that she is, was a hell of a lot smarter then me and told my Mom that someone stold hers.
So I break out the duck whenever my parental units visit. She always comments on how I keep it's clothes so nice and how they don't fade at all up North.
Sure they don't. eh hem...
In exciting news, my Grandpa got his certificate in Basic Internet from an adult continuing education class at his local community college. He already has one for Basic Computing.
He is an emailing fool now, can use NetMeeting, and has found some people that were in his Platoon from WWII. I heart my Grandpa...
He's 90. He went back to college @ 89. We are all slackers. lol
In more unrelated news, what do you think of the design? If you come here a couple of times a day you would have noticed the different looks I was fiddling with. It's nothing major, but it's something that makes it my own I guess.
I started thinking Oooo I could do a flash movie for the top or I could animate this or that. Then I, as that weird lady with the shaved head used to say, "Stopped the Insanity!" and just kept it simple. You like?
Comment update: Mindy writes in that she wants to hear more about #41 and 42 in my hot 100 ok 50 list. She said she couldn't comment because she's not a Blog Spot member and emailed me, but take heart! If you are not a member you can post anonymously and just sign your name/blog url at the end.
I'll see what I can do Mindy, thanks for the email!
Friday, October 29, 2004
I am going to come clean
in this post. Here, where I talked about my parents coming up to start planning their wedding was a half truth.
That is one thing they want to do while they are here, but the main reason is because it's my cousin's birthday. I just didn't want to go into it at the time, and didn't know if I'd have the time to do it justice.
It is still hits such raw emotions that I don't know if I can articulate what I want to say, but I'm going to try because getting this message out is very important.
My cousin will be 45 this year, and 27 years ago her parents were killed in an automobile accident. Not just a random twist of fate accident, but a senseless, horrendous act of selfishness-the 24 year old driver was drunk. On Christmas Eve.
We had just finished opening our presents at around 3:00 in the morning when my parents got the call. I was only 6, but I will never forget it. My Mom about collapsed as she listened to the call, and my Father rushed to hold her up. She began sobbing, and holding on to my Dad for dear life.
At the time I didn't know what was going on, but I had the strongest sense of fear I've ever had in my life. When you are little and your parents are that upset, it is the worst feeling imaginable, as they are your protectors-nothing is supposed to phase them. I can still feel that knot in my stomach to this day.
I clutched my brand new Raggedy Ann doll for dear life. My Mom must have seen how traumatized we were, as she got herself together. She told us my Great Aunt Jean and Uncle C had died.
I knew what death was. I had a cat that had died, and it meant that you didn't come back. Church said you went to heaven. My Grandparents said you went on to a new life. It was the first funeral I ever attended, and I still don't think I understood how horrible the situation was until the yearning to see my Aunt grew unbearable in the weeks to come.
It was a closed casket, as the drunk that hit them was going about 90 down the wrong side of a 4 lane highway and hit them head on. Without seeing her or my Uncle in the casket I don't think I truly understood that she was never coming back until she well, never came back. I didn't understand why my Grandma threw herself on that box and sobbed and sobbed until my Grandpa gently removed her.
My Aunt was a second Mother to my Mom, and it totally devastated her. She walked around like a ghost for weeks. My poor cousin, who was only 18, had lost both her parents in one selfish act. Her sister was ingrained in the hippy culture in San Francisco, and couldn't be found until about 4 months after the tragedy.
She had no one but us, so my parents became her surrogate parents. I think it helped my Mom in a lot of ways, as she was doing someone useful, something my Aunt would truly appreciate, as nothing was more important to her then family.
Aunt Jean was a "squishy" woman, or that's what I used to say. I loved to be rocked by her, as she was so squishy and comfortable. Oh I loved to be rocked by my Mom too, but considering she has always had the body of an Olson twin it wasn't near as comfortable. At that young age I remember thinking that if I was ever going to be a Mom, I would want to be "squishy".
She would frequently laugh until tears rolled down her face. Every St. Patrick's Day she would die her hair green. She would rock us and tell us old Irish Folktales for hours on end, because when we begged for more she just couldn't say no.
Her toenails were always painted bright red. I used to beg to paint them for her. She had that WWII mentality and had a box full of red toenail polish, so that she would never run out. When I was 4 she fell asleep while I was painting her toenails, and didn't wake up until I was just above her ankle with the red polish.
Yes, I painted her entire foot. She didn't yell or spank me or anything like that. "Why I must have the prettiest foot in the entire world!" she said and didn't remove the polish until I went home.
That was just the kind of person she was. She was probably more of a Grandmother figure then my maternal Grandma, as my Grandma was the tall, cool blonde type. Oh, I loved my Grandma to death, but Aunt Jean just had that maternal quality about her.
I don't think I have ever met anyone since with such a zest for life and love. She did everything with pizzaz and enthusiasm. You would never hear a negative thing from her, and my family, to this day, still mourns her loss.
I'm not sure what became of the driver. He, of course, only suffered minor injuries, as he was thrown from his car and into a snow bank. MADD wasn't around yet, and it wasn't really known as a national problem.
I know there was a trial, and I know my Mom was devastated by the outcome. I know there was a big controversy over the 24 year old making a "mistake" and his life shouldn't be ruined, or at least that's what the papers said. I have never been able to bring myself to ask her what happened, even to this day.
So it's Friday, the beginning of the weekend. All I ask is before you take that next drink this weekend, swearing you'll be ok to drive, think of my Aunt Jean. Think of what was taken away from our family in a senseless tragedy. Think of that poor 18 year old girl who was left an orphan on Christmas Eve. Think about that 51 year old man who has to live with the fact that he murdered two people everyday of his life.
Think of how this world would be such a better place with someone like Aunt Jean was still with us.
MADD has an online petition right now for increased DUI enforcement. Check it out....
That is one thing they want to do while they are here, but the main reason is because it's my cousin's birthday. I just didn't want to go into it at the time, and didn't know if I'd have the time to do it justice.
It is still hits such raw emotions that I don't know if I can articulate what I want to say, but I'm going to try because getting this message out is very important.
My cousin will be 45 this year, and 27 years ago her parents were killed in an automobile accident. Not just a random twist of fate accident, but a senseless, horrendous act of selfishness-the 24 year old driver was drunk. On Christmas Eve.
We had just finished opening our presents at around 3:00 in the morning when my parents got the call. I was only 6, but I will never forget it. My Mom about collapsed as she listened to the call, and my Father rushed to hold her up. She began sobbing, and holding on to my Dad for dear life.
At the time I didn't know what was going on, but I had the strongest sense of fear I've ever had in my life. When you are little and your parents are that upset, it is the worst feeling imaginable, as they are your protectors-nothing is supposed to phase them. I can still feel that knot in my stomach to this day.
I clutched my brand new Raggedy Ann doll for dear life. My Mom must have seen how traumatized we were, as she got herself together. She told us my Great Aunt Jean and Uncle C had died.
I knew what death was. I had a cat that had died, and it meant that you didn't come back. Church said you went to heaven. My Grandparents said you went on to a new life. It was the first funeral I ever attended, and I still don't think I understood how horrible the situation was until the yearning to see my Aunt grew unbearable in the weeks to come.
It was a closed casket, as the drunk that hit them was going about 90 down the wrong side of a 4 lane highway and hit them head on. Without seeing her or my Uncle in the casket I don't think I truly understood that she was never coming back until she well, never came back. I didn't understand why my Grandma threw herself on that box and sobbed and sobbed until my Grandpa gently removed her.
My Aunt was a second Mother to my Mom, and it totally devastated her. She walked around like a ghost for weeks. My poor cousin, who was only 18, had lost both her parents in one selfish act. Her sister was ingrained in the hippy culture in San Francisco, and couldn't be found until about 4 months after the tragedy.
She had no one but us, so my parents became her surrogate parents. I think it helped my Mom in a lot of ways, as she was doing someone useful, something my Aunt would truly appreciate, as nothing was more important to her then family.
Aunt Jean was a "squishy" woman, or that's what I used to say. I loved to be rocked by her, as she was so squishy and comfortable. Oh I loved to be rocked by my Mom too, but considering she has always had the body of an Olson twin it wasn't near as comfortable. At that young age I remember thinking that if I was ever going to be a Mom, I would want to be "squishy".
She would frequently laugh until tears rolled down her face. Every St. Patrick's Day she would die her hair green. She would rock us and tell us old Irish Folktales for hours on end, because when we begged for more she just couldn't say no.
Her toenails were always painted bright red. I used to beg to paint them for her. She had that WWII mentality and had a box full of red toenail polish, so that she would never run out. When I was 4 she fell asleep while I was painting her toenails, and didn't wake up until I was just above her ankle with the red polish.
Yes, I painted her entire foot. She didn't yell or spank me or anything like that. "Why I must have the prettiest foot in the entire world!" she said and didn't remove the polish until I went home.
That was just the kind of person she was. She was probably more of a Grandmother figure then my maternal Grandma, as my Grandma was the tall, cool blonde type. Oh, I loved my Grandma to death, but Aunt Jean just had that maternal quality about her.
I don't think I have ever met anyone since with such a zest for life and love. She did everything with pizzaz and enthusiasm. You would never hear a negative thing from her, and my family, to this day, still mourns her loss.
I'm not sure what became of the driver. He, of course, only suffered minor injuries, as he was thrown from his car and into a snow bank. MADD wasn't around yet, and it wasn't really known as a national problem.
I know there was a trial, and I know my Mom was devastated by the outcome. I know there was a big controversy over the 24 year old making a "mistake" and his life shouldn't be ruined, or at least that's what the papers said. I have never been able to bring myself to ask her what happened, even to this day.
So it's Friday, the beginning of the weekend. All I ask is before you take that next drink this weekend, swearing you'll be ok to drive, think of my Aunt Jean. Think of what was taken away from our family in a senseless tragedy. Think of that poor 18 year old girl who was left an orphan on Christmas Eve. Think about that 51 year old man who has to live with the fact that he murdered two people everyday of his life.
Think of how this world would be such a better place with someone like Aunt Jean was still with us.
MADD has an online petition right now for increased DUI enforcement. Check it out....
Nothing to see here....
Just playing around with this template as I have seen a million sites that look like mine while surfing Blog Explosions.
It shall look hideous until I find the right mix, but don't worry folks, I'm a professional...
It shall look hideous until I find the right mix, but don't worry folks, I'm a professional...
Thursday, October 28, 2004
100 things....
you really didn't want to know about me is what I was going to name this post. With my wanderings around different blogs because of Blog Explosion, I have seen this 100 list on many many blogs.
I'm going to boost the idea, but since I am way to busy for my own good it shall be the kj4ever top 50...
50. I would rather die a miserable, horrifying death then eat a brussel(sp?)sprout.
49. I was Gene Simmons for Halloween when I was in 1st grade.
48. I built an 8 seater go-cart that wound up giving my brother a broken arm and myself plenty of stitches.
47. My friends used to beg my Mom to go out with us when we had girl's nights out in our early 20's.
46. Mom used to get hit on more then we did.
45. My cousin is a professional poker player.
44. I was an optometric Technician for a year before my current job.
43. It was only for a year because working for doctors sucks ass.
42. My Mom was 7 months pregnant when she found out she was pregnant with me.
41. She had me a week later. Surprise!
40. My Sister is 8 years older then me and my brother is 4 years older then me.
39. I graduated from college with a 4.0.
38. I didn't talk until I was two.
37. Since then, I haven't shut the f*ck up.
36. I have five nieces and nephews.
35. My paternal Grandmother was a full blooded Cherokee Indian. My Grandpa was 1/2.
34. My maternal Grandmother used to love to say, "We got a bunch of wild Indians running around here."
33. My Father found this quite amusing.
32. I do not look like I have an ounce of Indian in me, except for my eyes, which are very dark brown.
31. I always wished I had black hair, but am naturally blonde.
30. My Mom's family is Irish, and very proud of that fact.
29. I can cross my ankles behind my head.
28. I've never had a cavity.
27. My doctor doesn't charge me for office visits as I am the last baby he ever delivered.
26. I can put together an entire car, all by myself!
25. My parents owned a nursery and I have vast knowledge about plants and trees and junk.
24. I volunteer at a Boys and Girls Club in a not so nice area, tutoring the children about computers.
23. I was diagnosed with bad asthma when I was 4.
22. My Great Uncle, a healer, made a pillow for me to sleep on that stunk to the high heavens, but my asthma disappeared in two months.
21. It has never returned.
20. I take a Geritol multi-vitamin everyday.
19. My Grandpa says that is why he is so healthy-he has taken one everyday for over 50 years. He's 90. I listened.
18. My favorite toy growing up was those little army men that had parachute's that you bought at the 7-11.
17. I tried to make my own parachute at 8. It didn't go well.
16. I've had a job since I was 9.
15. I shared a paper route with my brother. By 11 I had 3.
14. I also had a lawn care business with my brother. We frequently undercut my Father's estimates and stold his business.
13. This made him proud.
12. I paid cash for a brand new car at the age of 16.
11. I do not own a credit card.
10. I was engaged once. Thank God that passed.
9. My nickname comes from my Dad, who calls me kj.
8. He's also fond of calling me the "little shit."
7. I was named Kelly because it's Irish and my Grandmother insisted on it. My middle name is Jean, and it was my Aunt's name.
6. My niece and nephews write A Nut Kelly on everything they give to me, as my oldest nephew used to always mess it up when he was first learning to write.
5. I coached Pop Warner Football for a day.
4. My lack of any knowledge of Football made the Dad's step up to the plate and coach.
3. I had four tonsils. When they took them out, it altered my voice so bad that my own Mom didn't recognize it when I called on the phone for about 3 months.
2. It left me with a damn Melanie Griffin type girly girl voice.
1. I've had the same best friend for 28 years.
So there you go. Fifty things about me you probably didn't need and/or want to know. If you'd like any of these to be explained in more detail, leave a comment, and I'll see what I can do.
I'm going to boost the idea, but since I am way to busy for my own good it shall be the kj4ever top 50...
50. I would rather die a miserable, horrifying death then eat a brussel(sp?)sprout.
49. I was Gene Simmons for Halloween when I was in 1st grade.
48. I built an 8 seater go-cart that wound up giving my brother a broken arm and myself plenty of stitches.
47. My friends used to beg my Mom to go out with us when we had girl's nights out in our early 20's.
46. Mom used to get hit on more then we did.
45. My cousin is a professional poker player.
44. I was an optometric Technician for a year before my current job.
43. It was only for a year because working for doctors sucks ass.
42. My Mom was 7 months pregnant when she found out she was pregnant with me.
41. She had me a week later. Surprise!
40. My Sister is 8 years older then me and my brother is 4 years older then me.
39. I graduated from college with a 4.0.
38. I didn't talk until I was two.
37. Since then, I haven't shut the f*ck up.
36. I have five nieces and nephews.
35. My paternal Grandmother was a full blooded Cherokee Indian. My Grandpa was 1/2.
34. My maternal Grandmother used to love to say, "We got a bunch of wild Indians running around here."
33. My Father found this quite amusing.
32. I do not look like I have an ounce of Indian in me, except for my eyes, which are very dark brown.
31. I always wished I had black hair, but am naturally blonde.
30. My Mom's family is Irish, and very proud of that fact.
29. I can cross my ankles behind my head.
28. I've never had a cavity.
27. My doctor doesn't charge me for office visits as I am the last baby he ever delivered.
26. I can put together an entire car, all by myself!
25. My parents owned a nursery and I have vast knowledge about plants and trees and junk.
24. I volunteer at a Boys and Girls Club in a not so nice area, tutoring the children about computers.
23. I was diagnosed with bad asthma when I was 4.
22. My Great Uncle, a healer, made a pillow for me to sleep on that stunk to the high heavens, but my asthma disappeared in two months.
21. It has never returned.
20. I take a Geritol multi-vitamin everyday.
19. My Grandpa says that is why he is so healthy-he has taken one everyday for over 50 years. He's 90. I listened.
18. My favorite toy growing up was those little army men that had parachute's that you bought at the 7-11.
17. I tried to make my own parachute at 8. It didn't go well.
16. I've had a job since I was 9.
15. I shared a paper route with my brother. By 11 I had 3.
14. I also had a lawn care business with my brother. We frequently undercut my Father's estimates and stold his business.
13. This made him proud.
12. I paid cash for a brand new car at the age of 16.
11. I do not own a credit card.
10. I was engaged once. Thank God that passed.
9. My nickname comes from my Dad, who calls me kj.
8. He's also fond of calling me the "little shit."
7. I was named Kelly because it's Irish and my Grandmother insisted on it. My middle name is Jean, and it was my Aunt's name.
6. My niece and nephews write A Nut Kelly on everything they give to me, as my oldest nephew used to always mess it up when he was first learning to write.
5. I coached Pop Warner Football for a day.
4. My lack of any knowledge of Football made the Dad's step up to the plate and coach.
3. I had four tonsils. When they took them out, it altered my voice so bad that my own Mom didn't recognize it when I called on the phone for about 3 months.
2. It left me with a damn Melanie Griffin type girly girl voice.
1. I've had the same best friend for 28 years.
So there you go. Fifty things about me you probably didn't need and/or want to know. If you'd like any of these to be explained in more detail, leave a comment, and I'll see what I can do.
Wednesday, October 27, 2004
Great Big Shout Out
To a couple of bloggers who featured me in their blogs yesterday.
One is The Zero Boss, a wildy entertaining blog that had me blushing from the praise heaped on me. His site is fabulous, as it is about a man with 6!?! kids. He's working on a book too...Be sure to check it out.
The other blogger is none other then my friendly neighborhood Blog Explosion Pimp Poppy. She gave a very kind shout out to my Halloween posts, to which I am truly flattered. Blog Explosion is also how The Zero Boss found my site, and in turn I found his.
The Poppster also has a very cool blog with lots of coolio links. I still want to go to Overstock.com Poppy!
My stat counter is how I found out about Zero Boss's post on me. It showed a high number of referals coming from his site. I've also noticed a number of referals coming from other people's sites. I'm going to make a "link up" section for everyone that links to my site, as I'd like to recipricate the gesture. If you have linked to me, email from the link somewhere over there on the left----------> so I know about it and can return the favor.
Speaking of stat counters, check out my country stats:
Go Canada Go!
In exciting news, my Grandpa is coming up on Election Day to vote with me. He's 90, a WWII veteran, and almost as crazy as the parental units. He has an opinion about everything, which I guess you are entitled to if you live to be 90, fight in a world war, raise 3 kids, and live to tell about it.
He is registered to vote up here, as he has a residence up here, in Southern IL, and in Colorado. It should make for an interesting blog post, yes indeed. I heart my Grandpa....
In unrelated news, I miss Annie and her blog posts. When is she coming back?
One is The Zero Boss, a wildy entertaining blog that had me blushing from the praise heaped on me. His site is fabulous, as it is about a man with 6!?! kids. He's working on a book too...Be sure to check it out.
The other blogger is none other then my friendly neighborhood Blog Explosion Pimp Poppy. She gave a very kind shout out to my Halloween posts, to which I am truly flattered. Blog Explosion is also how The Zero Boss found my site, and in turn I found his.
The Poppster also has a very cool blog with lots of coolio links. I still want to go to Overstock.com Poppy!
My stat counter is how I found out about Zero Boss's post on me. It showed a high number of referals coming from his site. I've also noticed a number of referals coming from other people's sites. I'm going to make a "link up" section for everyone that links to my site, as I'd like to recipricate the gesture. If you have linked to me, email from the link somewhere over there on the left----------> so I know about it and can return the favor.
Speaking of stat counters, check out my country stats:
Go Canada Go!
In exciting news, my Grandpa is coming up on Election Day to vote with me. He's 90, a WWII veteran, and almost as crazy as the parental units. He has an opinion about everything, which I guess you are entitled to if you live to be 90, fight in a world war, raise 3 kids, and live to tell about it.
He is registered to vote up here, as he has a residence up here, in Southern IL, and in Colorado. It should make for an interesting blog post, yes indeed. I heart my Grandpa....
In unrelated news, I miss Annie and her blog posts. When is she coming back?
My Parental Units Have Decided to Get
married again. They are going to come into town next week to begin the planning of the festivities.
They want to renew their vows on their 45 wedding anniversary. This is their 43 anniversary this year.
It is going to be a long two years....
You see, the only thing my parents have in common is that everything in their life is an Extravaganza. The original party people they are...
My Dad grew up poor. Actually, poor was looking mighty good to his family. Extreme poverty is probably a better description. His parents had fled a Reservation in search of food and a better life.
To them, being cotton share croppers in the deep South was a better life then what they left behind. My Dad tells us tales of how his parents wouldn't eat so that his 5 siblings and himself could. He talks of working in fields all day as soon as he could walk.
I can't imagine this anymore then my Mother can. Her Mother was a wildly successful woman, and she married a wildly successful man. My Mom was denied nothing growing up, and lived the life of a privledged socialite on the Chicago scene.
My Dad moved North to find work to help feed his family at 18. He has a way about him-people love him. He was just a naive country boy in the big city with $2.00 in his pocket when he saw my Mom for the first time.
He says he knew at that instant that he was going to marry her.
She, on the other hand, didn't feel the same way as she was engaged to marry someone else.
After breaking what would be considered major Stalker laws in this day and age, it took him all of two weeks to get her to break up with her fiance and become engaged to him.
They were married one month later. 43 years, 3 kids, 4 dogs, 1 cat, 2 rabbits, countless goldfish, 3 houses, and 2 small businesses later, they are still those two kids who no one ever believed would last, but did.
You might wonder why my Mom's parents wouldn't object to this union. My Mom was engaged to a man who was an officer in the Army, had an Ivy League education, and a promising future as a politician who shall remain nameless at this point and time.
One reason: My Grandma grew up in extreme poverty too, and had risen above it. I don't think she ever truly trusted people with money, and her Irish heritage had brought much suffering on that side of my family. She also came from the South, and she appreciated my Father's Southern charm. She never forgot where she came from.
So there you have it. My parents are complete and total opposites in every way, yet for whatever reason it worked. I truly believe they are soul mates, as they even get along and everything.
Get along doesn't cover it. They are still butt ass in love with each other.
I don't ever remember them fighting. I found out as an adult that they had some good ones, but they made a promise never to fight in front of us children. While this gave me a bit of a distorted view on how relationships worked, I'm still grateful for it.
What was I saying? Oh yeah...They are coming into town next weekend. It is kind of like the circus coming to town. They always stay with me, as they can get away from the noise and clatter of little children if they want to. Another reason is they can have guests at all hours of the night and party their asses off.
I'm too old for this shit.
When my parents are here it is a constant revolving door of people. They had tons of friends, more acquaintances, and were kind of like the adult version of the cool kid in school. Not only do we have their old friends coming over, but my friends can hardly wait to hang out with them when they are in town.
This inevitably causes strife with my Sister, as she did not receive the popular, social, or spontaneous genes that seem to be so deeply encoded in the rest of our DNA.
She doesn't understand why they don't grow up. I'll admit, sometimes I do too, but all in all I'm glad to have crazy ass parents who live to have fun. They aren't alcoholics, they don't do drugs, and except for the indecent exposure charge a couple of years ago (GOD don't make me explain that one, parents aren't supposed to do that, especially in public) they are pretty much law abiding citizens.
Most people probably think, wow, how lucky to be raised by people like that, and they are right. There is a flip side to everything though. It can be a lonely existence for a child of parents like these, as their attention is diverted in many different ways and by many different people.
My sister resents the hell out of it. She thinks that we weren't a high enough priority because the parental units didn't attend every soccer game or every science fair. They were busy people. Busy with career, friends, and yes us. We weren't neglected, not in the least bit, but they did live their own lives outside of us children.
For any of you that have read the my sister the lemon post you are probably thinking, "Look at the pot calling the kettle black. My parents never, ever, acted like her. Not even close.
I prefer to think it made us independent, as I've learned a long time ago it does no good to dwell on the negative aspects of life.
Party people will be in 'da house in 9 days. God help us all.
They want to renew their vows on their 45 wedding anniversary. This is their 43 anniversary this year.
It is going to be a long two years....
You see, the only thing my parents have in common is that everything in their life is an Extravaganza. The original party people they are...
My Dad grew up poor. Actually, poor was looking mighty good to his family. Extreme poverty is probably a better description. His parents had fled a Reservation in search of food and a better life.
To them, being cotton share croppers in the deep South was a better life then what they left behind. My Dad tells us tales of how his parents wouldn't eat so that his 5 siblings and himself could. He talks of working in fields all day as soon as he could walk.
I can't imagine this anymore then my Mother can. Her Mother was a wildly successful woman, and she married a wildly successful man. My Mom was denied nothing growing up, and lived the life of a privledged socialite on the Chicago scene.
My Dad moved North to find work to help feed his family at 18. He has a way about him-people love him. He was just a naive country boy in the big city with $2.00 in his pocket when he saw my Mom for the first time.
He says he knew at that instant that he was going to marry her.
She, on the other hand, didn't feel the same way as she was engaged to marry someone else.
After breaking what would be considered major Stalker laws in this day and age, it took him all of two weeks to get her to break up with her fiance and become engaged to him.
They were married one month later. 43 years, 3 kids, 4 dogs, 1 cat, 2 rabbits, countless goldfish, 3 houses, and 2 small businesses later, they are still those two kids who no one ever believed would last, but did.
You might wonder why my Mom's parents wouldn't object to this union. My Mom was engaged to a man who was an officer in the Army, had an Ivy League education, and a promising future as a politician who shall remain nameless at this point and time.
One reason: My Grandma grew up in extreme poverty too, and had risen above it. I don't think she ever truly trusted people with money, and her Irish heritage had brought much suffering on that side of my family. She also came from the South, and she appreciated my Father's Southern charm. She never forgot where she came from.
So there you have it. My parents are complete and total opposites in every way, yet for whatever reason it worked. I truly believe they are soul mates, as they even get along and everything.
Get along doesn't cover it. They are still butt ass in love with each other.
I don't ever remember them fighting. I found out as an adult that they had some good ones, but they made a promise never to fight in front of us children. While this gave me a bit of a distorted view on how relationships worked, I'm still grateful for it.
What was I saying? Oh yeah...They are coming into town next weekend. It is kind of like the circus coming to town. They always stay with me, as they can get away from the noise and clatter of little children if they want to. Another reason is they can have guests at all hours of the night and party their asses off.
I'm too old for this shit.
When my parents are here it is a constant revolving door of people. They had tons of friends, more acquaintances, and were kind of like the adult version of the cool kid in school. Not only do we have their old friends coming over, but my friends can hardly wait to hang out with them when they are in town.
This inevitably causes strife with my Sister, as she did not receive the popular, social, or spontaneous genes that seem to be so deeply encoded in the rest of our DNA.
She doesn't understand why they don't grow up. I'll admit, sometimes I do too, but all in all I'm glad to have crazy ass parents who live to have fun. They aren't alcoholics, they don't do drugs, and except for the indecent exposure charge a couple of years ago (GOD don't make me explain that one, parents aren't supposed to do that, especially in public) they are pretty much law abiding citizens.
Most people probably think, wow, how lucky to be raised by people like that, and they are right. There is a flip side to everything though. It can be a lonely existence for a child of parents like these, as their attention is diverted in many different ways and by many different people.
My sister resents the hell out of it. She thinks that we weren't a high enough priority because the parental units didn't attend every soccer game or every science fair. They were busy people. Busy with career, friends, and yes us. We weren't neglected, not in the least bit, but they did live their own lives outside of us children.
For any of you that have read the my sister the lemon post you are probably thinking, "Look at the pot calling the kettle black. My parents never, ever, acted like her. Not even close.
I prefer to think it made us independent, as I've learned a long time ago it does no good to dwell on the negative aspects of life.
Party people will be in 'da house in 9 days. God help us all.
Tuesday, October 26, 2004
It's That Time of Year
to get fiscally raped by school children.
Well, actually it's their parents. Oh, you see them coming from a mile away. You try and avoid all eye contact when you see them timidly walking up to you with that book in their hand.
"My son/daughter's school is having a fund raiser, would you like to buy something?"
Damn. Busted.
You can't not buy something. It's for a little kid, FFS. The guilt sets in as you try to refuse, but you end up looking through the damn book anyway.
Frantically you search for the cheapest item, which is usually a candle for like $35. Alright, that may be exaggerating a bit, more like $12. A $12 value it will not be, young Jedi. It will be a candle that brings new meaning to the word "suck".
As you look through the catalog you see all kinds of stuff. You can get an herb garden for $40. How about wrapping paper? Everyone will be needing wrapping paper soon, and for the bargain price of $99 a roll, you can get that much needed accessory for this time of year and help the schools of this great nation.
Ok, the wrapping paper was like $5 a roll, but it seemed like $99 for what you were getting.
What happened to kids selling a freakin' candy bar? Or better yet, when kids actually sold the stuff their selves?
I know, it's a different time. It's dangerous for kids to go out selling things on their own. I feel more sorry for the parents then for their unwitting victims. They are guilted worse then we are. The private school parents are really in for it, as usually if they don't sell a certain amount they have to buy the crap themselves.
Public school parents are handed a list of all the things their kid can win if they sell a certain amount. Usually they get a ribbon or something as the lowest prize. You don't want you kid to be a loser and not get anything is basically what these books scream at parents.
So out they go into their workplaces, friend's homes, and anywhere else they can pimp out the junk.
You can so tell they don't want to ask you. The guilt is in their eyes when they say, "I know this stuff is expensive. You don't have to buy anything if you don't want to." That is if you are a greedy bastard that doesn't want to help children my mind says back.
I had a strict policy with my niece and nephews that they would sell their own stuff. I would march their asses door to door. If it was for their school, they were going to participate. Ok, and I'll admit it. When you are single and you don't sell this stuff you get a bit of an out, because you haven't pimped anything out to others. Otherwise, you are screwed and have to buy from every person who buys from you. It's this whole vicious cycle.
Then came the 'ef'ing Girl Scouts. Lord don't get me started on the Girl Scouts...
My Sister had a neighbor that always made everything with my niece and her daughter a competition. They were in the 'ef'ing Girl Scouts together, and the neighbor took the kid a day early to all the houses in the neighborhood selling cookies.
This fell on deaf ears to the Girl Scout Association as the Leader was said neighbors best friend.
I could have dealt with this. She could sell them by my house. When my niece and the little girl next door got into a fight over this, the neighbor, who is going to hell because of this by the way, told my poor, 8 year old niece, "Well you won't win anyway. E's Father is going to sell them at work, and you don't have a Father."
Niece came home in tears. Yes, she had a Father, but not exactly an upstanding Father, as when you are drunk all the time you tend to fall a lot. Her parents were divorced, and he wasn't exactly someone she could count on at that time.
She may not have had a Dad that lived with her, but she had an Aunt that could be a real! fucking! bitch.
So off I went to my place of employment with the Girl Scout cookie forms. I was on a mission. There was no way in hell that kid next door was going to win.
I work with over 3,000 people, and I know most of them.
In total, I sold 4,987 boxes of damn Girl Scout cookies, and my niece won a $75 bike.
It took me over a month to deliver them all. I had to borrow a freakin' truck as my Escort would only hold about 200 boxes, packed to the brim. This also took me off the exempt list, and I now have to buy from others. I'm a guilt free victim, as they bought from me. Never mind that is was 10 years ago, once you sell something, you are doomed.
'ef'ing Girl Scouts...
Well, actually it's their parents. Oh, you see them coming from a mile away. You try and avoid all eye contact when you see them timidly walking up to you with that book in their hand.
"My son/daughter's school is having a fund raiser, would you like to buy something?"
Damn. Busted.
You can't not buy something. It's for a little kid, FFS. The guilt sets in as you try to refuse, but you end up looking through the damn book anyway.
Frantically you search for the cheapest item, which is usually a candle for like $35. Alright, that may be exaggerating a bit, more like $12. A $12 value it will not be, young Jedi. It will be a candle that brings new meaning to the word "suck".
As you look through the catalog you see all kinds of stuff. You can get an herb garden for $40. How about wrapping paper? Everyone will be needing wrapping paper soon, and for the bargain price of $99 a roll, you can get that much needed accessory for this time of year and help the schools of this great nation.
Ok, the wrapping paper was like $5 a roll, but it seemed like $99 for what you were getting.
What happened to kids selling a freakin' candy bar? Or better yet, when kids actually sold the stuff their selves?
I know, it's a different time. It's dangerous for kids to go out selling things on their own. I feel more sorry for the parents then for their unwitting victims. They are guilted worse then we are. The private school parents are really in for it, as usually if they don't sell a certain amount they have to buy the crap themselves.
Public school parents are handed a list of all the things their kid can win if they sell a certain amount. Usually they get a ribbon or something as the lowest prize. You don't want you kid to be a loser and not get anything is basically what these books scream at parents.
So out they go into their workplaces, friend's homes, and anywhere else they can pimp out the junk.
You can so tell they don't want to ask you. The guilt is in their eyes when they say, "I know this stuff is expensive. You don't have to buy anything if you don't want to." That is if you are a greedy bastard that doesn't want to help children my mind says back.
I had a strict policy with my niece and nephews that they would sell their own stuff. I would march their asses door to door. If it was for their school, they were going to participate. Ok, and I'll admit it. When you are single and you don't sell this stuff you get a bit of an out, because you haven't pimped anything out to others. Otherwise, you are screwed and have to buy from every person who buys from you. It's this whole vicious cycle.
Then came the 'ef'ing Girl Scouts. Lord don't get me started on the Girl Scouts...
My Sister had a neighbor that always made everything with my niece and her daughter a competition. They were in the 'ef'ing Girl Scouts together, and the neighbor took the kid a day early to all the houses in the neighborhood selling cookies.
This fell on deaf ears to the Girl Scout Association as the Leader was said neighbors best friend.
I could have dealt with this. She could sell them by my house. When my niece and the little girl next door got into a fight over this, the neighbor, who is going to hell because of this by the way, told my poor, 8 year old niece, "Well you won't win anyway. E's Father is going to sell them at work, and you don't have a Father."
Niece came home in tears. Yes, she had a Father, but not exactly an upstanding Father, as when you are drunk all the time you tend to fall a lot. Her parents were divorced, and he wasn't exactly someone she could count on at that time.
She may not have had a Dad that lived with her, but she had an Aunt that could be a real! fucking! bitch.
So off I went to my place of employment with the Girl Scout cookie forms. I was on a mission. There was no way in hell that kid next door was going to win.
I work with over 3,000 people, and I know most of them.
In total, I sold 4,987 boxes of damn Girl Scout cookies, and my niece won a $75 bike.
It took me over a month to deliver them all. I had to borrow a freakin' truck as my Escort would only hold about 200 boxes, packed to the brim. This also took me off the exempt list, and I now have to buy from others. I'm a guilt free victim, as they bought from me. Never mind that is was 10 years ago, once you sell something, you are doomed.
'ef'ing Girl Scouts...
Monday, October 25, 2004
Break out the flannel...
I just couldn't wait to get home from work last night. It was calling to me...
My Winter-ized bed. Yes, in my hung over state yesterday I decided I still needed to be productive, and I broke out the winter linens.
Flannel sheets are a must, topped with a quilt my Grandma made and an electric blanket. Freshly washed, they must smell of lavender and chamomile, and the electric blanket setting must be at a full "10"-both sides.
My last long term relationship bought me one of those dual electric blankies because I would sweat him right out of the bed.
I'm a chick, and like most chicks, I get cold rather easily. I also like to keep the heat low at night, because it is so much better for sleeping. I've also been known to crack the window in the winter because of the need for fresh, cold air.
Ahh, the only thing that sucks about sleeping like that in the winter is getting up.
That.Really.Sucks.
But I digress....again... So I was coming home from work, still dragging a bit from the night before's festivities. My beautiful, girly, warm/hot bed was calling my name. I got home, put on some silk jammies, grabbed a cross word puzzle, and cuddled up in the middle of my big, warm, lightly scented bed.
Heaven. Pure, unadulterated heaven.
As I reached over to turn the lights off, I thought only one thing might make this experience a bit more enjoyable.
A big, warm, lightly scented man.
Then my temporary insanity ceased and I snuggled down and went to sleep.
It's not that I don't enjoy the umm benefits from a big, warm, lightly scented man, because believe me, I do. I don't enjoy the act of actually sleeping with a big, warm, lightly scented man. Unless of course, they stay on their own side of the damn bed and leave me alone.
Harsh? Why yes, yes it is. Sleeping is an art form for me. It is one of my favorite hobbies, one that I don't get to induldge in very much except for the mandatory oh yeah if I don't sleep I could die part.
It never fails, that I end up with a damn cuddler. Every guy I have spent the night with (which granted hasn't been many as I am picky about who is good enough to touch me) has been a damn cuddler. Hold me. blech...
I'm not totally against cuddling as a whole, just not while I'm sleeping. Don't touch me. Leave me alone. Act like the Berlin wall is between us.
The only thing worse then being a cuddler is being a cuddler enabler, which I found out happens to be the case with me.
My last serious relationship had a few snags. His sister was best friends with his ex girlfriend. Being the cool chick that I am, this didn't really bother me. It did call for some rather uncomfortable situations, but we dealt with it.
One time his sister had a few people over, and she was there. They brought out this game called "Scruples" I think. You had to either make up a story or tell a real story and people vote on if it is the truth or not. When it was my turn I went into this tirade about how he pins me with his big (and rather yummy) thigh during the night and won't leave me the hell alone while I'm sleeping.
Ex girlfriend was like, "HA! I KNOW that's a lie!!" Umm, no, no it's not. You could tell by the look on her face that they had spent many a night bitching over the hold me scenario, and it wasn't him saying it.
So the bastard wasn't always a cuddler, eh? What the hell???
It's because I did not want to be cuddled. Simple, right?
I asked him about this on the way home. He confirmed my suspicions that they had spent many a night arguing over it, and he always felt like he had to cuddle her.
We actually had a wonderful discussion because of this. He explained that women bitch and bitch so bad about it, that major guilt is brought on if they don't. If they don't cuddle someone until their arm is asleep and they are totally uncomfortable, they are an insensitive slob that doesn't care.
So when I took a pass on the cuddling stuff, he, subconsciously equated that with, "She doesn't care" and in turn tried to cuddle more.
What a vicious cycle, FFS! We had a wonderful sleeping relationship after that.
Are you cuddlers out there taking notes? If you want to be cuddled while sleeping, act like you don't want to be cuddled, or better yet, have a rational conversation about it.
My Winter-ized bed. Yes, in my hung over state yesterday I decided I still needed to be productive, and I broke out the winter linens.
Flannel sheets are a must, topped with a quilt my Grandma made and an electric blanket. Freshly washed, they must smell of lavender and chamomile, and the electric blanket setting must be at a full "10"-both sides.
My last long term relationship bought me one of those dual electric blankies because I would sweat him right out of the bed.
I'm a chick, and like most chicks, I get cold rather easily. I also like to keep the heat low at night, because it is so much better for sleeping. I've also been known to crack the window in the winter because of the need for fresh, cold air.
Ahh, the only thing that sucks about sleeping like that in the winter is getting up.
That.Really.Sucks.
But I digress....again... So I was coming home from work, still dragging a bit from the night before's festivities. My beautiful, girly, warm/hot bed was calling my name. I got home, put on some silk jammies, grabbed a cross word puzzle, and cuddled up in the middle of my big, warm, lightly scented bed.
Heaven. Pure, unadulterated heaven.
As I reached over to turn the lights off, I thought only one thing might make this experience a bit more enjoyable.
A big, warm, lightly scented man.
Then my temporary insanity ceased and I snuggled down and went to sleep.
It's not that I don't enjoy the umm benefits from a big, warm, lightly scented man, because believe me, I do. I don't enjoy the act of actually sleeping with a big, warm, lightly scented man. Unless of course, they stay on their own side of the damn bed and leave me alone.
Harsh? Why yes, yes it is. Sleeping is an art form for me. It is one of my favorite hobbies, one that I don't get to induldge in very much except for the mandatory oh yeah if I don't sleep I could die part.
It never fails, that I end up with a damn cuddler. Every guy I have spent the night with (which granted hasn't been many as I am picky about who is good enough to touch me) has been a damn cuddler. Hold me. blech...
I'm not totally against cuddling as a whole, just not while I'm sleeping. Don't touch me. Leave me alone. Act like the Berlin wall is between us.
The only thing worse then being a cuddler is being a cuddler enabler, which I found out happens to be the case with me.
My last serious relationship had a few snags. His sister was best friends with his ex girlfriend. Being the cool chick that I am, this didn't really bother me. It did call for some rather uncomfortable situations, but we dealt with it.
One time his sister had a few people over, and she was there. They brought out this game called "Scruples" I think. You had to either make up a story or tell a real story and people vote on if it is the truth or not. When it was my turn I went into this tirade about how he pins me with his big (and rather yummy) thigh during the night and won't leave me the hell alone while I'm sleeping.
Ex girlfriend was like, "HA! I KNOW that's a lie!!" Umm, no, no it's not. You could tell by the look on her face that they had spent many a night bitching over the hold me scenario, and it wasn't him saying it.
So the bastard wasn't always a cuddler, eh? What the hell???
It's because I did not want to be cuddled. Simple, right?
I asked him about this on the way home. He confirmed my suspicions that they had spent many a night arguing over it, and he always felt like he had to cuddle her.
We actually had a wonderful discussion because of this. He explained that women bitch and bitch so bad about it, that major guilt is brought on if they don't. If they don't cuddle someone until their arm is asleep and they are totally uncomfortable, they are an insensitive slob that doesn't care.
So when I took a pass on the cuddling stuff, he, subconsciously equated that with, "She doesn't care" and in turn tried to cuddle more.
What a vicious cycle, FFS! We had a wonderful sleeping relationship after that.
Are you cuddlers out there taking notes? If you want to be cuddled while sleeping, act like you don't want to be cuddled, or better yet, have a rational conversation about it.
Sunday, October 24, 2004
How Dry I Am
There is no moisture left in my body. Not an ounce. I am sitting here nursing a giganto cup up coffee and a big, tall glass of ice water. The parts I remember last night were really fun, even when we were running from the cops...again...
We better grow up because I am to old for this shit.
It is never good when I work as much as I have been working and then am set free onto the social scene. I am a social person. I need people. I need fun. It is embedded into my DNA.
Wait. Did that last paragraph make sense? Oh my poor head...
The party was one of the best I have ever attended, and the fairies were a raging success. Our costumes turned out so cool. Unfortunately, my drunk ass didn't get any pictures of anyone, as I left my camera locked up all night. Fortunately, the hostess got a ton of snaps and promised to email them to me soon.
I got to flirt with a bunch of cute boys, did way to many jello shots, and saw people I haven't seen in years.
I also got to hang around the ultimate bad boy, but he is a post all in itself....
Now I am not a big drinker, and I rarely do it. This means I am not exactly good at it when I do drink. There was no projectile vomiting, so all in all, it was a good night.
Around 1:00 am ish the responsible people started to leave the party. This is usually when the real fun stuff happens, as just the circle of soul mates are left. (I'm not doing a link thingy, I think there is one in the post before this one)
Inevitably the discussions were turning political everywhere I went, and I dodged them expertly all night. As we sat around half drunk toward the end of the night, it could be avoided no longer.
The majority of my friends are Democrats. The few Repubs were debating back and forth, making my head spin. This had to stop.
The problem, I decided, was people don't listen to each other. They are so busy being self righteous that they won't listen to the other side. What we needed in this world, was for people to communicate and really listen.
Why not help them out?
I decided we should start with the neighbors. P and M's street was littered with political signs. Why not switch them all around? Make the Democrats Republicans. Make the Republicans Democrats. It seemed like a really good idea at the time....
We had a fairy conference, and the other two agreed. It was like a humanitarian mission, FFS! So off we went, in our little fairy costumes, prancing down the street in F*ck me heals, wands and skirts made from strips of irredescent material that sometimes showed a peak of little ruffle-ly boy short underwear.
This humanitarian mission was harder then we realized. It is not easy to pull up signs embedded in clay while trying to be a dainty fairy in f*ck me heals. Earlier in the day it had rained, and we kept sinking into the ground and losing our shoes, which of course made us explode into fits of giggles.
We had just made a Democrat a Republican when the outside lights came on. Shit.
Then we saw it-the police car. Double shit.
So off we ran back towards the house, ducking around bushes and cars, giggling like maniacs. The police drove slowly down the street, their light reflecting off our irredescent skirts every once in awhile. They had to be cracking up.
So we made it back to the house, but there was a problem. Everyone had moved inside, so we had to go to the front door. The police car was sitting in front of the house, as it was obvious that was where the party was.
Triple shit.
Someone who shall remain nameless (me) thought it would be a good idea to just take our skirts off and walk around to the front of the house. We would say we were babies or something for Halloween. The little ruffled panties and white camosoles we were wearing could pull that off. Yeah, that would work.
So off the skirts went, and we walked around to the front of the house. Mr. Police Officer got out. We kind of huddled together and walked towards the front of the house, like he wouldn't see us if we were smashed together.
He walks up to us and says, "Have you girls seen a couple of Fairies running around here?" "Fairies? What Fairies?" R asked.
"I think he means Dave. You know, they like to be called homo sequals now," I told the cop.
"That's not what I.." started the policeman.
"Damn, that's not very nice. Haven't the police been to tol...toler...tollleeeraaance training around here?"
"Look, you know what I'm talking about. We had someone call about a couple of people in Fairy Cos..."
"The people around here are racist too?" I asked.
"If you'd just let me finish.."
"Dave! Dave! Where the hell is Dave!?" asked R. "We don't have two fairies here. We just have one, or did Dave bring a date?" I asked.
"No, he's stag. Lisa's here. She was bi curious in college, does that count as a fairy?" R asked. "She was alllejiidly bi cuurious...Iiiiii dunno, he's the racist," I said, pointing to the policeman.
"I'M NOT RACIST!!" roared the police officer.
"Gay people can call each other Fairies. Are you Gay?" I asked.
"I'M NOT GAY! LOOK, WE ARE DONE HERE. IF YOU DO NOT COOPERATE, WE CAN TALK ABOUT THIS AT THE STATION."
H, who had been rather quiet this whole time hiccuped. "I lost my shoe."
"Sssssssssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh" R and I both hissed together. The three of us then burst into another fit of giggles.
I think he was about to break out the handcuffs at this point when P came out of his house. By the Grace of God he was friends with Officer Friendly, and he calmed the whole situation down.
Narrowly escaping a P.I. (public intox) and probably mischievous conduct, trespassing, and a variety of other laws broken, we went into the house and spun our tail of intrigue to the rest of the soul mates. Humanitarian mission accomplished. We had successfully converted two Repubs and two Dems.
I just want to say right now...I cannot make shit up this good when I write scripts...This is so going into my next one...
So all in all it was a great night. It will probably take me 5 months to get the glitter out of my car. I really feel sorry for poor P and M, whose couch got the same glitter treatment that night, and will have to face their poor police friend all the time because they take turns driving each others kids to school.
P said if his kids get kicked out of the car pool because of us, we have to drive them to school.
I think we may very well have set back gay rights movement, and the black/white relationship in this country 10 years with one conversation.
*Side Note*
I am not responsible for any way-ward spelling or punctuation or anything in this post. Hung over people should not be held responsible for Grammer, or is it Grammar?
Owwwwwwww my head...
We better grow up because I am to old for this shit.
It is never good when I work as much as I have been working and then am set free onto the social scene. I am a social person. I need people. I need fun. It is embedded into my DNA.
Wait. Did that last paragraph make sense? Oh my poor head...
The party was one of the best I have ever attended, and the fairies were a raging success. Our costumes turned out so cool. Unfortunately, my drunk ass didn't get any pictures of anyone, as I left my camera locked up all night. Fortunately, the hostess got a ton of snaps and promised to email them to me soon.
I got to flirt with a bunch of cute boys, did way to many jello shots, and saw people I haven't seen in years.
I also got to hang around the ultimate bad boy, but he is a post all in itself....
Now I am not a big drinker, and I rarely do it. This means I am not exactly good at it when I do drink. There was no projectile vomiting, so all in all, it was a good night.
Around 1:00 am ish the responsible people started to leave the party. This is usually when the real fun stuff happens, as just the circle of soul mates are left. (I'm not doing a link thingy, I think there is one in the post before this one)
Inevitably the discussions were turning political everywhere I went, and I dodged them expertly all night. As we sat around half drunk toward the end of the night, it could be avoided no longer.
The majority of my friends are Democrats. The few Repubs were debating back and forth, making my head spin. This had to stop.
The problem, I decided, was people don't listen to each other. They are so busy being self righteous that they won't listen to the other side. What we needed in this world, was for people to communicate and really listen.
Why not help them out?
I decided we should start with the neighbors. P and M's street was littered with political signs. Why not switch them all around? Make the Democrats Republicans. Make the Republicans Democrats. It seemed like a really good idea at the time....
We had a fairy conference, and the other two agreed. It was like a humanitarian mission, FFS! So off we went, in our little fairy costumes, prancing down the street in F*ck me heals, wands and skirts made from strips of irredescent material that sometimes showed a peak of little ruffle-ly boy short underwear.
This humanitarian mission was harder then we realized. It is not easy to pull up signs embedded in clay while trying to be a dainty fairy in f*ck me heals. Earlier in the day it had rained, and we kept sinking into the ground and losing our shoes, which of course made us explode into fits of giggles.
We had just made a Democrat a Republican when the outside lights came on. Shit.
Then we saw it-the police car. Double shit.
So off we ran back towards the house, ducking around bushes and cars, giggling like maniacs. The police drove slowly down the street, their light reflecting off our irredescent skirts every once in awhile. They had to be cracking up.
So we made it back to the house, but there was a problem. Everyone had moved inside, so we had to go to the front door. The police car was sitting in front of the house, as it was obvious that was where the party was.
Triple shit.
Someone who shall remain nameless (me) thought it would be a good idea to just take our skirts off and walk around to the front of the house. We would say we were babies or something for Halloween. The little ruffled panties and white camosoles we were wearing could pull that off. Yeah, that would work.
So off the skirts went, and we walked around to the front of the house. Mr. Police Officer got out. We kind of huddled together and walked towards the front of the house, like he wouldn't see us if we were smashed together.
He walks up to us and says, "Have you girls seen a couple of Fairies running around here?" "Fairies? What Fairies?" R asked.
"I think he means Dave. You know, they like to be called homo sequals now," I told the cop.
"That's not what I.." started the policeman.
"Damn, that's not very nice. Haven't the police been to tol...toler...tollleeeraaance training around here?"
"Look, you know what I'm talking about. We had someone call about a couple of people in Fairy Cos..."
"The people around here are racist too?" I asked.
"If you'd just let me finish.."
"Dave! Dave! Where the hell is Dave!?" asked R. "We don't have two fairies here. We just have one, or did Dave bring a date?" I asked.
"No, he's stag. Lisa's here. She was bi curious in college, does that count as a fairy?" R asked. "She was alllejiidly bi cuurious...Iiiiii dunno, he's the racist," I said, pointing to the policeman.
"I'M NOT RACIST!!" roared the police officer.
"Gay people can call each other Fairies. Are you Gay?" I asked.
"I'M NOT GAY! LOOK, WE ARE DONE HERE. IF YOU DO NOT COOPERATE, WE CAN TALK ABOUT THIS AT THE STATION."
H, who had been rather quiet this whole time hiccuped. "I lost my shoe."
"Sssssssssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh" R and I both hissed together. The three of us then burst into another fit of giggles.
I think he was about to break out the handcuffs at this point when P came out of his house. By the Grace of God he was friends with Officer Friendly, and he calmed the whole situation down.
Narrowly escaping a P.I. (public intox) and probably mischievous conduct, trespassing, and a variety of other laws broken, we went into the house and spun our tail of intrigue to the rest of the soul mates. Humanitarian mission accomplished. We had successfully converted two Repubs and two Dems.
I just want to say right now...I cannot make shit up this good when I write scripts...This is so going into my next one...
So all in all it was a great night. It will probably take me 5 months to get the glitter out of my car. I really feel sorry for poor P and M, whose couch got the same glitter treatment that night, and will have to face their poor police friend all the time because they take turns driving each others kids to school.
P said if his kids get kicked out of the car pool because of us, we have to drive them to school.
I think we may very well have set back gay rights movement, and the black/white relationship in this country 10 years with one conversation.
*Side Note*
I am not responsible for any way-ward spelling or punctuation or anything in this post. Hung over people should not be held responsible for Grammer, or is it Grammar?
Owwwwwwww my head...
Saturday, October 23, 2004
It is officially Saturday~
Yes, it is after midnight, so it is officially my day off and the day of the big bash.
Poppy suggested in the comments that I post a pic of my fairy costume, and I most definitely will if I manage to get one and stay out of prison all the same night. We tend to get in trouble when we are all together, but I'm going to try and be a good girl, and find a baaad boy...hehe
My Stat Counter I mentioned in my last post has jumped considerably in the out of country category.
I take it England does not appreciate getting the snot kicked out of it by Australia. Here's a up to the minute blow-by-blow:
Jolly old England was not about to take getting kicked in the ass by Australia, so they ganged up together and pulled surprisingly ahead of the land down under in hits.
But what a minute....
Canada jumps ahead of Australia in a surprising upset. France is disqualified for the same person hitting the site over and over, that sneaky bastard. Malaysia places a surprising third followed by Norway and Japan....
For all you people from far away lands visiting...Take heart...Not all Americans are as weird and/or crazy as I...
Stay tuned for party updates. I should be on Sunday night if I am coherent, and I already have a good idea for our immature prank that usually ends with us getting in big trouble but we do it anyway...
Poppy suggested in the comments that I post a pic of my fairy costume, and I most definitely will if I manage to get one and stay out of prison all the same night. We tend to get in trouble when we are all together, but I'm going to try and be a good girl, and find a baaad boy...hehe
My Stat Counter I mentioned in my last post has jumped considerably in the out of country category.
I take it England does not appreciate getting the snot kicked out of it by Australia. Here's a up to the minute blow-by-blow:
Jolly old England was not about to take getting kicked in the ass by Australia, so they ganged up together and pulled surprisingly ahead of the land down under in hits.
But what a minute....
Canada jumps ahead of Australia in a surprising upset. France is disqualified for the same person hitting the site over and over, that sneaky bastard. Malaysia places a surprising third followed by Norway and Japan....
For all you people from far away lands visiting...Take heart...Not all Americans are as weird and/or crazy as I...
Stay tuned for party updates. I should be on Sunday night if I am coherent, and I already have a good idea for our immature prank that usually ends with us getting in big trouble but we do it anyway...
Friday, October 22, 2004
Is it Saturday yet?
One more flippin' day and I have a day off!!!!!!! Not only do I have a day off, it is also the day of the big Halloween party. The circle of soul mates and I have compiled quite a guest list. All in all, I think we probably have around 150 people coming...
Random notes:
I made little lips graphics for the blog. I am really, really trying not to design the whole thing, but my little creative brain is ticking away at how I can change this template. I swore I wouldn't do it, but hell I probably will in the next few weeks...
I went to the nieces house to try on my beautiful fairy costume. It is really cute, but I'm kind of a slut fairy...
kj4ever: You did a great job, but it's kind of short.
Niece: Yeah, but you have great legs.
kj4ever: Thanks, but it really is kind of short. Are fairies supposed to look umm, kind of slutty?
Niece: Most of the ones I saw on the Internet didn't even have tops on.
So there you go. I should be happy that I get a top? That's the way I'm looking at it anyway. R's is just as short, so we shall embrace the sluttiness (is that a word?) together.
I seem to be the most-est lucky-est person at Blog Explosion as I seem to be in the middle of a mystery credit winnin' extravaganza. I think the nazi's still feel bad for censoring my banner and putting that profanity warning on my site. My Pimp is going to be really pleased. I won 25 and 10 within 3 posts today. Go me...
I'm really surprised by the traffic I've gotten through here. I wasn't doing so bad myself, thankyouverymuch, but Blog Explosions has exceeded my expectations. A good number of the people are staying around.
How do I know this? If you don't have one, I'd highly recommend getting a Stat Counter. It's free! and it shows you where your traffic came from, how long they stayed, what pages they visited, and what state/country they are from. Australia is currently kicking the snot out of England in the out of country category, with France running a close third.
Here's a wrap up of my popular posts so far:
The circle of soul mates post.
The one where we get arrested.
The one where my cousin decides she isn't gay anymore.
My sister, the lemon.
The one where I try to ho out my Dad.
and last, but certainly most hits, my ugly duckling to swan transformation.
So there ya have it. My most popular posts according to Stat Counter. Some hits are from blog explosions, some are from search engines...The nice thing is most people are staying from 20 minutes to an hour.
All those people slacking at work reading my stuff? My Mom would be so proud...
Random notes:
I made little lips graphics for the blog. I am really, really trying not to design the whole thing, but my little creative brain is ticking away at how I can change this template. I swore I wouldn't do it, but hell I probably will in the next few weeks...
I went to the nieces house to try on my beautiful fairy costume. It is really cute, but I'm kind of a slut fairy...
kj4ever: You did a great job, but it's kind of short.
Niece: Yeah, but you have great legs.
kj4ever: Thanks, but it really is kind of short. Are fairies supposed to look umm, kind of slutty?
Niece: Most of the ones I saw on the Internet didn't even have tops on.
So there you go. I should be happy that I get a top? That's the way I'm looking at it anyway. R's is just as short, so we shall embrace the sluttiness (is that a word?) together.
I seem to be the most-est lucky-est person at Blog Explosion as I seem to be in the middle of a mystery credit winnin' extravaganza. I think the nazi's still feel bad for censoring my banner and putting that profanity warning on my site. My Pimp is going to be really pleased. I won 25 and 10 within 3 posts today. Go me...
I'm really surprised by the traffic I've gotten through here. I wasn't doing so bad myself, thankyouverymuch, but Blog Explosions has exceeded my expectations. A good number of the people are staying around.
How do I know this? If you don't have one, I'd highly recommend getting a Stat Counter. It's free! and it shows you where your traffic came from, how long they stayed, what pages they visited, and what state/country they are from. Australia is currently kicking the snot out of England in the out of country category, with France running a close third.
Here's a wrap up of my popular posts so far:
The circle of soul mates post.
The one where we get arrested.
The one where my cousin decides she isn't gay anymore.
My sister, the lemon.
The one where I try to ho out my Dad.
and last, but certainly most hits, my ugly duckling to swan transformation.
So there ya have it. My most popular posts according to Stat Counter. Some hits are from blog explosions, some are from search engines...The nice thing is most people are staying from 20 minutes to an hour.
All those people slacking at work reading my stuff? My Mom would be so proud...
Thursday, October 21, 2004
My yearly trip to hell
Yes children, it is that time of year again. The time of year when I am reminded that I am going to straight to hell. Do not pass go. Do not even get a hand basket...
Why exactly is it that I am going to hell? Is it because I'm a murderer? Nope. Do I steal? Nope. Do I covert thy neighbor? Eww...
I don't break to many of the 10 commandments, but that's still not the reason why I am going to hell.
The reason, class, is because I participate in a sinister ritual. It is the utmost Evile on this planet.
Yes, I participate in Trick-or-Treating. Damn...
I work with a Christian. He a real! live! Promise Keeper and everything. Now don't get the wrong idea. I adore this man. He is a very good person, and we get along very well except for this time of year. I have no problem with people who practice what they preach, and he definitely does that. Except for Halloween....
He usually doesn't judge people (which the Bible tells you not to do by the way) except for Halloween. He must really find Halloween disturbing, since he never preaches or comments on anything else but Halloween.
I found this out the hard way last year when I put up a few Halloween decorations in my little cube at work. It's right next to his, and he didn't appreciate it.
At. All.
It shocked the hell out of me when he started to preach to me about Satan and teaching children to worship the Devil blah blah blah blah blah....
When I was a child, Satan was the last thing on my mind when I went Trick-or-Treating. About the only thing I thought about was how in the world I would be able to hide the Snicker bars from my Father. Never once did I adequate Trick-or-Treating with the Devil, or hell even religion. It was about dressing up, running around at night, getting candy, and hiding said candy from my Father, even though he dressed up and Trick-or-Treated and had his own damn candy. This statement probably explains a lot about why I am a perpetual 5 year old. I get it honest.
I learned last year that it really is about going to hell.
Heh.
This is a man that knows I was raised with what some would call Pagan beliefs. I guess it's ok because I am half Native American? He never says anything about that stuff, but damn don't get him started about Halloween...
He went into his big long speech again this year, as I thought blah blah blah in my head. I couldn't help but laugh, and this did not amuse him. He is dead serious about this Halloween stuff.
Why? Why does Halloween bug Christians so much? I just don't see the connection with the whole Devil worship crap, as most children don't even think about that.
In a time where kids are taught to be afraid of their own shadows, at least they have one night where they can go to their neighbors house without fear of God knows what.
Let me share a story with you all that I posted over at Mr. Netiquette. I took my niece to see my parents when she was about 6 or 7. My Parents live in Mississippi, which is definitely a different culture then here in Chicago.
We were walking on "main street", looking at the little shops. She ran over to a pop machine that gave out real! bottles. A man came over to her, bent down, and said "Hello there little one." She immediately started screaming "Stranger Danger! Stranger Danger!" and came running over to me. I still wonder if that poor man has recovered from that little scene.
How can such a funny story be so sad?
Point being, at least one day a year kids can run around like the generations past were allowed to do. They have one night to be free of worry and rules and stranger dangers. One night where neighbors are just neighbors, no stranger dangers, no worries.
How can this be evil?
Why exactly is it that I am going to hell? Is it because I'm a murderer? Nope. Do I steal? Nope. Do I covert thy neighbor? Eww...
I don't break to many of the 10 commandments, but that's still not the reason why I am going to hell.
The reason, class, is because I participate in a sinister ritual. It is the utmost Evile on this planet.
Yes, I participate in Trick-or-Treating. Damn...
I work with a Christian. He a real! live! Promise Keeper and everything. Now don't get the wrong idea. I adore this man. He is a very good person, and we get along very well except for this time of year. I have no problem with people who practice what they preach, and he definitely does that. Except for Halloween....
He usually doesn't judge people (which the Bible tells you not to do by the way) except for Halloween. He must really find Halloween disturbing, since he never preaches or comments on anything else but Halloween.
I found this out the hard way last year when I put up a few Halloween decorations in my little cube at work. It's right next to his, and he didn't appreciate it.
At. All.
It shocked the hell out of me when he started to preach to me about Satan and teaching children to worship the Devil blah blah blah blah blah....
When I was a child, Satan was the last thing on my mind when I went Trick-or-Treating. About the only thing I thought about was how in the world I would be able to hide the Snicker bars from my Father. Never once did I adequate Trick-or-Treating with the Devil, or hell even religion. It was about dressing up, running around at night, getting candy, and hiding said candy from my Father, even though he dressed up and Trick-or-Treated and had his own damn candy. This statement probably explains a lot about why I am a perpetual 5 year old. I get it honest.
I learned last year that it really is about going to hell.
Heh.
This is a man that knows I was raised with what some would call Pagan beliefs. I guess it's ok because I am half Native American? He never says anything about that stuff, but damn don't get him started about Halloween...
He went into his big long speech again this year, as I thought blah blah blah in my head. I couldn't help but laugh, and this did not amuse him. He is dead serious about this Halloween stuff.
Why? Why does Halloween bug Christians so much? I just don't see the connection with the whole Devil worship crap, as most children don't even think about that.
In a time where kids are taught to be afraid of their own shadows, at least they have one night where they can go to their neighbors house without fear of God knows what.
Let me share a story with you all that I posted over at Mr. Netiquette. I took my niece to see my parents when she was about 6 or 7. My Parents live in Mississippi, which is definitely a different culture then here in Chicago.
We were walking on "main street", looking at the little shops. She ran over to a pop machine that gave out real! bottles. A man came over to her, bent down, and said "Hello there little one." She immediately started screaming "Stranger Danger! Stranger Danger!" and came running over to me. I still wonder if that poor man has recovered from that little scene.
How can such a funny story be so sad?
Point being, at least one day a year kids can run around like the generations past were allowed to do. They have one night to be free of worry and rules and stranger dangers. One night where neighbors are just neighbors, no stranger dangers, no worries.
How can this be evil?
How to live with a 20 year old
Yes, I live with a 20 year old. I've mentioned my nephew before, but I don't think I've ever got around to saying why he lives with me.
He was born when I was 13 years old. As I was the youngest child in my family, I was incredibly excited to have a baby coming into the family. I had never really been around a baby before.
I took my job as the Aunt very seriously. No one else my age had a nephew, so I thought it was very cool to have a nephew.
Since our age gap isn't quite as large as most Aunt/Nephew relationships, I suppose we were probably more like brother and sister until I grew up. It turns out I had to grow up real fast for various reasons, and I spent a good majority of my time raising three children.
When the nephew got into high school he began to Rebel (notice the capital "R") big time, and a lot of that had to do with the fact that once my sister had a child old enough to watch the other two, she was gone. About the only person he would listen to was myself or my parents, and the former live 600 miles away which didn't do a whole hell of a lot of good.
He didn't do anything all that bad, but he was headed that way. I took matters into my own hands when he was arrested by the police for drinking when he was a senior.
Party's over kiddo, you are going to Aunt Kelly boot camp.
So he moved into my house when he was 17. Oh, it was a struggle at first, as he got used to an adult being around to watch his every move. Thankfully the kid has respect for me and didn't push things like he did with his Mother. He also realized he couldn't get away with anything, because as a former juvenile delinquent I knew his every move before he made it.
It is amazing the changes that can happen so fast once a kid has some discipline in their lives. His first report card he brought home had 4 C's on it. I told him he was grounded until his next report card. He looked at me in shock and asked why. "Because you are not allowed to be average," was my answer. Oh yes, he thought I was the anti-christ, but he didn't fight it. He was grounded for 6 weeks and received all A's and B's the next time around.
Grounded at Aunt Kelly boot camp means grounded. No video games. No phone. No TV. No nothing...and I was around to enforce it.
He's now working on a degree in Criminal Justice, and wants to be an FBI agent some day. Go figure, eh?
I have learned a lot by living with a 20 year old. MTV doesn't play videos anymore. People pierce their bodies in weird places. Mostly what I have learned is this generation of children...They are lost...
So many parents have spent the majority of their time being "friends" or working or just being so damn lazy that these children have no idea of discipline. I don't think it has anything to do with the fact that people can't or know better than to use corporal punishment. My parents didn't hit us. They did what they said and said what they did. Respect. It was all about respect.
My parents were my hero's growing up. Who are the hero's for this generation? Parents that were to lazy to follow up with any real kind of punishment? Parents that didn't spend any quality time with their children other then showing up at a random soccer game? Parents who were unavailable because they were to worried about their own lives?
No, their hero's are the reality stars and the celebrities and the people out there making a fast buck.
My sister has two other children. I have a niece that is 18 and a nephew that is 17. What do they both want for their high school graduation present?
To move into my house.
I think I'm going to need a bigger house....
He was born when I was 13 years old. As I was the youngest child in my family, I was incredibly excited to have a baby coming into the family. I had never really been around a baby before.
I took my job as the Aunt very seriously. No one else my age had a nephew, so I thought it was very cool to have a nephew.
Since our age gap isn't quite as large as most Aunt/Nephew relationships, I suppose we were probably more like brother and sister until I grew up. It turns out I had to grow up real fast for various reasons, and I spent a good majority of my time raising three children.
When the nephew got into high school he began to Rebel (notice the capital "R") big time, and a lot of that had to do with the fact that once my sister had a child old enough to watch the other two, she was gone. About the only person he would listen to was myself or my parents, and the former live 600 miles away which didn't do a whole hell of a lot of good.
He didn't do anything all that bad, but he was headed that way. I took matters into my own hands when he was arrested by the police for drinking when he was a senior.
Party's over kiddo, you are going to Aunt Kelly boot camp.
So he moved into my house when he was 17. Oh, it was a struggle at first, as he got used to an adult being around to watch his every move. Thankfully the kid has respect for me and didn't push things like he did with his Mother. He also realized he couldn't get away with anything, because as a former juvenile delinquent I knew his every move before he made it.
It is amazing the changes that can happen so fast once a kid has some discipline in their lives. His first report card he brought home had 4 C's on it. I told him he was grounded until his next report card. He looked at me in shock and asked why. "Because you are not allowed to be average," was my answer. Oh yes, he thought I was the anti-christ, but he didn't fight it. He was grounded for 6 weeks and received all A's and B's the next time around.
Grounded at Aunt Kelly boot camp means grounded. No video games. No phone. No TV. No nothing...and I was around to enforce it.
He's now working on a degree in Criminal Justice, and wants to be an FBI agent some day. Go figure, eh?
I have learned a lot by living with a 20 year old. MTV doesn't play videos anymore. People pierce their bodies in weird places. Mostly what I have learned is this generation of children...They are lost...
So many parents have spent the majority of their time being "friends" or working or just being so damn lazy that these children have no idea of discipline. I don't think it has anything to do with the fact that people can't or know better than to use corporal punishment. My parents didn't hit us. They did what they said and said what they did. Respect. It was all about respect.
My parents were my hero's growing up. Who are the hero's for this generation? Parents that were to lazy to follow up with any real kind of punishment? Parents that didn't spend any quality time with their children other then showing up at a random soccer game? Parents who were unavailable because they were to worried about their own lives?
No, their hero's are the reality stars and the celebrities and the people out there making a fast buck.
My sister has two other children. I have a niece that is 18 and a nephew that is 17. What do they both want for their high school graduation present?
To move into my house.
I think I'm going to need a bigger house....
Wednesday, October 20, 2004
I would be disgusted
with myself if I was 17. You've all seen those commercials, right? Where the teenage self is yelling at the adult self? It's for some van or something. Real effective commercial, eh? I can't even remember what it is for. What I did realize is that my 17 year old self would be screaming bloody murder at me.
By some miraculous happening (stock shortage) I only worked 7 hours last night. That means I had 5 more hours in my normal day.
What to do with 5 extra hours??? First on the list is sleep. I had an extra hour of sleep, glorious sleep. Next, shopping. My niece has been kind enough to make the Halloween costumes for the big bash this year, as I am busy working my (_|_) off. She ran out of some of the material, so I headed over to the local fabric store.
I have forgot how inspiring those fabric/hobby stores can be to your creative side. There was this elderly lady there bitching about how their wearable art fabric paint selection had gone down to nothing. She stood there, decked out head to toe, in a monstrous display of wearable fabric painted clothes, all ready for Halloween.
As I smiled at her cluelessness when it comes to fashion, I started thinking about what I was wearing. Abercrombie khaki's...check...Polo button down...check...Argyl (sp? not enough time to look up) sweater w/matching socks...check...Coach purse and shoes...check
How. Incredibly. Boring.
When I was in high school I couldn't stand the thought of looking like anyone else. The late 80's were a bit more free when it came to fashion, but I sure as hell never looked like a walking commercial, or worse yet, a soccer Mom (no offense to you soccer Mom's out there, your 17 year old self would be pissed too).
I'm supposed to start having weekends off soon (Yay!), and I vow, here and now, to use my creativity to make something unique. Whether it be jewelry, a scarf, or a new dress by kj, I swear I am going to get out of this damn commercialize wardrobe, one peice at a time.
That is, of course, until life takes over again and heading to the local mall is a lot more feasible.
Sometimes life really sucks...but if this is one of my main worries in life, I am pretty damn lucky.
By some miraculous happening (stock shortage) I only worked 7 hours last night. That means I had 5 more hours in my normal day.
What to do with 5 extra hours??? First on the list is sleep. I had an extra hour of sleep, glorious sleep. Next, shopping. My niece has been kind enough to make the Halloween costumes for the big bash this year, as I am busy working my (_|_) off. She ran out of some of the material, so I headed over to the local fabric store.
I have forgot how inspiring those fabric/hobby stores can be to your creative side. There was this elderly lady there bitching about how their wearable art fabric paint selection had gone down to nothing. She stood there, decked out head to toe, in a monstrous display of wearable fabric painted clothes, all ready for Halloween.
As I smiled at her cluelessness when it comes to fashion, I started thinking about what I was wearing. Abercrombie khaki's...check...Polo button down...check...Argyl (sp? not enough time to look up) sweater w/matching socks...check...Coach purse and shoes...check
How. Incredibly. Boring.
When I was in high school I couldn't stand the thought of looking like anyone else. The late 80's were a bit more free when it came to fashion, but I sure as hell never looked like a walking commercial, or worse yet, a soccer Mom (no offense to you soccer Mom's out there, your 17 year old self would be pissed too).
I'm supposed to start having weekends off soon (Yay!), and I vow, here and now, to use my creativity to make something unique. Whether it be jewelry, a scarf, or a new dress by kj, I swear I am going to get out of this damn commercialize wardrobe, one peice at a time.
That is, of course, until life takes over again and heading to the local mall is a lot more feasible.
Sometimes life really sucks...but if this is one of my main worries in life, I am pretty damn lucky.
Tuesday, October 19, 2004
I almost didn't recognize you...
he said as he looked me up and down. Time sure has been good to you! Translation: Damn, you're not fat anymore. I sure hope I was nice to you when you were a tank ass.
I haven't had that in a long time. Someone who is shocked by my appearance. Back in the beginning of my blog I touch on it a bit, but I don't really talk about it to much. You can read a bit about it here.
When all was said and done, I think I lost around 70 lbs. I didn't get the next, more annoying to me question from this man, which is usually, "How did you lose so much weight???"
I ate less calories then my body burned. Simple math. Now I eat the same amount of calories that my body burns. When I say things like this, people look at me like I just said a space ship came and took me away and implanted some kind of alien tape worm in me.
I've kept this weight off all these years by my simple math equation. I was around 19 when I started losing, and probably finished up by 21. Yes, it took a long time, but I changed my whole way of life to do that.
This was the kind of situation fat people dream about. The man asking the question today was a very popular person in high school that a lot of girls had a crush on. We have many new people coming into our plant now that we are launching a new vehicle, and he was one of the many new hires.
The situation never lives up to the fantasy a school girl might have, especially since the person in question is now balding with a beer belly. That could probably kill a fantasy really quick.
You get used to comments like this, but after people get used to you they stop. Random people you haven't seen in forever like this gentleman come into the picture every once in awhile, and I think that is when a lot of people fall off the proverbial wagon.
I, being the weirdo that I am, always found these situations uncomfortable. It has taken a lot for me to get used to my new body, and in many ways I am still a bit uncomfortable.
The other big question I get asked by people is how do you keep it off. If I could give one piece of advice on weight loss, it would be to do something with weights. Weight training is one of the main reasons I kept off the weight.
I honestly eat more now then I did then. My body requires more calories because of my muscle mass. No, I am not a body builder looking chick at all, but by doing weight training I have kicked my metabolism into overdrive, and kept everything in it's full, upright, and locked position if you know what I mean.
My second senario with a new hire today still has me speechless. It is a good thing I can still type....
We had a car that was going to be used for marketing purposes, i.e. commercials, auto shows, and the like. They sent a really young, probably about 19, Brad Pitt look-a-like to get the car from where it was being "fluffed and buffed."
"I can't get into the car, it's locked" he told me as I thanked God he was of age. I walked over to where the car was, and asked him where were the keys. "Oh, the keys are right here," he said as he dangled them in front of me, "but the remote is missing."
No. Please God don't let this be what I think it is.
"Is it the wrong key?" I ask, praying to God that it is. "I don't know, I can't get in the car," he replied.
Deep breaths....Deep breaths...
"Doesn't the key work in the door?"
"The door?"
"You know, the door. Key in the door. To..open..it..." I didn't know if I should laugh or cry at this point.
"Oh! I could use the key to open the door!" This really excited him.
"Uuuh, yeah, that is what keys are for."
"I've never opened a door with a car key." So he proceeds to open the door miraculously with a KEY! and is all excited about it.
Either I'm really old, or this guy stood in the pretty line while they were passing brains out.
*slams head into wall repeatedly* These people will be running the country someday. I hope the nuke button doesn't have a remote.
In totally unrelated news, the communists over at Blog Explosions have rejected my cheesy banner because it has the word f*ck's in it. Nazi bastards...My pimp Pink Poppy is not goin to be happy about this at all. I say she is my pimp as she gets a percentage of my blog points since she referred me. Thought I better clear that up.
They do have a conscious I think, because they then awarded me various mystery points every time I clicked on something. I won the 50, 10, 25, and the 2. Go me...
I haven't had that in a long time. Someone who is shocked by my appearance. Back in the beginning of my blog I touch on it a bit, but I don't really talk about it to much. You can read a bit about it here.
When all was said and done, I think I lost around 70 lbs. I didn't get the next, more annoying to me question from this man, which is usually, "How did you lose so much weight???"
I ate less calories then my body burned. Simple math. Now I eat the same amount of calories that my body burns. When I say things like this, people look at me like I just said a space ship came and took me away and implanted some kind of alien tape worm in me.
I've kept this weight off all these years by my simple math equation. I was around 19 when I started losing, and probably finished up by 21. Yes, it took a long time, but I changed my whole way of life to do that.
This was the kind of situation fat people dream about. The man asking the question today was a very popular person in high school that a lot of girls had a crush on. We have many new people coming into our plant now that we are launching a new vehicle, and he was one of the many new hires.
The situation never lives up to the fantasy a school girl might have, especially since the person in question is now balding with a beer belly. That could probably kill a fantasy really quick.
You get used to comments like this, but after people get used to you they stop. Random people you haven't seen in forever like this gentleman come into the picture every once in awhile, and I think that is when a lot of people fall off the proverbial wagon.
I, being the weirdo that I am, always found these situations uncomfortable. It has taken a lot for me to get used to my new body, and in many ways I am still a bit uncomfortable.
The other big question I get asked by people is how do you keep it off. If I could give one piece of advice on weight loss, it would be to do something with weights. Weight training is one of the main reasons I kept off the weight.
I honestly eat more now then I did then. My body requires more calories because of my muscle mass. No, I am not a body builder looking chick at all, but by doing weight training I have kicked my metabolism into overdrive, and kept everything in it's full, upright, and locked position if you know what I mean.
My second senario with a new hire today still has me speechless. It is a good thing I can still type....
We had a car that was going to be used for marketing purposes, i.e. commercials, auto shows, and the like. They sent a really young, probably about 19, Brad Pitt look-a-like to get the car from where it was being "fluffed and buffed."
"I can't get into the car, it's locked" he told me as I thanked God he was of age. I walked over to where the car was, and asked him where were the keys. "Oh, the keys are right here," he said as he dangled them in front of me, "but the remote is missing."
No. Please God don't let this be what I think it is.
"Is it the wrong key?" I ask, praying to God that it is. "I don't know, I can't get in the car," he replied.
Deep breaths....Deep breaths...
"Doesn't the key work in the door?"
"The door?"
"You know, the door. Key in the door. To..open..it..." I didn't know if I should laugh or cry at this point.
"Oh! I could use the key to open the door!" This really excited him.
"Uuuh, yeah, that is what keys are for."
"I've never opened a door with a car key." So he proceeds to open the door miraculously with a KEY! and is all excited about it.
Either I'm really old, or this guy stood in the pretty line while they were passing brains out.
*slams head into wall repeatedly* These people will be running the country someday. I hope the nuke button doesn't have a remote.
In totally unrelated news, the communists over at Blog Explosions have rejected my cheesy banner because it has the word f*ck's in it. Nazi bastards...My pimp Pink Poppy is not goin to be happy about this at all. I say she is my pimp as she gets a percentage of my blog points since she referred me. Thought I better clear that up.
They do have a conscious I think, because they then awarded me various mystery points every time I clicked on something. I won the 50, 10, 25, and the 2. Go me...
Monday, October 18, 2004
A Day in the Life of...
kj4ever.
10:00 am ish: Wake up to blaring alarm clock. Hit snooze and lay there staring at the ceiling until it blares again. Continue cycle until able to think coherently.
10:15 am ish: Realize coherent thought is not possible without caffeine.
10:17 am ish: Get out of bed and head towards kitchen. Trip over a damn cat.
10:20 am ish: Privately thank God for Bunn coffee makers while drinking first cup.
10:25 am ish: Put on damn exercise clothes and either do weight training or run on the tread mill for a half hour, bitching the whole way.
10:26 am ish: Realize exercising will be impossible with said cats circling, so go back into kitchen and distract them with can opener and food.
10:27 am ish: Re-think exercising as I hate it with a passion. Grumble, moan, and bitch to myself a lot.
10:29 am ish: Get on the damn treadmill/pick up weights anyway.
11:00 am ish: Hit the showers.
11:30 am ish: Feeling almost human now. Get out oatmeal and prepare.
11:35 am ish: Eat oatmeal while listening to home phone voice mail, usually messages riddled with guilt from the parental units, as I usually haven't had a chance to call them in awhile.
11:50 am ish: Blow dry hair, put it up in some kind of twisty knotty looking style for work.
12:30 pm ish: Call parents if guilt riddled messages worked, otherwise, connect to Internet.
12:30-1:00 pm ish: Check out blogs of people I like, listed on the side of this page.
1:00 pm ish: Answer emails. Assure people I am still alive. Check work cell phone messages. Grumble a lot.
1:30 pm ish: Put on make-up and dress for work.
1:45 pm ish: Put harness on tank ass cat, take for walk.
2:15 pm ish: Pack lunch/dinner for work, do various household things like dishes or clean a room. Throw a load of laundry in washer.
3:00 pm: Leave for work.
3:30 pm: Arrive at hell.
3:35-6:00 pm: Run my freakin' butt off.
6:00 pm: Union break. Call last person on my Caller ID. Eat snack.
6:30-10:00 pm: Run my freakin' butt off. Get pissed off at some computer illiterate person.
10:00 pm: Union Lunch. Eat Lunch. Answer email. Reassure people I'm alive. Surf net. Write blog entries/email to home.
10:30-3:30 pm/am: Run my freakin' butt off. Hit the "on" button on someone's computer. Be told I'm a genius for hitting said "on" button.
3:30 am: Get the hell out of dodge.
4:00 am: Return home. Trip over cat.
4:03 am: Strip and put on the most comfortable thing I can find. Put clothes in dryer.
4:05 am: Go on Internet. Upload blog entry/answer email. Surf net.
4:30 am: Start nephew's breakfast as he gets in the shower and gets ready for work.
4:31 am: Feed the damn cats again so they'll leave me alone while I cook said breakfast.
4:45 am: Talk to nephew while he eats. Put something in crock pot for lunch/dinner.
5:00-10:00 am: Sleep, glorious sleep.
Life in 12 hour land sucks.
10:00 am ish: Wake up to blaring alarm clock. Hit snooze and lay there staring at the ceiling until it blares again. Continue cycle until able to think coherently.
10:15 am ish: Realize coherent thought is not possible without caffeine.
10:17 am ish: Get out of bed and head towards kitchen. Trip over a damn cat.
10:20 am ish: Privately thank God for Bunn coffee makers while drinking first cup.
10:25 am ish: Put on damn exercise clothes and either do weight training or run on the tread mill for a half hour, bitching the whole way.
10:26 am ish: Realize exercising will be impossible with said cats circling, so go back into kitchen and distract them with can opener and food.
10:27 am ish: Re-think exercising as I hate it with a passion. Grumble, moan, and bitch to myself a lot.
10:29 am ish: Get on the damn treadmill/pick up weights anyway.
11:00 am ish: Hit the showers.
11:30 am ish: Feeling almost human now. Get out oatmeal and prepare.
11:35 am ish: Eat oatmeal while listening to home phone voice mail, usually messages riddled with guilt from the parental units, as I usually haven't had a chance to call them in awhile.
11:50 am ish: Blow dry hair, put it up in some kind of twisty knotty looking style for work.
12:30 pm ish: Call parents if guilt riddled messages worked, otherwise, connect to Internet.
12:30-1:00 pm ish: Check out blogs of people I like, listed on the side of this page.
1:00 pm ish: Answer emails. Assure people I am still alive. Check work cell phone messages. Grumble a lot.
1:30 pm ish: Put on make-up and dress for work.
1:45 pm ish: Put harness on tank ass cat, take for walk.
2:15 pm ish: Pack lunch/dinner for work, do various household things like dishes or clean a room. Throw a load of laundry in washer.
3:00 pm: Leave for work.
3:30 pm: Arrive at hell.
3:35-6:00 pm: Run my freakin' butt off.
6:00 pm: Union break. Call last person on my Caller ID. Eat snack.
6:30-10:00 pm: Run my freakin' butt off. Get pissed off at some computer illiterate person.
10:00 pm: Union Lunch. Eat Lunch. Answer email. Reassure people I'm alive. Surf net. Write blog entries/email to home.
10:30-3:30 pm/am: Run my freakin' butt off. Hit the "on" button on someone's computer. Be told I'm a genius for hitting said "on" button.
3:30 am: Get the hell out of dodge.
4:00 am: Return home. Trip over cat.
4:03 am: Strip and put on the most comfortable thing I can find. Put clothes in dryer.
4:05 am: Go on Internet. Upload blog entry/answer email. Surf net.
4:30 am: Start nephew's breakfast as he gets in the shower and gets ready for work.
4:31 am: Feed the damn cats again so they'll leave me alone while I cook said breakfast.
4:45 am: Talk to nephew while he eats. Put something in crock pot for lunch/dinner.
5:00-10:00 am: Sleep, glorious sleep.
Life in 12 hour land sucks.
Sunday, October 17, 2004
Holy Blog Explosions Bat Man!
Wow. I boosted this from the Tall Poppy diaries site.
To say the least, this works big time. I have received so many visitors in just the first hours that I can hardly believe it, and many stayed for quite awhile. I've also found a couple of really good blogs while surfing myself. Great, just what I need...More blogs to read...
I even made a cheesy banner...
On another note, thanks to everyone who commented or emailed me about the U A W post I wrote. I'm am amazed and pleasantly surprised to see many people who are supportive and also the kind comments. The biggest risk to getting on your soap box is getting knocked off, but I have pretty strong bones...
To say the least, this works big time. I have received so many visitors in just the first hours that I can hardly believe it, and many stayed for quite awhile. I've also found a couple of really good blogs while surfing myself. Great, just what I need...More blogs to read...
I even made a cheesy banner...
On another note, thanks to everyone who commented or emailed me about the U A W post I wrote. I'm am amazed and pleasantly surprised to see many people who are supportive and also the kind comments. The biggest risk to getting on your soap box is getting knocked off, but I have pretty strong bones...
Saturday, October 16, 2004
Proud U A W worker....
My fellow Americans:
I write this post after a total display of hypocrisy that has disturbed me greatly. In this election year we are a country divided by issues, morals, and beliefs. Most people are passionate about their political views and their candidate.
Do not discuss this candidate with me unless you practice what you preach.
What do I mean by that? I had a shockingly disturbing incident today. I pulled into my favorite coffee shop behind a man who was driving a Lexus. There are probably a lot of people that would not notice this, but as a union member I always notice.
As I waited in line the Lexus owner was debating with his friend about the upcoming election. He was arguing about how Bush was bad for the economy, and how more jobs would be lost if he remained in office.
Wait...just...a....minute...
This coming from a person who was driving a vehicle built in Japan?
I surprisingly kept my mouth shut, until he said something that about knocked me over. "If Bush had his way, we'd have no unions, and everything would be built overseas."
That...did...it....
I couldn't contain myself any longer. "What do you drive?" I demanded to know. Startled, he turned around to see a very angry blonde with fire in her eyes, aka me really ticked off. He stammered and stuttered and finally said, "A Lexus, but my wife drives a Nissan that was built in the US."
Nissans, class, are not U A W plants. Very few vehicles made in the US by foreign car companies are union. I could be wrong, but I think the only one is the Toyota Tacoma. The rest are made by people who are probably getting paid $10 an hour to do some of the hardest work known to man. You can see for yourself which of these vehicles are made by union employees at this site, if you don't want to take my word for it.
http://www.uaw.org/uawmade/index.cfm
I don't think I should type out the rest of the conversation I had with this person as it got pretty ugly. I do want to type out the message that came with it: If you say that Bush is going to do all this stuff, you damn well better be someone who is supporting the union workers of this country, or you are a hypocrite of the highest level in my eyes.
As it stands now, we union shops have to do twice the work as a non-union shop to be competitive. I worked on an assembly line for 8 years until I finished my education, and let me tell you, everyday was nothing but pain and total physical exhaustion.
I have driven home from work and sat in my car for an hour after pulling into my driveway because I was to tired to get out. There were times when I fought back the tears until I was far enough away from the plant to let them flow, because my hands/back/legs/arms you name it hurt so bad, or I was just so physically tired. Do not think it is because I am a female. I have witnessed grown men breaking down on the drive home before.
Why on Earth would anyone have a job like that? Some people are not college material, while others, through fate or just the cards they drew in life, have to work at a job like that. We are paid well and have excellent benefits. Every penny is earned in sweat, blood, and tears.
We are just like your Father, Mother, Sister, Brother, Aunt, and next door neighbor. As I stated before, we have to work twice as hard to be competitive, and we need our American brothers and sisters to support us. I have heard every excuse in the book on why people don't buy American. "They don't have any cars I like," or "The quality is better with an export."
Bullshit. The plant I work at has won the Silver or Gold JD Power Quality award 4 years just since I have worked here. Our warranty for our vehicles has been better then both Honda and Toyota.
If we don't support each other, what difference does it make who we vote for? If we get a President that gives money to American manufacturers or supports unions, it won't make a difference if the people are not buying our product. Companies do not make a product unless there is a demand. It doesn't matter how much money is thrown at them, if the demand isn't there, we don't work.
My Grandfather would have crawled on broken glass before he drove an export. Do we not have that loyalty anymore in America?
I realize that there are some specialty vehicles out there that are not made in this country. I realize that sometimes there just might be a vehicle made by a foreign company that you fall in love with and just have to have. Just don't go around preaching about how Bush is going to take jobs away from this country when all you are doing is helping him out.
So all you Kerry supporters out there, your vote won't mean a damn thing if you are not backing it up with your actions. Put your money where your mouth is. I am well aware of what Bush could do to the manufacturing industry in this country, but the sad thing is I am more afraid of what my fellow American's will do to our manufacturing industry.
If you are interested in supporting unions in this country, this site. It has good information on not only vehicles, but many other products made by unionized Americans.
I write this post after a total display of hypocrisy that has disturbed me greatly. In this election year we are a country divided by issues, morals, and beliefs. Most people are passionate about their political views and their candidate.
Do not discuss this candidate with me unless you practice what you preach.
What do I mean by that? I had a shockingly disturbing incident today. I pulled into my favorite coffee shop behind a man who was driving a Lexus. There are probably a lot of people that would not notice this, but as a union member I always notice.
As I waited in line the Lexus owner was debating with his friend about the upcoming election. He was arguing about how Bush was bad for the economy, and how more jobs would be lost if he remained in office.
Wait...just...a....minute...
This coming from a person who was driving a vehicle built in Japan?
I surprisingly kept my mouth shut, until he said something that about knocked me over. "If Bush had his way, we'd have no unions, and everything would be built overseas."
That...did...it....
I couldn't contain myself any longer. "What do you drive?" I demanded to know. Startled, he turned around to see a very angry blonde with fire in her eyes, aka me really ticked off. He stammered and stuttered and finally said, "A Lexus, but my wife drives a Nissan that was built in the US."
Nissans, class, are not U A W plants. Very few vehicles made in the US by foreign car companies are union. I could be wrong, but I think the only one is the Toyota Tacoma. The rest are made by people who are probably getting paid $10 an hour to do some of the hardest work known to man. You can see for yourself which of these vehicles are made by union employees at this site, if you don't want to take my word for it.
http://www.uaw.org/uawmade/index.cfm
I don't think I should type out the rest of the conversation I had with this person as it got pretty ugly. I do want to type out the message that came with it: If you say that Bush is going to do all this stuff, you damn well better be someone who is supporting the union workers of this country, or you are a hypocrite of the highest level in my eyes.
As it stands now, we union shops have to do twice the work as a non-union shop to be competitive. I worked on an assembly line for 8 years until I finished my education, and let me tell you, everyday was nothing but pain and total physical exhaustion.
I have driven home from work and sat in my car for an hour after pulling into my driveway because I was to tired to get out. There were times when I fought back the tears until I was far enough away from the plant to let them flow, because my hands/back/legs/arms you name it hurt so bad, or I was just so physically tired. Do not think it is because I am a female. I have witnessed grown men breaking down on the drive home before.
Why on Earth would anyone have a job like that? Some people are not college material, while others, through fate or just the cards they drew in life, have to work at a job like that. We are paid well and have excellent benefits. Every penny is earned in sweat, blood, and tears.
We are just like your Father, Mother, Sister, Brother, Aunt, and next door neighbor. As I stated before, we have to work twice as hard to be competitive, and we need our American brothers and sisters to support us. I have heard every excuse in the book on why people don't buy American. "They don't have any cars I like," or "The quality is better with an export."
Bullshit. The plant I work at has won the Silver or Gold JD Power Quality award 4 years just since I have worked here. Our warranty for our vehicles has been better then both Honda and Toyota.
If we don't support each other, what difference does it make who we vote for? If we get a President that gives money to American manufacturers or supports unions, it won't make a difference if the people are not buying our product. Companies do not make a product unless there is a demand. It doesn't matter how much money is thrown at them, if the demand isn't there, we don't work.
My Grandfather would have crawled on broken glass before he drove an export. Do we not have that loyalty anymore in America?
I realize that there are some specialty vehicles out there that are not made in this country. I realize that sometimes there just might be a vehicle made by a foreign company that you fall in love with and just have to have. Just don't go around preaching about how Bush is going to take jobs away from this country when all you are doing is helping him out.
So all you Kerry supporters out there, your vote won't mean a damn thing if you are not backing it up with your actions. Put your money where your mouth is. I am well aware of what Bush could do to the manufacturing industry in this country, but the sad thing is I am more afraid of what my fellow American's will do to our manufacturing industry.
If you are interested in supporting unions in this country, this site. It has good information on not only vehicles, but many other products made by unionized Americans.
Happy Sweetest Day!
No! It's not just a Hallmark Holiday I say!
Everyone should be celebrating Sweetest Day!
We can always use a reason to Play!
So that is my attempt at poetry after putting in 10 hours and work and then another additional 3 hours at home.
Hmmm.
Sweetest Day was a huge deal in my household growing up. My Mom would make heart shaped pancakes and the table would be set with a little gift by each of our plates that we were not allowed to touch until after breakfast. My Dad would fresh squeeze orange juice, and they would play all love songs, all day. This part could get a bit annoying...
Our presents usually contained like a chocolate heart or a stuffed animal-just something small, but it would still just kill us to look at those damn presents the whole time we ate breakfast.
My Dad, every year, would pick me up and throw me in the air saying, "This ones so sweet she's turned rotten!!!" The big finale to our breakfast would be when my Dad broke out his present to my Mom, which was always something very frivolous and usually very pretty and sparkly.
Then they would usually start making out, which would make us clear the room as fast as our little legs could run. They still do this...and they've been married 44 years...
My parents would always go to a dance or have a date that night and go somewhere special. My sister and I would lay on my Mom's bed as she got ready and put on usually a long black formal dress. She so looked like a movie star.
They would then go out and our Aunt usually came over and watched us. I always wished I could go see what they were doing, but now I realize I probably didn't want to know, as they always stayed gone overnight on Sweetest Day.
As you can imagine, this has fucked up my view of relationships immensely. I shall now join my fellow Gen X'ers and say one thing.
My parents have fucked me up.
Yes, I know this is not in the same way most kids get fucked up, and I should be greatful for getting fucked up in that manner.
I have now said the "F" word more times then I probably have in real life. What is it about blogging that makes me want to say the "F" word?
Anyway, imagine my shock when I entered the dating world and found out normal people do not act like this. I anxiously awaited my very first Sweetest Day with my very first boyfriend only to hear, "What is Sweetest Day?"
What the hell?
Many boyfriends since I have learned that most people do not view Sweetest Day as a real holiday. It's a "Hallmark Holiday."
What is so bad about having a day where you tell someone how sweet you think they are?
This has caused many conflicts in my relationships with men, and the few times I have invited someone over to my parents house for the morning "Sweetest Day Extravaganza" they usually leave thinking we are all a bunch of loonie toons...
It is days like this that I really miss my parents living so far away. Being the proper southern belle that she is, my Mother plans for everything. I received a package in the mail yesterday, and as my nephew and I ate our heart shaped pancakes it sat on the kitchen table.
I opened it up after breakfast and inside was one of those Build-a-Bears. When you squeeze him he says in my parents voice, "This one's so sweet she's turned rotten."
Thank you for fucking me up Mom and Dad!
I say embrace that which is Sweetest Day. Tell someone you think they are sweet. Get them flowers or candy. Make them feel just a little more special today.
What could it hurt?
Everyone should be celebrating Sweetest Day!
We can always use a reason to Play!
So that is my attempt at poetry after putting in 10 hours and work and then another additional 3 hours at home.
Hmmm.
Sweetest Day was a huge deal in my household growing up. My Mom would make heart shaped pancakes and the table would be set with a little gift by each of our plates that we were not allowed to touch until after breakfast. My Dad would fresh squeeze orange juice, and they would play all love songs, all day. This part could get a bit annoying...
Our presents usually contained like a chocolate heart or a stuffed animal-just something small, but it would still just kill us to look at those damn presents the whole time we ate breakfast.
My Dad, every year, would pick me up and throw me in the air saying, "This ones so sweet she's turned rotten!!!" The big finale to our breakfast would be when my Dad broke out his present to my Mom, which was always something very frivolous and usually very pretty and sparkly.
Then they would usually start making out, which would make us clear the room as fast as our little legs could run. They still do this...and they've been married 44 years...
My parents would always go to a dance or have a date that night and go somewhere special. My sister and I would lay on my Mom's bed as she got ready and put on usually a long black formal dress. She so looked like a movie star.
They would then go out and our Aunt usually came over and watched us. I always wished I could go see what they were doing, but now I realize I probably didn't want to know, as they always stayed gone overnight on Sweetest Day.
As you can imagine, this has fucked up my view of relationships immensely. I shall now join my fellow Gen X'ers and say one thing.
My parents have fucked me up.
Yes, I know this is not in the same way most kids get fucked up, and I should be greatful for getting fucked up in that manner.
I have now said the "F" word more times then I probably have in real life. What is it about blogging that makes me want to say the "F" word?
Anyway, imagine my shock when I entered the dating world and found out normal people do not act like this. I anxiously awaited my very first Sweetest Day with my very first boyfriend only to hear, "What is Sweetest Day?"
What the hell?
Many boyfriends since I have learned that most people do not view Sweetest Day as a real holiday. It's a "Hallmark Holiday."
What is so bad about having a day where you tell someone how sweet you think they are?
This has caused many conflicts in my relationships with men, and the few times I have invited someone over to my parents house for the morning "Sweetest Day Extravaganza" they usually leave thinking we are all a bunch of loonie toons...
It is days like this that I really miss my parents living so far away. Being the proper southern belle that she is, my Mother plans for everything. I received a package in the mail yesterday, and as my nephew and I ate our heart shaped pancakes it sat on the kitchen table.
I opened it up after breakfast and inside was one of those Build-a-Bears. When you squeeze him he says in my parents voice, "This one's so sweet she's turned rotten."
Thank you for fucking me up Mom and Dad!
I say embrace that which is Sweetest Day. Tell someone you think they are sweet. Get them flowers or candy. Make them feel just a little more special today.
What could it hurt?
Friday, October 15, 2004
Women then and now
One of the really good things about going back on pure afternoons at work is I get the chance to reconnect with some of my friends on that shift.
Dee is one of the coolest chicks I have ever met. She's around 42 now, and was single until 35. She had her first child at 37. A proud African American, she spent a good portion of her younger years traveling whenever we had more then two days off in a row to different countries in Africa. She is full of some of the most interesting stories I have ever heard.
So last night they had a break down that didn't involve me (Yay!), which means I had lots of screw off time. Dee did also, and we used the time to catch up a bit. She cringed with me as I told her of my nephew's little girlfriend. I laughed at her stories of her now 5 year old son who is positively spoiled rotten.
We got on the subject of women and how we seem so much different then women were at our age when we were younger. Dee said, "My Mother looked 42. I don't look 42, do I?" No, she doesn't. You could still mistake her for at least a 30 year old. I think...
Because I realized...It is a lot harder now then it was then to know how old someone is. Is it because celebrities are now botoxed and plastic so they never seem to age? Is it because we take better care of ourselves and our skin then the previous generations? Is it because we now take the dangers of baking in the sun more seriously and now opt for sunscreen?
Or is it because I am now in my 30's and Dee is in her 40's??
I think my answer would have to be D. All of the above.
Celebrities definitely do not age like they used to. Case in point, look at this pic of Farrah. I believe she was about 29 in this pic.
Can you imagine a celebrity taking a pic with those kinds of smile lines now? Maybe we just have better air brushing, but in this pic she looks 29, or by today's standards, even older.
My skin is way better then hers in this pic. I bet I look at least 5 years younger then her, and I'm 33. This is not wishful thinking, as I still get carded all the time.
My Mom, being Irish, was very fair. My brother and sister inherited my Father's darker Indian skin, and I seem to have come out somewhere in the middle. I look fair, but tan well. This did not stop my Mother from slathering me in sunscreen anytime I was near an open window.
*side note* Thank you Mom!!!
I think this has a lot to do with my resistance to aging, as my Mother also looks way younger then her age. She avoided the sun like a vampire. We were also a more "progressive" aka freakin' weird family that took all kinds of herbs and vitamins and natural remedies before they were hip or cool.
"Wait just a minute," Dee interjected in our discussion. "It's all about attitude. Our attitude is different now. I got a tattoo when I was 40. My Mother would have never done that. She was to busy taking care of five kids to worry about being cool or what she looked like."
Ahhh, another possible reason. Most parents neglect their selves once children come along. Are we a more "me" generation now where we take time for ourselves and don't feel guilty about it?
The last, nagging reason for this phenomenon is because we are at that age. My Grandpa always used to say, "Old is 20 years older then what you are." He's 90 now, so I guess old to him is 110. hmmm.
Now that we Gen X'ers have hit our 30's and 40's do we just seem younger then our previous counterparts because we are in our 30's and 40's? Perhaps our parents thought the same thing about their parents.
I prefer to think it's just because they looked really freakin' old. What do you think?
Farrah pic swiped from http://www.geocities.com/farrahfawcett2/. I will take it down if they disagree with my usage.
Dee is one of the coolest chicks I have ever met. She's around 42 now, and was single until 35. She had her first child at 37. A proud African American, she spent a good portion of her younger years traveling whenever we had more then two days off in a row to different countries in Africa. She is full of some of the most interesting stories I have ever heard.
So last night they had a break down that didn't involve me (Yay!), which means I had lots of screw off time. Dee did also, and we used the time to catch up a bit. She cringed with me as I told her of my nephew's little girlfriend. I laughed at her stories of her now 5 year old son who is positively spoiled rotten.
We got on the subject of women and how we seem so much different then women were at our age when we were younger. Dee said, "My Mother looked 42. I don't look 42, do I?" No, she doesn't. You could still mistake her for at least a 30 year old. I think...
Because I realized...It is a lot harder now then it was then to know how old someone is. Is it because celebrities are now botoxed and plastic so they never seem to age? Is it because we take better care of ourselves and our skin then the previous generations? Is it because we now take the dangers of baking in the sun more seriously and now opt for sunscreen?
Or is it because I am now in my 30's and Dee is in her 40's??
I think my answer would have to be D. All of the above.
Celebrities definitely do not age like they used to. Case in point, look at this pic of Farrah. I believe she was about 29 in this pic.
Can you imagine a celebrity taking a pic with those kinds of smile lines now? Maybe we just have better air brushing, but in this pic she looks 29, or by today's standards, even older.
My skin is way better then hers in this pic. I bet I look at least 5 years younger then her, and I'm 33. This is not wishful thinking, as I still get carded all the time.
My Mom, being Irish, was very fair. My brother and sister inherited my Father's darker Indian skin, and I seem to have come out somewhere in the middle. I look fair, but tan well. This did not stop my Mother from slathering me in sunscreen anytime I was near an open window.
*side note* Thank you Mom!!!
I think this has a lot to do with my resistance to aging, as my Mother also looks way younger then her age. She avoided the sun like a vampire. We were also a more "progressive" aka freakin' weird family that took all kinds of herbs and vitamins and natural remedies before they were hip or cool.
"Wait just a minute," Dee interjected in our discussion. "It's all about attitude. Our attitude is different now. I got a tattoo when I was 40. My Mother would have never done that. She was to busy taking care of five kids to worry about being cool or what she looked like."
Ahhh, another possible reason. Most parents neglect their selves once children come along. Are we a more "me" generation now where we take time for ourselves and don't feel guilty about it?
The last, nagging reason for this phenomenon is because we are at that age. My Grandpa always used to say, "Old is 20 years older then what you are." He's 90 now, so I guess old to him is 110. hmmm.
Now that we Gen X'ers have hit our 30's and 40's do we just seem younger then our previous counterparts because we are in our 30's and 40's? Perhaps our parents thought the same thing about their parents.
I prefer to think it's just because they looked really freakin' old. What do you think?
Farrah pic swiped from http://www.geocities.com/farrahfawcett2/. I will take it down if they disagree with my usage.
Thursday, October 14, 2004
Random Grumblings
My first night on afternoon shift went off without a hitch, and I forgot how much easier my job is on this shift. The "younger" people are on afternoons, and while not all of them are, most are more computer literate then their more "mature" counterparts on days.
I had to go to this shift because the person who covers that shift was kicked off the job because of seniority. I am more of a coordinator of the system between shifts, with a dedicated person on days and another on afternoons.
The seniority thing is one of the downfalls of a union. This guy is really bright and adds a lot of talent to this job. It they could give me a high seniority person with as much intelligence and with his skills, I'd be happy. They've tried before, and all I get it people that think it's an off the line job so they don't have to do anything and it must be easy.
It is far from easy. High pressure, high stress doesn't even cover it. If you don't know what you are doing, you can potentially cost the company to lose $15,000 about every 45 seconds. The higher seniority people that they bring me usually last about a week before they go back to whatever they were doing before.
It's a shame, and a waste of my time. They finally gave me the low seniority person when I had to go work on the launch of the new vehicles, and they had no choice but to get someone who knew what the hell they were doing. Now they just want to boot him out, because they know they can.
Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.............
In other news I took a picture of my neighbors house finally, as they didn't seem to be around when I got up this morning/afternoon.
This pic just doesn't do their decorating job justice, as you don't see the lights that are strung all over that wrap around porch, and you don't see their big honking garage that has images of witches flying projected all over it and orange lights strung everywhere on it. I've gotta get a night shot, which may be difficult considering I roll in from work around 6 in the morning now...
I will admit that I do have porch envy when it comes to these folks. It wraps all the way around their house. They are meticulous when it comes to their home, and it always looks immaculate.
That is probably another reason why they think I am the anti-christ. While my house has never bordered in white trash land, sometimes it got a bit much to take care of while working 84-98 hours a week. Now my nephew lives with me, so those problems are over.
They still hate me, and I must admit, I gave them a lot of reasons to feel that way when I was just a young punk. The first day I moved in, they came over to greet the new neighbors. I answered the door, and they asked if my Mom was home. That was the beginning of the end.
Speaking of my nephew, we had a long talk when I got home at 6 am (Yes! I said 6 am!) about this whole his girlfriend wants to get engaged and have babies and all that junk even though he is in school with just a little job for spending money blah blah blah...
I tried to talk logically to him without screaming, "RUN!! RUN AWAY!" He's a bright kid, so I don't think he's going to fall for this little ploy. I thought women were supposed to be more advanced these days?? Leave it to my nephew to find the one stuck in the freakin' 50's.
I had to go to this shift because the person who covers that shift was kicked off the job because of seniority. I am more of a coordinator of the system between shifts, with a dedicated person on days and another on afternoons.
The seniority thing is one of the downfalls of a union. This guy is really bright and adds a lot of talent to this job. It they could give me a high seniority person with as much intelligence and with his skills, I'd be happy. They've tried before, and all I get it people that think it's an off the line job so they don't have to do anything and it must be easy.
It is far from easy. High pressure, high stress doesn't even cover it. If you don't know what you are doing, you can potentially cost the company to lose $15,000 about every 45 seconds. The higher seniority people that they bring me usually last about a week before they go back to whatever they were doing before.
It's a shame, and a waste of my time. They finally gave me the low seniority person when I had to go work on the launch of the new vehicles, and they had no choice but to get someone who knew what the hell they were doing. Now they just want to boot him out, because they know they can.
Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.............
In other news I took a picture of my neighbors house finally, as they didn't seem to be around when I got up this morning/afternoon.
This pic just doesn't do their decorating job justice, as you don't see the lights that are strung all over that wrap around porch, and you don't see their big honking garage that has images of witches flying projected all over it and orange lights strung everywhere on it. I've gotta get a night shot, which may be difficult considering I roll in from work around 6 in the morning now...
I will admit that I do have porch envy when it comes to these folks. It wraps all the way around their house. They are meticulous when it comes to their home, and it always looks immaculate.
That is probably another reason why they think I am the anti-christ. While my house has never bordered in white trash land, sometimes it got a bit much to take care of while working 84-98 hours a week. Now my nephew lives with me, so those problems are over.
They still hate me, and I must admit, I gave them a lot of reasons to feel that way when I was just a young punk. The first day I moved in, they came over to greet the new neighbors. I answered the door, and they asked if my Mom was home. That was the beginning of the end.
Speaking of my nephew, we had a long talk when I got home at 6 am (Yes! I said 6 am!) about this whole his girlfriend wants to get engaged and have babies and all that junk even though he is in school with just a little job for spending money blah blah blah...
I tried to talk logically to him without screaming, "RUN!! RUN AWAY!" He's a bright kid, so I don't think he's going to fall for this little ploy. I thought women were supposed to be more advanced these days?? Leave it to my nephew to find the one stuck in the freakin' 50's.
Wednesday, October 13, 2004
Calling all BlogShares experts
The blonde is confused, and I need some clarification.
I did this BlogShare thingy, but I haven't really had time to do much with it. Any of you that participate that can answer the following questions will be showered with my undying loyalty and affection.
My Blog, which is listed as FFS, is listed twice, with different prices for each one. One is cheaper, and it only shows one incoming link from Princess Diaries. The other is more expensive and has Tad and Annie (two links for same blog, like me) as links.
Why is my blog listed twice like it is two different blogs?
Then in my outgoing links on both of these FFS pages Annie is not listed on either one, even though she is my first link on my site.
Why isn't Annie showing up??
Also, does selling hurt a blog? I noticed I've invested in a lot of the same things as Rancette, and she's been selling like a maniac. Whenever she sells, my net worth goes down the toilet.
Thanks in advance for any answers you might be able to help me with. I know I should probably just try and find the answers on the site, but I have the attention span of a two year old.
I did this BlogShare thingy, but I haven't really had time to do much with it. Any of you that participate that can answer the following questions will be showered with my undying loyalty and affection.
My Blog, which is listed as FFS, is listed twice, with different prices for each one. One is cheaper, and it only shows one incoming link from Princess Diaries. The other is more expensive and has Tad and Annie (two links for same blog, like me) as links.
Why is my blog listed twice like it is two different blogs?
Then in my outgoing links on both of these FFS pages Annie is not listed on either one, even though she is my first link on my site.
Why isn't Annie showing up??
Also, does selling hurt a blog? I noticed I've invested in a lot of the same things as Rancette, and she's been selling like a maniac. Whenever she sells, my net worth goes down the toilet.
Thanks in advance for any answers you might be able to help me with. I know I should probably just try and find the answers on the site, but I have the attention span of a two year old.
Pieces of Me
No, definitely NOT the brown haired Simpson person, but a picture of pieces of me...
Inspired by the Tall Poppy's Picture extravaganza, and this picture was taken a couple of days ago when an artist friend asked me to snap a picture that was a representation of my life at this moment in time.
I'm not going to sit here and explain everything, because that would be boring, but the interesting part as I see it. I wanted my Tarot cards in there to represent fate. I've always felt the tug of fate, since I was a child. I know there is something I need to do in this life, the problem is figuring out what.
So the cards you see in the picture were selected at random, as I wanted to see what would come up. Interesting enough, here are their meanings:
Strength: Better health, success, rewards. Balance between spiritual and carnal natures.
IV of Cups: Alone by choice, period of reflection.
VIII of Wands: Great haste, great hope, on the move. Journey, messages about love.
II of Pentacles: Harmony in the midst of change.
Interesting indeed.
*Side notes*:
I'm going on straight afternoon shift starting tomorrow (or today, depending which freakin' day you are on). It has both an upside and a downside.
Upside is that I'm pretty sure I'd make a damn good vampire if I could stand the sight of blood. I'm a nightcrawler for sure, and getting up early in the morning makes me rather cranky.
Downside is that while I'm a not a morning person unless it is morning and it is time to go to bed, usually I go into work whenever I feel like it. I don't know how I'm going to like being on a set schedule.
My oldest nephew who is 20 and lives with me informed me today that his current girlfriend wishes to get engaged and start looking towards the future. This is wrong on so many levels I don't know where to begin. It also scared the crap out of me.
T called and asked me if Garden Gnomes use a pipe. I said sure, why not just because he is being such a good sport with the whole Halloween thing.
Someone won the freakin' Powerball, and it wasn't me. I must say though, that since being hit on the head by the Powerball sign that fateful day in September I have made a total of $32 profit from the lottery. Go me...
Inspired by the Tall Poppy's Picture extravaganza, and this picture was taken a couple of days ago when an artist friend asked me to snap a picture that was a representation of my life at this moment in time.
I'm not going to sit here and explain everything, because that would be boring, but the interesting part as I see it. I wanted my Tarot cards in there to represent fate. I've always felt the tug of fate, since I was a child. I know there is something I need to do in this life, the problem is figuring out what.
So the cards you see in the picture were selected at random, as I wanted to see what would come up. Interesting enough, here are their meanings:
Strength: Better health, success, rewards. Balance between spiritual and carnal natures.
IV of Cups: Alone by choice, period of reflection.
VIII of Wands: Great haste, great hope, on the move. Journey, messages about love.
II of Pentacles: Harmony in the midst of change.
Interesting indeed.
*Side notes*:
I'm going on straight afternoon shift starting tomorrow (or today, depending which freakin' day you are on). It has both an upside and a downside.
Upside is that I'm pretty sure I'd make a damn good vampire if I could stand the sight of blood. I'm a nightcrawler for sure, and getting up early in the morning makes me rather cranky.
Downside is that while I'm a not a morning person unless it is morning and it is time to go to bed, usually I go into work whenever I feel like it. I don't know how I'm going to like being on a set schedule.
My oldest nephew who is 20 and lives with me informed me today that his current girlfriend wishes to get engaged and start looking towards the future. This is wrong on so many levels I don't know where to begin. It also scared the crap out of me.
T called and asked me if Garden Gnomes use a pipe. I said sure, why not just because he is being such a good sport with the whole Halloween thing.
Someone won the freakin' Powerball, and it wasn't me. I must say though, that since being hit on the head by the Powerball sign that fateful day in September I have made a total of $32 profit from the lottery. Go me...
Tuesday, October 12, 2004
Things that make me want to poke my eyes out...
I was really bored at work today. These days happen about, oh twice a year. The rest of the year I am running my ass off all over a plant that is like 100 miles long (or at least it feels like it), fixing crap and dealing with people that are forced to use computers even though the most technical thing they have ever accomplished is setting their alarm clock.
I love my job...
Anyway...I was bored and my partner was bored, so I decided to make a list of things that make me want to poke my eyes out. Here are the top ten, because as it turns out, there are a ton of things that make me want to poke my eyes out...
10. Grown women of seemingly average or above intelligence (mentally challenged people excused) who wear any form of Winnie the Pooh on their person, or personal effects such as hats, purses, or shoes.
9. People who wear baby T's accessorized with fat rolls. Even little fat rolls. Any amount of fat in the midsection of the body. Any at all. Ok, I'm done with this one now.
8. Animals with more expensive outfits on then whatever I'm wearing at the time. Ok, any animal with any outfit on.
7. Bobble heads. They creep me out.
6. Botoxed people. The bored housewives from my neck of the woods seem to have discovered it lately, and they all remind me of mannequins. They creep me out worse then the bobble heads.
5. Almost every bumper sticker I have ever seen, except for the one that says, "Jesus loves you, but everyone else thinks your an asshole."
4. Couples that dress in matching outfits. There is a couple I work with that dresses the same every day. Yes! You read that right! Every day!
3. Nipple piercings that show through a thin shirt, cuz that just ...ouch... creeps me out ...ouch...
2. People that still have hair wings. The only way anyone will be excused from hair wings is if they have been living in a coma for 25 years.
1. Paris Hilton. Nothing can top her for making me want to poke my eyes out.
If you are a Winnie the Pooh, chubby baby T wearing, bumper sticker loving doggy dresser, no offense intended. It is all in fun...well, kind of...
I love my job...
Anyway...I was bored and my partner was bored, so I decided to make a list of things that make me want to poke my eyes out. Here are the top ten, because as it turns out, there are a ton of things that make me want to poke my eyes out...
10. Grown women of seemingly average or above intelligence (mentally challenged people excused) who wear any form of Winnie the Pooh on their person, or personal effects such as hats, purses, or shoes.
9. People who wear baby T's accessorized with fat rolls. Even little fat rolls. Any amount of fat in the midsection of the body. Any at all. Ok, I'm done with this one now.
8. Animals with more expensive outfits on then whatever I'm wearing at the time. Ok, any animal with any outfit on.
7. Bobble heads. They creep me out.
6. Botoxed people. The bored housewives from my neck of the woods seem to have discovered it lately, and they all remind me of mannequins. They creep me out worse then the bobble heads.
5. Almost every bumper sticker I have ever seen, except for the one that says, "Jesus loves you, but everyone else thinks your an asshole."
4. Couples that dress in matching outfits. There is a couple I work with that dresses the same every day. Yes! You read that right! Every day!
3. Nipple piercings that show through a thin shirt, cuz that just ...ouch... creeps me out ...ouch...
2. People that still have hair wings. The only way anyone will be excused from hair wings is if they have been living in a coma for 25 years.
1. Paris Hilton. Nothing can top her for making me want to poke my eyes out.
If you are a Winnie the Pooh, chubby baby T wearing, bumper sticker loving doggy dresser, no offense intended. It is all in fun...well, kind of...
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