I know most of you have feed readers, but I came across this news map site today and thought I'd share...
Hope everyone is having a great weekend.
6.25.2005
6.23.2005
On a Break
My apologies.
I've been away, or well, otherwise occupied. And, because I know you all adore me and have likely been absolutely consumed with unbearable anxiety over my absence, I wanted to let everyone know that I am, in fact, still alive. Have had some additional health problems, and decided to write June off as a total waste.
Last week received word that my grandmother was in the hospital.
This past Sunday, the 19 year old daughter announced she's getting married in July or August.
Monday my sister had surgery...and the daughter (much to my immense relief) announced the wedding was being pushed back to next year or 2007.
Today, the daughter announced the wedding is now on hold until spring 2008.
The impending June 30th demise of my agency, where I have worked the last 6 years, is creating massive upheaval and much distress at the office.
On the home front, have been trying to finish preparations around the house and yard for our annual July 3rd pool party/volleyball tournament/horse shoe tossing/ marathon ice cream making/BBQ extravaganza.
And, I still need to stain the new kitchen pantry the husband built.
I'm sure there's more, but the brain just clicked "off" in protest and denial.
Even though you probably won't see a new post from PB until mid-July, please feel free to come by often to offer ongoing notes of sympathy and encouragement. You can also tell me I'm brilliant if you'd like. But, it's not required.
I've been away, or well, otherwise occupied. And, because I know you all adore me and have likely been absolutely consumed with unbearable anxiety over my absence, I wanted to let everyone know that I am, in fact, still alive. Have had some additional health problems, and decided to write June off as a total waste.
Last week received word that my grandmother was in the hospital.
This past Sunday, the 19 year old daughter announced she's getting married in July or August.
Monday my sister had surgery...and the daughter (much to my immense relief) announced the wedding was being pushed back to next year or 2007.
Today, the daughter announced the wedding is now on hold until spring 2008.
The impending June 30th demise of my agency, where I have worked the last 6 years, is creating massive upheaval and much distress at the office.
On the home front, have been trying to finish preparations around the house and yard for our annual July 3rd pool party/volleyball tournament/horse shoe tossing/ marathon ice cream making/BBQ extravaganza.
And, I still need to stain the new kitchen pantry the husband built.
I'm sure there's more, but the brain just clicked "off" in protest and denial.
Even though you probably won't see a new post from PB until mid-July, please feel free to come by often to offer ongoing notes of sympathy and encouragement. You can also tell me I'm brilliant if you'd like. But, it's not required.
6.14.2005
The Daughter Shines Today
So, the daughter decided she was going to take full advantage of her day off from work and relax by the pool today. When I left this morning, she was gathering all the necessary items. Swim suit - or, well, at least the spider-web thin strings with the postage stamp sized tags of cloth that passes for her swim suit - towel, flip-flops, sunglasses, hair scrunchy, glass of ice water, raft, car in the yard with doors open and windows down - for music, of course. All set to go.
Um. What was that? I didn't mention - ? Ohhhh, riiight...sun screen. Yeah, that.
She said, oh guru that she is, "I need to be out there by 10:30 or else I just won't get a thing." uh-huh. right. I asked how long she was planning to bake. Shoulder shrug, "Not long." I drove off, with a wave and a smile and the never to be followed motherly advice of "be careful."
Fast forward to the end of the day. I'm almost ready to leave work. The daughter calls. She sounds - well - breathless. She asks if I will please stop at the store and bring home, some, - aloe gel. Ask I, "How long were you out?" She replied, "Umm. Too long?"
I stop at the store and pick up the aloe - the kind with Lidocaine added. She really DID sound funny on the phone.
I believe she'll survive. Right now though, she's not so certain about that. She is supposed to be seeing her beau this weekend (one of those long-distance things) - and now is tormented by the scary possibility that she will be in the oh so attractive molting stage by then. I think she'll also survive that. Again, she's not so sure.
But, listen up folks. All joking (at the daughter's expense) aside...
It is SUMMER. The sun is powerful. Burns are not healthy. If you insist on wearing cobwebs and postage stamps, at least SLATHER on that SUNCREEN! Often. The mother has spoken. You would do well to heed.
And, now I'm off - to go spread more pain-numbing Lidocaine on the daughter's back.
Um. What was that? I didn't mention - ? Ohhhh, riiight...sun screen. Yeah, that.
She said, oh guru that she is, "I need to be out there by 10:30 or else I just won't get a thing." uh-huh. right. I asked how long she was planning to bake. Shoulder shrug, "Not long." I drove off, with a wave and a smile and the never to be followed motherly advice of "be careful."
Fast forward to the end of the day. I'm almost ready to leave work. The daughter calls. She sounds - well - breathless. She asks if I will please stop at the store and bring home, some, - aloe gel. Ask I, "How long were you out?" She replied, "Umm. Too long?"
I stop at the store and pick up the aloe - the kind with Lidocaine added. She really DID sound funny on the phone.
I believe she'll survive. Right now though, she's not so certain about that. She is supposed to be seeing her beau this weekend (one of those long-distance things) - and now is tormented by the scary possibility that she will be in the oh so attractive molting stage by then. I think she'll also survive that. Again, she's not so sure.
But, listen up folks. All joking (at the daughter's expense) aside...
It is SUMMER. The sun is powerful. Burns are not healthy. If you insist on wearing cobwebs and postage stamps, at least SLATHER on that SUNCREEN! Often. The mother has spoken. You would do well to heed.
And, now I'm off - to go spread more pain-numbing Lidocaine on the daughter's back.
6.10.2005
The REAL Agenda Exposed
Sane Nation has uncovered the "hidden" agenda behind liberalism. What a scoop. We've all suspected it, but no one has quite ever come right out and SAID it...before now.
But, go read the rest of it at Sane Nation, because they do a much better job of blathering about it that I do.
Kudos to San Francisco Mayor Gavin Newsome for capturing the very essence of contemporary liberalism in his recent statement declaring What Must Be Done About Pit Bulls in San Francisco:So, listen up, folks, because this is important. Those on the left see it as their DUTY to decide what is right and best for us all. Because, of course, we cannot think for ourselves. And, and when we try to think, we always get it WRONG. We must have our behavior changed, and if that doesn't work, our very thoughts themselves should be manipulated to fall more in line with what the Dems feel is best. Only then will we be saved from ourselves."You've got dogs that literally can kill. We've seen it demonstrated. If we can't change people's behavior and make them think what's in their best interests, then that's where government comes along and becomes a bit paternalistic" (San Francisco Examiner, June 6, print edition; for some reason not available at the Examiner's Web site).If Newsome's statement had been a touchdown or field goal, I'd gladly play the statement back several times (including slow mo) to take the full measure of the event. But we're stuck with print, so we'll have to let italics and bold type make the point. Here again is the money quote:"If we can't change people's behavior and make them think what's in their best interests, then that's where government comes along and becomes a bit paternalistic."Perfect, bingo, yes! The primary goal of liberal activist government is to change people's behavior by making them (read: forcing them to) think what's in their "best interests." Who's best situated to determine what's in people's best interests — the people themselves? No way. Leave it to Gavin Newsome and the crew of social(ist) engineers in San Francisco city government. Here's the scary part: Newsome's a moderate in SF politics. (Don't even ask me about Chris Daly, a city supervisor who makes Kim Jong-il seem conciliatory by comparison.)
But, go read the rest of it at Sane Nation, because they do a much better job of blathering about it that I do.
6.09.2005
Garden Surprises
Am wishing I didn't promise an end to the sick posts. But, because I did promise, I now can't explain to you why I was home from work yet again today. Nor can I, in good conscience, tell you that the antibiotics and I did not get along. Nor can I tell you that I was up all last night suffering through a living hell. Nope. Can't tell you any of that. Darn.
What I CAN tell you is that late this afternoon, I decided to venture outside to try to do some weeding in my sorely neglected veggie garden. I mentioned a long time ago that I love planting and eating veggies, but that I hate weeding. This might help explain why.
So, there I am, bending over the 2nd row of pole beans, reaching in between two lovely looking bean plants (no beans yet, of course) to yank the weeds that are threatening to choke them out. And, out of the corner of my eye, I see one of our tiny little pool frogs hop in my direction. So, I turn to look, but now can't see it any longer. I part the weeds where I last saw the little froggy hop. And find myself staring into the many eyes of THIS. Well, not EXACTLY this, becuase I don't usually carry my camera with me when I weed my garden. Maybe I ought to, though.
I had to fight a primordial urge to crush the mass of writhing creepiness underfoot - one of the things that stopped me from doing so was the certain knowledge that, as I was wearing sandals, some of the babies would surely escape and scamper up my big toe for a snack. No lie, the body, covered with the carpet-made-of-babies was the size of a golf ball. Mom's legs could nearly span the width of my hand - that is, if she ever were to BE on my hand. Which, please God, will just never, ever, ever happen.
I forced myself to finish that row, keeping one eye constantly on the mother and young. I turned to start down the next row - and noticed a different type of spider sitting on the bare top of my left foot. That was it. I did not scream. I may have started crying and speaking to myself incoherently. I don't know.
I was out of the garden in 2 seconds flat and heading back to the house. WIth a vow to never, never, never again weed a garden wearing anything less than full body armour. I will have nightmares tonight, I think.
The damn veggies are on their own.
What I CAN tell you is that late this afternoon, I decided to venture outside to try to do some weeding in my sorely neglected veggie garden. I mentioned a long time ago that I love planting and eating veggies, but that I hate weeding. This might help explain why.
So, there I am, bending over the 2nd row of pole beans, reaching in between two lovely looking bean plants (no beans yet, of course) to yank the weeds that are threatening to choke them out. And, out of the corner of my eye, I see one of our tiny little pool frogs hop in my direction. So, I turn to look, but now can't see it any longer. I part the weeds where I last saw the little froggy hop. And find myself staring into the many eyes of THIS. Well, not EXACTLY this, becuase I don't usually carry my camera with me when I weed my garden. Maybe I ought to, though.
I had to fight a primordial urge to crush the mass of writhing creepiness underfoot - one of the things that stopped me from doing so was the certain knowledge that, as I was wearing sandals, some of the babies would surely escape and scamper up my big toe for a snack. No lie, the body, covered with the carpet-made-of-babies was the size of a golf ball. Mom's legs could nearly span the width of my hand - that is, if she ever were to BE on my hand. Which, please God, will just never, ever, ever happen.
I forced myself to finish that row, keeping one eye constantly on the mother and young. I turned to start down the next row - and noticed a different type of spider sitting on the bare top of my left foot. That was it. I did not scream. I may have started crying and speaking to myself incoherently. I don't know.
I was out of the garden in 2 seconds flat and heading back to the house. WIth a vow to never, never, never again weed a garden wearing anything less than full body armour. I will have nightmares tonight, I think.
The damn veggies are on their own.
6.08.2005
Giving Ms. Foley What For
Euphoric Reality is talking to journalist Hiawatha Bray who's had it up to "here" with Ms. Foley's remarks. (h/t Meida Slander) The journalist is a a fellow member of the Newspaper Guild. Yeah - the one Ms. Foley thinks she speaks for. Mr. Bray is so hoppin' mad, he started his own blog (Choose Honor).
He's also doing a few other interesting things trying to get Ms. Foley to either put up, shut up, or sit down. Just a hint here:
I hope so, too, Mr. Bray, I hope so, too.
Go check out the rest of the article, though. And, maybe drop by Mr. Bray's new site to say hi.
He's also doing a few other interesting things trying to get Ms. Foley to either put up, shut up, or sit down. Just a hint here:
Bray has taken it upon himself to not just talk about the Foley incident - he’s decided to act.Partly inspired by Hoffa, I today began my write-in campaign to get on the executive committee of my Newspaper Guild union local. I’m a single-issue candidate: I want Linda Foley to explain herself, and won’t be silent until she does so. And I can do a better job of demanding an explanation if I’m part of the union leadership.
So I went to Kinko’s and made up 100 leaflets, then drove to the newsroom and spread them around. I hope Ms. Foley’s enormity is the talk of the newsroom by this time tomorrow, and that more and more union members will take a stand.
I hope so, too, Mr. Bray, I hope so, too.
Go check out the rest of the article, though. And, maybe drop by Mr. Bray's new site to say hi.
Summer Fun
It's summer. Wanna know how I know?
I know it's summer because I am desperately trying to figure out how to avoid completing my annual professional self-evaluation. Is this just the most annoying, idiotic thing or what?
Evidently someone somewhere decided that wasting a huge chunk of my time - time which could be spent working with clients and doing actual, you know - work - each summer is a Very Good and Wise Thing. I complete this (supposed) self evaluation so that those in charge can then tear it to shreds.
There is no way around it. The eval will get torn to pieces. And believe me, over the years, I've tried numerous ways to avoid, or at least, minimize what eventually turns out to be a collosal waste of my valuable time.
I've tried being totally honest about MY perception of my performance. That doesn't work. Nearly every score is modified by the bosses - sometimes for the better (A Good Thing), and sometimes not (Not a Good Thing).
I've tried the false modesty approach, rating myself lower than what I actually believe I deserve. That also doesn't work. While some areas are modified to reflect a higher rating, others are deemed acceptable and I wind up knowing I totally screwed myself.
So WHAT is the friggin POINT? Can someone please explain to me why I should spend 8 to 10 hours pulling my hair out, trying to be "objective" about my abilities and performance, when the higher-ups are going to finagle the ratings so that they (coincidentally and conveniently) mesh with the fixed percentage requirements for allocation of budgeted merit increases?
My only consolation is this: where normally after an evaluation I would then get to sit down and chart out my challenge areas for the following year and formulate multi-step quantifiable processes by which those areas will be addressed (a task that sucks up another 20 or so hours)...I get to skip this step this year. Because I'm quitting. No, really.
I know it's summer because I am desperately trying to figure out how to avoid completing my annual professional self-evaluation. Is this just the most annoying, idiotic thing or what?
Evidently someone somewhere decided that wasting a huge chunk of my time - time which could be spent working with clients and doing actual, you know - work - each summer is a Very Good and Wise Thing. I complete this (supposed) self evaluation so that those in charge can then tear it to shreds.
There is no way around it. The eval will get torn to pieces. And believe me, over the years, I've tried numerous ways to avoid, or at least, minimize what eventually turns out to be a collosal waste of my valuable time.
I've tried being totally honest about MY perception of my performance. That doesn't work. Nearly every score is modified by the bosses - sometimes for the better (A Good Thing), and sometimes not (Not a Good Thing).
I've tried the false modesty approach, rating myself lower than what I actually believe I deserve. That also doesn't work. While some areas are modified to reflect a higher rating, others are deemed acceptable and I wind up knowing I totally screwed myself.
So WHAT is the friggin POINT? Can someone please explain to me why I should spend 8 to 10 hours pulling my hair out, trying to be "objective" about my abilities and performance, when the higher-ups are going to finagle the ratings so that they (coincidentally and conveniently) mesh with the fixed percentage requirements for allocation of budgeted merit increases?
My only consolation is this: where normally after an evaluation I would then get to sit down and chart out my challenge areas for the following year and formulate multi-step quantifiable processes by which those areas will be addressed (a task that sucks up another 20 or so hours)...I get to skip this step this year. Because I'm quitting. No, really.
6.07.2005
I Will Live, But.......
(I promise this is the LAST of the sick posts)
After lunch today, right before I had to be in court, I started to experience some familiar pain behind the eyes and cheekbones. The pain quickly grew and spread into my teeth and jaw. Lovely. Sinus infection. I kept poking myself in the face just to be sure. Yep. It still hurt.
I'm afraid I may not have made too wonderful an impression on the substitute judge as I was zoned out in pain most of the time. But, I DID manage to not poke myself in the face repeatedly during court, and I didn't actually whimper or moan or faint or anything at the bench. And, what the hell, it was a substitute anyway, right? I finally decided I needed to cut the whining crap and hie my sorry self to the doctor. They actually were able to get me in at 3:00 today. Am I lucky or WHAT?
Am now armed with some kick-butt antibiotics. Which will probably make me sicker than I was last week. But at least I'll be able to poke at my face without it hurting.
I mean, like, if I wanted to. Which I don't.
After lunch today, right before I had to be in court, I started to experience some familiar pain behind the eyes and cheekbones. The pain quickly grew and spread into my teeth and jaw. Lovely. Sinus infection. I kept poking myself in the face just to be sure. Yep. It still hurt.
I'm afraid I may not have made too wonderful an impression on the substitute judge as I was zoned out in pain most of the time. But, I DID manage to not poke myself in the face repeatedly during court, and I didn't actually whimper or moan or faint or anything at the bench. And, what the hell, it was a substitute anyway, right? I finally decided I needed to cut the whining crap and hie my sorry self to the doctor. They actually were able to get me in at 3:00 today. Am I lucky or WHAT?
Am now armed with some kick-butt antibiotics. Which will probably make me sicker than I was last week. But at least I'll be able to poke at my face without it hurting.
I mean, like, if I wanted to. Which I don't.
LMAO
Oh, dearie me.
Feeling a little blue? Tired of all the insanity of the 21st century? Time for a little stroll through a bygone era?
You MUST go here and take the tour.
(Disclaimer: I will not be responsible for accidents such as ruined keyboards, shorted-out laptops, or wet britches)
Feeling a little blue? Tired of all the insanity of the 21st century? Time for a little stroll through a bygone era?
You MUST go here and take the tour.
(Disclaimer: I will not be responsible for accidents such as ruined keyboards, shorted-out laptops, or wet britches)
Quasi-Death Guy In Retreat
It appears that I will live - and that, most likely, I did NOT have the plague.
While that's a Good Thing, it also leaves me with little to whine about. Oh, except that I cracked my shin on the edge of the coffee table. THAT hurt. The husband was on the couch watching TV and just sort of glanced at me. Saw me rolling around on the floor in agony, clutching my shin. Shook his head and went back to watching the tube. He loves me. He really does.
Anyway, just thought I'd let you all know that the funeral is off and I'm on the mend.
Because, I know you were all just terribly worried about me.
While that's a Good Thing, it also leaves me with little to whine about. Oh, except that I cracked my shin on the edge of the coffee table. THAT hurt. The husband was on the couch watching TV and just sort of glanced at me. Saw me rolling around on the floor in agony, clutching my shin. Shook his head and went back to watching the tube. He loves me. He really does.
Anyway, just thought I'd let you all know that the funeral is off and I'm on the mend.
Because, I know you were all just terribly worried about me.
6.06.2005
So - What Didn't Happen, Did and What Did Happen, Didn't?
Warning: Some of the links provided may take you to sites containing articles and material that, upon reading, may very well cause your head to explode. If your head explodes, don't come crying to me. You have been warned.
From Media Slander I see that Ms. Foley sure has some interesting supporters. It seems Workers World likes to go light on verifiable fact and accuracy, but mighty heavy on the propaganda. Hmmmmm. Yep. It's a good fit.
Media Slander also provides a link to a 1996 article by Workers World showing how that publication spun the 1989 massacre at Tienenmen Square. Are you ready? It wasn't a massacre at all. No students were killed in the Square.
Ummm. Maybe we all just dreamed it, then? Mass hypnosis maybe?
From Media Slander I see that Ms. Foley sure has some interesting supporters. It seems Workers World likes to go light on verifiable fact and accuracy, but mighty heavy on the propaganda. Hmmmmm. Yep. It's a good fit.
Media Slander also provides a link to a 1996 article by Workers World showing how that publication spun the 1989 massacre at Tienenmen Square. Are you ready? It wasn't a massacre at all. No students were killed in the Square.
Ummm. Maybe we all just dreamed it, then? Mass hypnosis maybe?
Never Forget
...Even though the MSM here in America would really like us to.
The Anchoress found this gem and links to it on her site. It is the story of the last man out of the South Tower on that nightmarish morning in September. This powerful reminder comes to us from our northern neighbor.
It's worth the time to read. And remember.
Thanks, Anchoress, for sharing the link.
The Anchoress found this gem and links to it on her site. It is the story of the last man out of the South Tower on that nightmarish morning in September. This powerful reminder comes to us from our northern neighbor.
It's worth the time to read. And remember.
Thanks, Anchoress, for sharing the link.
6.04.2005
All Linda, All the Time
Well. Almost all the time. Media Slander is a great place to go to find out what's up with Ms. Foley and the rest of her ilk. (h/t LaShawn Barber ) Just a bit here:
The Political Teen has video of Fox News reporter Jim Angle disclosing parts of Linda Foley's speach at a liberal conference called "Take Back America". Jim quoted Linda as saying,Hop over and check it out.
"The conservatives have got us, as a country, now believing that balance -- giving both sides -- is the same as truth, and there are some things that are just false."
Linda Foley is implying she knows the difference between something thats true or false. Imagine that. Now I've heard everything.
They're Baaa-ack...
The giant, invisible, sneaky frogs, that is.
Well, okay. They're tiny - only about 3 inches long in full leap mode. And they're obviously not invisible. But, they're sneaky. And they ARE frogs. And they're very, very loud.
And it seems they've brought friends.
I'm guessing they REALLY didn't like being flung out of our pool. That's the only explanation I can think of.
So, there I am, all comfy and cozy, propped up by lots of pillows in bed, hot cup of tea on the bedside table, enjoying the quiet of the evening and happily knitting some tiny socks for my adorable nephew, Little Guy. The daughter was tap-tap-tapping away on the computer in the other room. Altogether a lovely and relaxing time.
All of a sudden, the racket outside began. Dozens (or so it seems) of loud, annoying, froggy voices. I was so startled, I dropped a stitch. Which is a really BAD thing for me to do, because while I love to knit, and do well enough to make socks and gloves and such, I STILL haven't figured out how to pick up a stitch once I've dropped it. I usually wind up having to rip the whole blasted thing apart and start over. Which sort of explains why it takes me forever to finish a project. But, I'm blathering again....
I'm telling you..these things are LOUD. And, they don't gradually build up to full volume, either. They're full blast right from the get go. We've been here 3 years and this is the first time they've been a problem.
So, I'm thinking the four flung frogs (plus the one that avoided the fling), are back - with reinforcements. I'm imagining a full on froggy assault in an attempt to retake control of the pool. Well, they can have it. For now. It's dark outside and I, for one, am NOT going to stand guard duty alone against a mighty horde of loud little frogs. Nope. No siree.
But, if they want war, they've got it. Because, he of frog-flinging fame (aka the husband) will return tomorrow. And THEN we'll just see who gets control of the pool.
Until then though, I guess I can (yet again) kiss any idea of a good night's sleep goodbye.
Well, okay. They're tiny - only about 3 inches long in full leap mode. And they're obviously not invisible. But, they're sneaky. And they ARE frogs. And they're very, very loud.
And it seems they've brought friends.
I'm guessing they REALLY didn't like being flung out of our pool. That's the only explanation I can think of.
So, there I am, all comfy and cozy, propped up by lots of pillows in bed, hot cup of tea on the bedside table, enjoying the quiet of the evening and happily knitting some tiny socks for my adorable nephew, Little Guy. The daughter was tap-tap-tapping away on the computer in the other room. Altogether a lovely and relaxing time.
All of a sudden, the racket outside began. Dozens (or so it seems) of loud, annoying, froggy voices. I was so startled, I dropped a stitch. Which is a really BAD thing for me to do, because while I love to knit, and do well enough to make socks and gloves and such, I STILL haven't figured out how to pick up a stitch once I've dropped it. I usually wind up having to rip the whole blasted thing apart and start over. Which sort of explains why it takes me forever to finish a project. But, I'm blathering again....
I'm telling you..these things are LOUD. And, they don't gradually build up to full volume, either. They're full blast right from the get go. We've been here 3 years and this is the first time they've been a problem.
So, I'm thinking the four flung frogs (plus the one that avoided the fling), are back - with reinforcements. I'm imagining a full on froggy assault in an attempt to retake control of the pool. Well, they can have it. For now. It's dark outside and I, for one, am NOT going to stand guard duty alone against a mighty horde of loud little frogs. Nope. No siree.
But, if they want war, they've got it. Because, he of frog-flinging fame (aka the husband) will return tomorrow. And THEN we'll just see who gets control of the pool.
Until then though, I guess I can (yet again) kiss any idea of a good night's sleep goodbye.
Taking EVERYTHING Back
I hereby take back my take back. All the not-nice things I said previously about the husband stand. Well - except he DOES get brownie points for the Apple Jacks.
We've been planning a trip to see our neice who turns 13 in about a week. Her family is getting ready to move across country and decided to hold her birthday party early. I've been praying and hoping I'd be well enough to travel because I really wanted to be there. But, this morning the husband talked me out of going with the argument that I would probably spend the whole time in the hotel room anyway, and that it would really suck to go down there and make everyone else sick - especially when they are getting ready for a cross-country move.
He didn't have to expend much energy talking me out of going. I was already wondering how in the hell I was going to manage being in a car for 5 hours today and the same tomorrow for the trip back. Plus, I figured his arguments applied to himself, as well because, as I related in my last post, he has also come down with the sniffles...which is how this crud began for me, oh eons ago. But, I guess he believes somehow that I'm an evil plague carrier and he's not. He decided to go by himself.
This stuff came sneaking up on me. Started as sniffles and sneezes. Then suddenly, without warning, it morphed into the crud of death. Or, well, not REAL death, of course...more like an "oh, god..I'm sooooo sick I'm gonna diiiiieeeee" quasi-death sort of thing. So, the husband is making the 5 hour drive, by himself, with the creeping-crud following close on his heels, just waiting to strike. If the full force hits him while he's gone, he may not be back for a week because there is NO way he'll be able to make the drive back while fighting off the clutches of the quasi-death guy. And, he'll likely pass along the crud to everyone else while he's there. Which will be SUCH a nice birthday/moving-day present, don't you think?
So now, in addition to feeling sorry for myself, I'll be spending the rest of the weekend worrying about the husband and praying that the rest of the family somehow escapes the curse of the crud.
We've been planning a trip to see our neice who turns 13 in about a week. Her family is getting ready to move across country and decided to hold her birthday party early. I've been praying and hoping I'd be well enough to travel because I really wanted to be there. But, this morning the husband talked me out of going with the argument that I would probably spend the whole time in the hotel room anyway, and that it would really suck to go down there and make everyone else sick - especially when they are getting ready for a cross-country move.
He didn't have to expend much energy talking me out of going. I was already wondering how in the hell I was going to manage being in a car for 5 hours today and the same tomorrow for the trip back. Plus, I figured his arguments applied to himself, as well because, as I related in my last post, he has also come down with the sniffles...which is how this crud began for me, oh eons ago. But, I guess he believes somehow that I'm an evil plague carrier and he's not. He decided to go by himself.
This stuff came sneaking up on me. Started as sniffles and sneezes. Then suddenly, without warning, it morphed into the crud of death. Or, well, not REAL death, of course...more like an "oh, god..I'm sooooo sick I'm gonna diiiiieeeee" quasi-death sort of thing. So, the husband is making the 5 hour drive, by himself, with the creeping-crud following close on his heels, just waiting to strike. If the full force hits him while he's gone, he may not be back for a week because there is NO way he'll be able to make the drive back while fighting off the clutches of the quasi-death guy. And, he'll likely pass along the crud to everyone else while he's there. Which will be SUCH a nice birthday/moving-day present, don't you think?
So now, in addition to feeling sorry for myself, I'll be spending the rest of the weekend worrying about the husband and praying that the rest of the family somehow escapes the curse of the crud.
Gazing at Apple Jacks
Enough already with sickness and plague and the guy dressed in black carrying the scythe waiting outside my bedroom door. My internal clock is ALL messed up now. I've been complaining of insomnia for a while (here and here, in case you're interested) but this is different. I'm not suffering insomnia tonight. Nope. Since I spent most of the day resting and sleeping, now it's time to get up.
Shuffled downstairs to put a load of clothes in the washer, figuring that would wear me out enough so I could go back to bed. Didn't work. So I paid the bills, which are all late because I was already sick enough without adding that to the mix. That didn't tire me out either. I've been perpendicular for almost an hour now and haven't keeled over from exhaustion. Perhaps I'm on the mend. If so, that's really unfair. WHY couldn't the mending have waited until morning so that my days and nights wouldn't be backward?
Oh, and the husband returned from his errand of mercy and brought back a few things I didn't ask for. I have always had a fondness for Apple Jacks. Brings back memories of happy days when my mom would take my sister and me to the store to let us pick out a favorite cereal. She usually bought the icky healthy stuff...like Cherrios (this was waaay back when there was only one kind of Cherrios - called Blehgh!), or shredded wheat - not even the kind with that white cement on top. My sister would choose those Pops things, or Trix, and I always wanted Apple Jacks. The husband actually remembered. What a sweet guy!
Of course, since I'm sick and avoiding milk, I can't have any. But, I did open the box and gaze at them. Did you know they changed the color? Apple Jacks used to be a sort of pale pinkish beige with pinkish red dot things on them. Now some are beige-ish, and some are greenish. What the heck is THAT about? Are the green ones supposed to be Granny Smiths or something? I'll report back when I finally get a chance to try them.
Unfortunately, the sweet guy who brought home the Apple Jacks didn't stay sweet for long. Because, you see, shortly after coming back from the store, he came down with a bad case of the sniffles. He blames me, of course.
Shuffled downstairs to put a load of clothes in the washer, figuring that would wear me out enough so I could go back to bed. Didn't work. So I paid the bills, which are all late because I was already sick enough without adding that to the mix. That didn't tire me out either. I've been perpendicular for almost an hour now and haven't keeled over from exhaustion. Perhaps I'm on the mend. If so, that's really unfair. WHY couldn't the mending have waited until morning so that my days and nights wouldn't be backward?
Oh, and the husband returned from his errand of mercy and brought back a few things I didn't ask for. I have always had a fondness for Apple Jacks. Brings back memories of happy days when my mom would take my sister and me to the store to let us pick out a favorite cereal. She usually bought the icky healthy stuff...like Cherrios (this was waaay back when there was only one kind of Cherrios - called Blehgh!), or shredded wheat - not even the kind with that white cement on top. My sister would choose those Pops things, or Trix, and I always wanted Apple Jacks. The husband actually remembered. What a sweet guy!
Of course, since I'm sick and avoiding milk, I can't have any. But, I did open the box and gaze at them. Did you know they changed the color? Apple Jacks used to be a sort of pale pinkish beige with pinkish red dot things on them. Now some are beige-ish, and some are greenish. What the heck is THAT about? Are the green ones supposed to be Granny Smiths or something? I'll report back when I finally get a chance to try them.
Unfortunately, the sweet guy who brought home the Apple Jacks didn't stay sweet for long. Because, you see, shortly after coming back from the store, he came down with a bad case of the sniffles. He blames me, of course.
6.03.2005
I Take It Back
I hereby take back all the unkind things I said about the husband, here, as he is, even as I type, on his way to the store to shop for all the things I'm craving: cough syrup, chicken noodle soup, crackers, Advil, more tissue, and steak. Yes. Steak. I'll probably only manage one wee bite, but I am drooling at the thought of red meat. I'm sure my grandmother would be able to tell me what that means - to crave red meat when one is ill. I sure as hell don't know. Regardless, the husband is my hero. Or, at least, he will be once he returns with the loot.
Working on day 5 of this nastiness. But, there have been moments of delight despite the crud. Check this out, I came across this old Hoss last night via Muzik Dude who interviewed him here. The interview was hilarious, and I was compelled to visit the old guy's site. He's a keeper, for sure.
Also, came late to the Cotillion. Felt rather awkward, dressed as I was in my fluffy robe, slippers, flannel PJ's, and carrying my ever present box of lotion kissed tissues, but the ladies were all very kind and welcoming and ohhhh so very charming, darling. Go check them out.
And, PLEASE, won't someone get the ball rolling and respond to my poll, here?
Okay - been vertical long enough and am getting dizzy. Time to go get horizontal again....and wait for my chicken noodle soup - and steak - to arrive.
Working on day 5 of this nastiness. But, there have been moments of delight despite the crud. Check this out, I came across this old Hoss last night via Muzik Dude who interviewed him here. The interview was hilarious, and I was compelled to visit the old guy's site. He's a keeper, for sure.
Also, came late to the Cotillion. Felt rather awkward, dressed as I was in my fluffy robe, slippers, flannel PJ's, and carrying my ever present box of lotion kissed tissues, but the ladies were all very kind and welcoming and ohhhh so very charming, darling. Go check them out.
And, PLEASE, won't someone get the ball rolling and respond to my poll, here?
Okay - been vertical long enough and am getting dizzy. Time to go get horizontal again....and wait for my chicken noodle soup - and steak - to arrive.
6.02.2005
A Poll: Whiners vs. Non-Whiners
It's the plague. I'm sure of it. Or, I guess it could be just a really, really, bad cold. But, it's definitely one or the other. Or, it might, I suppose, be a sinus thing. Missed an important meeting this morning because, in my fevered, stuffy nosed stupor I THOUGHT I had set the alarm (which consists of leaving little yellow sticky notes on the bathroom mirror for the husband - he's my alarm, you see), but turns out I hadn't.
I'm one of those people who whine and crave lots of attention and sympathy when I'm sick. I want to snuggle and be cooed over, and have someone say "Oh, you poor thing" ...sort of like my mom used to when I was little. And, not so little. In my mid 30's when I was sick, I would call her just to hear her say that. I know, it sounds silly, but for some reason, it seemed to help. She died 5 years ago, so I haven't heard those words in quite some time...and never will again, doggoneit.
As luck would have it, I married a man who almost NEVER gets sick and who simply does not understand those who do. He actually admitted one time that sickness in others (namely, me) pisses him off and makes him feel uncomfortable - because it sort of implies weakness. Now, ordinarily, the husband is a sweet, sensitive, gentle and kindly man. But, when I'm sick, he tunes out and would rather be just about anywhere than around me. Where normally he will do little sweet things for me, like refill my coffee cup when he's refilling his, or offer to get me something while he's up, or fix me dinner when he knows I've had a hard day - at the first sign of ill health (mine), he suddenly becomes the stereotypical neanderthalish male and all those sweet little gestures go out the window. I, of course, respond by becoming even more of a whining pain in the ass than I would otherwise be. Ah well.
See? I'm even doing it here. All morose and "woe is me" - whine, whine, whine.
This makes me wonder...which side outnumbers the other? Or, are we about evenly divided when it comes to behavior when sick? So, c'mon - When sick, are you prone to whining and craving coddling, or are you the non-whining just-want-to-be-left-alone sort?
(secretly, I'm really hoping the whiners win)
I'm one of those people who whine and crave lots of attention and sympathy when I'm sick. I want to snuggle and be cooed over, and have someone say "Oh, you poor thing" ...sort of like my mom used to when I was little. And, not so little. In my mid 30's when I was sick, I would call her just to hear her say that. I know, it sounds silly, but for some reason, it seemed to help. She died 5 years ago, so I haven't heard those words in quite some time...and never will again, doggoneit.
As luck would have it, I married a man who almost NEVER gets sick and who simply does not understand those who do. He actually admitted one time that sickness in others (namely, me) pisses him off and makes him feel uncomfortable - because it sort of implies weakness. Now, ordinarily, the husband is a sweet, sensitive, gentle and kindly man. But, when I'm sick, he tunes out and would rather be just about anywhere than around me. Where normally he will do little sweet things for me, like refill my coffee cup when he's refilling his, or offer to get me something while he's up, or fix me dinner when he knows I've had a hard day - at the first sign of ill health (mine), he suddenly becomes the stereotypical neanderthalish male and all those sweet little gestures go out the window. I, of course, respond by becoming even more of a whining pain in the ass than I would otherwise be. Ah well.
See? I'm even doing it here. All morose and "woe is me" - whine, whine, whine.
This makes me wonder...which side outnumbers the other? Or, are we about evenly divided when it comes to behavior when sick? So, c'mon - When sick, are you prone to whining and craving coddling, or are you the non-whining just-want-to-be-left-alone sort?
(secretly, I'm really hoping the whiners win)
6.01.2005
Blathering about Riches, Songs, Bed, and Whiskey
Alrighty then. Obviously, I'm not naturally inclined to blog. So, why on earth did I start my own blog? Well, vanity, of course. And don't forget fame and fortune. Both of which are sure to come my way eventually. I figure if I can maintain my current frantic blogging pace of about 2 posts per week - I should become famous and fabulously rich in about, ohhhh, 22.3167 years. Yep. About when I am set to retire. And, please, don't even bother asking what magic, secret calculus I used in arriving at that projection. It's highly complex and would take much too long to explain. Okay. Nevermind. I made it up. There. You happy now? Hrrmmph!
So, although I didn't add it to my revealing account of last night's raucously good time in bed, another song that came to mind that I was desperately trying to remember the lyrics of was "I vanna Be Rich" - Remember that one? Ivanna Trump. Oh, Lordy. The voice that had the power to cause actual, physical pain. I was living in Maine (simply gorgeous state, by the way!) at the time, and I remember that being the one and only song on the radio for about three solid months. Within 5 minutes of switching to any radio station, it would come on. It played in elevators, doctors waiting rooms, and department stores. There was NO escape, I tell you! I wonder what ever happened to her. And when was the last time anyone heard that song?
Let's see. Still have the sniffles. But, I no longer believe it's allergies. I'm now convinced it's the plague. I feel logey and icky and sorry for myself. Sniffle, sniffle. And even the tissues with lotion are too rough for my now tender, rosy nose. After not sleeping last night, I was in court this morning and while waiting for the case to be called one of the attorneys happened to mention "hot toddies" -- - oh. YUM! Does anyone remember those? I was seated next to a young social worker who turned to me and asked what they were. It's ambrosia, baby - well at least when you're feeling yuck and puny. And my mother never hesitated giving me a healthy cupful when needed, though, of course, as the social worker pointed out, nowadays my mother (God bless her soul) would be brought up on a CPS complaint and hauled into court for contributing to my delinquency. God I'm glad I grew up when I did!
Except, we didn't have tissues with lotion back then. Which was probably why we needed the whiskey.
So, although I didn't add it to my revealing account of last night's raucously good time in bed, another song that came to mind that I was desperately trying to remember the lyrics of was "I vanna Be Rich" - Remember that one? Ivanna Trump. Oh, Lordy. The voice that had the power to cause actual, physical pain. I was living in Maine (simply gorgeous state, by the way!) at the time, and I remember that being the one and only song on the radio for about three solid months. Within 5 minutes of switching to any radio station, it would come on. It played in elevators, doctors waiting rooms, and department stores. There was NO escape, I tell you! I wonder what ever happened to her. And when was the last time anyone heard that song?
Let's see. Still have the sniffles. But, I no longer believe it's allergies. I'm now convinced it's the plague. I feel logey and icky and sorry for myself. Sniffle, sniffle. And even the tissues with lotion are too rough for my now tender, rosy nose. After not sleeping last night, I was in court this morning and while waiting for the case to be called one of the attorneys happened to mention "hot toddies" -- - oh. YUM! Does anyone remember those? I was seated next to a young social worker who turned to me and asked what they were. It's ambrosia, baby - well at least when you're feeling yuck and puny. And my mother never hesitated giving me a healthy cupful when needed, though, of course, as the social worker pointed out, nowadays my mother (God bless her soul) would be brought up on a CPS complaint and hauled into court for contributing to my delinquency. God I'm glad I grew up when I did!
Except, we didn't have tissues with lotion back then. Which was probably why we needed the whiskey.
Sleepless. Again.
Yawn. Bunch covers. Sniff. Sneeze. Sniff. Sniff. Toss. Turn. Pound pillow. Turn. Leg stretch. Other leg stretch. Yawn. One sheep. Two sheep. Three Sheep. Itch. Scratch. Sniff. Cough. Damn allergies. Yawn. Open eyes. Pet cat. Purrrrrrr. Roll on side. Snuggle cat. Cat squirms away. Roll on back. Close eyes. Our Father, Who art in Heaven..... One sheep. Two sheep. Yawn. 100 bottles of beer on the wall, a hundred bottles of beer......82 bottles of beer on the wall. Thirsty. Yawn. Fling arm over head. Apologize to the husband. Move arm back to side. Open eyes. Sniff. Sniff. Toss. Turn. Pound pillow. Deeeeeeeeeep Breath, innnnnnnnnnnnnnnn. Oooouuuuuuuuuuut. Yawn. Close eyes. Still thirsty. Have to pee. Damnit. Clinch. Ignore. Yawn. Turn onto belly. Wrong move. Get up, go pee. Crawl back in bed. Yawn. Bunch covers. Close eyes. Stretch leg. Stretch other leg. One sheep. Two sheep. Cat returns. Pet cat. Purrrrr. Sniff. Yawn. Ohhhhhhhhhhhhmmmmmmmmm. Ohhhhhhhhhmmmmmmmm. Three billy goats gruff. How does that go again? Peas porridge hot. Peas porridge cold. Peas porridge in the pot nine days old. Itsy bitsy spider crawled up the water spout. Eeew. Itch. Scratch. Yawn. No more spiders. There was an old woman who lived in a shoe. How did that one go? Toss. Turn. Pop pinky knuckles. Snuggle up against the husband. The husband grumbles, Dear stop, it's HOT. Roll away. Open eyes. Sigh. You are walking down a looonnnggg stair case. One step. Two. Three. Four. Getting drowsy. Yawn. Nope. Burp. Sister's phone number. Cousins phone number. Childhood phone number. Childhood friend's phone number. High school boyfriend's phone number. Yawn. Sniff. Sniff. Damnit. Dog farted. Throw covers over head. Breathe through blankets. Suffocating. Come out from under. Still stinky. Roll onto side. Roll onto belly. Roll onto other side. Bump up against the husband. The husband snarls, pushes back, grabs covers and pulls. Shuffle away from the husband. Pull smidgen of blanket remnants up to chin. Legs uncovered. Yawn. Toss. Turn. Lose control of smidgen of blankets. Cat takes over entire pillow. Purrrrrr. Yawn. Get up. Blog. Yawn.
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