Here are the rest of the interview questions my buddy Heinous gave me... I know you've all just put your lives on hold 'til you could read them and I didn't want to hold you up any longer... you know, 'cause I'm nice that way. You're welcome.
Oh, before I start, thanks for all the great comments about yesterday's post! For everyone who said it reminded them of A Christmas Story, you guys DO know I didn't grow up in the 40's, right? Funny thing, though... whenever I watch that movie, it totally reminds me of the neighborhood my dad grew up in (the same neighborhood I lived in 1972, in fact) and it's set in the same decade as his childhood. I think that's why I couldn't watch it for ten years after he died. I bought it for him 20 years ago because it made me think of the stories he told me about when he was a kid. Watching it made me think of him... and miss him too much. So maybe the fact that my story reminded you of that movie is a good thing after all. Maybe it proves I'm accessing my inherited storyteller gene. Just so long as you know I'll only be 44 on my next birthday and not 74 (not that there's anything wrong with 74, Billy!).
And now, back to our regularly scheduled program...
What one talent do you wish you had that you don't?
The ability to dance. And I don’t mean just the ‘boogie at a club’ sort (does anyone even say 'boogie' anymore?). I mean the Ginger Rogers sort… the ‘ballroom, swing, salsa, put your leg so high in the air you look like a pair of open scissors’ sort. I have no internal rhythm whatsoever. My completely deaf brother dances better than I do. I would so love the ability to just sail across the dance floor, looking all elegant and graceful, in the arms of Fred Astaire. OK, well, not Fred Astaire, ‘cause I’m pretty sure he’s dead, and if he isn’t, he’s, like, a year younger than Christ… but in the arms of some equally dashing-on-the-dance-floor fella. I can’t believe I just wrote ‘fella’… I need to get out more.
We all have our reasons for blogging but what would be your ultimate goal for your blog or as a blogger?
Oh, man, that’s certainly changed in the last few months. I started this just to keep family and friends updated but I had no idea what sort of community was out here in Bloggyland; no clue how many wonderful people I’d meet or how much I’d want to be a part of their lives and have them be a part of mine.
I guess my goal is twofold… first, I want to keep writing things that make people want to come back. I love watching my numbers rise – I am a complete and unashamed comment junkie! But it’s more than that, really… it’s about connecting with people. I love when I do my 100 Things posts and I get comments from loads of people, each of whom laughed at something different! That never ceases to blow me away and it’s just so cool. Or when someone tells me that I’ve touched them in some way or made them think… it’s an amazing feeling.
Second, my goal is to hone my writing skills; to develop my style into something that will, at some point, make me money. I’d love to write a human interest or humor column for a newspaper or magazine but I’ve always been worried that I just didn’t have enough – enough talent, enough material, enough skill. Blogging, and doing it every day, forces me to keep moving forward… to see what people like and what they don’t; to see what I’m good at and what needs work.
You can trade lives with any one person for a month. Who would it be and why?
My daughter. I would like to see the world from her perspective; to know what truly goes on in her head and her heart – all the things she can’t yet (or won’t) articulate. I want to know what’s going on inside when she has a colossal meltdown, or when she lies to me, or when she’s scared and I can’t understand why. I want to know how she really feels when her dad hasn’t called her in over a week or when I’ve had a bad day and snap at her for something insignificant. I think being Ryan for a little while would make me a better mother.
There's a fire and your family is safe but you have the chance to save any one item from your house. What would it be and why?
My computer. It’s my livelihood, my lifeline to many of the people I love, and it has, all tucked up inside its confoundedly complex and confusing workings, much of me, in the form of words and photos. I could live without it, certainly, but I wouldn’t want to.
You have the chance to go back in time and warn yourself before making a bad choice. What choice would it be and what would you tell yourself?
I would go back to the day I got my first credit card offer in the mail and tell myself that credit cards are the apron strings that will keep me forever tied to Hell. I’m not a money-oriented person at all… I’ve never wanted or strived for loads of it. However, when I think about all the money I’ve wasted on interest and late fees and general poor money-management skills and decisions, I feel sick. So much of my life would be different, I think, if I knew then what I know now.
Friday, January 9, 2009
Thursday, January 8, 2009
That Day (An Interview Mememememe!)
The other day, one of my very best bloggy buddies, Heinous, did an ‘interview meme’ post. Another blogger came up with questions just for him and after reading his responses, I asked (and by ‘asked’ I mean ‘begged’) him to come up with questions for me. So, because he loves me (and by ‘loves me’ I mean ‘he wanted me off his back’) he did. He gave me six great questions, the first of which I answered below. Because the answer (and this damned introduction) was rather long, I decided to post the other questions/answers at a later date, so as not to overwhelm you (and by ‘overwhelm you’ I mean ‘bore you to tears’). I know you’ll all be waiting on the edge of your seats, right? Right. So… off we go!
What is the bravest thing that you feel you've ever done? Physically, emotionally, or whatever.
It was 1972. I was a happy little first grader in Mrs. Veith’s class at Franklin School in Kearny, NJ. I liked my classmates and my teacher and life was good. Until that day… the day that would be forever burned into my psyche… the day I accidentally knocked Patrick O’Brien down at recess.
Patrick was a little kid, much smaller than I. Blonde and scrappy, he came from a big Irish family and his older brothers (of which there were 4) were known for their foul mouths and quick fists. The youngest (and the runt) of the group, Patrick was a little trouble-maker, often stirring things up and then getting his big brothers to bail him out.
Anyway, as I said, I knocked Patrick down. It was a total accident. We were playing tag, running helter skelter, and I somehow clipped him in the mouth with my elbow (he was really short). Down he went; blood on his lip, fire in his eyes, and revenge in his little black heart. He didn’t cry (the O’Briens never cried) but he jumped up as I was apologizing and got right in my face (well, he got right in my collarbone), yelling, “You did that on purpose! I’m going get my brother after you!”
Uh oh. My blood ran cold. He had to mean Kevin, the only one of his brothers who still went to our school. Kevin O’Brien was a big, red-headed 3rd grader, quick and mean, and he ruled the playground. I was scared. Correction: I was terrified. Kevin was not known for showing mercy, even to girls. And you must remember, these were the days when kids solved their own problems; the days before they were instructed to run crying to teachers or parents because some other kid committed an unforgivable sin, like calling them a name. Tattling was not an option.
I spent the rest of the morning in a cold sweat. Every time I looked over at Patrick, he was glaring at me. He kept pointing to his lip (which had stopped bleeding after about 30 seconds), sneering evilly. I gulped a lot that morning. When the bell rang for lunch, I was first out the door. Only the last half of our lunch break overlapped with the 3rd graders’, so I knew I’d be safe on the way home, but I still ran like Satan himself was on my heels. I figured I could talk my mom into letting me stay home for the afternoon. Pfffttt. Was I ever wrong. So I took the long way back, using my best Agent 99 skills to get me back into the building through a side-door, undetected! I didn’t see Patrick until the bell rang and as he sauntered past my desk, he leaned down and whispered, “Just wait until after school.” I didn’t swear back then but you can bet that if I had, “Shit-oh-dear” would have been coming out of my mouth. A lot. I spent the rest of the afternoon shaking, my stomach in knots. If I’d been a smarter kid, I would have told the teacher I was sick so I could have gotten sent home. Yeah, hindsight’s 20/20.
When the 3:00 bell rang, I left the building with my classmates, hoping to get lost in the crowd. But it was like I was a reverse magnet that repelled everything around me… everyone scattered and I was left alone (I’m sure you’re wondering why I didn’t have any friends to back me up… I’m wondering that myself as I tell this story. I did have friends, I swear… so where the hell were they?! All scared of Kevin O’Brien, that's where!).
Anyway, I was nearly out of the school yard when I saw them coming toward me; Patrick in front, leading the way, a ‘you’re gonna get it now’ look on his sniveling little face; Kevin behind him; several other 3rd grade boys following.
I stopped dead in my tracks… and peed in my pants. I did. I was actually wearing a skirt, so it wasn’t readily apparent, but it did not feel good, let me tell you.
When they got to me, Kevin stared at me with his little pig eyes, smacked his bubblegum loudly, and bounced a small pink rubber ball on the pavement (the same one he bounced against the wall of the school every morning, trying to bean the little kids on their heads as they dodged past on the way to their kindergarten classes). He cocked his head at me and said, “This her?” Patrick, the little weasel, replied affirmatively. I stood there shaking, pee running down my legs and into my socks and Buster Browns, ready to just close my eyes and fall to the ground in a fetal position.
And then it happened.
I don’t know where it came from but I looked right at big, ugly Kevin O’Brien and I said (in a shockingly defiant tone that belied my Jell-O, pee-covered knees), “Look, I knocked him down by accident. I didn’t mean to do it and I said I was sorry. But if you want to hit me, then just go ahead and get it over with.”
Then I waited, not taking my eyes off his freckled face. Kevin looked back at me for what seemed an eternity, chomping his wad of Bazooka, bouncing that ball all the while, and finally said, “Nah. Forget it. I don’t wanna hit a girl.” Then he clipped Patrick on the back of the head and turned and walked away, followed by his gang.
And I ran all the way home to change my underpants.
And that, my friends, is by far the bravest thing I have ever done in my life!
What is the bravest thing that you feel you've ever done? Physically, emotionally, or whatever.
It was 1972. I was a happy little first grader in Mrs. Veith’s class at Franklin School in Kearny, NJ. I liked my classmates and my teacher and life was good. Until that day… the day that would be forever burned into my psyche… the day I accidentally knocked Patrick O’Brien down at recess.
Patrick was a little kid, much smaller than I. Blonde and scrappy, he came from a big Irish family and his older brothers (of which there were 4) were known for their foul mouths and quick fists. The youngest (and the runt) of the group, Patrick was a little trouble-maker, often stirring things up and then getting his big brothers to bail him out.
Anyway, as I said, I knocked Patrick down. It was a total accident. We were playing tag, running helter skelter, and I somehow clipped him in the mouth with my elbow (he was really short). Down he went; blood on his lip, fire in his eyes, and revenge in his little black heart. He didn’t cry (the O’Briens never cried) but he jumped up as I was apologizing and got right in my face (well, he got right in my collarbone), yelling, “You did that on purpose! I’m going get my brother after you!”
Uh oh. My blood ran cold. He had to mean Kevin, the only one of his brothers who still went to our school. Kevin O’Brien was a big, red-headed 3rd grader, quick and mean, and he ruled the playground. I was scared. Correction: I was terrified. Kevin was not known for showing mercy, even to girls. And you must remember, these were the days when kids solved their own problems; the days before they were instructed to run crying to teachers or parents because some other kid committed an unforgivable sin, like calling them a name. Tattling was not an option.
I spent the rest of the morning in a cold sweat. Every time I looked over at Patrick, he was glaring at me. He kept pointing to his lip (which had stopped bleeding after about 30 seconds), sneering evilly. I gulped a lot that morning. When the bell rang for lunch, I was first out the door. Only the last half of our lunch break overlapped with the 3rd graders’, so I knew I’d be safe on the way home, but I still ran like Satan himself was on my heels. I figured I could talk my mom into letting me stay home for the afternoon. Pfffttt. Was I ever wrong. So I took the long way back, using my best Agent 99 skills to get me back into the building through a side-door, undetected! I didn’t see Patrick until the bell rang and as he sauntered past my desk, he leaned down and whispered, “Just wait until after school.” I didn’t swear back then but you can bet that if I had, “Shit-oh-dear” would have been coming out of my mouth. A lot. I spent the rest of the afternoon shaking, my stomach in knots. If I’d been a smarter kid, I would have told the teacher I was sick so I could have gotten sent home. Yeah, hindsight’s 20/20.
When the 3:00 bell rang, I left the building with my classmates, hoping to get lost in the crowd. But it was like I was a reverse magnet that repelled everything around me… everyone scattered and I was left alone (I’m sure you’re wondering why I didn’t have any friends to back me up… I’m wondering that myself as I tell this story. I did have friends, I swear… so where the hell were they?! All scared of Kevin O’Brien, that's where!).
Anyway, I was nearly out of the school yard when I saw them coming toward me; Patrick in front, leading the way, a ‘you’re gonna get it now’ look on his sniveling little face; Kevin behind him; several other 3rd grade boys following.
I stopped dead in my tracks… and peed in my pants. I did. I was actually wearing a skirt, so it wasn’t readily apparent, but it did not feel good, let me tell you.
When they got to me, Kevin stared at me with his little pig eyes, smacked his bubblegum loudly, and bounced a small pink rubber ball on the pavement (the same one he bounced against the wall of the school every morning, trying to bean the little kids on their heads as they dodged past on the way to their kindergarten classes). He cocked his head at me and said, “This her?” Patrick, the little weasel, replied affirmatively. I stood there shaking, pee running down my legs and into my socks and Buster Browns, ready to just close my eyes and fall to the ground in a fetal position.
And then it happened.
I don’t know where it came from but I looked right at big, ugly Kevin O’Brien and I said (in a shockingly defiant tone that belied my Jell-O, pee-covered knees), “Look, I knocked him down by accident. I didn’t mean to do it and I said I was sorry. But if you want to hit me, then just go ahead and get it over with.”
Then I waited, not taking my eyes off his freckled face. Kevin looked back at me for what seemed an eternity, chomping his wad of Bazooka, bouncing that ball all the while, and finally said, “Nah. Forget it. I don’t wanna hit a girl.” Then he clipped Patrick on the back of the head and turned and walked away, followed by his gang.
And I ran all the way home to change my underpants.
And that, my friends, is by far the bravest thing I have ever done in my life!
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Writer's Workshop: Little Brown-Noser
It’s time for the weekly Writer’s Workshop! If you’re not familiar with it, head over to Mama’s Losin’ It and check out Kathy’s prompts, then visit some of the other blogs listed in Mr. Linky… you won’t be disappointed!
This week I chose “Ask a loved one to describe you with 6 descriptive words. How well do they know you?”
I asked my 9-year-old daughter, Ryan, to do it for me, as I figured her words would be quite funny, though potentially quite embarrassing! But I promised myself I was going to tell you whatever she said because I’m brave that way (and by ‘brave’ I mean ‘stupid’). As always, she went above and beyond expectations. It took her over two hours (she even skipped Hannah Montana!), and not only did she give me six (really wonderful) words, she also detailed the reasons she chose each one. Here they are, exactly as she wrote them (well, with a few very minor spelling corrections)…
1. Open-minded – You always make sure I hear both sides of the story even when you feel really strongly about one side. You also tell me I have to make my own choices and not believe something just because YOU believe it.
2. Highly Intelligent – You always know the answers to the questions I ask you. And if you don’t know the answer then you look it up, but you don’t have to look stuff up that often.
3. Beautiful – You always show me that true beauty comes from within but I still think you’re beautiful on the outside too.
4. Funny – You make me laugh so hard that sometimes I snort stuff out my nose and that’s really AWESOME!
5. Interesting – You have lots of interests and you always make sure you take me to interesting places like DC, museums, the theater and historical places.
6. Amazing – You just ARE! And here is why:
a. Every kid I know loves you.
b. You’re not scared of ANYTHING! (She obviously didn't see my Barnabas Collins post... shhhhhhhh... don't tell her!)
c. You take me camping to the coolest places. You make the best fires and can put up a tent FAST! You’re not scared to sleep in the woods and I’m never scared when I’m with you.
d. You coach on my swim team and you cheer the loudest of all the moms. And you tell me to swim like HELL and no other mom I know would say THAT!
e. Sometimes you’re scary when you get mad but then you hug me instead of yelling at me, and that’s really nice and makes me feel better.
f. You talk to me like I’m not a kid and you always tell me the truth (at least I think you do. You better!!!).
g. You help people like at the homeless shelter.
h. You teach me that doing things is a lot more important than getting stuff, but you still always buy me a souvenir when we go to new places!
i. You’re just the best mom EVER!
Honestly, I expected to read words like strict, tough, goofy, weird, dorky, and possibly even mean. I figured I’d get some nice ones, too (I am the one who hands out the allowance, after all), but I wasn’t expecting what I got. It made me cry. It completely and thoroughly overwhelmed me.
The prompt asks, “How well do they know you?” Well, I don’t know, really. Everything she said I do, I do, but still, I don’t always (or often) feel the way she described me… fearless, beautiful, and amazing are not words I ever apply to myself. I will say, however, that Ryan’s list describes, in large part, not just the mother I want to be, but the person I want to be. So maybe all I have to do to be that person is strive to be the woman my daughter already believes I am. And maybe I also have to try harder to see myself the way she sees me, instead of the way I do.
And I very seriously hope she isn’t just brown-nosing because she’s planning to hit me up for a Wii next week.
This week I chose “Ask a loved one to describe you with 6 descriptive words. How well do they know you?”
I asked my 9-year-old daughter, Ryan, to do it for me, as I figured her words would be quite funny, though potentially quite embarrassing! But I promised myself I was going to tell you whatever she said because I’m brave that way (and by ‘brave’ I mean ‘stupid’). As always, she went above and beyond expectations. It took her over two hours (she even skipped Hannah Montana!), and not only did she give me six (really wonderful) words, she also detailed the reasons she chose each one. Here they are, exactly as she wrote them (well, with a few very minor spelling corrections)…
1. Open-minded – You always make sure I hear both sides of the story even when you feel really strongly about one side. You also tell me I have to make my own choices and not believe something just because YOU believe it.
2. Highly Intelligent – You always know the answers to the questions I ask you. And if you don’t know the answer then you look it up, but you don’t have to look stuff up that often.
3. Beautiful – You always show me that true beauty comes from within but I still think you’re beautiful on the outside too.
4. Funny – You make me laugh so hard that sometimes I snort stuff out my nose and that’s really AWESOME!
5. Interesting – You have lots of interests and you always make sure you take me to interesting places like DC, museums, the theater and historical places.
6. Amazing – You just ARE! And here is why:
a. Every kid I know loves you.
b. You’re not scared of ANYTHING! (She obviously didn't see my Barnabas Collins post... shhhhhhhh... don't tell her!)
c. You take me camping to the coolest places. You make the best fires and can put up a tent FAST! You’re not scared to sleep in the woods and I’m never scared when I’m with you.
d. You coach on my swim team and you cheer the loudest of all the moms. And you tell me to swim like HELL and no other mom I know would say THAT!
e. Sometimes you’re scary when you get mad but then you hug me instead of yelling at me, and that’s really nice and makes me feel better.
f. You talk to me like I’m not a kid and you always tell me the truth (at least I think you do. You better!!!).
g. You help people like at the homeless shelter.
h. You teach me that doing things is a lot more important than getting stuff, but you still always buy me a souvenir when we go to new places!
i. You’re just the best mom EVER!
Honestly, I expected to read words like strict, tough, goofy, weird, dorky, and possibly even mean. I figured I’d get some nice ones, too (I am the one who hands out the allowance, after all), but I wasn’t expecting what I got. It made me cry. It completely and thoroughly overwhelmed me.
The prompt asks, “How well do they know you?” Well, I don’t know, really. Everything she said I do, I do, but still, I don’t always (or often) feel the way she described me… fearless, beautiful, and amazing are not words I ever apply to myself. I will say, however, that Ryan’s list describes, in large part, not just the mother I want to be, but the person I want to be. So maybe all I have to do to be that person is strive to be the woman my daughter already believes I am. And maybe I also have to try harder to see myself the way she sees me, instead of the way I do.
And I very seriously hope she isn’t just brown-nosing because she’s planning to hit me up for a Wii next week.
Random Acts of Kindness...
A woman died yesterday. A woman I knew. She wasn't someone I knew well -- just in passing, really; just well enough to smile and say hello. Our daughters swam on the same team last summer. It was Ryan's first year and her daughter's last, so we didn't move in the same swimmy circles. She was old hat at the swim-mom thing; I was just learning my way.
I'd volunteered to coach the youngest swimmers on the team... 'My Little Sinkers', I called them. Actually what I did was not so much coaching as it was simply preventing them from drowning, and even though I was the oldest (by far) on a coaching staff made up of gorgeous 16 to 22-year-olds, each with about 8% body fat, I had a lot of fun. But there were nights when it took major effort to get me to the pool.
One particularly chilly evening, I got out of the water at the end of practice and stood, wrapped in a towel, shivering. The woman who died yesterday came up to me and said, "We all think you're pretty brave to get in the water on nights like this." I chuckled and replied, "Brave? Or stupid?" She burst out laughing. Then she said, "You are so good with the little ones. We really appreciate what you do."
It was such a simple statement. "We really appreciate what you do." But it had such an impact on me. She didn't have to say it. I wasn't even working with her daughter. She wouldn't be returning to the team next summer. We'd never spoken and she'd probably never see me again after the season was over. But still, she took the time to say something kind; something that affected me a great deal and made those chilly evenings a lot easier to take.
Of course I thanked her for her kind words. I suspect she was the sort of person who said kind things often but I wonder if she had any idea just how much they were appreciated by the people to whom she said them. Maybe she did. I really hope she did.
I'd volunteered to coach the youngest swimmers on the team... 'My Little Sinkers', I called them. Actually what I did was not so much coaching as it was simply preventing them from drowning, and even though I was the oldest (by far) on a coaching staff made up of gorgeous 16 to 22-year-olds, each with about 8% body fat, I had a lot of fun. But there were nights when it took major effort to get me to the pool.
One particularly chilly evening, I got out of the water at the end of practice and stood, wrapped in a towel, shivering. The woman who died yesterday came up to me and said, "We all think you're pretty brave to get in the water on nights like this." I chuckled and replied, "Brave? Or stupid?" She burst out laughing. Then she said, "You are so good with the little ones. We really appreciate what you do."
It was such a simple statement. "We really appreciate what you do." But it had such an impact on me. She didn't have to say it. I wasn't even working with her daughter. She wouldn't be returning to the team next summer. We'd never spoken and she'd probably never see me again after the season was over. But still, she took the time to say something kind; something that affected me a great deal and made those chilly evenings a lot easier to take.
Of course I thanked her for her kind words. I suspect she was the sort of person who said kind things often but I wonder if she had any idea just how much they were appreciated by the people to whom she said them. Maybe she did. I really hope she did.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
My Bags Are Packed!!
I just got what might be the best ever bloggy award!
My cute bloggy boyfriend Andy (and yes, I’m fully aware that I have t-shirts older than he is… and that he has a "real" girlfriend(Pffffttt)... what’s it to you?!) over at Wild ARS Chase designed this one himself. In fact, he had the presentation of The Wild ARS Bloggy Awards over at his today… it was sort of like the Golden Globes or the Academy Awards… except without Billy Crystal or Rosie O’Donnell… or any other famous people… and the award is for blogs (duh) and not movies or television programs... and it was online instead of in a big, fancy theatre with booze and food and after-parties and stuff… and no, as a matter of fact, there wasn’t even Diet Pepsi… or Twinkies either. OK, so maybe it wasn’t exactly like the Golden Globes or Academy Awards at all. Oh, stop being a killjoy and just let me have my moment of glory, will you?! Geez.
Anyway, this is what I won…
Blog Sure to Go Big Places in 2009: Diane's Addled Ramblings. Her comment totals keep growing and growing as she gets funnier and funnier.
Cool, huh? So very cool. And it’s so very cool because I think Andy is quite brilliant, a great writer, and hysterically funny himself (and I’m not just saying all that because he’s my boyfriend… and yes, I’m fully aware I’m old enough to be his mother… shut it).
So thank you, Sweet ARS (I’ve always wanted to call him Sweet ARS… and yes, I’m fully aware I could go to jail for that in several states… geez, you are a killjoy, aren’t you?!).
Oh, by the way, Andy, what big places do you think my blog and I will go? ‘Cause I’m thinking the Galapagos would be nice this time of year. And I’ve promised to visit Protégé in Denmark soon. Oh, and I’d love to get down to Oz to see Lee. So, does Wild ARS Chase fund these trips? Is this how the award works? Let me know the details (you know, like credit card info and stuff) before I book my flights, OK? Appreciate it! Love ya!
My cute bloggy boyfriend Andy (and yes, I’m fully aware that I have t-shirts older than he is… and that he has a "real" girlfriend(Pffffttt)... what’s it to you?!) over at Wild ARS Chase designed this one himself. In fact, he had the presentation of The Wild ARS Bloggy Awards over at his today… it was sort of like the Golden Globes or the Academy Awards… except without Billy Crystal or Rosie O’Donnell… or any other famous people… and the award is for blogs (duh) and not movies or television programs... and it was online instead of in a big, fancy theatre with booze and food and after-parties and stuff… and no, as a matter of fact, there wasn’t even Diet Pepsi… or Twinkies either. OK, so maybe it wasn’t exactly like the Golden Globes or Academy Awards at all. Oh, stop being a killjoy and just let me have my moment of glory, will you?! Geez.
Anyway, this is what I won…
Blog Sure to Go Big Places in 2009: Diane's Addled Ramblings. Her comment totals keep growing and growing as she gets funnier and funnier.
Cool, huh? So very cool. And it’s so very cool because I think Andy is quite brilliant, a great writer, and hysterically funny himself (and I’m not just saying all that because he’s my boyfriend… and yes, I’m fully aware I’m old enough to be his mother… shut it).
So thank you, Sweet ARS (I’ve always wanted to call him Sweet ARS… and yes, I’m fully aware I could go to jail for that in several states… geez, you are a killjoy, aren’t you?!).
Oh, by the way, Andy, what big places do you think my blog and I will go? ‘Cause I’m thinking the Galapagos would be nice this time of year. And I’ve promised to visit Protégé in Denmark soon. Oh, and I’d love to get down to Oz to see Lee. So, does Wild ARS Chase fund these trips? Is this how the award works? Let me know the details (you know, like credit card info and stuff) before I book my flights, OK? Appreciate it! Love ya!
I Blame Barnabas Collins...
Or the (Very Long) Story of Why I Haven’t Slept in Four Nights…
I don’t watch scary movies. Correction: I can't watch scary movies… even the bad ones that lots of people find funny and not scary at all. And I’m not talking suspense/thrillers (love those!). I’m talking horror… those starring Jason, Freddy, Pinhead, Chucky, and any of their lovely friends. When I do watch one (and by ‘do’ I mean ‘am forced to’), I’m transformed from a reasonably (being the key word) confident, intelligent, rational individual into a blubbering, quivering, wild-eyed shell of my former self.
I blame Barnabas Collins.
For those of you younger than 40 (or not residing in the US), Barnabas Collins was a deliciously creepy, blood-sucking character in Dark Shadows, a gothic/horror soap opera that was on from 1966 to 1971. At 6 years old, I watched with relish (not the hotdog kind) and thus began my lifelong nocturnal dance with nightmares. And insomnia. My dad finally dictated that Barnabas Collins was off limits. I was crushed. But I did sleep a bit better… for a while.
As I got a bit older, I developed a real penchant for ghost stories. But ghost stories and kids with overactive imaginations don’t mix. So they were forbidden as well. Sigh. Older still (and in control of my own reading choices), I went back to them and discovered writers like Stephen King and John Saul. My creep addiction was fed regularly with few debilitating side effects, so I walked the scary movie route again. I did well. Well, I did pretty well… until the summer I spent at my Aunt Jean’s in NJ and I watched horror movie after horror movie until my nerves were frazzled and I jumped out of my skin if someone sneezed. One evening I was sitting on the front porch by myself, reading. Unknown to me, my dad had crept out the side door and around to the front of the house. He suddenly pulled himself up over the porch railing and screeched at me like a thing possessed. My (blood-curdling) scream was so loud the people across the street came to their windows (those would be the people on the third floor who were having a very noisy party). My dad, doubled over with laughter, went back into the house. When I’d just about recovered from the heart attack, I turned to say something through the window to my aunt. Instead of her, all I saw was my dad’s face, pressed against the screen, distorted and grotesque, as he howled at me again. An aneurysm followed the heart attack and I nearly died. I was finished with horror movies from that point forward. F.I.N.I.S.H.E.D.
Then some time later came The (edited for television but not edited enough) Exorcist. I don’t know if I’ve ever mentioned this but my older brother (the one I like) is deaf. And while most television programs and movies have been closed-captioned for a long time, that showing of The Exorcist on our local station was not. So he asked me to watch it with him and interpret. I would have, honestly, had my eyes not been closed, had my fingers not been in my ears, and had I not been rocking myself, singing ‘la la la la la la la’ over and over in an attempt not to hear the horrific sounds emanating from Linda Blair. He kept coming over and pulling my fingers out of my ears, asking me what was being said. I still feel bad about letting him down but there’s a part of me that thinks he was just torturing me and he actually read their lips through the whole movie (he is my father’s son, after all). Needless to say, it was my last horror movie for two decades.
And that brings me to nearly present day. When I was in London in October, I somehow wound up watching a creeper with my friend Todd. That would be Todd, the horror junkie. He actually writes horror movies. Being scared out of his mind is not an issue for Todd. So we’re in the middle of The Grudge with Sarah Michelle Gellar and the music and the creepy little Japanese ghosts are totally wigging me out. I’m holding Todd’s hand in a death grip because 1) I needed to be touching another human being and 2) I figured if I was holding his hand, he couldn’t grab me with the intention of scaring the ever-lovin’ shit out of me (which he would totally do). And just as it’s getting seriously scary, Todd announces he’s going to bed. "What? Bed? Now? In the middle? But… but… but… I can’t be left alone," whimpers I. "Tough. I have to work tomorrow," replies he (with absolultely no sympathy I might add). "Shit. Shit. Shit-oh-dear," whines I. I had to change the channel, of course, as there was no way (in stinkin' Hell) I could watch it on my own and I had to get the creepy out of my head before I could sleep. But nothing worked. I lay there, all alone, listening to the creaking of an old London flat as it settled; to all the unfamiliar sounds that normally wouldn’t have fazed me. I had the blanket over my head (and if you knew how hot Todd keeps his flat, you would know that I nearly suffocated myself... willingly). I couldn’t sleep. I was so scared I almost crawled into Todd’s bed. He’s a big guy and he has a black belt… not that a black belt would have helped against ghosts, but I figured it was still better than my defense method (screaming and peeing in my pants). Am I right? I did make it through the night (by myself) but those creepy little Japanese ghosts stayed with me.
So, four nights ago I was watching HGTV… House Hunters International to be specific. A woman was looking for a flat in Hong Kong and some of the places she was seeing were real holes (half-a-million-dollar holes, but holes nonetheless). I was thinking how creepy it would be to live in those dumps. So when I went to bed right after, who came to visit me in my sleep? Those scary little Japanese ghosts from The Grudge, that’s who! And yes, I totally know that Hong Kong is in China and I don’t mean to sound all ignorant and un-PC by mixing up Asian people… errr… ghosts (it was a dream, people! And my friend Rae, who is half-Japanese was in it, too… not sure what relevance that has to this story, but she was). Anyway, I woke up, after being nearly murdered by the scary Japanese ghosts in the creepy Chinese flat, paralyzed and in a cold nightmare sweat. God, how I hate that. After about an hour, I managed to get back to sleep… ONLY TO HAVE THE NIGHTMARE CONTINUE (which has never happened to me)! I woke up again, paralyzed and sweating, at 4:30… and I never went back to sleep. Nightmare ends. Insomnia ensues.
And that, my bloggy friends, is the (very long) story of why I haven’t slept in four nights. I’m so friggin’ tired, it’s not funny. I really think if I had someone to sleep with, I’d be OK.
Soooooo… anyone want to join me tonight? It’s OK if you snore. Or hog the blankets. Really. I don’t mind. Anyone? Anyone? Whimper… sniff… anyone?
I don’t watch scary movies. Correction: I can't watch scary movies… even the bad ones that lots of people find funny and not scary at all. And I’m not talking suspense/thrillers (love those!). I’m talking horror… those starring Jason, Freddy, Pinhead, Chucky, and any of their lovely friends. When I do watch one (and by ‘do’ I mean ‘am forced to’), I’m transformed from a reasonably (being the key word) confident, intelligent, rational individual into a blubbering, quivering, wild-eyed shell of my former self.
I blame Barnabas Collins.
For those of you younger than 40 (or not residing in the US), Barnabas Collins was a deliciously creepy, blood-sucking character in Dark Shadows, a gothic/horror soap opera that was on from 1966 to 1971. At 6 years old, I watched with relish (not the hotdog kind) and thus began my lifelong nocturnal dance with nightmares. And insomnia. My dad finally dictated that Barnabas Collins was off limits. I was crushed. But I did sleep a bit better… for a while.
As I got a bit older, I developed a real penchant for ghost stories. But ghost stories and kids with overactive imaginations don’t mix. So they were forbidden as well. Sigh. Older still (and in control of my own reading choices), I went back to them and discovered writers like Stephen King and John Saul. My creep addiction was fed regularly with few debilitating side effects, so I walked the scary movie route again. I did well. Well, I did pretty well… until the summer I spent at my Aunt Jean’s in NJ and I watched horror movie after horror movie until my nerves were frazzled and I jumped out of my skin if someone sneezed. One evening I was sitting on the front porch by myself, reading. Unknown to me, my dad had crept out the side door and around to the front of the house. He suddenly pulled himself up over the porch railing and screeched at me like a thing possessed. My (blood-curdling) scream was so loud the people across the street came to their windows (those would be the people on the third floor who were having a very noisy party). My dad, doubled over with laughter, went back into the house. When I’d just about recovered from the heart attack, I turned to say something through the window to my aunt. Instead of her, all I saw was my dad’s face, pressed against the screen, distorted and grotesque, as he howled at me again. An aneurysm followed the heart attack and I nearly died. I was finished with horror movies from that point forward. F.I.N.I.S.H.E.D.
Then some time later came The (edited for television but not edited enough) Exorcist. I don’t know if I’ve ever mentioned this but my older brother (the one I like) is deaf. And while most television programs and movies have been closed-captioned for a long time, that showing of The Exorcist on our local station was not. So he asked me to watch it with him and interpret. I would have, honestly, had my eyes not been closed, had my fingers not been in my ears, and had I not been rocking myself, singing ‘la la la la la la la’ over and over in an attempt not to hear the horrific sounds emanating from Linda Blair. He kept coming over and pulling my fingers out of my ears, asking me what was being said. I still feel bad about letting him down but there’s a part of me that thinks he was just torturing me and he actually read their lips through the whole movie (he is my father’s son, after all). Needless to say, it was my last horror movie for two decades.
And that brings me to nearly present day. When I was in London in October, I somehow wound up watching a creeper with my friend Todd. That would be Todd, the horror junkie. He actually writes horror movies. Being scared out of his mind is not an issue for Todd. So we’re in the middle of The Grudge with Sarah Michelle Gellar and the music and the creepy little Japanese ghosts are totally wigging me out. I’m holding Todd’s hand in a death grip because 1) I needed to be touching another human being and 2) I figured if I was holding his hand, he couldn’t grab me with the intention of scaring the ever-lovin’ shit out of me (which he would totally do). And just as it’s getting seriously scary, Todd announces he’s going to bed. "What? Bed? Now? In the middle? But… but… but… I can’t be left alone," whimpers I. "Tough. I have to work tomorrow," replies he (with absolultely no sympathy I might add). "Shit. Shit. Shit-oh-dear," whines I. I had to change the channel, of course, as there was no way (in stinkin' Hell) I could watch it on my own and I had to get the creepy out of my head before I could sleep. But nothing worked. I lay there, all alone, listening to the creaking of an old London flat as it settled; to all the unfamiliar sounds that normally wouldn’t have fazed me. I had the blanket over my head (and if you knew how hot Todd keeps his flat, you would know that I nearly suffocated myself... willingly). I couldn’t sleep. I was so scared I almost crawled into Todd’s bed. He’s a big guy and he has a black belt… not that a black belt would have helped against ghosts, but I figured it was still better than my defense method (screaming and peeing in my pants). Am I right? I did make it through the night (by myself) but those creepy little Japanese ghosts stayed with me.
So, four nights ago I was watching HGTV… House Hunters International to be specific. A woman was looking for a flat in Hong Kong and some of the places she was seeing were real holes (half-a-million-dollar holes, but holes nonetheless). I was thinking how creepy it would be to live in those dumps. So when I went to bed right after, who came to visit me in my sleep? Those scary little Japanese ghosts from The Grudge, that’s who! And yes, I totally know that Hong Kong is in China and I don’t mean to sound all ignorant and un-PC by mixing up Asian people… errr… ghosts (it was a dream, people! And my friend Rae, who is half-Japanese was in it, too… not sure what relevance that has to this story, but she was). Anyway, I woke up, after being nearly murdered by the scary Japanese ghosts in the creepy Chinese flat, paralyzed and in a cold nightmare sweat. God, how I hate that. After about an hour, I managed to get back to sleep… ONLY TO HAVE THE NIGHTMARE CONTINUE (which has never happened to me)! I woke up again, paralyzed and sweating, at 4:30… and I never went back to sleep. Nightmare ends. Insomnia ensues.
And that, my bloggy friends, is the (very long) story of why I haven’t slept in four nights. I’m so friggin’ tired, it’s not funny. I really think if I had someone to sleep with, I’d be OK.
Soooooo… anyone want to join me tonight? It’s OK if you snore. Or hog the blankets. Really. I don’t mind. Anyone? Anyone? Whimper… sniff… anyone?
Monday, January 5, 2009
Truth a la Diane...
I got this cool award (at least I think it’s an award… maybe it’s just a tag and I’m getting all full of myself again) from the lovely Sam.
In order to receive it, I have to tell you 10 (interesting) truths about myself. Hmmmm. Interesting is subjective, I think… actually truth, when you’re talking about yourself, is pretty subjective as well, isn’t it? Anyway, here you have it – Truth a la Diane…
1. I simply cannot hide my feelings, no matter how I try. My heart? Always on my sleeve. You’ll know just by looking at me if I love you, loathe you, want you dead, etc.
2. While I make friends easily (and I can make conversation with a stump), I find it difficult to put myself in situations where I’ll meet new people, especially if I’m doing it alone. For that reason, since I moved here as a single mom who works from home, I’ve spent quite a bit of time lonely. I’ve discovered, though, that loneliness is a good motivator for stepping out of one’s comfort zone.
3. I think about sex more often than a teenaged boy. And I am ever so thankful (on a daily basis) that I don’t have any body parts over which I have no (obvious) control.
4. I am a huge proponent of gay marriage. I don’t think any government has the right to dictate the legality of a partnership between adults, especially one that involves love and commitment, something so sadly lacking in our society. I’m sure my stance on this issue has been affected by the fact that I have two very close gay friends, but I’d like to think I’d feel as strongly even if they weren’t in my life.
5. A few years ago, I had an essay published in a book of essays about diversity compiled by Yolanda King, Martin Luther King’s daughter. It was the proudest moment of my life and there are (many) times when I’m terrified it was the only one like it I’ll ever experience.
6. I have been truly, madly, deeply in love twice in my life. Neither time was with my ex-husband (though I did love him). I'm still looking for the third love of my life.
7. I don’t believe in religion or a divine plan or an all-knowing God and I’m not a Christian, but I do believe in a creative force and that there is something beyond this life. I also believe strongly in tolerance for others' beliefs, as in the end, not a one of us really knows for sure.
8. I used to hate it that I was never the ‘pretty one’ among my friends (I have beautiful friends) but now I (finally) really like my face (my ass, however, is another story entirely!).
9. I love my daughter more than life and I believe that being her mom is the most important job I’ll ever have. I also believe there is a lot more to me than being a mother and I don’t want to be identified solely by that title.
10. My greatest fear is not that I won’t live up to my potential… but that I may have already done so.
OK, I’m supposed to pass this on to 7 people but I’m just going to leave it up to you… do if you’d like (and if you do, tell me, so I can read Truth a la You!).
In order to receive it, I have to tell you 10 (interesting) truths about myself. Hmmmm. Interesting is subjective, I think… actually truth, when you’re talking about yourself, is pretty subjective as well, isn’t it? Anyway, here you have it – Truth a la Diane…1. I simply cannot hide my feelings, no matter how I try. My heart? Always on my sleeve. You’ll know just by looking at me if I love you, loathe you, want you dead, etc.
2. While I make friends easily (and I can make conversation with a stump), I find it difficult to put myself in situations where I’ll meet new people, especially if I’m doing it alone. For that reason, since I moved here as a single mom who works from home, I’ve spent quite a bit of time lonely. I’ve discovered, though, that loneliness is a good motivator for stepping out of one’s comfort zone.
3. I think about sex more often than a teenaged boy. And I am ever so thankful (on a daily basis) that I don’t have any body parts over which I have no (obvious) control.
4. I am a huge proponent of gay marriage. I don’t think any government has the right to dictate the legality of a partnership between adults, especially one that involves love and commitment, something so sadly lacking in our society. I’m sure my stance on this issue has been affected by the fact that I have two very close gay friends, but I’d like to think I’d feel as strongly even if they weren’t in my life.
5. A few years ago, I had an essay published in a book of essays about diversity compiled by Yolanda King, Martin Luther King’s daughter. It was the proudest moment of my life and there are (many) times when I’m terrified it was the only one like it I’ll ever experience.
6. I have been truly, madly, deeply in love twice in my life. Neither time was with my ex-husband (though I did love him). I'm still looking for the third love of my life.
7. I don’t believe in religion or a divine plan or an all-knowing God and I’m not a Christian, but I do believe in a creative force and that there is something beyond this life. I also believe strongly in tolerance for others' beliefs, as in the end, not a one of us really knows for sure.
8. I used to hate it that I was never the ‘pretty one’ among my friends (I have beautiful friends) but now I (finally) really like my face (my ass, however, is another story entirely!).
9. I love my daughter more than life and I believe that being her mom is the most important job I’ll ever have. I also believe there is a lot more to me than being a mother and I don’t want to be identified solely by that title.
10. My greatest fear is not that I won’t live up to my potential… but that I may have already done so.
OK, I’m supposed to pass this on to 7 people but I’m just going to leave it up to you… do if you’d like (and if you do, tell me, so I can read Truth a la You!).
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Shalom...
Note: Though I swear I looked it up and you can find it all over the Internet spelled 'yamaka', I've been corrected by two very smart (albeit obnoxious) people. It would seem that 'yamaka' is (very possibly) meant to be spelled (by picky people) 'yarmulke'. Damn it.
Ryan got this very cool fashion design kit for Christmas, full of all sorts of fabric and embellishments. She's been creating scads of slinky evening gowns and pretty sundresses from yards of silky, satiny, lacey material. A few minutes ago, she came in here with a piece of pink lace cut into a circle. She put it on Sundance’s head (and no, he was not pleased).
Me: A pretty fancy hat for Mr. Man, don't you think?
Ry: It’s not a hat. It's a Yamaka (Yarmulke).
Me: Really. I’ve never seen a pink lace Yamaka (Yarmulke).
Ry: It’s what all the fancy, French, Jewish dogs are wearing.
Have I mentioned that my kid is weird?
And how did I not know my dog was Jewish? Or French? Or, very possibly, gay?
Ryan got this very cool fashion design kit for Christmas, full of all sorts of fabric and embellishments. She's been creating scads of slinky evening gowns and pretty sundresses from yards of silky, satiny, lacey material. A few minutes ago, she came in here with a piece of pink lace cut into a circle. She put it on Sundance’s head (and no, he was not pleased).
Me: A pretty fancy hat for Mr. Man, don't you think?
Ry: It’s not a hat. It's a Yamaka (Yarmulke).
Me: Really. I’ve never seen a pink lace Yamaka (Yarmulke).
Ry: It’s what all the fancy, French, Jewish dogs are wearing.
Have I mentioned that my kid is weird?
And how did I not know my dog was Jewish? Or French? Or, very possibly, gay?
Saturday, January 3, 2009
Somebody's Lyin'...
(Note: If you didn't read yesterday's post, you might want to, otherwise this one probably won't make any sense. Of course, I don't always make sense and you might be used to it by now, so whatever works for you...)
(Also note: for those of you who don't reside in the US and might not know their names, Mary Matalin and James Carville are very outspoken and well-known politcal analysts... she's a Republican and he's a Democrat. They also happen to be married...)
How do Mary Matalin and James Carville do it?! Bipartisan, my ass. I think somebody's lyin' in that house. How can two people whose views are so diametrically opposed -- and held with such passion -- have a solid marriage? How can they raise children in a world they see so differently? I get that there are some simliarities in conservative and liberal views... I do. And I suppose if you both feel similarly about religion and faith in general, you can find some common ground (admittedly, I don't know the Matalin/Carville views on religion). But damn... how do you find the common ground otherwise? Maybe if there's enough chemistry between you, there's an incentive to try. I guess I've just never encountered that sort of chemistry with a Republican. Well, I did once, actually, but when he told me that my half-Hispanic (i.e. 'mixed race') daughter was a difficulty he didn't want to have to deal with in a relationship, the chemistry was Shot. To. Shit.
All I know is that I want someone who feels the same (or similarly at least) as I do about some pretty major social issues. And it's not about politics or being Republican or Democrat (I don't label myself in that way). It's about what I believe... about the world, about people and their rights, about me. And while I accept that not everyone will see the world the way I do, and while I truly respect everyone's right to their beliefs and opinions, I've discovered I'm not willing to compromise my own or give my heart to someone whose heart isn't in the same place as mine. Period.
PS... I also re-discovered my love for raspberry margaritas last night (especially when they're made by bartenders who really know what a tequila shot is!).
PPS... The Curious Case of Benjamin Button was very good, even with Brad Pitt (when you're not ready for a nearly-3-hour movie to be over, you know it's special). It's worth a go and full of reminders that life, no matter what direction it's moving, is something to be lived fully and not experienced half-assed.
PPPS... Thanks for your very funny (very visual) comments on yesterday's post! You guys are the best and you totally crack me up! Oh, and Jane!, yeah, I'm pretty sure he had a penis. A Republican penis. And he's a really nice guy (I'm sure his penis is nice, too)... but nice doesn't equate to compatible. Oh well. Back to the drawing board.
(Also note: for those of you who don't reside in the US and might not know their names, Mary Matalin and James Carville are very outspoken and well-known politcal analysts... she's a Republican and he's a Democrat. They also happen to be married...)
How do Mary Matalin and James Carville do it?! Bipartisan, my ass. I think somebody's lyin' in that house. How can two people whose views are so diametrically opposed -- and held with such passion -- have a solid marriage? How can they raise children in a world they see so differently? I get that there are some simliarities in conservative and liberal views... I do. And I suppose if you both feel similarly about religion and faith in general, you can find some common ground (admittedly, I don't know the Matalin/Carville views on religion). But damn... how do you find the common ground otherwise? Maybe if there's enough chemistry between you, there's an incentive to try. I guess I've just never encountered that sort of chemistry with a Republican. Well, I did once, actually, but when he told me that my half-Hispanic (i.e. 'mixed race') daughter was a difficulty he didn't want to have to deal with in a relationship, the chemistry was Shot. To. Shit.
All I know is that I want someone who feels the same (or similarly at least) as I do about some pretty major social issues. And it's not about politics or being Republican or Democrat (I don't label myself in that way). It's about what I believe... about the world, about people and their rights, about me. And while I accept that not everyone will see the world the way I do, and while I truly respect everyone's right to their beliefs and opinions, I've discovered I'm not willing to compromise my own or give my heart to someone whose heart isn't in the same place as mine. Period.
PS... I also re-discovered my love for raspberry margaritas last night (especially when they're made by bartenders who really know what a tequila shot is!).
PPS... The Curious Case of Benjamin Button was very good, even with Brad Pitt (when you're not ready for a nearly-3-hour movie to be over, you know it's special). It's worth a go and full of reminders that life, no matter what direction it's moving, is something to be lived fully and not experienced half-assed.
PPPS... Thanks for your very funny (very visual) comments on yesterday's post! You guys are the best and you totally crack me up! Oh, and Jane!, yeah, I'm pretty sure he had a penis. A Republican penis. And he's a really nice guy (I'm sure his penis is nice, too)... but nice doesn't equate to compatible. Oh well. Back to the drawing board.
Friday, January 2, 2009
Friday Night Fright...
So... I'm going out tonight. For dinner. At a restaurant that doesn't provide crayons or chicken fingers (I didn't even know chickens had fingers until I had Ryan). And then to a movie. A movie that doesn't have animated characters or talking animals. OK, so Brad Pitt is in it and he's not much better than a talking dog, but I heard the movie was good, so I'm giving him a chance. And I'm going with a boy. OK, he's not a boy exactly, 'cause he's older than I am (and according to my charming, ever-complimentary daughter, anyone older than I am is nearly ancient), so he definitely no longer qualifies for 'boy' status. But he has a penis. OK, so I won't actually see it (or do anything else with it), but it still makes him not-a-girl. What's that? Why won't I see it, you ask? Well, first, because I'm not that easy (even though this is the first time I've been out with a grown-up since the possible-prince-who-turned-out-to-be-a-frog-after-all-damn-it) and also because he's a... Republican. I know. I am a little insane, thank you very much. But I've decided this year I'm going to take my beloved Eleanor Roosevelt's advice and 'do one thing every day that scares me.' Going out with a Bush-lover (the President, you gutter-minds!) scares the bejeebies out of me. But I'm nothing if not open-minded and, Republican or not, he's a nice guy. As long as we can avoid talking about politics, religion, national healthcare, the war... hmmmm... this isn't looking too good, is it? Well, hopefully we'll have a nice time. He will, anyway, 'cause I'm fabulous... and clearly not full of myself at all! OK, really, I'm not full of myself at all. You know that... right? You do, don't you? Yeah, you do.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
Off to a Good Start...
Happy 2009! As I sat here last night, waving good-bye to 2008 (with my middle finger), I offered up a little prayer to the Universe that 2009 would be a better year… for the whole world, not just me (I’m not totally self-centered).
So… this morning I woke up to gloriously blue, sunny skies and big hugs from my little girl. I happily hiked around in the woods with my equally happy dog, which is one of my favorite things to do. I found a completely unexpected $25 in the pocket of my jeans when I was doing laundry (no clue how it got there). I made a huge pot of my fabulous chicken-veggie soup that’ll see us through the next couple of days. I spent a couple of hours browsing around the bookstore this evening, spending a gift-card I got for Christmas (and I bought 5 books, all of which sound great). My niece came over to spend the night and there were no 9-year-old arguments (miracles do happen). And they went to bed on time! And I’ve spent the rest of the evening reading wonderful blogs, written by bloggy friends who are incredibly talented and insightful and funny (yeah, I mean all of you… duh).
All in all, I’d say my 2009 started out pretty damned well. Hope yours did, too!
So… this morning I woke up to gloriously blue, sunny skies and big hugs from my little girl. I happily hiked around in the woods with my equally happy dog, which is one of my favorite things to do. I found a completely unexpected $25 in the pocket of my jeans when I was doing laundry (no clue how it got there). I made a huge pot of my fabulous chicken-veggie soup that’ll see us through the next couple of days. I spent a couple of hours browsing around the bookstore this evening, spending a gift-card I got for Christmas (and I bought 5 books, all of which sound great). My niece came over to spend the night and there were no 9-year-old arguments (miracles do happen). And they went to bed on time! And I’ve spent the rest of the evening reading wonderful blogs, written by bloggy friends who are incredibly talented and insightful and funny (yeah, I mean all of you… duh).
All in all, I’d say my 2009 started out pretty damned well. Hope yours did, too!
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Writer's Workshop: I Find it Interesting How "Mother" and "Bother" are Only 1 Letter Off...
It's time for the weekly writing assignment from Kathy over at Mama's Losin' It. I chose 'Things You Do That Bother Your Mother'. Because there are so friggin' many things, I opted to write them in my standard 100 Things format. Before you read the list, though, I will tell you two things... first, I love my mother. I do. Honest. Second, I hope she doesn't choose today to start reading my blog.
So... Things I Do That Bother My Mother...
1. I am me.
2. Which means I am not her.
3. And that bothers her.
4. I disagree with her.
5. About almost everything.
6. Name it.
7. Any subject.
8. Yup, we disagree about that.
9. And that, too.
10. The list is endless…
11. For one, I don’t vote Republican.
12. Of course, she doesn’t either.
13. Since she’s not a US citizen.
14. But she would vote Republican if she could.
15. Not me.
16. I say mean things about George Bush.
17. Very mean things.
18. I said worse things about Sarah Palin.
19. Which bothered her.
20. It also bothers her that I say ‘fuck’ on occasion.
21. Especially when I say it in reference to George Bush.
22. Or my brother.
23. I don’t like my brother.
24. He’s not nice.
25. My mother admits this.
26. But she likes him anyway.
27. She kind of has to.
28. I don’t have to.
29. So I don’t.
30. That bothers her.
31. It also bothers her that I don’t go to church.
32. Note that she doesn’t either.
33. But she believes.
34. I don’t.
35. She thinks I don’t believe just to piss her off.
36. That’s not the case.
37. It’s just a nice little perk.
38. I don’t let my kid take religious education classes.
39. That bothers my mother.
40. But I don’t care.
41. That bothers her even more.
42. I don’t discipline my kid enough.
43. Or I discipline my kid too much.
44. And I don’t discipline my kid the right way when I do it.
45. Yes, that means my mother's way.
46. I don’t think using physical punishment works with kids.
47. I wonder, however, if it might work on mothers...
48. I explain things to my kid.
49. Things my mother thinks she shouldn’t know.
50. You know who told me about sex when I was a kid?
51. My dad.
52. It was the worst 10 minutes of my life.
53. I remind my mother when she forgets things.
54. You’d think that would make her happy.
55. But it doesn’t.
56. I probably shouldn’t smirk when I do it.
57. She also doesn’t like it that I don’t use much salt when I cook.
58. I don’t really use salt at all.
59. I don’t like salt much.
60. She thinks that’s just wrong.
61. But I don’t have high blood pressure.
62. And she does.
63. I cook things she doesn’t like.
64. But she cooked things I didn’t like for 18 years.
65. So I think it’s fair.
66. She doesn’t like it that I don’t make my kid eat potatoes.
67. My kid doesn’t like potatoes.
68. Or rice.
69. My mom thinks that’s bad.
70. It doesn’t bother me in the least.
71. That bothers my mother.
72. I guess it should bother me.
73. I just can’t figure out why.
74. Which also bothers my mother.
75. Sometimes I drink too much.
76. That bothers her, too.
77. But I do it anyway.
78. Which bothers her more.
79. I date.
80. That actually doesn’t bother her.
81. That I don’t often date the same guy twice bothers her.
82. She thinks I’m too picky.
83. I don’t care what she thinks.
84. And that really bothers her.
85. I also don’t tell her about my dates.
86. That bothers her a lot.
87. Which is part of the reason I keep quiet.
88. It bothers her that I’d rather live in the UK than here.
89. She thinks I don’t like America.
90. That’s not the case at all.
91. I just like the UK a lot.
92. But I’m not very nationalistic.
93. Or terribly patriotic.
94. And that bothers her.
95. I don’t know why, though.
96. As she still isn’t a US citizen.
97. And she’ll likely never become one.
98. You know what her citizenship is?
99. Yup.
100. British.
So... Things I Do That Bother My Mother...
1. I am me.
2. Which means I am not her.
3. And that bothers her.
4. I disagree with her.
5. About almost everything.
6. Name it.
7. Any subject.
8. Yup, we disagree about that.
9. And that, too.
10. The list is endless…
11. For one, I don’t vote Republican.
12. Of course, she doesn’t either.
13. Since she’s not a US citizen.
14. But she would vote Republican if she could.
15. Not me.
16. I say mean things about George Bush.
17. Very mean things.
18. I said worse things about Sarah Palin.
19. Which bothered her.
20. It also bothers her that I say ‘fuck’ on occasion.
21. Especially when I say it in reference to George Bush.
22. Or my brother.
23. I don’t like my brother.
24. He’s not nice.
25. My mother admits this.
26. But she likes him anyway.
27. She kind of has to.
28. I don’t have to.
29. So I don’t.
30. That bothers her.
31. It also bothers her that I don’t go to church.
32. Note that she doesn’t either.
33. But she believes.
34. I don’t.
35. She thinks I don’t believe just to piss her off.
36. That’s not the case.
37. It’s just a nice little perk.
38. I don’t let my kid take religious education classes.
39. That bothers my mother.
40. But I don’t care.
41. That bothers her even more.
42. I don’t discipline my kid enough.
43. Or I discipline my kid too much.
44. And I don’t discipline my kid the right way when I do it.
45. Yes, that means my mother's way.
46. I don’t think using physical punishment works with kids.
47. I wonder, however, if it might work on mothers...
48. I explain things to my kid.
49. Things my mother thinks she shouldn’t know.
50. You know who told me about sex when I was a kid?
51. My dad.
52. It was the worst 10 minutes of my life.
53. I remind my mother when she forgets things.
54. You’d think that would make her happy.
55. But it doesn’t.
56. I probably shouldn’t smirk when I do it.
57. She also doesn’t like it that I don’t use much salt when I cook.
58. I don’t really use salt at all.
59. I don’t like salt much.
60. She thinks that’s just wrong.
61. But I don’t have high blood pressure.
62. And she does.
63. I cook things she doesn’t like.
64. But she cooked things I didn’t like for 18 years.
65. So I think it’s fair.
66. She doesn’t like it that I don’t make my kid eat potatoes.
67. My kid doesn’t like potatoes.
68. Or rice.
69. My mom thinks that’s bad.
70. It doesn’t bother me in the least.
71. That bothers my mother.
72. I guess it should bother me.
73. I just can’t figure out why.
74. Which also bothers my mother.
75. Sometimes I drink too much.
76. That bothers her, too.
77. But I do it anyway.
78. Which bothers her more.
79. I date.
80. That actually doesn’t bother her.
81. That I don’t often date the same guy twice bothers her.
82. She thinks I’m too picky.
83. I don’t care what she thinks.
84. And that really bothers her.
85. I also don’t tell her about my dates.
86. That bothers her a lot.
87. Which is part of the reason I keep quiet.
88. It bothers her that I’d rather live in the UK than here.
89. She thinks I don’t like America.
90. That’s not the case at all.
91. I just like the UK a lot.
92. But I’m not very nationalistic.
93. Or terribly patriotic.
94. And that bothers her.
95. I don’t know why, though.
96. As she still isn’t a US citizen.
97. And she’ll likely never become one.
98. You know what her citizenship is?
99. Yup.
100. British.
Monday, December 29, 2008
On Rambling Aimlessly... Oh, and Goals, Too...
I’m blog-blocked. Again. Damn, but I hate blog-block. I can’t think of a thing to post about. Of course, I should be doing some work and not thinking about blogging anyway. I even cleaned my disgustingly messy desk yesterday so I could sit at it and work, instead of deepening the crater my ass has made in the sofa lately (laptops are grand, aren’t they?). I’ve found that when I work (also known as blogging, emailing, and tramping around the Internet) from the couch, I wind up slouching, down and to the left, until I’m in an incredibly uncomfortable position from which I have difficulty extracting myself. I don’t know why I can’t just sit up straight. Oh, and I put my feet up on the coffee table, usually with my left leg crossed over my right… then I find that my right knee locks and unlocking it is excruciatingly painful. And when I finally unlock it and cross my right leg over my left, my left knee locks. My body hates me. So working from the couch is really not good for me. If I keep it up, I’m going to look like a crippled Quasimodo.
After I cleaned my desk yesterday, I made a list of things I want to accomplish in 2009. Note that they are not resolutions. I hate resolutions. Mostly because I tend to break every single one of them about a week into the new year. I suck. So this year I’ve made a list of goals. Goals are better, I think, because you don’t feel like a complete failure if you take a detour from your path to the goal… the goal is still in sight (or you can leave a trail of breadcrumbs… or dog treats, which I always seem to have in my pockets). But falling off the resolution wagon bites.
So, back to my list. I stopped writing when I got to my 43rd goal. Since I only accomplished, oh, about 3 goals last year (and one of them was to drink a lot of wine... because it's good for the heart, you know), I got to thinking that maybe I was being just a tad overly ambitious. Anyway, one of my goals for this year is to take my work more seriously. I’ll start that on the 1st. Another goal is to improve my financial situation… which could be helped by taking my work more seriously… on the 1st (you know those resolutions at which I suck? One of them is always to procrastinate less... go figure). Another goal is to make my body hate me less… or was that for me to hate my body less? Anyway, I want to look less like a crippled Quasimodo and more like Rebecca Romijn. Oh, wait… we were talking about goals here, right? Not miracles… my bad.
I narrowed my list down to about 15 things… some of them will be easy, like taking Ryan camping over every holiday weekend between Easter and Thanksgiving (and we’re even thinking about maybe taking a camping trip to sunny climes over Christmas next year). Some will be less easy, like training Sundance to walk off-leash nearly 100% of the time. Some will be downright difficult, like losing the baby weight (shut it… like I said before, even if she is 9, she’s still my baby). But I don’t think I listed even one goal that's unattainable… with a little work and focus... which is clearly not my forte. So wish me luck! You know I’ll keep you posted on my progress (or lack thereof). Because rambling aimlessly is the best way to cure blog-block. Obviously.
After I cleaned my desk yesterday, I made a list of things I want to accomplish in 2009. Note that they are not resolutions. I hate resolutions. Mostly because I tend to break every single one of them about a week into the new year. I suck. So this year I’ve made a list of goals. Goals are better, I think, because you don’t feel like a complete failure if you take a detour from your path to the goal… the goal is still in sight (or you can leave a trail of breadcrumbs… or dog treats, which I always seem to have in my pockets). But falling off the resolution wagon bites.
So, back to my list. I stopped writing when I got to my 43rd goal. Since I only accomplished, oh, about 3 goals last year (and one of them was to drink a lot of wine... because it's good for the heart, you know), I got to thinking that maybe I was being just a tad overly ambitious. Anyway, one of my goals for this year is to take my work more seriously. I’ll start that on the 1st. Another goal is to improve my financial situation… which could be helped by taking my work more seriously… on the 1st (you know those resolutions at which I suck? One of them is always to procrastinate less... go figure). Another goal is to make my body hate me less… or was that for me to hate my body less? Anyway, I want to look less like a crippled Quasimodo and more like Rebecca Romijn. Oh, wait… we were talking about goals here, right? Not miracles… my bad.
I narrowed my list down to about 15 things… some of them will be easy, like taking Ryan camping over every holiday weekend between Easter and Thanksgiving (and we’re even thinking about maybe taking a camping trip to sunny climes over Christmas next year). Some will be less easy, like training Sundance to walk off-leash nearly 100% of the time. Some will be downright difficult, like losing the baby weight (shut it… like I said before, even if she is 9, she’s still my baby). But I don’t think I listed even one goal that's unattainable… with a little work and focus... which is clearly not my forte. So wish me luck! You know I’ll keep you posted on my progress (or lack thereof). Because rambling aimlessly is the best way to cure blog-block. Obviously.
Friday, December 26, 2008
My Kid is Weird, Part II...
Before I explain how my kid is weird, I should tell you that in our house, ‘weird’ has no negative connotations whatsoever. When Ryan was about 6, she called me the ‘w’ word. I asked, “Is that a bad thing?” She said, “No, Mama. I would rather you be weird like you are than be boring. You’re not boring at all!” It was at that moment I knew she was getting it. And it was cool.
I should also explain (to people who don’t have children under the age of 12 in their lives) what Webkinz are. Picture a wide array of the cutest stuffed animals you’ve ever seen… all priced at $10 or $15 each. Attached to each animal is a tag with a special, one-of-a-kind code (like a social security number). Buy the animal and you can log the code into Webkinz.com, where you then obtain a virtual version of your pet to play with online. It usually comes with its own room, which can be decorated in various themes. It’s actually a pretty cool, creative, safe, FREE (after you buy the stuffed animal, that is) website. Ryan loves it and she’s got a crapload of these critters. Here are 3 of them…
Meet Stuart, Tucky, and Sweet Pea.
So, I passed by the computer this afternoon while Ryan was playing in Stuart’s virtual room.
Me: Hey, Stuart has a menorah in his room.
Ry: Uh huh.
Me: Is he Jewish?
Ry: No. He just thinks Christmas isn’t the only important holiday.
Me: Does he?
Ry: Yes. He thinks it’s important to learn about other cultures.
Me: Oh. Well, he’s right. Plus, he gets 8 more presents!
Ry (looking stern): He’s not in it for the stuff, Mommy.
Me (looking chastised): Oh. Sorry. And good for him for not being materialistic.
Ry: Tucky and Sweet Pea celebrate Kwanzaa, you know.
Me: Really? Are they black?
Ry: Mommy, do they look black?
Me: Well, no. That’s why I asked. The only people I know who celebrate Kwanzaa are black.
Ry: Well, they’re not but they feel like Stuart. They think different is good and we should learn about different cultures because they’re interesting and it helps us to understand each other.
Me: Do they? Well, you know I think different is good, too. And I think they’re all pretty cool.
Ry: Yeah, I raised them well.
It’s weird to hear your own words come back at you from the mouth of your child. It’s weirder still to hear them applied to a mouse, a cocker spaniel, and a duck. Weird… but good… very, very good. There are days when Ryan’s just completely rotten and I think I’ve got this whole ‘mother’ thing all wrong. But then there are those days… good days… when I realize my kid is weird (in the best possible way) and I’m just so grateful and proud.
I should also explain (to people who don’t have children under the age of 12 in their lives) what Webkinz are. Picture a wide array of the cutest stuffed animals you’ve ever seen… all priced at $10 or $15 each. Attached to each animal is a tag with a special, one-of-a-kind code (like a social security number). Buy the animal and you can log the code into Webkinz.com, where you then obtain a virtual version of your pet to play with online. It usually comes with its own room, which can be decorated in various themes. It’s actually a pretty cool, creative, safe, FREE (after you buy the stuffed animal, that is) website. Ryan loves it and she’s got a crapload of these critters. Here are 3 of them…
Meet Stuart, Tucky, and Sweet Pea.So, I passed by the computer this afternoon while Ryan was playing in Stuart’s virtual room.
Me: Hey, Stuart has a menorah in his room.
Ry: Uh huh.
Me: Is he Jewish?
Ry: No. He just thinks Christmas isn’t the only important holiday.
Me: Does he?
Ry: Yes. He thinks it’s important to learn about other cultures.
Me: Oh. Well, he’s right. Plus, he gets 8 more presents!
Ry (looking stern): He’s not in it for the stuff, Mommy.
Me (looking chastised): Oh. Sorry. And good for him for not being materialistic.
Ry: Tucky and Sweet Pea celebrate Kwanzaa, you know.
Me: Really? Are they black?
Ry: Mommy, do they look black?
Me: Well, no. That’s why I asked. The only people I know who celebrate Kwanzaa are black.
Ry: Well, they’re not but they feel like Stuart. They think different is good and we should learn about different cultures because they’re interesting and it helps us to understand each other.
Me: Do they? Well, you know I think different is good, too. And I think they’re all pretty cool.
Ry: Yeah, I raised them well.
It’s weird to hear your own words come back at you from the mouth of your child. It’s weirder still to hear them applied to a mouse, a cocker spaniel, and a duck. Weird… but good… very, very good. There are days when Ryan’s just completely rotten and I think I’ve got this whole ‘mother’ thing all wrong. But then there are those days… good days… when I realize my kid is weird (in the best possible way) and I’m just so grateful and proud.
Thursday, December 25, 2008
My Kid is Weird...
Last night, Ryan was asleep about 3 minutes after she went to bed. I remember lying awake for hours on Christmas Eve. This morning, I had to wake her up... at 7:30! No one ever had to wake me up on Christmas Day. And she made me open my present from her before she would even look at her packages. How weird (and cool) is she?
After the weirdness, we headed out to serve Christmas dinner at the community center near here. It was the first time we'd volunteered there and it was really great! There was a standing-room-only crowd and everyone was feeling festive and grateful. I was so proud of Ryan, who just jumped right in and helped out anywhere she could. She delivered pie, served up drinks, and cleared tables. Though she's a bit shy around people she doesn't know, she was friendly and chatty (even though some people were "a little scary-looking"... but she also told me she realized how important it is not to assume people will act a certain way based on how they look. Have I mentioned how proud I am of her? I'm so proud of her!). Anyway, it was a nice way to spend a day that's usually very stuff-oriented, especially for a 9-year-old.
After cleaning up at the center, we headed to the movies and saw The Tale of Despereaux, which was adapted from one of our favorite books (by Kate DiCamillo), about a mouse who believes himself a gentleman; who faces life head-on and lives with a gargantuan sense of honor and responsibility. It was wonderful and if you have little kids (or even if you don't), you have to catch it! We gorged on popcorn and thoroughly enjoyed ourselves.
It was a different sort of Christmas for us, but a really good one, too. We'll be heading back to the community center on Monday, to help out in the weekly soup kitchen. I've committed to going as often as possible and Ryan has offered to come with me whenever she's out of school. It sounds like a good way to start the new year!
Hope you all had a great holiday!!
After the weirdness, we headed out to serve Christmas dinner at the community center near here. It was the first time we'd volunteered there and it was really great! There was a standing-room-only crowd and everyone was feeling festive and grateful. I was so proud of Ryan, who just jumped right in and helped out anywhere she could. She delivered pie, served up drinks, and cleared tables. Though she's a bit shy around people she doesn't know, she was friendly and chatty (even though some people were "a little scary-looking"... but she also told me she realized how important it is not to assume people will act a certain way based on how they look. Have I mentioned how proud I am of her? I'm so proud of her!). Anyway, it was a nice way to spend a day that's usually very stuff-oriented, especially for a 9-year-old.
After cleaning up at the center, we headed to the movies and saw The Tale of Despereaux, which was adapted from one of our favorite books (by Kate DiCamillo), about a mouse who believes himself a gentleman; who faces life head-on and lives with a gargantuan sense of honor and responsibility. It was wonderful and if you have little kids (or even if you don't), you have to catch it! We gorged on popcorn and thoroughly enjoyed ourselves.
It was a different sort of Christmas for us, but a really good one, too. We'll be heading back to the community center on Monday, to help out in the weekly soup kitchen. I've committed to going as often as possible and Ryan has offered to come with me whenever she's out of school. It sounds like a good way to start the new year!
Hope you all had a great holiday!!
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