Trumpets blaring !!
We all went out to dinner the other night to a great little restaurant that has on Sundays, free kids meals and adults get a free order of cupcakes as dessert. The girls have gotten much better at restaurants lately although you still get a set amount of time. You know, like they can go about 40 minutes on their own and can stay and behave for up to 50 minutes if heavily entertained. But if we spend 15 minutes waiting for a table, that is counted into the total allotted minutes. Anyway, they have stopped throwing things and banging on the tables. I remember being horrified with them at Old Country Buffet, they were yelling and banging and throwing stuff, and hit some older ladies. Fortunately, my girls cuteness gets them out of a lot of trouble on the outside. The ladies thought it was hilarious and commented they were SO HAPPY neither lady was in my shoes and their kids were grown up. LOL!
So there is 5 of us for dinner and we were about halfway through. Genea had inhaled her mac and cheese and some bread. We were all eating and the server came to check on us and when she did, this is what happened.
Genea: Can I have another orange juice please?
Server: Of course
Me, The Husband, The MIL: nothing. we say nothing because we are all so stunned that Genea did that.
Pause again.
Stare.
Me: oh, yeah sure she can have another one, thanks.
Ok, this is my kid with all the crazy problems including massive social fears and new people fears and talking to people fears, and she just ordered herself a drink!!!!!!!!!!!
I know it looks totally lame written out now that I am reading it. But BELIEVE me, this is a huge step for her. I was so proud of her!
Although, she is not allowed to binge on liquids and knew she probably shouldn't have done that but I gave her an inch because the issue has never come up before in a restaurant.
Genea got an invitation in the mail to a classmates birthday party! I think all the girls in the class are invited. I already feel like I swallowed barbed wire I am so nervous for her just thinking about it. I theoretically know she will be fine, but it has wracked my nerves because what if she gets into a situation that freaks her out and she can't figure out what to do because her brain does not work that way and she melts down and ruins the party and has the stigma of being the kid that loused up the Fairy Princess Party until she graduates from high school!!!!!!
(ok I know I am reaching here but I like to look at the big picture as well as the small picture and it could really happen don't you remember the kid that pee'd in kindergarten or puked in class or ate the paste and glue cuz I DO TOO! TIM G. I remember you!! And Mark F. you too!!)
Only Genea's room teacher knows her background. Oh yea and the useless counselor (when she has a meltdown the counselor suggest we have her focus on a pen right like I am going to hand Genea a weapon in the middle of a fit). I don't really want to tell anyone else anything they don't need to know and for now, Genea is 'passing' as a regular kid and I do not want to wreck that for her. But sending her to someone else's house and leaving her there..... who else did that.... her last parents who then left her...we had all kinds of nice little home visits when we were transitioning, what if she flashes back!
Ah, I am sure she will be fine. She has come so far and learned so much. These are just the things I think about and worry for her.
So Genea lost another tooth. It kills me, just kills me, that she accepts her teeth tumbling out of her mouth with blood involved and a big fat hole in her jaw and it is no big deal to her. This kid has a whopping tantrum over any old little thing. She rarely, if ever, gets food on her face eating because she can feel even the tiniest little blip of sauce on her skin and she always wipes it off or licks it off but she about always feels it because her sensory system is set on extra super turbo high. She practically collapses in fear for her life demanding immediate medical intervention for a speck on her skin and insists on band-aids and splints and slings for days. She limps around if she bumps her hand. But a tooth? Ah well.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
oh.come.on.
ohhh, we are playing dirty now. A card has been played. An ugly and irretrievable card.
The, "I don't think she (me) wants me(mil) here, snivel snivel" card. The crying fit was evidently not effectively manipulative enough. My First (and Current) Husband is now getting more insistent that I join their little outings and he sits in the back seat of the car convulsing in pain from cramps.
Hmm, I may have to rethink my strategy. I certainly cannot out- nicey nice anyone. Can't wear the panties in that club. Although, if I were to insist on going along on all little outings, that would probably burn up some bridges, or something like that.
Gifts were handed out. I was handed a cutesy mix to make cookies from. I don't just not cook, I seriously do not even have a cookie sheet. The girls were gifted with 2 handmade aprons (handmade by someone else in a craft store somewhere) to ''put on when they are cooking with mom in the kitchen''. I almost looked around my own house trying to figure out who that mom was. Oh, me? I cracked that I don't cook several times. What the hell.
JUST BECAUSE I HAVE OVARIES DOES NOT MAKE ME WANT TO COOK AND IT IS INSANE AND INANE THAT ANYONE WOULD SUGGEST OWNERSHIP OF GIRLY PARTS MEANS YOU SHOULD LIVE IN THE KITCHEN AND COOK SHIT
AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH AAHHHHHHH AAAAAAAAAHHHH
screaming AHHHHHHHH AAAAAAAAAAAAAH stupid AAAAHHHHH
insipid AAAAAAAAAAH HHHHHHHHHHAA
COOK YOUR OWN SHIT YOU CAN DO IT IN MY KITCHEN IT HAS NEVER BEEN USED
The, "I don't think she (me) wants me(mil) here, snivel snivel" card. The crying fit was evidently not effectively manipulative enough. My First (and Current) Husband is now getting more insistent that I join their little outings and he sits in the back seat of the car convulsing in pain from cramps.
Hmm, I may have to rethink my strategy. I certainly cannot out- nicey nice anyone. Can't wear the panties in that club. Although, if I were to insist on going along on all little outings, that would probably burn up some bridges, or something like that.
Gifts were handed out. I was handed a cutesy mix to make cookies from. I don't just not cook, I seriously do not even have a cookie sheet. The girls were gifted with 2 handmade aprons (handmade by someone else in a craft store somewhere) to ''put on when they are cooking with mom in the kitchen''. I almost looked around my own house trying to figure out who that mom was. Oh, me? I cracked that I don't cook several times. What the hell.
JUST BECAUSE I HAVE OVARIES DOES NOT MAKE ME WANT TO COOK AND IT IS INSANE AND INANE THAT ANYONE WOULD SUGGEST OWNERSHIP OF GIRLY PARTS MEANS YOU SHOULD LIVE IN THE KITCHEN AND COOK SHIT
AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH AAHHHHHHH AAAAAAAAAHHHH
screaming AHHHHHHHH AAAAAAAAAAAAAH stupid AAAAHHHHH
insipid AAAAAAAAAAH HHHHHHHHHHAA
COOK YOUR OWN SHIT YOU CAN DO IT IN MY KITCHEN IT HAS NEVER BEEN USED
Monday, February 9, 2009
Perils of the Inane Giggle
So you know how there are some differences in the way (some) women of the boomer generation go about life in comparison to the way (some) women of gen x go about life?
Some women, many years ago, were brought up to serve. They were brought up to smile, take care of others and do as they were told. Men are more important and when you get married your job then becomes to take care of your husband, children, and home. You are wife, hear you gag choke and smother. You are not just last, you are not a factor.
When I was growing up, I had one grandmother tell me to quit acting smart, I would never get a boyfriend that way (she also said I was lucky I could 'test drive' a man first since that wasn't allowed in her day LOL). At the other grandmothers home we would go as a family and my dad would park his butt next to his fathers butt on the recliners parked in front of the tv and snap at my sister and I to go help grandma in the kitchen. I resented the hell out of that, so much so that to this day I remember and am blogging about it. I never understood, still don't, how you could marinate your ass in la- Z- boy lovin' and have the nerve to tell someone else to go do all the work. Get up and do it yourself idiot.
I may not be shocking anyone here at this point, when I confess that I did not sit quietly agreeing with those attitudes. I was lucky, I think, to grow up in the era where men and women are equal. We were able to have opinions as girls, and express them (to a point). It was taught in schools, on PBS, and reflected in my parents home (to a point), girls can do anything boys can do and boys can do anything girls can do. My mom definitely had the opinion that boys and girls may be equal, but secretly girls are better.
Unfortunately, this sort of assertiveness with opinions never did win me any friends with the older set. I remember 2 jobs ago, I was in charge of my own department. It was a grant position that I put together from start to finish and it made gobs of money for the agency. Our office manager, an older woman named Dorothy, was the type to refer to people such as "that colored girl" or "the big one" and other charming little terms. She was very strict and uptight and more than one person was afraid of her. She HATED me. Oh my goodness, she hated the sight and sound of me. However, she would have never dreamed of actually confronting or saying anything to me. To her, and to many otherly aged women I have noticed, if you have to say something "unpleasant" you say it with a smile and an inane little giggle in your voice. Like, *SMILE* "I would love to slap you, *inane giggle* you rude little shit " *SMILE*. But she never even did that. HOoo Noooo, she spent her days doing little passive aggressive things to work my nerves. Like, she would make a change in my department with the program manager, and I would say No and put it all back. Just, No. My department. She could not believe someone would do that. One day I was chewing in the front office and I overheard her telling someone else how rude I was to have food in my mouth and chew it, I pointedly finished chewing and said," isn't it more rude to gossip about people? Because I am pretty sure that is a sin." I know she blew out a few hemorrhoids that day. Cuz really, you know, some people have great talents they can sing or what have you. Me, I can't sing but I can out- snotty comment a lot of people. And from that day on, it was war. She was a bit of a germ-o- phobe. Now, I admit this is desperately immature. Terrible of me. I would go into her office and make a point of leaning a butt cheek on her desk. Or sneezing by her keyboard. I know, it is awful. I was horrible and mean.( If you can't wear the panties, don't expect to play with the big girls). I would cough into my hand then hold her door knob. She would (try to) change my filing system. I would hum music from The Wizard of OZ when I passed her, you know the wicked witch song. She would print up reams of crap for me to sign and acknowledge to be "liable" for. On and on. Fun, really. I have opinions. I express them. But we all know they are like assholes, everyone has one.
Now, this lengthy story is background. I am establishing history of low tolerance for pissy folk who try to annoy me. I admit to my part of having a hair trigger reaction to what I may perceive as being ruded upon. This lengthy story is my little way of announcing to the world that in recent days, despite all else, I have been successfully holding myself back from a tirade. Stuffing my frustrations down like shrimp at a Vegas buffet. If it weren't for the whole part about 3 miracles and virtuous behavior like, always, I might even suggest someone nominate me as a low-ranking saint. I have held my mouth shut forcibly. My phony smile has crumbled and cracked like a busted out windshield, but it has held, although with a sort of constipated hint to it. It has very nearly come to the point of calling Home Depot to come and install hardware to keep me from exploding. I put up with my children's clothes being changed. I said nothing when their hair was re- coiffed. Letting Teena eat an entire bucket of movie theater popcorn and calling it nutritious. I have been patient. I have had nerves of steel. I threw out 3 empty bottles of Xanax. I have been to my happy place with a bottle of tequila, a funnel cake cart, and my second husband (the one I haven't met yet) over and over. I have smiled and nodded until my face cheeks splintered and butt cheeks actually froze stuck. Until last night.
We were all going to take a little trip, to the South of Wisconsin. My children, myself, my first husband and his mother. For this a car was rented so that 2 cars were not needed to fit everyone.
A decision was made, by the person in charge of this decision, that when it comes to comfort, mine is expendable. My husbands is first or second, his mothers is second or first, and when it comes to me, well, stuffed into the back seat of a Pontiac with 2 children in car seats should be okay with me because I should be respecting my elders and respecting my husband and making sure I am making them and everyone else happy without consideration for any part of my 5 foot 10 inch bod. (And by the way I HAVE a Pontiac!) Nosiree, I was supposed to clench my butt and be quiet. Again. While the ahem, bigger people, sat in the comfortable seats. Because this has happened before with other family members from that part of the family tree. And though I made apparent my opinion, I allowed The Husband to beg and plead and promise me a new handbag to let it go back then. But yesterday, when I mentioned that this arrangement was tight, the response was, "well I figured it is not that long of a drive to be a little uncomfortable". People, the ride was 3 hours. Each way. SIX hours total. And it occurred to me, as I was elevated 2 inches above the seat by virtue of my highly stiffened butt that the person speaking had decided that a little discomfort would be ok because that person had no intention of sitting in the back with 2 children in car seats, or anywhere else that might be uncomfortable. And had such person thought for one second that her beloved son might have to sit there torqued inhumanely, things would have been dramatically different. We would be in a Hummer. And so I realized that said person made her decision about things that suck and things that would be just fine for a short 6 hour trip based on the fact that the one person that would be stuck with the shit that sucks, would be me. And that was okay. With her.
It was not. Okay. With me.
And, I have to say, if you insist on emitting an little giggle after everything you say AND after everything everyone else says, no matter what the hell it is, I cannot and will not be responsible for your meltdown because I have been living with the high priestess of the manipulative meltdown for a year and a half and I am immune. And next time I am driving my own car.
Some women, many years ago, were brought up to serve. They were brought up to smile, take care of others and do as they were told. Men are more important and when you get married your job then becomes to take care of your husband, children, and home. You are wife, hear you gag choke and smother. You are not just last, you are not a factor.
When I was growing up, I had one grandmother tell me to quit acting smart, I would never get a boyfriend that way (she also said I was lucky I could 'test drive' a man first since that wasn't allowed in her day LOL). At the other grandmothers home we would go as a family and my dad would park his butt next to his fathers butt on the recliners parked in front of the tv and snap at my sister and I to go help grandma in the kitchen. I resented the hell out of that, so much so that to this day I remember and am blogging about it. I never understood, still don't, how you could marinate your ass in la- Z- boy lovin' and have the nerve to tell someone else to go do all the work. Get up and do it yourself idiot.
I may not be shocking anyone here at this point, when I confess that I did not sit quietly agreeing with those attitudes. I was lucky, I think, to grow up in the era where men and women are equal. We were able to have opinions as girls, and express them (to a point). It was taught in schools, on PBS, and reflected in my parents home (to a point), girls can do anything boys can do and boys can do anything girls can do. My mom definitely had the opinion that boys and girls may be equal, but secretly girls are better.
Unfortunately, this sort of assertiveness with opinions never did win me any friends with the older set. I remember 2 jobs ago, I was in charge of my own department. It was a grant position that I put together from start to finish and it made gobs of money for the agency. Our office manager, an older woman named Dorothy, was the type to refer to people such as "that colored girl" or "the big one" and other charming little terms. She was very strict and uptight and more than one person was afraid of her. She HATED me. Oh my goodness, she hated the sight and sound of me. However, she would have never dreamed of actually confronting or saying anything to me. To her, and to many otherly aged women I have noticed, if you have to say something "unpleasant" you say it with a smile and an inane little giggle in your voice. Like, *SMILE* "I would love to slap you, *inane giggle* you rude little shit " *SMILE*. But she never even did that. HOoo Noooo, she spent her days doing little passive aggressive things to work my nerves. Like, she would make a change in my department with the program manager, and I would say No and put it all back. Just, No. My department. She could not believe someone would do that. One day I was chewing in the front office and I overheard her telling someone else how rude I was to have food in my mouth and chew it, I pointedly finished chewing and said," isn't it more rude to gossip about people? Because I am pretty sure that is a sin." I know she blew out a few hemorrhoids that day. Cuz really, you know, some people have great talents they can sing or what have you. Me, I can't sing but I can out- snotty comment a lot of people. And from that day on, it was war. She was a bit of a germ-o- phobe. Now, I admit this is desperately immature. Terrible of me. I would go into her office and make a point of leaning a butt cheek on her desk. Or sneezing by her keyboard. I know, it is awful. I was horrible and mean.( If you can't wear the panties, don't expect to play with the big girls). I would cough into my hand then hold her door knob. She would (try to) change my filing system. I would hum music from The Wizard of OZ when I passed her, you know the wicked witch song. She would print up reams of crap for me to sign and acknowledge to be "liable" for. On and on. Fun, really. I have opinions. I express them. But we all know they are like assholes, everyone has one.
Now, this lengthy story is background. I am establishing history of low tolerance for pissy folk who try to annoy me. I admit to my part of having a hair trigger reaction to what I may perceive as being ruded upon. This lengthy story is my little way of announcing to the world that in recent days, despite all else, I have been successfully holding myself back from a tirade. Stuffing my frustrations down like shrimp at a Vegas buffet. If it weren't for the whole part about 3 miracles and virtuous behavior like, always, I might even suggest someone nominate me as a low-ranking saint. I have held my mouth shut forcibly. My phony smile has crumbled and cracked like a busted out windshield, but it has held, although with a sort of constipated hint to it. It has very nearly come to the point of calling Home Depot to come and install hardware to keep me from exploding. I put up with my children's clothes being changed. I said nothing when their hair was re- coiffed. Letting Teena eat an entire bucket of movie theater popcorn and calling it nutritious. I have been patient. I have had nerves of steel. I threw out 3 empty bottles of Xanax. I have been to my happy place with a bottle of tequila, a funnel cake cart, and my second husband (the one I haven't met yet) over and over. I have smiled and nodded until my face cheeks splintered and butt cheeks actually froze stuck. Until last night.
We were all going to take a little trip, to the South of Wisconsin. My children, myself, my first husband and his mother. For this a car was rented so that 2 cars were not needed to fit everyone.
A decision was made, by the person in charge of this decision, that when it comes to comfort, mine is expendable. My husbands is first or second, his mothers is second or first, and when it comes to me, well, stuffed into the back seat of a Pontiac with 2 children in car seats should be okay with me because I should be respecting my elders and respecting my husband and making sure I am making them and everyone else happy without consideration for any part of my 5 foot 10 inch bod. (And by the way I HAVE a Pontiac!) Nosiree, I was supposed to clench my butt and be quiet. Again. While the ahem, bigger people, sat in the comfortable seats. Because this has happened before with other family members from that part of the family tree. And though I made apparent my opinion, I allowed The Husband to beg and plead and promise me a new handbag to let it go back then. But yesterday, when I mentioned that this arrangement was tight, the response was, "well I figured it is not that long of a drive to be a little uncomfortable". People, the ride was 3 hours. Each way. SIX hours total. And it occurred to me, as I was elevated 2 inches above the seat by virtue of my highly stiffened butt that the person speaking had decided that a little discomfort would be ok because that person had no intention of sitting in the back with 2 children in car seats, or anywhere else that might be uncomfortable. And had such person thought for one second that her beloved son might have to sit there torqued inhumanely, things would have been dramatically different. We would be in a Hummer. And so I realized that said person made her decision about things that suck and things that would be just fine for a short 6 hour trip based on the fact that the one person that would be stuck with the shit that sucks, would be me. And that was okay. With her.
It was not. Okay. With me.
And, I have to say, if you insist on emitting an little giggle after everything you say AND after everything everyone else says, no matter what the hell it is, I cannot and will not be responsible for your meltdown because I have been living with the high priestess of the manipulative meltdown for a year and a half and I am immune. And next time I am driving my own car.
Friday, February 6, 2009
Wild rants
Ya' know, I just thought I should warn people. The next several days are going to suck the life out of me and I will have nowhere to go with my excruciating irritation and frustrations. I may pick little nonsensical things to rant about and I may have big things to rant about. But until the next several days are over, RANT I WILL!
I just hope I live to see the end of next week. Oh my unholy hell!
I just hope I live to see the end of next week. Oh my unholy hell!
Brown Bag Class on Building Self-Esteem
Isn't that thoughtful. My school district is putting on a free class for parents on how to build your child's self esteem. How handy! I would love to attend!
(me raising my hand and waving and panting like Steve Uerkel) OOoh OOh OOOoh I have questions pick me pick me!!!
Ahem. Yes, thank you. My question is, how do you build self esteem in a child who has been dumped twice in her first 4 little years of life? Okay, yeah, I said we love her, um hmmm, yes, told her she is a good kid. Um, what else do you have on your little agenda there? Your little note cards on how to make kids feel good about themselves. Do you have anything about justifiable rage, grief and fear? How should I handle the separation anxiety and absolute panic when I move into the next room, or even just out of my child's sight? I would love to hear your idea's when, for example, I give my child more crackers as a snack than she was expecting and she began to wail and it went on for 5 minutes and she could not pull herself together the rest of the night so she wailed and sobbed about every little thing and then made some up when she ran out of real things and I am curious as to your insights as to where I can influence and improve on her esteem. Because evidently that is an area we parents have been lacking in.
I would like to know whose bright idea this was. Well, probably I should be kept away from the information. This is the kind of shit that makes mothers or parents feel incompetent no matter what they do. If my tax dollars, which include my property taxes that doubled 2 years ago, if that money is going to this degrading little seminar that says moms are inherently stupid, I'm gonna' have a fit.
Maybe they would like some of my more useful suggestions for a class. How do you get your fully functional child to quit peeing on herself? How do you anticipate a meltdown and prevent it? If my child is in a nice little time out as a consequence, how do you suggest I handle it when she regresses and announces in a baby voice that she has just poo poo'd on herself? Uh huh, and then when she does it again 2 hours later? How do you explain to a child where all the other parents went and why? Yup, your first 2 mom's could not do it, but really I mean it, the 3rd is going to stick. Yesiree, just because I said so. How do you reassure a child who needs to feel in control of everything, how do you get across to that child that it really is ok. It is ok to relax. It is ok to rest. It is just ok now. You can have a self to build esteem onto.
(me raising my hand and waving and panting like Steve Uerkel) OOoh OOh OOOoh I have questions pick me pick me!!!
Ahem. Yes, thank you. My question is, how do you build self esteem in a child who has been dumped twice in her first 4 little years of life? Okay, yeah, I said we love her, um hmmm, yes, told her she is a good kid. Um, what else do you have on your little agenda there? Your little note cards on how to make kids feel good about themselves. Do you have anything about justifiable rage, grief and fear? How should I handle the separation anxiety and absolute panic when I move into the next room, or even just out of my child's sight? I would love to hear your idea's when, for example, I give my child more crackers as a snack than she was expecting and she began to wail and it went on for 5 minutes and she could not pull herself together the rest of the night so she wailed and sobbed about every little thing and then made some up when she ran out of real things and I am curious as to your insights as to where I can influence and improve on her esteem. Because evidently that is an area we parents have been lacking in.
I would like to know whose bright idea this was. Well, probably I should be kept away from the information. This is the kind of shit that makes mothers or parents feel incompetent no matter what they do. If my tax dollars, which include my property taxes that doubled 2 years ago, if that money is going to this degrading little seminar that says moms are inherently stupid, I'm gonna' have a fit.
Maybe they would like some of my more useful suggestions for a class. How do you get your fully functional child to quit peeing on herself? How do you anticipate a meltdown and prevent it? If my child is in a nice little time out as a consequence, how do you suggest I handle it when she regresses and announces in a baby voice that she has just poo poo'd on herself? Uh huh, and then when she does it again 2 hours later? How do you explain to a child where all the other parents went and why? Yup, your first 2 mom's could not do it, but really I mean it, the 3rd is going to stick. Yesiree, just because I said so. How do you reassure a child who needs to feel in control of everything, how do you get across to that child that it really is ok. It is ok to relax. It is ok to rest. It is just ok now. You can have a self to build esteem onto.
So, unfortunately, I have to RSVP with a 'cannot attend'. My child's self esteem is not to a point that I can drop her off somewhere and appear for your nice little class without crushing her. I am not willing to deal with the fall-out from changing up routines and schedules for the precious pearl's of wisdom I am certain will be available for this ground- breaking class.
(I absolutely do NOT expect my childs school district to put on any sort of class that would go so far off the track as my questions would. But, I do really think there are many more useful subjects that could get touched upon. (What do you say when your kid asks where babies come from? Because both of my girls think you go and pick them up even the one I spent 30 hours squeezing out).)
If you are planning on any classes on how to afford child care or health insurance please feel free to contact me. Otherwise, I am busy.
What went all wonky with my font there ? I have no clue. Not intentional, but oddly seems to fit.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Is this even legal? Bra's and Blagojevich
Bra Search 2009 continues. I decided to just suck it up and try to find some new bra's for myself. Discomfort- R- Us.
So here is what I want. My list has become a bit longer since I have done some looking.
Straps that stay up. WHY is this so hard.
A reasonable price. WTF is worth $30?
Fit without overflow. This means, no fat flopover. I am not overweight and I still get flopover.
No aeronautics or hydraulics. If they aren't gonna get there unless water balloons or tubes filled with air are included, I am not interested. Unless I am on the Titanic.
A nice fabric. Not sticky or itchy or stiff. Maybe like socks.
Smooth and cover. No twists and torques in the construction that can be seen thru clothing.
(See, if you can make an infinity pool out of concrete that looks like it flows right into the ocean, can you not make a fabric seam that flows?)
No metals. 'nuff said.
Washes in the washer. Dries in the dryer.
Not ugly and no chicken wire.
Doesn't flatten. I don't need to perk them up and I don't need to look like a man. Just regular.
I bought a few new bra's recently. Maybe bras are designed by men. That would explain a lot. I bought a Playtex Thank Goodness it Fits. It does, and it is ok, but it is sort of stiff and the straps don't stay. And, it is ugly and has a visible ridge along the top of the cup thingy. At WalMart I got a 3 pack of sports bra's. This was a mistake. I probably should have noticed when there was no cup size, but didn't really think about it. See, I have NEVER heard of a compression bra. I would not have even thought such a thing was legal. It is like taking a giant pony tail band and wrapping it around your boobs. Very, very uncomfortable and has to be illegal. Our government saves us from driving without our own seat belts on but allows this?
Speaking of legal, I have watched former Gov Blagojevich with interest. I grew up in the Chicago area. When my mom was a teenager and took her first driving test, she failed. Everyone did and everyone knew it was because you had to pay to take the test every time. My grandfather slipped the driving test public employee some payola and, BSSSST presto chango she passed. It cracks me up that she to this day does not think anything of it. She keeps saying, but that is what you did back then.
I have watched him with giggles every time he is on the tv. Sorry, really, but this guy is good. And I hate to say it, but he does have a point. He has been charged with a crime and because of it was fired from his nice Governor job. If I am charged with stealing my neighbors newspaper for example, my boss at Wendy's cannot fire me. I am innocent until I am proven and judged guilty, even if there is videotape of me swiping the paper then sitting at my kitchen table to read it over some coffee then tossing it into the kitty litter pan when I am done, even then, I am still innocent until I have exercised my given right to make an ass out of myself saying I didn't, on the record.
This guy should get a reality show. One like the apprentice but not exposing me to any more Trump. Maybe he could try out various blue- collar jobs since he toots himself as their savior. Well I would watch anyway. I mean, he does need a job. Now that the side income is gone, he will probably be hurting a bit.
So here is what I want. My list has become a bit longer since I have done some looking.
Straps that stay up. WHY is this so hard.
A reasonable price. WTF is worth $30?
Fit without overflow. This means, no fat flopover. I am not overweight and I still get flopover.
No aeronautics or hydraulics. If they aren't gonna get there unless water balloons or tubes filled with air are included, I am not interested. Unless I am on the Titanic.
A nice fabric. Not sticky or itchy or stiff. Maybe like socks.
Smooth and cover. No twists and torques in the construction that can be seen thru clothing.
(See, if you can make an infinity pool out of concrete that looks like it flows right into the ocean, can you not make a fabric seam that flows?)
No metals. 'nuff said.
Washes in the washer. Dries in the dryer.
Not ugly and no chicken wire.
Doesn't flatten. I don't need to perk them up and I don't need to look like a man. Just regular.
I bought a few new bra's recently. Maybe bras are designed by men. That would explain a lot. I bought a Playtex Thank Goodness it Fits. It does, and it is ok, but it is sort of stiff and the straps don't stay. And, it is ugly and has a visible ridge along the top of the cup thingy. At WalMart I got a 3 pack of sports bra's. This was a mistake. I probably should have noticed when there was no cup size, but didn't really think about it. See, I have NEVER heard of a compression bra. I would not have even thought such a thing was legal. It is like taking a giant pony tail band and wrapping it around your boobs. Very, very uncomfortable and has to be illegal. Our government saves us from driving without our own seat belts on but allows this?
Speaking of legal, I have watched former Gov Blagojevich with interest. I grew up in the Chicago area. When my mom was a teenager and took her first driving test, she failed. Everyone did and everyone knew it was because you had to pay to take the test every time. My grandfather slipped the driving test public employee some payola and, BSSSST presto chango she passed. It cracks me up that she to this day does not think anything of it. She keeps saying, but that is what you did back then.
I have watched him with giggles every time he is on the tv. Sorry, really, but this guy is good. And I hate to say it, but he does have a point. He has been charged with a crime and because of it was fired from his nice Governor job. If I am charged with stealing my neighbors newspaper for example, my boss at Wendy's cannot fire me. I am innocent until I am proven and judged guilty, even if there is videotape of me swiping the paper then sitting at my kitchen table to read it over some coffee then tossing it into the kitty litter pan when I am done, even then, I am still innocent until I have exercised my given right to make an ass out of myself saying I didn't, on the record.
This guy should get a reality show. One like the apprentice but not exposing me to any more Trump. Maybe he could try out various blue- collar jobs since he toots himself as their savior. Well I would watch anyway. I mean, he does need a job. Now that the side income is gone, he will probably be hurting a bit.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
I Love Pea
Just thought I might as well embrace it. Turn my attitude around. My negativity towards pee has been holding me back. Keeping me from enjoying myself, my family, and my life. Raining on my parade you could say.
My children have many talents. Genea can sing. Not just sing on key, or sing good for a kid. She can sing. She sounds like the CD when she sings from Annie. How cute is that, the whole curly headed orphan thing. Really. She also has what we like to call, a ''memory like an iron fist''. Never make the mistake of thinking a. she won't notice a change b. she will not care that you changed something or c. she can handle a small change. The up-side of this is huge, especially for the rest of us who are evidently incapable of picking up and- or putting away, those of us with shriveled up little peas where our organization abilities should be in the brain. Lose track of your keys? Ask Genea. Want to paint your toenails? Genea is the one who is going to remember to put down a paper towel. Did she eat a cookie 6 days ago after dinner? Yes, or no, she will remember.
For Teena, I have discovered a new talent. The kind that makes a parent proud. A talent that I could take to the Prissy Perfect Supermom Blogs and brag, that my perfect daughter has a perfect talent, and yours doesn't. Sometimes Teena gets up in the night to go pee. While she used to call for her Daddy, she has started calling out to me instead. I hate her getting up in the night because I worry about her going the wrong way and falling down the stairs, or getting hurt going to the bathroom. We started putting pull- ups back on her at night recently. After the hospital last month and multiple UTI's, she had been having accidents again at night. Go figure, if she is wearing a pull-up, she will not pee in it. No pull- up, pee your bed. I don't pretend to understand, I just report the facts.
ANYway, back to her talent. A few nights ago she got up out of bed to go potty. I listened for her and she was doing ok. Until she called for me. I went in and this is what I saw. Teena standing on the bathroom rug. Pull- up is off her butt but still at her knee's. Jammie bottoms just below the pull- up. Pull- up and jammies are dry. Pee stain on the bathroom rug approximately 6 inches around. She can pee on the floor, with clothes on, and keep herself dry. Amazing!
I feel like I am in a Mystery Theater production. Everything is dry so how did the rug get wet? It appears, and again, I do not know for a fact, but it appears that the pee bounced off the pull up and streamed and dripped onto the rug. So there was like, one drop of pee still on the pull up but not soaked in. Oh, and of course there is no pee in the potty. Magic. In my house, pee is magical.
So, I have a new attitude. I have been told for years, for decades, that my problem is my attitude. Or, I needed to change my attitude, you get the idea. Usually from people in authority that I thought were suckasses. All the personnel, from the cafeteria to slacker-student math teacher at my high school, would be delighted that I finally listened to their advice. My parents can finally relax. I have changed my attitude.
Woo hoo. Pee. Magic Pee.
My children have many talents. Genea can sing. Not just sing on key, or sing good for a kid. She can sing. She sounds like the CD when she sings from Annie. How cute is that, the whole curly headed orphan thing. Really. She also has what we like to call, a ''memory like an iron fist''. Never make the mistake of thinking a. she won't notice a change b. she will not care that you changed something or c. she can handle a small change. The up-side of this is huge, especially for the rest of us who are evidently incapable of picking up and- or putting away, those of us with shriveled up little peas where our organization abilities should be in the brain. Lose track of your keys? Ask Genea. Want to paint your toenails? Genea is the one who is going to remember to put down a paper towel. Did she eat a cookie 6 days ago after dinner? Yes, or no, she will remember.
For Teena, I have discovered a new talent. The kind that makes a parent proud. A talent that I could take to the Prissy Perfect Supermom Blogs and brag, that my perfect daughter has a perfect talent, and yours doesn't. Sometimes Teena gets up in the night to go pee. While she used to call for her Daddy, she has started calling out to me instead. I hate her getting up in the night because I worry about her going the wrong way and falling down the stairs, or getting hurt going to the bathroom. We started putting pull- ups back on her at night recently. After the hospital last month and multiple UTI's, she had been having accidents again at night. Go figure, if she is wearing a pull-up, she will not pee in it. No pull- up, pee your bed. I don't pretend to understand, I just report the facts.
ANYway, back to her talent. A few nights ago she got up out of bed to go potty. I listened for her and she was doing ok. Until she called for me. I went in and this is what I saw. Teena standing on the bathroom rug. Pull- up is off her butt but still at her knee's. Jammie bottoms just below the pull- up. Pull- up and jammies are dry. Pee stain on the bathroom rug approximately 6 inches around. She can pee on the floor, with clothes on, and keep herself dry. Amazing!
I feel like I am in a Mystery Theater production. Everything is dry so how did the rug get wet? It appears, and again, I do not know for a fact, but it appears that the pee bounced off the pull up and streamed and dripped onto the rug. So there was like, one drop of pee still on the pull up but not soaked in. Oh, and of course there is no pee in the potty. Magic. In my house, pee is magical.
So, I have a new attitude. I have been told for years, for decades, that my problem is my attitude. Or, I needed to change my attitude, you get the idea. Usually from people in authority that I thought were suckasses. All the personnel, from the cafeteria to slacker-student math teacher at my high school, would be delighted that I finally listened to their advice. My parents can finally relax. I have changed my attitude.
Woo hoo. Pee. Magic Pee.
Monday, February 2, 2009
Michael Phelps (may have) Drank the Bong Water
Mr Phelps, Olympic swimming multi- gold medal winner, has been busted with a bong up his face smoking marijuana.
He has apologized, said he regrets it, it was stupid, etc. I give him credit for admitting to it straight up. I have heard plenty of public people try to say, ''uh, yeah that is me but I didn't inhale''. And I agree, that was really stupid. In my opinion though, the colossally stupid part is getting caught. Getting caught with the bong covering your mouth. Come on! This guy has been photographed all over the world. He has been hunted by reporters and 'paparazzi' everywhere he goes. He has had people live outside his house waiting to take just one photo. Stalked. Hunted. Followed. I mean, I have never seen a picture of him digging out his nose or picking his underwear out of his butt or flipping someone off. He knows enough not to do those things in front of a camera!
Dude, seriously, how are you so stupid to let someone take a picture of you toking up. Although I suppose the answer is in the question now that I think about it. You smoke some weed and you get a few really dumbassed ideas floating around your head. Something was wrong with your doobage man, it did not make you paranoid enough.
So now the talk is all about if he will be kicked out of the pool forever for this. I gotta' say, unless Couch Morphing has become an Olympic event, I don't think it should count against him. Seriously, pot is about the most performance UN-enhancing drug there is. It sure will not be making him faster in the water. Or anywhere else.
I used to see a counseling client who was convinced there was marijuana in the air. This person had seen on the news that when police confiscate drugs they burn it all in a big pile. She became sure that it was in the air all around her. It did not dissipate, it just foofed around in the air forever. Seriously, she thought this for years. Now, it is a tribute to my brilliant therapeutic skills (sarcasm) that it took me less than one hour to convince her that this particular distortion of thought was off track. If there was marijuana in the air, people would be a lot happier. There would be no road rage, no highly ambitious crime, heck maybe even no more war! The Three Stooges would still be on television because everyone would think it was funny. I, me myself, I would be asleep.
He has apologized, said he regrets it, it was stupid, etc. I give him credit for admitting to it straight up. I have heard plenty of public people try to say, ''uh, yeah that is me but I didn't inhale''. And I agree, that was really stupid. In my opinion though, the colossally stupid part is getting caught. Getting caught with the bong covering your mouth. Come on! This guy has been photographed all over the world. He has been hunted by reporters and 'paparazzi' everywhere he goes. He has had people live outside his house waiting to take just one photo. Stalked. Hunted. Followed. I mean, I have never seen a picture of him digging out his nose or picking his underwear out of his butt or flipping someone off. He knows enough not to do those things in front of a camera!
Dude, seriously, how are you so stupid to let someone take a picture of you toking up. Although I suppose the answer is in the question now that I think about it. You smoke some weed and you get a few really dumbassed ideas floating around your head. Something was wrong with your doobage man, it did not make you paranoid enough.
So now the talk is all about if he will be kicked out of the pool forever for this. I gotta' say, unless Couch Morphing has become an Olympic event, I don't think it should count against him. Seriously, pot is about the most performance UN-enhancing drug there is. It sure will not be making him faster in the water. Or anywhere else.
I used to see a counseling client who was convinced there was marijuana in the air. This person had seen on the news that when police confiscate drugs they burn it all in a big pile. She became sure that it was in the air all around her. It did not dissipate, it just foofed around in the air forever. Seriously, she thought this for years. Now, it is a tribute to my brilliant therapeutic skills (sarcasm) that it took me less than one hour to convince her that this particular distortion of thought was off track. If there was marijuana in the air, people would be a lot happier. There would be no road rage, no highly ambitious crime, heck maybe even no more war! The Three Stooges would still be on television because everyone would think it was funny. I, me myself, I would be asleep.
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