This is freakin insane. But I have noticed that I am not the only person who is suffering from a major case of writer’s block. Or “don’t-feel-like-writing”-itis. Honestly, I HAVE been trying to crank out the next installment of “TBOTE,” I actually have some of it written, but I am stuck. The words just won’t come.
WTF??
It’s not like I have a shortage of topics… I mean, I can write about my visit with my godson on Sunday, my HUGE fight with my daughter earlier on Sunday (and this time no grapes were involved), the fact that even though Baby’s glucose levels dropped considerably the stupid cat still managed to GAIN 5 ounces in two weeks (thus tipping the scales at a very unhealthy 19 pounds, 2 ounces), the fantabulous premiere of one of my favorite shows – “Rescue Me,” the Girl’s Nite Out I am looking forward to on the 16th (although it would probably more fun to write about that after it happens), the odds that the Cubs are in the process of making a MAJOR comeback and will make it to the World Series (ok, yeah, STOP LAUGHING. It can happen…), the odds that the White Sux will choke and wind up in last place in their division (hey, a girl can dream…), heck, I could even write about the fact that Newsweek did a new updated poll which apparently proves that I STILL have a chance of finding Mr. Right and getting married – even though I am so damn old.
But do I write? I do not. I guess technically I am writing right now, but all I am writing is fluff. Nothing substantial. Why? Hell if I know. Although I think there must be some kind of weird planet alignment or something, because as I stated earlier – I’m not alone. Which is good, because I feel less guilty. But you know it’s bad when you keep posting rerun posts (sorry about that).
Anyway, I seriously hope the planets realign themselves or whatever so I get my inspiration back. Thanks for continuing to check up on me (Statcounter is so cool!), it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. And the way I figure it, after a literary drought like this, there is bound to be some good stuff itching to get out into blogland…
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
Friday, May 26, 2006
Everyone Loves Reruns, Right??
Note: Ok, so I am cheating again and re-posting something from last June. But even though it is a Holiday Weekend and I should be in a good mood, the Cubs blew it AGAIN and I am too pissed off/frustrated/bewildered to think of anything new and creative. BUT, it is pretty funny, so enjoy.
I was really rushed this morning and didn’t really have a lot of time to think about what to write about today. So I am reaching into the vault of info stored deep within and selecting a story rather than an issue to discuss today. I previously mentioned that as an injury paralegal, I hear many interesting stories. The things people try to sue over are amazing. And I thought it might be fun to share one of my favorites. Keep in mind that this is a TRUE story, I mean, come on, you can’t make this shit up if you tried.
One of my main jobs as a paralegal is to take “potential client calls” and screen them for the attorney. Which in a nutshell, is talking to these people, getting as much information as possible, and then passing this info on to the attorney to see if it is, in fact, something he wants (or is able) to handle. I can spend anywhere from ten minutes to almost an hour with these people, depending on the nature of their injury and the circumstances surrounding it. The reason being is that contrary to popular belief, you cannot sue over just ANYTHING. First, there must be liability on someone other than yourself (and no, you can’t blame God). Second, there must be an injury present, which has been confirmed by a doctor. NOT A CHIROPRACTOR. I know a lot of people swear by chiropractors, but let me tell you, attorneys HATE taking on cases with only chiropractic care. This is because insurance companies don’t consider anyone without an MD to be a real doctor, and therefore even if your chiro bill is in the thousands, will only offer a few hundred to settle. Regardless of how much better they made you feel. I know it sucks, but it is the God’s truth. So once these two things have been established, I need to find out the specifics, when and how it happened, any witnesses, if it was a car accident – any tickets issued, etc and so on.
So, on this particular day, I am busy doing something on the computer (I would assume, at least, I don’t remember EXACTLY what I was doing) when my phone rings. The receptionist informs me that I have a potential on the line. With a heavy sigh, I tell her to put it through. You never know exactly what kind of person will be on the other end of a potential call. Right from the start, I know this will be something different. Mainly because the woman on the phone starts by telling me she is calling for her husband, and that this is a delicate matter. My ears perk up, sensing something a little more interesting than usual, and she continues.
She proceeds to tell me that her and her husband had gone to the Sybaris, and starts to explain that this is an “intimate getaway” for couples. I tell her I am familiar with the Sybaris. (For those of you who are not, “intimate getaway” is a polite way of saying a “sex castle” – albeit a decidedly more expensive and classy place than those on Manheim Avenue – not that I’ve BEEN to any of those places, of course.) So she goes on and says that she and her husband were au naturel and hanging out in the swimming pool in their room. (Apparently they went a bit upscale.) This swimming pool also had a “hanging waterfall” overhead, and in order to create the waterfall, water is sucked out of the pool and into the waterfall, causing a kind of recycling thing. (For those of you skilled in the art of foreshadowing and think you know what is going to happen, you are probably right, but trust me, it gets even better.) So here they are, hanging out in the pool. She is sitting on the edge of the pool, and her husband starts to approach her. When he gets to the side of the pool, while standing in the water next to the wall, he feels an unnatural suction and the next thing he knows his tallywhacker (not the word she used, but SOOO much more colorful, don’t you think?) is stuck in the suction tube for the waterfall.
Well, she said she jumped in the water right away, and her husband started to panic because he couldn’t free himself from the suction. She actually had to help him pull it out. Poor thing, she told me their evening was completely ruined, because he was in so much pain, he couldn’t even perform. She said poor Mr. Willie (again not the term she used) was all black and blue and not able to rise to the occasion at all. Then, in the morning, he was actually peeing blood. So when they checked out, they told the person at the front desk, who she indignantly told me didn’t seem to give two shits. She said the person was insensitive and rude, and didn’t even offer them a comp. They proceeded to leave, and by this time her husband was in so much pain, they stopped at the ER on the way home.
Ok, here is the interesting part: I asked her what happened in the ER, you kow, what diagnosis the doctor had given her husband. And here’s what she said: “The doctor told him it was broken.” I KID YOU NOT. Now, I may not be the biggest authority on sex, but I do recall from my fifth grade “Our Bodies, Ourselves” class that even though it may be called a “boner,” there is no actual bone in this part of the male anatomy. So I questioned this diagnosis. Gently. Because you don’t want to piss off a potential client, no matter how stupid they are. But she kept insisting it was broken. (I was almost tempted to ask her if he was put in a cast, maybe with a little sling, but I held back.) Because it was broken, she said, it would take a long time to heal and may never work properly again. That said, I put her on hold and went to talk to the attorney.
When I repeated the story for him, I told him I deserved a bonus for not laughing the whole time I was speaking to this woman. As it was, he was unable to keep a smirk off his face while I replayed it for him. Especially the “broken” part. (At which time, may I add, he actually had the nerve to ask me if I realized that there was no bone in the, you know… duh!!) So he told me to ask her if the bruising was still visible, and if it was, to have her take pictures and mail them to us to examine, since “a picture is worth a thousand words.” I stood there with a goofy smile on my face, not sure if he was seriously asking me to tell this woman to start snapping porn shots of her husband and drop them in the mail. But he was, and he explained that he doubted the husband would want to do that, because of the sheer embarrassment, and it would be a easy way to get rid of her.
So, I went back to the phone and told the woman exactly what I was told to. She took down our address, thanked me, and hung up. And the attorney was right – we never got any pictures.
I spoke to one of my cousins about this, and she made a very good point. She said she doubted this was an “accident,” and that the desk clerk probably was used to the situation. “Think about it,” she said, “you got a guy naked in a pool with a hole in the wall about even with his schlong that is suctioning stuff. Tell me he didn’t stick it in on purpose just because he was a guy, and wind up getting more than he bargained for.” Hmmmmmmmmmmm…………
I was really rushed this morning and didn’t really have a lot of time to think about what to write about today. So I am reaching into the vault of info stored deep within and selecting a story rather than an issue to discuss today. I previously mentioned that as an injury paralegal, I hear many interesting stories. The things people try to sue over are amazing. And I thought it might be fun to share one of my favorites. Keep in mind that this is a TRUE story, I mean, come on, you can’t make this shit up if you tried.
One of my main jobs as a paralegal is to take “potential client calls” and screen them for the attorney. Which in a nutshell, is talking to these people, getting as much information as possible, and then passing this info on to the attorney to see if it is, in fact, something he wants (or is able) to handle. I can spend anywhere from ten minutes to almost an hour with these people, depending on the nature of their injury and the circumstances surrounding it. The reason being is that contrary to popular belief, you cannot sue over just ANYTHING. First, there must be liability on someone other than yourself (and no, you can’t blame God). Second, there must be an injury present, which has been confirmed by a doctor. NOT A CHIROPRACTOR. I know a lot of people swear by chiropractors, but let me tell you, attorneys HATE taking on cases with only chiropractic care. This is because insurance companies don’t consider anyone without an MD to be a real doctor, and therefore even if your chiro bill is in the thousands, will only offer a few hundred to settle. Regardless of how much better they made you feel. I know it sucks, but it is the God’s truth. So once these two things have been established, I need to find out the specifics, when and how it happened, any witnesses, if it was a car accident – any tickets issued, etc and so on.
So, on this particular day, I am busy doing something on the computer (I would assume, at least, I don’t remember EXACTLY what I was doing) when my phone rings. The receptionist informs me that I have a potential on the line. With a heavy sigh, I tell her to put it through. You never know exactly what kind of person will be on the other end of a potential call. Right from the start, I know this will be something different. Mainly because the woman on the phone starts by telling me she is calling for her husband, and that this is a delicate matter. My ears perk up, sensing something a little more interesting than usual, and she continues.
She proceeds to tell me that her and her husband had gone to the Sybaris, and starts to explain that this is an “intimate getaway” for couples. I tell her I am familiar with the Sybaris. (For those of you who are not, “intimate getaway” is a polite way of saying a “sex castle” – albeit a decidedly more expensive and classy place than those on Manheim Avenue – not that I’ve BEEN to any of those places, of course.) So she goes on and says that she and her husband were au naturel and hanging out in the swimming pool in their room. (Apparently they went a bit upscale.) This swimming pool also had a “hanging waterfall” overhead, and in order to create the waterfall, water is sucked out of the pool and into the waterfall, causing a kind of recycling thing. (For those of you skilled in the art of foreshadowing and think you know what is going to happen, you are probably right, but trust me, it gets even better.) So here they are, hanging out in the pool. She is sitting on the edge of the pool, and her husband starts to approach her. When he gets to the side of the pool, while standing in the water next to the wall, he feels an unnatural suction and the next thing he knows his tallywhacker (not the word she used, but SOOO much more colorful, don’t you think?) is stuck in the suction tube for the waterfall.
Well, she said she jumped in the water right away, and her husband started to panic because he couldn’t free himself from the suction. She actually had to help him pull it out. Poor thing, she told me their evening was completely ruined, because he was in so much pain, he couldn’t even perform. She said poor Mr. Willie (again not the term she used) was all black and blue and not able to rise to the occasion at all. Then, in the morning, he was actually peeing blood. So when they checked out, they told the person at the front desk, who she indignantly told me didn’t seem to give two shits. She said the person was insensitive and rude, and didn’t even offer them a comp. They proceeded to leave, and by this time her husband was in so much pain, they stopped at the ER on the way home.
Ok, here is the interesting part: I asked her what happened in the ER, you kow, what diagnosis the doctor had given her husband. And here’s what she said: “The doctor told him it was broken.” I KID YOU NOT. Now, I may not be the biggest authority on sex, but I do recall from my fifth grade “Our Bodies, Ourselves” class that even though it may be called a “boner,” there is no actual bone in this part of the male anatomy. So I questioned this diagnosis. Gently. Because you don’t want to piss off a potential client, no matter how stupid they are. But she kept insisting it was broken. (I was almost tempted to ask her if he was put in a cast, maybe with a little sling, but I held back.) Because it was broken, she said, it would take a long time to heal and may never work properly again. That said, I put her on hold and went to talk to the attorney.
When I repeated the story for him, I told him I deserved a bonus for not laughing the whole time I was speaking to this woman. As it was, he was unable to keep a smirk off his face while I replayed it for him. Especially the “broken” part. (At which time, may I add, he actually had the nerve to ask me if I realized that there was no bone in the, you know… duh!!) So he told me to ask her if the bruising was still visible, and if it was, to have her take pictures and mail them to us to examine, since “a picture is worth a thousand words.” I stood there with a goofy smile on my face, not sure if he was seriously asking me to tell this woman to start snapping porn shots of her husband and drop them in the mail. But he was, and he explained that he doubted the husband would want to do that, because of the sheer embarrassment, and it would be a easy way to get rid of her.
So, I went back to the phone and told the woman exactly what I was told to. She took down our address, thanked me, and hung up. And the attorney was right – we never got any pictures.
I spoke to one of my cousins about this, and she made a very good point. She said she doubted this was an “accident,” and that the desk clerk probably was used to the situation. “Think about it,” she said, “you got a guy naked in a pool with a hole in the wall about even with his schlong that is suctioning stuff. Tell me he didn’t stick it in on purpose just because he was a guy, and wind up getting more than he bargained for.” Hmmmmmmmmmmm…………
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
Father Figure
I heard something come out of my daughter’s mouth the other day – something I had never heard her say before. We were at Six Flags with my father, and we were having a great time. It was a gorgeous day, the sun was shining brightly but it was still comfortably cool. Surprisingly, the park wasn’t that crowded, so there were barely any lines for the rides. We challenged the roller coasters, plunged to earth on the Giant Drop, and went on a simulated ride through space. At one point, Lexie was jogging slightly to catch up with grandpa (who has a tendency to walk very briskly), and had an excited smile on her face. I forget what exactly it was that she was excited about, but the next word that came out of her mouth hit me like a ton of bricks.
“DAD! I mean, Grandpa!” she called, quickly correcting herself.
It was over in a split second, and I don’t think my dad even heard her Freudian slip, but I did. In all her ten years and nine and a half months on this earth, she has never had the chance to call anyone “dad.” At least, not to their face. And it suddenly struck me how sad that is.
I watched her catch up to her grandpa, and saw her laughing and him smiling broadly at whatever his granddaughter was saying. Lexie’s bond with her grandpa is a strong one, and I’m glad she has men like him and her Uncle Bob in her life, but the bottom line is that neither of them will ever be “dad.” Because “dad” is a loser living in a trailer park in Florida who really doesn’t give a shit.
I’ve been replaying that scene over and over in my head, and it really bothers me. Probably because I love her so much, and I feel guilty for sticking her with such a loser for a “dad.” It also could be because ever since she was really little, I was always up front and honest with her about her real father, and told her that someday maybe mommy would get married and she could help pick out her “dad.” But as we know, that has never happened – not even close. So I let her down on that front, too. In fact, the probability that I heard the one and only time my daughter would EVER call someone “dad” (even though it was a mistake) is huge.
People are always telling me that it doesn’t matter, that I am a great mom and that makes up for the absent father. And although I try to convince myself that that is true, deep down I don’t believe it. See, I have a great dad, and I can’t even imagine my life without him. He was the one who sat down to tea parties with me and my stuffed animals when I was little, the one who hoisted me to his shoulders at parades, the one who pushed me to always be my best, the one who fought with me over anything and everything throughout my teen years (but always “for my own good”), the one who I can still argue with as an adult, albeit more good-naturedly. My dad has always been there for me, and always will be. He may not be perfect, and Lord knows there were times when I swore I hated his guts (and he swore he hated me too, I’m sure), but that only made me love him more. Know why? Because my dad is human, and real, and although I may have considered him Superman as a little girl, I much prefer having a mortal for a father. It makes things a little easier, you know?
My dad has a way of driving me insane at times, and frustrating the hell out of me, but I thank God he is a part of my life. When I try to think about what my life would’ve been like without him in it, I literally draw a blank. Because it is incomprehensible. I honestly can’t even imagine growing up without my dad. Heck, I can’t imagine what my life would be like now without him, either. And then I look at Lexie.
Here I am, totally taking my dad for granted my entire life, while my daughter lives hers without a dad. Without someone to give her big bear hugs, to teach her about sports and cars and math (because I’m not that great when it comes to ANY of those), to take her to Father-Daughter Dances and (hopefully) walk her down the aisle on her wedding day. She’ll never be able to say “Yeah? Well, MY dad can beat up YOUR dad!” or hear me say, “Just wait until your father gets home!”
I guess when you have never had something, you may not really miss it. Lexie occasionally will get melancholy talking about her father in Florida, but those times have become fewer and far between as she gets older and more philosophical about the whole situation. In fact, lately she doesn’t even bring him up at all. Which I guess is good, but kind of sad, really.
Funny thing is, it probably bothers me more than it does her. Because I know what she is missing out on, and she doesn’t. All I know for sure is that I will never forget the day she trotted happily ahead of me, blonde ponytail swinging as she called “Dad.”
“DAD! I mean, Grandpa!” she called, quickly correcting herself.
It was over in a split second, and I don’t think my dad even heard her Freudian slip, but I did. In all her ten years and nine and a half months on this earth, she has never had the chance to call anyone “dad.” At least, not to their face. And it suddenly struck me how sad that is.
I watched her catch up to her grandpa, and saw her laughing and him smiling broadly at whatever his granddaughter was saying. Lexie’s bond with her grandpa is a strong one, and I’m glad she has men like him and her Uncle Bob in her life, but the bottom line is that neither of them will ever be “dad.” Because “dad” is a loser living in a trailer park in Florida who really doesn’t give a shit.
I’ve been replaying that scene over and over in my head, and it really bothers me. Probably because I love her so much, and I feel guilty for sticking her with such a loser for a “dad.” It also could be because ever since she was really little, I was always up front and honest with her about her real father, and told her that someday maybe mommy would get married and she could help pick out her “dad.” But as we know, that has never happened – not even close. So I let her down on that front, too. In fact, the probability that I heard the one and only time my daughter would EVER call someone “dad” (even though it was a mistake) is huge.
People are always telling me that it doesn’t matter, that I am a great mom and that makes up for the absent father. And although I try to convince myself that that is true, deep down I don’t believe it. See, I have a great dad, and I can’t even imagine my life without him. He was the one who sat down to tea parties with me and my stuffed animals when I was little, the one who hoisted me to his shoulders at parades, the one who pushed me to always be my best, the one who fought with me over anything and everything throughout my teen years (but always “for my own good”), the one who I can still argue with as an adult, albeit more good-naturedly. My dad has always been there for me, and always will be. He may not be perfect, and Lord knows there were times when I swore I hated his guts (and he swore he hated me too, I’m sure), but that only made me love him more. Know why? Because my dad is human, and real, and although I may have considered him Superman as a little girl, I much prefer having a mortal for a father. It makes things a little easier, you know?
My dad has a way of driving me insane at times, and frustrating the hell out of me, but I thank God he is a part of my life. When I try to think about what my life would’ve been like without him in it, I literally draw a blank. Because it is incomprehensible. I honestly can’t even imagine growing up without my dad. Heck, I can’t imagine what my life would be like now without him, either. And then I look at Lexie.
Here I am, totally taking my dad for granted my entire life, while my daughter lives hers without a dad. Without someone to give her big bear hugs, to teach her about sports and cars and math (because I’m not that great when it comes to ANY of those), to take her to Father-Daughter Dances and (hopefully) walk her down the aisle on her wedding day. She’ll never be able to say “Yeah? Well, MY dad can beat up YOUR dad!” or hear me say, “Just wait until your father gets home!”
I guess when you have never had something, you may not really miss it. Lexie occasionally will get melancholy talking about her father in Florida, but those times have become fewer and far between as she gets older and more philosophical about the whole situation. In fact, lately she doesn’t even bring him up at all. Which I guess is good, but kind of sad, really.
Funny thing is, it probably bothers me more than it does her. Because I know what she is missing out on, and she doesn’t. All I know for sure is that I will never forget the day she trotted happily ahead of me, blonde ponytail swinging as she called “Dad.”
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
Yes, It's a New Post (if you're reading this Tuesday, at least...)
Yes, I know, I have been slacking. But at least I got another chapter posted, right? Lately I have been feeling very manic-depressive. I'm not sure why, but I have either been in an ecstatically good mood, or a horribly depressed mood. Sometimes within minutes of each other. Literally. I'm wondering if all those drugs I did years ago really DID have some kind of lasting effect on me... But anyway, I'm here now, and I'm in an ok kind of mood. So I figured I'd try to post something interesting. Or at least just post something.
I am not going to Michigan to see my best friend this weekend, as I have done every Memorial Day weekend for the past million years or so. This makes me pretty bummed. But the bottom line is, I have a newly diagnosed diabetic cat who needs insulin and I am NOT paying $180 to board him at the vet while we are gone. Thankfully, Diane understands this (however, her 9 year old daughter Abbie does NOT, as demonstrated by the gut-wrenching sobs I heard in the background) and we plan on trying to work out another time this summer. I tried finding someone to take care of him for me, but it seems I am not the only one who skips town on this holiday weekend, and the people who ARE staying put are too far away to be of any use to me. I have rationalized this whole situation by telling myself that I am saving around $100 in gas, and it will be nice to hang by our pool since it is going to be close to 90 out, plus after spending as much as I have so far at the vet, I REALLY don't want to leave Baby in the hands of someone else - no matter how capable. I just have these horrible visions of leaving town and returning to a dead kitty. SHUDDER. THAT would be bad. He has a vet appointment tomorrow, so I'll have a better idea of how well the insulin is working, and how his glucose levels are, and hopefully eventually he will be regulated enough that I won't have to worry excessively.
On another note, my Lexie is STILL having problems with her so-called "friend" Kara. That girl is just downright MEAN. I finally told Lex that I don't even want her in my house. I love her mother to death, but I cannot stand that little girl. I know, it sounds horrible to say that about an eleven year old, but she treats Lexie like crap. And as I told Lexie, if she wants to continue hanging out with her around the complex, that's her perogative, but I will not condone their "friendship." Anyone who backstabs, lies, teases, puts down, and hangs up on my daughter is NOT someone I want her to hang with. Yet I can't actually forbid it, no matter how much I want to. Thankfully, Lexie has been getting a little more bold when it comes to Kara, and has on occasion put that little brat in her place. I can only hope that eventually when she starts junior high (which won't be until NEXT fall) that she makes some new friends who are better people. Of course, I still talk to the bad seed's mother, because I like her a lot. She is a very nice lady who just isn't that firm with her daughter. She lets her walk all over her and buys her whatever she wants. I have even heard this kid tell her mom to "shut up" because she was "annoying her." Ummmmmmm... can anyone say "grounded for life - IF you survive the beating??" My only consolation is that I am sure missy's attitude will get her ass whupped when she gets a bit older. It seems inevitable that she will one day say the wrong thing to the wrong person and live to regret it. But for now, I can only grit my teeth and try to pretend it doesn't kill me to see my baby get treated like a piece of dirt. Mothering girls is REALLY HARD.
Hmmmm... what else? Not a whole lot, actually. I wish I did have more, but I just don't. Hopefully soon I will get a burst of creative energy, but it doesn't look like it will be today. So in the meantime, maybe check my links or something. You know, to keep you happy until I get back into the swing of things. They're all good. Great, in fact. Otherwise, I wouldn't link them. Duh.
I am not going to Michigan to see my best friend this weekend, as I have done every Memorial Day weekend for the past million years or so. This makes me pretty bummed. But the bottom line is, I have a newly diagnosed diabetic cat who needs insulin and I am NOT paying $180 to board him at the vet while we are gone. Thankfully, Diane understands this (however, her 9 year old daughter Abbie does NOT, as demonstrated by the gut-wrenching sobs I heard in the background) and we plan on trying to work out another time this summer. I tried finding someone to take care of him for me, but it seems I am not the only one who skips town on this holiday weekend, and the people who ARE staying put are too far away to be of any use to me. I have rationalized this whole situation by telling myself that I am saving around $100 in gas, and it will be nice to hang by our pool since it is going to be close to 90 out, plus after spending as much as I have so far at the vet, I REALLY don't want to leave Baby in the hands of someone else - no matter how capable. I just have these horrible visions of leaving town and returning to a dead kitty. SHUDDER. THAT would be bad. He has a vet appointment tomorrow, so I'll have a better idea of how well the insulin is working, and how his glucose levels are, and hopefully eventually he will be regulated enough that I won't have to worry excessively.
On another note, my Lexie is STILL having problems with her so-called "friend" Kara. That girl is just downright MEAN. I finally told Lex that I don't even want her in my house. I love her mother to death, but I cannot stand that little girl. I know, it sounds horrible to say that about an eleven year old, but she treats Lexie like crap. And as I told Lexie, if she wants to continue hanging out with her around the complex, that's her perogative, but I will not condone their "friendship." Anyone who backstabs, lies, teases, puts down, and hangs up on my daughter is NOT someone I want her to hang with. Yet I can't actually forbid it, no matter how much I want to. Thankfully, Lexie has been getting a little more bold when it comes to Kara, and has on occasion put that little brat in her place. I can only hope that eventually when she starts junior high (which won't be until NEXT fall) that she makes some new friends who are better people. Of course, I still talk to the bad seed's mother, because I like her a lot. She is a very nice lady who just isn't that firm with her daughter. She lets her walk all over her and buys her whatever she wants. I have even heard this kid tell her mom to "shut up" because she was "annoying her." Ummmmmmm... can anyone say "grounded for life - IF you survive the beating??" My only consolation is that I am sure missy's attitude will get her ass whupped when she gets a bit older. It seems inevitable that she will one day say the wrong thing to the wrong person and live to regret it. But for now, I can only grit my teeth and try to pretend it doesn't kill me to see my baby get treated like a piece of dirt. Mothering girls is REALLY HARD.
Hmmmm... what else? Not a whole lot, actually. I wish I did have more, but I just don't. Hopefully soon I will get a burst of creative energy, but it doesn't look like it will be today. So in the meantime, maybe check my links or something. You know, to keep you happy until I get back into the swing of things. They're all good. Great, in fact. Otherwise, I wouldn't link them. Duh.
Thursday, May 18, 2006
The Beginning of the End, Part 29
I woke up the day after Christmas with conflicted feelings. I was leaving in the afternoon, going back to Reno, back to Kevin. As much as I loved being home, I missed Kevin more. I just didn’t feel right anymore, I felt like an impostor sleeping in the old Dasi’s bed, living with the old Dasi’s family. Kevin had called as promised on Christmas Eve, and my heart melted when I heard his voice. He told me he hadn’t heard anything from Nancy, and that he missed me. He was going to work both Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, which meant a hefty paycheck would be forthcoming. A check we would no doubt use on partying. After a couple minutes of small talk, we both were quiet.
“I love you, you know,” I whispered into the phone.
“I love you too,” he replied. “You ARE coming back, right?” he asked, probably only half-joking.
“Of course,” I assured him. “And you’d BETTER be on time to pick me up!”
We hung up the phone and for a while, all I could think about was getting back to Reno. I managed to put everything out of my mind later on that night during dinner and the traditional gift-giving, and was even able to joke around and laugh with my parents and brother on Christmas Day as we lounged around doing nothing special. But now, lying in my bed in Chicago, I was again itching to get back.
I heard the familiar jingle of tags, and laughed as Snuffy joined me on my bed, tail wagging. Every morning since I was ten the little schnoodle had greeted me in my bed, and since I had been home, he acted like I had never even been gone. I petted him with a smile and he laid down and looked at me with his big brown eyes. He was an old dog now, and the only one in my family who really knew ALL my secrets.
“Oh, Snuffy,” I sighed. “I’ve really made a mess of things. I wish I could stop, but I can’t. Or I don’t want to, I don’t know. I DO love Kevin, but sometimes I wonder if our life will ever be normal.”
Snuffy let out a whimper, and nudged closer, as if he were trying to console me. I had to laugh.
“You silly mutt. I love you too. And I think I’ll figure things out eventually. I mean, the partying won’t last forever, you know? Someday we’ll get married, and have a nice house, and kids…” I trailed off and continued to pet my confidant. Snuffy had always been there for me, never judging, never telling me what to do or not to do. Unconditional love from a pet was one of the best kinds.
I finally rolled out of bed and Snuffy jumped down as well. I watched him bound into the living room to announce to the rest of the family “she’s awake!” and chuckled. I was going to miss that little furball.
The rest of the day was a flurry of activity as I organized my things and rushed off to the airport with my parents. Although I was anxious to return, there were still tears shed as we said our goodbyes. I hugged them tightly, and promised to call often. Once on the plane, I watched my hometown disappear and felt a pang of nostalgia. If only things were different… but they weren’t. I chose my life, and I was happy. The past was the past and would have to stay there. There was no going back to the safe, comfortable life I once had. There was a lot waiting for me in Reno, I was anxious to call Nancy to find out what was going on, for one thing. And I had to make sure Kevin had paid the rent and had not blown every penny partying. My parents had given me some cash on the side in addition to a few Christmas checks I had received from other relatives, but I didn’t want to tell Kevin. Funny, I loved him so much, but in all honesty I didn’t really trust him. I knew if he was aware of the cash it would be smoked up in one night. And I kind of wanted to keep a “cash cushion” of my own, just in case.
I dozed off for a while, and awoke to the sound of the landing announcement. My pulse quickened as I looked out the window and saw the mountains in the distance. I started to gather my things, and was one of the first to exit the plane when it landed. I was a little nervous, since Kevin could sometimes be a little scatterbrained, but then I saw him. He was leaning against one of the slot machines, grinning in my direction. I started to jog over and he stood up straighter, then winked at me. We hugged and laughed, and he told me he missed me.
“I missed you too,” I breathed into his neck, not wanting to let him go.
He laughed as he pulled away. “Come on, let’s get you home.”
We rode back to the motel and I babbled on and on about my visit home, telling him about my visit with Chris, and Aaron at the bar, and the family Christmas party. He nodded and responded appropriately, but he seemed distracted. Finally, I looked at him intently.
“Kev, what’s up?” I asked.
“What? Oh, nothing, really,” he hedged.
“I know you. Something is on your mind.”
“Well, I’ve got a celebration for us back at the room,” he said with a smile.
Of course. Party time. Thinking about getting high was more important than hearing about my trip. I was disappointed, but not surprised. And in all honesty, I was looking forward to the rush again myself.
I tried to sound happier than I really felt. “Great! Just you and me?”
“Well,” he said carefully.
“Well what? Who’s coming over? Marc?” I asked, starting to feel irritated.
“No,” he replied. “We got a new neighbor since you left, he’s pretty cool. I think you’ll like him and his girlfriend.”
I sighed in exasperation. “Kev! I really don’t feel like meeting new people today.”
“They’re not coming by till later. I promise. And by the time they stop by, you’ll be ready to meet new people, I’m sure,” he said with a grin.
I couldn’t win. “Fine,” I pouted, “but I get the first hit.”
“Done.”
We got to the motel and everything was exactly as it had been. I don’t know why I had expected some major change or something, but it was still the same old room, somewhat dark and gloomy but still home. Schmauser greeted me with a “meow” then darted back under the bed. He made me think of Snuffy back home, and I smiled to myself at the odd comparison.
I organized my things, careful to keep the small, tight bundle of bills stashed safely in the deep pocket of a pair of jeans I seldom wore. Kevin got the party started, and handed me the pipe. I closed my eyes as I heard the sizzle and felt the high enveloping my being. Yup, this was where I belonged.
We smoked and chatted and played cards for about an hour and suddenly there was a staccato knock at the door. I had forgotten about our company, and almost jumped out of my skin. Kevin went to the door and let in our new neighbor.
I heard the mumbled greetings, and when Kevin turned I saw Bobby for the first time.
I almost laughed out loud. He looked like a little boy. He was short, with shoulder-length dark brown hair with an orange streak across the side. A baseball cap perched jauntily on top of his tie-dyed head, and his eyes were small and dark.
“Bobby is from Chicago, too,” Kevin informed me after introducing us. “Small world, huh?”
“Small world,” I echoed.
Bobby spoke for the first time, and he had a distinct “hard-ass” accent that made me wonder what kind of crowd he ran with back in the city – and why he left Chicago for Reno. “This is my girl, Melanie.”
A pretty, petite brunette stood just behind him. I hadn’t even seen her at first. She was well dressed, in expensive clothes, in sharp contrast to Bobby’s baggy jeans and jersey. She wore little makeup, and looked about fifteen. “Hi,” she smiled shyly.
Alarms went off in my head. Something wasn’t right. This girl looked like she belonged in some upper-class suburban high school, not at a motel in Reno with a sleazy guy like Bobby. Then again, I never thought I would belong in a life like this, either.
Melanie shut the door behind her, and Kevin carefully chose a rock from the pile on the nightstand.
“Dude, I’ve got more on me,” Bobby said, waving him away.
“S’alright,” Kevin said. “We’ll cook it up in a little bit. I’m just being a good host.”
He put the rock in a pipe and handed it to Melanie. I watched as she took it with careful hands, and Kevin lit it for her. Her wide blue eyes went half-mast, and as she exhaled, she smiled. “That was good,” she whispered.
But I couldn’t help but notice that her hands were still trembling and her smile seemed forced. As Kevin prepared a hit for Bobby, I sidled up to her.
“Hey,” I whispered. “How long have you been partying?”
She looked at me and shrugged. “About a week. With Bobby. It’s sooo good, isn’t it?”
I felt like gagging. “How old are you?”
“Sixteen. And Bobby is twenty. That’s why I had to run away, my parents wouldn’t let me be with him. But I love him so much,” she said with conviction.
A sixteen year-old runaway. Did Kevin know? He couldn’t, could he? Probably not. I felt like I should do something, anything, to save her. Call her parents. Give her cab fare. Something. She seemed so nice, so naïve. My heart ached for her. She was just so damn young.
“Here, Dasi, it’s all set.”
My attention was turned to the drugs being offered, and for the time being my “rescue mission” was forgotten. But as I inhaled I watched Melanie from the corner of my eye and couldn’t help but notice how much she reminded me of someone else…
“I love you, you know,” I whispered into the phone.
“I love you too,” he replied. “You ARE coming back, right?” he asked, probably only half-joking.
“Of course,” I assured him. “And you’d BETTER be on time to pick me up!”
We hung up the phone and for a while, all I could think about was getting back to Reno. I managed to put everything out of my mind later on that night during dinner and the traditional gift-giving, and was even able to joke around and laugh with my parents and brother on Christmas Day as we lounged around doing nothing special. But now, lying in my bed in Chicago, I was again itching to get back.
I heard the familiar jingle of tags, and laughed as Snuffy joined me on my bed, tail wagging. Every morning since I was ten the little schnoodle had greeted me in my bed, and since I had been home, he acted like I had never even been gone. I petted him with a smile and he laid down and looked at me with his big brown eyes. He was an old dog now, and the only one in my family who really knew ALL my secrets.
“Oh, Snuffy,” I sighed. “I’ve really made a mess of things. I wish I could stop, but I can’t. Or I don’t want to, I don’t know. I DO love Kevin, but sometimes I wonder if our life will ever be normal.”
Snuffy let out a whimper, and nudged closer, as if he were trying to console me. I had to laugh.
“You silly mutt. I love you too. And I think I’ll figure things out eventually. I mean, the partying won’t last forever, you know? Someday we’ll get married, and have a nice house, and kids…” I trailed off and continued to pet my confidant. Snuffy had always been there for me, never judging, never telling me what to do or not to do. Unconditional love from a pet was one of the best kinds.
I finally rolled out of bed and Snuffy jumped down as well. I watched him bound into the living room to announce to the rest of the family “she’s awake!” and chuckled. I was going to miss that little furball.
The rest of the day was a flurry of activity as I organized my things and rushed off to the airport with my parents. Although I was anxious to return, there were still tears shed as we said our goodbyes. I hugged them tightly, and promised to call often. Once on the plane, I watched my hometown disappear and felt a pang of nostalgia. If only things were different… but they weren’t. I chose my life, and I was happy. The past was the past and would have to stay there. There was no going back to the safe, comfortable life I once had. There was a lot waiting for me in Reno, I was anxious to call Nancy to find out what was going on, for one thing. And I had to make sure Kevin had paid the rent and had not blown every penny partying. My parents had given me some cash on the side in addition to a few Christmas checks I had received from other relatives, but I didn’t want to tell Kevin. Funny, I loved him so much, but in all honesty I didn’t really trust him. I knew if he was aware of the cash it would be smoked up in one night. And I kind of wanted to keep a “cash cushion” of my own, just in case.
I dozed off for a while, and awoke to the sound of the landing announcement. My pulse quickened as I looked out the window and saw the mountains in the distance. I started to gather my things, and was one of the first to exit the plane when it landed. I was a little nervous, since Kevin could sometimes be a little scatterbrained, but then I saw him. He was leaning against one of the slot machines, grinning in my direction. I started to jog over and he stood up straighter, then winked at me. We hugged and laughed, and he told me he missed me.
“I missed you too,” I breathed into his neck, not wanting to let him go.
He laughed as he pulled away. “Come on, let’s get you home.”
We rode back to the motel and I babbled on and on about my visit home, telling him about my visit with Chris, and Aaron at the bar, and the family Christmas party. He nodded and responded appropriately, but he seemed distracted. Finally, I looked at him intently.
“Kev, what’s up?” I asked.
“What? Oh, nothing, really,” he hedged.
“I know you. Something is on your mind.”
“Well, I’ve got a celebration for us back at the room,” he said with a smile.
Of course. Party time. Thinking about getting high was more important than hearing about my trip. I was disappointed, but not surprised. And in all honesty, I was looking forward to the rush again myself.
I tried to sound happier than I really felt. “Great! Just you and me?”
“Well,” he said carefully.
“Well what? Who’s coming over? Marc?” I asked, starting to feel irritated.
“No,” he replied. “We got a new neighbor since you left, he’s pretty cool. I think you’ll like him and his girlfriend.”
I sighed in exasperation. “Kev! I really don’t feel like meeting new people today.”
“They’re not coming by till later. I promise. And by the time they stop by, you’ll be ready to meet new people, I’m sure,” he said with a grin.
I couldn’t win. “Fine,” I pouted, “but I get the first hit.”
“Done.”
We got to the motel and everything was exactly as it had been. I don’t know why I had expected some major change or something, but it was still the same old room, somewhat dark and gloomy but still home. Schmauser greeted me with a “meow” then darted back under the bed. He made me think of Snuffy back home, and I smiled to myself at the odd comparison.
I organized my things, careful to keep the small, tight bundle of bills stashed safely in the deep pocket of a pair of jeans I seldom wore. Kevin got the party started, and handed me the pipe. I closed my eyes as I heard the sizzle and felt the high enveloping my being. Yup, this was where I belonged.
We smoked and chatted and played cards for about an hour and suddenly there was a staccato knock at the door. I had forgotten about our company, and almost jumped out of my skin. Kevin went to the door and let in our new neighbor.
I heard the mumbled greetings, and when Kevin turned I saw Bobby for the first time.
I almost laughed out loud. He looked like a little boy. He was short, with shoulder-length dark brown hair with an orange streak across the side. A baseball cap perched jauntily on top of his tie-dyed head, and his eyes were small and dark.
“Bobby is from Chicago, too,” Kevin informed me after introducing us. “Small world, huh?”
“Small world,” I echoed.
Bobby spoke for the first time, and he had a distinct “hard-ass” accent that made me wonder what kind of crowd he ran with back in the city – and why he left Chicago for Reno. “This is my girl, Melanie.”
A pretty, petite brunette stood just behind him. I hadn’t even seen her at first. She was well dressed, in expensive clothes, in sharp contrast to Bobby’s baggy jeans and jersey. She wore little makeup, and looked about fifteen. “Hi,” she smiled shyly.
Alarms went off in my head. Something wasn’t right. This girl looked like she belonged in some upper-class suburban high school, not at a motel in Reno with a sleazy guy like Bobby. Then again, I never thought I would belong in a life like this, either.
Melanie shut the door behind her, and Kevin carefully chose a rock from the pile on the nightstand.
“Dude, I’ve got more on me,” Bobby said, waving him away.
“S’alright,” Kevin said. “We’ll cook it up in a little bit. I’m just being a good host.”
He put the rock in a pipe and handed it to Melanie. I watched as she took it with careful hands, and Kevin lit it for her. Her wide blue eyes went half-mast, and as she exhaled, she smiled. “That was good,” she whispered.
But I couldn’t help but notice that her hands were still trembling and her smile seemed forced. As Kevin prepared a hit for Bobby, I sidled up to her.
“Hey,” I whispered. “How long have you been partying?”
She looked at me and shrugged. “About a week. With Bobby. It’s sooo good, isn’t it?”
I felt like gagging. “How old are you?”
“Sixteen. And Bobby is twenty. That’s why I had to run away, my parents wouldn’t let me be with him. But I love him so much,” she said with conviction.
A sixteen year-old runaway. Did Kevin know? He couldn’t, could he? Probably not. I felt like I should do something, anything, to save her. Call her parents. Give her cab fare. Something. She seemed so nice, so naïve. My heart ached for her. She was just so damn young.
“Here, Dasi, it’s all set.”
My attention was turned to the drugs being offered, and for the time being my “rescue mission” was forgotten. But as I inhaled I watched Melanie from the corner of my eye and couldn’t help but notice how much she reminded me of someone else…
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
Tell Me Your Fears
Note: This was originally posted on 6/7/05, long before any of you were gracing my blog with your readership. So therefore, I am technically "cheating," but in my defense I am trying very hard to organize in my head the next chapter of "TBOTE" and get it posted for y'all. So I hope you enjoy the rerun most of you probably never read anyway.
Let’s talk about fear. Good, old fashioned, heart-palpitating fear. Everyone in the world is afraid of something, whether or not they care to admit it. Personally, I am afraid of several things, which I would like to share with you. Just don’t EVER use this information against me. Please.
First of all, I am very scared of snakes. I just cannot deal with something moving around like that WITH NO FEET. Totally gives me the chills. (Don’t even start on me about fish – WAY different.) I mean, I can be in the same room with them, don’t get me wrong, I’ve actually taken my daughter to Reptile Fest a couple times, but if I see one start to slither towards me - forget about it. I actually remember hearing once that snakes can’t get up stairs, something about them not being able to bend their bodies enough to maneuver them, so I prefer living in second floor units. And if it turns out that this is just an old wives’ tale, I’d rather not even know. In any case, I just am totally freaked out by snakes. I really believe they are evil and gross. And this has nothing to do with religion, they just look evil to me. Which brings me to my second big fear.
Almost every religion has their own perception of an afterlife. And I cannot deal with that. The afterlife, I mean. I am probably more afraid of death than I am of snakes (makes sense, right?). Actually, it’s not really death I am afraid of, it is what comes after death. Which, depending on what your beliefs are, may include total nothingness, eternal life, or anything in-between. To be honest, I’m not too keen on either of the first two options. Both total nothingness and eternal life are concepts my pithy little mind simply cannot grasp. In fact, every time I think about either one, I get sick to my stomach. You know, hurling-your-guts-out AFRAID. Because I know someday (hopefully far far in the future) I will find out exactly what happens when you die, as we all will, and I don’t think I like either option. But I have kind of tried to overcome my fear by convincing myself that MAYBE when you die, you do go to heaven, meet all the people you used to know while you were alive that have already passed on (maybe a few you’ve always WANTED to meet, just for good measure), chatted with God and waited for all your other relatives to meet you, then after spending a while in this heavenly reunion, you get sent back to earth to start all over again. Reincarnated, if you will. Only hopefully as a person, and not like a rock or anything. That would really suck. Ok, time to move on, my stomach is starting to hurt.
Finally, my other big fear is that nobody likes me. Yup, we’re talking childish popularity contest fears here. Every now and then, I get the feeling that everyone is just pretending they like me, and that as soon as I turn around, they all laugh at me and discuss how stupid they all think I am. So I get paranoid. I mean, I think I’m an ok person, but once in a while I get freaked out and start overanalyzing everything. You know – when someone forgets to call you, innocent mistake, but you think they are deliberately avoiding you. Or when you see two co-workers or friends or relatives talking and laughing, and they stop when you come near them. And when you ask about it, they say “Oh, it was nothing.” (Come to think of it, maybe I’m NOT paranoid – maybe people ARE against me…) I think that may be why I have such an innate need to always be the “good guy” and the “people pleaser.” But maybe that really just annoys the hell out of everyone. Maybe they all wish I would get attacked by snakes and die. Maybe everyone in the whole world hates my guts and won’t even be waiting for me in the afterlife, and I won’t even go to heaven, I’ll go to a hell where everything is run by giant SNAKES and it will go on for INFINITY and not only do all the PEOPLE hate me, but the SNAKES hate me too…
Hmmm. I think I’m leaning toward psychosis here. Not a good thing. Anyway, I really try not to dwell on my fears, and then they don’t bother me. Usually. But they are legitimate fears, don’t you think? I mean, at least they’re not STUPID fears…
Did I mention my brother is afraid of squirrels?
Let’s talk about fear. Good, old fashioned, heart-palpitating fear. Everyone in the world is afraid of something, whether or not they care to admit it. Personally, I am afraid of several things, which I would like to share with you. Just don’t EVER use this information against me. Please.
First of all, I am very scared of snakes. I just cannot deal with something moving around like that WITH NO FEET. Totally gives me the chills. (Don’t even start on me about fish – WAY different.) I mean, I can be in the same room with them, don’t get me wrong, I’ve actually taken my daughter to Reptile Fest a couple times, but if I see one start to slither towards me - forget about it. I actually remember hearing once that snakes can’t get up stairs, something about them not being able to bend their bodies enough to maneuver them, so I prefer living in second floor units. And if it turns out that this is just an old wives’ tale, I’d rather not even know. In any case, I just am totally freaked out by snakes. I really believe they are evil and gross. And this has nothing to do with religion, they just look evil to me. Which brings me to my second big fear.
Almost every religion has their own perception of an afterlife. And I cannot deal with that. The afterlife, I mean. I am probably more afraid of death than I am of snakes (makes sense, right?). Actually, it’s not really death I am afraid of, it is what comes after death. Which, depending on what your beliefs are, may include total nothingness, eternal life, or anything in-between. To be honest, I’m not too keen on either of the first two options. Both total nothingness and eternal life are concepts my pithy little mind simply cannot grasp. In fact, every time I think about either one, I get sick to my stomach. You know, hurling-your-guts-out AFRAID. Because I know someday (hopefully far far in the future) I will find out exactly what happens when you die, as we all will, and I don’t think I like either option. But I have kind of tried to overcome my fear by convincing myself that MAYBE when you die, you do go to heaven, meet all the people you used to know while you were alive that have already passed on (maybe a few you’ve always WANTED to meet, just for good measure), chatted with God and waited for all your other relatives to meet you, then after spending a while in this heavenly reunion, you get sent back to earth to start all over again. Reincarnated, if you will. Only hopefully as a person, and not like a rock or anything. That would really suck. Ok, time to move on, my stomach is starting to hurt.
Finally, my other big fear is that nobody likes me. Yup, we’re talking childish popularity contest fears here. Every now and then, I get the feeling that everyone is just pretending they like me, and that as soon as I turn around, they all laugh at me and discuss how stupid they all think I am. So I get paranoid. I mean, I think I’m an ok person, but once in a while I get freaked out and start overanalyzing everything. You know – when someone forgets to call you, innocent mistake, but you think they are deliberately avoiding you. Or when you see two co-workers or friends or relatives talking and laughing, and they stop when you come near them. And when you ask about it, they say “Oh, it was nothing.” (Come to think of it, maybe I’m NOT paranoid – maybe people ARE against me…) I think that may be why I have such an innate need to always be the “good guy” and the “people pleaser.” But maybe that really just annoys the hell out of everyone. Maybe they all wish I would get attacked by snakes and die. Maybe everyone in the whole world hates my guts and won’t even be waiting for me in the afterlife, and I won’t even go to heaven, I’ll go to a hell where everything is run by giant SNAKES and it will go on for INFINITY and not only do all the PEOPLE hate me, but the SNAKES hate me too…
Hmmm. I think I’m leaning toward psychosis here. Not a good thing. Anyway, I really try not to dwell on my fears, and then they don’t bother me. Usually. But they are legitimate fears, don’t you think? I mean, at least they’re not STUPID fears…
Did I mention my brother is afraid of squirrels?
Friday, May 12, 2006
Click for Baby (But I Can't Give Any More Detail Than That)
So I think it must have something to do with the full moon expected tomorrow night. I mean, really – how else can you explain all the mood swings and crazy feelings it seems everyone has been having lately? And Chris getting voted off Idol? Has to be the full moon. There’s really no other explanation.
I really appreciate all the nice comments, though. Sometimes it seems strange to me that the people who support me and make me feel better are ones I’ve never even met, but that’s a whole new subject I’ve already covered. I’ve really come to depend on my cyber-pals, and thank God for you guys all the time. I’m feeling a little better… well, I was, but yesterday I got thrown another curveball.
My boy Baby decided that maybe he would pee in Lexie’s “play area” (a room known to regular families as the “dining room,” but with no dining room furniture… you get the idea). He is seven years old and neither him nor his brother Ace has EVER peed outside the litter box. Except for one time when he was about two, and had developed crystals in his urinary tract. Back then, it was an expensive, tedious process getting him healthy again, but he made it through and has been fine ever since.
So this time, I brought him into the vet right away, figuring he maybe had a bladder infection or something. $210 later, they tell me that not only does he have a bladder infection, but it appears he is diabetic as well. Apparently if you are a cat who weighs 18 lbs. 13 oz, you are a tad bit overweight and are at risk for developing diabetes. So, they did additional blood tests to find out if he is diabetic, or if there is something else going on. I just called to get the results, and the nurse said it appears the glucose levels are elevated, so it is diabetes. And she is going to have the vet call me later to discuss the next step.
Now, other than the peeing once in the play area, Baby hasn’t shown any weird signs of being sick. And according to the vet, in early stages of diabetes, he wouldn’t. But if it’s not treated, it can very well kill him. So it is good that we caught it early. More good news – apparently some cats can treat for about 6 months, then the diabetes cures itself. And the cat can continue on happy and healthy without meds for the rest of its natural life.
Then I got hit with the not-so-good news.
Having a diabetic cat is expensive. According to various websites I checked out, monthly costs for insulin and special food runs about $40-50. Not so bad, right? But then you add in the weekly visits to the vet for glucose monitoring until the diabetes is under control, which can take 1-2 months. That charge is anywhere from $100-$150 a week. So even if what the vet said is true, and Baby is “cured” in six months, I will have gone through between $1,040-$1,500 (not including the $150 I’m paying to have the carpets cleaned tomorrow) on healthcare for my cat. And guess what? I don’t have that kind of money.
I mean, I earn a decent salary, more than I expected to earn without a college degree, but I have to support myself and my daughter on that. You all know about the Loser and his so-called “child support payments.” I can’t (and don’t) depend on him for any extra money, even though it would be really nice to recoup that $35K in arrearage he owes. I pay Lexie’s health insurance myself, and have her Sylvan loan payments until she is 22. Car insurance, mortgage, utilities, oh, and? The credit cards. I definitely owe more than the average American, but I don’t really care. I would rather carry some debt and live somewhat comfortably than scrape and scrounge and deny my daughter and myself certain things to live without any debt. Heck, even if I DID do that, I’d still have debt. Because I’m not super frivolous or anything, I’m just trying to make ends meet, and sometimes I'll indulge on something some may consider "unneccessary."
Anyway, I’m not trying to overexpose my financial portfolio here, I’m just trying to point out that another large expense is going to be really tough to manage. But the bottom line is, he’s my Baby. He’s a part of my family. And despite the fact that both my parents and my brother are telling me to have him put to sleep, I can’t do that. If he were in pain, or miserable, it would be different. But he has a health condition that can be controlled, and can even be cured, and he’s not even halfway through his life yet. To me, pets aren’t supposed to be disposable. And I’d rather add to my credit card debt than give up on him.
The thing is, it will be hard. Even the insulin part – I mean, I don’t know all the details, but I guess I may have to give him daily shots. Or a pill. And if you know anything about cats, you know that a daily pill may be harder to attempt than a daily injection. Maybe this all sounds silly to some of you, I know not everyone out there is a big animal lover, but it’s really a big deal to me. I know I’ll get through it, but I really wish God would stop messing with me long enough for me to catch my breath for once.
I know I have a lot to be grateful for, and I am, but I am so tired of these little bumps in the road. I wish for once there would be a good detour in the road of life – you know, like maybe a lottery win or something. What was it I learned back in 12-Step? Oh, yeah, “One day at a time.” I used to HATE those clichés, but sometimes they’re really important to remember.
Maybe if I can clear my head and worry less about my life currently, I can write more of my past… you know, “TBOTE.” (No, I didn’t forget about it.) Although I can’t give an exact date of posting, I will try my best to have it done by the end of next week.
Anyway, that’s all I’ve got. And? This is my Baby. All almost-19 pounds of him. Look at that face and tell me you could put him to sleep.
Yeah, I didn’t think so.
I really appreciate all the nice comments, though. Sometimes it seems strange to me that the people who support me and make me feel better are ones I’ve never even met, but that’s a whole new subject I’ve already covered. I’ve really come to depend on my cyber-pals, and thank God for you guys all the time. I’m feeling a little better… well, I was, but yesterday I got thrown another curveball.
My boy Baby decided that maybe he would pee in Lexie’s “play area” (a room known to regular families as the “dining room,” but with no dining room furniture… you get the idea). He is seven years old and neither him nor his brother Ace has EVER peed outside the litter box. Except for one time when he was about two, and had developed crystals in his urinary tract. Back then, it was an expensive, tedious process getting him healthy again, but he made it through and has been fine ever since.
So this time, I brought him into the vet right away, figuring he maybe had a bladder infection or something. $210 later, they tell me that not only does he have a bladder infection, but it appears he is diabetic as well. Apparently if you are a cat who weighs 18 lbs. 13 oz, you are a tad bit overweight and are at risk for developing diabetes. So, they did additional blood tests to find out if he is diabetic, or if there is something else going on. I just called to get the results, and the nurse said it appears the glucose levels are elevated, so it is diabetes. And she is going to have the vet call me later to discuss the next step.
Now, other than the peeing once in the play area, Baby hasn’t shown any weird signs of being sick. And according to the vet, in early stages of diabetes, he wouldn’t. But if it’s not treated, it can very well kill him. So it is good that we caught it early. More good news – apparently some cats can treat for about 6 months, then the diabetes cures itself. And the cat can continue on happy and healthy without meds for the rest of its natural life.
Then I got hit with the not-so-good news.
Having a diabetic cat is expensive. According to various websites I checked out, monthly costs for insulin and special food runs about $40-50. Not so bad, right? But then you add in the weekly visits to the vet for glucose monitoring until the diabetes is under control, which can take 1-2 months. That charge is anywhere from $100-$150 a week. So even if what the vet said is true, and Baby is “cured” in six months, I will have gone through between $1,040-$1,500 (not including the $150 I’m paying to have the carpets cleaned tomorrow) on healthcare for my cat. And guess what? I don’t have that kind of money.
I mean, I earn a decent salary, more than I expected to earn without a college degree, but I have to support myself and my daughter on that. You all know about the Loser and his so-called “child support payments.” I can’t (and don’t) depend on him for any extra money, even though it would be really nice to recoup that $35K in arrearage he owes. I pay Lexie’s health insurance myself, and have her Sylvan loan payments until she is 22. Car insurance, mortgage, utilities, oh, and? The credit cards. I definitely owe more than the average American, but I don’t really care. I would rather carry some debt and live somewhat comfortably than scrape and scrounge and deny my daughter and myself certain things to live without any debt. Heck, even if I DID do that, I’d still have debt. Because I’m not super frivolous or anything, I’m just trying to make ends meet, and sometimes I'll indulge on something some may consider "unneccessary."
Anyway, I’m not trying to overexpose my financial portfolio here, I’m just trying to point out that another large expense is going to be really tough to manage. But the bottom line is, he’s my Baby. He’s a part of my family. And despite the fact that both my parents and my brother are telling me to have him put to sleep, I can’t do that. If he were in pain, or miserable, it would be different. But he has a health condition that can be controlled, and can even be cured, and he’s not even halfway through his life yet. To me, pets aren’t supposed to be disposable. And I’d rather add to my credit card debt than give up on him.
The thing is, it will be hard. Even the insulin part – I mean, I don’t know all the details, but I guess I may have to give him daily shots. Or a pill. And if you know anything about cats, you know that a daily pill may be harder to attempt than a daily injection. Maybe this all sounds silly to some of you, I know not everyone out there is a big animal lover, but it’s really a big deal to me. I know I’ll get through it, but I really wish God would stop messing with me long enough for me to catch my breath for once.
I know I have a lot to be grateful for, and I am, but I am so tired of these little bumps in the road. I wish for once there would be a good detour in the road of life – you know, like maybe a lottery win or something. What was it I learned back in 12-Step? Oh, yeah, “One day at a time.” I used to HATE those clichés, but sometimes they’re really important to remember.
Maybe if I can clear my head and worry less about my life currently, I can write more of my past… you know, “TBOTE.” (No, I didn’t forget about it.) Although I can’t give an exact date of posting, I will try my best to have it done by the end of next week.
Anyway, that’s all I’ve got. And? This is my Baby. All almost-19 pounds of him. Look at that face and tell me you could put him to sleep.
Yeah, I didn’t think so.
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
Right Now
Sometimes I wonder… why am I even here? Why do I even bother? Does anyone really care anyway? Wouldn’t so many people be so much better off if I were to just disappear forever? I feel like I’m forever running in circles… and when I’m not, it’s one step forward, two steps back. I’m tired of everything, tired of being me. Tired of nothing working out the way it should. Tired of all the stupid little roadblocks thrown in my way on a regular basis.
I’m tired of worrying about money, so I spend more. I’m tired of being overweight, so I eat more. I’m tired of being alone, so I isolate more.
I am a living paradox, and I hate it.
All I want to do is go to sleep. (But not until after “Lost” is over and I see who gets booted from “AI,” of course. THEN, I just want to sleep.) For like a million hours until I’m not tired anymore and I feel like maybe things will start to get better and maybe there IS something good on the horizon…
Melodramatic? Me?? Yeah, I guess so. But whatever, it’s how I’m feeling RIGHT NOW.
I’m tired of worrying about money, so I spend more. I’m tired of being overweight, so I eat more. I’m tired of being alone, so I isolate more.
I am a living paradox, and I hate it.
All I want to do is go to sleep. (But not until after “Lost” is over and I see who gets booted from “AI,” of course. THEN, I just want to sleep.) For like a million hours until I’m not tired anymore and I feel like maybe things will start to get better and maybe there IS something good on the horizon…
Melodramatic? Me?? Yeah, I guess so. But whatever, it’s how I’m feeling RIGHT NOW.
Monday, May 08, 2006
Things That Bug Me (HA! You'll Appreciate This More After You Read the Post!)
So it was actually a pretty darn nice weekend. Beautiful weather both days, and good times as well. Great America on Saturday was fun, when we first got there we were able to ride the Eagle three times in a row because there was no line at all. We stayed until about 4:00, then went to my cousin’s house to see the baby squirrels her daughter found and “adopted.” Lexie LOVED them. Loved, loved LOVED them. They were really cute, see?
Only, when she was trying to feed one with the little tiny bottle, the other one tried to cut in and nipped her on her finger. She felt bad and got really worried that my cousin or I would be mad at her, and came upstairs with teary eyes when she told us. My cousin reassured her, and told us that they had actually brought the squirrels to the vet to get rabies shots, so we shouldn’t worry. (I really wasn’t worried anyway, it was a little pinprick of a nip.) So she washed it off and went back to play with them some more.
And now, of course, she wants a pet squirrel. I told her she should just keep watching the ones on our balcony, because that was as close as she was going to get to actually owning one.
Then Sunday was the Christening. As soon as we got to the church and found my brother and sister-in-law, I went up to my soon-to-be-godson. And of course, he smiled and laughed and gurgled. I told you, smart kid. He loves me a whole lot. Everyone kept commenting about that. Funny thing is, if I hold him, he squirms and wiggles because he likes being held like on your shoulder, only if I hold him like that, he can’t see me and doesn’t like it. But if I pass him off to someone else, and he can see me, he’s all happy again. Go figure.
The mass itself was long, and apparently the Lutherans have changed the Lord’s Prayer. Since I was raised Catholic, I was not aware of that. And they make you hold hands, so at the end of the prayer, I really wanted to say “KEEP COMING BACK!” like I used to in the 12-step meetings, but I restrained myself. That would not have been good. The funny thing is, since I have decided that I am a more spiritual person than “organized religion” type, I wasn’t sure how I would feel being back in a church. Last time was for Lexie’s communion – and that was three years ago. And guess what? Unlike all these people who tell me how safe and connected and wonderful they feel in church, I felt VERY uncomfortable. Like tensing-in-my-shoulder-blades uncomfortable. The LAST thing I felt was a sense of peace. All I wanted to do was get the heck out of there. I just really like my own personal God relationship. I guess I’m just not big on sharing my God time. But in any case, I was honored to be there for Erik, and he was soooo good, he just slept through the whole thing. Even the baptism itself. (Pretty impressive – if someone dumped water on MY head while I was sleeping, I’d probably wake up swinging!!)
So then we had a really nice brunch and went home.
DUM DUM DUUUUUUUUMMMMM!!! (That was supposed to be ominous music there – foreshadowing some not so wonderful upcoming occurrence.)
Lexie went into her bedroom and came out crying. “MOOOOOOMMMMMM!!!” I jumped up off the couch and asked what was wrong.
“I’m SORRY I didn’t clean my room sooner, you were RIGHT, now it’s INFESTED with BUGS!!!”
Ok, so I told the kid that she would get bugs in her room if she didn’t clean it, just like my mom used to tell me, but I honestly didn’t think her room was THAT bad… So I go to her room, and she was right. There were a couple dozen black buggies with wings all over the wood frame of her window. ICK! ICK!! ICK!!! And I didn’t have any bug spray. Because we have NEVER had bugs. There was no reason to. So I got the cats out (yes, my boyz were enjoying the whole buggie thing, I think they ate a few) and slammed her door. We went up to Home Depot and bought some spray. Apparently we have carpenter ants. I sprayed the shit out of them and watched them drop like flies. (But just to be clear – they weren’t flies – they were BIG UGLY FLYING ANTS.) I did some research on the computer, and found that these guys like to build nests in wood. And my PRETTY NEW WINDOWS have WOOD frames around them, which said buggies were scampering behind. They can build a nest and not be seen for months, then suddenly, on a nice spring day like yesterday, come POURING out of the nest. Which is exactly what they did.
After dreaming about bugs of all shapes and sizes last night, I called the window installers this morning, since I have a 5 year guarantee. They told me that the bugs aren’t their fault, I would have to get an exterminator. But that they WOULD have someone come out on Wednesday morning and caulk around the frame and the wall.
Ok, let’s see… there is a nest of carpenter ants in the wood frame of my daughter’s window. And the guy wants to come out and CAULK. Thus removing their little entrance/exit, which would (according to Cute Neighbor across the hall) force them to burrow even more and make holes to get out from the wood. PLUS, CN told me that the wood may already be in pretty bad shape, depending on how long buggies have been living there. So HIS suggestion was to have them tear down the wood frame and replace it with new wood. When I mentioned this to Window People, they insisted that their wood is treated for pests, and there was no way the bugs were in there when the windows were installed. According to them, “Our treatment prevents ANYTHING from living in that wood. There is NO WAY bugs could be in our wood. They must have come in from outside. You’ll need to call an exterminator.” After I hung up, my dad called. I told him what they said, and good old dad brought up an EXCELLENT point: If the wood had been treated to prevent bugs, why were they in there now? Wouldn’t the treatment have deterred them from nesting in the frame? Obviously, if they were in the frame, even if they DID come from outside, it means the wood WASN’T treated at all. Hm. Good point, dad.
But I didn’t call them back to say that, I will just talk to the guy on Wednesday morning. And there is NO WAY he will be doing any caulking, THAT’S for sure!! EWWWW!! Just the thought of those stupid winged carpenter ants milling around my daughter’s room makes me itchy. I HATE bugs. My brother tells me I am too melodramatic, that this isn’t the end of the world, and I told him I REALIZE this. It just sucks. I am dying for Lexie to get home from school and call me to let me know if they are back crawling around or if the spray is still working. When I talked to CN, I asked him if I could send Lex to him to spray more if they came back, and he said sure. So that is good. But I really hope they stay gone.
I guess if the Window Jerks (I mean Guys) refuse to replace the wood, I will HAVE to call an exterminator, to the tune of $200. Which I don’t want to do. But I don’t want to live with buggies, either. So we’ll see.
Anyway, now that I have probably grossed you all out, I have to go. And if anyone has any advice, I’d appreciate it. Otherwise, sympathy works just as well! I’ll keep you posted!
Only, when she was trying to feed one with the little tiny bottle, the other one tried to cut in and nipped her on her finger. She felt bad and got really worried that my cousin or I would be mad at her, and came upstairs with teary eyes when she told us. My cousin reassured her, and told us that they had actually brought the squirrels to the vet to get rabies shots, so we shouldn’t worry. (I really wasn’t worried anyway, it was a little pinprick of a nip.) So she washed it off and went back to play with them some more.
And now, of course, she wants a pet squirrel. I told her she should just keep watching the ones on our balcony, because that was as close as she was going to get to actually owning one.
Then Sunday was the Christening. As soon as we got to the church and found my brother and sister-in-law, I went up to my soon-to-be-godson. And of course, he smiled and laughed and gurgled. I told you, smart kid. He loves me a whole lot. Everyone kept commenting about that. Funny thing is, if I hold him, he squirms and wiggles because he likes being held like on your shoulder, only if I hold him like that, he can’t see me and doesn’t like it. But if I pass him off to someone else, and he can see me, he’s all happy again. Go figure.
The mass itself was long, and apparently the Lutherans have changed the Lord’s Prayer. Since I was raised Catholic, I was not aware of that. And they make you hold hands, so at the end of the prayer, I really wanted to say “KEEP COMING BACK!” like I used to in the 12-step meetings, but I restrained myself. That would not have been good. The funny thing is, since I have decided that I am a more spiritual person than “organized religion” type, I wasn’t sure how I would feel being back in a church. Last time was for Lexie’s communion – and that was three years ago. And guess what? Unlike all these people who tell me how safe and connected and wonderful they feel in church, I felt VERY uncomfortable. Like tensing-in-my-shoulder-blades uncomfortable. The LAST thing I felt was a sense of peace. All I wanted to do was get the heck out of there. I just really like my own personal God relationship. I guess I’m just not big on sharing my God time. But in any case, I was honored to be there for Erik, and he was soooo good, he just slept through the whole thing. Even the baptism itself. (Pretty impressive – if someone dumped water on MY head while I was sleeping, I’d probably wake up swinging!!)
So then we had a really nice brunch and went home.
DUM DUM DUUUUUUUUMMMMM!!! (That was supposed to be ominous music there – foreshadowing some not so wonderful upcoming occurrence.)
Lexie went into her bedroom and came out crying. “MOOOOOOMMMMMM!!!” I jumped up off the couch and asked what was wrong.
“I’m SORRY I didn’t clean my room sooner, you were RIGHT, now it’s INFESTED with BUGS!!!”
Ok, so I told the kid that she would get bugs in her room if she didn’t clean it, just like my mom used to tell me, but I honestly didn’t think her room was THAT bad… So I go to her room, and she was right. There were a couple dozen black buggies with wings all over the wood frame of her window. ICK! ICK!! ICK!!! And I didn’t have any bug spray. Because we have NEVER had bugs. There was no reason to. So I got the cats out (yes, my boyz were enjoying the whole buggie thing, I think they ate a few) and slammed her door. We went up to Home Depot and bought some spray. Apparently we have carpenter ants. I sprayed the shit out of them and watched them drop like flies. (But just to be clear – they weren’t flies – they were BIG UGLY FLYING ANTS.) I did some research on the computer, and found that these guys like to build nests in wood. And my PRETTY NEW WINDOWS have WOOD frames around them, which said buggies were scampering behind. They can build a nest and not be seen for months, then suddenly, on a nice spring day like yesterday, come POURING out of the nest. Which is exactly what they did.
After dreaming about bugs of all shapes and sizes last night, I called the window installers this morning, since I have a 5 year guarantee. They told me that the bugs aren’t their fault, I would have to get an exterminator. But that they WOULD have someone come out on Wednesday morning and caulk around the frame and the wall.
Ok, let’s see… there is a nest of carpenter ants in the wood frame of my daughter’s window. And the guy wants to come out and CAULK. Thus removing their little entrance/exit, which would (according to Cute Neighbor across the hall) force them to burrow even more and make holes to get out from the wood. PLUS, CN told me that the wood may already be in pretty bad shape, depending on how long buggies have been living there. So HIS suggestion was to have them tear down the wood frame and replace it with new wood. When I mentioned this to Window People, they insisted that their wood is treated for pests, and there was no way the bugs were in there when the windows were installed. According to them, “Our treatment prevents ANYTHING from living in that wood. There is NO WAY bugs could be in our wood. They must have come in from outside. You’ll need to call an exterminator.” After I hung up, my dad called. I told him what they said, and good old dad brought up an EXCELLENT point: If the wood had been treated to prevent bugs, why were they in there now? Wouldn’t the treatment have deterred them from nesting in the frame? Obviously, if they were in the frame, even if they DID come from outside, it means the wood WASN’T treated at all. Hm. Good point, dad.
But I didn’t call them back to say that, I will just talk to the guy on Wednesday morning. And there is NO WAY he will be doing any caulking, THAT’S for sure!! EWWWW!! Just the thought of those stupid winged carpenter ants milling around my daughter’s room makes me itchy. I HATE bugs. My brother tells me I am too melodramatic, that this isn’t the end of the world, and I told him I REALIZE this. It just sucks. I am dying for Lexie to get home from school and call me to let me know if they are back crawling around or if the spray is still working. When I talked to CN, I asked him if I could send Lex to him to spray more if they came back, and he said sure. So that is good. But I really hope they stay gone.
I guess if the Window Jerks (I mean Guys) refuse to replace the wood, I will HAVE to call an exterminator, to the tune of $200. Which I don’t want to do. But I don’t want to live with buggies, either. So we’ll see.
Anyway, now that I have probably grossed you all out, I have to go. And if anyone has any advice, I’d appreciate it. Otherwise, sympathy works just as well! I’ll keep you posted!
Friday, May 05, 2006
Updates
Since I seem to have lost my creative urge, I will devote this post to updating you on some previous posts. It will be brief, but what can you do? I’m feeling lazy, and I haven’t been getting enough sleep thanks to the damn ROBIN outside my window.
Yes, update number one is that I have discovered that the stupid, loud 4:00 am frickin happy bird is indeed an American Robin. You can hear what I hear here (ha! A fun homonym sentence!). Scroll down to “American Robin,” (the second one, not the one with the c at the end) and you will hear a few seconds of what I must endure every blessed morning. I read somewhere that few robins survive the first year, and I’m pretty sure it’s because they get offed for waking people up at 4:00 am every day.
Update number two is that although Lexie appeared to have taken her Grape Lunch and punishment very well, apparently she is still harboring a tad bit of resentment toward me. I found this out while I was chatting with my bro on the phone last night. Kind of ironic that I found out then, since he was calling to tell me how cruel I was to his niece. (He does that a lot though. It’s easy to defend your niece or nephew, since they're not your kid. I am looking forward to defending Erik in a similar manner just as frequently in the near future.) Anyway, while I was talking, Lexie interrupted.
“Is that Uncle Bob?”
“Yup.”
“Tell him I am writing a poem about him in school.”
Which I did, and he responded with the appropriate “Awwww! That’s nice! What’s it about?”
“Well, it’s not REALLY a poem, we just had to write the name of someone we love, and I put Uncle Bob, then write a bunch of adjectives that describe him. I put funny, nice, smart, and a couple other ones.”
Bob was eating it up. And I thought it was kind of sweet, too. Until she dropped the bombshell.
“Yeah, it was SUGGESTED since it is almost Mother’s Day we do it about our moms, but I chose Uncle Bob instead.”
OUCH! Bob, on the other hand, cracked up. And commented how proud he was that his niece chose to be unique. I, on the other hand, recognized passive-aggression when I saw it. Hell, where do you think she learned it??
So things to do this weekend:
1. Take Lexie to Great America Saturday since she is grounded and can’t go to the birthday party to (a) stick to my original threat of grounding and (b) still make sure she has fun so she’ll maybe write a poem about me next time.
2. Kill that damn Robin.
Hope everyone else has a great weekend! Oh, and? Next time I post, I will be “Godmother Dasi.” Which is a mouthful, so you can just call me “Your Highness” like I plan on making my Godson do. (Just kidding, Bob. Don’t worry!)
Yes, update number one is that I have discovered that the stupid, loud 4:00 am frickin happy bird is indeed an American Robin. You can hear what I hear here (ha! A fun homonym sentence!). Scroll down to “American Robin,” (the second one, not the one with the c at the end) and you will hear a few seconds of what I must endure every blessed morning. I read somewhere that few robins survive the first year, and I’m pretty sure it’s because they get offed for waking people up at 4:00 am every day.
Update number two is that although Lexie appeared to have taken her Grape Lunch and punishment very well, apparently she is still harboring a tad bit of resentment toward me. I found this out while I was chatting with my bro on the phone last night. Kind of ironic that I found out then, since he was calling to tell me how cruel I was to his niece. (He does that a lot though. It’s easy to defend your niece or nephew, since they're not your kid. I am looking forward to defending Erik in a similar manner just as frequently in the near future.) Anyway, while I was talking, Lexie interrupted.
“Is that Uncle Bob?”
“Yup.”
“Tell him I am writing a poem about him in school.”
Which I did, and he responded with the appropriate “Awwww! That’s nice! What’s it about?”
“Well, it’s not REALLY a poem, we just had to write the name of someone we love, and I put Uncle Bob, then write a bunch of adjectives that describe him. I put funny, nice, smart, and a couple other ones.”
Bob was eating it up. And I thought it was kind of sweet, too. Until she dropped the bombshell.
“Yeah, it was SUGGESTED since it is almost Mother’s Day we do it about our moms, but I chose Uncle Bob instead.”
OUCH! Bob, on the other hand, cracked up. And commented how proud he was that his niece chose to be unique. I, on the other hand, recognized passive-aggression when I saw it. Hell, where do you think she learned it??
So things to do this weekend:
1. Take Lexie to Great America Saturday since she is grounded and can’t go to the birthday party to (a) stick to my original threat of grounding and (b) still make sure she has fun so she’ll maybe write a poem about me next time.
2. Kill that damn Robin.
Hope everyone else has a great weekend! Oh, and? Next time I post, I will be “Godmother Dasi.” Which is a mouthful, so you can just call me “Your Highness” like I plan on making my Godson do. (Just kidding, Bob. Don’t worry!)
Thursday, May 04, 2006
Birdbrains
To All My Fine Feathered Friends:
I realize that the weather has been nicer and I am just as happy about it as you are. HOWEVER, I don’t feel the need to announce my happiness at 4:00 am every damn morning as at least one of you apparently does. Can’t you wait until I get up? Like, at least until 6:30 or 7:00?? I know they say the early bird catches the worm, but if you just sit in the tree directly outside my window singing a stupid song first thing every morning, you obviously aren’t going to get any worms at all. Because, you see, worms don’t live in trees. I think you should get your breakfast and THEN maybe sing a little. And where on earth did you learn to sing so LOUD? Honestly! I got new windows installed this year with 3” thick glass and your incessant trilling is loud and clear, even when they are shut. I have tried using earplugs, but I really don’t like having things stuck in my ears, and also I am afraid one of these days I will not be able to hear my alarm and never wake up at all. So if you please, either sing a little later or go somewhere else. Otherwise, I may be compelled to do something drastic, like buy a BB gun and nail you right between your stupid little happy birdie eyes right in mid-song.
So anyway. Let’s continue, shall we? Mr. Cardinal – I love you because you are so pretty and red. But I can’t help but wonder why you bother coming to my balcony and stealing the peanuts I put out for the squirrels. I realize that I also used to put out sunflower seeds (but have since stopped – talk about a mess!) and that you enjoyed them immensely, but shelled peanuts? Pretty impressive watching you fly off with one in your tiny little beak, but I wonder if you are able to actually EAT them or if you just enjoy pissing off the squirrels? And Mr. and Mrs. Sparrow – I am tickled that you enjoy the birdhouse I have hung out for you and your little family, but easy on the décor, ok? Grass and feathers and string are fine, but watching you attempting to shove pieces of cellophane that are bigger than you into the entrance to your home makes me wonder as to your intelligence. Don’t you think it may be wise to stick to things that are comfy and won’t suffocate your children? Or is that the plan?? Maybe you are child-murdering monsters in sparrow-disguise. And if that is the case, please consider yourself evicted.
Speaking of children, I also would like to ask all the goose families in the vicinity to stop and think for one minute. Do you REALLY think that you are the dominant species in the suburbs? Because – surprise! You’re not. Humans are. So you have no right to honk and spit and get all annoyed when people walk through parking lots to their cars or drive down a street you are taking your little goslings across. Guess what? If you lived in the city, people would run you and your very cute little babies down like nobody’s business. But apparently suburbanites get the warm fuzzies about their wildlife. Hey, I like wildlife too, I just don’t like ARROGANT wildlife. So if you are going to cross the street, use the crosswalk or cross with the light. And don’t dawdle, either. I have places to be, unlike you stupid geese. Otherwise, I may just forget that I am no longer a Chicagoan and you may wind up as my hood ornament.
So, birdies, I hope you will heed my advice, as it is given sincerely and honestly. I don’t WANT to hurt you – but rest assured, I will. Hey, I had several parakeets growing up, but none of them annoyed me like you guys. Take a lesson from your domesticated relatives and keep the humans happy.
Sincerely,
Dasi
I realize that the weather has been nicer and I am just as happy about it as you are. HOWEVER, I don’t feel the need to announce my happiness at 4:00 am every damn morning as at least one of you apparently does. Can’t you wait until I get up? Like, at least until 6:30 or 7:00?? I know they say the early bird catches the worm, but if you just sit in the tree directly outside my window singing a stupid song first thing every morning, you obviously aren’t going to get any worms at all. Because, you see, worms don’t live in trees. I think you should get your breakfast and THEN maybe sing a little. And where on earth did you learn to sing so LOUD? Honestly! I got new windows installed this year with 3” thick glass and your incessant trilling is loud and clear, even when they are shut. I have tried using earplugs, but I really don’t like having things stuck in my ears, and also I am afraid one of these days I will not be able to hear my alarm and never wake up at all. So if you please, either sing a little later or go somewhere else. Otherwise, I may be compelled to do something drastic, like buy a BB gun and nail you right between your stupid little happy birdie eyes right in mid-song.
So anyway. Let’s continue, shall we? Mr. Cardinal – I love you because you are so pretty and red. But I can’t help but wonder why you bother coming to my balcony and stealing the peanuts I put out for the squirrels. I realize that I also used to put out sunflower seeds (but have since stopped – talk about a mess!) and that you enjoyed them immensely, but shelled peanuts? Pretty impressive watching you fly off with one in your tiny little beak, but I wonder if you are able to actually EAT them or if you just enjoy pissing off the squirrels? And Mr. and Mrs. Sparrow – I am tickled that you enjoy the birdhouse I have hung out for you and your little family, but easy on the décor, ok? Grass and feathers and string are fine, but watching you attempting to shove pieces of cellophane that are bigger than you into the entrance to your home makes me wonder as to your intelligence. Don’t you think it may be wise to stick to things that are comfy and won’t suffocate your children? Or is that the plan?? Maybe you are child-murdering monsters in sparrow-disguise. And if that is the case, please consider yourself evicted.
Speaking of children, I also would like to ask all the goose families in the vicinity to stop and think for one minute. Do you REALLY think that you are the dominant species in the suburbs? Because – surprise! You’re not. Humans are. So you have no right to honk and spit and get all annoyed when people walk through parking lots to their cars or drive down a street you are taking your little goslings across. Guess what? If you lived in the city, people would run you and your very cute little babies down like nobody’s business. But apparently suburbanites get the warm fuzzies about their wildlife. Hey, I like wildlife too, I just don’t like ARROGANT wildlife. So if you are going to cross the street, use the crosswalk or cross with the light. And don’t dawdle, either. I have places to be, unlike you stupid geese. Otherwise, I may just forget that I am no longer a Chicagoan and you may wind up as my hood ornament.
So, birdies, I hope you will heed my advice, as it is given sincerely and honestly. I don’t WANT to hurt you – but rest assured, I will. Hey, I had several parakeets growing up, but none of them annoyed me like you guys. Take a lesson from your domesticated relatives and keep the humans happy.
Sincerely,
Dasi
Tuesday, May 02, 2006
Let Them Eat Grapes - the Conclusion
Oh, I know you are all dying to know the denouement to yesterday’s saga, so I will indulge you. First things first:
She ate the grapes. All of them. Or maybe she DID throw them out, I guess I’ll never know for sure, but in any case I checked her lunchbox when I walked in from work and it was completely empty. Hell, I think she may have even cleaned it out – but on that I could be mistaken.
I did call her friend’s mom and left a message expressing my sincere apologies for cancelling at such a late date, but made it clear that Lexie would NOT be at the party on Saturday. Honestly, I felt kind of bad about that, but I knew that follow through was pretty important at this point. Empty threats would not help me in the long run, nor would they help her.
So anyway, I found her in her bedroom, halfheartedly cleaning (but cleaning nonetheless, a step in the right direction) and she sulkily came out and informed me that everyone in her class probably thinks she is weird now. When I asked her why that would be, she responded as follows (and if you thought the grapes in the lunch was funny yesterday, just wait, it gets better):
“When I opened my lunch, everyone kept asking, ‘Where’s the rest of your lunch? Why don’t you call your mom and ask her to bring you the rest of your lunch?’ And I just put my head down and ate my grapes and said, ‘No, it’s ok, I’m not really that hungry today.’ So now they probably all think I’m WEIRD! Why did you have to embarrass me like that at my SCHOOL?”
And I gave her the knowing mother shrug and replied, “I did not embarrass you. You brought it on yourself. Maybe you learned a lesson from this.”
So she skulked back into her room to finish cleaning.
Victory was mine! But honestly, it did NOT feel good. I mean, I don’t enjoy yelling at my daughter or punishing her. BUT, I also do not want her to think that I am her doormat, and that she can do whatever she wants, whenever she wants, without consequences. I mean, if I kept on letting her get away with everything, tcan you imagine the major problems I’d be staring at in a few years when she becomes a teenager? Shudder. Nope, I had to lay down the law and set some boundaries.
I proceeded to talk to both my mom and my dad on the phone (who, by the way, BOTH thought I was being WAY too hard on their precious granddaughter… HA!) and then I made dinner. After dinner, Lexie and I watched some tv together, she did her homework, and after she finished, she turned to me, and said, “Mom?”
I paused my tivo and looked at her.
“I’m not mad at you, you know. I understand. I mean, right when you picked up my lunchbox yesterday, I KNEW I was in trouble because I meant to get rid of the grapes, but I was too busy watching tv, or playing on the computer. I know I can’t go to Christina’s party, and that’s ok, but mom? I promise I’ll try to be more responsible and to listen better.”
WHAT??? I felt my eyes tear up at this unexpected Hallmark moment. I regained my composure, and told her that I loved her more than the whole world, and that I didn’t like punishing her or yelling, but that I did it because I loved her. That she had to understand that life didn’t always go the way you wanted, and you had to play by the rules. That sometimes you had to do things you didn’t want to do, just because. That sometimes you would get disappointed, but that you would manage to go on anyway. That sometimes you may not understand the rules, but you had to obey them anyway – just because they were the rules. And mostly? I wanted her to realize that all I wanted for her was a happy life, and I was going to do whatever I had to to make sure she stayed on track and didn’t make the same mistakes I did.
We actually had a pretty good talk, and I realized that no matter how angry she makes me, or how frustrated, I am pretty damn lucky. Because Lexie really is a great kid. At the end of our conversation, she told me how much she loves me too, and that she knows that I do a lot for her and she really appreciates it, even when she doesn’t say so. That I was the best mom in the world, and that she knows that I am only doing what I think is best for her. We both decided that even though her punishment will stand, we will get through the week and both work on communicating better. She promised to try harder on keeping her room clean, too. So essentially? All’s well that ends well. And I even gave her a full lunch today – with no grapes at all.
She ate the grapes. All of them. Or maybe she DID throw them out, I guess I’ll never know for sure, but in any case I checked her lunchbox when I walked in from work and it was completely empty. Hell, I think she may have even cleaned it out – but on that I could be mistaken.
I did call her friend’s mom and left a message expressing my sincere apologies for cancelling at such a late date, but made it clear that Lexie would NOT be at the party on Saturday. Honestly, I felt kind of bad about that, but I knew that follow through was pretty important at this point. Empty threats would not help me in the long run, nor would they help her.
So anyway, I found her in her bedroom, halfheartedly cleaning (but cleaning nonetheless, a step in the right direction) and she sulkily came out and informed me that everyone in her class probably thinks she is weird now. When I asked her why that would be, she responded as follows (and if you thought the grapes in the lunch was funny yesterday, just wait, it gets better):
“When I opened my lunch, everyone kept asking, ‘Where’s the rest of your lunch? Why don’t you call your mom and ask her to bring you the rest of your lunch?’ And I just put my head down and ate my grapes and said, ‘No, it’s ok, I’m not really that hungry today.’ So now they probably all think I’m WEIRD! Why did you have to embarrass me like that at my SCHOOL?”
And I gave her the knowing mother shrug and replied, “I did not embarrass you. You brought it on yourself. Maybe you learned a lesson from this.”
So she skulked back into her room to finish cleaning.
Victory was mine! But honestly, it did NOT feel good. I mean, I don’t enjoy yelling at my daughter or punishing her. BUT, I also do not want her to think that I am her doormat, and that she can do whatever she wants, whenever she wants, without consequences. I mean, if I kept on letting her get away with everything, tcan you imagine the major problems I’d be staring at in a few years when she becomes a teenager? Shudder. Nope, I had to lay down the law and set some boundaries.
I proceeded to talk to both my mom and my dad on the phone (who, by the way, BOTH thought I was being WAY too hard on their precious granddaughter… HA!) and then I made dinner. After dinner, Lexie and I watched some tv together, she did her homework, and after she finished, she turned to me, and said, “Mom?”
I paused my tivo and looked at her.
“I’m not mad at you, you know. I understand. I mean, right when you picked up my lunchbox yesterday, I KNEW I was in trouble because I meant to get rid of the grapes, but I was too busy watching tv, or playing on the computer. I know I can’t go to Christina’s party, and that’s ok, but mom? I promise I’ll try to be more responsible and to listen better.”
WHAT??? I felt my eyes tear up at this unexpected Hallmark moment. I regained my composure, and told her that I loved her more than the whole world, and that I didn’t like punishing her or yelling, but that I did it because I loved her. That she had to understand that life didn’t always go the way you wanted, and you had to play by the rules. That sometimes you had to do things you didn’t want to do, just because. That sometimes you would get disappointed, but that you would manage to go on anyway. That sometimes you may not understand the rules, but you had to obey them anyway – just because they were the rules. And mostly? I wanted her to realize that all I wanted for her was a happy life, and I was going to do whatever I had to to make sure she stayed on track and didn’t make the same mistakes I did.
We actually had a pretty good talk, and I realized that no matter how angry she makes me, or how frustrated, I am pretty damn lucky. Because Lexie really is a great kid. At the end of our conversation, she told me how much she loves me too, and that she knows that I do a lot for her and she really appreciates it, even when she doesn’t say so. That I was the best mom in the world, and that she knows that I am only doing what I think is best for her. We both decided that even though her punishment will stand, we will get through the week and both work on communicating better. She promised to try harder on keeping her room clean, too. So essentially? All’s well that ends well. And I even gave her a full lunch today – with no grapes at all.
Monday, May 01, 2006
Let Them Eat Grapes
I had a really great weekend. Honestly, it was a lot of fun. Saturday, Lexie and I went to opening day at Great America and rode the roller coasters for a few hours – and didn’t fight at all. Sunday I went to the Cubs game with my girlfriends, and even though it poured rain for a while and the Cubs got killed (again), we had a GREAT time. So this morning I got up and although I was a bit tired, I was in a relatively good mood. And then I opened Lexie’s lunch box and saw the grapes.
Before I get into the whole story, let me give you a quick briefing on the “grapes” situation. See, in my daughter’s lunch, every day, I pack a sandwich (generally peanut butter – no jelly), some tortilla chips, a couple cookies and some fruit. For a while, it was clementine oranges. Then strawberries. Then she started whining that she REALLY REALLY wanted grapes. Now, it is not grape season yet. Therefore, grapes cost like $3 a pound. In the summertime, they go down to like 89 cents a pound. So I told her that grapes were a bit pricey now, but summer was coming soon and as soon as they went on sale, I would get her grapes.
She kept begging.
So finally, against my better judgment, I bought her the stupid grapes. Spent like fifteen bucks on the damn things. And I put them in her lunch. She was thrilled. For the first two days, she ate them all. Then last Thursday morning, I open her lunch box and find the grapes. Sitting there, in a half-opened ziplock, untouched from when I put them in her lunch the day before. I asked her about it, and she told me she didn’t “feel” like eating them. Ok, fine, but please don’t waste them then. They cost a lot, and leaving them in her lunchbox overnight in a half-opened ziplock makes them spoil. Put them back in the fridge when you get home, ok? Ok. End of story. So the spoiled grapes went down the garbage disposal.
Then Friday morning, same thing. Grapes left in her lunch. This time, I was a bit more aggravated. “PLEASE,” I begged. “EAT the damn grapes or PUT them back in the fridge or even THROW THEM AWAY. I just do NOT want to find them rotting in your lunchbox when you asked for them special and I spent a lot of money on them!” I got a mumbled “sorry.”
Over the next full week, this happened three times out of the five days. By Friday morning, I was so pissed off I told her I wasn’t going to pack her chips or cookies, she would have her sandwich and the grapes and SHE WOULD EAT THEM. But then I felt ridiculous, and wound up giving her the chips and cookies at the last minute and telling her just PLEASE don’t let me find the grapes Monday morning.
Which brings us to this morning. Oh, yes. THE FRICKIN GRAPES WERE SITTING IN HER LUNCHBOX WHEN I OPENED IT. I lost it. What the hell was WRONG with her???? Especially after the knock-down-drag-out on Friday, she STILL left the damn grapes in her lunchbox over the weekend. I asked her if she just ENJOYED pissing her mother off. Because I couldn’t think of any other reason she continued to do this. Hell, I told her to THROW THEM OUT if she wanted, just DON’T let me find them in her lunchbox. I tried to avoid another confrontation, and she just LEFT THE DAMN THINGS. I also asked her if this is her way of reaching out to me for attention, because she certainly had my attention. Then I asked her if she had some sort of mental problem, because it made absolutely NO SENSE to me WHY she continuously did the ONE THING that she knew drove me TOTALLY INSANE. She responded, in a snarky tone, “Yeah, maybe I do have a mental problem.”
I wanted to throw her mouthy ass out the window. But I didn’t. Instead, I packed her lunch with a bag of grapes and nothing else. No sandwich, no chips, no cookies. I’ll probably get a call from the school asking why I am starving my child, but I don’t care. It’s the principle of the matter.
I just don’t understand her. I think maybe I do too much for her, and she has just come to expect things to always go her way. I let her off too easy when it comes to getting things done like cleaning her room or doing her homework, and I bend over backwards to make sure she is happy. Case in point – this whole past week, she has had a load of clothes sitting in the dryer. EVERY DAY I asked her to fold them, and WHEN did she finally fold them? Last night. After a FULL WEEK. I have also been after her to clean her room – really clean it, you know, so people can, oh, I don’t know, maybe WALK THROUGH IT without breaking an ankle. And every day she tells me, “Well, I started it…” But honestly? She’s a little liar because she hasn’t done a damn thing in that pigsty. Yet I keep my mouth shut, except to remind her to get it done, and wait.
Well, guess what? NO MORE. One of her best friends is having a birthday party on Saturday, and guess who WON’T be going? I think maybe a real punishment will make her realize that she can NOT treat her mother the way she treats me. And that she needs to start being a little (hell, a LOT) more responsible than she is. Oh, I’ll buy her friend a present, and call her friend’s mom and explain the situation so there are no hard feelings on that end, but rest assured, she will be sitting home on Saturday.
So maybe you all think I am an evil, bad mother who is just a little off her rocker for losing it over some grapes, but to you I say I DON’T CARE. I honestly think my daughter is trying to push me over the edge so right now my main concern is to save myself. And go ahead and laugh – I hope you all get the chance to deal with your very own hormonal, bitchy tween someday.
If you’ll excuse me now, I need to drink some Diet Pepsi and calm my nerves.
Before I get into the whole story, let me give you a quick briefing on the “grapes” situation. See, in my daughter’s lunch, every day, I pack a sandwich (generally peanut butter – no jelly), some tortilla chips, a couple cookies and some fruit. For a while, it was clementine oranges. Then strawberries. Then she started whining that she REALLY REALLY wanted grapes. Now, it is not grape season yet. Therefore, grapes cost like $3 a pound. In the summertime, they go down to like 89 cents a pound. So I told her that grapes were a bit pricey now, but summer was coming soon and as soon as they went on sale, I would get her grapes.
She kept begging.
So finally, against my better judgment, I bought her the stupid grapes. Spent like fifteen bucks on the damn things. And I put them in her lunch. She was thrilled. For the first two days, she ate them all. Then last Thursday morning, I open her lunch box and find the grapes. Sitting there, in a half-opened ziplock, untouched from when I put them in her lunch the day before. I asked her about it, and she told me she didn’t “feel” like eating them. Ok, fine, but please don’t waste them then. They cost a lot, and leaving them in her lunchbox overnight in a half-opened ziplock makes them spoil. Put them back in the fridge when you get home, ok? Ok. End of story. So the spoiled grapes went down the garbage disposal.
Then Friday morning, same thing. Grapes left in her lunch. This time, I was a bit more aggravated. “PLEASE,” I begged. “EAT the damn grapes or PUT them back in the fridge or even THROW THEM AWAY. I just do NOT want to find them rotting in your lunchbox when you asked for them special and I spent a lot of money on them!” I got a mumbled “sorry.”
Over the next full week, this happened three times out of the five days. By Friday morning, I was so pissed off I told her I wasn’t going to pack her chips or cookies, she would have her sandwich and the grapes and SHE WOULD EAT THEM. But then I felt ridiculous, and wound up giving her the chips and cookies at the last minute and telling her just PLEASE don’t let me find the grapes Monday morning.
Which brings us to this morning. Oh, yes. THE FRICKIN GRAPES WERE SITTING IN HER LUNCHBOX WHEN I OPENED IT. I lost it. What the hell was WRONG with her???? Especially after the knock-down-drag-out on Friday, she STILL left the damn grapes in her lunchbox over the weekend. I asked her if she just ENJOYED pissing her mother off. Because I couldn’t think of any other reason she continued to do this. Hell, I told her to THROW THEM OUT if she wanted, just DON’T let me find them in her lunchbox. I tried to avoid another confrontation, and she just LEFT THE DAMN THINGS. I also asked her if this is her way of reaching out to me for attention, because she certainly had my attention. Then I asked her if she had some sort of mental problem, because it made absolutely NO SENSE to me WHY she continuously did the ONE THING that she knew drove me TOTALLY INSANE. She responded, in a snarky tone, “Yeah, maybe I do have a mental problem.”
I wanted to throw her mouthy ass out the window. But I didn’t. Instead, I packed her lunch with a bag of grapes and nothing else. No sandwich, no chips, no cookies. I’ll probably get a call from the school asking why I am starving my child, but I don’t care. It’s the principle of the matter.
I just don’t understand her. I think maybe I do too much for her, and she has just come to expect things to always go her way. I let her off too easy when it comes to getting things done like cleaning her room or doing her homework, and I bend over backwards to make sure she is happy. Case in point – this whole past week, she has had a load of clothes sitting in the dryer. EVERY DAY I asked her to fold them, and WHEN did she finally fold them? Last night. After a FULL WEEK. I have also been after her to clean her room – really clean it, you know, so people can, oh, I don’t know, maybe WALK THROUGH IT without breaking an ankle. And every day she tells me, “Well, I started it…” But honestly? She’s a little liar because she hasn’t done a damn thing in that pigsty. Yet I keep my mouth shut, except to remind her to get it done, and wait.
Well, guess what? NO MORE. One of her best friends is having a birthday party on Saturday, and guess who WON’T be going? I think maybe a real punishment will make her realize that she can NOT treat her mother the way she treats me. And that she needs to start being a little (hell, a LOT) more responsible than she is. Oh, I’ll buy her friend a present, and call her friend’s mom and explain the situation so there are no hard feelings on that end, but rest assured, she will be sitting home on Saturday.
So maybe you all think I am an evil, bad mother who is just a little off her rocker for losing it over some grapes, but to you I say I DON’T CARE. I honestly think my daughter is trying to push me over the edge so right now my main concern is to save myself. And go ahead and laugh – I hope you all get the chance to deal with your very own hormonal, bitchy tween someday.
If you’ll excuse me now, I need to drink some Diet Pepsi and calm my nerves.
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