Therapy
For a long time, writing posts was a therapeutic process. I could get out all those feelings of the asshats I encountered during my daily life. I'm not sure if I ran into less asshats or if I dealt with them better, but I had less of an urge to get those feelings out. This past week, I found myself longing for an outlet, but just not having the energy to do so-- no asshats involved, but still the need to "talk about my feelings". It's like a scream was building up inside me, but it wouldn't (or couldn't) come out. Internally, I was a basket-case. Externally, I was abnormally exhausted. I think stress was just slowly wearing me down. I often joke about my kids being "out to get me", but this past week it seemed like more than a joke. Normally, one kid is misbehaving and the other is a victim of it. This time, it was both misbehaving and in ways my brain didn't want to process. I always said I'd be a cool and collected parent, able to handle all the various missteps without blinking. Instead, I found my normal reaction is to shriek and run around the house when I come across something I'm not ready for. Like the time my oldest son's friend decided to use our computer for things that were most like blocked at his house. We didn't figure out that part yet, but I responded by...running around my house and shrieking. Sure, I calm down and process in due time, but initially, it's like the blue screen of death in my brain. When I'm done processing, I can move ahead and deal with things just fine. But two major areas to deal with on each kid seemed like a lot. Maybe a major and a minor, or two minors...oof. I was chatting with a fellow mom during the week and warned her that it doesn't get easier. It seems like after they can use the toilet and feed themselves, there would be some minor bumps along the way. Delusional, perhaps. I think there were a few weeks after they were potty-trained and talking and able to communicate what they needed for the first time where I though "Hey, this parenting thing is pretty easy." HA! Fooled me! It looks like the current crisis is ironing out and they are back to walking around with blanket capes on and...well...the blanket capes kinda through me for a loop. They were very nonchalant about it. My other issues was work, which was not so much an issue in the classic sense. I've been a big proponent of not getting emotions involved at work. Perhaps that's a generational thing. After going through a dotcom layoff and two buy-out related layoffs, I've gotten good at taking everything in stride. My outlook is to do what I need to do and carry on as normal. I don't take things personally and I don't look for hidden agendas in every email that goes out. But that isn't the case for everyone. People seem to have emotional ties, and I suppose I can understand that. In the grand timeline, I'm still very much a noob. I don't know. Dealing with other people's emotions in that sort of context is somewhat uncomfortable for me. Too many years being a nerd I guess. But I ended the week with more goals and tasks to handle, and I'm feeling pretty good about that. So the week started off with suck and ended pretty good. Not too shabby after all I guess. And I'm feeling significantly calmer and relaxed. Stress is just monster.
An experiment…no, really
A while ago, for some reason or another, I decided to turn on "Jon & Kate Plus 8". My goal was to see what all the fuss was about this show. I couldn't fathom that people would WILLINGLY turn on a tv show about other people's whiny kids. Just hang out in the 8th circle of hell, aka Chuck E. Cheese, if you need a dose of whiny, screaming kids. I also was convinced that I would somehow be able to figure out how this marriage disintegrated; you know, other than the turmoil of having your life broadcast to millions and the consequences of fame and greed. I kept hearing how the guy was a douche, or the woman was a controlling shrew with fucked up hair. So I watched. Diligently. I have to say, those kids are pretty damn cute and funny, even if their tantrums did make my eye twitch. My youngest son is became very interested in the show, even asking if we could watch together. I think he likes the girls, personally. Even though I thought the show was ridiculous and contributed nothing to my life whatsover, I couldn't look away. The progression of overall douchery was fascinating, as well as the bad hair. I hate to lambaste one person here, but I gotta say..Kate is just a sad situation. On one hand, my OCD/anxiety side understands many of her blowups and freakouts. I get the germs and dirts and too many people thing, believe me. But for crying out loud woman, they make pills for that! Try it. It is really wonderful stuff. On the other hand...oy. I was watching the "Embarrassing Moments" episode and noticed a very clear pattern. According to her, every one of Jon's embarrassing moments were due to his doing something wrong by Kate's standards. Every one of Kate's embarrassing moments were, oddly enough, also due to Jon doing something wrong by her standards. I've always cringed at hearing women describe men as needing to be "trained". Kate is that kind of woman. How many times would she say to him "Ask me what I need when you see I'm stressed"? Dammit, woman, TELL HIM what you need! Not that cheating is okay as retribution. Or wearing Ed Hardy. I guess bottom line is I've discovered both of them kinda suck as people. I probably didn't need to watch any episodes to come to that conclusion...shit. And now, I can't buy anything organic without my husband making a crack at me. Balls!
I condone nothing!
A conversation with my husband while watching a movie with Sean Bean: Him: "What's that movie where he's beating up women and dragging them by their hair and shit?" Me: "My fantasy." Him: "..." P.S. Lady hitting is wrong, people!
Doing shit
I'm all about doing some shit these days. Emphasis on the some. Or the shit, I don't know. My sleep schedule got all whacked up and I had insomnia again. My insomnia is like being a child on Christmas Eve. The mind is tired. The body is tired. Head meets the pillow. And then BAM! I'm awake! Can't sleep! Too much shit to think about! And when I finally DO sleep, the dreams are ridiculous. I've had dreams where I'm referencing other dreams and talking about how crazy they are. I had one the other night in which my husband was refusing to cut his nose hair, which had developed into a thick black mess. He called it his "second mustache" and was combing it out over his existing one, handlebar style. Messed up. I've been trying to figure out the whole pagination thing on the blog, but I'm picky as hell. And I haven't gotten around to reading anything. I've tried, but damn do I pick the most inappropriate times to tackle stuff, like when I barely keep my eyes awake as it is. In other news, if you haven't seen the trailer for The Legend of the Grassman, Monkey Ltd's indie horror flick, check it out below: I'm looking forward to resuming helping on this flick, and it's been getting quite a bit of press lately. I also found out in a seemingly negative review situation (which I won't post because...in the words of Ice-T, that guy can eat a dick), I'm torn between the elation of seeing my name and the emotion of dealing with negativity. I'm not sure what that emotion is yet. It was a sting at first...then a "meh"..then a musing on how I should get thicker skin...then another musing on "Shit, I thought I HAD thicker skin"... then I got distracted and went elsewhere. BUT MY NAME WAS ON SOMEONE ELSE'S SITE! WOOT!! I know...I amuse myself at least. Moving on... I'm also in the process of getting ready for podcasting. Project one involves something for this site that I'm excited about. It will be a collaboration of jackassery and comedy. For project two, I will be donning the producer hat. More jackassery on that one, no doubt. More on these to come very soon. I just need to buy a mic first. I bought a cast iron griddle this weekend, but not a mic. Target does not sell mics in the griddle aisle, else I would have nabbed one. And mics can't make pancakes. So... Shit is gonna get done. LOOKOUT!
30s are not so bad
Tomorrow I hit the big 3-2. 32. It sounds so grown-up when I have to admit that's my age, but in reality, eh...no big deal. When I turned 29, I was an emotional wreck. I was pretty certain that was going to be the last year of my life, socially speaking. No more would I have any fun. I would have to become an adult, as my thirties were looming around the corner, waiting to spoil everything. I was depressed and sullen leading up to that birthday and for a few months later. When I turned 30 the following year, it was no big deal. I had already spent all the energy the previous year on being depressed that I had nothing left, so I just rolled with it. The universe didn't imploded, I didn't suddenly wake up to mom hair; everything was as it was the day before. And although that year started out EXTREMELY rough on the personal end, it looked up quickly. (Funny, add a bunch of mini-crisis to the mix and turning 30 is a walk in the park.) So now I'm faced with 32. On one hand, it doesn't bother me at all. I'll still be the same immature jackass as I always am. On the other, I'm beginning to hear my biological clock, which is amusing considering I already have two kids. I'm going to let that one just roll and clock it up to hormones. My point is...30s are not as bad as we tend to make them out to be. I haven't felt any pressure to measure up to some standard since turning 30, and even if I did I'm the sort of person that tends to shrug those off. I know I'm always going to love video games and despise scrap-booking, and love horror movies and shudder at romantic-comedies and chick-flicks. None of that will change because of a mere number that's supposed to mean something more than how many rotations around the sun I've been here. Let's do this, 32!
My life, in 6 words.
I was reading this article on NPR entitled "Can You Tell Your Life Story In Exactly Six Words?", in which they discussed a book called It All Changed in an Instant . It All Changed in an Instant is a collection of 6-word memoirs from the famous and well-known. At the end of the article, the question is asked to the audience to share their 6-word memoir. I looked at this challenge as I tend to look at all generic/non-personal challenges: completely unnecessary, and yet I am compelled to indulge, thanks to that whole crazy part in my head that keeps me from letting go. But this is a memoir we're talking about here. Not something to be casually balked at and haphazardly tossed around. If that was the case, I could merely toss out something like "I ate too much cheese today" and be done with it. (That is actually a true story. I ate too much cheese today. And I'm lactose-intolerant. Hilarity ensues. Curse you, dairy gods.) No. This is a MEMOIR. I needed to do some seriously soul reflection as I thought about all my life's experiences; all the heartaches, the joys, the obstacles, the epic wins. And then it came to me. A phrase to sum it all up. To sum ME up. Where did I put my pants? Chalking this one up as a big success.
Ode to Frogurt
Unless you've been living as a hermit the past 24 hours, you know that the perhaps biggest thing on television last night was the Lost season premiere. I've only been into the show since last season, meaning I've managed to avoid the fact that the show existed at all. Not a difficult thing for me to do; actually, I suck at watching TV. I have commitment issues. Saying that every certain day at a certain time, I'll be watching a specific show is too much of a commitment for me. If there wasn't a dvr in my life, I'd never watch tv, and even that doesn't always work. (My related articles side bar on my dashboard tells me a certain contest show that shits out questionably talented singers had more ratings. Phooey.) Anyway, a year back or so, I decided to watch the Lost pilot. It kept me interested, so I kept watching, every day, multiple episodes a day, during the course of a really boring work season, until I was up-to-date for the current season. I like that sort of arrangement, because I can tell cliffhangers to go to hell. When I'm current on a show, I have to wait like everyone else. So the point of all this was...Lost was on last night. All plot twists and supposed alternate realities and questions aside, I was elated to see the return of a minor character - a character commonly referred to as "Frogurt". I believe that was a Sawyer-generated nickname, and by far the best. Frogurt is kind of a dick. I'm not the only one that thinks he was one of the best minor characters: Frogurt alone should be reason enough to watch Lost.
