Category Archives: Musings

NaBloPoMo – November 2012 Kick Off!

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It’s that time o’ year – the November NaBloPoMo! Maybe it’s a weird thing to get excited about; I don’t know. I’m considering doing the NaNoWriMo as well, if I can get my hands to cooperate. And my brain needs to cooperate as well. My brain would be a lot nicer to me if I didn’t have so many distractions, like a certain dog (ahem..Sable..) who likes to nudge me over and over again and then run off when I try to pet her. She has issues, obviously. Crazy pants issues. But when she has moments of sanity, she is so cuddly, so all is forgiven and forgotten.

Anyway, today’s NaBloPoMo prompt is “Tell us your favourite quotation and why.” I have to admit, this one is going to make me really think. If it was a movie quote, well heck, ANYTHING from “Jaws”. Seriously, have you watched “Jaws” recently and truly appreciated the natural flow of dialogue in that film? It’s magic. And for the record, my favorite quotation on Facebook is “Take your stinking paws off me you damn dirty ape!”, from Planet of the Apes (the original, with crazy-ass Charlton Heston”). I have no explanation for that one.

As for a quote that really drives and inspires me, I certainly don’t have anything framed. I would have to pinpoint Hunter S. Thompson though as the source of quotes that make me smile and nod in agreement.

Here are two of my favorites:

  • “When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro.”
  • “If you’re going to be crazy, you have to get paid for it or else you’re going to be locked up.”

I consider myself a professional that is both weird and crazy, so I get this. I feel most at ease in the awkward situations I tend to get myself into. The stranger, the better. It’s a good reminder to me to take my meds. (Ha!) Being the creative type, my quirks help me, whether I’m designing or programming or cooking up some new venture to try. I used to wonder what it would be like to be very linear in my thinking and function “normally”, but I realized that I’m just not wired that way. I like my eccentricities, as long as they don’t interfere.

Life’s Hard Decisions

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I love October. I mean, LOVE October. Between Autumn, all the pumpkin flavored treats, cider, horror movies and Halloween, it is hands down my absolute time of year. Halloween was always the big holiday for my family. Well, technically all the holidays were big for the family, but Halloween has the most memorable moments for me. Every year, we’d have a huge Halloween party at my grandma’s house. It plays back like a film in my mind, coming down the steps to her basement decked out in costume. My dad had a devil mask on, and my mom always made a gigantic piñata full of candy that my cousins and I dive at frantically. (For the record, that side of the family is German. I cannot for the life of me explain the existence of the piñata but it just was.)

Once we got older and my grandma passed away, Halloween became more of my immediate family’s gig. We’d go with a theme and deck the house out for trick-r-treaters. Even our kids have been initiated into the ritual. We all dress up and hide in the forest that is my dad’s front yard and offer up harmless scares to kids of all ages. And by harmless I mean there is sometimes a lot of crying and screaming and candy tossed in the air as kids go tearing down the sidewalk away from the house.

One definite sign of the season is the arrival of the best cereal in the world. Yes, I’m in my 30s and still consider this cereal to be the best. Don’t judge me!

Boo Berry, FrankenBerry, Count Chocula OH MY!

Boo Berry, Franken Berry, Count Chocula OH MY!

There is no better cereal than the trio of Boo Berry, Franken Berry and Count Chocula. None. This is the greatest cereal of my life and some powers that be decided that instead of getting it whenever my heart so pleases I have to wait that glorious moment when October rolls around. Yes, back in my day, I seem to remember this being readily available any time of year. Then someone started to pull back. First, Boo Berry disappeared like the Dodo bird. Franken Berry and Count Chocula would hang out on the shelves like some sad, broken trio. Then, Franken Berry went into hiding with Boo Berry. I would stare at Count Chocula confused, wondering where the rest of the gang went. Who would do this to people? Finally, Count Chocula vanished like a vampire tossed out into the afternoon sun.

My despair would suddenly turn to glee when the Trio of Awesome would suddenly show up on shelves on that glorious ninth month of the year. However, I am now programmed like a child of the Great Depression having all the butter being taken away and then being presented with a bus full o’ butter. My initial instinct is to buy all the cereal. Wheel the cart out and say “This. This is for me.”  I can’t do that, mainly solely because my husband would take an issue with my spending all the money on cereal. I don’t see why. We would have cereal for all the meals. Grocery shopping = done. Alas, it’s not meant to be. Then I am stuck making a tough decision: which cereal to buy. Since I can’t buy all of it, ideally I would get a box of each. Once again, that is not a sensible choice. Instead, I’m forced to take home just one box. It is an almost impossible choice. It’s like being told to pick a favorite child; I can’t. I love them both/all equally. (Am I talking about kids here or cereal?) Ultimately, I have to make that choice, as the grocery store is not 24 hours and I have to go to bed eventually. This time, I stared at all three cereals, debating, comparing, plotting. Finally, I grabbed the Boo Berry and got out of there as soon as possible before I could second-guess myself. But I will be back…oh yes… I WILL be back.

Meanwhile, I’ve hidden the Boo Berry in my cabinets so the kids don’t devour it before I have a bowl. See what you are doing to me, General Mills?? I am hiding cereal from my children!

I know, I have issues. Delicious issues.

 

Some kind of half-assed astronaut

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When I was little, I – like most children born of the 70s and early 80s – viewed Jaws for
the first time at an age that was bound to have a traumatic effect. Naturally, it
terrified me to the core. I was afraid to take baths in fear that a massive
Great White Shark could somehow fit through the tiny plumbing fixtures of suburbia and devour me as I took my nightly bath. I would spend countless minutes staring at the
bathtub,staring at the drain, trying to decide if it was safe to go in. When I finally did
get the courage to get into the tub, all I could do was stare at the drain nervously,
convinced that if I dared looked away or turned my back, that shifty shark would bust
through and swallow me whole.

While Jaws no doubt had a similar effect on other kids back then, it did instill a fascination in me about sharks. I wanted to learn everything I could possibly know about sharks. I wanted to learn every species of shark that existed, from their scientific name to eating habits to physical features. Ron and Valerie Taylor were my personal heroes. Shark Week was an event for me. The only problem is that I was learning too to watch the “layman’s” shark shows. I would roll my eyes and get all “well, duh, who doesn’t know that??” Is there anything more annoying that a pre-teen know-it-all?

I ventured into the whale and dolphin territory briefly as well, but they were not quite as cool as sharks. I even fancied myself becoming a marine biologist when I grew up, which was surprisingly not uncommon for pre-teen girls. (Seriously, it is a weird phenomenon. It must be the cute dolphins or something.)

Of course there were several obstacles to my actually becoming a marine biologist. For starters, I have this hang up with too much water. I love the ocean and all, but it is way too much water. Have you ever been in the ocean? There are no sides to hang on to, or a decent bottom to touch. Once I jumped into the middle of the ocean because I’m prone to doing stuff that otherwise terrifies me. As soon as my feet hit the water, I began to freeze up. It was too much water. I was handed a snorkel mask to look into and it took me several moments to gather up the courage to do that. I was convinced that once I looked, I would see a bunch of great whites ready to come at me. What actually happened is that there wasn’t much of anything to see down there. Rocks or something. I didn’t see any fish. Also, getting out of the ocean wasn’t too fun because boat ladders are stupid. Later that day I had a run-in with a wake from what I’m told was Donald Trump’s yacht that resulted in my crashing down onto the deck, busting up my knee and coming inches away from knocking my head on the anchor. I don’t have a good history with boats, which is also a legitimate reason to not be a marine biologist.

Second, I lived in Ohio. That could have been easily solved by moving to a more marine-friendly environment (which I briefly did any way), but at the time I wasn’t willing to make the move. That would have left me to become a stinky river biologist. Who the hell would want to do that as an option? (No offense to stink river biologists, of course.)

Since marine biology was clearly off the table at this point, I was left to bounce between
interests. I was torn between the medical field and theatre, which is a weird choice to have to make. I ended up with theatre for a short time, but I think I would have better served myself by listening to my dad and going into medicine. Not that any of it mattered though. I managed to make the unlikely jump to a professional nerd, with my hawt coding skills. As I sit at my desk fiddling in code day in and day out, I can’t help but wonder what life would have been had I actually became a marine biologist. Would I be doing some shark wrangling? Would I still have my hang-ups, or would I have developed all new hang-ups? I would bet on the latter myself. I’m sure I’d find some bizarre thing to take issue with, like megalodon coming after me or something.

Actually, that sounds like an entirely reasonable fear…

Throwing Down, Dinner Style

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In no particular order, with no rhyme or reason, I’ve concocted a list of people I’d like to have over for dinner. All alive. Cause dead would be too easy. (Er…I mean, choosing dead people to eat dinner with. Yeck.)

  • Christopher Walken. The man suggested this one. We think he would make an interesting guest. I find that I can’t help but giggle even when he’s not trying to be funny. So it’d be a dinner with me giggling unnecessarily.
  • Sarah Palin. I have a theory that she’s just fucking with all of us. No one can be as dumb as she comes off, can they? I mean, I’ve known some dumbasses in my time, but this is ridiculous. It MUST be an act. Right?? Although lately I feel weirdly sorry for her. Either way, I figure we could hang out and talk about moose. Maybe she’s all normal when she’s not politicking.
  • Clint Eastwood. Do I even need to explain this one? I mean, it’s Clint Eastwood. Despite the fact that I’d probably be too terrified to look him in the eye cause I’m skittish like that, it would still be awesome if not painfully awkward.
  • Nicolas Sarkozy. He’s French, so you know the dinner party would be hopping. And I bet he’s a funny drunk. Only problem is, I don’t speak French. But I’m pretty sure I can fake it if he’s drunk enough. Or if I’m drunk enough.
  • Zach Galifianakis. Cracks my shit up. And I have a theory that he’s probably deadpan serious in person. Which would end up being funnier.
  • Tom Savini. Also terrifies me. I’d have him over the same day as Clint Eastwood so it would be one hell of an awkward situation. I’d probably end up sobbing at the dinner table and then running away to hide in my closet. Masochist? Yeah, maybe. But think of the story I could tell afterwards.
  • Eve Ensler. We could have tea, finger sandwiches, and talk about vaginas. And freak my husband out.
  • Kanye West. He grew on me. This is one of those instances in which Twitter has improved my opinion of someone. Well, Twitter and jokes. Regardless, I think there is no denying he would make for an interesting dinner guest.
  • Ramona Singer. In the first season of Real Housewives of New York, I didn’t care for Ramona. But now she’s delightfully kooky. Do the math. Ramona + Pinot Grigio + Turtle Time = One Awesome Rocking Night.

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Things I Miss, Part I

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A list of random things I miss, in no particular order.

• Fruitopia - A positively delicious beverage that had psychedelic commercials. I’m not sure when they stopped making it, but now that I can’t find it of course I want it.

• Typewriters - While the personal computer began hitting the boom my junior year of high school, we had yet to buy one. I wrote my term paper on an old electric typewriter that didn’t have a functioning corrector. It made that night more interesting, to say the least. (Yes, that night. I was a procrastinator after all.)

• Snapple - Second beverage on the list. And I know they still make it, but I can’t find anything more than the Kiwi-Strawberry and all the teas. I don’t want tea, I want the variety of flavors they used to have. Actually, in retrospect, I always thought Snapple tasted like it had dirt in it. Maybe I don’t miss it.

• Riding on the trams at the airport – Yeah, what? Used to be one could just go to the airport and ride the trams for kicks. But nooooo… Now there’s security to get through and you have to actually have a ticket or some nonsense like that. What the hell?

• Real World Seasons where the cast did more than sex each other up – Okay, I’m no longer MTV’s prime demographic, but come on! Remember when the cast needed to actually accomplish something other than getting drunk and bumping uglies? I blame the Las Vegas season for ruining Real World.

• Videos on MTV, while we’re at it - Way before MTV became the place to watch the dumbest reality and game shows, they used to show a plethora of music videos. It was awesome. Even if the videos sucked.

• Decent Indie movies – Every now and then a good one comes out. But let’s face it; indie flicks aren’t quiet the same. Now they are over marketed or overly “quirky”. They are simply trying too hard.

• Boo Berry and Count Chocula Cereal – I very rarely find these anymore and when I do, my kids think they are for for them. I don’t know what on earth would give them that idea.

• Taco Bell Fajita wraps – Trust me, like ten years ago they had these awesome wraps. Huge fajita veggies, rice, some delicious sauce and cheese. Best shit ever. Now what do they have? Chalupas? What the hell is a chalupa? Who would pick a made up word food over a fajita?? It’s insanity.

• AOL’s Insomniacs Asylum - I know, who the hell misses AOL anything, but back in the mid-90s, this was the shit. The Insomniacs Asylum had some hilarious stuff on it for us folks who couldn’t sleep at a decent hour.

• Writing letters via snail mail – I suck at letter writing, cause I get distracted and forget to do it. But man, picking out stationary and special pens and writing oh so neatly is a lost art and I miss having the excuse to do it.

• Pre-Social Media – I know, boo on me for being a spoil-sport. Here’s the thing. It’s great that I can suddenly keep up with people I’ve lost contact with years ago. But the endless barrage of information is too much. I don’t care where people are and frankly, I’m tired of sharing that. While it’s great to get the news instantly thanks to Twitter and Facebook, my tolerance for hearing about a subject has reduced dramatically. Two hours later, it’s old news and I’m tired of hearing the chatter about it. So I know I’m not helping matters. I like to save twitter for the jokes and the observations, and less about what I’m drinking or eating.

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Remembering

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Please forgive me while I put on my political pants today. It’s not a topic I truly like talking about, as I’m convinced it’s all bullshit and that people are way more crazy than I am.


Every September 11 has been the same format for several years. People harking “Never forget” and sharing the oft told story of where they were when it all happened. While I understand that I tend to be less emotional about some things, this is still a ritual I have not fully grasped. True, I cannot look at footage or read about those events without breaking down into an emotional mess. I didn’t lose anyone personally, but seeing the names and faces of those on the planes and in the towers still stings.


Yet, while it may be therapeutic to some to share those moments of where they were, I don’t see how reliving the moment would do anything for me. When I think of 9/11, I think of the events that transpired as a result.


I remember trying to get gas, as I was on E that day, being prone to drive the whole tank. So many people surged onto the pumps that it was almost impossible for those of us who actually NEEDED gas to get some.


I remember the paranoia. I remember how every power failure in the days following was blamed on terrorists. Hell, the phone lines went down once at my job back then, and the first thought was “OMG! Terrorists!”


I think about the invasion of Iraq, and how so many people were quick to celebrate the attack on the terrorism, quickly forgetting that Iraq wasn’t who attacked us.


I think about the political platform that formed so easily with the death of 3,000 people, and the xenophobia that was quick to rear its ugly head. And I see that 9 years later, it’s still kicking strong.


I think about how quick people were to sign over their freedoms under the guise of more protection.
But mainly, I think about how the world would never be the same. My kids would not know life as I knew it prior to 2001.


So who won? Are we safer, freer, happier? Or have we willingly compromised those things we loved so much about this country in order to pretend we are?


If sharing to everyone for the 9th time that you were in a McDonald’s taking a dump when the first plane hit keeps you blissfully ignorant of what all was lost on that day, by all means, be happy. But I am not joining in this ritual.

Being the Pied Piper of Crazy

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I can't help it. I'm a magnet for the eccentric, the bizarre, and the mentally disturbed. I don't mean that in a dismissive way, as it keeps life interesting. In fact, the one completely normal person I met and spent a significant amount of time with bored the ever loving shit out of me. There were no surprises with this person, no questioning the sanity of their decisions. Really nice person, but boring as all get out.

There's the bad crazy that gravitate towards me: the ones that just don't get the hint when you blatantly tell them to eff off. They get borderline stalkerish, showing up at the front door or finding questionable ways to get my information. Then there's the amusing crazy type. They never do anything to hurt anyone, but man, do they have some hangups. I knew one guy who liked to pretend to be a viking. He abruptly disappeared one day, apparently moving to another state. I found out from a former roommate of his who got my number and was searching for his other half of the rent. That's the thing with the eccentric-types. They tend to up and disappear at a whim.

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Pondering

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The following is an email exchange that occurred this afternoon.
Tom Wopat*: Can you change kids to children? Sounds more professional!
Me: You mean to tell me, we’re not auctioning off kids??
Tom Wopat: I cannot send to corporate email what I am thinking!
Me: It’s good to go.
Tom Wopat: Thank you! I found that rather demeaning.
Now here is where I’m at a loss. I have NO idea what was demeaning. The use of the word “kids” to refer to children? If that were the case, wouldn’t that be something demeaning to kids and not an adult? Or was it my crack about auctioning off kids? Maybe it’s a poor joke, but I fail to see how that could be contrived as demeaning to anyone. It’s a valid question. Maybe I was hoping to get some kids at a discount price and my dreams were just crushed**.

Now, I have had some serious filter issues today. I was told by a pharmacist that I was signing a statement to not use my son’s allergy medicine to make crystal meth, which I answered with “Oh, MAN!!” But see, the pharmacist chuckled. He didn’t claim to be demeaned.
I just refuse to apologize in this situation. I don’t see how I could possibly be in the wrong here. Well…maybe..but no!

*Names have been changed to protect the identity of those involved.
** Another inappropriate joke, of course.

Therapy

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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.

30s are not so bad

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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!