I am sick.

I hate being sick.

I have what are probably unhealthy amounts of cold medicine in me right now, yet I still cannot breath. I would like to know exactly what snot is, and how the body can produce it so quickly.

And Nyquil makes me jittery, otherwise I'd down some of that.

Blech.

I promise I will write something interesting soon... instead of continuing to just post pictures with the spectacular new camera I have... but this one was too good NOT to post!!! Sadly, the white sunglasses (which are the same glasses I'm wearing in the new profile picture to the left) are now broken, which makes me sad because they were just as fabulous (if not more so) as the new camera. Perhaps Target will have another pair...

Due to circumstances beyond her control, my dear friend Teresa Paulina, who reads and comments here regularly, has had to lock-down her blog.  If you ever click on her link to the left to read what she's up to, and still wish to do so, send me an e-mail.  I will forward it to her to let her know to add you to her 'safe' list.

 

What is it with crazy people?

First time out...

I have a new toy...

Yeah, baby!!

The First Masterpiece

"My Second Day"

Multi-colored stripes afixed to craft paper with glue

8 1/2" x 11"

on loan from the artist

I have a secret. Maybe not so much of a secret, because I think I included it in the 100 Things About Me post that's buried in the archives, but in case you don't remember, here it is -

I'm an opera snob. Sure, my iPod is loaded with alternative and indie rock, electronic and Brit Pop and Eighties stuff that makes my husband cringe... but underneath it all, the opera and Classical music still has my heart. Mozart and Beethoven, of course. And Chopin and Rachmaninoff. Yo Yo Ma makes me swoon.

It's my mother's fault. She planted the seed, with all the record albums she bought back when Columbia House was actually a record club. She was so careful to slice the cellophane wrapper open along the opening of the album sleeve, so she could slide the album out and listen to it before deciding whether or not to buy it. Her record collection was boundless and it fascinated me.

Berea College may not have been the place to go for a music degree, but the professors were passionate about what they did (most of them, at least). I heard an opera from start to finish for the first time, and I was in love. Carmen. The Marriage of Figaro. Turandot. It's true, when it comes to opera, you either love it or hate it.



The angels surely must be rejoicing, to have this incredible voice now in their choir.

Let the dancing in the streets begin

Are you sitting down?

You really ought to be sitting down when you read this, because what I'm about to say might come as a great shock.

My son...

... is using the potty. I don't mean he's using it right this moment, but he's actually using it. And not only is he now using it, sometimes he's even going with any prompting from mommy or daddy. It's like a miracle, I tell you.

{insert trumpet fanfare here}

The husband called the pediatrician's office at the beginning of August, when we were at the ends of our ropes (Well, I was at the end of my rope. I'm not sure the husband was at the end of his rope quite yet, but let's not talk about that.). The nurse at the pediatrician's office told us that during the day, he should be in regular underwear. Keep taking him to the potty at regular intervals, but make the focus for him keeping his pants dry, not putting the ... stuff in the potty. If he has an accident, make him help clean it up. After just a little over three weeks using this approach, he goes to the bathroom now without a fuss; no more dragging him in kicking and screaming. For about the last week he's gone mostly on his own, with no prompting from either mommy or daddy, and he hasn't had an accident for two days now.

Perhaps I'm biased, but there's nothing cuter than my son in a pair of tighty-whiteys. I'd post a picture of it here, but there are many things about doing that that don't seem prudent.

I don't know if it's this new approach, or if he finally decided that he'd tortured mommy and daddy long enough, or maybe a combination of both things. I don't really care, to be honest. I'm just giddy that we are finally on the downside of all of this crap (pardon the pun).

Of course, though, with all good things must come some... not so good. Along with the glory of discovering that he can go to the potty, he's also discovered the glory of his... equipment, let's say. I know, I KNOW!! This is completely natural. All children do it, it's not a big deal, his fascination with having his hand on it every five seconds, pulling it this way and that will, eventually, end. I promise I'm being a good mommy. I'm letting him explore and discover. I'm not smacking his hand away or telling him to stop.

But the voice inside my head really just wants to scream, 'You're going to twist it off it if you don't LEAVE IT ALONE!!'

Five Memorable Nights

Here it is... FINALLY!

 

Thanks again to Twyla for the tag!

 

Here goes, in chronological order...

 

Junior Prom (1987):

 

Lori made reference to this night in a previous comment.  Twyla's tag didn't say that the memorable nights had to be good nights, and since I've been having a difficult time coming up with memorable nights, I thought what the heck, might as well toss this one in!  In all honesty, I wouldn't have gone to the Junior Prom without Lori's... prompting, let's say (but for the record, I in no way blame her for the night).  At the time, Lori was dating Steve (who lived and went to high school in a neighboring town) and Steve wouldn't go to the prom with Lori unless his friend Darren went, which of course meant that Darren's date had to be a student at our high school, which is where I entered the picture.  I bought a dress, and Darren bought me a corsage of yellow roses, and... well...

 

As I recall (Lori, correct me if I'm wrong), the boys sulked the entire time we were there, and occasionally would disappear for short periods of time.  I don't think we danced at all.  Lori mentioned in her comment a few posts back that she remembered us sitting at the table hanging spoons on our noses to amuse ourselves, and I remember that, too.  We finally left in our separate cars.  We ended up parked somewhere - God only knows where - and let's just say that any attempts at after-prom activities were a complete joke because Darren was 6'4", I'm 5'4", and we were jammed into the tiny front seat of his EL CAMINO.  Darren graduated that year, then joined the Navy.  I saw him once after that, I think it was actually while I was in college and home visiting my parents, when he showed up at my house at 2am, knocking on my window.

 

Don't ask.

 

 

Senior Prom (1988):

 

A few months after the Junior Prom, Mou and I sat watching my brother and new sister-in-law having their wedding pictures taken.  I recounted the story of the Junior Prom to Mou, who was horrified.  He promised on the spot that he was going to take me to my Senior Prom the following year, to make up for the Junior Prom experience.  Since he lived in Tennessee and I lived in Ohio, I smiled politely while thinking 'Yeah, right!'

 

We must have joked on and off about it - it's been so long I don't really remember.  About a week before the prom, though, he called saying he wanted to give me his flight information.

 

Huh?

 

At the time, he was working as the night auditor of a hotel in (or maybe just outside) Nashville.  He'd gotten Friday night off for the prom, but had to work the next night and consequently would not have time to drive home.  So he was flying up Friday morning to take me to the prom Friday evening, then flying back to Tennessee early Saturday morning.

 

You're joking, right?

 

No, he was not.  I was stunned.  My parents actually let me skip school so I could go with them to pick him up at the airport.  I wore the bridesmaid's dress I'd worn the year before at my brother's wedding, and Mou wore his 'interview' suit.  We drove in my green Ford Pinto (and it was a stick shift at that!).  We had a blast.  We danced like fools.  It was the only time in my high school career that a picture of me other than my 'official' school picture was in the yearbook (I'm trying to get my hands on a copy of the yearbook so I can scan the picture and post it here!).  We stopped at McDonald's on the way home, then were back up in the car at some un-Godly hour to head back to the airport.  It's probably my all-time best memory...

 

People's Restaurant (the college years):

 

I went to a tiny college (Berea College), on a tiny campus, in a tiny town (also called Berea) in Kentucky.  The campus was so small that if you lived on campus you weren't permitted to have a car (don't think about it too much - just keep reading) because there truly wasn't room for 1500 students to park.  Amazingly, we got along.  If we were desperate, we'd walk to Wal-mart, which at the time was only about a mile (I think) away (just don't buy too much, because then you have to carry it back).  The local pizza places delivered to campus if you didn't want the college food-service meal of the night.  But sometimes you just felt like you needed to get away. 

 

Down by the highway (about 5 or so miles from campus), there was a restaurant called People's, a little Mom-n-Pop place that was open 24 hours.  One night, Rick, Vicki, Teresa Paulina (maybe?) and I decided what the hell, we were heading down there.  We were young and strong and healthy, we climbed the mountain every year (don't ask), we were walking to People's.  Mind you, it was probably already 6:00 or 7:00 in the evening when we decided this.  So we walked.

 

We sat at People's the rest of the night, talking and drinking coffee and eating fried cheese balls.  Don't turn your nose up at the fried cheese balls!!  These were the original thing, before you found mozzarella sticks on any menu...  little nuggets of sharp cheddar cheese breaded and deep fried, dipped in ketchup.  Holy moly that was good stuff.  I'm sure the waitress was tired of us by the time we left, sometime in the wee-hours of the morning, to start our lllooonnnggg walk back to campus, but we didn't care.  We were young and life was good.

 

 

BRUCE! (1992 OR 1993):

 

Mou and I are both huge, huge Springsteen fans.  My older brother got The River when it came out in 1980.  I still remember listening to it...  not with him, mind you, because I wasn't allowed in his room (although I always made sure I knew where the Playboy magazines were stashed), but I could hear it through the door.  I was only 11, but I was hooked. 

 

Bruce was playing in Lexington in November of 92 or 93 - was there a Human Touch tour?  Anyway, Mou got tickets for us as a birthday present for me.  I drove from Ohio to Kentucky for the concert, and as we were driving into Lexington we heard on the radio that the show  had been canceled - unbelievable!  It was rescheduled in December, though, and we were there.  It was absolutely incredible.  It sounds very cliche, but there was electricity in the air.  I don't think I've ever felt so excited as I did that night when the music started.  I screamed so loudly that I couldn't hardly talk for the next 2 days.  It was the first concert I ever went to, and it absolutely ruined me - he played for almost 4 hours, for pete's sake!  How could anyone compare after that?  AND I smelled pot for the first time that night (seriously...  I was 23... how sad is that?)!!

 

 

The date (1995):

 

I can't even remember the guy's name now.  He was a friend of a friend (my friend was friends with this guy and his wife) that I'd met once at a party.  He and his wife got divorced, and he asked my friend if I was seeing anyone (which I wasn't).  He had tickets to see the Gin Blossoms at a local bar that's known for the bands they can get to come play there (known in this area, that is...  anyone heard of McGuffy's House of Draft in Dayton, OH??).  We went out for dinner and a movie a few weeks before the concert, and everything was swell.  Being the oh-so-modern girl that I am, I offered to pick him up for the concert, since it was near his house, no use for him to drive all the way to get me, then back again, blah, blah, blah.  Let me tell you, I'm so glad I made that offer.

 

When I got to his place, he was already... tipsy.  He'd had an argument with the ex-wife shortly before I got there, and decided to calm down with a few mixed drinks.  I drove to the bar.  We sat at a booth.  We got drinks.  They were pretty crowded, so it took a while for the waitress to come take our food order.  Apparently (I learned later), he was 1) diabetic and 2) hadn't eaten much that day, which in combination with the alcohol meant that he was PRACTICALLY PASSING OUT AT THE TABLE.  I kept plugging away, trying to make conversation.  Finally, the waitress got there, and this was just the end of it for me...

 

Waitress:  What can I get for you?

Him:  I'll have the t-bone.

Waitress:  Do you want fries or a baked potato with that?

Him:  No, make that the ribeye.

Waitress:  Okay.  Do you want fries or a baked potato with that?

Him:  I want the ribeye.

Waitress:  Okay.  I got that.  Do you want fries or a baked potato with that?

- Folks, I am not exaggerating... -

Him:  I'll take the ribeye steak, medium-rare.

Me:  He'll have a baked potato with that.

Waitress (giving me the 'I feel so sorry for you, honey' look):  Okay.  (Then to him) What kind of dressing do you want on your salad?

 - You're kidding me, right?  Were you not just present for the last few minutes??? -

Me:  Give him blue cheese dressing

Him:  I'll take the ribeye, medium-rare.  Did you get that?

 

She walked away.  He drank more beer and slumped lower in his seat.  About 10 minutes later, I got up.  He roused up, and I said, "I'm going to get something from my car."

 

And I left.  Yes, I left him sitting there.  The guy working the door said to me as I passed by him, "If you leave, you can't get back in."  I smiled at him and said, "Believe me, that's not a problem."  I learned later from my friend that he figured out after an hour or so that I wasn't coming back, and that one of the bartenders drove him home when the place closed up.  He felt very bad, from what my friend said, and wanted the chance to apologize in person and make it up to me somehow. 

 

Nah.

 

 

So there are my FIVE MEMORABLE NIGHTS.  I'm sure there are more...  I hope there are more... but these are the ones that came to mind when she tagged me for this.

 

It's been a full week since the... toilet incident. Discussions over when it happened and who it happened to have finally died down.

I feel like a fugitive walking among them.

It was all anyone could talk about the Friday it happened, and understandably so. MY NEW BOSS was the one that found the unintentional plumbing destruction that day. It was the talk of the lunch table.

My boss: "Can you imagine being the person sitting on it at the time it fell off the wall?" At this, I let out a shout of laughter. Thankfully, everyone else at the table did as well.

Another lady: "Maybe they weren't sitting, maybe they were standing on it. Maybe that's why it came off the wall!" More guffaws from the lunch table. All that kept running through my head was 'I hope I'm not turning red! I hope I'm not giving myself away!!'

My boss: "Well I hope they weren't standing on it, because there was [bleep] in it!" (Okay, she said urine. There was pee in the toilet. I peed in the toilet, and left it there in the interest of making it back to my desk and avoid beind discovered as the person who was sitting on the commode when it ripped loose from the wall!) More uproarious laughter from the table. To my ears, my laughter had a somewhat maniacal quality to it. Someone changed the subject then... thank God!

I'd hoped that the interest in the mystery of the vandalized plumbing would die down over the weekend, but no such luck. The following Monday at the lunch table, it came up again. The general consensus was that we needed to figure out who had perpetrated this senseless act of bathroom ruination. My heart sank. Theories began to fly as people compared notes...

"I used that stall right before I left Thursday night at 5 o'clock, and it was fine!"

"Okay, then I went to use it at about 9 am Friday morning, and it was broken then."

"So it was someone that either stays late or comes in early." (Sherlock Holmes would be proud!)

I wanted to shout, 'OH, FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS GOOD AND PURE, PEOPLE, WHY IS THIS SUCH A BIG DEAL?? IT'S A TOILET!! IT'S FIXED NOW! LET - IT - GO!!!' But I kept silent.

A lady at the opposite end of the table started talking about the movie Stardust, which she and her husband had seen over the weekend. Everyone's attention shifted, and the mystery of the broken toilet was forgotten.

It hasn't been mentioned since.

No, this is not the promised post about my five memorable nights. Nor is it the promised post on my new job at the Casa de Insurance.

Sometimes, more frequently for some than for others, you have a moment when you think to yourself, "Really, isn't this more humiliation than a person should be expected to deal with?"

The following is a true story...

So I'm at work today, because it's Friday and because the vacation time I have available for the remainder of the year is dwindling, and because we need the income and the health insurance. It's a typical Friday at the Casa de Insurance. I'm working diligently at my new job, trying to formulate a response to a complaint that just won't go away. I'm tired. It's been a long week, and I haven't been sleeping well because... well... my husband's an idiot, but that's another story.

I go to the bathroom. This in itself is not an unusual occurrence.

I unzip. I sit down. I lean back and close my eyes for just a second because people, I am weary at this point in time...

And the toilet comes lose from the wall and crashes to the floor.

Thankfully (and surprisingly), water did not come spewing forth from the wall. Also thankfully, I was the only one in the bathroom at the time. I zipped up and ran.

The bathroom is now closed, and us ladies have to hike to the other end of the building right now if we need to go. The workman are in there now fixing it.

Did I tell anyone?

No, I did not.

And I'm not ashamed of this.

Working, working, working

Working (still) on the five memorable nights tag from Twyla.  Is it sad that I'm 37 years old and having this much trouble coming up with 5 nights of my life that seem worth writing about.  Hmmm...  I'm trying not to put too much thought into that.

 

Working on a post about the new job I have at the Casa de Insurance.

 

Working, working, working at the Casa de Insurance, because with this new job my hours have changed slightly, which means I'm getting home a little later in the day. 

 

BUT finally some good news...  yes, potty training news...  things seem to be looking up on that front, AND the preschool where the boy is enrolled is willing to work with him, at least for a few weeks, to see how things go.  The husband called them Monday to un-enroll the boy because of the potty training issue, and they said, "No don't do that!  The teacher he'll be with is wonderful!!  At least bring him for the first few weeks to see how things go, and if it's not working out you can pull him out for a while and bring him back later in the fall."

 

This is such a relief, you can't imagine.  Or maybe you can, because I'm sure you're as sick of hearing about the potty training as I am of dealing with it!

 

More soon - I promise!

Update at 4:12pm EST

The water flows. See below if you're confused.

I'm off to take a shower.

If I smell, I apologize

We have no water. In the house, that is. Nothing is coming out of the taps right now. We haven't had water since last night, which means we haven't been able to flush the toilets and we weren't able to take showers this morning. I cleaned up with baby wipes this morning... BABY WIPES!

And whose fault is this?

You guessed it. My FATHER-IN-LAW'S!!!!!

He was over yesterday, working on some small household projects with the husband. During all of this, he decided that the husband needed a lesson on where the main water shut-off for the house is located and how it works (because we're so stupid we can't figure out how to turn a knob). Instead of just pointing to it and saying 'Here's your main shut-off', he pointed to it, said 'Here's your main shut-off', gave a brief talk on when we might have to use it, and turned the knob to demonstrate how it works. After my husband confirmed that the water was off, the father-in-law turned it back on.

We had supper and chatted. The husband cleaned up the dishes and started the dish washer. The father-in-law left. The husband walked down the hall to go the the bathroom, past the utility closet where the main water shut-off valve is...

... and stepped in a puddle of water.

Obviously, there should not be a puddle of water on top of the carpet in the hallway.

Knowing now where the main shut-off was, the husband leaped into action, threw open the utility closet doors to shut the valve off... and found water spewing from said main shut-off valve. He got it shut off, and we got most of the water cleaned up, but when he turned it back on water started spewing again.

Something in the valve apparently snapped when the father-in-law gave his demonstration. Of course. Granted, we probably would've had to have gotten this fixed eventually, but we've lived here almost 10 years and haven't had a 'water emergency' that necessitated turning off the water at the main valve.

The plumber is here now... the plumber that does work for the father-in-law's condo complex and does side jobs under the table... he has to drain the water heater (40 gallons) and take it out so he can get to the valve to replace it... it's going to cost about $400.

At least the father-in-law had the sense to offer to pay for all this.

I love the people that read my blog. You all are the bomb.

Twyla tagged me to write about the five best nights of my life. Keep watching for my answers!

Good Girl?

Yes, I am overweight.

Yes, I am diabetic.

Yes, I am trying to loose weight by being more diligent about what I'm eating and by sweating my ass off on my elliptical machine 45 minutes a day at least 6 days a week.

I don't hide or ignore the fact that any of these statements are true. I don't pretend to be someone I'm not (Note to all the other fat girls out there: If you have a roll of fat around your middle so pronounced that it actually hangs over the waistband of your pants, PLEASE do not wear a belly shirt. It's NOT attractive. We thank you in advance for your attention to this.). The fact that the above statements are true, though, does not give you the right to patronize me. If you patronize me, you'll only end up pissing me off.

Here's how the scene unfolded this past Friday...

The new department that I'm in (By the way, I got a new job. Never fear, I'm still at the Casa de Insurance, just in a different department, but more on that in another post.) was gearing up for one of the infamous 'Casa de Insurance department reorganizations' (i.e. everyone was moving to a new desk), which was fine with me because I'd been here almost two weeks and was still sitting in a temporary desk. Management knew this was going to be a completely unproductive day, so they decided to show their appreciation for our understanding by buying us lunch. Pizza was to be delivered at noon. It's always either pizza or bagels with these people, which makes it surprising that our asses aren't permanently wedged into our chairs.

A new job in a new department means that I'm no longer directly across the aisle from Right-Wing-Conservative-Girl (henceforth known as RWCG) - YAY!! BUT, a new job in a new department means that RWCG is on the Casa de Insurance-approved instant messenger program to me FIRST THING EVERY MORNING - BOO!!. The conversation last Friday morning went something like this...

RWCG: Good Morning! How was your evening?
Me: It was okay... just the normal stuff.
RWCG: Good! Are you eating lunch with us today in the cafeteria, or staying at your desk since they're delivering pizza down there? (Side note: Lunch is a very big thing around here. It's almost like a social event, which is irritating. Sometimes I just don't feel like eating lunch with the crowd, but you always have to come up with an excuse. I spend gross amounts of money at Wal-Mart, because it's close and 'I need to pick up something at Wal-Mart' is a good excuse for getting out of the building at lunch time.)
Me: No, I'm not eating the pizza. I brought a big salad from home - trying to watch what I'm eating since I'm getting back on track with everything.
RWCG: Good girl!

Okay, back the truck up, Nellie. "Good girl!"? What the hell is that? I wanted to say, "Pardon me, but I'm not 10 years old and I'm not a dog." I wanted to say, "Do you really think that's encouraging? Because if you want to know the truth, it's not. It's irritating and condescending and rude" but I didn't, because I knew at that moment there was nothing I could type that would come out well, that wouldn't tell her exactly where she could go and how quickly she could go there, and because sometimes you have to choose your battles, especially when you see the person daily, and especially when you sit directly behind their boyfriend in the new department that you've moved to. Instead, I said nothing, shut down the instant messenger, and ate lunch at the big cafeteria table with RWCG and all the other ladies that are the lunchtime regulars.

Good girl? Screw you.

Please keep my friend Lori (see her link on the left) and especially her parents in your thoughts and prayers.  Her dad is in the hospital right now, and it looks like he's going to lose one of his legs from the knee down due to complications from a blood clot.  They're awesome folks, and taught me a few things during the (large amounts of) time that I spent at their house...  everything from cooking (add a can of Pepsi to your chili, you would not believe how much better it tastes) to parenting (if you don't like what your child is doing in their room, take the door off the hinges and put it in the garage for a few weeks).  Though the future looks bleak now, I know they'll get through this and get back to as close to normal as they ever were (and Lori, you know I mean that with all the love in my heart!) very quickly.

Is it wrong...

No, wait... let me re-phrase that...

How wrong is it that I've taught my 3 1/2 year old to say 'Daddy's a weenie'?? He (the 3 1/2 year old, not the daddy) giggles uproariously when he says it, which of course makes it terribly cute.

Is that bad?

Dear Miss Manners...

I'm very disturbed at what seems to be a growing trend. I work in a rather large office, 400-500 people in my building. More and more while I'm in the ladies room, I hear other ladies talking on their cell phones while they're in the stall doing their business!! Personally, I find this quite distasteful, not to mention rude to the person you're speaking to. I'd be mortally offended if I were speaking to someone and suddenly heard through the phone the WHOOSH of a flushing toilet!

I know, however, that this is the 21st Century, and understand how important the electronics are to us, but please tell me, Miss Manners, is this behavior appropriate??

Eagerly awaiting your reply...