In Order To Be Heard

I had an interesting conversation today, about blogging. It seems that there is a growing separation between people; those who blog, and those who don't.

Even more interesting is what people are starting to say about it all. Since we're all mostly bloggers here, I'm sure I can guess what the reaction will be, but heck - for fun, I'll list it anyway. Nothing like a good stirring of the pot for the weekend:

• "Bloggers blog because they're not brave enough to say things in real life."
• "Bloggers are people who think their lives are so interesting that they have a need to force it on others using the Internet."
• "Bloggers are the people who are such failures in real life, they need to create a false world where they can feel on top, online."
• "Bloggers are desperate for attention."
• "Bloggers are a community of group narcissists, who's only purpose is to feed each other's egos."

I think that's enough - it's pretty clear where that line of thought is going. I'm sure I don't even need to post the opposing argument to that little gem of a list. Matter of fact, I'm betting it's likely you all will list them for me.

I will say that I feel that each person who has a public journal/blog has their very own individual reasons for it. What I don't understand yet, is the hostility directed at those who do blog. Even at the college where I attend, there are numerous posters all around campus - even in the bathrooms! - warning students NOT to have a blog.

The posters list all sorts of reasons why a person should never have a blog, but the one they throw up in giant blocked letters is that fact that something like 60+% of employers do an Internet search looking for blogs and "space" pages (i.e. myspace, facebook, whatever other one has popped up overnight.) That even when you delete your blog, technically the search engines retain your information and page shots, and the only way to get them off of there is to actually SUE. Yes, you too must file a lawsuit against google and sue to have that photo of you wearing a pink tu-tu off the Internet, AFTER you have deleted it.

OK, all that's compelling. Yet... I still blog.

I don't blog because I am a narcissist. I don't feel like I'm a total failure (this past week not withstanding.) I'm not desperate for attention (hear that, UPS????) I don't feel like I'm on top of my own little world on here, nor am I trying to force my non-interesting life on others. I am also not afraid to say what I need to in "real life", if anything that has gotten me into more trouble than it was worth, more times than I can count.

I think I blog to be heard. Not by anyone in particular, just me. Often, I do feel silenced in my life. I feel I can't truly be the way I am. And here, in this little corner I can be... OK... kinda. It's true, I think I actually swear LESS on my blog. I tend to restrain myself to a small sense of decency, and actually I'm wilder in person. I'm an introverted blogger! HA! Perhaps that is the exception to the rule for most bloggers. Yet, I went out and created a blog that I never thought anyone would read. That wasn't my intention. I just needed to be able to say something, and have it actually be said into the void.

And wow, one day, someone came by and said something back. Better than that, it was worth hearing. Sure you get your trolls and sludge of humanity doing drive bys on your blog - everyone does, but the people you have who drop by to comment and make an effort truly amaze me. These are people who take time out of their day - even if it's just a single moment - to say "Good for you!" or "Hang in there!" I started blogging just to be heard, if only by myself. Now I find I blog not only for that, but to listen. Through this I have found others, and they are WORTH my time as well.

I get a lot out of blogging, it's true. But that doesn't even compare to what is given to me by others here.

Useless

I did something completely useless today. I went back to bed after I put the kids on the bus. I mean, BACK to bed - I just got up and it's officially 12:07 pm now. I have never done that before, but I have to tell you, after my Bermuda-Triangle-Week, it was a great thing on this rainy Friday.

I woke up thinking about other useless things... mostly terms or phrases. For example:

"You've lost weight!" - Ok, this one has bothered me for a long time and I finally figured out why. I lose things ALL the time. Keys, remote controls, loose change, my purse, cellphone, small animals, relatives, pride, you name it. But you know what? It's NEVER hard! Losing something is the easiest talent I possess, and WEIGHT does NOT fit into that category of ease. It should be something else like "wow, you've eradicated some extra weight!" Or "Annihilated some weight, I see!" Because, trust me, if my weight was down, it wasn't because I accidentally set it on the endtable and the cat knocked it behind the couch.

There are a lot of those floating around. I think we should campaign to have them put to death.

Just a thought.

Geeze, I'm pessimistic today (my husband says I a PISSED-imistic. He apparently holds his life in little value.)

Can You Count Your Life In People?

Last night, I went to a funeral. It was for a friend's husband who had been killed on last Wednesday (this is a major reason I haven't been posting much lately.)

The funeral, instead of being held in a church, was held in the local Town Hall. The reason for this was that it was expected that more than 200 people would come out for the funeral. And they DID.

I have to admit, I hadn't been to many funerals or memorial services. To be honest, I went to a memorial service in my senior year of high school when a classmate was shot and killed, and then just this past July was my first actual funeral for my grandfather.

My grandfather was almost 93 years old. His funeral was in the dessert of Arizona, and only 10 people were there - all immediate family - and no one else cared. Heck, some of us there weren't sure if we cared. There weren't many tears. My grandfather was not a pleasant human being. Afterwards, we went and ate lunch somewhere, then went home.

In stark contrast was Tuesday's funeral. This man was 63. A thirty year difference, yet he had so many similarities to my own grandfather in the sorts of activities he engaged in. The difference was that this man was a decent human being. The hall was packed with people, overflowing out into the aisles and entrance.

People cried. People cared.

I was looking around at the various people gathered, and realized that they spanned all the ages - from newborn babies to older than my own grandparents. I watched a little girl, about six years old, stare at her grandfather as she sat on his lap and watched him cry. Then she looked around to other people and saw that they were crying too. This seemed to awe her. She was completely stunned, and just kept watching people cry. I imagine it's not often you can see a room full of men sobbing.

But what a stark contrast to my grandfather's funeral. 10 people, and 200+ people. No tears, to sobbing.

When it was over, everyone went to the house of the family, (it's a small house, so it was outright PACKED) and ate food and reminisced. How amazing to sit in a room and have people tell so many stories that had everyone laughing.

But it got me thinking (yes, I know, you all didn't think I was capable of that, didja?) If I died today, do you know how many people would show up to my funeral that aren't immediate family? MAYBE five. That might be pushing it. Some might even show up to spit on me one last time, cause I'm charming like that.

Granted, the gentleman from Tuesday was a big part of the town and had lived here for about 20 years. Being here that long in a small town makes an impact, and his wife is also a teacher at the school which further branches out into the community. Yet, when I compared myself (silently) to my husband, he would have almost as big a turn out right now as this funeral. I guess we're total opposites in more ways than I thought!

I'm not competing with funeral goers with my husband, it's simply looking at what impact and role you play on those around you. My husband runs the soccer program for the school, and that reaches a lot of kids and their families. Plus he's darn likable. I did the girl scout leader thing for a while, but it just wasn't my thing (and completely unreasonable after heading back to college.) Still, I have found that the women out here glom onto my husband, and despise me on general principal. I even had one who later started chatting with me and said that she didn't realize that I was an OK person - she just assumed I wasn't worth her time before. You know, I'm one of those weird artsy types (no, I don't dress like a hippie, actually more people out here do that - maybe that IS the problem?) I don't make sense, so why bother trying with me.

Well, I can't say I know where I was going with this post except to compare it with my life. I can clearly see my husband is on the right track (as always, apparently.) But I don't want to die and have 10 people sitting around talking about how they don't care that I died at all. I know that my family would care a great deal, and there would be good things from all of them. However, outside of that, I'm not so sure.

Have you all ever thought about what your legacy would be if you died right now? Aside from the morbidity of the question (try to move past that) - would there be a packed room of people reminiscing about all the fun wonderful things about you?

And one other weird question: do you think that technology, and so many friendships existing online now, has contributed to people being a lesser part of the actual physical world around them?

Look Your Age!

I was told yesterday that I didn't look like I was 31.... AT ALL.

I was told this by an extraordinarily handsome man, who wasn't hitting on me.

Because he knew I am married and what not, he had no reason to say something so delightful to me. The company at the time pegged me in my mid 20's.

Is it wrong that I was walking on a cloud for four hours afterward?

Or does that just make me even OLDER, that I am so grateful when someone says I don't LOOK my age?

I don't feel half as pleased when they tell me I don't act it... But maybe they were just referring to that time with the belly-button jello shots. I admit, that night is a bit fuzzy, but the photos have really cleared up a lot of lingering questions...

Ack

I'm here. I'm alive. I'm up to my eyeballs in funerals, friends that need a shoulder, and accounting from hell.

If you love me,... oh hell, if you like me at all, send chocolate.

;)

Or an accountant.

Like Sweaters For Chocolate

It's a widely held stereotype that most women are addicted to shoes. Now, that's not to say that it's unfounded - as I found out when my daughter was old enough to speak. That girl is 100% addicted to shoes. She loves them, all the colors, styles, etc. She has been picking them out and collecting them since she was two, and I have been flabbergasted by it ever since.

You see, I am NOT addicted to shoes. Belonging to the family of overgrown Sasquatch...er.... AMAZON women, my feet match my stature (I'm 5'10.) I have size 9 1/2 - 10, feet. Now I know to men that this means nothing to you. Size 9 1/2 isn't hard to find for YOU all. But let me make a comparison - my brother's feet are a size 18 1/2. Now, how easy are those to find? Same thing.


I grew up barefoot, not only by choice - because I seriously loath having to wear shoes - but also because there really weren't any for me. I remember being in high school and actually discovering that I had a fashion sense (it was a severe shock to the system) and I went out and tried to find "cute shoes". It was a disaster. In every store, there were only two styles of shoe in two colors : tennis shoes and grandmother gosh-awful-pumps-that-even-Brunhilda-wouldn't-wear-to-scare-children. At least I had company in my anti-shoe-mentality, as I had been cut from the same cloth as my mother.

So, all this time I thought I had escaped the "fashion addiction" that so many women funnel into shoes. Heck, I even scorned the idea (quietly, where my daughter couldn't hear.) Me? Be so silly as to be addicted to buying an article of clothing? HA! Those poor, misguided, silly women. I mean, WHAT are they going to DO with 600 pairs of shoes? Give me a break!


Well, it seems I may have been a bit in denial. Imagine my chagrin when I woke up this morning in the cold and thought "oooo I get to wear a sweater today!" Then looked in my closet to choose from the 20 different one's hanging there. Then, when I opened my email today there were notices of big sweater sales going on in all my favorite stores, and I got practically light headed.


Is it possible that the "shoe-addiction" gene is something that is unavoidable no mater what? Sure, you can deny it. Warp it. Change it into something else. But you cannot get RID of it?

I always kinda figured that my missing shoe addiction was funneled into a lifelong love of chocolate instead. But it turns out I have another after all. I'm just.... seasonal! Ha!


I know. You don't have to say it. I'm properly ashamed... But 30-75% off! Come on! And all soft snuggly goodness! And hey, I can wear a soft comfy sweater WHILE eating chocolate, and indulge my two addictions at once (and make friend's with the local dry cleaner.) You can't beat that!

Did I Make The Biggest Mistake?

OK, it's clear that I am in a serious mood today. It's very likely due to the fact that I only got four hours of sleep last night because I was up late watching, of all things, a re-run!

OK, it was the season finale of last season's Grey's Anatomy, so give me some credit... but just the same, I SHOULD have been snoozing away like a sane person would who had to get up and run (literally) at 4:30AM. Nope, not me. But did I still get up, fight with my spandex, and "hit the bricks" as my father is so fond of saying (someone explain that phrase to me, because it sounds so very painful)?

You betcha!

Now, I'm paying for it.

Every minute seems like three when you are this tired. That's just compounding the unfairness of it all, wouldn't you agree? On top of that, I have been a bit contemplative over the past...weeks.

It has been suggested, and I'm not disagreeing with it, that returning to school now is a HUGE mistake. Most especially in regards to my son (the six year old.) Before school started, he and I were buddies. Now, he hardly speaks to me. Both kids have expressed that they wish I wasn't going to school.

Now, I can allow the comments from my daughter (eight years) to be put in their proper place - she is busy with things and she only misses a little from me. As in 2 hours twice a week, and some busy time for homework. But she is secure, has her friends, and homework too.

However, my son is a different matter. I think I may have undermined him and his world when everything was at it's worst time to do so. He was starting school(kindergarten), everything was changing, and I started back at the same time, throwing his one static symbol of security into flux.

He doesn't share with me, or play, or build like he used to. He cries at so little now. If I even correct him over something small, he'll get tearful and self-depreciating. It's HORRIBLE.

Seriously, I think I screwed up. I think I should have started either in the spring, or even next year. I think I really screwed up. And I can't take it back now. One, it's already done. Two, I can't quit because there are no refunds now.

Those who don't have kids, or who do but work full time and have since they were small, likely won't understand why I don't embrace showing my kids that I am investing and believing in myself - but while the kids will see that (someday), right now all they know is that mommy isn't there like she used to be. And it hurts. A LOT.

100% honesty - I would quit right now if I had a refund available, and start next fall instead.

Part of me knows that I would be totally depressed watching the time tick away and knowing that I could have been that much farther ahead than I was when I finally did start - simply because that is how I have been as I have watched my time tick away through my 20's anyway. I know that. But I would rather be in pain than my child.

I chose to stay home with my kids from the start because I only had my mother there in a few early years. After that, I was a latch-key-kid (from about 7 on) which meant I was by myself up until 5-6 PM. Cooking. Everything (a completely frightening thought, because I don't even let my eight year old run the stove without me standing right there.) I remember feeling abandoned when no one was there for us. I remember wishing someone was around. And then I remember when I was happy there was no one - from a mother's perspective I don't know which is WORSE.

True, my husband or I am always there. We don't do babysitters - have NEVER had a babysitter that wasn't a relative, and I can count the number of times we have had one of those on ONE hand. They have stability. Maybe my problem is that it isn't me 100% of the time anymore. Even if that is part of it, it doesn't hurt like seeing how my son has changed in just a few small weeks. THAT is killing me.

A Little Friendly Competition

I'm giving a shout out to all the ladies who are involved in fitness, weight loss, or want to be - ALL LEVELS.

On Pink Dumbbells, we are about to kick off a 100 day challenge. You can be fit or not, and you bring to it your OWN plan. There are actually prizes involved in this one, it's free to join and participate, and it's a great opportunity to get things on track and in gear for the rest of the year with support and encouragement of a great community.

The challenge kicks off on this Saturday, the 23rd of September, and runs though New Years Eve. You design your own plan and parameters. Competitors are judged on their own merit, not against one another - it's how YOU do according to your own goals and on your own plan.

So, if you feel like a little competition, Click Here and read up on the rules and what we're doing!

Pirates, Pirates Everywhere!

It's international talk like a pirate day!

Unfortunately, it seems that Vermont is not very sea-worthy. Or pillage-worthy I guess. Only ONE person actually mentioned that it was talk like a pirate day.... but he didn't do it like a pirate. *pout*

And I do have SUCH a thing for pirates. Long before little (cause the man is short, people!) Johnny Depp donned his swagger and beads, I had a thing for pirates. Wow, thinking back, it must have started when I was about seven years old.

They went from just cool, to slightly scary, to really really hot. There you have it - my development from child to woman in Pirate-ese. Sure, I tend to ignore the historical aspect of it, because that isn't very romantic. A man with scurvy just isn't going to make my heart go pitty-pat.

But a hunk in a billowing white shirt open at the collar, sweeping me off my feet.... oh yeah I am so there.

So... how much work do you think it would take to have an "international DRESS like a pirate day" declared?

Stuck In A Basket Of Blossoms

Yesterday I went about my day pretty much like I do every Sunday. I rescued the cat from a closed closet in the toy room. I got my little dog to stop chasing The Colonol -part Duex (our rooster) before he went feather-foot up from a heart attack. I broke up an argument over a hula-hoop, stuffed bear, and a baseball bat (you really don't want to know), and somehow managed to get enough laundry done that no one came crying to me that they didn't have something silly and unnecessary, like underwear.

It was in the early evening that I noticed it.

The SMELL!

It would have been a pleasant smell, if it weren't so strong! It was floral, but so intense that it had a chemical affectation, and it went right to my head. I could NOT figure out what it was!

I thought that the smell was coming in my window from outside, at first. You see we have lots of night blooming flowers, but not usually so late in the season. AND those usually smell heavenly! I researched online about pollen and tree counts, you name it - and came up empty handed.

I just had to figure this out, though - my eyes were practically watering. I walked around the house trying to locate the smell. Mr. Savy thought I was insane, walking around "sniffing". Yeah well, the guy smells only beer, pizza, and bad things I would rather not mention. He is no authority on sights, sounds or smells - believe me.

I was still contemplating the possibility it was coming from outside. I couldn't smell anything BUT that sickly floral smell, and it was so strong I couldn't narrow it down. So, I got my Mr. Savy to stick his nose out the window that I had been at trying to determine if it was where the smell was coming from. At first he said he did finally smell it. But then... no... no, don't really smell it anymore.

At that point I figured it was a possibility that the "oil air fresheners" that we recently bought might have exploded in a room of the house. So, we went room to room, examining the fresheners, and comparing scents. All the while, I still smelled the overwhelming floral scent. I thought I might even be sick, it was SO strong. Mr. Savy said he could smell it, but it wasn't that bad - what the heck was wrong with me?

Eventually, we had to give up. I could tell Mr. Savy clearly thought I was insane and overreacting. FINE! So, he went down to watch a soccer game (I so hate soccer now - my whole anniversary, you know what we did? He had a big soccer event to attend that lasted all day that my daughter was involved in, and it was too late to do anything, so we split a bottle of champagne and I went and did accounting while he watched another TiVo game. That's it. No cards. No dinner - which we originally planned to do before the soccer thing ran so late. No nothing. He apologised, and said we really should be making more of an effort - but hey, the champagne was good. *grrr* Sorry. I had to vent.)

I stomped upstairs, determined to ignore the fact my husband thought I was crazy, AND that I couldn't breath because the floral scent was so strong. I got into pj's, hopping into bed, and put my hands behind my head.

O...M...G...

I thought I was going to die.

I figured out where the intense floral smell was coming from....

I had picked up a pack of these at the store on sale. I didn't think anything of it. Even though I had never tried that particular "scent" (usually I prefer the absence of one) but I figured what the heck, it was VERY cheap.

NOW I know why!

Mr. Savy eventually came to bed. I told him I figured out where the smell was coming from, MY ARMPITS! He laughed and said "Oh honey, it's not that bad actually..."

To which I said, "Oh reeeeeeeeeeeeeally?" And put my arms over my head.

Yup, totally knocked him out. It's not deodorant, it's a biological weapon of mass husband destruction.

Accounting Under The Influence

I should be sited for AUI.

But I have to tell you, this screwed up class makes a LOT more sense after a good half a bottle of Vouvray.

Am I the only person who has been driven to drink by mathematics?

Zero to 11 in 4,015 Days!

11 years. That's how long I have been married as of today. 4,015 days as a married woman. Over a 1/3 of my life. In the immortal words of my relatives in California (Yes, in the O.C.) "duuuuuuuude... that's like... a long time, rhhhiiiiiight?"

So much changes in 11 years. I remember being very aware of Mr. Savy's location, should I need to "visit the ladies room". Yes, we're all human, but at that point we're supposed to be like barbie dolls - pretty and plastic. Reality should NOT intrude.

Yeah, the whole "miracle of childbirth" sorta blew that notion right out of the water. Not only can there be NO worse way to see your spouse than in the moments of giving birth, but you now have mini-people who run around and burst through doors without knocking, and even the neighbors know more than they should about your personal life.

We started off, both of us, with little two door cars. You know the type; they claim you can seat at least four people in them, but really it's two people in the front and a squirrel in the back - MAYBE. No air conditioning. You were lucky if it had more than a simple radio and could play tapes. We both loved our cars. We had worked for them, bought them on our own, no help from our parents - and if anyone even looked like they were going to sneeze in it, we would have dumped them on the roadside without slowing down. We had these cars while dating, and I remember getting frisky in the front seat. It wasn't too hard to imagine, considering you were in such a tight space you were virtually shoulder to shoulder anyway. Though, the gearshift in the center is not a pleasant memory. Actually, looking back, some of the acrobatics that were required, maybe I should have tried out for Cirque De Soleil!

Now our cars are growing exponentially. They seat 140 people, plus all the family pets, a concessions stand, and a few major house appliances. We think grandma may have actually slipped behind one of the seats by accident, though the family keeps theorizing she went on vacation. There are toys scattered about, food, items of clothing, a hitch-hiking bear, and quite possibly Jimmy Hoffa. The car has not only been sneezed in, but puked on, spilled on, dumped on, you name it. The only thing it has not been submitted to was us getting frisky in it, even though there is more room than our first apartment, and not a gearshift in sight!

We started off living in a one bedroom apartment in Chicago. It was the type of place where if you took three steps in any direction you could then announce you were in the next room. But we didn't notice. The one thing I really remember clearly was that Mr. Savy had delusions that he could have an equal share of closet space. He was so set on this, that this misguided affliction lasted a good four years before he finally faced the cold, hard, brutal reality that he was only getting a couple spare feet, and he darn well better be grateful for it, because I could have used that too.

Oh, and he also suffered under the erroneous belief that he could drive the remote control for the television. Yeah, that got cleared up right away.

We moved in with wicker (cheap wicker) furniture, thinking that we were so "together" because we had a "couch set". That couch set lasted, I kid you not, 30 days. The darn things unraveled and we were sitting on the floor for months and months afterwards, until we finally took the plunge and bought an actual couch. Though, at the time, I seem to recall us seriously contemplating folding lawn furniture for a while. We never did buy end tables or a coffee table, though. Just a couch. I mean, you only needed somewhere to sit, right?

Now, we have a house. We're "home owners". With land taxes (those bastards!!! - Sorry, we just got our tax-bill and it's almost $7k, and yes, we still pay a high state income tax too.) We mow lawns. Have chickens and ducks (his idea.) Lots of indoor pets. Children running about. Spare bedrooms for relatives so we can lock them in and forget about them. And we have not only one set, but TWO sets of couches, and recently bought end tables and coffee tables for the first time in our marriage. Like adults. Grown ups. Responsible people. *sniffle*

I think the thing that has changed the most over 11 years is our bed. When we first started out, we had a bed that wasn't even as big as a twin. I have NO idea what they call those beds, but it was 1/2-2/3rds the size of a normal twin. And we BOTH slept (ok we didn't sleep much back then...) in it. I can't even fathom that anymore.

We graduated to a queen bed eventually. But even then, we slept "very close" to one another. Children, I think, were the deciding factor to upgrade yet again. We now have a king size bed. I have to telephone Mr. Savy on the other side just to have a conversation. Of course, the fascinating thing is that with all this room, Mr. Savy still manages to fall out of bed on occasion. Yes, the man still has the ability to baffle and amaze me after all these years.

I remember wishing we could GET credit. I still hold a grudge against Discover Card from back then. I applied for a credit card, after researching cards and companies. My very first credit card. They turned me down flat. Not in a nice way either. In the letter I received they actually told me that I hadn't established myself as a "productive human being", and that they wouldn't ever extend credit to someone like me. Seriously, I got smacked down by Discover - the one company I am told turns NO ONE down, even back then. Now, we get more credit offers in the mail than anything else. Our bank calls us up at least once a year and OFFERS to give us a loan. And Discover called. Imagine the earful I gave THEM.

Then there is us. We went from our stupid 20's, to our only slightly dumb 30's in the past 11 years. We went from tiptoeing around and trying to be on our best behavior, to accepting that isn't physically possible and that's ok too. Smooth skin, to wrinkles and a few sneaky gray hairs. (and as Mr. Savy put it - Budweiser to lagers. This makes no sense to me, but he assures me others will "understand.")

What hasn't changed is that we still love one another, and we're best friends. All that has simply grown as time has moved forward. We have watched our friend's and neighbor's marriages fall by the roadside in discarded disrepair, and we have moved forward without a backwards glance, stronger and better every single day.

Can't wait to see what happens in the next 4,015 days. :) (I hope I get a bitchin' sports car out of it by then.)

Sugar And Spice...And....

I am going to be moving my blog off blogger. I hope to get to it this weekend, but we'll see. In the meantime, I have some questions for everyone.

On the subject of what "makes" a person, I would like to know the following from all of you:

1) What makes a person "weak" in your eyes?

2) What makes a person "strong" in your eyes?

3) Of those qualities, which do you personally possess?

4) Of the qualities you possess, how do you feel about each one?

5) How do you think others view you? Strong? Weak?

6) Is it annoying or offensive if someone shows weakness or vulnerability? Why?

7) Have you ever been "attacked" (for lack of a better term) because you exhibited your vulnerabilities?

8) Have you ever been "attacked" because you appeared to not HAVE any vulnerabilities?

9) Ever done the attacking in either case?

10) What qualities do you aspire to, or are working on increasing?


I've been thinking a lot about how people appear, and how they react to others. I've been "watching" too, as I am wont to do on a frequent basis, and heading to college again has allowed me access to a whole petrie dish of human behavior. What I am finding is that:

*Men are expected to look strong and competent at all times. They are allowed to "be vulnerable" only if they are hung-over, have the flu, etc. This seems to be universal, and no real shocker, I suppose. But what is interesting is that these kids are in transition to "adulthood", most of them between 17-22 years of age. They seem to oscillate between being a human being, and being superman. So, since I know I have NO male readers of that young age, I ask the big, strapping, handsome, mature men who frequent my blog on occasion if this is still the case in your eyes?

* Women - are damn confusing. (Men, stop cheering.) It seems like there are different roles that are available, but each one comes with a price. We have the "weak whiny, save me!" type. Those are expected to have men cater to them, and to get help from everyone, and be beautiful - because otherwise, who the hell would save them? Or we have the "strong, competent, don't get in my way because I am going somewhere with my life" types, who tend to be mostly ignored by the entire community at large. The list seems to stretch on for a while.

*And then I think about the blogosphere. It has come up on multiple blogs the question of why people post comments to the glib posts that mean nothing, and those with content from the heart are ignored. Or, if you show vulnerability (male or female) on your blog, the jerks come out of the woodwork to prey on you, and start attacking any chink in your armor they can find. So, I started browsing blogs. It seems that the blogs that get the most traffic are the ones with the least amount of personal content (with a few notable exceptions, but there are always exceptions to the rule.)

After I responded to Hilly's blog to my thoughts on why people comment or don't, I thought a little more about that. I think the situation may be more obvious on a blog platform, but I believe it holds true in life (feel free to disagree, I'd really like to hear your opinions.) I believe that most people cannot stand the possibility that every person around them is just as unique, troubled, wishful, loving, hateful, complicated, etc, as they are.

That may be in part due to vanity, but I think it's more than that. I think that perhaps deep down (WAY DEEP DOWN for a lot of people) that people don't like to see another person in pain, or in danger of being hurt. To think that everyone is just like you on the basis of internal depth is terrifying, because then you never really know anyone at all, AND you are always in danger of wounding someone else - by chance or purpose. That's an overwhelming thought, so it's easier to ignore it. Push people in boxes, and demand they only give YOU what YOU want - which is so little of who they really are.

Ok, enough babbling. But I would like to know what everyone else thinks.

Unending Morning

I hate cloudy weather. No, I really, REALLY, REALLY DO. I can handle any type of weather from blistering sun, to 60 below and blizzards, but I cannot stand it when it's just cloudy all day. You wake up, and it's over cast. Time moves until about 9 a.m......... And then....

nothing.

The world stops moving forward.

Sure, your day goes on, but darned if it isn't 9 AM FOR THE REST OF THE DAY! Well, until it suddenly is dark. So you go from 9 a.m. to 9 p.m. in a sneeze, but the 9 a.m. part lasts for-ev-ER!

If it's raining you get the whole "cozy-need-nap-e-time now" feeling. If it's snowing, you get the whole "bake cookies, and drink wine in front of the fireplace". If it's sunny and blistering hot - well hello to nude slip-n-slide! Ok... well at least sitting in a lawn chair with the hose taped to your forehead and a margarita. But SOMETHING!

But is there anything that can be considered "woohoo!" on a perpetually 9 a.m. day?

NO!!

Ugh.

I need chocolate.

The Cost of Opportunity

Opportunity cost is a term usually associated with business. It's what you pay in order to take one opportunity over another. Not in money, but in actions. If you sell chocolates AND gum, you won't have room to sell the designer shoes (what the heck designer shoes would be doing next to chocolates, I have no idea - but if any of you knows of a store like this, please give me the name and address... erm... just for informational purposes, of course.) If you stay open until midnight, you won't have time to go home and see your spouse (ok, there are some people that see that as a bonus, but we're ignoring them for our current purposes.)

Everything you do in life comes with a cost. Everything. If you decide to brush your teeth, technically you COULD be doing something else instead. Whatever else it is you could have been doing is your cost. Not to say that you shouldn't be brushing your teeth, just simply that you made a choice. (And you better be flossing too, or I'm going to email your dentist.)

Sometimes it's one we don't mind paying. It's a cost that doesn't COST us in terms of making our proverbial wallets cry "mercy!" But sometimes the choice is harder. Hard enough that we ignore the actual components of the choice and act as if we didn't have a choice.

But we do.

You say you HAVE to go to work, but the honest truth is you could just not show up. Yes, you would lose your job, your spouse would disown you, and your dog would refuse to be seen with you in public - but you COULD do that. Some opportunity costs are simply ingrained to the point of common sense. You go to work to pay for your home and your lifestyle. You could avoid work, but you would end up costing yourself many other things along the way.

That's all big picture, and it's easy to see. But what about the little stuff? What about the little choices we make? What about all the little ones we make in order to cater to someone else?

It's important to pay attention to the Opportunity Costs in your life, for one outstanding reason: realization of control.

How many times have you felt like your life was spinning out of control, whether in a small or big way? How many times do we just give up that control to others, by allowing them to decide what our choices (and costs) will be? How many times do we make bad choices and create costs we really don't want to pay, and then push the blame off onto someone/something else?

I have heard a million times over that someone is in a horrible job, and they have no options. A horrible marriage. A bad town. Gaining weight. Failing school. I could go on and on.

I have felt it. I have felt it and said it. I'm not proud. I think that it was perhaps because that I was tired of screwing up. I was tired of shouldering my own bad choices, and weathering the outcome that resulted - even if some of it DID result from other's choices around me. But the truth is, every time you say it's beyond your control, every time you say you have no choice - you give up your greatest asset: your power.

No matter what problem you face, you ALWAYS have multiple options. Maybe they're not realistic, or responsible, or fun, but they are there. Sometimes you have to make a bad choice, to get to a right one. Sometimes you have suffer to get to the other side where there isn't so much pain. But the point in all of that is that YOU have to make the choice. And make the choice to NOT let someone make it for you - because that is a choice as well, and out of any decision you could possibly make, it is the worst one of all.

Why so serious today? I'm feeling pretty down. I won't go into it, but suffice it to say, I'm not a happy camper right now. It's been brewing for a while, and I have spent several nights just sitting and looking at the moon until the wee hours of the morning, trying to figure out how to fix what makes me unhappy.

If any of you have seen the movie Last Holiday, you'll remember that the main character has a book of Possibilities. In this book she put pictures of everything in life she ever wanted, everything she ever wanted to do. Her possibilities. I've been thinking about starting a book like that. In the movie, she threw hers away, and it was a "good" thing. But what if you are so muddled down you can't even figure out what you want, and what possibilities are before you?

If you don't know those two things, you can't make the choices you need to make to create a satisfying life. I don't want my costs of continuing on to be missing opportunities that I would have otherwise taken. So, I think I am going to start my own book of possibilities - no matter how wild or improbable the items are, I just want them all in there. From that, I can create my own opportunities. I can make more choices, and hopefully one's that will be right for the long term.

It's just a tactic I'm going to employ, but on a smaller level it works with everything. I have long told people who talk to me about losing weight to write down everything it is that they want out of life. Now, before you scoff, think about how many people's weights are NOT about their weight - but about their life? So many of those people would come back to me and say that they didn't know what they wanted. But I didn't have a strategy to help them figure it out, until now.

I think everyone should have a Possibilities Book, no matter how outlandish it might seem. The pictures in it will change as we do, but I think it's a valuable tool to have. From it, you can see your choices and desires in front of you, and choose which one you want most. Once you have a goal in mind, you can make the choices to make it happen. That is the formula to getting anything you want in life. Know what the end goal is, the starting point, and then fill the steps in between. Then start walking.

Once you start walking, you'll stop paying the cost of the missed opportunity. That price is far more than the simple cost of opportunity. I know which one I'd rather pay.

ARGH!

Ok, seriously - I'm stupid. I freely admit that publically. OK?

Blogger is ticking me off!

Someone talk to me about Wordpress, and those who use it??? I HAVE a website, and from what I understand, I can do a blog offshoot on it, right (under it's own registered domain) as long as my host can support it... is that right?

So,....wordpress would take the place of blogger and I could use it to blog and post to my own site, is that right? Is it easy like blogger, or will I end up in a padded cell? What about kick-ass themes? I need a good looking blog, dagnabbit. It's just a stupid little OCD thing, but I need it.

I want OFF of blogger and it's Beta nonsense. So, oh wise wordy ones - point me in the right direction. Pretend (HA!) I have the IQ of a pencil eraser and tell me what to do.

On The Line

Today, most blogs in the blogosphere are going to go quiet. By quiet, I mean that their normal tone will be missing, their jokes would be inappropriate, their thoughts will be elsewhere. There are tributes from across the globe, both to individuals and the world as a whole. There are even rants about our current state of the world, government, military, you name it. But the "normalcy" has been quieted.

I debated posting anything at all today. I thought about the tribute going on where the bloggers are posting a tribute to a specific victim. Though I think it's a worthwhile and touching thing to do, I decided against it for me because of personal reasons. I wouldn't be so callous as to continue on without saying anything and post something normal. So the choice was between posting what I felt or posting nothing at all.

I thought a lot about posting nothing. Everyone seems to have something to say. Every television channel is babbling on about a million things to do with 9/11. Every radio station is following suit. I imagine that in the city, people are quietly talking to one another about it. "Where were you when it happened? Did you lose someone too? Did you know anyone? Did you go and help?"

But here it is silent.

My world became very quiet that day. I was sitting on my bed, folding laundry, with my 11 month old son next to me and my 3 1/2 year old playing barbies on the floor. I had the television news on. I "saw" it happen.

When the first plane hit, I just sat there, in shock. When I saw the second one fly in on live television - my phone started ringing off the hook. I was the person closest to NYC that all of my friends from across the country knew - so they called me. Only, I couldn't hear them very well because the phone lines kept breaking up, and fighter jets kept going overhead.

My daughter crawled into the bedroom bay window to watch all the fighter jets. When I looked outside, below the flying jets, I could see that all traffic had stopped along all the roads that were visible from my second story window. People had literally just stopped in the road.

Have you ever felt just completely "still" inside? You don't have the need to speak. You don't even have the want to speak or not speak, just a sort of absence of anything? This day, from that moment, brings that feeling to me.

I didn't lose anyone personally that day. But I watched as my neighbors, my town, my state did. I watched while everyone went off to help. People came rushing home, grabbed duffel bags, and jumped onto buses going straight to NYC (it's only about 4 hours drive away). Not all of them came back.

My daughter is eight years old now, and learning about what happened 5 years ago. The school is using this opportunity to explain their "terrorist" plan to the kids. Like a fire-drill, but worse. I imagine it's a lot like the 1950's when students crawled underneath their desks in a bomb-drill. My child is growing up with terrorist-drills.

Everyone has a story to share about 9/11, even if they didn't lose anyone. Even if they weren't there. Some people roll their eyes at that - people who weren't there getting all worked up. But the thing is, we all became one of the victims, we just didn't pay the highest price.

It makes me angry to realize that my daughter is just beginning to pay a price for what happened that day. She will never remember being so small, and watching those fighter jets fly overhead, while the television behind her captured the towers falling and smoke billowing through the city streets. But she will pay a different price altogether. She will grow up in a world where even the children are not safe - and she will KNOW it.

I guess, beyond respecting the day and those who were affected in all ways, I wish that we had some sort of solution to all of this. Some sort of resolution.

But all there is, is the silence.

Testosterone And Chocolate

Men don't "get" chocolate. No, seriously, they don't. I have seen men appreciate chocolate. I have seen them bite into a piece of chocolate-something-or-other and be pleased with the taste. I have heard a man say "I think I'm in the mood for chocolate."

But I have NEVER seen a man ripping apart his cabinets, throwing things over his shoulder in desperation, ready to eat the baking chocolate. I have never seen a man with his left eye twitching, looking alternately pale and flushed, and slightly crazed in need of chocolate. I have never seen an enraged, emotional man tamed by chocolate.

Men do NOT get it.

Mr. Savy and I had a discussion last night about chocolate, where I said that very thing. He was offended and started protesting "I like chocolate! I can see why you like it! I get chocolate!"

No, you don't.

I said to him "Really? Do you have ANYTHING in your life that when you have it you are filled with euphoria, satisfaction, comfort, and just about anything else I can think of, without want for anything else?"

He had to think about it, and asked "Does it have to be food?" (Aha! He's at least on the right track for understanding....)

"No, it doesn't have to be food."

"OK, then. Yes - sex." (How many of you women just rolled your eyes?)

Admittedly, it took a while to stop laughing. But I shook my head at him and said "No honey, that doesn't even come close."

He was offended, and very stalwart in his opinion that it DID. So I had to explain it. "I know men are sex obsessed. It's pretty darn obvious that you all think very highly of it (to put it mildly) and yes, I could even see a man ripping apart his bedroom in search of the 65 lbs super model who accidentally fell inbetween the cracks in the floor. But you know what? After sex, every guy on the planet either wants to eat or sleep, or heck, some of them even want to go watch something on television. In other words, as cool as it was - you are onto thinking about the next thing that you need because there are other needs to be met. You STILL have WANTS, after sex."

"Yeah, so? Everyone does! You still have wants after chocolate! You can't tell me that you don't."

"Um. Yeah. I can. You see, depending on the type, quality, and quantity of chocolate - a true double-x-gene-chocoholic can sit there in a daze of perfect bliss for HOURS. We don't need sleep, food, sex, air...."

Mr. Savy thought about this for a little while, and then said "So what you are saying is that for chocoholic-women chocolate is like a two hour orgasm." (WHY is everything in "sex terms" for men?)

And there you have it. I think that is the closest men will ever come to understanding chocolate and the female-chocoholic. Chocolate is like a two-hour orgasm. Do you think Hershy's will use that in their advertisements?

I had to let the discussion go at that point, things were obviously going downhill. But Mr. Savy wasn't done. He sat for a few minutes sipping his wine, and then said abruptly "Well, now, that isn't fair, is it?"

Since I was at that time actually partaking in some fantastic chocolate, it took a while for his comment to penetrate my happy-haze. "What isn't fair?" I asked.

"Well, men don't have anything like that. You can just go to a store or something, pick out what you want and have instant happiness whenever you want it." At this point I was going to interrupt and point out the obvious punishments of following through on that action on a regular basis, but he just shook his head at me. "Well, that isn't fair! Men should have something like that in their lives - there must be something." He thought for a little while longer. "But I can't think of a single thing that does all the things you CLAIM chocolate does for you. Maybe it doesn't do all those things for you, and you're just making it up."

See? They'll never get it. I decided to ignore him and went back to my milk-chocolate-caramel-Macadamia nut cluster, thinking the conversation was over. I guess it's kinda unfair when you think about it. But, since I'm on the side with the benefit, I'm cool with that.

"Wait.... Wait! Does this mean all these 100's of years of men giving women chocolate as a way to..Um... (you can tell he's about to risk his life here with his phrasing)... facilitate the dating process..."

"You mean get a woman into bed with you."

"Yeah, I was thinking 'have sex', but, yeah, ok, that. Does it mean that all this time we've been giving you chocolate, it has actually made you all 'satisfied' and THAT is why it's so hard to get a woman into bed? We've been making things difficult for ourselves all along?"

*sigh* If he wasn't a rocket scientist, I would think he was brain damaged.

Pop Quiz

This is a multiple choice test. If I catch any of you cheating, you will have to turn in your paper with your head hanging in shame, and submit to being flogged with a mechanical pencil and graphing calculator (I know, every techno-geek's secret fantasy, minus a protractor.)

Classify the following;

You arrive home after a long day. You and your husband get the kids fed and to bed by 8 p.m. At 8:30 p.m. your husband decides that now is the time to get frisky - but he finds you passed out on top of the bedspread, fully clothed, face down and sideways, snoring to wake the dead instead... And you are a natural night owl.

a) You're completely exhausted, and more people are going to yell at you for the way you have scheduled your time as soon as you regain consciousness.
b) You're SO freakin' OLD! Who the hell goes to bed at 8PM!!??!?!
c) This was the best way out of sex tonight, much better than the "I have a headache" cliche.
d) All of the above.



You put your hair dryer in the refridgerator.

a) You're still so darn tired because you only slept 4 hours, and like an idiot got up to run 3 miles anyway.
b) You really ARE that freakin' OLD, aren't you? What are the first signs of alzheimer's?
c) The cold will do the hairdryer good. And hey, you never know, it might help defrost the roast for dinner tonight. Clearly, this was a well thought out storage decision on your part.
d) You did WHAT??!?!!


You leave to take your kids to the dentist at 7:30 a.m., and 10 minutes later you realize you drove in the opposite direction you needed to go to get there.

a) You really don't want to GO to the dentist. I mean, does anyone ever get up and say "YAY! The dentist today! I can't wait to feel like I have sand in my teeth, and that they are slightly loose for the next 3 days! RIGHT ON!!"
b) You must be aging even faster than you thought. We're you also driving 25 mph below the speedlimit, and slouching beneath the level of your steering wheel? Just shoot yourself now, and be done with it.
c) Snore..... snore.....snore.... What? Did you say something??
d) Hey, everyone likes a long, extended drive to nowhere. What's the problem?


You realize what an unattractive OLDER woman you are when you face today's youth in the college you just returned to, and then the next day when a handsome man walks by and winks at you in a store, you want to have him sainted.

a) He should be sainted.
b) You are just realizing this?
c) He had something in his eye.
d) Were you asleep again?

If a train leaves the station going 130 mph from Houston,TX and another from Kenosha, WI, and both are laden with chocolate, what are the chances either will make their destination with their cargo intact?

a) 0%
b)50%
c) 100% - no one leaves the station going 130 mph with a train full of chocolate without having already been hijacked by a gang of ruthless, PMSing females who have a clear destination in mind. And no one would dare to get in their way.


Ok, now tell the truth, how many of you pulled out your calculators?

Life's Just A Hill

When I was a kid, there was a hill we called "dead man's curve" just down the block from me. I'm sure everyone growing up had one of these. It's the kind of hill where you KNOW that no one survives if they go down on something like roller skates. It's also the kind that no kid (or adult) can ride a bike UP it, so they end up walking their bikes to the top instead of risking heart failure half-way up on the steep incline and going flying backwards down the hill-'o'-death and into traffic.

All the kids in the entire neighborhood were fascinated with this hill. It was the ultimate, and unfulfilled dare we had. "I dare you to go down it on roller skates! I triple-dog-dare you!!!" And of course no one would. But secretly, I think we all wanted to try it. What is it about pushing the envelope that so attracts us?

I think I was a bit more daring than most in my youth. I was also a horrid kid to my poor cousin, who came out to visit when we were around eight years old. I convinced her it was no big deal and got her to go down it on roller skates. Imagine my amazement when I saw her come back up (walking with her skates over her shoulder, because there was NO way a person could roller skate UP that hill.) She had survived! Without a scratch!

"Well, heck! If SHE can do it, I CAN!" I thought.

So, I lined myself up, took a deep breath, and down I went... And started picking up speed. I could feel my face billowing back from the G-forces I was experiencing. I hit maximum bail-out-speed before I even had a chance to decide if I wanted to launch myself into one of the lawns whipping past and save my neck.

Now, the most insidious thing about this hill besides the incline was that it wasn't straight. It went down in a curve, and then it abruptly ended at a cross street where traffic went through without stopping. That, of course, never even penetrated my brain before I decided to launch myself down Dead Man's Curve.

I have no miraculous save to relate. Instead, reality was swift and brutal. I hit the end of the hill going warp speed, flew off the side walk, into the air - and onto my FACE in the middle of the road (thank goodness there weren't any cars coming through.) I literally landed with my butt in the air, my face, shoulders, knees, and shins on the ground, and slid for about five feet across the pavement. It was NOT pretty. My cousin ended up towing me home on my skates that day, because I literally couldn't walk. My pride was in tatters, along with my body.

All in all, I got what I deserved. I was a brat for daring my cousin to go down the hill when I knew it was dangerous and she didn't. I was also an idiot for thinking that because she was such a good skater and could handle that hill, that I could too.

But you know what? Deep down, beyond the agonizing, bleeding pain, there was the satisfying feeling of accomplishment that I had at least DONE it. To this day, none of the other 30 or so kids on my block can say the same. Yes, the hill beat me - but at least I TRIED. And I lived to come back and take it on another day. Oh, not that I EVER did it on roller skates again.

As I said before, no one - even the adults - could ride their bikes UP that hill. Down was a little scary, but we all did it now and then for a daring thrill. But up? Forget it. We would go blocks out of our way to come up the other side of the neighborhood, or walk our bikes to the top of the hill - our legs burning the whole way with the simple effort. Riding our bikes up Dead Man's Curve was out of the question.

I can't say why I chose that hill again, but I did. I decided that someday I WAS going to ride my bike up that hill. No one else could? Well, that's just too darn bad for them, because someday I was going to. I got out my ten-speed bike, and started trying every day. Looking back, I realize I was in training. But as a kid, it was simply having the gumption to go back and try again the next day, and the next and the next.

To fail, and yet not see it as a failure.

It took my entire summer, and back then that was over three months long. I only got about five feet up the hill when I first started, before I had to bail. Even though I started off with next to nothing, and failed every single day, I still came back. Usually multiple times a day. I remember my legs burning. I remember falling. I remember being ticked off. I remember crying that I couldn't do it. I remember other people telling me I was stupid for trying.

So, why would a 10 year old waste her entire summer on something like that hill? What was the point? Wouldn't I have been happier off climbing trees? Kidnapping my brother's G.I. Joes for ransom? I don't know, to be honest. I know I was obsessed. I thought about that hill constantly. I didn't have some sort of secret knowledge that I could actually do it, I just knew I had to try.

Well, you know what? I DID make it to the top. I became the ONLY person in the entire neighborhood who could ride a bike up the entire hill. The most anyone else had ever gone was about half way. But I could make it to the top. I remember having to prove it (I won $5 in the process), and when I did I realized how much easier it had gotten even from the first time I went up the hill. The once impossible feat, and source of so many failures, became my accomplishment - and one that got even easier to repeat, that no one else could do.

Maybe all this sounds silly, a stupid hill to a 10 year old. But even at 31 years old, I am inordinately proud of myself for making it up that hill. That hill became more than a hill to me, it became a source of confidence in myself that I CAN do the impossible. Maybe not ALL the impossible, and that sometimes I'll be beaten by things that others are not, but that doesn't mean that EVERYTHING is impossible. That hill was both extremes - it taught me to fail horribly, miserably and in a solid final way that brooked no argument. In other words, when to give up. But it also taught me it was worth trying in the first place. Lastly, it taught me that I can do the impossible too.

Pretty good for a stupid hill.

Two years ago, a marathon became my hill. I have permanent injuries from it, so it cost me in a similar manner that roller skating down that hill did. But I finished it. I ran 26.2 miles. All by myself. When I was a child, I wasn't ever able to run. I was born with leg issues that caused problems with even walking. I even (before the marathon) had a natural limp. I was never a runner. But I RAN A MARATHON.

Last night I was sitting almost in tears over the pile of work I have to do for school. Returning to college is turning out to be an extremely difficult proposition. I thought to myself "Why am I doing this? My son just starting kindergarten would have freed me up to paint all week long, talk to galleries, and catch up on laundry, and hey - reread some favorite books... Instead I have 20 credit hours this semester, that is SEVEN classes. I have so many demands on my time, I don't know where to turn..."

But you know what? This is my hill now. It's hard. I'm going to screw up. I most likely will fall at one point or another. But, I WANT to make it to the top.

I've picked another hill, and like the others, this one is worth it to me. It's going to be hard - but weren't all of them? There were more than just Dead Man's Curve and the Marathon. There was losing a large amount of weight, facing my fears, my first college degree nine yeas ago, moving to new places, showing my art for the first time... The list goes on and on. It doesn't matter what they are, simply that they were there.

I think people need a "hill". Maybe it's losing 50 lbs, or going back to college, or changing careers, or a triathalon. It doesn't matter. What matters is the act of trying, really and truly committing yourself to seeing this through - to the bitter end if need be, and knowing that no matter HOW it ends, it will be worth it. It has value, even if it goes poorly.

I think we often forget that what challenges we face, mistakes and triumphs alike, have value. It's when we forget that, that we TRULY fail.

I'm not going to fail.

Technological Fears

I'm afraid of my new oven.

No, really! But let me back up for a minute.

This past week our microwave that sits on the counter died. We knew it was coming. It had started whimpering whenever we asked it to warm something for longer than a minute, and I'm fairly certain it tried to scoot away from me when I had a whole chicken to defrost two weeks ago. It wasn't looking too hot either... I confess that the front of the inside had lots of rusted areas.

I know, I know! The shame of it all!

I even had one person even tell me that I was exposing my children to radioactive... Whatever's. What a horrid mother I am! I wasn't too worried, but I did notice last night that the glow coming from the kid's bedrooms wasn't from the nightlights. Do you think I should be concerned?

In addition to the microwave bailing on us, our toaster oven went too. It was a well coordinated coup, if you ask me. I am positive my kitchen appliances have been plotting against us for a long time, this was just further proof of my theory. I think the stove and the fridge might be in cahoots too, but so far everything is relatively quiet...

So, down two appliances, we headed off into town to search for replacements. We looked at toaster ovens first. You see, Mr. Savy loves his toaster oven. I don't use it for anything except occasionally toasting something (we're talking once a season, maybe.) Mr. Savy tries to cook everything he can in that stupid little toaster oven. I'm convinced it's a throwback to when he was in college, but he won't admit to it.

Mr. Savy decided it was time to move up in the world, and get a bigger toaster oven than the little dorky thing we had been using (I assume so he could cook more ambitious things like the next door neighbor's turkey, or his shoes.) We were surprised to see SO many different toaster ovens, and relatively shocked at the prices of them too. I'm sorry, $50-110 for a TOASTER OVEN?!?!? What am I toasting, caviar? (can you toast caviar?)

While still reeling from sticker shock, we decided to think over our toasting choices, and go torture ourselves with the prices of the microwave/hood combinations. We had decided that if we bought another microwave, we were going to get one that doubles as the range-hood over the stove. I'm tired of this big hulking brick of a machine taking up all my counter space. It's not that I have much I want to DO with my counters, but should the urge take me I feel I should be able to stretch out or tapdance in comfort, without a microwave getting in the way. Oh, yeah, and I suppose I could prepare some food in that space too. Whatever. I just wanted my counters back.

We wandered a bit, and that's when it happened. A shout from the other side of the display "Hey, Kyra! You still there?" (umm, I'm in a world of ovens, toasters, microwaves and refridgerators - where would I go, except screaming toward the exit - which you would have surely noticed?) "You GOTTA come SEE THIS!"

For wives everywhere, in and around anything technological, this is the universal code for "OH crap! He found some new technology based something or other, and it's going to cost more than my car, and probably start talking to me about things it cannot do... 'I'm sorry Kyra.... I'm afraid I can't do that...' and take over my house, and the kids will start calling it mommy and forget what I look like, and even when they're off in college they'll write it letters instead of me, and all I'll be good for is paying off the balance we still owe on the machine...." What? Sorry... Where was I?

Oh yeah, so anyway, I went around and saw IT.

IT is a microwave/hood/CONVECTION oven combination. I have heard about convection ovens, but I have never actually used one, or know anyone who has. Long story short - the cost of a microwave/hood combo plus a toaster oven was the SAME as buying this thing. So we bought this thing.

Bonus - more counter space.
Bummer - I'm afraid of it.

We just picked it up this weekend, and installed it.

Wanna know how to tick off your husband? Take his picture instead of grabbing the toolbox when he asks you to help install a new appliance! Works like a charm!

Of course, he was already really peeved at me when he emptied the cabinet above where he had to drill and install... Um... Things? I heard this really irritated yell "KYRA! Come IN here, PLEASE!"

He apparently isn't impressed with my current working tea collection. He asked for me to throw any I don't use out. I was completely offended, and I explained I use ALL of them when the moment is right. I have ones for insomnia, colds, tension, holidays, ice, dessert, and 'cause I just want it dammit!' teas.

I will NOT be getting rid of any of them. Not to mention, he should instead marvel at my efficiency and organization because I ONLY had ones I was into in the cabinet, and all my unopened boxes are down stairs in the pantry. He just stood there gaping at me and shaking his head. Sorry, but you ain't winning the battle of the teas, baby!

Anyway, back to the scary oven. It got installed (and the area under my stove got cleaned - woohoo!) and there it is - all shiny and new. It does three types of cooking: microwave, convection, micro-convection.

I have discovered a drawback to having the micro-hood combination. I didn't really think about it when the sales guy was talking about their "safety check warranty plan". But apparently, I did file it away into memory. The sales guy actually told us about some guy who DIDN'T purchase their program and ended up getting radiation burns all over his face. I simply thought to myself "what idiot doesn't know not to stare into a microwave and watch it cook?" (We didn't buy into their program, regardless of the scare tactics.)

Yeah, well, I was making dinner last night and defrosting some meat in it when I realized I was dead-on eye level with the thing. Mr. Savy came into the kitchen just in time to witness me trying to stir the spaghetti pot from below the stove, ducking and weaving (cause ya know I can dodge those radioactive waves!) I had to confess what I was up to, and then listen to him laugh himself all the way down the hallway back to the study.

Men suck. We'll see how HE does cooking dinner tonight.

Of course, my fears go deeper than dodging radioactive waves. How many times were you told not to put metal in a microwave as a kid? I remember putting in a china tea-cup into the microwave and seeing electricity arcing off the tiny silver rim, and totally freaking out! My brother took it one step further when he was eight and stuck a frozen can of cola in the microwave (any guesses as to how long he got grounded for that one?)

Look at this thing - it's LINED IN METAL!!! It even comes with a metal rack and drip pan!!!

Now, certain combinations of the pan/rack can be used in certain modes. But, I tell you, I'm totally terrified to put a metal pan in it at all. I don't care what mode it is in.

My husband has decided that in order to get me over my fear, I must christen the oven by cooking brownies in it, in a METAL pan. Great. I get to risk my life, AND my diet. Fantastic idea!

Instead, I am mentally calculating how long I can go without actually USING it, before he notices something is amiss.

I would think my mom felt this way when we got our very first microwave. We were the first people on the entire block to get one. The entire neighborhood showed up - I kid you not. They each had something to cook or melt in the microwave to see how it worked. It was a THREE HOUR event, and people kept gasping in amazement over it. (I wonder if it was like that when people got their first televisions or something?) I don't remember my mother being afraid to cook in it, but then again, I was only about nine years old.

So... Say I DO cook something in a metal pan in this thing... How far would a person have to be to escape the blast?

Edit: Mr. Savy has just pointed out to me that the picture of him up above is visual proof that at least ONCE in his life, he actually did read, AND follow, instructions that came with a new device. I have been forced to put this in as acknowledgement of said accomplishment.

Ahoy Ye Mates!

I woke up this morning, after dreaming about being on a boat. Not a big, comfy cruiseliner type of boat with a plethora of muscle bound men fawning over me, but a tiny little rowboat on the high seas. Not a pina colada to be seen, dagnabbit!

I blinked at my ceiling, feeling slightly seasick. I silently willed the nausea to go away, along with the sadly lacking dream, but it didn't. As a matter of fact, the world was STILL rocking to and fro.

Hmmmm... I thought. I don't OWN a water bed. I don't sleep in a hammock... Odd...

I sat up. Bad idea. The rocking got worse! I laid back down, and did a mental recheck. I haven't been drinking, so it's not a hangover. I wasn't dehydrated, so it wasn't that. Yesterday was cheat day, so I wasn't suffering from low blood sugar. And minus the nausea, which I entirely attributed to the world deciding to disco, I didn't feel ill. This made absolutely no sense.

So, because I declared my current state to be stupid, unsupportable by any known data, and just damn annoying, I forced myself to get up and go down stairs. Everyone knows I am completely lacking in grace, but this was bad even for me. I literally ran into three walls, before I started holding out my hands to keep myself on an even keel and aware of where the wall was.

My husband saw me zigzagging along the hallway and asked if my right leg had grown three extra inches, or something. Yes, the loving support I get is boundless.

I ate breakfast, thinking this would help. Nope. Now I just have something to throw up, wasn't that a good move on my part?

Being completely insane (dedicated), I decided to workout anyway. I WAS smart enough to forego the running for a stationary bike though. Be proud. I figured anything with the word "stationary" in it was probably a bonus at this point. I did just fine on that, so long as I didn't close my eyes. The one time I did, I found myself hanging precariously off of one side, and my cat staring at me like I was a complete idiot, and it's a good thing I feed him or he'd be too embarrassed to suffer my presence.

I opted for a bath (complete with lavender candles and a trashy romance, cause why waste an opportunity?) over a shower. But when I went to wash my hair, suddenly I felt I was back on the high seas. NOT a good thing. UGH.

So, now here I sit, weaving at my computer. The world is still tilting to and fro, though I have been assured by everyone else it IS completely stationary. I'm supposed to do extra work around the house today too. So... Would YOU trust me to do electrical wiring today?? Huh? wouldja? Yeah, well, apparently my husband likes to live dangerously.

If the eastern seaboard blacks out, you have my most sincere apologies.

The Worth Of Junk

I have always been a frugal person. My mother loves to tell me it's my Scot's blood. I'm so Scottish I was practically born wearing a kilt, just in case you all hadn't picked up on that yet. It's very hard living this far out in the country and resisting the urge to steal my neighbors cattle.

Most people would see being frugal as a strength. A valuable skill, and desire. Bologna (does anyone else sing the Oscar Meyer song when they have to type "Bologna"? It's the only way I seem to remember how it's supposed to be spelled.) Being this frugal is a pain in the butt.

My grandfather died in July, and I went to Arizona for his funeral. He, like me, was the first born of the first born (well, far as I can tell since they seemed to go back and forth on the idea of documenting women) all the way back to 786 AD in the family line. So, if there really IS some sort of connection in DNA to being excessively frugal via a Scot's connection, it would be us.

If there was ever a man who embodied the stereotype of a Scotsman being a skinflint, it was him. Even though he had money, he nearly always refused to spend it, on himself or anyone else. He also couldn't throw anything away. ANYTHING.

When my grandfather's things had to be gone through, there were truckloads of junk to be dealt with. Seriously, just his collection of doorknobs that he had planned to use, or simply couldn't throw away because somewhere, to someone, they were worth something, was staggering. What was fun (yet, sad) to witness was his three sons struggling over the same notion. One of them picked up one of the old crystal doorknobs and said "Wow! Look at all of these! They charge like $10-20 for one of these old antique door knobs!" and he started gathering them to himself, as if they were gold dabloons.

Door knobs. Knobs without doors. OLD ones. Not even pretty anymore, permanently.

My grandfather used things like this in his art and metal smithing. He was an industrial artist long before people knew what that was. But he used things like that mostly because he couldn't bear the thought of throwing away something that could still be used. Eventually, my uncles realized that the knobs couldn't be sold quickly, and likely for very much - if at all. They let them go, but it looked painful.

I thought I had, mostly, overcome this horrible affliction of not being able to let anything go. As a kid, I was awful. I couldn't throw anything away. Seriously, when I got married I still had the only toys I had ever owned as a child - n