I'm going to be MIA for a bit. I won't beat around the bush here; I'm going to take this time to contemplate whether to shut down my blog(s), and remove my presence from blogland permanently in every aspect.
There are a lot of things going on, and I am very disheartened by it all. I'm trying to figure out what is worth it, and what is not. I know that I have a lot of supporters out there, but I also know a lot of people who would be overjoyed to see it all come to an end. Honestly, I'm not sure which camp I'm in right now - because it isn't about them, but me that I must make this decision. I need to make sure if I shut down, it won't be because the trolls and cruel people had more sway than they should have over my decision.
Even if I do shut down, it won't be until June. So, no hurry.
But either way, for now, I'll be back. Eventually. I think.
Unless a bear eats me.
Or a pack of rabid chipmunks.
Oh, and can you die from poison ivy? Just need to know for informational purposes, of course.
Saturday, March 29, 2008
Friday, March 28, 2008
A Taxing Effort
I have been told countless times that I make things harder than they need to be. It doesn't matter how efficient I think I'm being, there is always someone else standing around to tell me that they could have done it better, and with less effort. It's taking a lot of effort not to smack these people, so maybe they're right. I do put too much effort into things.
I find certain things worthy of a bit more effort than normal. For example, before going on a vacation I think it is worth the effort to clean the house and make sure there are clean sheets on my bed before we leave. It's not because I think Goldilocks is going to come stumbling through, need a place to crash with her three bear-boyfriends, and note whether or not the beds have clean sheets on them. It's for that moment when you get home, walk in the door, and don't have to face dirty sheets and toys all over the floor. That's a lot of effort for a 30 second moment, but I find the investment worth it. (However, trying to convince my family that it's worth it is a lot more difficult.)
An even more difficult proposition on effort is taxes. Oh yes, I said the evil T-word! Kevin recently asked me who did our taxes. See, he has his taxes done by an accountant. So when he asked me who does my taxes, I had to laugh - and then explain. I'm married to a rocket scientist; the man would take it personally if I went and asked anyone else to solve the complex mathematical convoluted mess that constitutes our nation's tax code as it relates to us. I know... because I have tried four times to sneak it all out of the house and over to someone who actually knows what they're doing.
I need to preface this with a small explanation of how finances work here. When Mr. Savy and I met we obviously each had our own set-up going. I had my nice, neat little accounts, he had several of his own... but we had one fundamental difference in approaches. I'm a sort of "cover my butt" kind of girl. If I spent $1.12, I wrote it in my checkbook as $2. If I deposited $1.12, I wrote it as only $1. Now, this served to make sure I never went seriously dyslexic and ended up bouncing checks, which I was inordinately afraid to do after living on my own and supporting way too many bills (because of an unemployed jerk ex-boyfriend) on $4.25 an hour. I think it was a dandy system, even now.
Mr. Savy, on the other hand... well, when he found out he went ballistic. Seriously. In front of my parents. Things were hollered like "How can ANYONE keep an account like this? You have NO idea what is really in your account! Who does this? Are you nuts!??!!" This was right before we moved in together, and I lost the argument that we should keep our accounts separate. He was trying to merge them. Eventually, he realized that he would be spending more on an apartment with separate bedrooms if he didn't knock it off, and backed off.
I am budget queen. I know how everything works, remember where the money goes, and I worry almost incessantly about it. He is detail king, he can make every penny tally up when he reconciles things, and does the taxes. Together we're a powerhouse of financial...well.. maybe not. Anyway, it works now... except during tax time.
Here is how doing taxes works in the Savy household:
1) Get all the W-2's and W-whatevers that we're supposed to have from how many different people? Usually at least one shows up late, or wrong, and we end up having to wait an extra month or two while it's sorted out.
2) Worry over the W-whatevers, because they're still not here. Apparently they're being mailed from Antarctica and the penguins like to snack on the postage stamps. I hassle Mr. Savy to make some calls to check on it, because isn't there some sort of rule that they have to have them to you by early February?
3) All the paperwork finally arrives, but I'm not aware of it because Mr. Savy hides them in an attempt to circumvent our traditional tax-dance ultimate fighting cage match. He then forgets where he hid them, and taxes get put off for an additional month while we search.
4) Tax paperwork begins. Mr. Savy sequesters himself with the computer, piles of paper receipts and other various items, a large soda, and an insanely complicated scientific calculator (while I make snotty comments about him graphing the results, because who needs a scientific calculator for taxes? Why can't he use the normal one, or even my financial calculator?)
5) Mr. Savy locks the door. I stare at him through the glass, and then pick the lock reminding him of my more questionable youth, which has come in handy when the kids accidentally locked themselves in the basement... he didn't really think that was going to work, did he? Mr. Savy admits defeat and shoos me away.
6) I come back an hour later to peer over his shoulder, because I'm annoying like that. He ignores me. I contemplate for a moment and then start saying things like "Are you sure about that number? Did you add line 42A with 105B correctly? Wait... don't we get a deduction for this?" Mr. Savy starts fuming. Literally. Steam out the ears, it's really quite entertaining. Well, up until we start arguing.
7) Generally I am proven wrong in my complaint at this point (at least to his satisfaction) and I go off to sulk. Then Mr. Savy takes a break to get something to snack on, and I sneak back into the office and try to look up something to prove I am right. Usually reorganizing the receipts as I go - partially because I think they're in the wrong order, and the other part is because I know it'll annoy the crap out of Mr. Savy and I'm still sulking.
8) I present my findings. We argue. He ignores me. I leave.
9) Mr. Savy comes looking for me about an hour later. It's his turn to yell at me about my shoddy record keeping for my two businesses (no, I haven't been rounding the withdrawals and deposits... he set up this excel spreadsheet that actually does graph things, and I refuse to use it. I may be more spiteful than I realized.) I yell back at him.
10) Time to crack a bottle of wine.
11) He goes back to working, and then approaches me cautiously to give me a "pre" finished tax number. I argue that cannot be right, did he remember this? That? Huh? More yelling. More wine. We both get put into time out in separate rooms.
12) I suggest the tax professional, he yells about how wonderful his tax software is and how he's been through everything multiple times... and then offers me another glass of wine.
13) Eventually, as I rarely drink and one glass of wine pretty much puts me on the floor (and I'm likely on my fourth glass at this point) I am laid back enough to say "Whatever honey. Wow, *hic* taxes done. Y*hic*..yay! Yer'da'best. *hic* Where do I *hic* sign?"
And thus ends tax season in the Savy household. As we almost never fight, I imagine that this is sort of an exercise of releasing pent up frustration. Or it could just be that our government sucks and taxes are horrible. According to the census, we're the most taxed state... though I hear a few states were insulted by that and are now going for the title. Apparently, we intend to give them a good fight though. All my interference has resulted in some good finds now and then however, one year our tax return went from us owing to us getting back $1200 because of what I found! (That's my defense, and I'm sticking to it.)
We haven't done our taxes yet. Mr. Savy said it's because we just received all the corrected paperwork. I think it's because I've been sick and can't drink any alcohol. He is a smart man, after all.
I find certain things worthy of a bit more effort than normal. For example, before going on a vacation I think it is worth the effort to clean the house and make sure there are clean sheets on my bed before we leave. It's not because I think Goldilocks is going to come stumbling through, need a place to crash with her three bear-boyfriends, and note whether or not the beds have clean sheets on them. It's for that moment when you get home, walk in the door, and don't have to face dirty sheets and toys all over the floor. That's a lot of effort for a 30 second moment, but I find the investment worth it. (However, trying to convince my family that it's worth it is a lot more difficult.)
An even more difficult proposition on effort is taxes. Oh yes, I said the evil T-word! Kevin recently asked me who did our taxes. See, he has his taxes done by an accountant. So when he asked me who does my taxes, I had to laugh - and then explain. I'm married to a rocket scientist; the man would take it personally if I went and asked anyone else to solve the complex mathematical convoluted mess that constitutes our nation's tax code as it relates to us. I know... because I have tried four times to sneak it all out of the house and over to someone who actually knows what they're doing.
I need to preface this with a small explanation of how finances work here. When Mr. Savy and I met we obviously each had our own set-up going. I had my nice, neat little accounts, he had several of his own... but we had one fundamental difference in approaches. I'm a sort of "cover my butt" kind of girl. If I spent $1.12, I wrote it in my checkbook as $2. If I deposited $1.12, I wrote it as only $1. Now, this served to make sure I never went seriously dyslexic and ended up bouncing checks, which I was inordinately afraid to do after living on my own and supporting way too many bills (because of an unemployed jerk ex-boyfriend) on $4.25 an hour. I think it was a dandy system, even now.
Mr. Savy, on the other hand... well, when he found out he went ballistic. Seriously. In front of my parents. Things were hollered like "How can ANYONE keep an account like this? You have NO idea what is really in your account! Who does this? Are you nuts!??!!" This was right before we moved in together, and I lost the argument that we should keep our accounts separate. He was trying to merge them. Eventually, he realized that he would be spending more on an apartment with separate bedrooms if he didn't knock it off, and backed off.
I am budget queen. I know how everything works, remember where the money goes, and I worry almost incessantly about it. He is detail king, he can make every penny tally up when he reconciles things, and does the taxes. Together we're a powerhouse of financial...well.. maybe not. Anyway, it works now... except during tax time.
Here is how doing taxes works in the Savy household:
1) Get all the W-2's and W-whatevers that we're supposed to have from how many different people? Usually at least one shows up late, or wrong, and we end up having to wait an extra month or two while it's sorted out.
2) Worry over the W-whatevers, because they're still not here. Apparently they're being mailed from Antarctica and the penguins like to snack on the postage stamps. I hassle Mr. Savy to make some calls to check on it, because isn't there some sort of rule that they have to have them to you by early February?
3) All the paperwork finally arrives, but I'm not aware of it because Mr. Savy hides them in an attempt to circumvent our traditional tax-dance ultimate fighting cage match. He then forgets where he hid them, and taxes get put off for an additional month while we search.
4) Tax paperwork begins. Mr. Savy sequesters himself with the computer, piles of paper receipts and other various items, a large soda, and an insanely complicated scientific calculator (while I make snotty comments about him graphing the results, because who needs a scientific calculator for taxes? Why can't he use the normal one, or even my financial calculator?)
5) Mr. Savy locks the door. I stare at him through the glass, and then pick the lock reminding him of my more questionable youth, which has come in handy when the kids accidentally locked themselves in the basement... he didn't really think that was going to work, did he? Mr. Savy admits defeat and shoos me away.
6) I come back an hour later to peer over his shoulder, because I'm annoying like that. He ignores me. I contemplate for a moment and then start saying things like "Are you sure about that number? Did you add line 42A with 105B correctly? Wait... don't we get a deduction for this?" Mr. Savy starts fuming. Literally. Steam out the ears, it's really quite entertaining. Well, up until we start arguing.
7) Generally I am proven wrong in my complaint at this point (at least to his satisfaction) and I go off to sulk. Then Mr. Savy takes a break to get something to snack on, and I sneak back into the office and try to look up something to prove I am right. Usually reorganizing the receipts as I go - partially because I think they're in the wrong order, and the other part is because I know it'll annoy the crap out of Mr. Savy and I'm still sulking.
8) I present my findings. We argue. He ignores me. I leave.
9) Mr. Savy comes looking for me about an hour later. It's his turn to yell at me about my shoddy record keeping for my two businesses (no, I haven't been rounding the withdrawals and deposits... he set up this excel spreadsheet that actually does graph things, and I refuse to use it. I may be more spiteful than I realized.) I yell back at him.
10) Time to crack a bottle of wine.
11) He goes back to working, and then approaches me cautiously to give me a "pre" finished tax number. I argue that cannot be right, did he remember this? That? Huh? More yelling. More wine. We both get put into time out in separate rooms.
12) I suggest the tax professional, he yells about how wonderful his tax software is and how he's been through everything multiple times... and then offers me another glass of wine.
13) Eventually, as I rarely drink and one glass of wine pretty much puts me on the floor (and I'm likely on my fourth glass at this point) I am laid back enough to say "Whatever honey. Wow, *hic* taxes done. Y*hic*..yay! Yer'da'best. *hic* Where do I *hic* sign?"
And thus ends tax season in the Savy household. As we almost never fight, I imagine that this is sort of an exercise of releasing pent up frustration. Or it could just be that our government sucks and taxes are horrible. According to the census, we're the most taxed state... though I hear a few states were insulted by that and are now going for the title. Apparently, we intend to give them a good fight though. All my interference has resulted in some good finds now and then however, one year our tax return went from us owing to us getting back $1200 because of what I found! (That's my defense, and I'm sticking to it.)
We haven't done our taxes yet. Mr. Savy said it's because we just received all the corrected paperwork. I think it's because I've been sick and can't drink any alcohol. He is a smart man, after all.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Falling For Beauty
(Warning: This got a bit more graphic and intense than I originally intended it... but for now I'm going to stick by it and post it.)
My new car is full of things that I have no idea what they're for. There are all sorts of secret compartments and little hideaways that I'm sure are meant to house something, but I can't quite figure them out. Nancy Drew would be so disappointed in me. My car also has a "satellite ready radio" with three months of free preview. I found this out all by myself when I turned it on and something actually came in. Out here, nothing comes in. At my house I'm in a literal dead-zone with no cell, television, or radio service. I think this means I'll be the only survivor should nuclear war break out... or the only casualty.
Anyway, I was thrilled to death when clear, crisp sounds emerged from my radio, and I was eager to explore the channels... and then very disappointed. I thought I only had three channels for the past week, until I hit a series of buttons (out of frustration) yesterday and found several more channels! Unfortunately they were all "talk" shows, and I managed to get stuck on one and couldn't figure out how to get it to change.
And then I started listening. I have no idea what channel I was on, and I found it slightly annoying (there was a woman on there who kept actually giggling now and then. If you are going to giggle, why be on the radio? Giggle-hour is something for preschoolers, don't you think?) But then they finally said something that caught my attention; it was about why men don't find their partners attractive anymore.
I'm sad to report that I perked right up immediately.
Oh Boy! Yes, tell me why I am not attractive anymore! I need to know what I am doing wrong, because I've apparently been doing it my whole life. It might be a genetic flaw on my part, but if not, sure - let me know! Hardly any dates, horrible, cheating, abusive boyfriends - those were the fun times! At least I found a good guy... but now they're saying that I'm yet again not attractive to him. Not really a shocker, but do tell.
Well, according to the voice emerging from my dash, it's not really MY fault! (I'm liking this guy more all the time!) In all seriousness, his points were rather simple:
1) With all the media out there shoving "perfect" specimens of women down your throat at every opportunity, men have become Judge Judy in the bedroom. Of course you can't measure up, who could?
2) Beauty, and what that really means, has changed. A woman throughout history used to be judged to be attractive by her voice, her scent, her heart, her thoughts, and her looks. Now it's just looks, or a 20% kind of world.
How many women just thought to themselves "Do you know what I would give to be considered attractive for my thoughts, my heart, my voice?" It's what I thought, with a rather wistful sigh. (Major Blinking, Flaming Hint, Men: if you can truly find her attractive for those things, you will be well on your way to winning her heart.)
I thought about those two points that were made for the rest of the evening. 200, 500, 5000 years ago, how many desirable naked women would a man have really seen in his lifetime? A handful, if that? How about even semi-naked women, since modesty was rather important back then (i.e. no mini-skirts, corsets on the outside, and hooker-heels)? And now? They see thousands upon thousands. They even have Photoshop to crop, shade, and perfect the woman into mythical stratospheres.
And it's all about the package. As I overheard a man once put it when talking about a porn magazine "They're the perfect women; shiny, perfectly proportioned the way I want them, and QUIET." Yeah, funny joke. ha, ha. But remember what used to be attractive about a woman? Her mind? Well, it seems to be a rather commonly held belief that it's a very unattractive thing now. How sad, considering in the reverse that most women find men with greater intellect incredibly attractive.
Now, before anyone starts screaming at me, I am certain this swings both ways. I feel that we women also have a lot of men thrown at us (sorry, just need a moment to savor that mental image...) and that women also judge unfairly. But, I don't think it's to the same magnitude. When we start seeing as many nude men in media as women, we'll talk. Oh, and when the media doesn't insist that men get better with age and women fade into dust...
I dug out an old picture of myself. This is me, at 17 (my senior picture, told you I'm a natural blond):
Pardon the folds, I've been trying to throw it away for years and my kids keep rescuing it and hiding it in their stash of treasures. Why would I want to throw it away? Because that is the portrait of a seriously ugly girl. Physically, she never measured up... taller than everyone else, and different. But personally? She was a very broken and lost person.
I didn't know who I was supposed to be. My household was broken with my mom just diagnosed with chronic progressive MS, my dad on probation at work and freaking out, and my brother who was just diagnosed as bipolar and on hardcore illegal drugs - punching holes in the wall and doing crazy things. I was sexually broken because of a few things that happened (some of you know what these things are) and very confused - to the point I ended up doing some dangerous and unforgivable things that I still regret by unfathomable measure to this day. My friends had abandoned me in the most cruel way imaginable, and I literally had people going out of their way to verbally assault me (like teachers at the high school.)
I was alone. Completely. I was terrified, and in shreds. The day before this picture was taken was one of the many days I lined up pills on the bathroom counter and thought about how it would be "so easy" while I played with a razor on my wrist, just to see myself bleed. I remember it as clearly as if it were yesterday.
That's a very ugly human being. It doesn't matter that youth was on my side, nothing else was. I was a literal waste of space.
I'm 33, so if I do the math correctly, that was 16 years ago - a literal lifetime from that moment. I know who I am now. I may not like it all the time, and I may struggle with it frequently - but knowledge is power, and I am secure within it. I have a voice, and I can be damn loud if I need to be, even if I sometimes say the wrong things. I found my way back to caring about anything, and found many lines in the sand that I will or will not cross. I am powerful. I am not completely healed, but I am a long way from where I was then. I am not shreds of a human being now, I AM a human being - and that SHOULD be beautiful.
I see beauty in everyone now, especially on a physical level because of my aesthetic leanings (i.e. crazy artist lady.) I have NEVER met an ugly person in a physical sense, in my entire life. Beauty is in the lines, and the color, and the texture - it makes my toes curl at the very thought. But, I cannot find it within the mirror to see beauty there for myself. It is something I have never been able to do, and maybe I don't want to. Physically, I see someone who is just like general masses; neither more attractive or less - a break-even of attractiveness, with the potential for invisibility (something I wished for long and hard for years.)
However, internally I think I have something to offer. I think that while that 17 year old girl was incredibly ugly for who she was inside, I have bloomed where she wilted. I have passion that burns, thoughts that incite, and a level of caring for anyone who will let me that I never possessed then. I have a yearning for understanding, and a longing for reciprocal friendship paired with the knowledge that I can actually BE a friend now. When you are trying to work up the nerve to kill yourself, you can't be a friend. It's because I have something in myself to protect that I finally realize that I have something to offer as well. And isn't that what beauty is at it's heart? An offering? Not meant to be plucked and destroyed, but shared?
I know there are many who don't agree with my own assessment, and it sounds arrogant. But I don't mean it that way. I simply mean I am a better person than I was, a more valuable and worthy person than I was. I am not perfect, in fact I am so far from it that some days it is hard to even breath in a very literal sense because I feel so keenly how much I fall short. But a person is not all or nothing. I am not all, but I know that I am finally not "nothing".
I cannot be physically beautiful, not in the way the thousands of women have set the bar. I'm willing to bet even they cannot be. But even more - no one can maintain that. We age. And then what? What is left for us? To be traded in for a newer model? It happens. But in my own case, my newer model was worth a hell of a lot less than this older one sitting before you today. I'm willing to bet the case is the same with 99% of the women out there as well.
I don't know how to change the world, especially about the concept of beauty. But, I sincerely hope that people start to realize that others (both men and women) increase in value and beauty over time, and not the other way around.
And you? You should know that you're beautiful to me.
My new car is full of things that I have no idea what they're for. There are all sorts of secret compartments and little hideaways that I'm sure are meant to house something, but I can't quite figure them out. Nancy Drew would be so disappointed in me. My car also has a "satellite ready radio" with three months of free preview. I found this out all by myself when I turned it on and something actually came in. Out here, nothing comes in. At my house I'm in a literal dead-zone with no cell, television, or radio service. I think this means I'll be the only survivor should nuclear war break out... or the only casualty.
Anyway, I was thrilled to death when clear, crisp sounds emerged from my radio, and I was eager to explore the channels... and then very disappointed. I thought I only had three channels for the past week, until I hit a series of buttons (out of frustration) yesterday and found several more channels! Unfortunately they were all "talk" shows, and I managed to get stuck on one and couldn't figure out how to get it to change.
And then I started listening. I have no idea what channel I was on, and I found it slightly annoying (there was a woman on there who kept actually giggling now and then. If you are going to giggle, why be on the radio? Giggle-hour is something for preschoolers, don't you think?) But then they finally said something that caught my attention; it was about why men don't find their partners attractive anymore.
I'm sad to report that I perked right up immediately.
Oh Boy! Yes, tell me why I am not attractive anymore! I need to know what I am doing wrong, because I've apparently been doing it my whole life. It might be a genetic flaw on my part, but if not, sure - let me know! Hardly any dates, horrible, cheating, abusive boyfriends - those were the fun times! At least I found a good guy... but now they're saying that I'm yet again not attractive to him. Not really a shocker, but do tell.
Well, according to the voice emerging from my dash, it's not really MY fault! (I'm liking this guy more all the time!) In all seriousness, his points were rather simple:
1) With all the media out there shoving "perfect" specimens of women down your throat at every opportunity, men have become Judge Judy in the bedroom. Of course you can't measure up, who could?
2) Beauty, and what that really means, has changed. A woman throughout history used to be judged to be attractive by her voice, her scent, her heart, her thoughts, and her looks. Now it's just looks, or a 20% kind of world.
How many women just thought to themselves "Do you know what I would give to be considered attractive for my thoughts, my heart, my voice?" It's what I thought, with a rather wistful sigh. (Major Blinking, Flaming Hint, Men: if you can truly find her attractive for those things, you will be well on your way to winning her heart.)
I thought about those two points that were made for the rest of the evening. 200, 500, 5000 years ago, how many desirable naked women would a man have really seen in his lifetime? A handful, if that? How about even semi-naked women, since modesty was rather important back then (i.e. no mini-skirts, corsets on the outside, and hooker-heels)? And now? They see thousands upon thousands. They even have Photoshop to crop, shade, and perfect the woman into mythical stratospheres.
And it's all about the package. As I overheard a man once put it when talking about a porn magazine "They're the perfect women; shiny, perfectly proportioned the way I want them, and QUIET." Yeah, funny joke. ha, ha. But remember what used to be attractive about a woman? Her mind? Well, it seems to be a rather commonly held belief that it's a very unattractive thing now. How sad, considering in the reverse that most women find men with greater intellect incredibly attractive.
Now, before anyone starts screaming at me, I am certain this swings both ways. I feel that we women also have a lot of men thrown at us (sorry, just need a moment to savor that mental image...) and that women also judge unfairly. But, I don't think it's to the same magnitude. When we start seeing as many nude men in media as women, we'll talk. Oh, and when the media doesn't insist that men get better with age and women fade into dust...
I dug out an old picture of myself. This is me, at 17 (my senior picture, told you I'm a natural blond):
Pardon the folds, I've been trying to throw it away for years and my kids keep rescuing it and hiding it in their stash of treasures. Why would I want to throw it away? Because that is the portrait of a seriously ugly girl. Physically, she never measured up... taller than everyone else, and different. But personally? She was a very broken and lost person.
I didn't know who I was supposed to be. My household was broken with my mom just diagnosed with chronic progressive MS, my dad on probation at work and freaking out, and my brother who was just diagnosed as bipolar and on hardcore illegal drugs - punching holes in the wall and doing crazy things. I was sexually broken because of a few things that happened (some of you know what these things are) and very confused - to the point I ended up doing some dangerous and unforgivable things that I still regret by unfathomable measure to this day. My friends had abandoned me in the most cruel way imaginable, and I literally had people going out of their way to verbally assault me (like teachers at the high school.)
I was alone. Completely. I was terrified, and in shreds. The day before this picture was taken was one of the many days I lined up pills on the bathroom counter and thought about how it would be "so easy" while I played with a razor on my wrist, just to see myself bleed. I remember it as clearly as if it were yesterday.
That's a very ugly human being. It doesn't matter that youth was on my side, nothing else was. I was a literal waste of space.
I'm 33, so if I do the math correctly, that was 16 years ago - a literal lifetime from that moment. I know who I am now. I may not like it all the time, and I may struggle with it frequently - but knowledge is power, and I am secure within it. I have a voice, and I can be damn loud if I need to be, even if I sometimes say the wrong things. I found my way back to caring about anything, and found many lines in the sand that I will or will not cross. I am powerful. I am not completely healed, but I am a long way from where I was then. I am not shreds of a human being now, I AM a human being - and that SHOULD be beautiful.
I see beauty in everyone now, especially on a physical level because of my aesthetic leanings (i.e. crazy artist lady.) I have NEVER met an ugly person in a physical sense, in my entire life. Beauty is in the lines, and the color, and the texture - it makes my toes curl at the very thought. But, I cannot find it within the mirror to see beauty there for myself. It is something I have never been able to do, and maybe I don't want to. Physically, I see someone who is just like general masses; neither more attractive or less - a break-even of attractiveness, with the potential for invisibility (something I wished for long and hard for years.)
However, internally I think I have something to offer. I think that while that 17 year old girl was incredibly ugly for who she was inside, I have bloomed where she wilted. I have passion that burns, thoughts that incite, and a level of caring for anyone who will let me that I never possessed then. I have a yearning for understanding, and a longing for reciprocal friendship paired with the knowledge that I can actually BE a friend now. When you are trying to work up the nerve to kill yourself, you can't be a friend. It's because I have something in myself to protect that I finally realize that I have something to offer as well. And isn't that what beauty is at it's heart? An offering? Not meant to be plucked and destroyed, but shared?
I know there are many who don't agree with my own assessment, and it sounds arrogant. But I don't mean it that way. I simply mean I am a better person than I was, a more valuable and worthy person than I was. I am not perfect, in fact I am so far from it that some days it is hard to even breath in a very literal sense because I feel so keenly how much I fall short. But a person is not all or nothing. I am not all, but I know that I am finally not "nothing".
I cannot be physically beautiful, not in the way the thousands of women have set the bar. I'm willing to bet even they cannot be. But even more - no one can maintain that. We age. And then what? What is left for us? To be traded in for a newer model? It happens. But in my own case, my newer model was worth a hell of a lot less than this older one sitting before you today. I'm willing to bet the case is the same with 99% of the women out there as well.
I don't know how to change the world, especially about the concept of beauty. But, I sincerely hope that people start to realize that others (both men and women) increase in value and beauty over time, and not the other way around.
And you? You should know that you're beautiful to me.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Chatter
Lately, a lot of people on the net have been delving into the Blog Talk Radio universe. Many of the more popular blogs have their own little chunk of radio real estate, where they talk about just about anything you can think of (from racy to not.) I sort of cruised on by the whole idea, thinking that I really don't have a whole lot to talk about.
Seriously, what would I do a radio show on? My cat? Fluffy socks? Insomnia? Mud season? Paint viscosity?
But then Karl invited me to come and chat on his show in two weeks. I said ok... then listened to Mr. Fab's show and got rather scared. But, Karl has promised to be nice.
Still, this all got me thinking, and we all know how dangerous that is. When I think, furniture gets rearranged, pets run for cover, and items mysteriously engage in spontaneous combustion in my general vicinity. Clearly the universe isn't all that keen on my thought processes. Still, I kept going round and round... what would I talk about if I had a radio show?
Well, this brings me back to fitness. I could blather on about art, but the truth is I'm not all that chatty when it comes to it. I like to sit, absorb, and contemplate art. That means a lot of dead space on the airwaves, which most people tend to discourage in radio. But what do I do a whole heck of a lot of chatting about? Weight loss and fitness. I not only know a lot about it from a educational and certified aspect, but I have been there. I have been 230 lbs, and in a hole both physically and emotionally. I have run a marathon and crossed that line. I have been everywhere in between, and know it forwards and backwards.
Yes, it's not as entertaining as discussing the ways one would disengage themselves from a chair should they find themselves super-glued and only have access to a roll of tape, a paper clip, and a nail file. But, I thought that it might be interesting to some of my weight loss and fitness oriented readers, especially since people can call in and ask questions or contribute... I get a lot of questions emailed to me from here, and I thought that perhaps it might serve a purpose.
So, I guess I am throwing out the question - would anyone be interested in that kind of a show? As I am actually painfully (literally) shy in general, this is a major proposition for me. I may decide to dump the entire thing by the wayside after my stint on Karl's show. Assuming I can even show my blog-face in public afterwards.
Seriously, what would I do a radio show on? My cat? Fluffy socks? Insomnia? Mud season? Paint viscosity?
But then Karl invited me to come and chat on his show in two weeks. I said ok... then listened to Mr. Fab's show and got rather scared. But, Karl has promised to be nice.
Still, this all got me thinking, and we all know how dangerous that is. When I think, furniture gets rearranged, pets run for cover, and items mysteriously engage in spontaneous combustion in my general vicinity. Clearly the universe isn't all that keen on my thought processes. Still, I kept going round and round... what would I talk about if I had a radio show?
Well, this brings me back to fitness. I could blather on about art, but the truth is I'm not all that chatty when it comes to it. I like to sit, absorb, and contemplate art. That means a lot of dead space on the airwaves, which most people tend to discourage in radio. But what do I do a whole heck of a lot of chatting about? Weight loss and fitness. I not only know a lot about it from a educational and certified aspect, but I have been there. I have been 230 lbs, and in a hole both physically and emotionally. I have run a marathon and crossed that line. I have been everywhere in between, and know it forwards and backwards.
Yes, it's not as entertaining as discussing the ways one would disengage themselves from a chair should they find themselves super-glued and only have access to a roll of tape, a paper clip, and a nail file. But, I thought that it might be interesting to some of my weight loss and fitness oriented readers, especially since people can call in and ask questions or contribute... I get a lot of questions emailed to me from here, and I thought that perhaps it might serve a purpose.
So, I guess I am throwing out the question - would anyone be interested in that kind of a show? As I am actually painfully (literally) shy in general, this is a major proposition for me. I may decide to dump the entire thing by the wayside after my stint on Karl's show. Assuming I can even show my blog-face in public afterwards.
Monday, March 24, 2008
Trolling the Flip -Side
I find myself a bit grumpy this morning. So, consider this as fair warning. I'm not sure if it's a "holiday hangover" (no alcohol involved) or not, but my mood is not exactly one that could be classified as "light".
In all honesty, I'm still sick from earlier last week. I still feel sick in general, but since yesterday I'm so dizzy it's like I just got off a spinning ride (inner-ear issue? Maybe I am just internally motion sick?) I'm apparently collecting symptoms. We don't think it was food poisoning any more, although I find it suspicious that no one in the house fell as ill as I did. They just all got "hints" of being a little sick. However, it turns out that in my classes there is a large amount of the student body who have been out with the same thing. Therefore, I blame them... those footloose and fancy-free twits. You know they're just a seething petri dish of germs.
Moving on though, today I find myself tired of blogging. Again. I even find the words "blog" and "blogging" rather stupid. There has to be better terminology that doesn't sound like a term for hunting and squishing frogs.
Sure, this type of feeling tends to occur on a regular basis to anyone who keeps an online web-log... oh alright! Blog. Blogblogblog! (*rib-bit*squish*) Some authors get tired of figuring out what to post every day. Others have a collection of trolls, and after a while just get really tired of dealing them (after all, you probably wouldn't even know what a troll was if you didn't have a blog.) I am one of those; my trolls are dedicated little buggers, filled with animosity for whatever reason. I simply delete everything they say, and it never sees the light of day. Then you have the unintentional tactless irritants (UTIs) who love to leave comments telling you what to do about things you never even asked about, and correct anything wrong in your post while they're at it. Usually, they go way back into your archives and pick out a handful of posts that you probably should have had your coffee before you began writing. (At least they didn't find those indecent photos of you. Little blessings, right?)
Just a little aside about the trolls lately - I think mine might be defective. They're off on all sorts of tangents I've never seen before. It could be that there is a troll-disease that seems to be spreading. Tell me, have any of you with your own collection of trolls noticed that they have started to call out weirder than normal things? I received one email ranting at me for having three dogs, because that is cruel to have so many animals due to the fact that I have children and can't baby the dogs as every dog deserves to be treated - AND that three dogs need a lot of running-space, which I apparently don't have. Shame on me. (Never mind that my kids coddle the dogs at any given moment too, and I have eleven acres of open space.) I also got yelled at for alleging that high heels are evil;
"Heels are evil. That's something else men should understand. It doesn't matter how fashionable and sexy they are, eventually they all make us feel like our feet are being drawn and quartered and yet testing the theoretical limits of physics and endurance at the same time. I have always sort of fancied that they were originally invented by Napoleon. It just seems like the sort of thing a sadistic imperialist with a height complex would do, doesn't it?"
Rereading my above excerpt, I still stand by my assertion that they're evil. It's not that they don't have a place - they do! I can be found in them all the time. Tall-freaks like myself find it unceasingly amusing how it unnerves some people when we wear them. It's a source of interactive entertainment for us, kind of like playing a game on the Wii. But that doesn't mean they're not evil - if anything, it just proves that they are.
People must be really bored lately. Maybe I can blame my bizarre trolls on the writer's strike? These people would have been watching Grey's Anatomy instead of nit-picking my blog, but with all the reruns - who can blame them? (I can, and do.)
I have talked about this before. In truth, this is my second generation blog. I shut down my first a couple years ago, because I really got tired of being attacked. I was a bit more self-conscious and sensitive. I'm still sensitive, but I'm a lot more annoyed than self-conscious anymore (unless I do a video-blog, then I'm right back to wanting to hide under my bed.) What I found with shutting down my first blog is that it just resulted in a lot of backed up things I wanted to write about. Not to mention, it was a bit like letting all the trolls win, even if they were particularly vicious (they make my current trolls look like preschoolers.)
But on the other hand, this blog has lead to being able to introduce people to my art, and to being able to pay for my school books. I literally have an occupational investment in showing up and blathering on. Not to mention, this means I tend to blather a bit less in person, thus saving Mr. Savy's sanity.
So I won't be shutting down any time soon. But man, am I grumpy today. So, how about a bullet-point troll-issue-resolution general response:
* Yes, I am still fitness focused, I just don't blog about it every day. I work out SIX days a week. What I am doing changes, as it should. Currently, I am doing a split-lifting routine on three days, and a multi-level interval cardio workout the other three. If you think I should be talking about that everyday, I'm sorry. I'd fall asleep typing the post, as would anyone reading it.
* Yes, I eat healthy. But, YES I have junk-food now and then too. And on a specific note: I like Reese's. I'm not going to feel bad for mentioning them - it's not like I'm handing them to you and saying "Chow down, NOW! Or else!" And the flip-side to this is that YES, I know you don't have to eat perfectly 100% of the time. I never said you did. As a matter of fact, I don't recommend doing that simply because you'd probably drive yourself crazy... and then show up on my blog complaining about my mentioning Reese's.
* No, I am not weight focused on this blog, and I refuse to be. I don't know a single person out there who would enjoy being classified by their weight. I am a real person, and I was at 230 lbs just as I am at the weight I am now - except other people didn't see it. I'm not about to jump into the mix by posting my weight for various days on the blog for everyone to judge my post-worthiness by. If we're ever in a situation that you have to catch me, then you can ask/complain about my weight. Maybe.
* Fitness and Health aside, I have a life. A real one. So, I have more to talk about than just that. Take me or leave me, this is who I am.
* No, I don't feel bad about the ads on the sidebar on my blog. They ended up paying for my school textbooks. If you think I am a sellout because of them, well, I'm ok with that. You can have the decoder ring back.
* Grammar, punctuation, whatever... it's a blog, for heaven's sake. Bite me. If I start submitting things for publication in newspapers or to book publishers, you can rest assured that I'll be doing a lot more editing and proof reading. But, as this is more just a type of free-form expression, cut me some slack... at least until I graduate and have time to over-obsess about my posts. (Who am I kidding, I'm never going to do that.)
* My children are fine, thanks. I am a mommy, I am a blogger, but I am not a mommy-blogger (nothing against them though.) You are just not going to be able to put me in a specific blogger-type-box. Sorry to disappoint. And if you call me a soccer-mom or a housewife, I might just lay you out. I stopped posting pictures of the children, and deleted all the priors, because I got enough emails telling me that bad people were looking at them. Fine, you got me. They're gone. I may talk about them from time to time though, so get over it.
* My marriage is fine. It has its ups and downs just like any other marriage. I have the right to fantasize about fictional (because I don't actually know them) hunks like Hugh Jackman and Matthew McConaughey vacuuming my house, and not have it mean I'm in divorce proceedings. I didn't marry prince charming, I married a full blooded real live human being who is as much a pain in the neck as I am. He just tends to accidentally physically blow things up more than I do, and not realize that the dogs have tangled with a skunk when he lets them into the house. I have the right to complain about that, once I regain consciousness.
* College, yes I really am graduating this May. No, not in underwater-basket-weaving. They didn't offer the major.
* No, I don't know precisely what I am going to do with the degree yet - have you seen the job market? It's a nightmare out there.
* Politics. Yes, I have an opinion. You really want to know? My cat would have been a better president than Bush. There. Have at it with the hate mail, I know where my delete key is. Who am I voting for? My CAT! Didn't you read the above mention? Come on! (No, I'm not going to tell you, so stop asking. And NO I will not promote any candidate on my blog. Get your own blog and do it yourself.)
Lets see... I think that covers the basics for right now except maybe...
*Naked pictures: not going to happen. Ever. Call me repressed, and move on.
*Pets: Giant cat, three dogs, ducks and chickens on order. Some of the spiders are pretty big, but I don't think that they count.
*Vegetarian: Was I? Yes. Am I now? No. Do I want to be? Yes. Can I be? No. Why? Allergies and other issues. Can you change my mind? Nope.
*Shoe size: You have got to be kidding me.
*Hair: Natural blond, liked the red since I was a kid so I dyed it a few years back. No, I don't pretend to be a natural redhead like my daughter. And yes, blonds do have more fun because everyone assumes you don't understand anything and expects less from you. You get away with a hell of a lot. Well, I did anyway.
*Other measurements: see "Shoe Size"
Alright, sort of a random post - but rather productive since I essentially answered about 20 troll-questions. Bring on the hate-mail! I just know the whole Bush-Cat thing is really going to set off a firestorm.
In all honesty, I'm still sick from earlier last week. I still feel sick in general, but since yesterday I'm so dizzy it's like I just got off a spinning ride (inner-ear issue? Maybe I am just internally motion sick?) I'm apparently collecting symptoms. We don't think it was food poisoning any more, although I find it suspicious that no one in the house fell as ill as I did. They just all got "hints" of being a little sick. However, it turns out that in my classes there is a large amount of the student body who have been out with the same thing. Therefore, I blame them... those footloose and fancy-free twits. You know they're just a seething petri dish of germs.
Moving on though, today I find myself tired of blogging. Again. I even find the words "blog" and "blogging" rather stupid. There has to be better terminology that doesn't sound like a term for hunting and squishing frogs.
Sure, this type of feeling tends to occur on a regular basis to anyone who keeps an online web-log... oh alright! Blog. Blogblogblog! (*rib-bit*squish*) Some authors get tired of figuring out what to post every day. Others have a collection of trolls, and after a while just get really tired of dealing them (after all, you probably wouldn't even know what a troll was if you didn't have a blog.) I am one of those; my trolls are dedicated little buggers, filled with animosity for whatever reason. I simply delete everything they say, and it never sees the light of day. Then you have the unintentional tactless irritants (UTIs) who love to leave comments telling you what to do about things you never even asked about, and correct anything wrong in your post while they're at it. Usually, they go way back into your archives and pick out a handful of posts that you probably should have had your coffee before you began writing. (At least they didn't find those indecent photos of you. Little blessings, right?)
Just a little aside about the trolls lately - I think mine might be defective. They're off on all sorts of tangents I've never seen before. It could be that there is a troll-disease that seems to be spreading. Tell me, have any of you with your own collection of trolls noticed that they have started to call out weirder than normal things? I received one email ranting at me for having three dogs, because that is cruel to have so many animals due to the fact that I have children and can't baby the dogs as every dog deserves to be treated - AND that three dogs need a lot of running-space, which I apparently don't have. Shame on me. (Never mind that my kids coddle the dogs at any given moment too, and I have eleven acres of open space.) I also got yelled at for alleging that high heels are evil;
"Heels are evil. That's something else men should understand. It doesn't matter how fashionable and sexy they are, eventually they all make us feel like our feet are being drawn and quartered and yet testing the theoretical limits of physics and endurance at the same time. I have always sort of fancied that they were originally invented by Napoleon. It just seems like the sort of thing a sadistic imperialist with a height complex would do, doesn't it?"
Rereading my above excerpt, I still stand by my assertion that they're evil. It's not that they don't have a place - they do! I can be found in them all the time. Tall-freaks like myself find it unceasingly amusing how it unnerves some people when we wear them. It's a source of interactive entertainment for us, kind of like playing a game on the Wii. But that doesn't mean they're not evil - if anything, it just proves that they are.
People must be really bored lately. Maybe I can blame my bizarre trolls on the writer's strike? These people would have been watching Grey's Anatomy instead of nit-picking my blog, but with all the reruns - who can blame them? (I can, and do.)
I have talked about this before. In truth, this is my second generation blog. I shut down my first a couple years ago, because I really got tired of being attacked. I was a bit more self-conscious and sensitive. I'm still sensitive, but I'm a lot more annoyed than self-conscious anymore (unless I do a video-blog, then I'm right back to wanting to hide under my bed.) What I found with shutting down my first blog is that it just resulted in a lot of backed up things I wanted to write about. Not to mention, it was a bit like letting all the trolls win, even if they were particularly vicious (they make my current trolls look like preschoolers.)
But on the other hand, this blog has lead to being able to introduce people to my art, and to being able to pay for my school books. I literally have an occupational investment in showing up and blathering on. Not to mention, this means I tend to blather a bit less in person, thus saving Mr. Savy's sanity.
So I won't be shutting down any time soon. But man, am I grumpy today. So, how about a bullet-point troll-issue-resolution general response:
* Yes, I am still fitness focused, I just don't blog about it every day. I work out SIX days a week. What I am doing changes, as it should. Currently, I am doing a split-lifting routine on three days, and a multi-level interval cardio workout the other three. If you think I should be talking about that everyday, I'm sorry. I'd fall asleep typing the post, as would anyone reading it.
* Yes, I eat healthy. But, YES I have junk-food now and then too. And on a specific note: I like Reese's. I'm not going to feel bad for mentioning them - it's not like I'm handing them to you and saying "Chow down, NOW! Or else!" And the flip-side to this is that YES, I know you don't have to eat perfectly 100% of the time. I never said you did. As a matter of fact, I don't recommend doing that simply because you'd probably drive yourself crazy... and then show up on my blog complaining about my mentioning Reese's.
* No, I am not weight focused on this blog, and I refuse to be. I don't know a single person out there who would enjoy being classified by their weight. I am a real person, and I was at 230 lbs just as I am at the weight I am now - except other people didn't see it. I'm not about to jump into the mix by posting my weight for various days on the blog for everyone to judge my post-worthiness by. If we're ever in a situation that you have to catch me, then you can ask/complain about my weight. Maybe.
* Fitness and Health aside, I have a life. A real one. So, I have more to talk about than just that. Take me or leave me, this is who I am.
* No, I don't feel bad about the ads on the sidebar on my blog. They ended up paying for my school textbooks. If you think I am a sellout because of them, well, I'm ok with that. You can have the decoder ring back.
* Grammar, punctuation, whatever... it's a blog, for heaven's sake. Bite me. If I start submitting things for publication in newspapers or to book publishers, you can rest assured that I'll be doing a lot more editing and proof reading. But, as this is more just a type of free-form expression, cut me some slack... at least until I graduate and have time to over-obsess about my posts. (Who am I kidding, I'm never going to do that.)
* My children are fine, thanks. I am a mommy, I am a blogger, but I am not a mommy-blogger (nothing against them though.) You are just not going to be able to put me in a specific blogger-type-box. Sorry to disappoint. And if you call me a soccer-mom or a housewife, I might just lay you out. I stopped posting pictures of the children, and deleted all the priors, because I got enough emails telling me that bad people were looking at them. Fine, you got me. They're gone. I may talk about them from time to time though, so get over it.
* My marriage is fine. It has its ups and downs just like any other marriage. I have the right to fantasize about fictional (because I don't actually know them) hunks like Hugh Jackman and Matthew McConaughey vacuuming my house, and not have it mean I'm in divorce proceedings. I didn't marry prince charming, I married a full blooded real live human being who is as much a pain in the neck as I am. He just tends to accidentally physically blow things up more than I do, and not realize that the dogs have tangled with a skunk when he lets them into the house. I have the right to complain about that, once I regain consciousness.
* College, yes I really am graduating this May. No, not in underwater-basket-weaving. They didn't offer the major.
* No, I don't know precisely what I am going to do with the degree yet - have you seen the job market? It's a nightmare out there.
* Politics. Yes, I have an opinion. You really want to know? My cat would have been a better president than Bush. There. Have at it with the hate mail, I know where my delete key is. Who am I voting for? My CAT! Didn't you read the above mention? Come on! (No, I'm not going to tell you, so stop asking. And NO I will not promote any candidate on my blog. Get your own blog and do it yourself.)
Lets see... I think that covers the basics for right now except maybe...
*Naked pictures: not going to happen. Ever. Call me repressed, and move on.
*Pets: Giant cat, three dogs, ducks and chickens on order. Some of the spiders are pretty big, but I don't think that they count.
*Vegetarian: Was I? Yes. Am I now? No. Do I want to be? Yes. Can I be? No. Why? Allergies and other issues. Can you change my mind? Nope.
*Shoe size: You have got to be kidding me.
*Hair: Natural blond, liked the red since I was a kid so I dyed it a few years back. No, I don't pretend to be a natural redhead like my daughter. And yes, blonds do have more fun because everyone assumes you don't understand anything and expects less from you. You get away with a hell of a lot. Well, I did anyway.
*Other measurements: see "Shoe Size"
Alright, sort of a random post - but rather productive since I essentially answered about 20 troll-questions. Bring on the hate-mail! I just know the whole Bush-Cat thing is really going to set off a firestorm.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Saturday, March 22, 2008
T'was The Night Before Easter...
Me, in my most favoritest pj's in the whole world (just up after a 30 minute nap in front of the fireplace - hence the bed-head-do), painting an egg with my kids tonight.
We decided to do the beeswax eggs next year when we have more time for planning. Easter sort of sneaked up on me this year. I hope the Easter Bunny brings me chocolate too, because my whole house smells like eggs and vinegar right now, and no matter how many hazelnut creme candles I light, the smell won't go away.
We decided to do the beeswax eggs next year when we have more time for planning. Easter sort of sneaked up on me this year. I hope the Easter Bunny brings me chocolate too, because my whole house smells like eggs and vinegar right now, and no matter how many hazelnut creme candles I light, the smell won't go away.
Don't Hop Angry
I was just at Wal-Mart. *shudder*
I got hit no less than EIGHT times by carts, three of which I am certain were intentional, while I was shopping. I managed to get out again, before I killed anyone. This was only because there was nothing left. No chocolate bunnies, malted robin eggs, foil wrapped goodies, or even neon peeps were left. Honestly, I've never seen anything like it before.
Now, I haven't gone to the stores on Christmas Eve in a long time either, but judging by the after-season sales, there was always stuff left before Christmas. Right? Not so, it appears, for Easter.
Now, before anyone says "Well, that's what you get putting it off!" I would like to let you know that I did NOT put anything off. I had everything I needed... and then Mr. Savy found my stash and ate all the candy that goes in the plastic eggs I hide all over the house. He apparently found it weeks ago, and has been making regular visits to the stash. His reasoning when he was found out (last night) was "What?! You can buy more! What's the problem?"
We had to go to three different stores, and eventually I found a few bags of chocolate at a pharmacy! Even the pharmacy was packed with people grabbing bags of candy and fluffy rabbits, while shoving each other out of the way for the last egg dye kit. I think all of this is more amazing because we have such a low population density out here that to form a crowd means everyone in the state is at the same place you are.
Is Easter a bigger holiday suddenly? Or are people just after more redemption this year than last? Not that I see how chocolate bunnies and candy eggs leads to anything but a sour stomach... but perhaps I have missed something.
We're going to dye eggs in a few minutes. I'm contemplating digging out my beeswax and doing some intricate designs. I got turned onto doing eggs that way in seventh grade chemistry class when we got to make our own dyes (I still managed to blow up a beaker. I'm not sure how. But it was better than when I lit the counter on fire.) You start with the white egg, anything you want to keep white you draw over with the melted wax, then you go yellow, and do the same thing... all the way until the black dye. Then you melt it all off and get amazing results. Most people call this making Ukrainian Easter Eggs. Look at some of these amazing eggs (they're not mine):
Eh, who am I kidding. I'm up for a nap more than anything after my Wal-Mart ordeal. I think plain old pastel will work just fine. I just need to make sure I don't fall asleep tonight before I take care of my bunny-obligations. It wouldn't do to have both the Tooth Fairy AND the Easter Bunny screw up this week.
I got hit no less than EIGHT times by carts, three of which I am certain were intentional, while I was shopping. I managed to get out again, before I killed anyone. This was only because there was nothing left. No chocolate bunnies, malted robin eggs, foil wrapped goodies, or even neon peeps were left. Honestly, I've never seen anything like it before.
Now, I haven't gone to the stores on Christmas Eve in a long time either, but judging by the after-season sales, there was always stuff left before Christmas. Right? Not so, it appears, for Easter.
Now, before anyone says "Well, that's what you get putting it off!" I would like to let you know that I did NOT put anything off. I had everything I needed... and then Mr. Savy found my stash and ate all the candy that goes in the plastic eggs I hide all over the house. He apparently found it weeks ago, and has been making regular visits to the stash. His reasoning when he was found out (last night) was "What?! You can buy more! What's the problem?"
We had to go to three different stores, and eventually I found a few bags of chocolate at a pharmacy! Even the pharmacy was packed with people grabbing bags of candy and fluffy rabbits, while shoving each other out of the way for the last egg dye kit. I think all of this is more amazing because we have such a low population density out here that to form a crowd means everyone in the state is at the same place you are.
Is Easter a bigger holiday suddenly? Or are people just after more redemption this year than last? Not that I see how chocolate bunnies and candy eggs leads to anything but a sour stomach... but perhaps I have missed something.
We're going to dye eggs in a few minutes. I'm contemplating digging out my beeswax and doing some intricate designs. I got turned onto doing eggs that way in seventh grade chemistry class when we got to make our own dyes (I still managed to blow up a beaker. I'm not sure how. But it was better than when I lit the counter on fire.) You start with the white egg, anything you want to keep white you draw over with the melted wax, then you go yellow, and do the same thing... all the way until the black dye. Then you melt it all off and get amazing results. Most people call this making Ukrainian Easter Eggs. Look at some of these amazing eggs (they're not mine):
Eh, who am I kidding. I'm up for a nap more than anything after my Wal-Mart ordeal. I think plain old pastel will work just fine. I just need to make sure I don't fall asleep tonight before I take care of my bunny-obligations. It wouldn't do to have both the Tooth Fairy AND the Easter Bunny screw up this week.
Friday, March 21, 2008
Sing, Sing a Song... Read Out Loud...
Overheard this morning, while laying in bed listening to my kids getting ready for the day (trying to find motivation to sit upright):
My son, singing to himself (he's seven) ".....I'm naked, and that's my butt! It's like a chair, and I can sit where ever I want! .....Now I need to find underwear! Because if I fart... "
I hollered and interrupted him at this point. I didn't want to know how that verse ended.
After the Tooth Fairy Fiasco, I spent all last night dreaming about other ways I could screw up. The Easter Bunny forgot to show up in my dream. I tried to distract the kids, while Mr. Savy put together baskets - but then he was an idiot and didn't take off any of the tags (something he would do) and for some reason everything had a clearance tag, and there were a lot of pairs of shoes (as in about 16 pairs, piled taller than I am.) ...and then I dreamt I finally found my true love, fell into a lake, forgot how to swim and drowned in the dark brown-green murky depths.
The musical from my son's room this morning was most welcome after that little night-gem.
So back to Easter and the shoe thing - I haven't ever given shoes for Easter, so I'm not sure what that means. As they were all athletic shoes, perhaps it is time to replace my running shoes? But you know, there is something to the whole shoe-thing on Easter, my very favorite Easter story is The Country Bunny and the Little Gold Shoes:
The story is about a bunny-girl who is told she can never do anything in this world but be a mother. Yet, she has always admired and wanted to be one of the Easter Bunnies, and tells everyone that is what she is going to do (and of course no one believes her.) But then life happens, and she has a bazillion babies, and gives up her dream... until she actually does get chosen to be an Easter Bunny after all. But on her first Easter out she cannot make it to the top of a mountain where a sick child is, and she gets hurt... it ends well but... *sniffle*
It's a tear-jerker, kid-style. This one didn't make me as sad as
The Giving Tree, but it still made me very tearful as a child. As an adult, it's even worse. I can't read it to my kids without choking up. I feel like a complete idiot. I have not even attempted to read the giving tree to my kids, they'd probably think I had lost my mind (and I really don't want to clue them into that fact, yet.)
One of the best things in the world is being able to share my love of books, especially the children's books which everyone scoffs that I still hold dear. I can't help it. Sure, I love grown-up books... I read trashy romances, adventure, sci-fi, and so on voraciously (I read about three to six 500+ pg books a week.) But nothing was ever better than those first books back when you first learned to read and to "see" the pictures in your head.
Do you have any cherished books from that early era in your life? My absolute favorite from childhood is
the Island of the Blue Dolphins. I read that book so many times, it was falling apart. Anne of Green Gables became a major favorite too. I still have my copies of these books, tattered and worn. They're somehow more special because of it.
So what books did you fall into as a child? What were your favorites?
My son, singing to himself (he's seven) ".....I'm naked, and that's my butt! It's like a chair, and I can sit where ever I want! .....Now I need to find underwear! Because if I fart... "
I hollered and interrupted him at this point. I didn't want to know how that verse ended.
After the Tooth Fairy Fiasco, I spent all last night dreaming about other ways I could screw up. The Easter Bunny forgot to show up in my dream. I tried to distract the kids, while Mr. Savy put together baskets - but then he was an idiot and didn't take off any of the tags (something he would do) and for some reason everything had a clearance tag, and there were a lot of pairs of shoes (as in about 16 pairs, piled taller than I am.) ...and then I dreamt I finally found my true love, fell into a lake, forgot how to swim and drowned in the dark brown-green murky depths.
The musical from my son's room this morning was most welcome after that little night-gem.
So back to Easter and the shoe thing - I haven't ever given shoes for Easter, so I'm not sure what that means. As they were all athletic shoes, perhaps it is time to replace my running shoes? But you know, there is something to the whole shoe-thing on Easter, my very favorite Easter story is The Country Bunny and the Little Gold Shoes:
The story is about a bunny-girl who is told she can never do anything in this world but be a mother. Yet, she has always admired and wanted to be one of the Easter Bunnies, and tells everyone that is what she is going to do (and of course no one believes her.) But then life happens, and she has a bazillion babies, and gives up her dream... until she actually does get chosen to be an Easter Bunny after all. But on her first Easter out she cannot make it to the top of a mountain where a sick child is, and she gets hurt... it ends well but... *sniffle*
It's a tear-jerker, kid-style. This one didn't make me as sad as
The Giving Tree, but it still made me very tearful as a child. As an adult, it's even worse. I can't read it to my kids without choking up. I feel like a complete idiot. I have not even attempted to read the giving tree to my kids, they'd probably think I had lost my mind (and I really don't want to clue them into that fact, yet.)One of the best things in the world is being able to share my love of books, especially the children's books which everyone scoffs that I still hold dear. I can't help it. Sure, I love grown-up books... I read trashy romances, adventure, sci-fi, and so on voraciously (I read about three to six 500+ pg books a week.) But nothing was ever better than those first books back when you first learned to read and to "see" the pictures in your head.
Do you have any cherished books from that early era in your life? My absolute favorite from childhood is
the Island of the Blue Dolphins. I read that book so many times, it was falling apart. Anne of Green Gables became a major favorite too. I still have my copies of these books, tattered and worn. They're somehow more special because of it.So what books did you fall into as a child? What were your favorites?
Thursday, March 20, 2008
By The Teeth
In the past, certain events in my life have had themes, all completely inadvertently of course. This week has been about teeth.
Now, in dream analysis circles, teeth have to do with a lot of things like losing control, fear of control, and so on. I think there is a control thread that connects all the general theories together. I'm not exactly sure how control and teeth ever got linked... (someone bit a psychiatrist and a theory was born!)
Well, I've been having those teeth dreams. Usually they're the horrible teeth turning into sand variety, so your double horrified over losing your teeth and trying to spit out all the fragments. This time, I have just been loosing whole strings of teeth. For example, one dream had my entire lineup of back molars falling out at once. Oddly, they had diamonds in them for cavity fillings (I don't have any fillings in real life, never have...) so I'm not sure where that fit in... but... GAH! My teeth!
Now, in REAL life, I have then been spending a lot of time awake clenching my teeth without even thinking about it. There is a possibility this contributed to my migraine, but I know it's causing me pain otherwise as well. Then to add to the teeth theme, my daughter lost a tooth in the car dealer showroom last night. And then...
I was so upset about the car, I freakin' blew the tooth fairy thing! DAGNABBIT! I SUCK! I ROYALLY SUCK! My daughter came in all tearful saying the tooth fairy didn't come. The worst part is, I have totally screwed up before on this. I managed to pull it off, but this time I am treading awfully close on the shattering childhood fantasies line.
I blamed it all on me. My daughter started going on about how the tooth fairy is supposed to come at midnight. Well, I said it was my fault then! I was still AWAKE at midnight (I was up until past 2 a.m.), pacing the hallways. I obviously kept her from coming with my pacing.
You'll notice that technically that's 100% true.
She then suggested that maybe the tooth fairy would come while we were all away today (Oh dear daughter of mine, thank you for giving mommy an out.) Money is deposited into said tooth-pillow.
But mommy still sucks.
Maybe if I don't totally screw up the Easter Bunny, I'll get a reprieve.
Now, in dream analysis circles, teeth have to do with a lot of things like losing control, fear of control, and so on. I think there is a control thread that connects all the general theories together. I'm not exactly sure how control and teeth ever got linked... (someone bit a psychiatrist and a theory was born!)
Well, I've been having those teeth dreams. Usually they're the horrible teeth turning into sand variety, so your double horrified over losing your teeth and trying to spit out all the fragments. This time, I have just been loosing whole strings of teeth. For example, one dream had my entire lineup of back molars falling out at once. Oddly, they had diamonds in them for cavity fillings (I don't have any fillings in real life, never have...) so I'm not sure where that fit in... but... GAH! My teeth!
Now, in REAL life, I have then been spending a lot of time awake clenching my teeth without even thinking about it. There is a possibility this contributed to my migraine, but I know it's causing me pain otherwise as well. Then to add to the teeth theme, my daughter lost a tooth in the car dealer showroom last night. And then...
I was so upset about the car, I freakin' blew the tooth fairy thing! DAGNABBIT! I SUCK! I ROYALLY SUCK! My daughter came in all tearful saying the tooth fairy didn't come. The worst part is, I have totally screwed up before on this. I managed to pull it off, but this time I am treading awfully close on the shattering childhood fantasies line.
I blamed it all on me. My daughter started going on about how the tooth fairy is supposed to come at midnight. Well, I said it was my fault then! I was still AWAKE at midnight (I was up until past 2 a.m.), pacing the hallways. I obviously kept her from coming with my pacing.
You'll notice that technically that's 100% true.
She then suggested that maybe the tooth fairy would come while we were all away today (Oh dear daughter of mine, thank you for giving mommy an out.) Money is deposited into said tooth-pillow.
But mommy still sucks.
Maybe if I don't totally screw up the Easter Bunny, I'll get a reprieve.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
*gasp*
We bought the car. I'm sick over it. Mr. Savy is sitting behind me with the manual (who ever thought I could get him to look at an actual manual?) for the car like Vanna White revealing letters. Every now and then he goes "and it does this! See, they have a diagram! No really, Kyra... look!"
I don't want to look.
All I want to do is throw up (can't blame the food poisoning on this one, either.)
Worse, we got rather screwed over on part of it, but it was unavoidable (so I'm told) due to a change in plans by Mr. Savy. Which is probably why he is inordinately happy and actually deigning to touch a manual without first accidentally setting fire to something.
But for me? This is hard. I know all the reasons why, and the justifications, and everything else. But as I said before, I'd be happy to hide out in my cave with my fluffy socks and never go anywhere. I'm good. Really. Society doesn't want me, and I'm ok with that. I like my cave. I painted it pretty colors, and filled it with canvas, paintbrushes, flannel, and fluffy socks - what more could a girl want?
But I guess that is it... I really am just fine. There are some members of my extended family who are bottomless pits (not Mr. Savy.) The more they have, the more junk they want to buy. They keep thinking that this thing, or that next great thing will finally be the thing that fills the gaping hole. Nothing is ever enough. They would be the sort to buy a car, and then lament that they didn't buy the bigger one with more buttons.
I'm not that way. I worry about buying it at all. If I could walk everywhere, I would. But country living isn't conducive to that. If I buy a car it's because it's really needed; I need it to get me from point A to B in safety... and I do kinda insist on heat (I practically live in the Arctic in the winter) and air conditioning since the Chicago incident where I literally passed out from heat stroke (I had a black car, black interior, no a/c, and it was the summer we hit 127 heat index and all the a/c's blew up all over town.) Other than that...
Why didn't we just buy a horse! A horse could have gotten us around, right? Or maybe a smaller team of goats! Goats are way cheaper than horses! Actually, if we were to strap enough of the chickens together...
Right well. What's done is done. I hope. There is always that horrible "I hope they don't pull any tricks between now and the final settling of the paperwork" feeling. I don't feel good about the whole thing in general, so it's making me even more nervous I guess. I wish I could just once buy a car and not feel like I was taken advantage of.
Hopefully I'll feel better tomorrow.
I don't want to look.
All I want to do is throw up (can't blame the food poisoning on this one, either.)
Worse, we got rather screwed over on part of it, but it was unavoidable (so I'm told) due to a change in plans by Mr. Savy. Which is probably why he is inordinately happy and actually deigning to touch a manual without first accidentally setting fire to something.
But for me? This is hard. I know all the reasons why, and the justifications, and everything else. But as I said before, I'd be happy to hide out in my cave with my fluffy socks and never go anywhere. I'm good. Really. Society doesn't want me, and I'm ok with that. I like my cave. I painted it pretty colors, and filled it with canvas, paintbrushes, flannel, and fluffy socks - what more could a girl want?
But I guess that is it... I really am just fine. There are some members of my extended family who are bottomless pits (not Mr. Savy.) The more they have, the more junk they want to buy. They keep thinking that this thing, or that next great thing will finally be the thing that fills the gaping hole. Nothing is ever enough. They would be the sort to buy a car, and then lament that they didn't buy the bigger one with more buttons.
I'm not that way. I worry about buying it at all. If I could walk everywhere, I would. But country living isn't conducive to that. If I buy a car it's because it's really needed; I need it to get me from point A to B in safety... and I do kinda insist on heat (I practically live in the Arctic in the winter) and air conditioning since the Chicago incident where I literally passed out from heat stroke (I had a black car, black interior, no a/c, and it was the summer we hit 127 heat index and all the a/c's blew up all over town.) Other than that...
Why didn't we just buy a horse! A horse could have gotten us around, right? Or maybe a smaller team of goats! Goats are way cheaper than horses! Actually, if we were to strap enough of the chickens together...
Right well. What's done is done. I hope. There is always that horrible "I hope they don't pull any tricks between now and the final settling of the paperwork" feeling. I don't feel good about the whole thing in general, so it's making me even more nervous I guess. I wish I could just once buy a car and not feel like I was taken advantage of.
Hopefully I'll feel better tomorrow.
All About Eggs
Am I still sick? Yes. Are we going to talk about it? Oh heck no! Not when I can talk about something squishy, disgusting, and sweet. (Just out of curiosity, where did your mind go just now?)
I was rather forcefully reminded this morning that Easter is only a few DAYS away at this point (did you know it will be over 200 years before Easter is this early again, and the last time it was 1913?) So, one of the things I was being tortured with while sick was a discussion on all the Easter candy. They hate me, that much is obvious. But, they also begged me to visit a website where they have a whole site dedicated to the (fairly gross) Cadbury egg. I present to you: Goo-ology.
After I stopped giggling about the egg on the couch, I took their personality disorder test, and it turns out that the kind of egg I am is a Terminator:
"When it comes to your goo, you've got a one track mind. Nothing will stop you, and to be honest, we feel a little bit sorry for anyone who gets in your way. Strong willed and adventurous, if the Army recruited eggs, they'd want you. That said, you also have a soft spot for cute bunny rabbits. And a slight tendency to join cults." Goo rating: Grrrrrrrr Goo Mentor: Guy Fawkes
Oddly, not too far off the mark. Though, I must confess that the only Cadbury egg I can stand is the caramel one.
In other egg news: Today, if I can remain upright, I have been charged with some important tasks, the first of which is ordering our chickens. Ahhh, it's what every girl dreams about... being told "And honey, make sure you order chickens today. We don't want to get stuck with silky bantams or... or... turkeys!" No, I suppose not. That would be the ultimate tragedy.
So now I get to decide which kind of feathered nuisances I want running rampant around my coop. It's not every girl who can say she gets a choice. Do you have any idea how many types of chickens there are out there? And how many have bee-hive feather-dos?
We had a couple of those beehive types, I used to crack-up every time I'd see them zipping across the field after some bug (how they even saw one was a mystery to me.) They even come mail order (which I think is kind of mean, but there you have it. Two years ago we got a slew of runner ducks from here.) In all seriousness though, I'm rather dreading this whole thing. We have a coop, though it's a bit broken down at the moment. The raccoons really did a number on it, and we just sort of let it go. But the main problem with having chickens in the country is that you don't ever get to sleep soundly again.
You spend your nights with half an ear open for the varmint that has decided he'd like drive-thru tonight. Sometimes it's the wolves, sometimes the bobcats, sometimes the skunks, and the raccoons are the worst. Mr. Savy got into a middle of the night sword fight with one - seriously.
Mr. Savy didn't believe me that for the third night in a row I had heard something, and rather than put his gun together he just grabbed a decorative, dull samurai sword (we keep the shot-guns locked in a safe, in separate pieces, two different safes - I don't like having a gun at all, and I'm paranoid.) Out in his boxers and boots he went, flashlight and sword in hand... Only to have the daylights scared out of him by a mammoth raccoon. The raccoon had figured out how to get in, but not out. So, my brilliant rocket scientist husband decided that as long as he was there... and as long as he had the sword...
It turns out that jabbing an over-sized, trapped raccoon with a very dull sword is a rather poor choice. Really, really makes them angry. I was watching from our bedroom window, heard a scuffle, and then saw Mr. Savy come flying across the yard in his boxers with the dog way ahead of him (he's no fool.)
So, getting chickens again means a lot less sleep... again. But when eggs are over $3 a dozen for the cheapest store brand... makes that $.75 cent chick seem like a much better investment. Did you know that there is even a breed of chicken that lay Easter eggs? No, seriously:
"ARAUCANAS : This rare breed is known as the Easter Egg Chicken. A smaller breed, but much in demand for their beautiful eggs. They actually do lay tinted eggs in the most surprising colors."
Doesn't that sound like fun? As long as they don't hide them too, of course. Think Mr. Savy will throw a fit if I order them instead? He DID leave me in charge of the chicken ordering, after all. It's not like he doesn't know I'm a fruitcake.
I was rather forcefully reminded this morning that Easter is only a few DAYS away at this point (did you know it will be over 200 years before Easter is this early again, and the last time it was 1913?) So, one of the things I was being tortured with while sick was a discussion on all the Easter candy. They hate me, that much is obvious. But, they also begged me to visit a website where they have a whole site dedicated to the (fairly gross) Cadbury egg. I present to you: Goo-ology.
After I stopped giggling about the egg on the couch, I took their personality disorder test, and it turns out that the kind of egg I am is a Terminator:
"When it comes to your goo, you've got a one track mind. Nothing will stop you, and to be honest, we feel a little bit sorry for anyone who gets in your way. Strong willed and adventurous, if the Army recruited eggs, they'd want you. That said, you also have a soft spot for cute bunny rabbits. And a slight tendency to join cults." Goo rating: Grrrrrrrr Goo Mentor: Guy Fawkes
Oddly, not too far off the mark. Though, I must confess that the only Cadbury egg I can stand is the caramel one.
In other egg news: Today, if I can remain upright, I have been charged with some important tasks, the first of which is ordering our chickens. Ahhh, it's what every girl dreams about... being told "And honey, make sure you order chickens today. We don't want to get stuck with silky bantams or... or... turkeys!" No, I suppose not. That would be the ultimate tragedy.
So now I get to decide which kind of feathered nuisances I want running rampant around my coop. It's not every girl who can say she gets a choice. Do you have any idea how many types of chickens there are out there? And how many have bee-hive feather-dos?
We had a couple of those beehive types, I used to crack-up every time I'd see them zipping across the field after some bug (how they even saw one was a mystery to me.) They even come mail order (which I think is kind of mean, but there you have it. Two years ago we got a slew of runner ducks from here.) In all seriousness though, I'm rather dreading this whole thing. We have a coop, though it's a bit broken down at the moment. The raccoons really did a number on it, and we just sort of let it go. But the main problem with having chickens in the country is that you don't ever get to sleep soundly again.You spend your nights with half an ear open for the varmint that has decided he'd like drive-thru tonight. Sometimes it's the wolves, sometimes the bobcats, sometimes the skunks, and the raccoons are the worst. Mr. Savy got into a middle of the night sword fight with one - seriously.
Mr. Savy didn't believe me that for the third night in a row I had heard something, and rather than put his gun together he just grabbed a decorative, dull samurai sword (we keep the shot-guns locked in a safe, in separate pieces, two different safes - I don't like having a gun at all, and I'm paranoid.) Out in his boxers and boots he went, flashlight and sword in hand... Only to have the daylights scared out of him by a mammoth raccoon. The raccoon had figured out how to get in, but not out. So, my brilliant rocket scientist husband decided that as long as he was there... and as long as he had the sword...
It turns out that jabbing an over-sized, trapped raccoon with a very dull sword is a rather poor choice. Really, really makes them angry. I was watching from our bedroom window, heard a scuffle, and then saw Mr. Savy come flying across the yard in his boxers with the dog way ahead of him (he's no fool.)
So, getting chickens again means a lot less sleep... again. But when eggs are over $3 a dozen for the cheapest store brand... makes that $.75 cent chick seem like a much better investment. Did you know that there is even a breed of chicken that lay Easter eggs? No, seriously:
"ARAUCANAS : This rare breed is known as the Easter Egg Chicken. A smaller breed, but much in demand for their beautiful eggs. They actually do lay tinted eggs in the most surprising colors."
Doesn't that sound like fun? As long as they don't hide them too, of course. Think Mr. Savy will throw a fit if I order them instead? He DID leave me in charge of the chicken ordering, after all. It's not like he doesn't know I'm a fruitcake.
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Erg
Food poisoning = Hell
Food Poisoning + Full Blown Migraine (and unable to keep anything down to stop either one) = .........help me.
Food Poisoning + Full Blown Migraine (and unable to keep anything down to stop either one) = .........help me.
Monday, March 17, 2008
Tabhair 'om póg, is Éireannach mé
Kiss me, I'm Irish! (That's what the title says.)
And here is another good one for most of you: Pionta Guinness, le do thoil. (A pint of Guinness, please.)
And after that, you'll need: An bhfuil tú dálta fós? (Are you drunk yet?)
Am I really Irish?
Actually, yes. I'm about 95% Scottish and Irish (more Scots than Irish, probably... 65/30 ratio - I even have a kilt with the family plaid, crest broach, and a clan laird/chieftain in our family seat in Scotland,) and 5% German as far as heritage goes. Which means we tend to drink a lot, fight with each other, keep stealing one another's cows.... and then we go have something with sauerkraut on it. I'm also a lapsed catholic, so that works out too.
I've never really understood why people pinch one another for not wearing green on St. Patrick's Day, but I do know that many a year I tried to get out of it by saying I had a built-in Irish-get-me-out-of-pinching-free-card: My eyes.
I got made fun of for having green eyes, because children are stupid. But even the adults would say things like "Oh, she'll be a jealous one. Green eyes, not a good sign." As a matter of fact, green eyes are even associated with the "Evil Eye", and I was pretty sick of hearing about that long before I was out of elementary school. It's not fun as a child to hear from the more superstitious relatives that you might have been the one that caused Fluffy's death simply because you have green eyes and might have looked at Fluffy wrong. It should be noted that this "evil eye" had no effect whatsoever on my ex-boyfriends.My green eyes were particularly amusing to family members, as no one could figure out where the green eyes came from - no one in my family has them. So, overall I felt left out or sinisterly singled out, and believed that my eyes should at the very least imbue me with some sort of benefit (preferably a super-power) at some point. I figured St. Patrick's Day was just about perfect.
Except no one really went for it, and half the time people pinched you when you were wearing green anyway. Meanies.
This Saint Patty's day, not much is going on. I'm not doing much more than wearing my shamrock socks around the house, and a glittery green shamrock sticker in an almost indecent place. Because I can. I think I'm reeling from the fact that Easter is next weekend. For the kids, I made green chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast, and put a glittery tattoo on both of their arms that says "I'm Irish!" with lots of little shamrocks. I think the school is going to have a little party. I've been informed that I'm supposed to come up with something green for dinner, but all that keeps running through my mind is "I do not like green eggs and ham..." (any ideas?)
I hope everyone has a great St. Patrick's day, and to all of you "Beannachtaí na Féile Páraic oraibh!" (St. Patrick's Day blessing upon you!)
Sunday, March 16, 2008
The Numbers Game
Mental image for me for the week: My family in a car dealership, two kids crammed into a chair together with one ear-bud each from the iPod while they watched a movie, Mr. Savy reclining with his feet crossed at the ankles while going over buttons and features, and me... with my stupid calculator furiously punching buttons.
*sigh*
I'm the family negotiator, always have been. In a bizarre twist of fate, I'm the one with a head for financial matters and numbers. You would think that the rocket scientist would be the one, but no... it's the flaky artist. Financial matters drive me crazy. If a bill comes with an error on it, it bugs me until I can correct it - since they always come on Friday, this means I'm at a near-psychotic point by Monday morning.
I have a special vendetta against car dealers. Generally, I have always been able to ensure my deal was as fair as I could make it, even at 16 years old. But when I had my daughter prematurely, and I was very ill, our plans to get a family car got bumped up fast. We had originally planned to get a different car about three weeks before she was born, because our car didn't really have a back seat. Instead, we were at the dealership about five days after they released us from the hospital with me literally throwing up in the bathroom. That dealer saw his opportunity and really, REALLY screwed us. I've never forgiven them. It's one thing to play a few games here and there, but with people in distress you shouldn't see that as your opportunity to make it even worse than the normal games.
And the sneaky stuff? Nothing makes me angrier. I have said before, I don't play games. I research everything, know the values, and don't ask for more than I want while expecting to accept less. I don't like negotiating and always feeling like the other person is getting one over on you. The old definition on negotiation was that it was supposed to be a mutually satisfying interaction where both ended up feeling like they had a good deal after all was said and done. I'm willing to bet it hasn't been like that for a long time for anyone buying a car.
We actually ended up settling on a completely different car, a Hyundai (if you have anything bad to say about it - tell me now! I'm not locked into anything yet!) The very first thing they did was present me with numbers that had them flat out pocketing my down payment. I immediately knew when I looked at them, I ran them twice, I sent the guy back three times, and then I got the "Oh, yeah, you were right. Our finance guy just forgot to put that in." I'll give them the benefit of the doubt... I'm hoping what they were going to do was pull it out of their hat at the end saying "Wow! Look! We can offer you an even lower payment, it's magic!" Still makes me mad, though.
*sigh* Mr. Savy spent his time during these back-and-forths snickering to himself, no help at all.
I watched them push around numbers, and throw in costs, and quite frankly - this kind of stuff just really makes me angry. But it's not over yet. The car is at another dealership out of state. They're bringing it in, and Tuesday night we'll be going down to really hit the details. Makes me grumpy just thinking about it. I always feel like I am deflecting arrows... "here's a bogus advertising cost! *clang* ... and here is a bogus hamster in the air conditioning cost! *clang*"
I just want to go live in my cave, and not deal with people at all after this sort of thing. And all of that doesn't even address the heart attack I am having over having to acquire another car payment. I'm not committed to anything, so I'll be running budgets all day today and tomorrow trying to get a real picture of the situation. Mr. Savy keeps waving me off with "We're fine! No Worries, m'on!" (apparently we're still in Jamaica in his world.)
You would think that because this is going to be my car, that I would be more excited about it. But instead, I keep thinking in the back of my mind "we could always just share the car we have now... and we'll still have the truck as a back up. I know that the front wheel falling off while we're driving and that the mechanics can't figure out why is bad and all... but hey! We survived the other three times it fell off! I'll just stay home and hide in the garden and my studio. We'll grow our own food, and completely remove our consumption rate from society!" ...and then Mr. Savy starts yelling at me.
Guess not.
*sigh*
I'm the family negotiator, always have been. In a bizarre twist of fate, I'm the one with a head for financial matters and numbers. You would think that the rocket scientist would be the one, but no... it's the flaky artist. Financial matters drive me crazy. If a bill comes with an error on it, it bugs me until I can correct it - since they always come on Friday, this means I'm at a near-psychotic point by Monday morning.
I have a special vendetta against car dealers. Generally, I have always been able to ensure my deal was as fair as I could make it, even at 16 years old. But when I had my daughter prematurely, and I was very ill, our plans to get a family car got bumped up fast. We had originally planned to get a different car about three weeks before she was born, because our car didn't really have a back seat. Instead, we were at the dealership about five days after they released us from the hospital with me literally throwing up in the bathroom. That dealer saw his opportunity and really, REALLY screwed us. I've never forgiven them. It's one thing to play a few games here and there, but with people in distress you shouldn't see that as your opportunity to make it even worse than the normal games.
And the sneaky stuff? Nothing makes me angrier. I have said before, I don't play games. I research everything, know the values, and don't ask for more than I want while expecting to accept less. I don't like negotiating and always feeling like the other person is getting one over on you. The old definition on negotiation was that it was supposed to be a mutually satisfying interaction where both ended up feeling like they had a good deal after all was said and done. I'm willing to bet it hasn't been like that for a long time for anyone buying a car.
We actually ended up settling on a completely different car, a Hyundai (if you have anything bad to say about it - tell me now! I'm not locked into anything yet!) The very first thing they did was present me with numbers that had them flat out pocketing my down payment. I immediately knew when I looked at them, I ran them twice, I sent the guy back three times, and then I got the "Oh, yeah, you were right. Our finance guy just forgot to put that in." I'll give them the benefit of the doubt... I'm hoping what they were going to do was pull it out of their hat at the end saying "Wow! Look! We can offer you an even lower payment, it's magic!" Still makes me mad, though.
*sigh* Mr. Savy spent his time during these back-and-forths snickering to himself, no help at all.
I watched them push around numbers, and throw in costs, and quite frankly - this kind of stuff just really makes me angry. But it's not over yet. The car is at another dealership out of state. They're bringing it in, and Tuesday night we'll be going down to really hit the details. Makes me grumpy just thinking about it. I always feel like I am deflecting arrows... "here's a bogus advertising cost! *clang* ... and here is a bogus hamster in the air conditioning cost! *clang*"
I just want to go live in my cave, and not deal with people at all after this sort of thing. And all of that doesn't even address the heart attack I am having over having to acquire another car payment. I'm not committed to anything, so I'll be running budgets all day today and tomorrow trying to get a real picture of the situation. Mr. Savy keeps waving me off with "We're fine! No Worries, m'on!" (apparently we're still in Jamaica in his world.)
You would think that because this is going to be my car, that I would be more excited about it. But instead, I keep thinking in the back of my mind "we could always just share the car we have now... and we'll still have the truck as a back up. I know that the front wheel falling off while we're driving and that the mechanics can't figure out why is bad and all... but hey! We survived the other three times it fell off! I'll just stay home and hide in the garden and my studio. We'll grow our own food, and completely remove our consumption rate from society!" ...and then Mr. Savy starts yelling at me.
Guess not.
Saturday, March 15, 2008
Let's Make A Deal
I hate car shopping. I truly do. Not only do all the cars smell strong enough to induce a migraine (and they actually sell stuff you can spray on your current car to make it "smell new again!"), you know you can always count on at least one complete jerk in your plan for the day. However, a new twist for me this time was that the jerk who won the top honors was a woman.
Normally, it's the guys who are complete morons at auto dealers. You know the type... "Oh, I see you're out with the little lady here to look at cars. Is she here to make sure you pick out one with a vanity mirror?" Or something along those lines. While we did get one of those, and he seemed like a very unhappy human being, that was nothing compared to the Nissan dealership.
At Nissan we ended up being sent to a woman who was a disdainful witch. She basically refused to show us any cars until we told her what we could afford (which we refused to do.) She kept asking, and we kept saying we would like to look at the models first and see if we are even interested before we got into those sorts of discussions - it wasn't like we were asking to see luxury models. She finally came right out and essentially said she didn't want to show us anything that might be out of our price range, because it would be a waste of her time.
The kicker? She and her husband own the dealership. I have no idea how they stay in business. She eventually showed us the cars we needed to see, but spent the whole time talking down to us about them like we were complete idiots. We left. Even if we had been in love with the car, there is no way I would have given her my business. I would rather have driven 100 miles to another state and dealership before I did that.
On a more positive note, I discovered a silver lining to the class I'm in this semester (Financial management/Essentials of corporate finance) - I have this cool (horrifying) handy dandy calculator that I can throw in all of the details of any deal and instantly spit out what the costs are from payments, to total interest paid over the loan, depreciation, etc. AND I understand it! HA!
I just scared myself.
We haven't bought a car yet. We're going back and trying out a few more, because we ended up liking a whole different kind of car I never would have even stuck my head into by total fluke. So, I had to research the whole genre. It's still a sort of "family" car (cross-over SUV, the Ford Edge is what caught our attention) but I have to tell you... it's so not the mustang I imagined myself in once upon a time.
As a matter of fact, in the showroom we were tooling around there was a black on black convertible 'Stang.
I was in love. I sat in it. I spoke to it. I told it that the day my children move out, I was coming for one of it's brothers. I hardly ever try on things and think I look good, but I had never really thought about trying on a car. It just so happened that yesterday I was in black leather boots, black jeans, black top, with my black leather jacket (I like black) and that car was the perfect accessory. I looked fantastic in that car.
The most painful thing was realizing that the convertible was cheaper than the car we were looking at. I tried pointing out to Mr. Savy that it was "technically" a four-seater. He tactfully pointed out that the four-seater classification only counted if the people in the backseat didn't have legs.
I don't see the problem.
I get to go back and visit the 'Stang today... er... go back and look at the Edge again, while comparing it to some of it's competitors. I don't think we're actually going to buy anything right now, because the price is giving me heart palpitations and I keep going back to the whole Top Ramen argument from earlier this week. But I get to see the Mustang again... do you think they would have me arrested if I took a picture of me in it just for kicks (and to drool over now and again and pretend I owned it, kind of like a grown up paper dolls?)
Normally, it's the guys who are complete morons at auto dealers. You know the type... "Oh, I see you're out with the little lady here to look at cars. Is she here to make sure you pick out one with a vanity mirror?" Or something along those lines. While we did get one of those, and he seemed like a very unhappy human being, that was nothing compared to the Nissan dealership.
At Nissan we ended up being sent to a woman who was a disdainful witch. She basically refused to show us any cars until we told her what we could afford (which we refused to do.) She kept asking, and we kept saying we would like to look at the models first and see if we are even interested before we got into those sorts of discussions - it wasn't like we were asking to see luxury models. She finally came right out and essentially said she didn't want to show us anything that might be out of our price range, because it would be a waste of her time.
The kicker? She and her husband own the dealership. I have no idea how they stay in business. She eventually showed us the cars we needed to see, but spent the whole time talking down to us about them like we were complete idiots. We left. Even if we had been in love with the car, there is no way I would have given her my business. I would rather have driven 100 miles to another state and dealership before I did that.
On a more positive note, I discovered a silver lining to the class I'm in this semester (Financial management/Essentials of corporate finance) - I have this cool (horrifying) handy dandy calculator that I can throw in all of the details of any deal and instantly spit out what the costs are from payments, to total interest paid over the loan, depreciation, etc. AND I understand it! HA!
I just scared myself.
We haven't bought a car yet. We're going back and trying out a few more, because we ended up liking a whole different kind of car I never would have even stuck my head into by total fluke. So, I had to research the whole genre. It's still a sort of "family" car (cross-over SUV, the Ford Edge is what caught our attention) but I have to tell you... it's so not the mustang I imagined myself in once upon a time.
As a matter of fact, in the showroom we were tooling around there was a black on black convertible 'Stang.
I was in love. I sat in it. I spoke to it. I told it that the day my children move out, I was coming for one of it's brothers. I hardly ever try on things and think I look good, but I had never really thought about trying on a car. It just so happened that yesterday I was in black leather boots, black jeans, black top, with my black leather jacket (I like black) and that car was the perfect accessory. I looked fantastic in that car.The most painful thing was realizing that the convertible was cheaper than the car we were looking at. I tried pointing out to Mr. Savy that it was "technically" a four-seater. He tactfully pointed out that the four-seater classification only counted if the people in the backseat didn't have legs.
I don't see the problem.
I get to go back and visit the 'Stang today... er... go back and look at the Edge again, while comparing it to some of it's competitors. I don't think we're actually going to buy anything right now, because the price is giving me heart palpitations and I keep going back to the whole Top Ramen argument from earlier this week. But I get to see the Mustang again... do you think they would have me arrested if I took a picture of me in it just for kicks (and to drool over now and again and pretend I owned it, kind of like a grown up paper dolls?)
Friday, March 14, 2008
The Price
We're going out looking at cars today. I'm really looking forward to when the dealer asks "...and how much of a payment can you afford" and I get to fall down on the floor laughing.
That's going to be almost as much fun as being treated like I'm stupid because I have breasts and lack a certain extra limb. It's important to note that both qualities are pretty much required for being declared worthless in a dealership because one diverts all eye contact and the other renders IQ irrelevant. Since I'm the one with the near photographic memory though, it should be entertaining for other reasons due to the research I've already done on several of the cars/technology we're looking at (both new and used.)
But, on the flip-side of cost... The best things in life really are free:
Both kids invited to spend the night at a friend's house.
Mr. Savy taking the next day off.
Being able to run around your house like a bunch of crazed teenagers, without being caught by children or law enforcement.
It's gonna be a good day.
That's going to be almost as much fun as being treated like I'm stupid because I have breasts and lack a certain extra limb. It's important to note that both qualities are pretty much required for being declared worthless in a dealership because one diverts all eye contact and the other renders IQ irrelevant. Since I'm the one with the near photographic memory though, it should be entertaining for other reasons due to the research I've already done on several of the cars/technology we're looking at (both new and used.)
But, on the flip-side of cost... The best things in life really are free:
Both kids invited to spend the night at a friend's house.
Mr. Savy taking the next day off.
Being able to run around your house like a bunch of crazed teenagers, without being caught by children or law enforcement.
It's gonna be a good day.
Thursday, March 13, 2008
They Have It Easier
This is going to sound like a fitness post for one millisecond, but it's not. I'm fed up. So, I guess it's a rant instead.
One of the biggest arguments I see people get into about "fitness" is who has it easier. There are the people who need to lose weight arguing that the naturally thin people "just trying to bulk up" have it easier than those trying to lose. The thin-bulkers yell back that all the weight loss people have to do is stop eating, how hard is that?
I'm not exactly sure why anyone cares who has it harder, it doesn't make it any easier for you, does it? People do this with other things in life too, the "my life is worse than yours, therefore you have no right to complain! My husband is worse, my dog is ruder, my children care less about me, I have less money, less hair, less shoe selection..." whatever.
So what? What if you win every stupid title of having it worse, does that actually make you feel better? Really? Does it change anything? Does it make the task before you less daunting? Does it make the task before the person you were competing with any easier?
Look at it this way, if you lost a parent is your loss any more worthy of sympathy than the person next to you who also lost theirs? The answer is no, because you don't live their life. You don't get to sit in judgment on them and say because you feel something keenly that the other person's problem is less. They can't possibly feel as bad as you... How would you know?
If you live your life saying that your life is worse than someone else's and not letting people "have their own problems" not only will you still have yours, you are going to be awful lonely during them too.
It's not a fitness mindset, it's a life mindset - and too many people are stuck in it. "I have more weight to lose, I'm poorer, I'm older, I've led a harder life..." the competition changes nothing, except alienates you from others. You are telling everyone else that they don't have the right to feel bad about something in their life that is bothering them, simply because you have stuff in your life bothering you too. Some people use it in order to not find any solutions, they're so caught up with pursuing the "my life is the worst" title and crown that they never even try to make anything better.
You may not have noticed, but this is a big theme in our society, even to the very worst extremes. You have lost a child? Well, sure, you are allowed to feel bad - "but someone ALWAYS has it worse than you!" there is that woman over there who lost all eight of hers, so don't get too caught up in your own sadness. You haven't the right.
Why am I talking about this? Because it's another way people devalue one another, and I'm so damn sick of it. We preach about respecting each other, and then take away the other person's right to feel what they feel about their own lives. Finances, Weight, Marriage, Employment - there isn't a topic that is off limits to that. I knew a woman who had so many problems and was so overwhelmed she took her own life by driving her car head on into traffic where there was an oncoming dump truck. I actually heard people talking a few days later about it and one said "I have no idea why she did it, I mean - suicide? Why? My husband is cheating on me, we're on state assistance... I have it way worse! And you don't see me committing suicide!"
That's right, she was leveraging her problems against a dead woman's. Classy.
All I could think was that I hadn't known the deceased woman well, but maybe if someone had just let her feel she had a right to think her life sucked at that given point and time, and was allowed to express how she felt without everyone else cutting her off and saying that they have it worse and thus no sympathy or empathy for her... well maybe if someone had just let her feel what she felt, she might not have done that. Maybe she still would have, but this cutting people down for their problems has got to stop.
I see it all the time on blogs. Someone has a problem and actually has the guts to post about it... and the comments start pouring in about people who have it worse. Not commiserating and sympathy "yeah, us too, this stinks..." but "you think YOU have it bad?!!!?" type stuff.
You know what? A little understanding goes a long way. Maybe competing with someone else about how bad your situation is won't make you feel better, but how about just listening to someone else for a little bit without devaluing their feelings and situation? You don't have to solve anything, you don't have to demand a ranking of problems because there is no line where they're handing out solutions. You simply have to shut up. How hard is that? Then the next time, someone can listen to you! What a concept, huh?
Stop caring about who has it worse, and just simply care for a change. I know it sounds like work, but it is actually more tiring to constantly tell everyone how it's worse for you than them. It's more draining to hurt another person than it is to help. And yet, people keep doing it. Listening, and caring just the tiniest bit doesn't mean you suffer any less than you do - it just means you are willing to acknowledge that other people are in pain too. That's all. It's such a small thing, even about trivial matters, but it could mean so much and you wouldn't even know it. It could make the difference for that person, the feather that tilts the scale back in the right direction.
It could change the world right there, if only in a little way.
One of the biggest arguments I see people get into about "fitness" is who has it easier. There are the people who need to lose weight arguing that the naturally thin people "just trying to bulk up" have it easier than those trying to lose. The thin-bulkers yell back that all the weight loss people have to do is stop eating, how hard is that?
I'm not exactly sure why anyone cares who has it harder, it doesn't make it any easier for you, does it? People do this with other things in life too, the "my life is worse than yours, therefore you have no right to complain! My husband is worse, my dog is ruder, my children care less about me, I have less money, less hair, less shoe selection..." whatever.
So what? What if you win every stupid title of having it worse, does that actually make you feel better? Really? Does it change anything? Does it make the task before you less daunting? Does it make the task before the person you were competing with any easier?
Look at it this way, if you lost a parent is your loss any more worthy of sympathy than the person next to you who also lost theirs? The answer is no, because you don't live their life. You don't get to sit in judgment on them and say because you feel something keenly that the other person's problem is less. They can't possibly feel as bad as you... How would you know?
If you live your life saying that your life is worse than someone else's and not letting people "have their own problems" not only will you still have yours, you are going to be awful lonely during them too.
It's not a fitness mindset, it's a life mindset - and too many people are stuck in it. "I have more weight to lose, I'm poorer, I'm older, I've led a harder life..." the competition changes nothing, except alienates you from others. You are telling everyone else that they don't have the right to feel bad about something in their life that is bothering them, simply because you have stuff in your life bothering you too. Some people use it in order to not find any solutions, they're so caught up with pursuing the "my life is the worst" title and crown that they never even try to make anything better.
You may not have noticed, but this is a big theme in our society, even to the very worst extremes. You have lost a child? Well, sure, you are allowed to feel bad - "but someone ALWAYS has it worse than you!" there is that woman over there who lost all eight of hers, so don't get too caught up in your own sadness. You haven't the right.
Why am I talking about this? Because it's another way people devalue one another, and I'm so damn sick of it. We preach about respecting each other, and then take away the other person's right to feel what they feel about their own lives. Finances, Weight, Marriage, Employment - there isn't a topic that is off limits to that. I knew a woman who had so many problems and was so overwhelmed she took her own life by driving her car head on into traffic where there was an oncoming dump truck. I actually heard people talking a few days later about it and one said "I have no idea why she did it, I mean - suicide? Why? My husband is cheating on me, we're on state assistance... I have it way worse! And you don't see me committing suicide!"
That's right, she was leveraging her problems against a dead woman's. Classy.
All I could think was that I hadn't known the deceased woman well, but maybe if someone had just let her feel she had a right to think her life sucked at that given point and time, and was allowed to express how she felt without everyone else cutting her off and saying that they have it worse and thus no sympathy or empathy for her... well maybe if someone had just let her feel what she felt, she might not have done that. Maybe she still would have, but this cutting people down for their problems has got to stop.
I see it all the time on blogs. Someone has a problem and actually has the guts to post about it... and the comments start pouring in about people who have it worse. Not commiserating and sympathy "yeah, us too, this stinks..." but "you think YOU have it bad?!!!?" type stuff.
You know what? A little understanding goes a long way. Maybe competing with someone else about how bad your situation is won't make you feel better, but how about just listening to someone else for a little bit without devaluing their feelings and situation? You don't have to solve anything, you don't have to demand a ranking of problems because there is no line where they're handing out solutions. You simply have to shut up. How hard is that? Then the next time, someone can listen to you! What a concept, huh?
Stop caring about who has it worse, and just simply care for a change. I know it sounds like work, but it is actually more tiring to constantly tell everyone how it's worse for you than them. It's more draining to hurt another person than it is to help. And yet, people keep doing it. Listening, and caring just the tiniest bit doesn't mean you suffer any less than you do - it just means you are willing to acknowledge that other people are in pain too. That's all. It's such a small thing, even about trivial matters, but it could mean so much and you wouldn't even know it. It could make the difference for that person, the feather that tilts the scale back in the right direction.
It could change the world right there, if only in a little way.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
A Whole Lot of Precious Money
Yes, lets talk money. I got a (very) little change in my pocket going...
Money makes people uncomfortable. They either don't like to talk about it, or talk about it too much. They almost never have enough of it, and they do really crazy things to get it. I can't remember the name of the show, but I recall seeing people do the most awful things for money on television, where a guy would walk up to a stranger and say "Would you *insert heinous, and possibly illegal act here* for $20?"
And right now? Who isn't talking about money. We're in a recession. We're not in a recession. Whatever. All I know is that when I start eying the Top Ramen Noodles and trying to make them work as a wholesome meal for the family simply because they're only 55 cents each (yes, I know even those stupid noodles are more expensive here) there is a problem. People are getting heavy into the coupon game. Just this morning on the news was a big story about how a woman can feed her family of four on only $60 a week with coupons and the massive strategic planning she employs.
On a side note here: Just once I want to see a guy going all out with the coupons and full on tactical planning to save on groceries for his family on television. Maybe with riot gear and blueprints involved. Instead, it's always determined Mary Maybell Malone wearing skin tight turquoise polyester capris with matching tube-top, hair teased to the skylights, cigarettes tucked behind both ears which are adorned with glittering pink hubcaps, armed with her handy dandy purple daisy scissors and matching file-folder. You know, the same woman who did time for taking out another shopper during the last holiday season over that limited edition Barbie.
There is even a site that will supposedly do it for you called The Grocery Game. I'm sorely tempted, except that I don't get the Sunday paper (where all the coupons are, apparently,) and from my understanding no on will deliver it here. They don't deliver take-out or any other form of food either where I live. (Well, unless you order a whole cow from the butcher or something - which I don't do. Because seriously, technically there are more cows than people here. So, isn't that like ordering my neighbor?) So, I would have to drive to the store every Sunday just to get a paper with coupons, and then drive back to plot and plan my course of action - that is a 30+ mile round trip. Just for a stupid Sunday paper. I figure the gas alone would offset a lot of savings. Plus, I'm willing to wager my fluffy socks that they don't put in coupons for what I buy (e.g. fruits, vegetables, etc. Because we can't possibly want people to buy real food. That would be a travesty.)
So, I'm curious. Is anyone else feeling the pinch? I know that is practically rhetorical at this point. What are you doing about it?
Money is a major subject in all my classes too. In my accounting class (this makes, what, my fourth? They're trying to kill me with accounting), there has been a huge focus on how people will steal from a company if they can. A lot of emphasis has been placed on spotting the patterns of being stolen from. It's good to have such a positive outlook towards your peers in the workforce, don't you think? (Here's how the catch the bastards! Study hard!) Another class right now is all about how you can figure out that you don't have the money to afford anything. Like college students need to be told that.
Continuing with the subject of not being able to afford anything, the front wheel fell off of Mr. Savy's truck... again - while he was driving. AGAIN. The mechanic cannot figure out the problem. We figure there are only so many chances/warnings that you get before the powers that be go "Dude, how many times do you need to face death? Oh forget it, send a lightning bolt at the idiot." So now, I'm even shopping for a car.
Top Ramen... Car.... Top Ramen... Car.... anyone else see a problem? They probably don't have triple coupon days at car dealers either.
Money makes people uncomfortable. They either don't like to talk about it, or talk about it too much. They almost never have enough of it, and they do really crazy things to get it. I can't remember the name of the show, but I recall seeing people do the most awful things for money on television, where a guy would walk up to a stranger and say "Would you *insert heinous, and possibly illegal act here* for $20?"
And right now? Who isn't talking about money. We're in a recession. We're not in a recession. Whatever. All I know is that when I start eying the Top Ramen Noodles and trying to make them work as a wholesome meal for the family simply because they're only 55 cents each (yes, I know even those stupid noodles are more expensive here) there is a problem. People are getting heavy into the coupon game. Just this morning on the news was a big story about how a woman can feed her family of four on only $60 a week with coupons and the massive strategic planning she employs.
On a side note here: Just once I want to see a guy going all out with the coupons and full on tactical planning to save on groceries for his family on television. Maybe with riot gear and blueprints involved. Instead, it's always determined Mary Maybell Malone wearing skin tight turquoise polyester capris with matching tube-top, hair teased to the skylights, cigarettes tucked behind both ears which are adorned with glittering pink hubcaps, armed with her handy dandy purple daisy scissors and matching file-folder. You know, the same woman who did time for taking out another shopper during the last holiday season over that limited edition Barbie.
There is even a site that will supposedly do it for you called The Grocery Game. I'm sorely tempted, except that I don't get the Sunday paper (where all the coupons are, apparently,) and from my understanding no on will deliver it here. They don't deliver take-out or any other form of food either where I live. (Well, unless you order a whole cow from the butcher or something - which I don't do. Because seriously, technically there are more cows than people here. So, isn't that like ordering my neighbor?) So, I would have to drive to the store every Sunday just to get a paper with coupons, and then drive back to plot and plan my course of action - that is a 30+ mile round trip. Just for a stupid Sunday paper. I figure the gas alone would offset a lot of savings. Plus, I'm willing to wager my fluffy socks that they don't put in coupons for what I buy (e.g. fruits, vegetables, etc. Because we can't possibly want people to buy real food. That would be a travesty.)
So, I'm curious. Is anyone else feeling the pinch? I know that is practically rhetorical at this point. What are you doing about it?
Money is a major subject in all my classes too. In my accounting class (this makes, what, my fourth? They're trying to kill me with accounting), there has been a huge focus on how people will steal from a company if they can. A lot of emphasis has been placed on spotting the patterns of being stolen from. It's good to have such a positive outlook towards your peers in the workforce, don't you think? (Here's how the catch the bastards! Study hard!) Another class right now is all about how you can figure out that you don't have the money to afford anything. Like college students need to be told that.
Continuing with the subject of not being able to afford anything, the front wheel fell off of Mr. Savy's truck... again - while he was driving. AGAIN. The mechanic cannot figure out the problem. We figure there are only so many chances/warnings that you get before the powers that be go "Dude, how many times do you need to face death? Oh forget it, send a lightning bolt at the idiot." So now, I'm even shopping for a car.
Top Ramen... Car.... Top Ramen... Car.... anyone else see a problem? They probably don't have triple coupon days at car dealers either.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Breaking The Code (Just a Little)
As I was spending a great deal of time yesterday trying to avoid actually doing any of my financial management homework, I came across a couple message boards (that shall remain nameless) with men posting about their confusion about/with women. I know, that isn't exactly earth-shattering news, that women confuse men. Still, some of these conversations about not understanding the female psyche baffle me.
As a public service, allow me to shed some light on some of the topics broached in the threads (these are in no particular order, and I sincerely hope some of the topics at those sites were in jest):
Dating
1) If you are on a date with a woman, ogling the *insert ANY other female in the visual vicinity, or a good general rule of thumb is a 1,000 mile radius* is a no-no. Why? Because even if your date is a drop-dead-gorgeous woman, your behavior clearly says to her "Wow, I wish I was sitting here with her rather than you... mind swapping just for a minute? I might ogle you next, and then you can come back. That's not a problem is it?"
2) If you are on a date, even if she is fantastically thin and beautiful, if you make comments about other people's appearance (e.g. "That man/woman/sheep over there is so fat!") your date will instantly revert to a self-conscious mode and be on the defensive with you (unless she is a horrible human being and then joins in the heckling with you - if that's the case propose, and congrats. Don't send me a Christmas card.) Why? Because on the inside 92% of women are that "fat chick" over there, that you would never deign to be seen with. Confused? Don't be, we have our insecurities, the media feeds it and tells us we're worthless if we're not perfect, and shiny, and when you make comments of judgment on others, we instantly take it personally. We may not look like that down-trodden person you have so generously decided to verbally beat upon, but on the inside that is exactly what we sometimes feel we are. Still confused? Look, just don't do it. Inside voice, Outside voice - embrace the possibilities.
3) The check. Now this one, I'm in complete understanding of the mass confusion. Do you pick it up? Split it? Have her pay? I'm just throwing you a bone here - no one knows.
4) This was my favorite: if you go out on a first date, you get drunk and you throw-up on her/in the car/in front of her and then hug her, there is a 99.999% chance she does NOT want you to call her. Stop leaving her messages. If she doesn't return one of the 105 you already left, you can classify that as a "strong hint". If you went out for Sushi prior to the date, you might want to consider relocating to another town. We do actually talk to one another. Occasionally. When we're not mud-wrestling and having girlie-nail-painting-sleep-overs.
5) The good-nite *whatever*. Ahh Peggy Sue, can't buy me love. What ever happened to that little peck on the cheek before bouncing through the front door and heading off for milk and cookies? Isn't that what the end of a date is supposed to be like? Wouldn't she be shocked to know that there are actual lists and tallies of expenditures per date and what that "qualifies" a man to be entitled for of a physical nature by the close of the date? No, seriously. You don't even want to know what Dinner & Opera gets them according to the list. But apparently it's darn near winning the slots at Vegas. This one is easy: don't do it. Don't expect it. Invest in the actual time you spent with her, but expect nothing and be surprised with whatever naturally occurs. If you are in it for the investment of the final payout, it should be no secret you don't understand women - how could you possibly understand someone you don't actually grasp is a human being? Don't be that guy, save your "investments" for the stock market.
Marriage/Long-term Relationships
1) Please see Dating-1 and Dating-2, these are constants similar to E=mc² and that gravity will work against you, no matter how big a bounce you get on the trampoline you will not be able to touch the space station - it doesn't matter what your buddy said.
2) We know you are a multifaceted guy, but if you can't fix something we appreciate the admission more than the flooded kitchen.
3) We have no idea why our mother needs to advise you so often. We feel it might be catching, and in an effort to not inflict this behavior upon our own children we're trying to stay out of the infectious range. As men seem to have a higher immunity to it... well maybe you can tell her to stuff it? No? Well, at least we're in the same boat. She scares us too.
4) The closet. If you remember our closet from before we combined forces, you will recall it had issues even then. Our closets are complex, and often share too many characteristics with a Rubix Cube. No, we're not entirely sure what is in there. We do know that we have a pair of skinny jeans and fat jeans, and then our normal jeans which number higher in population. If you confuse our skinny and fat jeans, you might be endangering your life, so be careful. We could clean out our closet, but then we'd have to do yours too and that favorite shirt and baseball cap might go missing. Just accept that our closets have mysterious powers to influence us for good or evil, and it can change hourly.
Miscellaneous
5) Hormones. DON'T. GO. THERE. Technically, there have been several studies that pointed out that men cycle on a daily basis, while women just put it off to once a month. Some people would call that organization on our behalf, or pacing yourself on yours. Either way, yes they exist. No, they do not make us stupid. No, they are not the reason or logic behind the argument. Devaluing our opinion by saying it's "just hormones" might lead to severe bodily harm, and in some cases death. Either way, if you suspect that hormones might be playing a role in the severity of our reaction, you would be wise to disregard that observation and move to a safer location... possibly to return and approach cautiously with chocolate at a later time.
6) Hair. Because it's something to obsess about, change around, screw up horribly, and it generally grows back and gives us a fresh start after a certain period of time - no matter how bad we messed up this time. It's like a little bit of hope in the mirror, or a metaphor for life that keeps us going. Just go with it.
7) Make-up. Some of us like it, some of us don't, some of us have hit men stalking the cosmetic industry. Whatever the woman you're with wants to do, be happy. Unless it's a Tammy Fae situation. You may need to call in professional help... and a lion tamer.
8) Why we have to know what you're thinking, and you must "talk" with us... or else we resort to waterboarding. It's because we're generally creative by nature (in so many different ways) and you really, REALLY, REALLY don't want us to fill in the gaps in conversation for you. You won't like what we come up with, and it will usually end up costing you dearly.
...I could really keep going, but I have a feeling that my membership in the super secret sacred club of estrogen royalty and clandestine operations will be revoked already. I'd best not give them enough evidence to take away my heels... actually, now that I think on it... take them! Please take them!
Heels are evil. That's something else men should understand. It doesn't matter how fashionable and sexy they are, eventually they all make us feel like our feet are being drawn and quartered and yet testing the theoretical limits of physics and endurance at the same time. I have always sort of fancied that they were originally invented by Napoleon. It just seems like the sort of thing a sadistic imperialist with a height complex would do, doesn't it?
As a public service, allow me to shed some light on some of the topics broached in the threads (these are in no particular order, and I sincerely hope some of the topics at those sites were in jest):
Dating
1) If you are on a date with a woman, ogling the *insert ANY other female in the visual vicinity, or a good general rule of thumb is a 1,000 mile radius* is a no-no. Why? Because even if your date is a drop-dead-gorgeous woman, your behavior clearly says to her "Wow, I wish I was sitting here with her rather than you... mind swapping just for a minute? I might ogle you next, and then you can come back. That's not a problem is it?"
2) If you are on a date, even if she is fantastically thin and beautiful, if you make comments about other people's appearance (e.g. "That man/woman/sheep over there is so fat!") your date will instantly revert to a self-conscious mode and be on the defensive with you (unless she is a horrible human being and then joins in the heckling with you - if that's the case propose, and congrats. Don't send me a Christmas card.) Why? Because on the inside 92% of women are that "fat chick" over there, that you would never deign to be seen with. Confused? Don't be, we have our insecurities, the media feeds it and tells us we're worthless if we're not perfect, and shiny, and when you make comments of judgment on others, we instantly take it personally. We may not look like that down-trodden person you have so generously decided to verbally beat upon, but on the inside that is exactly what we sometimes feel we are. Still confused? Look, just don't do it. Inside voice, Outside voice - embrace the possibilities.
3) The check. Now this one, I'm in complete understanding of the mass confusion. Do you pick it up? Split it? Have her pay? I'm just throwing you a bone here - no one knows.
4) This was my favorite: if you go out on a first date, you get drunk and you throw-up on her/in the car/in front of her and then hug her, there is a 99.999% chance she does NOT want you to call her. Stop leaving her messages. If she doesn't return one of the 105 you already left, you can classify that as a "strong hint". If you went out for Sushi prior to the date, you might want to consider relocating to another town. We do actually talk to one another. Occasionally. When we're not mud-wrestling and having girlie-nail-painting-sleep-overs.
5) The good-nite *whatever*. Ahh Peggy Sue, can't buy me love. What ever happened to that little peck on the cheek before bouncing through the front door and heading off for milk and cookies? Isn't that what the end of a date is supposed to be like? Wouldn't she be shocked to know that there are actual lists and tallies of expenditures per date and what that "qualifies" a man to be entitled for of a physical nature by the close of the date? No, seriously. You don't even want to know what Dinner & Opera gets them according to the list. But apparently it's darn near winning the slots at Vegas. This one is easy: don't do it. Don't expect it. Invest in the actual time you spent with her, but expect nothing and be surprised with whatever naturally occurs. If you are in it for the investment of the final payout, it should be no secret you don't understand women - how could you possibly understand someone you don't actually grasp is a human being? Don't be that guy, save your "investments" for the stock market.
Marriage/Long-term Relationships
1) Please see Dating-1 and Dating-2, these are constants similar to E=mc² and that gravity will work against you, no matter how big a bounce you get on the trampoline you will not be able to touch the space station - it doesn't matter what your buddy said.
2) We know you are a multifaceted guy, but if you can't fix something we appreciate the admission more than the flooded kitchen.
3) We have no idea why our mother needs to advise you so often. We feel it might be catching, and in an effort to not inflict this behavior upon our own children we're trying to stay out of the infectious range. As men seem to have a higher immunity to it... well maybe you can tell her to stuff it? No? Well, at least we're in the same boat. She scares us too.
4) The closet. If you remember our closet from before we combined forces, you will recall it had issues even then. Our closets are complex, and often share too many characteristics with a Rubix Cube. No, we're not entirely sure what is in there. We do know that we have a pair of skinny jeans and fat jeans, and then our normal jeans which number higher in population. If you confuse our skinny and fat jeans, you might be endangering your life, so be careful. We could clean out our closet, but then we'd have to do yours too and that favorite shirt and baseball cap might go missing. Just accept that our closets have mysterious powers to influence us for good or evil, and it can change hourly.
Miscellaneous
5) Hormones. DON'T. GO. THERE. Technically, there have been several studies that pointed out that men cycle on a daily basis, while women just put it off to once a month. Some people would call that organization on our behalf, or pacing yourself on yours. Either way, yes they exist. No, they do not make us stupid. No, they are not the reason or logic behind the argument. Devaluing our opinion by saying it's "just hormones" might lead to severe bodily harm, and in some cases death. Either way, if you suspect that hormones might be playing a role in the severity of our reaction, you would be wise to disregard that observation and move to a safer location... possibly to return and approach cautiously with chocolate at a later time.
6) Hair. Because it's something to obsess about, change around, screw up horribly, and it generally grows back and gives us a fresh start after a certain period of time - no matter how bad we messed up this time. It's like a little bit of hope in the mirror, or a metaphor for life that keeps us going. Just go with it.
7) Make-up. Some of us like it, some of us don't, some of us have hit men stalking the cosmetic industry. Whatever the woman you're with wants to do, be happy. Unless it's a Tammy Fae situation. You may need to call in professional help... and a lion tamer.
8) Why we have to know what you're thinking, and you must "talk" with us... or else we resort to waterboarding. It's because we're generally creative by nature (in so many different ways) and you really, REALLY, REALLY don't want us to fill in the gaps in conversation for you. You won't like what we come up with, and it will usually end up costing you dearly.
...I could really keep going, but I have a feeling that my membership in the super secret sacred club of estrogen royalty and clandestine operations will be revoked already. I'd best not give them enough evidence to take away my heels... actually, now that I think on it... take them! Please take them!
Heels are evil. That's something else men should understand. It doesn't matter how fashionable and sexy they are, eventually they all make us feel like our feet are being drawn and quartered and yet testing the theoretical limits of physics and endurance at the same time. I have always sort of fancied that they were originally invented by Napoleon. It just seems like the sort of thing a sadistic imperialist with a height complex would do, doesn't it?
Monday, March 10, 2008
Video Blog
It's Monday. Even worse, it's Monday an HOUR EARLIER. And I've done something horrible. I've made a video blog. Yes, really, just a moment ago.
I apologize. I'm not even sure why I am still awake at this point.
I'm trying to figure out a way to off the bunny without the kids knowing about it.
I apologize. I'm not even sure why I am still awake at this point.
I'm trying to figure out a way to off the bunny without the kids knowing about it.