Friday, June 30, 2006
Costumes
We took my mother out for her 70th birthday on Tuesday. One of the presents (notice I didn't say "gifts") my sister gave her was a large frame with space for nine photos in it. All the photos were from my sister's birthday celebration. I'm sorry, there was one space left blank for me to fill with a photo of Charlie. Now, why my mother would want a photo of Charlie on her wall, or a whole bunch of pictures of my sister's birthday on the wall... well, I don't think she would. However, this is my sister's present to my mom, not mine, so what's the big deal?
I'll tell you.
One of the pictures is lovely. My mother, my sister and I all smiling together. I have my pretty new (size 14!) dress on, Sister has her shades on, and we all look pretty good. But did we stop there? Oh no.
There's another picture. I'm sitting on the edge of Sister's pool, with just my feet in the water. Sister's drunk friend is talking to me. Sister came over and took the picture looking down at both of us. I'm also leaning forward, unaware of the result of leaning forward, until I see this picture.
In this picture, not only are my boobs completely popping out of the dress a la Britany Spears in the Matt Lauer interview, you can see practically down to my navel. Okay, not to my navel, but... it's so bad that not only can you see all the cleavage I possess between the boobs, but you can actually see the curve UNDER my boob.
Mortification.
Total and absolute mortification.
Any friend of mine would use this picture to tease me, blackmail me, or just have a good laugh.
Not my sister though.
She puts it in a frame and declares "It's such a cute picture of you!" then gives it as a gift to my mother.
God.
Best of all of this? I asked my mother to please let me give her a different picture of myself to put in place of this awful picture, and she said, "I like it. I'll just cover up your chest with a sticker or something."
Is it time to go to Vegas yet?
So what does all this have to do with Costumes? Well, we get to act differently when we wear costumes. Most of the time, my costumes have been detailed, but ugly. The one below took me weeks of planning to get right. The witch costume above is my fall back.
This last year, if you remember, I decided to be a cute witch. It all goes together. I feel better about my looks, and then I do even more to present myself the best way possible. I feel crummy, and I don't even try.
However. The big-breasts-falling-out-of my-dress look is one I've never gone for. Not that I'm modest in general, but the fact that I'm not small up top is obvious. Why should I make it even more so? No low cut or tight fitting tops for me. I think it looks cheap. Also, it seems that being a chubby girl means that one must play up those big babies even more. It's like, "there's at least one thing about her that's attractive."
I've always fought against it.
The naked breast is a thing of beauty.
Shoving it into a push up wonderbra and wearing a shirt two sizes too small isn't.
I'll tell you.
One of the pictures is lovely. My mother, my sister and I all smiling together. I have my pretty new (size 14!) dress on, Sister has her shades on, and we all look pretty good. But did we stop there? Oh no.
There's another picture. I'm sitting on the edge of Sister's pool, with just my feet in the water. Sister's drunk friend is talking to me. Sister came over and took the picture looking down at both of us. I'm also leaning forward, unaware of the result of leaning forward, until I see this picture.
In this picture, not only are my boobs completely popping out of the dress a la Britany Spears in the Matt Lauer interview, you can see practically down to my navel. Okay, not to my navel, but... it's so bad that not only can you see all the cleavage I possess between the boobs, but you can actually see the curve UNDER my boob.
Mortification.
Total and absolute mortification.
Any friend of mine would use this picture to tease me, blackmail me, or just have a good laugh.
Not my sister though.
She puts it in a frame and declares "It's such a cute picture of you!" then gives it as a gift to my mother.
God.
Best of all of this? I asked my mother to please let me give her a different picture of myself to put in place of this awful picture, and she said, "I like it. I'll just cover up your chest with a sticker or something."
Is it time to go to Vegas yet?
So what does all this have to do with Costumes? Well, we get to act differently when we wear costumes. Most of the time, my costumes have been detailed, but ugly. The one below took me weeks of planning to get right. The witch costume above is my fall back.
This last year, if you remember, I decided to be a cute witch. It all goes together. I feel better about my looks, and then I do even more to present myself the best way possible. I feel crummy, and I don't even try.
However. The big-breasts-falling-out-of my-dress look is one I've never gone for. Not that I'm modest in general, but the fact that I'm not small up top is obvious. Why should I make it even more so? No low cut or tight fitting tops for me. I think it looks cheap. Also, it seems that being a chubby girl means that one must play up those big babies even more. It's like, "there's at least one thing about her that's attractive."
I've always fought against it.
The naked breast is a thing of beauty.
Shoving it into a push up wonderbra and wearing a shirt two sizes too small isn't.
Sunday, June 25, 2006
Dinner party
Okay, this isn't a new idea, but today, I read about em's fantasy dinner party, and thought, "good, I'll have something to write about!"
If I could invite any six people in the world to dinner, living or dead, who would I invite? Added to that is what would I serve?
Jesus - Totally curious about him. What would he think of people today? Would he think we were doing anything related to his teachings in the way he intended? I think he'd be one cool conversationalist. Besides, I have a sneaking suspicion that Jesus was a hottie.
Buddha - Gotta keep it real. Can't invite one without the others. There are two places I've felt the presence of something more than this world. Once at Stonehenge in England, and the other in Nara in Japan. I was in a very old temple, with the largest wooden carving of Buddha in the world (so big that a person could fit into his left nostril. But that's neither here nor there), and I just had this overwhelming... sense. There's no word to describe it. Both times I didn't expect it. There's something to be said for any ancient sacred place. I mean, hundreds of years of people's collective thoughts must affect a location. But still...
Mohammad - Again with the fairness. I don't know much about this guy. Want to. Already, with these three, we could have a pretty darn good discussion. I'd love to ask them how they get along, and if they could pass that knowledge on to us.
Antonio Banderas - I don't suspect he's such a sparkling conversationalist, but I'd just like to look at him.
Dorothy Parker - Along with Anne Lammott (whom em has already snagged for her dinner party), one of my two favorite female writers. She had heart, and wit, and sorrow. She tried so hard to be cynical and brash, and yet there's a hope to her writing that still comes through. She also made it in a man's world, doing and saying what she wanted. I've always wanted to meet her. Besides, I think she could definitely hold her own with the big guys.
Midge Sites - Who the heck is that? My maternal grandmother, who died when I was 18. It was too soon. I loved her so much, and she was the epitome of kindness. I never got to know her as an adult, and I don't know if she knew how much she shaped my view of goodness in the world. I know she would like the conversation at this table. And, I would like to hug her one more time.
For dinner, I'd order a couple pasta dishes (chicken, artichoke and walnut penne in rosemary gorganzola sauce and yellow pepper, onion, and sausage fusilli in sun-dried tomato cream sauce), with goat cheese and prosciutto salad from Palazzio, an Italian joint here in town. Oh and their fresh garlic rolls, bathed in butter.
Lots of red wine too. Always a social lubricant. And, if we run out, well, you know Jesus has some mad skills in that area.
Only thing is with this dinner? I'd want all my friends to come too.
If I could invite any six people in the world to dinner, living or dead, who would I invite? Added to that is what would I serve?
Jesus - Totally curious about him. What would he think of people today? Would he think we were doing anything related to his teachings in the way he intended? I think he'd be one cool conversationalist. Besides, I have a sneaking suspicion that Jesus was a hottie.
Buddha - Gotta keep it real. Can't invite one without the others. There are two places I've felt the presence of something more than this world. Once at Stonehenge in England, and the other in Nara in Japan. I was in a very old temple, with the largest wooden carving of Buddha in the world (so big that a person could fit into his left nostril. But that's neither here nor there), and I just had this overwhelming... sense. There's no word to describe it. Both times I didn't expect it. There's something to be said for any ancient sacred place. I mean, hundreds of years of people's collective thoughts must affect a location. But still...
Mohammad - Again with the fairness. I don't know much about this guy. Want to. Already, with these three, we could have a pretty darn good discussion. I'd love to ask them how they get along, and if they could pass that knowledge on to us.
Antonio Banderas - I don't suspect he's such a sparkling conversationalist, but I'd just like to look at him.
Dorothy Parker - Along with Anne Lammott (whom em has already snagged for her dinner party), one of my two favorite female writers. She had heart, and wit, and sorrow. She tried so hard to be cynical and brash, and yet there's a hope to her writing that still comes through. She also made it in a man's world, doing and saying what she wanted. I've always wanted to meet her. Besides, I think she could definitely hold her own with the big guys.
Midge Sites - Who the heck is that? My maternal grandmother, who died when I was 18. It was too soon. I loved her so much, and she was the epitome of kindness. I never got to know her as an adult, and I don't know if she knew how much she shaped my view of goodness in the world. I know she would like the conversation at this table. And, I would like to hug her one more time.
For dinner, I'd order a couple pasta dishes (chicken, artichoke and walnut penne in rosemary gorganzola sauce and yellow pepper, onion, and sausage fusilli in sun-dried tomato cream sauce), with goat cheese and prosciutto salad from Palazzio, an Italian joint here in town. Oh and their fresh garlic rolls, bathed in butter.
Lots of red wine too. Always a social lubricant. And, if we run out, well, you know Jesus has some mad skills in that area.
Only thing is with this dinner? I'd want all my friends to come too.
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
Communication
Were you a phone-hanger-upper? You know, you're having an argument on the phone with someone, and so to have the last word (and really piss the other person off), you hang up on them?
I wasn't big on that. I don't know that I ever did it. Oh wait. I remember one time. I had a boyfriend in high school. He lived in another town, so we spent lots of time on the phone. Well, I used to call him and talk a little dirty to him sometimes. Mostly goofing around stuff, just to see if I could embarrass him. It never got too heated or anything (which now tells me that I should've known something wasn't quite right, because, I mean, what 17-year-old boy has a girlfriend who torments him by talking dirty?... but that's a whole other story).
Anyway, my boyfriend had a best friend. They were together all the time. Together so much that they sounded identical on the phone. So identical that that's the way they would mess with me. Best Friend would answer the phone instead of Boyfriend. I'd ask (because they'd done it enough to make me wary), "Is this Boyfriend or Best Friend?" But Best Friend still sometimes tricked me.
So, I call up, Best Friend answers the phone. Says he's Boyfriend. I hear no giggling in the background and I say something suggestive to him.
"WHAT!?" and then shrieks of laughter and my boyfriend's voice (yes, the real boyfriend) yelling,"What did she say?! What did she say?!"
I hung up on them.
But, back to the present:
Last night, I was having a disagreement with someone. She thought one thing, I thought another. As far as she was concerned, there was no compromise, because a third party involved agreed with her. The thing is, money was involved, money for a gift for someone important.
A LOT of money.
She's very proud of the fact that she makes so much money. She also likes to remind me that she makes more than me. That I don't have to "put in" as much as she and the other person involved in this decision (subtle hint that I also don't have as much "say" in the decision? you think?).
Remember my post about presents? That the most important factor for me, whether receiving or giving is the thought that goes into it? That's what we were arguing about. She was pushing for something very expensive (and showoff-y, in my opinion), and I was thinking of something more personal, and yes, less costly.
Oi.
So the argument becomes not about this gift, but about my perception of this other person. Every time we get into an argument, it has to be because I "hate her" not because I see things differently. Once she gets into this mode, it's impossible to get her out again. I can't be irritated or annoyed just because of this or that... it's always because I "hate her." And then she gets all hurt and we're not talking anymore about whatever the immediate problem might be.
Now, I do see her as somewhat manipulative, but then again, so am I, at times. I like getting my way, she likes getting hers.
Here's the problem. We start out with the disagreement about the gift. It then turns into this whole big thing about how I don't trust her implicitly to give my idea a fair shake, which means I see her in this horrible light. She's offended I think of her this way, and can't understand why.
So, I tell her why. I remind her of some shit she pulled in the not-so-distant past, and how that affects how I see her now.
"Can't we just move on from that?"
Well, that would be great for her, wouldn't it? My point to her was that I do mistrust her intentions sometimes. She asked why. I gave a reason. She told me to drop it.
And for the first time since my 20's, she hung up on me.
Oh, the drama.
I wasn't big on that. I don't know that I ever did it. Oh wait. I remember one time. I had a boyfriend in high school. He lived in another town, so we spent lots of time on the phone. Well, I used to call him and talk a little dirty to him sometimes. Mostly goofing around stuff, just to see if I could embarrass him. It never got too heated or anything (which now tells me that I should've known something wasn't quite right, because, I mean, what 17-year-old boy has a girlfriend who torments him by talking dirty?... but that's a whole other story).
Anyway, my boyfriend had a best friend. They were together all the time. Together so much that they sounded identical on the phone. So identical that that's the way they would mess with me. Best Friend would answer the phone instead of Boyfriend. I'd ask (because they'd done it enough to make me wary), "Is this Boyfriend or Best Friend?" But Best Friend still sometimes tricked me.
So, I call up, Best Friend answers the phone. Says he's Boyfriend. I hear no giggling in the background and I say something suggestive to him.
"WHAT!?" and then shrieks of laughter and my boyfriend's voice (yes, the real boyfriend) yelling,"What did she say?! What did she say?!"
I hung up on them.
But, back to the present:
Last night, I was having a disagreement with someone. She thought one thing, I thought another. As far as she was concerned, there was no compromise, because a third party involved agreed with her. The thing is, money was involved, money for a gift for someone important.
A LOT of money.
She's very proud of the fact that she makes so much money. She also likes to remind me that she makes more than me. That I don't have to "put in" as much as she and the other person involved in this decision (subtle hint that I also don't have as much "say" in the decision? you think?).
Remember my post about presents? That the most important factor for me, whether receiving or giving is the thought that goes into it? That's what we were arguing about. She was pushing for something very expensive (and showoff-y, in my opinion), and I was thinking of something more personal, and yes, less costly.
Oi.
So the argument becomes not about this gift, but about my perception of this other person. Every time we get into an argument, it has to be because I "hate her" not because I see things differently. Once she gets into this mode, it's impossible to get her out again. I can't be irritated or annoyed just because of this or that... it's always because I "hate her." And then she gets all hurt and we're not talking anymore about whatever the immediate problem might be.
Now, I do see her as somewhat manipulative, but then again, so am I, at times. I like getting my way, she likes getting hers.
Here's the problem. We start out with the disagreement about the gift. It then turns into this whole big thing about how I don't trust her implicitly to give my idea a fair shake, which means I see her in this horrible light. She's offended I think of her this way, and can't understand why.
So, I tell her why. I remind her of some shit she pulled in the not-so-distant past, and how that affects how I see her now.
"Can't we just move on from that?"
Well, that would be great for her, wouldn't it? My point to her was that I do mistrust her intentions sometimes. She asked why. I gave a reason. She told me to drop it.
And for the first time since my 20's, she hung up on me.
Oh, the drama.
Monday, June 19, 2006
Hamburgers from Heaven
Last night I had the best hamburger of my life.
I went over to a friend's house for what I thought would be a nice little meal of burgers, salad, and beer. They have a beautiful place, with a mini orchard of avocado trees. God, I love avocados.
Anyway, instead, the burgers were quite a bit more than ground beef patties. I've searched the internet this morning, trying to find a similar recipe, but can't.
Here's what the burgers had in 'em:
Lean ground beef
chopped andouille sausage
pecans
garlic
blue cheese chunks
some secret spices
Then, on top, there were caramelized onions and chipotle mayonnaise.
All from fresh ingredients. Made from scratch.
I think they should be called Heaven burgers because they taste like that's where they're from.
Also, because that's where one would end up if he or she ate these too often.
(torn, is your mouth watering yet?)
I went over to a friend's house for what I thought would be a nice little meal of burgers, salad, and beer. They have a beautiful place, with a mini orchard of avocado trees. God, I love avocados.
Anyway, instead, the burgers were quite a bit more than ground beef patties. I've searched the internet this morning, trying to find a similar recipe, but can't.
Here's what the burgers had in 'em:
Lean ground beef
chopped andouille sausage
pecans
garlic
blue cheese chunks
some secret spices
Then, on top, there were caramelized onions and chipotle mayonnaise.
All from fresh ingredients. Made from scratch.
I think they should be called Heaven burgers because they taste like that's where they're from.
Also, because that's where one would end up if he or she ate these too often.
(torn, is your mouth watering yet?)
Monday, June 12, 2006
The past
A friend from my past is going to be in town in early July.
She was my best friend for a while in high school. She could make me laugh harder than anyone else... for a while.
She was smart and daring and funny.
And mean.
I don't think she intended to be. She just was.
Remember my Homecoming Dance story? My first real kiss, and my first passionate crush? Well, of course she knew about it. She knew how I felt about him.
We were all friends, of a sort. One night, after a bunch of us had been hanging out in someone's parents' jacuzzi, he gave my friend a lift home. They lived in the same neighborhood, and well, I guess Jennifer was playing footsie with my dream guy under the bubbles.
A couple days later, she and I rode bikes (neither one of us had our license at 16) to Aloha Burger. Those were the days when I could eat double-chili burgers, fries and vanilla shakes without gaining an ounce. It was a great little place, close to the university, and sometimes cute college boys hung out in there.
She started to tell me what happened after the ride home. They started kissing in the car, it got heated, and she told him her folks wouldn't be home the whole next day. Told him to "stop by," if he wanted.
(Remember, dear readers, she's talking about this boy as if he wasn't the love of my life... as if I hadn't confided my deep feelings for him to her. As if it was just something fun she did on a whim.)
Of course, as a footloose and fancy free 19-year-old male who thought he might get some, he stopped by.
And they got... um... into it. Went upstairs, took off their clothes, and Jennifer decided to lose her virginity to him.
(You know how you are hearing something you really don't want to know, but you can't say anything yourself? That open-mouthed-gawking-of-the-mind, if you will? That was me. I had no idea how to react. This was my best friend. Telling me how she had sex with the boy I was crazy about. Giving me all the details as if I would want to know them. Acting as if what she was telling me was just part of being girlfriends. I said nothing.)
Then, she said it really hurt, and they didn't get too far before she made him stop. She said it was over in about two minutes. That neither of them "finished." That it got really weird and uncomfortable, and then he left.
"I can't believe you did that." was all I could say.
We finished our burgers, went to Fedmart to look at the records, and went home.
I cried quite a bit that night. That, in and of itself, wasn't that strange. I was a 16-year-old girl you know.
But these were horrible, can't stop, ugly tears. I couldn't really get my head around what she had told me; I just knew I'd been betrayed. That word wasn't in my head though. In typical teenage fashion, all that I could think was, "Why didn't he want me? What was wrong with me? What's she got that I don't?"
Because of course, it had to be some lack on my part.
Wait.
I'm not done. Oh, did you think that was it? That was the "mean" thing I was talking about? Oh no, not that it wasn't mean of her, of course it was.
But then she really did it.
As talk happened, as it is wont to do among the pre-women of high school, Jennifer wasn't coming out of this looking so sweet. See, she had been on a sorta kinda date that night in the jacuzzi. And it wasn't with my dream man. And, the girl whose backyard we were in? She was the one on the date with my dream man. This second girl had no idea of the feelings I harbored for him in my little heart, because she also had a mad crush on the guy.
Anyway, Jennifer was starting to being referred to as a slut. Although, I don't think we used that word. We were quite a group of goody-two-shoes actually. But maybe we used that word. I know that's what some of the girls were thinking...
And the story started to morph into something dark and bad.
The story changed.
Oh, the kissing in the car was the same. But Jennifer wasn't sure about it. Now, he was the one asking to come over the next day, and her response has become, "well, I don't know, because my parents aren't home."
And now he comes over anyway, univited.
And yes, they do start kissing again, but in this version, Jennifer doesn't want to do anything else, but he's pressuring her. She's vague here, but somehow he convinces her to go up to her room, and he starts taking off her clothes, and then forcing himself on her.
And then she starts calling it rape.
Not at first, but as the story develops over the next few months.
I don't believe her. I know this boy.
But she made me doubt him. Just a little. Just a tiny little question mark.
In my better moments I know she would have told me right away, that next day when she was taking such pleasure in telling me that she lost her virginity with the guy I loved.
In my better moments, I know she changed the story so she wouldn't look like a manipulative bitch to the other girls.
In my better moments, I wish I had confronted her fully. But I never did.
Dream man? He and I are still friends. Still talk. We went on to an odd sort of romantic friendship that never really flamed into anything lasting. Well, other than friendship with a bit of flirting on the side. If I'm honest, with a bit of "what if?" thrown in once or twice a year.
I asked him about it a few years later. Directly asked him about it one night when we had ended up in bed together.
He told me the exact story Jennifer had told me that day at the burger place.
I believed him.
She was my best friend for a while in high school. She could make me laugh harder than anyone else... for a while.
She was smart and daring and funny.
And mean.
I don't think she intended to be. She just was.
Remember my Homecoming Dance story? My first real kiss, and my first passionate crush? Well, of course she knew about it. She knew how I felt about him.
We were all friends, of a sort. One night, after a bunch of us had been hanging out in someone's parents' jacuzzi, he gave my friend a lift home. They lived in the same neighborhood, and well, I guess Jennifer was playing footsie with my dream guy under the bubbles.
A couple days later, she and I rode bikes (neither one of us had our license at 16) to Aloha Burger. Those were the days when I could eat double-chili burgers, fries and vanilla shakes without gaining an ounce. It was a great little place, close to the university, and sometimes cute college boys hung out in there.
She started to tell me what happened after the ride home. They started kissing in the car, it got heated, and she told him her folks wouldn't be home the whole next day. Told him to "stop by," if he wanted.
(Remember, dear readers, she's talking about this boy as if he wasn't the love of my life... as if I hadn't confided my deep feelings for him to her. As if it was just something fun she did on a whim.)
Of course, as a footloose and fancy free 19-year-old male who thought he might get some, he stopped by.
And they got... um... into it. Went upstairs, took off their clothes, and Jennifer decided to lose her virginity to him.
(You know how you are hearing something you really don't want to know, but you can't say anything yourself? That open-mouthed-gawking-of-the-mind, if you will? That was me. I had no idea how to react. This was my best friend. Telling me how she had sex with the boy I was crazy about. Giving me all the details as if I would want to know them. Acting as if what she was telling me was just part of being girlfriends. I said nothing.)
Then, she said it really hurt, and they didn't get too far before she made him stop. She said it was over in about two minutes. That neither of them "finished." That it got really weird and uncomfortable, and then he left.
"I can't believe you did that." was all I could say.
We finished our burgers, went to Fedmart to look at the records, and went home.
I cried quite a bit that night. That, in and of itself, wasn't that strange. I was a 16-year-old girl you know.
But these were horrible, can't stop, ugly tears. I couldn't really get my head around what she had told me; I just knew I'd been betrayed. That word wasn't in my head though. In typical teenage fashion, all that I could think was, "Why didn't he want me? What was wrong with me? What's she got that I don't?"
Because of course, it had to be some lack on my part.
Wait.
I'm not done. Oh, did you think that was it? That was the "mean" thing I was talking about? Oh no, not that it wasn't mean of her, of course it was.
But then she really did it.
As talk happened, as it is wont to do among the pre-women of high school, Jennifer wasn't coming out of this looking so sweet. See, she had been on a sorta kinda date that night in the jacuzzi. And it wasn't with my dream man. And, the girl whose backyard we were in? She was the one on the date with my dream man. This second girl had no idea of the feelings I harbored for him in my little heart, because she also had a mad crush on the guy.
Anyway, Jennifer was starting to being referred to as a slut. Although, I don't think we used that word. We were quite a group of goody-two-shoes actually. But maybe we used that word. I know that's what some of the girls were thinking...
And the story started to morph into something dark and bad.
The story changed.
Oh, the kissing in the car was the same. But Jennifer wasn't sure about it. Now, he was the one asking to come over the next day, and her response has become, "well, I don't know, because my parents aren't home."
And now he comes over anyway, univited.
And yes, they do start kissing again, but in this version, Jennifer doesn't want to do anything else, but he's pressuring her. She's vague here, but somehow he convinces her to go up to her room, and he starts taking off her clothes, and then forcing himself on her.
And then she starts calling it rape.
Not at first, but as the story develops over the next few months.
I don't believe her. I know this boy.
But she made me doubt him. Just a little. Just a tiny little question mark.
In my better moments I know she would have told me right away, that next day when she was taking such pleasure in telling me that she lost her virginity with the guy I loved.
In my better moments, I know she changed the story so she wouldn't look like a manipulative bitch to the other girls.
In my better moments, I wish I had confronted her fully. But I never did.
Dream man? He and I are still friends. Still talk. We went on to an odd sort of romantic friendship that never really flamed into anything lasting. Well, other than friendship with a bit of flirting on the side. If I'm honest, with a bit of "what if?" thrown in once or twice a year.
I asked him about it a few years later. Directly asked him about it one night when we had ended up in bed together.
He told me the exact story Jennifer had told me that day at the burger place.
I believed him.
Saturday, June 10, 2006
So much to do
I forgot to pay my car registration on time. Totally forgot. Had to pay 20 extra bucks for 10 extra days. It was so easy too. All I had to do was go on line and push some buttons. Nope, clean forgot.
I still have to get my car smogged too, before I get my stickers.
Catching up is all I feel I've been doing since February. Self-centered person that I am, it feels like it's been all about everyone else but me these past few months. Of course, I get to talk about myself to my heart's delight here, but that's not what I mean.
So many things have happened that I've had to deal with, but none were of my own doing. It seems like the list of obligations never gets smaller. For a single woman who doesn't even own a house, that sounds ridiculous. I know it sounds ridiculous. It's like a low grade anxiety all the time. And usually, something gets forgotten.
Or lost. I've lost all kinds of stuff lately. Right now it's my Handheld thing. I use it for the calendar, and for grades (but don't worry, the grades are also on the computer), and for phone numbers and addresses.
It was my turn for hosting the book club a couple of weeks ago. As some of you know, my organizational ability leaves something to be desired. I don't put anything away unless it has a place. Being that I have more stuff than places to put it, I usually have loads of things all over my house.
So, anyway, they were coming over, I was running out of time, so I started shoving things into boxes. Several boxes. Now I have no idea where anything is.
Story of my life.
I have to go grade papers.
I still have to get my car smogged too, before I get my stickers.
Catching up is all I feel I've been doing since February. Self-centered person that I am, it feels like it's been all about everyone else but me these past few months. Of course, I get to talk about myself to my heart's delight here, but that's not what I mean.
So many things have happened that I've had to deal with, but none were of my own doing. It seems like the list of obligations never gets smaller. For a single woman who doesn't even own a house, that sounds ridiculous. I know it sounds ridiculous. It's like a low grade anxiety all the time. And usually, something gets forgotten.
Or lost. I've lost all kinds of stuff lately. Right now it's my Handheld thing. I use it for the calendar, and for grades (but don't worry, the grades are also on the computer), and for phone numbers and addresses.
It was my turn for hosting the book club a couple of weeks ago. As some of you know, my organizational ability leaves something to be desired. I don't put anything away unless it has a place. Being that I have more stuff than places to put it, I usually have loads of things all over my house.
So, anyway, they were coming over, I was running out of time, so I started shoving things into boxes. Several boxes. Now I have no idea where anything is.
Story of my life.
I have to go grade papers.
Friday, June 09, 2006
Ticks, fleas and allergies
Let's just say that between itching, scratching, sneezing, and freaking out at yet another tick making its way across my couch, I'm not a pretty picture these past few days.
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
The big font
Why, oh why is my font so large? I was messing around with my template a week or so ago, trying to put the tide table on it... and that's when the font grew. I took the tide table thing off, yet still, the font is huge.
I don't have time right now to mess with it.
One other little thing.
I don't usually talk about school stuff here anymore; but I have to. Yesterday was the final exam for The House of the Scorpion, the book we just read. A student came in today, the same one that complained specifically that I get "off topic" when I tell stories (which are usually made to illustrate a point), and had her mother call in to the vice principal to complain about it, yeah, that one, anyway, she said to me today,
"We had a test yesterday?"
argh.
Please let me get all my work done, and let this year be over soon.
I don't have time right now to mess with it.
One other little thing.
I don't usually talk about school stuff here anymore; but I have to. Yesterday was the final exam for The House of the Scorpion, the book we just read. A student came in today, the same one that complained specifically that I get "off topic" when I tell stories (which are usually made to illustrate a point), and had her mother call in to the vice principal to complain about it, yeah, that one, anyway, she said to me today,
"We had a test yesterday?"
argh.
Please let me get all my work done, and let this year be over soon.
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
My sister is 40 today
And boy, did she rack in the goods or what at her party last Saturday?
Dang.
I was overwhelmed with the amount of loot on her dining room table by the end of the night. Those L.A. folks sure spend some bucks on each other.
Made me think about gifts. I'm as materialistic as they come, and I love presents, but I was almost embarrassed by the display of spendage I saw. Was I a wee bit jealous? Maybe, but I don't think so.
I have a lot of friends who aren't big present givers. Instead they do small things, like write me a poem, or a sweet card when I'm down, or take me for a coffee and a treat for no reason at all. Those are gifts that really mean something to me. I have a friend who differentiates between gifts and presents. Gifts have more thought. Presents are what the giver actually would like to receive herself, while gifts are made or bought with the specific receiver of the gift in mind.
Does that make sense?
One of my best birthdays was spent in Key West in Florida with a friend. We had drinks, went snorkling (even getting stung by ajellyfish didn't take away from the fun). got all dressed up and went to a great dinner. At the end of the meal, she said, "I got it," even though we had planned to pay our own way. It wasn't that it was an expensive dinner (although it was), but that it was an unexpected treat.
Last year I invited a few friends over for pizza, wine and board games. Even my pal who doesn't really like board games came. We laughed so hard at one point I thought I was going to wet myself. She had brought this really silly little party game; plastic glasses with a stick attached, onto which several other attachments fit. One was a mini basketball hoop, with ball on a string. We all took turns with these glasses, bouncing our heads up and down, trying to make a basket.
It was perfect.
Dang.
I was overwhelmed with the amount of loot on her dining room table by the end of the night. Those L.A. folks sure spend some bucks on each other.
Made me think about gifts. I'm as materialistic as they come, and I love presents, but I was almost embarrassed by the display of spendage I saw. Was I a wee bit jealous? Maybe, but I don't think so.
I have a lot of friends who aren't big present givers. Instead they do small things, like write me a poem, or a sweet card when I'm down, or take me for a coffee and a treat for no reason at all. Those are gifts that really mean something to me. I have a friend who differentiates between gifts and presents. Gifts have more thought. Presents are what the giver actually would like to receive herself, while gifts are made or bought with the specific receiver of the gift in mind.
Does that make sense?
One of my best birthdays was spent in Key West in Florida with a friend. We had drinks, went snorkling (even getting stung by ajellyfish didn't take away from the fun). got all dressed up and went to a great dinner. At the end of the meal, she said, "I got it," even though we had planned to pay our own way. It wasn't that it was an expensive dinner (although it was), but that it was an unexpected treat.
Last year I invited a few friends over for pizza, wine and board games. Even my pal who doesn't really like board games came. We laughed so hard at one point I thought I was going to wet myself. She had brought this really silly little party game; plastic glasses with a stick attached, onto which several other attachments fit. One was a mini basketball hoop, with ball on a string. We all took turns with these glasses, bouncing our heads up and down, trying to make a basket.
It was perfect.
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