Friday, June 27, 2008

A Short Statement

I hate my coworkers.

That is all.

Thursday, June 26, 2008


Disclaimer: The above title may not be a real word.
Disclaimer No. 2: I really don't care whether it is or not.

JJ, motorized two-wheelers scare me for a variety of reasons, also. Which is why, unlike most of the scooter-ers around here, I plan on wearing protective clothing and driving very defensively. I have a kiddo to raise!

Which brings me to...the kiddo I'm raising. Who apparently has no social skills. And I don't really know what to do about it, and I don't think there's really anything I CAN do. He's just going to have to learn the hard way that he can either annoy his classmates by doing whatever it is he wants to do, or he can stop. In this particular case, it's all about Singing on the Swings.

S likes to sing. And it's really cute, for the most part. When it stops being quite so cute, I've learned to tune it out, but I realize that this may be a skill that most elementary-age kids have not yet perfected. And apparently, he sings on the swings at recess EVERY SINGLE DAY. And the other kids are rude to him about it.

Underneath my Mama Bear instinct is a little voice going "you know what? Precious though he is, if I were an 8-year old I'd probably want to tell him to shut up, too." And then I feel like a crappy mother. Whose side am I on, anyway? So I've told him, very plainly. "Honey, you're annoying the other kids. I know you like to sing, but if you don't want them to be mean to you, maybe you should go sing somewhere else where you won't bother them. Or sing when you get home. Yes, you have a right to sing, but they also have a right to a little peace. You're going to have to learn to compromise."

At which point he starts complaining about how they're impinging upon his love of music (yes, he actually did use the phrase "express my love of music"), and swinging, and the combination thereof. Well, yeah, they are. But there are 7 of them (at first he said 20), and 1 of him, and guess who it isn't all about? They don't want to hear him expressing his love of music while they're trying to talk over him to express their love of My Little Pony or Speed Racer to their friend on the next swing.

And he of course completely and totally gets it. And he's totally stopped singing at the top of his little lungs on the swings, and he and the other children held hands and danced around a maypole, world without end, amen.

Yeah, not so much. I'm just not getting through to him. Kind of like I haven't gotten through to him for the last three YEARS about bossing and constantly correcting people, and why they tend not to like to be around those who do it.

So yeah. What now?

Tuesday, June 24, 2008

Brought to You By the Letter "S"

Yes, Mom...S did come home on Sunday! I couldn't write about it yesterday, though, because he was with me and could see over my shoulder. He doesn't like it when I talk about him.

Right now he's at Day Camp. He's so excited about this week, because the annual talent show is on Thursday! You guys wouldn't believe that child up in front of a crowd of people. When he was younger I didn't think he would have it in him to get up on a stage and be the center of attention, but he eats it up. And yes, he definitely comes by that honestly!

I've made a couple of brief mentions about scooters. This weekend, J and I both went and looked at some, and both of us have decided on the models that we want (more or less...J is torn between two in particular, but that's just how he shops). Both the ones he's looking at are styled more like a motorcycle than a scooter, and from the front they look kind of like Space Ghost. Remember Space Ghost? Here he is...wave hi to Space Ghost, everyone!

Hi, Space Ghost!

Anyway. Mine is more the retro Vespa-type look, although not actually a Vespa, which are insanely expensive. Here's the one I want:

And she comes in pink!

Or I could get her in the blue, and be all Audrey Hepburn in Roman Holiday. Only without the skirt blowing up in my face and the subsequent crashing. Decisions, decisions...

The whole scooter thing is partly because of gas prices at the moment. These puppies get around 90mpg. That's MILES PER GALLON, folks. For J, it would be perfect for going to and from his store, and for me, it would likewise be perfect for going to and from work and/or school. Now, granted, I'd have to go home and get my car to drive the 2 blocks to pick up S, because no way am I putting him on a scooter, but home is right on the way anyway, and it really would cut way, way down on gas for both J and I. Plus it would be fun!

Point of all that being, J has a particular scooter dealer he wants to work with. This guy can get J the one he wants. He can also get me the one I want, but possibly not in pink. And if I can't have it in pink (or in Audrey Hepburn blue, which he may also have a problem getting), then I don't want it! He's supposed to be contacting his distributor today to see if he can make it happen. If not, well and good. I know where I CAN get it in pink, although I may have to pay a tad more for it. But by golly, a pink scooter I shall have! And a pink helmet. And a pink riding jacket. And pink gloves.

I draw the line at pink pants, though. The goal here is to coordinate, not to look like a Power Ranger.

It's going to need a name, of course. Contenders:
Floyd (first name, Pink)
Miss Piggy
Pink Panther
Piglet (because she won't quite be a hog)

I may come up with a few that don't follow the pink theme, too, just to avoid the obvious. Opinions me name my scooter, guys!

In honor of the fact that it FINALLY stopped raining, I bring you the following:

SONG OF THE DAY: Electric Light Orchestra, Mr. Blue Sky
(Ugh. I thought I had this song uploaded, but I don't. It'll be here later. In the meantime, check out the one for yesterday, which you probably's a really nice song, and I think most of you guys will like it!)

Monday, June 23, 2008

Harrowing Tales of the Emergency Room!


Is still.


My weekend didn't go quite as planned. I wound up with a thwacking headache on Friday, which in itself was painful but not all that disturbing. The really bothersome part was that my vision kept darkening and then normalizing again in my right eye. This could mean pressure on the optic nerve that obviously should not be there. Not cool.

So J came and picked me up from work, since I was clearly in no condition to drive myself anywhere. He took me to an emergency room where there was a Really Clueless Guy at the front desk. There was a conversation roughly to this effect:

J: Do you take United Healthcare?
RCG: Uhhhh... *drool*

Very Loud Elderly Couple Who Came In After Us: DO YOU HAVE A WHEELCHAIR FOR MY WIFE?????
RCG: *scratches himself a little*

Funny, he didn't look like Beavis. But that could have just been my obstructed vision. Right about that moment, it occurs to J that it would cost me $100 less if we went to urgent care across the street instead of a full-blown emergency room, so we leave and go to urgent care, where they take my blood pressure right there in the waiting room and then send us back to the hospital for a CT scan.

In an effort to avoid our buddy Beavis, we head to another emergency room, which is right across the street also, in another direction. Don't ask me what's with all the hospitals in that one little stretch, because I have no clue.

The good news is that the woman at the front desk of this emergency room was extremely coherent.

The bad news is that there were 800,000 screaming toddlers, and their parents trying to talk over them, in the waiting area. All of these people are also extremely coherent, and they are very intent on making sure the rest of us know it. It sounded like a cocktail party for the Pull-Ups crowd, and when you have a searing migraine, that's not the best scenario. I ended up sitting in there for less than a minute before giving up completely and going to sit in the breezeway. You know, the little area between the outside doors and the lobby doors? Yes, there. On the floor. And it turns out that this was an excellent thing to do, given the fact that less than 30 seconds later, some guy puked right next to where I'd been sitting.

J came out to join me, bringing the news that it's going to be awhile. At that point, I started crying. I just couldn't handle anymore. Somewhere between choking hysterical sobs, we decide that it's best to head back to our buddy Beavis again. At least that ER was empty, because the hospital was so new. Or maybe because of Beavis. I didn't really care, by then.

Sure enough, there were only two people waiting, and they were NOT TALKING. There was a TV at low volume, but that's it. And no Beavis. No anybody, in fact. J had to go find someone to get me registered. Not promising so far. But we were in within 15 minutes, and they let me lay down in a dark room, which helped tons right there. After which a loud nurse named Brenda came in to check my vitals, and was still extremely loud even after being told I had a massive headache and was sensitive to noise. So back to square one I went, pain-wise. Thanks, Brenda!

After awhile, someone came and injected me with what can only have been a rhino tranquilizer. After that, the headache just kind of melted away, along with the entire rest of the Western Hemisphere, and I commenced drifting along somewhere between triage and Nirvana. You know those scenes in Madagascar where Alex the lion gets the tranquilizer darts and sees all kinds of funky hallucinations? Ok, no, I didn't do that, but still. I sort of remember getting a CT scan, and I definitely remember being told that it was normal. I was officially diagnosed with a migraine and given a prescription for if it ever happens again. Then they sent me home, where I slept for pretty much the rest of the day.

The next day was mostly spent recovering from the rhino tranquilizer. And looking at scooters. Pink ones. More on that later, probably.

SONG OF THE DAY: Foy Vance, Homebird

Friday, June 20, 2008

Peter Pan Complex

I'm wearing red mary janes - not unusual for me - but I also have my hair in pigtails. Sadly, my face is beginning to show its age. I'm not going to be able to pull that kind of thing off very much's very possible that I already can't. Oh, well. My hair is longer than it's ever been in my entire life, and you know what? I'm going to do all the stuff with it that I wanted to be able to do when I was 8, and couldn't. Laura Ingalls braids, here I come!

One of the dogs got sick this morning, and pretty spectacularly, too. Thank heaven for shop vacs. Jo, I know you're reading this, so I won't go into any more details than that, and aren't you glad? Suffice it to say that it was a lovely start to my Friday morning.

Friday morning...almost the weekend! Tomorrow's wide open, which means J is probably going to recruit me for some project or other, and no doubt I'll be doing some general cleaning too, but I also have to study for Wednesday's exam. Sunday S comes home, and about an hour later, we're meeting two girls from my class at the library so we can all study some more together. S won't mind...the library is like his mothership.

Anyone got any good weekend plans?

Thursday, June 19, 2008

I Am a Walking Cliche.

On my way to class this evening, I stopped at Walgreens, more just to have something to do than anything else. I did pick up a few things, but I didn't really notice the assortment that I had until I got to the checkout. I bought:
- a dark chocolate mocha Frappuccino
- tampons
- fuzzy socks
- enough malted milk balls to fill the ball pit at Chuck E. Cheese

Huh. I can't imagine what might be going on with me right now. Can you?

I'll bet right now someone's blogging about the crazy PMS lady they saw at Walgreens buying war provisions. Charming.

Wednesday, June 18, 2008

Ruining the Curve!

I got my grade back for the Biology exam last week. Turns out that I did better than I thought...93!! The real kicker, though, is that the average score was 67. Ouch. Granted, it was a ridiculous test, but I'm not sure it was really quite as bad as that. I guess maybe a lot of people just didn't show up? I wasn't paying attention to whether or not that was the case. Observation isn't exactly a strong point of mine anyway, and I was too nervous about the test to really care what else was going on. Oh, yeah...Mom, you already know this, but it turns out that I, of all people, have test anxiety! Who knew? It's not an issue that really surfaces when you're as much of a lazy-butt slacker as I was the last time I tried this whole school thing. Hooray for newfound neuroses!

After comparing scores with most of my classmates, I'm pretty sure I made the high grade.

Not that this means I can get smug or anything. We have another exam on Wednesday, and it covers the 2 hardest chapters of the entire class.

Never in my life have I had the high score on ANY exam. Not as far as I know, anyway. And it feels afreakingmazing!

SONG OF THE DAY: Joanna Paccitti, Watch Me Shine

Wednesday Morning

Ok, this rain is getting ridiculous. It looked like 4am when I came in to work this morning.

On the upside, our office is apparently now riverfront property. If it were up to me, I'd sublease the part that's right outside my window at a profit and build condos there. Maybe with docks for small sailboats.

I find out my very first science-related exam grade tonight, and I'm not optimistic. Our teacher is a perfectly nice person, but she has precisely ONE year of experience under her belt, and it shows. Like when she left out an entire page of the exam and had to type it on the fly to put on the overhead so that we could answer the questions, not all of which we had even covered yet. There were some from the next chapter in the book, so if I don't do well, I'm definitely contesting it. Science GPA is even more important than overall GPA when you're trying to be a doctor, and no way is she going to screw that up for me just because she doesn't quite have it together. Sadly, it's too late to transfer to another class, but the fact that about a bajillion people did exactly that the first week in should really send up a red flag or two for her. And yes, probably for me. I'm seriously beginning to question how anyone ever makes a 4.0.

Spencer comes back home this weekend! I'm so excited. Having him home is going to help my mood immensely.

SONG OF THE DAY: The Weather Girls, It's Raining Men

Tuesday, June 17, 2008

Promise Me You Won't Breed.

Disclaimer: The above title does not apply to anyone who is likely to be reading here. It applies to THIS GUY.

At my job, I process orders. To do so, I need specific information, like how much a given item costs. This cost is supplied by a particular level of management, consisting of about five managers. Everyone in the company knows this. EVERYONE. Employees' dogs know it.

Today, I got the following gem of an e-mail:
"Can you please tell me where I can get pricing for such and such item?"

Ok. Honest mistake, right?

Except that it was sent to me by one of the managers who is supposed to be providing the pricing.

Let me just repeat that, since I know you're going to reread it anyway:
It was sent to me BY ONE OF THE MANAGERS WHO IS SUPPOSED TO BE PROVIDING THE PRICING. No, he's not new. He's been in that position for several years.

The thing is, there's no way to answer something like that without sounding like I'm mocking him. Which of course, I am, but that's neither here nor there. The sheer idiocy of the question just leaves no room at all for a serious and respectful answer.

"Dear Remind Me Why It Is They Made You a Manager:

In an ideal work environment which, granted, we are all acutely aware that this is not, pricing would be filled in before an order ever comes to me. Each and every time. At least this is what I'm told is supposed to happen, and if things worked as God and the company president intended, theoretically I would have absolutely no idea where pricing came from. Our office being the shining beacon of industriousness that it is, however, I have often had to chase down pricing even though it isn't my job to do so, and I consequently know that it's usually YOU who provides it. So where exactly does that leave us with this? Tell you what, I'll ask the manager for pricing, and get back with you.

No, wait...that's you. I feel really stupid now.

No, wait, I don't. That's you again.


Not Getting Paid Near Enough For This Nonsense"

No, I didn't actually send that. It was tempting, though. And now I need to stop writing about it, lest I have an aneurysm.

Ground Zero

Apparently I can write. Or so my mother tells me.

Actually, she's not the only one. Hence, this blog.

It's not the first blog I've ever had, and it probably won't be the last. But it's the first one I've created primarily to share my thoughts with my very fabulous family. I don't know why that is...they are, after all, my biggest fans. We've been kicking around one of those e-mails where you fill stuff out about yourself, and I keep getting replies about how entertaining mine is, which is where I got the idea to do this. Plus you guys have to read have to put up with my loud mouth at Thanksgiving and all.

Most of you will get why I chose the blog title I did, but for those who are just tuning in, let me to 'splain you. I've been doing clerical work all my life, mostly owing to the fact that as it stands, that's really the best I can do, despite my boyfriend J's odd but extremely persistent idea that I can somehow get a job doing editing (which I find about as appealing as clerical nonsense, so I don't even know why it comes up in the first place) just by walking in and telling some publishing suit how well I can spell. J is a funny, funny man.

Anyway...despite opinions to the contrary, this is it. Bleak, no? Considering that the only reason I'm a cubicle monkey instead of flipping burgers somewhere is that I have insane mad typing skillz, I guess it could be worse and I should be grateful. The thing is, I'm not. I despise it. My mind is frankly worth way more and I'm sick of working for people who are generally stupider than I am, so last year I started back to school, hoping to become a doctor. Yeah, I don't shoot very high at all.

Did I mention that I'm 34 years old? That puts me squarely in the category of nontraditional student, but my age isn't the only thing that makes me nontraditional, not by a long shot.

The vast majority of you will fall into one of the two following categories at this point:
a) those who have changed my diapers
b) those whose diapers I have changed

For those whose diapering I have had no part of on either end of the deal (no pun intended), here are a few more general stats. I am the mother of a ridiculously brilliant and more than slightly anal retentive 8-year old. I am the Cubmaster of his Cub Scout Pack. I make my own wine and, when I have time, I also knit and take some rather decent pictures. Scrapbooking is another strong point of mine, although God knows how long it's been since I've done it. And I read. A lot. Whether I actually have time for it or not.

For those of you new to the whole blogging thing, down at the bottom of each post you'll find a link where you can post comments about what you're reading. I've enabled anonymous comment posting so you don't have to leave an e-mail address or a link or anything (even though an e-mail address won't show up for anyone but me). If you use this option, make sure you sign it with an initial or something so I know who left it.

Go know you want to.

Clearly there's more to come, or I wouldn't have a blog. For now, over and out. Have fun, kids!

SONG OF THE DAY: The Go-Gos, Our Lips Are Sealed