"Ignore the bells and pings. You are not Pavlov nor his dogs."

I wrote this as a note to myself. I forget for what exactly, clearly I was irritated, probably something distracting me from the task at hand.  But now I feel this should be emblazoned on a t-shirt and/or needs to be the mantra of my life.  Sadly, my first thought was to put it on facebook or twitter, it is so utterly twitterable, and I wanted to remember it and share it and nod sagely at it, but that is just feeding the chimes.  Then it occurred to me that I could put it up specifically and with intention on where the bell tolls... except I really don't hold truck with the younger gen's notion of doing things, big and small, "ironically".

Call me old-fashioned but I think we should stumble ignorantly and spectacularly into our irony, the way it was meant to be. Flames shooting from our tresses, ashes on our shoulders.   

Now give me a treat.


The voices in my head really stress me out

I do this thing when I'm sick where I sit on the couch and plague myself with guilt.  I look at what needs to be cleaned, I look at all the emails I should answer, I think about my To Do list, I think about what's critical and what's not critical, I think about my overall life goals and I just berate myself for not having the energy to get up and do any of it.  It's like a tenfold mid-life crisis every time I'm sick.  I could be feverish and dizzy and it doesn't matter. I could be pathetically tied to the toilet.  I tell myself that if I was truly driven, that if I really wanted to get somewhere, that if I was adhering to the habits of highly successful people (I don't remember how many habits there are because I didn't read the book... ALSO on my To Do list!) then I would be working even when I'm sick! I would be pushing through. Because that's what the successful people do. I'm not doing aything else while I'm stuck at home so why am I NOT writing the great American novel?!  I mean how sick am I really?  Not that sick!  Stop messing around, you slacker!

Then after days of that going through my head, one morning I'll wake up and start doing dishes or answering emails and it's not even a question of when I'm going to poop out because I have energy and I just get to work.  Clear-headed, motivated, and (relatively) guilt-free. (It's never totally gone, you know.)  And that's about the time I realize, "Yes, I WAS sick."  I wouldn't have been quite so depressed and tired otherwise. I probably WOULD have had some energy to do something. Maybe I shouldn't be so hard on myself.  But then how would I motivate myself when I do have energy?  And there the voices go again.

So my real problem is... figuring out when to listen to the voices and when to tell them to just shut the hell up. 

I can't be the only one who does this, right?


Hot under the collar

I'm in day two of isolation.  Friday I took radioactive iodine to burn out poison me turn me into a huge rampaging lizard monster treat my thyroid.  I have to stay 3 feet away from people for four days because of the residual radioactivity.  The cats are taking it hard.  I've gotten a few pitiful "why won't you pet me" meows while I'm holed up in the den. However, my beloved child, he of the incessant lap climbing and ambush hugs to ad nauseum, won't come closer than ten feet.  He also whimpers when I walk past him from across the room!

So far, I've felt OK; just tired and thirsty and my stomach is upset.  But that could be from anxiety and the low iodine diet.  (Yeah, right.)  And to be totally grossly TMI it feels unusually hot when I pee!  Freaky.  I'm disappointed that there's no glowing, though.  You'd think that if you were going to purposely poison yourself with radioactive materials you could at least glow a little.

The worst thing about this process is the low iodine diet.  I didn't think it was too bad at first; I'd figured you couldn't eat a lot of salty or processed, canned foods.  We always use Kosher salt in our cooking so I knew I could eat stuff at home. What I didn't expect on the "Do Not Eat" list were things like all dairy products and chocolate!  Then came "don't go to restaurants", nothing from a commercial bakery, no lunch meats, and nothing with "red or pink food dyes", and on and on.  But then down at the bottom, almost hidden, were the words "no tea"!  Christ on wheels that is crazy talk, right there!  I mean, you might as well just let the clowns out of their cages.  I think I got the shakes as soon as I read that.

So I was supposed to have dinner at this great French Vietnamese place for my birthday on Thursday which totally got nixed because of the diet.  My best friend baked me a cake instead and brought it over before she knew about the "no chocolate" restriction.  After I blew out the candles and everyone else cut themselves big slices of Mexican chocolate cake and huge scoops of ice cream, my best friend turns to me with fork in hand and says,

"Wow, you know... this is kind of sad."

Munch, munch, munch.

Me: "YES I'M WELL AWARE OF HOW SAD IT IS, THANK YOU!!"

Happy Birthday, thyroid, you rotten bitch.


I swear I'm not doing it on purpose

So I keep accidentally reading porn. And this isn't like that time when I accidentally got a Brazilian bikini wax (hint: if you hear the wax technician say, "whoops"... stop it right there!) because going in to it I knew that we would be dealing with that bikini region but then it suddenly just all got more involved than anticipated.  Like a bad date but with hot wax.  No, this is me picking out books that look interesting and then reading a bit into it and then totally getting sideswiped by porn.  I blame it on my Kindle, actually.  There isn't as much detail as on the regular Amazon page or maybe the info is in a different section so I'm missing it, or maybe it's because I'm being exposed to newer authors that I'm not familiar with, and I also didn't realize that steampunk has kind of been co-opted by the romance industry, but where it really gets me is the samples!  See, you're allowed to try to a sample of a book before you commit to buying it.  But see, these wily writers?  They never put the porn in the first two chapters!  So you buy the book and get into the THIRD chapter and then realize that what you thought was a plot was just a flimsy set up for the porn!  Or the other thing that has been happening is there is a perfectly decent plot that I'm rather enjoying and then the side plot starts dominating with a lot of pulsating and blossoming and other things that anatomically don't really happen the way they describe. (And really, if a boob suddenly "blossomed" in front of you wouldn't that just freak you the fuck out? I mean, that is like some Alien shit going on there! I don't need boobs changing shape, thank you very much.)  Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against porn. I like a good romance with a hot sex scene just as much as the next person (which was SO the problem with Twilight, amiright?).  But I don't want to read a whole book of it.  Because after awhile?  Yawn, manroot, yawn.


And that's how you lose stuffed animals

We've been sick all week.  The kiddo came down with it first, of course, with a really high fever that wouldn't come down, even with the advil/tylenol swap and baths and all that.  I took him to the weekend clinic and they kept us there four hours!  Conclusion: virus.  Then I followed suit and got sick Monday night.  At one point yesterday I woke up from a nap with a high fever and I was probably a little delirious but in my delirium I thought I was lucid enough to write and sent my ramblings to my editor at Culture Brats. They were a fucking trainwreck.  I'm sure he appreciated them. I don't think I've written anything for him in a couple of weeks, I've been trying to remember and I cannot remember so maybe I'm still running a fever. I don't know. At least I haven't started babbling on about LOLcats and noodles or anything because I am having some pretty weird dreams, let me tell you. 

But that's not the part that sucks. The part that sucks is that by the time I start to get sick, Chance is starting to feel a little better and he's bored and he obviously has no sympathy for his poor suffering mother who has diligently taken care of him while he's ill because when I decided that I just really needed to lie down on the couch he decided that was a good time to chuck pillow pets at me. Seriously?!   


Just enough time to bitch

The post I had written, the thoughtful one with a point, just got eaten.  This has been happening more frequently lately.  The ad network was pulled down without notice (and I never got paid out (hello, contract violation)).  The iphone app for typepad doesn't work at all anymore.  I am cheesed off because I pay for this service.  That's the whole point for paying, so I don't have to deal with shit like the program suddenly shutting down.

I honestly don't have the time to move it right now, though, but I may be migrating in the future.

I wonder if they monitor blog posts anymore? They used to back when it was the original, original owners. (I've lost track since then.) Do you think I'll get sabotaged at my hint of defection?  Or will my inbox be swamped by conciliatory helpful hints?  Could I stage a revolution from this blog?  Incite a tsunami of movement, change an assumption to a perception, start a trend and morph it into a mindset?  Inspire the heart wrenching score and the defiant bumper sticker?  Become the voice of something or other in the midst of a sea of other voices of something or other, pushing back the waves, hands desperately reaching... air, air! We need air!

Yeah, let's start some subversive shit.


This is the short version

Lamest reason ever not to post?  My nails are too long.

Fingernails 004

Yes, I know some ladies would love to have natural nails that look like this but trust me typing with them is a serious pain in the ass. It is typos galore and double letters everywhere. I seriously do not know how ladies with fake nails even do it.  My nails grow so fast I have to cut them at least once a month, and I don't give them a trim either, I cut them down to about 2mm in length and now they are already up to 7mm. Chance's are the same but I'm cutting them every other week or sooner. I think he's going through a growth spurt.

Other reasons why I haven't blogged, the short answer...

Stomach flu

Tons of work

Velentine's day (school parties shouldn't be that much work)

Chance gets a cold/pink eye

Trip to Disneyland

Some of those things happened simultaneously or in quick succession. And do you think I packed a file for our trip?  No, I did not.  Just as the edges started to fray into fabric catching, scratch myself accidentally, rough spikes.  The point is I'm sick of 'em (and of fixing typos) so I'm going to expound on all of that later after I cut my fricking nails.                  - wg


Wednesday Mini-Rants!

This really should have been Monday mini-rants (because alliteration makes everything better) but I've been having the type of headaches where it feels like someone has stuck hot lancets right above my eyes so sue me if I'm a couple of days late.  Now if only they would come up with a chocolate lancet cure-all. 

Chance has really gotten into Pokemon lately. Smiling, big-eyed children capturing innocent, even bigger-eyed animals and forcing them into the fighting ring.  When they're not fighting they're pressed into tiny balls to live out their cramped little lives.  It's so wholesome I could choke. 

I don't know what's going on with literacy in America but it seems the haiku has been co-opted by popular culture.  I think it started because someone somewhere in education decided that the haiku was all the poetry American children could grasp.  Regardless of how or why, the haiku is now cropping up all over the place and I am offended, damn you!  OFFENDED!  I wouldn't BE so offended if any of these little gleanings were done well or seriously - a haiku, written properly, can be quite lovely - but they aren't, people, they ARE NOT!  The latest perversion?  Fucking Target coupons written as haikus.

( * _ * )

Yeah. They're calling them haiku-pons!  (*Head exploding*)  But I've discovered that the addition of just three little words to each haiku makes them bearable.  Or at least amuses me to no end.  Ahem... "Sandwich needs loving / slice of swiss should do the trick / give thanks to the cows... on my ass."  Do you see?  Improvement!  Let's do another.  "Date night has arrived / cheeks want a colorful boost / I can see you blush... on my ass."  Ooh, naughty!  Or, "A soft, cushy roll / is a cozy, happy joy / sweet squares of heaven... on my ass."  Now that's just truth in advertising.

                 - the weirdgirl

Have pain?  Choco-Rod can help*!  Just shove a Choco-Rod at the source of your discomfort and you'll feel instantly better!  

Choco rod

*May be laced with opiates. Not guaranteed to work on those annoying you.


a bit of mommy burn out

Chance woke up with a very high fever this morning, 103.7, and I gave him motrin and threw him in the bath and basically did all the things to bring his fever down while biting my nails and feeling very frazzled.  His fever has come down (thank goodness) and we are going to the doctor. Chance was sick the week before we went to Disneyland and then a bit at Disneyland.  Chance also always seems to get sick when Keen is out of town.  The kids at school have been passing around illness in rotating waves lately.  I feel like a very big portion of my life is spent around sick kids (which is exactly why I never had an iota of interest in being a doctor or nurse).  And that in turn affects the other portions because then I get sick and can't participate in my own life.

The portion of my life that I call entirely my own is such a small tiny tiny percentage of what I'm doing on any given day. Usually squeezed in at the end, when I'm tired.

By the way, all you accomplished, incredibly successful people at 30... I hate you.

I've been picking up Chance from school and bringing him home for lunch everyday for the last couple of weeks.  It seemed like all his meltdowns or misbehavior incidences at school were happening at lunch or right after. The cafeteria is just too fucking loud.  We'd discussed setting up some sort of break for him after lunch at school, but things came to a head and I decided having lunch at home would be his break. And it does seem to be helping; he goes back for the afternoon much calmer. 

But now I have a really odd schedule.  

It would be fine if I was happy with just the mommy track, but there are other things I'm trying to do.  Our world is not set up to support moms who are trying to do anything other than be moms.  Being a "good" mom (patronizing head pat, please) means you get screwed.

yay! 


Don't want to talk about it but then I do

I've been a little bummed this week.  Our school, which has already had some really terrible luck this year - we had a devastating fire in July, a molestation arrest out of the (non-affiliated) after school program, and a school lockdown a few weeks ago because they thought there was a man with a gun - now more trouble has come to light.  I don't want to get into too many details because I really have mixed feelings about the whole affair (and if you live in this area you probably already know about it anyway).  However, the gist is two people were appropriating funds from the PTA and one of them was just arrested. 

The problem - my problem - is I knew this woman.  I knew this woman and I really liked her.  Actually, I still like her.  She was great with the kids, she was wonderful with my son in particular.  I just feel sick over this.  I was absolutely shocked when I heard about the arrest.  I don't know what the circumstances were that led up to this situation but I know the amount taken was cumulative over time.  I think, I hope, it comes down to sometimes good people make bad decisions.

We live in a really great community.  I really like the people in our neighborhood and at our school and all these bad events just don't reflect how much people care and come together in this neighborhood.  It's just been so much this year already. I really hope this means our school has paid our dues in bad karma for a least a few years.

I just needed to get that off my chest.           - wg