The gene pool could use a little Chlorine.
The Olympics...
So much is being made on TV and blogs about the Olympics and whether the gymnastics judging is "fair" or not. As someone who is proudly capitalist and believes personal responsibility is the ideal way for a human being to acheive their goals, I must say I have let go of the scores, and decided to be happy for our American gymnasts.
Shawn Johnson is a great example of someone who has worked hard most of her life to compete for a medal in the Olympics, and although she didn't win a gold (yet, I haven't watched the balance beam) I know that she is still an A-student at home that will graduate high school, go to her prom, be with her family, and has unlimited possibilities to acheive anything she wants within or outside of gymnastics. She couldn't win the gold for her team, but who did? A bunch of "16 year olds" who were lucky they even survived birth in a country where each family can only have one child, preferably male, were taken from their families at the age of 3, put through tremendously painful training, called their parents begging to come home only to be told they had to stay and honor their country, and possibly threatened with consequences we can't imagine if they were to return home after screwing up.
The Americans should be happy that we keep winning in an age where other countries are putting increased pressure on their gymnastics programs to succeed. Our gymnasts don't have the kind of normal life that we do, but yet they know they can go to the Olympics, do their best, smile at the end, and no matter what the result come home to a country that accepts them as human beings. There is no dissection of how much time they spent training in the last four months; that maybe they should have skipped that one hamburger or lost five more pounds or added one more tumbling pass to their routine or not gone on that vacation with their families back at Christmas. We're just proud that they made it to that level and are coming home with what, at least 6 medals? Who can't be proud of that?
So, let's quit our complaining about scores and just be proud that we live in a country that doesn't force anyone to compete when they don't want to, and rewards our Olympians for being the best in our country and respresenting us with smiles and excitement about the sports they're competing in. I, for one, would let China win all the medals in the world if it means that I can be free to speak my opinion wherever and whenever I want. And that means being proud of every American athlete that has sacrificed what I wouldn't to become one of the greatest in the world.
Guss what? I'm not restricted from this site! Yay! So I'll actually have time to catch up on everyone's news, musings, and gossip.
So, of course, no news yet on the baby thing. Between watching child-labor stars win gymnastic gold in the Olympics amid reports of how they called their parents and wanted to quit but they weren't allowed (probably because the Chinese government would have burned them at the stake if they let their country down), and spending two hours every other night in the hospital with my ailing grandmother, it's hard to find the energy and the drive to get in the mood some days. But we are giving it our best shot!
I also sent a kitten to certain death yesterday by calling animal control to come and get it. Now, I hate the idea of euthanasia, but I believe in sparing the life of horrible suffering in pets as well, so when a tiny 12 week old kitten showed up outside the building I work in, I tried to make friends. The only thing I could find to feed it from the community fridge was applesauce (choices: Killian's beer mustard, chocolate pudding that expired in 2007, light yogart that had aspartame in it, and applesauce) and I realized when I took that to it that the poor baby was blind in both eyes, with an infection so severe in one that it was literally outside the socket and completely yellow. So, I sent it to the shelter. I cannot have a cat at my house, and I know the chances of the shelter putting as much money into the care as this cat would need are slim to none, so I'm sure it was gassed, but at least I can hope. Who knows? Maybe some volunteer vet tech fell in love with it and took pity enough to adopt it. That's what I'm going to tell myself.
She makes her return. No, seriously, I have not found another blog life or anything like that, I've just honestly not been inspired. And, I have a job where I haven't checked, but I'm pretty sure this will be one of those sites where I get the "not an acceptable website" message from my IT department if I go here. So, once again this may be sporadic at best, but I am giving it a try.
I want to have a baby. Seriously, that's the next logical stage in my life, right? Geez, I never thought I would be 'that girl'. The one that gets married, buys a house, gets a dog, and then wants kids. I thought (and a lot of my close friends and family thought as well) that I would move away, be single for a while, meet some foreign man, adopt African babies, and so on and so on. But life had different plans for me, and here I am. A Southern landowner with a good old boy husband living in what our realtor referred to as a "country subdivision". (No, seriously, I mean that...)
When women talk about their biological clock in movies and TV and books and magazines, you may say to yourself "that's a bunch of bullshit". But it's not. I'm sure there are some women who never experience it, because they've made the personal decision not to have children, and that's fine (I thought I was one, actually), but for the rest of us, strange things happen. We get upset when our monthly cycle starts. We watch parents in public with their children with the kind of misty-eyed, sappy expression that is usually reserved for those Hallmark movies, the ones where a stranger steals your baby. We actually stop being annoyed when at every family event we get asked when we're going to have one. We don't mind holding a crying baby anymore, we jump at the chance to change our niece's diapers, and we offer to babysit on our paid holidays off...for free!
Most of all, though, for me personally it's the feeling that I am ready, that this is the right time in my life, that I have carefully prepared myself and my body over the last six months. I can imagine myself with much more than just a baby...I can imagine myself raising a child who is 3, 6, middle school, dating, the whole nine yards. And now, it's finally time to start trying! It's very exciting. During grocery shopping day last week, I picked out my last six-pack. I debated over my selection as carefully as if I were a death-row inmate choosing my last meal. I overlooked a few of my favorite stouts because it is the sweltering part of summer and that's just a little too heavy. I wanted something expensive, light, refreshing, something that feels like a treat. I settled on Hoegarden, from Belgium. I highly recommend it. I've got 5 to go this week and I'm in the clear. After that, well, I've never been one to spare many details, and I've always used this blog as a space for my personal thoughts, so I will warn you: adult content may follow in the next year.
How I am feeling today about...everything, really...
I love my life! Seriously, I always thought of myself as the free-spirit, the independent, the career woman, and I am turning out to be so far from what I thought I would be. I love working a normal schedule, knowing I can make weekend plans for any weekend and not have to ask everyone on my staff for permission to go to a football game. I love Friday nights...love them! I love coming home from work about the same time as my husband every day and the two of us playing with the dog together, grocery shopping together, cooking together. I love making sure my kitchen is clean after dinner each night. I love cooking dinner at home more nights than not, eating at the table, and eating between 7 and 7:30 every night. I feel like a better wife, like the house stays cleaner and we share chores more evenly and our routine is WORKING! We have argued less in the last three months than our previous six years, and that's with the strictest budget we've ever had. I love the fact that yesterday marked a month since I quit smoking and not only have I put it down cold turkey like I never started, but I've LOST six pounds. I'm proud that my husband and I have cooked at home more and actually finished our leftovers instead of letting them go to waste. I'm proud that I've only eaten out for lunch 7 times in the last month, and I haven't bought coffee once.
In other topics, I'm sick of the Patriots, of political news anylysts making sure that Americans will never really know why they're voting for a particular candidate, coverage of stupid celebrity news like normal size people being photographed in bikinis and called fat, being unable to pay the balance on our credit card for the first time since we got married, Time Warner Cable and the dread of having to call them this week to argue for a better rate, not having as much time to check out the computer as I used to, arguing over the TV now that John and I work the same schedule, cold weather causing the highest electric bill we've ever had, not being able to buy the tenderloin steak that the butcher had just cut off the bone the last time I bought ground beef, and eating more chicken. But, I like Canadians more than I used to. That's a change...I hope I have time to share more with you.
So, apparently, all my talk about not having a redneck Christmas was empty. On Sunday evening, I showed up at my parents' house for the Big Johnson Christmas to find one aunt (the one that married in) crying and another aunt (the one that is head of the family since my granny died) consoling her. They spent an hour moving from kitchen table to couch, speaking in hushed voices and making everyone else feel uncomfortable for either eavesdropping (which I do naturally and very well) or ignoring them.
Finally, almost two hours late, one of my cousins arrived. (The oldest son of the cryer.) And he brought his four month old daughter and her mother with him. I phrase it that way because the mother and my cousin are not married, or engaged. I'm not actually sure that they are still dating. If they are, I don't think they want to be. In any case, my aunt starts shooting dirty looks to anyone in the family that shows any attention to the baby's mother (let's call her Pam) and when my cousin asks if aunt Shelley* wants to hold the baby, she replies "damn right I do". So, he starts to hand her over, and Shelley pushes the baby away and mutters "she's crying. I know what a crying baby looks like". Apparently, after you raise 5 kids you are no longer able to hold a baby that's crying. I thought it might make you more comfortable, but what do I know?
Pause...to be finished tomorrow...
Okay...one month later...I've held you at bay so long you probably don't want to hear the rest of the story anymore, so I will make it short and sweet...
So, Pam, who has obviously been feeling her baby's daddy's mama's tenseness for several months now, jumps out of her chair (remember, she has just met my entire extended family) and grabs my cousin's arm, saying "Let's Go...I don't have to take this..."
Well, the next thing any of us know, Aunt Shelley and Pam are having an extremely cold, extremely uncomfortable argument in the foyer with my cousin standing in between them trying to man up, saying, "let's go out side right now and talk about this, leave the children here..." (By children, I mean Pam's two older kids, by different fathers, and apparently she's still married to the oldest one's dad...) And then Aunt Shelley crosses the line. She leans down and grabs Pam's arm while she's trying to fasten the baby into her carseat and says in her best self-righteous born-again Christian sneer "look here, missy, I've got something to say to you..." and out of nowhere, my Uncle Ray, the most Gentle of all of the Johnson men (and the least likely to use physical force in any situation, mostly because he's the only sober one) comes from nowhere across the living room and grabs Aunt Shelley's arms and pins them behind her, trying to force her through the front door. (It has been determined since that it was because he wanted the whole mess to be taken outside instead of his family embarrasing themselves at his big brother's house.) Well, when my cousin sees his dad hurting his mom, he jumps on his back like a crazed animal, and all four of the adults, two kids, carseat, and diaper bag are suddenly trying to hurdle through my parents' front door AT THE SAME TIME. You can only imagine what this did to the decorations...
In any case, spare the major details, this all spilled into the front yard with my mom saying "not in my house" and my aunt trying to jump in the middle, and my drunk cousin trying to break up the fight (or maybe trying to get into it himself, who really knows) and the rest of us standing at the front door watching in disbelief as son fought father and trashy ho girlfriend sat in the car staring straight ahead like this was EXACTLY how she had pictured Christmas with her boyfriend's family going down. It took close to an hour to get back to normal, and most of that was spent with all of us cooped up inside wanting to talk about it but knowing it wasn't appropriate while my mom and aunt tried to play go between with the two couples to get them to forgive each other and come back in to celebrate (NOT Happening, Duh).
And then we opened presents...
So, we got good and redneckity down in North Kack after all, ya'll.
I have a rant, and I will apologize in advance to anyone out there that is a parent, since I am not. I am really sick of this new style of parenting out there, you know, the one that has everyone scared to do or say anything to their kids that may cause emotional scarring later in life. Let me clue you in: EVERYONE will have emotional scarring, no matter how happy and well-adjusted they grew up. By you giving in to your freaking kids on every issue under the sun, you are creating a person who grows up thinking everything will always be their way. And, if you raise your child in a vacuum-sealed bubble "oh, we don't want Jonny to get hurt...so we didn't let him try out for football...he was being bullied, so we switched schools...he didn't make the swim team, so we spoke to the principal and school board about being more inclusive" WAKE UP...your child will be scared to try anything. Okay, I'm collecting my thoughts because I'm coming off a little disorganized.
I've been stewing over this for a while, after seeing all the parents in the mall for years who make excuses like "oh, the kids won't let me shop for long". Well, lady, 'the kids' are 9 and 12, and I'm pretty sure you just spend a couple hundred on them at Abercrombie, so they can sit quietly in a store for an hour while you get yourself something. So, it's well known that a lot of parents have basically traded in everything about their life before to cater to every whim and desire of their child's. I'm not saying that your life and priorities shouldn't change...I can tell that just by preparing myself to start trying to get pregnant...I'm quitting smoking, I spend most nights cooking dinner at home, I clean the house more and keep things organized, I rarely go out with friends just to 'drink and catch up', my husband and I spend less money on food...but, what makes being a parent so hard now? Do you forget what it was like to grow up goig over to a cousin's house on Saturday night and playing in a back bedroom while the adults sat around playing Pictionary and drinking? Because that's what our parents did...when they need a break, they called someone else with kids and said, "I've had a shitty week and I really want to relax tonight...let's get together".
And seriously, up until a kid hits at least 9 months, you can go to your mother-in-law's house for dinner and not go home until 9 or 10. You know why? Because your baby will eat, sleep, and poop whether she's at home or at grandma's. You don't have to be sealed into your house by 7PM every night. You don't have to change everyone's Christmas plans because "it's so much for her to go to so many places in two days..." or "shes been out a lot lately, it's not good for her". She's six freaking weeks old...she doesn't care if she's getting fed at your house or not, as long as she's getting fed, getting held, and sleeping well. Have you ever thought that maybe it's a good idea to let your baby meet lots of new people in early life so that she will grow up being able to communicate with everyone? Or do you really want her to be just like her mom, who gets nervous when she's left in the room alone with one of her husband's friends or family members, because she's so socially inept that she doesn't know how to speak to people...
In any case, this probably doesn't make a whole lot of sense to many, but I'm trying to prepare myself to be the kind of parent that does what is best for my child without losing all sense of who I am, who my friends are, and what my marriage should be! I know people say things change after you have kids, but I look at the way my parents raised me and my sister and think we had a lot of boundaries, a good amount of freedom, and respect for adults, and that's exactly what I want for my child. Not a snot nosed brat who expects to get her way all of her life because her parents have 'let her make her own decisions' from birth. That's a load of crap, all the people who 'treat their children like adults'...there is a reason your child is not an adult and can't make it's own decision. Seriously, people, lighten up...
Christmas in the South
Oh, don't worry, I'm not going to go through any stereotypical back-asswards bible rituals we go through down here or anything...I hope I am not perpetuating the myth that anyone born and raised anywhere between NC and MS are Southern-drawled babbling idiots. I'm going to talk about weather. Yes, weather.
See, there is no snow here like most of the rest of you have (unfortunately, there's no precipitation of any kind). There are no black peacoats with soft furry green scarves and silky leather gloves, no chance of sliding my arms into that great knee length wool dress coat in that hot shade of red I bought on my last NY trip, no corderoys, no boots, no chunky knit turtlenecks. This week, there are denim capri's and little cap sleeve tee shirts and
God-forbid-I-have-to-keep-my-pedicure-up flip-flops!
And if tradition holds, it won't last. Not forever, anyway. It will be 80 degrees today, and tomorrow's highs will be in the 50's. Back to jeans and long sleeve tees and (optional) socks. And, it may snow at some point in the coming winter, but not before or during Christmas. This is not global warming, either, this is normal. In fact, as a child I wished vehemently for a White Christmas each and every year. I think what I have come to realize as an adult is that it was great that we never had one. Because if there is one stereotype that holds true, it is that Southerners don't drive in the snow. (That's an entirely different post altogether...)
In any case, what I was trying to get at was that basically, if it had snowed on Christmas, I could not have spent my glorious childhood at my Granny's house, ringleading a group of ten cousins outside to the field and woods behind her house. 70 degree Christmases were perfect for our expeditions. We opened our presents, ate some snacks (there was never a traditional dinner with so many people there; there were cheeses and meats and pickles and olives and little smokies in barbecue sauce and chips and dips and nuts and so many yummy things to munch on all night long) and were promptly pushed outside by aunts and uncles so that their party could begin. There was this terrific coming of age...first, you wanted nothing to do with the 'old people'. Then, around 12 or 14 you started kind of wondering what they did that made them sound like they had so much fun. Around 16 you got moody and tired of playing with the little kids, and desperately wanted to join the grown-ups. And finally, the Christmas after your 18th birthday, there you were, with your Aunt slipping you a little wine and your older cousin slipping you a drag from his cigarette and your dad slipping you a habanero pepper to eat in front of your uncles. What wonderful memories from Christmas!
This will be the first year that we do not have this celebration on Christmas Day. My sister and I have pushed hard this year to be able to have an intimate Christmas with our immediate family, and by some great power my dad got my aunt, the family matriarch, to agree to have the (lovingly nicknamed "Big Johnson") Christmas party the Sunday before. So, this is the year for new memories...a quiet steak dinner with just the six of us, and an evening spent together without 30 other family members involved. Of course, this means that Christmas now stretched over three days instead of two, but I think I can deal with that just fine...
Well, well, well...I've been tagged. I don't know whether to be flattered or pissed. Since it was the amazingly talented Yoshick, and she did use the phrase "I'm curious to see where you'll take this" I will assume flattery. So, thanks, Ms. Martini...
So, here goes:
I woke up hungry. I pulled my bedroom curtain to the side and looked out on a hazy morning. I dragged myself into the kitchen, in search of something to eat. I reached for a jar of applesauce sitting next to the sink, and found it very cold to the touch. I opened the jar and realized it was frozen. (Splotchy)
My first idea was to put the applesauce in the microwave. Hey, I was still tired. Could I scoop some out and put whipped cream on it? No, too solid. Why was it so damn cold in here? I walked over to the thermostat and saw that the heat hadn't clicked on all night and the temperature had dropped substantially overnight. Now, tired and hungry, I opened the access panel on the heater. There's the problem: why was someone cooking a duck in here? (SamuraiFrog)
I bent down and scooped up the uncooked duck carcass. There was no way I was going to let it go to waste, especially considering I had applesauce on hand. I placed it in a roasting pot and went back to reset the heater. As I continued to wake up, I realized that my roommate had spent the night at his girlfriend's place and couldn't have put the duck there. "How the hell did it get there?" I wondered. Just then, an already odd situation became even stranger. The lifeless duck animated, flapped its featherless wings, and began to speak. (Some Guy)
I had a choice to make: do I go along with this impossibly reincarnated duck drama that's unfolding before me, or do I phone Dr. Leary and get my prescription changed? Feeling more comfortable believing the Chemical Dementia theory, I pressed Dr. L's speed dial button. That's when I noticed that the duck was wearing my watch. And he had a knife. And he was telling me to lie on the floor. (Cooper Green)
The duck stared me down from across the room, if it is possible to stare without eyes, and repeated its instruction, gesturing with a long, thin knife which I must have also left on the counter. This line of this might have sounded more menacing coming from an undead bird with a carving knife, but its voice was delighfully light and British-sounding. This was a fact that wasn't helping me establish the boundaries of reality, but I knew that my hero wouldn't wait to find out. My hero wouldn't call his psychiatrist and inquire about hallucinogenic side effects with an enemy in the home. Oh hell no. That's not what Patrick Swayze would do!! "Listen buddy," I said in my most patronizing voice, my hand groping on the nearby counter for something to pick up, "assuming this is real and not some delightful side effect of mixing my favorite blue pills with my favorite alcoholic liquid, then in the real world, I'm the lazy sort of guy who leaves out -" I found the applesauce jar and waved it at the duck, "applesauce overnight. And, well you know what that makes me? One lazy bastard. It makes me the sort of guy who never ever sharpens his knives either. So the knife you're holding? It couldn't cut warm butter if it held still. And I won't hold still. So tell me, you wanking, british zombie duck, do you really think your kung fu is stronger than mine?" I held up the apple sauce, preparing to throw, and the duck quacked out a blood-curdling, curse-laden scream, before running straight for me, kamikaze style. (Yoshick)
Suddenly, and in slow motion, I realize I do not actually know kung fu, but I do remember watching all of the Karate Kid movies (well, except for The Next Karate Kid, because that was just absurd and also I really hate Hilary Swank). In any case, as the strains of "Glory of Love" begin to pipe mysteriously from the air conditioning vents, accompanied by a rolling black fog that smells like white truffles, I try to position myself in the flying swan or crow or whatever it's called, except I can't seem to lift my leg from the ground. Thinking that my worst fear has come true and I am stuck in a molasses puddle, I cast my eyes slowly to the floor. "What the f...!?" I think as I look down. Chuck Norris is holding my feet still with one hand. With the other, he lifts his finger to his lips in the "sshhhh" motion and whispers, "be vewy, vewy quiet..."(Cannonball)
So, now for the honors...for being my only friends on mo'time besides Yoshick: Windhazel, AmeriganGirl, and Greeneyes should have something brilliant to add to this. And I will also go out on a limb and say, Howard, if you are reading this, I think you should get involved...and for my final selection...JustMe, let's see if you have a knack for the absurd. Copy, paste, and add...
Can I tell you how much the healthcare/insurance industry sucks? Now, I could go on a rant about how I understand that unethical doctors and lawyers and the people that go into surgury understanding the risks but still want to sue someone when something goes wrong are what causes the stupid insurance industry to charge out the ass, but I'm not. I'd rather rant about my Dental Insurance, and specifically whether or not I want to pick up COBRA insurance so that my husband and I can get our mouths checked.
So, I called the Dental Insurance company that I have been carrying to ask about the differences in coverage...I figured that I would do some math and figure out if it makes sense to pay the $125 to finish insurance coverage for the year and pay less for our dental appts, or to just scrap it and pay for the dentist out of pocket. (I am a very high-fear dental patient, so the idea of waiting until April or so to have my teeth cleaned instead of going in December is VERY appealing to me anyway.) And they can't give me a number, b/c my dentist (and my husband's) are out of network. They can give me an estimated range of what the average service is in my area, but they cannot tell me what they would actually pay once the paperwork was submitted. I had to tell the lady twice that I was just interested in a cleaning and exam, and she kept saying "but for what type of service?" A CLEANING AND EXAM...DID I STUTTER? And I had to force her to even give me a price. She kept saying "I don't really have that information in front of me." So, I kept saying "can you connect me with someone who does" thinking "because if you don't I'm going to rip my hair out and send it through the phone lines until it comes out on your end and wraps around your neck". Anyway...it just sucks, that's all. Losing my job sucked, too, but not nearly as much as the red tape involved with transferring insurance and deciding what to do with my 401K and on and on.
So, that's my rant today. It probably wasn't all that entertaining, but I really needed to vent because it has not been a great day so far. It's all good, though, b/c I have a buy one get one free buffet coupon for Pizza Inn, and it's date night. Woohoo...
Today I have come to a realization about success. While I was employed in a job where I had a lot of responsibility and was very well-payed accordingly, I thought success meant getting promoted and getting raises. That was my measure for having a successful career. I think I may have been wrong on this one.
I'm interviewing for a position that probably 60% of high school graduates could do effectively. It pays about half what my former job did, and with it comes the repsonsibility of managing one person: myself. It's a job a lot of people may be bored with, or think was easy or beneath them. I used to be one of the people that would think that, so I know. I used to think that I had to work my ass off to gain fancy titles to make up for the fact that I do not have a college educated mind. (Just a life educated one, and a very opinionated one at that.) After interviewing with six different managers at this very small company, I'm realizing that while the job might be simple, the people that work there are friendly, jovial, and down to earth. They laugh with each other, they tease each other, and they work together in a positive way. This is so much more important to me than any title I would have. I realized halfway through my second interview with them something I had forgotten back when I interviewed for my former job almost five years ago: the company is sometimes more important than the job. My previous employer went through a lot of changes since I began, changes that made them different from the company I started with in 2003. The reason I chose that company was because of the people, and 80% of the people had changed.
I'm also ready to start a family. Everyone says that when you are ready to have kids, it just hits you, like overnight, and for five years I've gone along and said "yeah, one day that could be me...I mean, it would be nice and all, but I'm happy with my lifestyle now" but I haven't really felt the time was right. Before I lost my job, my husband and I were talking about trying around Christmas, but still not committed to it. Then, I lost my job, and suddenly had nights and weekends off with him and we started to do things as a family, and it just clicked. I am ready. This is the right time. It's amazing how a drastic change in income makes you realize that there are lots of nights out and fancy meals and $25 bottles of wine and massages and pedicures and giving expensive gifts and going back to Marin County for your anniversary you can give up and still be just as happy.
So, that really solidified what my new definition of success will be: a job that gives me time to spend with my family and a work environment where I feel comfortable with everyone I work with, and being a good wife, mom, daughter, sister, aunt, niece, and friend. And hockey fan.
Late twenties, enjoys my work, likes to read, loves the mountains, uses commas way too much.
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