A couple of years ago, I got addicted to MySpace. I was on that thing all the time. If I wasn't sending cutsie picture comments to my friends, I was changing my background, my banner, my contact table, etc. It was a never-ending attempt to try to define myself by the appearance of a web page and the number of friends I had.
I also had a Facebook page, but rarely went on there. Facebook isn't as 'flashy' as MySpace, so I just couldn't relate. But somewhere along the way, things began to change.
While both FB and MS are good ways to stay in touch with friends and family, nothing can replace good old fashioned, face-to-face contact. Getting a new comment on your page never feels as good as getting a phone call from that person, and having them say, 'hey, how are you?', and then shooting the breeze for a while.
I recently started hanging out on Facebook more, and was lucky enough to have an old friend from elementary school find me. While I sometimes get frustrated with Facebook's constant tweaking of this, that and the other, I do like it as a way to keep up with friends I don't get to see often, old friends from school that I still want to talk to, and family members that I don't get to see as often as I would like.
Since I made a commitment to myself to blog here more, I decided to take a look at my 'internet life' and I felt a bit overwhelmed. Between blogging(which I love), Tweeting, MySpace and Facebook, it was all too much. I felt like MySpace had become redundant, because most of my MySpace friends were also my friends on Facebook. So I made the decision to quit MySpace, and had no hesitations or regrets about clicking on that 'cancel account' button. There are a couple of friends on there that I will miss having contact info for, but they have my address and phone # and email addy, so if they want to find me bad enough, they can.
I would much rather spend the time that I have in each day on real connections with people. Even if all I get to do some days is email a friend, that's still way better than a cute bunny picture on my comments. The exchange of words, thoughts and ideas can never in any way be replaced by pictures, throwing a sheep at someone or a song dedication.
Now if you'll excuse me, I may have to go Twitter again!
Monday, March 30, 2009
A couple of years ago, I got addicted to MySpace. I was on that thing all the time. If I wasn't sending cutsie picture comments to my friends, I was changing my background, my banner, my contact table, etc. It was a never-ending attempt to try to define myself by the appearance of a web page and the number of friends I had.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
This weekend, I am proud to say I did nothing. Oh sure, I did the things I had to do, laundry, made dinner, etc. But other than that, I didn't do anything.
Yesterday, the Husband and Chickenhead went to our nephew's pinewood derby race. My neck was still hurting, I was tired and it was just too darned early in the morning. So after some breakfast and a cup of coffee, I crawled back in bed. And I slept. And slept. And slept some more. When I finally woke up, it was 7PM. I felt invigorated and refreshed and best of all, no more pain in my neck! We had a light dinner and Chickenhead and I played for a bit and read two chapters in the book 'Strider' by Beverly Cleary. Then he went off to stay up late with the Husband, playing video games and watching the Disney channel until the wee hours. Me, I went back to bed and slept some more.
Today, since I'm all rested up, I've just been doing the things that had to get done; the laundry, picking up the house, cleaning the bathrooms. I made a pot roast and homemade mashed potatoes for dinner. It's been pretty mellow, this weekend.
I wonder why it is that we feel like we've wasted a weekend if we don't cram 20 million activities in to it? I hate feeling that way. I've worked hard all week, I should be able to enjoy two days the way that I want to, and this weekend, that's exactly what I did. And I'm gonna do it again! Maybe not next weekend though, I've go stuff I've got to get done!
Posted by Kelley at 5:28 PM
Friday, March 27, 2009
Well, I haven't quite freaked out yet, let's just say I'm on the edge of a freak out.
For starters, I've misplaced my wedding rings. My REAL wedding rings- the set that the Husband gave me when we got married and the wrap that he gave me for our first anniversary. The set I don't wear because I need to get them resized and I just haven't gotten around to it yet. I didn't know that I had misplaced them until I went to put another ring away in my ring box. No wedding set. I methodically looked through all my jewelery stashes, and nope, no rings. I then thought that maybe I had left the set in a pocket in one of my purses; I was going to take it and get it resized, wasn't I? So last night I went through all my bags, and still, no rings. And no, I haven't told the Husband. I have decided that since I didn't know that they were missing until I opened that box, then if I don't look for them, I will find them. Won't they? They will, right? Crap.
The Husband called me yesterday at work to see if I could call the trash company to find out when heavy pick up day was. Why he couldn't call them, I don't know, but I gave them a call and sho 'nuff, it's tomorrow. I relayed the message back home, but the Husband said Loony Landlady had called and she said that it was today. Whatever. The Husband had put a bunch of crap out to the curb and that was that. Right? Wrong!
After the Husband and Chickenhead went on a Scout outing to tour Olathe city hall, I was enjoying my decompression time (lying in bed watching tv), when I heard a clatter out on the patio. I looked out the window and there was Loony Landlady's BoyToy getting ready to take a large planter. I knew the Husband wanted to get rid of some stuff on the patio but I didn't know what. So, calm, collected person that I am, I flew out the back door and basically scared BoyToy away. I called the Husband- "You won't believe this crap!" I told him about BoyToy trying to make off with our property. "Oh yeah. I told Loony Landlady that if BoyToy wanted he could get rid of the planter and the old gas grill. Sorry. Guess I didn't tell you". Yeah, I guess not. Dumbass.
Now I suppose I could have called Loony Landlady and played it off like nothing had happened, and see if she would send BoyToy back over. But I was too embarassed by my previously shrewish behavior. So I dug out my old tennis shoes, my grungy, stained, hair-coloring night t-shirt, and went outside. It was raining, and by this time, I was even more pissed off. Pissed because Husband had left me out of the loop. Pissed because it was raining. Pissed because I now had to drag this shit around to the front of the house (pardon my French) by myself because I had myself a hissy fit. I'm sure any neighbors watching were mightily impressed with my ability to drag a gas grill through wet leaves and grass, muttering curse words under my breath the entire way.
It's over now, what's done is done. I'm going to go home tonight, batten down the hatches in preparation for the 30-feet of snow they are predicting, and I'm not going to look for my ring. I'm not going to think about it, I'm not going to fret, obsess or stew over it. When I'm not looking, I'll find it, right? Maybe I'll find my dignity somewhere along the way, too.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
OK, so I work in a bank, in an area that has no contact with the customers. Our area has always has a pretty 'relaxed' dress policy in that as we aren't face to face with the public, we don't have to dress professionally. The guys in my area don't wear suits unless they've got a job interview in another area, and the women don't really 'dress up' unless they've got someone to impress.
Recently, a co-worker got a new wardrobe after losing about 70 pounds. First I have to say, kudos to her, because she lost her weight the old fashioned way; she counted calories and walked her ass off. She's got a new trim figure and I understand her wanting to show it off. But...
Some of her new wardrobe choices are simply not work appropriate. At least not for a bank, even if it is in an area that doesn't have public contact. Let me give you some examples. Last week, she wore a gray, pleated mini skirt, black tights and a tight gray and white shirt. It was a cute outfit, but the skirt barely covered her behind. Today, she wore black leggings with white stars on them, a denim miniskirt, black flats and a hot pink t-shirt. It would be perfect if she were working at say, the mall. It would be a perfect outfit for her 15-year old daughter, because I overheard her tell someone that it was her daughter's outfit, and she's so excited because they wear the same size now. Which brings me to this thought- is there such a thing as 'age appropriate' anymore? Co-worker is pushing 40, even if she can, should she be wearing the same clothes as her teenage daughter?
A few of my other co-workers and I engaged in some catty gossip- Just who does she think she is? Why doesn't management say anything to her? We get the distinct feeling from management that they don't want any conflict from her, because she's the type of employee that has HR on speed-dial if she thinks she's being slighted in any way. But what if someone else wore a really short skirt, or a skimpy top? Would they say something to us?
With the economy and the clouds of doom always hovering nearby as they do these days, are company dress codes on the way out? Do employers even care what we're wearing, as long as we show up and do the job? I don't think some companies are as strict as they once were, but I do think there should be some guidelines.
When you get dressed in the mornings and take a look in the mirror, I think that if you have even the slightest doubt that your clothes might not be appropriate, maybe you shouldn't wear them. Because when your co-workers are talking about what you're wearing, it's not always complimentary. If I were being compared behind my back to Britney Spears (Oops I Did it Again-era) or Lindsey Lohan (current skank era), I'd be offended. And I'd be taking a lot harder look in the mirror.
Posted by Kelley at 7:22 PM
Robert Pattinson is best known to most of us as 'Edward Cullen' from the movie 'Twilight'. I think he was perfectly cast in the role; he looks like what I pictured Edward to look like when I read the books. He also played Hermione's love interest 'Cedric Diggory' in a couple of the 'Harry Potter' films. He's a hot looking guy and I can see why all the fangirls love him.
Today on DListed, there's an article that quotes sources on the set of 'New Moon' as saying that Bob has some serious B.O. issues. This isn't the first time I've read or heard this rumor. Robert himself has said in past magazine interviews that he has bad personal hygiene habits and hates to bathe and wash his hair.
I can look at some celeb photos and can probably accurately guess that say, Joaquin Phoenix probably isn't smelling the sweetest right now. Courtney Love looks like she might smell like a mixture of Marlboros and gin. There have been other rumors that Brad Pitt is quite stinky.
At first I wondered why celebs would go around smelling up the place. Then I remembered; they're people just like you and me. If Courtney Love wasn't a 'star', she'd be the woman in the office who wears too much designer imposter perfume, and took a cigarette break every half hour. Stars- they're just like us! Except I take a shower every day. And I wash my hair every day. And I'm not doing romantic vampire love scenes while smelling like six-week old sweat and hair grease.
All that being said, I still find Robert Pattinson to be a fine looking young man. I'm just glad articles about him don't include scratch n'sniff.
Posted by Kelley at 6:39 AM
Sunday, March 22, 2009
This past Tuesday was St. Patrick's Day, and I somehow failed to acknowledge it here on my blog. Are any of us really surprised? No, we're not.
The weather was beautiful here for the parade. It was sunny and warm, and a hint of spring was in the air. We got down to the parade route early and managed to find a parking space that wasn't six miles away. In fact, we were only about two blocks from the parade route. We were right at the start of the parade, too.
Parades are some fine people watching, that's for sure. I saw crimes against fashion that I hope to never see again. What the hell is up with wearing short shorts over white leggings? Seriously? Women do this to themselves? Any O'Who, here are some of my favorite pictures from the parade-
Chickenhead was in the spirit of things-
So was the Husband-
(please ignore the rude hand gesture. He was mad because I said he looked like an Irish Mr. T)
A couple of the floats-
And of course, what is St. Patrick's Day without a few cross-dressers?
The one in the white boots did a good job of putting his shaleleigh away if you know what I mean, because that dress was rather tight.
So, there you have it. The parade was a huge hit with Chickenhead, and he is already planning on going back next year.
Saturday, March 21, 2009
First, I'm going to whine about my neck- Oh! GOD THE PAIN!!! OWWWWWWWW! OK, that's enough of that. I don't know what I've done to my neck, but the left side is giving me terrible fits today. I've got a lidocane patch on, so we'll see if that helps. If not, I may have to make a trip to the chiro.
For some reason last week, I wasn't in my right mind, and volunteered to make some cards for the upcoming silent auction at the school. I tried to work on them last weekend when all my girlie friends came over to scrap, but I had ADD that day, and couldn't decide what to do. It was more fun to sit and laugh and eat with those silly girls! So, this past Wednesday, I re-organized all my supplies and decided to sit down and figure out what the hell I was going to do.
Here's the first card I came up with. I saw the design in a card making magazine. It was fun doing it, but I don't think I'll make any more. I'm not a doodler, I've learned.
The rest of what I did today was all made with Anna Griffin papers and Tim Holtz stamps. I love the look of the distressed designs with the delicate floral paper. This is more 'me'.
So, I guess if I'm not in traction tomorrow, I'll make some more. Now, if I can just stop moving around like that girl with the neck brace in 'Sixteen Candles'. Remember her? The one at the water fountain? Yeah, that's me!
Friday, March 20, 2009
Earlier this afternoon, I read about CDW's adventures in Texas with her husband and their encounter with a GPS. This moring, coincidentally, I was reading The Women's Colony , where an attempt was made to explain why men can't find things.
Being the proud owner of a finely tuned UTD (Uterine Tracking Device), I have long been driven to exasperation by the fact that the Husband, and now Chickenhead, can't find something even if it's staring them in the face. The Husband will paw through drawers, dig through the garage, search in long-forgotten cabinets for some little something that he just KNOWS was just here, dammit, and if he can't find it, then obviously, someone has taken it and moved it. And by God, if he can't find it, blah, blah, blah. Right about then, I reach down in front of him and produce the item he's been searching for.
Considering that the Husband is doing good to even make it out of the house, I was at first grateful that he bought a GPS device. 'This will be awesome', I thought. I was excited at the thought that we would be able to get somewhere without it being up to me to mapquest the address, print it off and all that.
We call our GPS 'Lolo'. I'm not sure why. Lolo is an annoying, smug little thing, and she doesn't hesitate to tell you what she thinks of you. I can hear the disdain in her voice whenever she says 're-cal-cu-lating'. Lolo says that a lot, because the Husband never takes her advice. No, he goes his own way, because 'Lolo doesn't know the shortcuts'. How does he know shortcuts to a place he's never been before? How does he know Lolo is going the 'wrong' way? And why did the Husband program directions for all the places he already knows how to get to? So now when we go to visit his mother, Lolo is recalculating her way down the highway, because the Husband doesn't have time to go by her directions. I'm not sure I even know why we got Lolo.
Lolo would be a greater help, I think, if she were able to remind someone (the Husband, for example) of all the crap he needs to take with him before he leaves the driveway. Lolo could list off his sunglasses, phone, cigarettes and whatever crap he feels the need to cart along with him. Why can't I program Lolo to show him where in the house the dirty dishes go ('turn right in three feet, and go directly to the kitchen), or where his 'lost' things are? Lolo can blabber at him all she wants, but I think I need to figure out how to get her to help me out a little, too!
Friday, March 13, 2009
*all names have been changed to protect the parties involved*
Have you ever had a date that was so bad that it became the benchmark against which all other dates you went on were measured against? A date so awful that you still cringe when you think about it some twenty years later? Well I did, and I'm going to tell you about it.
OK, so there was this guy, let's call him 'Fred'. Fred liked me through high school, and I flirted with him and basically walked all over him because he let me, but I never really went out with him. I was bitchy that way. No really, I think that deep down I knew that I couldn't think of him as more than a friend, and I would occasionally try to convince myself that I did like him because he liked me. Hello, here was a guy that liked me. But no, I always went for the bad boys, I had horrendous taste in men. Oh, where was I..
Fred had gone in to the service and I was here at home doing my thing. My thing at the time was working at the Spencer Gifts store at the mall and running around with my friends. Fred would write to me occasionally and sometimes I would write back. When his two years in the Army were up, Fred came home and asked me out on a date. I reluctantly said yes. Reluctant, becuase I still knew that deep down I only thought of Fred as a friend, and no matter how delusional I tried to make myself, I would never think of Fred as a boyfriend. Reluctant, because in the pit of my stomach, I knew this date was going to blow.
Still, I duitufully bought a new date outfit at the Merry Go Round store at the mall, and got ready. I teased and fluffed and sprayed my hair to heights never before seen, put on my big, dangly earrings, my white lace socks and my black patent leather flats (did I mention it was 1987?). Fred picked me up, looking well groomed and a bit like an eager puppy. I was immediately in a bad mood, but I just pretended it was nerves. How dare he be eager, I thought. He better not think anything's happening on this date!
Fred and I drove off, our destination a popular local Japanese eatery; one of those places where they cook in front of you and throw shrimp at you for you to catch it in your mouth. We'll call the place 'So-so'. As Fred and I drove to So-sos, we made small talk, but I was slowly slipping in to full bitch mode. This date was even suckier than I expected. I suggested turning on the radio or maybe listening to a cassette tape (don't be jealous!). He said, 'let's listen to one of my favorites'. I smiled, knowing that I would soon be hearing Iron Maiden or Ozzy or any other heavy metal band Fred was into. Wrong. Somewhere along the way, my friend Fred had developed a taste for Arlo Guthrie, and when he hit the play button, the song 'Alice's Restaurant' started.
Since I had never developed a taste for Arlo Gutherie, I felt I was slowly slipping in to hell. Here I was, stuck in a car with a boy that I would never like even half as much as he liked me then. We were listening to a crap song. And suddenly, Fred realized we were lost. Fred laughed nervously when he told me that he didn't exactly know where So-sos was. Great. Neither did I.
Fred continued to drive around (gee, how about stopping and asking for directions, Fred?), desperately searching for So-sos. It began to get darker outside and so did my mood. My scalp began to sweat under the layers of Aquanet. After several, desperate wrong turns that resulted in us stopping on a dead-end street, I turned to Fred and said, 'why don't we just go to Pizza Hut?'.
With that, Fred turned around and off to Pizza Hut we went. Being the naive girl that I was at the time, I didn't realize that when guys are in the Army and it's chow time, they have to eat fast. Really fast. When our pizza arrived at our table, Fred began to eat with a speed and ferocity that left my jaw hanging on the table. I concentrated on avoiding eye contact and hoping that the evening would end soon.
The waitress was nice enough to leave Fred her phone # on the back of our reciept, so hopefully Fred called her when our date was over. After pizza, we stopped by a friend's house for a quick hello, and then Fred took me home. Fred kissed me sloppily and when I pulled away while simultaneously grabbing the door handle, he asked me if the evening was really all that bad.
Looking back, I can say without a doubt, yes Fred, it was that bad. I still cringe at the memory of that night, not only because of the sheer awfulness of the date, but also for my bitchtacular additude. I've been on the receiving end of that, and it's not fun. I think a lot of the reason I think of this as my worst date ever was because I went in to it expecting the worst. And the worst is what I got! Fred didn't deserve that. Sorry, Fred.
Fred is now happily married, and hopefully he and his wife have had many a pleasant meal at Sosos. I've been there with my husband, and I have to admit, the food is pretty good. I still don't care for Arlo Gutherie, though.
Friday, March 6, 2009
I first read this on Gladys' blog, and then she tagged CDW, who didn't actually tag me, but kind of did an open invite to this craziness. So, if you like books and the people who write them, why not list your favorite authors, or the authors who have inspired you to write. All 25 or 2 or however many there are.
OK, here are mine, in no particular order, because I know you don't expect anything orderly from me-
1. Beverly Cleary- 'Socks'. 'Ramona'. 'Strider'. Need I say more? Some of the best books of my childhood.
2. Betty MacDonald- The author of the 'Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle' books. I've read some of the stories to Chickenhead and they are still prone to set off fits of giggles over Mrs. PW's wacky remedies. Betty MacDonald also wrote 'The Egg And I' which introduced the world to Ma and Pa Kettle.
3. Judy Blume- In 5th grade through 7th, the Judy Blume books were THE books to get ahold of from the library. Because you know, she talked about *sex*. Looking back, it wasn't so much that she talked about sex or getting your period or masturbation, but she wrote honestly about how girls thought about these subjects. She was very in tune to the tween mind.
4. Stephen King- I haven't read much Stephen King lately, it seems as though most of his recent books are the same story, just set in a different part of Maine. But books like 'Cujo', 'Carrie', 'The Shining' and 'It' are some of the best horror written.
5. Jack Kerouac- If you've never read it, read 'On The Road'. You'll be pulled along on a free-wheeling adventure across the US.
6. Mary Kay Andrews- 'Savannah Blues', 'Little Bitty Lies' and 'Hissy Fit' are funny and romantic and the perfect books for reading on the porch on a summer afternoon. Not that I get to do much lying around on my porch. Ever.
7. Douglas Coupland- Coined the term 'Generation X'. My favorite Coupland books are 'All Families Are Psychotic' (boy ain't that the truth) and 'JPod'.
8. Jennifer Weiner- 'In Her Shoes' is my favorite, but all of her books are so well written, funny, honest and touching.
9. Danielle Steele- sometimes my brain needs crap. Danielle Steele writes pretty good crap.
10. Stephenie Meyer- I can't help it, I love the 'Twilight' books. I may not be part of the intended demographic, but I know a good love story when I read one.
11. Martin Clark- 'The Many Aspects of Mobile Home Living' and 'Plain Heathen Mischief' are two of the funniest books I have ever read. Ever.
12. Wally Lamb- If I could marry all of Wally Lamb's books, I would. I love them that much. I'm anxious to read his newest, 'The Hour I First Believed'. I don't know how he could top 'She's Come Undone' or 'I Know This Much is True', but I bet he will.
13. V.C. Andrews- Every V.C. Andrews series had some creepy, semi-incestuous relationship going on between a brother and sister, who at some point during the book did not know that they were brother and sister, and may or may not have acted out on some serious sexual tension between them. Makes me wonder what kind of live V.C. Andrews lived.
14. William Shakespeare- You didn't think I was going to leave out old Bill, did you? I'll be honest, I'm not a big fan of all the plays. But the sonnets. Wowsers. Now there's some words for ya. Willie was crazy in love with someone, that's for sure.
15. C.S. Lewis- Chickenhead and I are just starting on the 'Chronicles of Narnia' books; we've just begun reading 'The Magician's Nephew'. I love that these stories seem as magical as when I read them when I was young.
16. Frances Hodgson Burnett- I remember my grandma had a copy of 'The Secret Garden' in her bookcase, and every summer when I stayed with her, I would read it. It's a lovely story.
17. Anne Rice- She's still my go-to girl for stories about witches and vampires. She's even able to make Satan seem kind of sexy.
You know, this seems to be all I can think of for now. I'm sure there are many more that I'm forgetting, and no doubt I'll read someone else's list and be reminded of them. Let me know some of your favorite authors, I'd love to hear about them!
I'll just say it- I absolutely adore this man. I don't know if it's the Scottish accent, I don't know if it's the lines in his face that crinkle so sweetly when he smiles or when he calls someone a stupid donkey. Whatever it is, this man has it, and I want me some-
While I watch 'The F-Word' and 'Hell's Kitchen' and 'Kitchen Nightmares' more than I should, it's not just to watch him rip in to some well-deserving halfwit(although that's fun). It's the moments when he's not in the kitchen when he's relating to someone one on one that his personality shines. On the 'F-Word', when he took his pigs, Trinny and Susannah (named after the UK hosts of What Not To Wear) to the slaughterhouse, and he teared up, my heart just broke along with him. I didn't even eat bacon that day! And when he's with his kids, he's adorable, and a good daddy gets me every time.
So come on over, Gordon! You can cook dinner for me anytime! Just don't call me a stupid donkey, ok? I'm a delicate flower and I don't think my psyche could handle it.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
So lately I've been thinking about the most dreaded of all female subjects: the 'M' word. Yep, menopause. I don't even like to type it. Don't even like to read it or think about it. But, it will soon be knocking on my door.
I find myself conflicted on the entire concept. On the one hand, no more monthly visitor, yay! That will be awesome. Because I am just OVER it. But...there seems to be a lot I have to put up with in trade for that. Like not knowing exactly when the last visit will be. I'm a control freak, how am I supposed to live like this?
There's also the physical and psychological issues; the hot flashes, the moodiness, the chin hairs. Oy vey, the chin hairs. And since we're already sweaty and hairy, why not add a few more pounds in the areas that we really need them; our hips, thighs and abdomen. Added to this is, despite our advances in the fields of medicine, no real answers as to what will quell our symptoms. What works for one woman won't work for every other woman. Why can't they make a pill or a shot or something that will just shut the whole operation down in say, two months or so? Honestly, I don't know if I am mentally/emotionally equipped to deal with however many years of hormonal hell I have ahead of me.
I have thought about talking to the good doctor about laser ablation, where they go in and burn off the uterine lining, thus ending monthly visits. If all it takes is the doctor playing Star Wars in my hoo-ha to stop this, I'm all for it.
Speaking to the difficulties of being a woman, there's one woman in the public eye who seems to always attract criticism. I don't know if it's because she married an alien gnome or what, but Homegirl is looking rough. Check out this photo of Katie Holmes I saw on D-Listed today-
Now I know that this look is for a movie role, but damn, girl. Those beads make it look like she has an ear of Indian corn attached to her head. Her face looks gaunt, and that's not just for this movie, that's been going on for some time. I don't know what's up with Katie; like anyone else, all I can do is speculate. But I can't think that raising a child so publicly, with everyone questioning your sanity, your marriage, your religion and your parenting skills makes it easy on a girl. I think she could do herself a world of good by taking those beads out of her hair, for starters, and maybe taking a little solo holiday. Go on, Katie. I'm rootin' for ya!
I'm feeling better enough to drag my sorry butt to work today, so I guess I'm done for now with lolling about in an over-the-counter drug induced fog. I think I've coughed up a lung in the past two days, but I'll carry on.
I've got the guilts, because I didn't entirely stay home and sleep all day yesterday. The Husband came in to the bedroom to check on me and told me he was headed off to an estate sale. 'Gee, it's really too bad you can't go', he said, 'it's in Mission Hills.' Well Homeboy didn't say it's in Mission Hills, which is sort of the Kansas version of Beverly Hills. And sorry to be so blunt, but when someone in Mission Hills kicks it, there's bound to be some good stuff at the estate sale.
So, I did my best sad face (not hard since I was already looking like hell), and the Husband kindly offered to wait for me to shower and get ready so I could go, too. I got it together in about 20 minutes and we were off!
The home was lovely, like something you would see in a John Hughes movie, circa 1985. They could have filmed 'Sixteen Candles' there. There wasn't too much I was interested in, though. I went to the kitchen first, but there weren't any good vintage cookbooks. Maybe they dined out a lot. We poked around a bit more, and I did get a U.K. version of Monopoly from the 1960's, and that was about it. The Husband didn't really have anything to show for his efforts, either. We dined in high style at Chic-Fil-A (I love that place!) and headed home.
Of course, the entire trip was the perfect opportunity for the Husband to use his newly acquired GPS thingie. Why, if he knew in 'real life' where the house was, did he have to use that thing and then argue with it all the way there because it was giving him the 'wrong' directions? I guess it's a guy thing, because I certainly don't understand it at all.
Posted by Kelley at 3:07 AM
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
This week I have been struck down by the plague. OK, maybe not the actual Plague, but for sure the Creeping Crud. You know the one; the fever, the cough, the drowning in phlegm (sorry for typing that word). So, I'm staying home because the thought of having a coughing fit on the bus, getting all red in the face and gagging violently, just does me in. Having to be at the office, putting up with the petty drama of my co-workers just isn't in the cards for me. Not today.
So what do I do when I stay home sick? Well, yesterday I slept indulgently off and on all day. When I was awake, I watched 'A Haunting' on the Discovery Channel, read part of 'Eclipse' again and drank unlimited cups of tea.
I plan more of the same for today. I'm going to nap, maybe see what's on Turner Classic Movies, maybe do a load of laundry. I don't want to do too much, after all, I am sick!
Sunday, March 1, 2009
I've been struggling for most of the day to write a post for this here blog. Thinking about my struggles with my mom and my best friend's struggles with her daughter got me to thinking about the relationship between mothers and daughters. It got me to wondering if we really do end up becoming our parents, and if we do, I am about to freak the hell out.
A lot of what I feel towards my mom right now is pure guilt. Guilt because there are times when I can't be in the same room as her and I feel horrible for feeling that way. Guilty because I can't stop whatever it is that's happening to her, even though I know that no one expects me to do that. Guilty because I have friends who don't have their moms in their lives, and here I am kvetching about my mom making me nuts.
Is it always this hard for mothers and daughters to get along? Does all this estrogen get in the way of peaceful co-habitation? All these years when I vowed to be 'nothing like that woman', was I on my way to becoming her in some way?
I'll be honest, there are times when I find myself thinking something or saying something and immediately it pops in to my mind- Oh. My. God. I sound exactly like her. Then I wonder if I've been sounding like her for a while and has anyone else noticed?
My mother and I had a forced closeness when I was growing up, because she was a single parent. She was very dependent on my being there all the time, and I'm very conscious of never doing that to Chickenhead. I want him to be independent, self assured and self-reliant. But is our relationship just naturally different, because he's a boy, and because he has a dad, too?