The random thoughts that flutter through my mind...
In the year 2006 I resolve to: Start spamming people I do not like. Get your resolution here. |
howard on doing my part for th...
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My birthday: April 17
My anniversary: April 25
YIM: downbutterflylane
If I had a billion dollars, I'd give a million to each of my friends and family. I'd have an indoor gym and pool built at my college. I'd pay for teachers aides at my daughter's school. I'd buy every book Nora Roberts ever wrote, and I'd fly to her next book signing so I could tell her thank you for saving my sanity by giving me an escape from reality for a few hours at a time.
.
1,000 Shades of Fool
American Girl
Buddhists Do Scratch Their Heads Too
DJGroovySlug
FlyLady.net
He Wrote, She Wrote
I choose not to believe
I Was Just Thinking...
Jill Shalvis
Long and Writing Road
Miss Snark
Passionate Chaos
Pub Rants
Questions Asked, Questions Answered
Running With Quills
Still I Rise
Sublime Vacuity
The Steal-Me Book
Turn the Page
Woodland Rambles
today
April 2008
May 2007
March 2007
February 2007
January 2007
December 2006
November 2006
October 2006
September 2006
August 2006
July 2006
June 2006
May 2006
April 2006
March 2006
February 2006
January 2006
December 2005
November 2005
October 2005
September 2005
August 2005
July 2005
June 2005
May 2005
April 2005
March 2005
February 2005
January 2005
December 2004
November 2004
October 2004
September 2004
August 2004
July 2004
June 2004
May 2004
Taken from the ALA website
Books I have read are italicized.
She spent the first day packing her belongings into boxes, crates and suitcases.
On the second day, she had the movers come and collect her things.
On the third day, she sat down for the last time at their beautiful dining room table by candlelight, put on some soft background music, and feasted on a pound of shrimp, a jar of caviar, and a bottle of Chardonnay.
When she had finished, she went into each and every room and deposited a few half-eaten shrimp shells dipped in caviar, into the hollow of the curtain rods. She then cleaned up the kitchen and left.
When the husband returned with his new girlfriend, all was bliss for the first few days. Then slowly, the house began to smell. They tried everything, cleaning, mopping, and airing the place out. Vents were checked for dead rodents, and carpets were steam cleaned. Air fresheners were hung everywhere. Exterminators were brought in to set off gas canisters, during which they had to move out for a few days, and in the end they even paid to replace the expensive wool carpeting. Nothing worked. People stopped coming over to visit. Repairmen refused to work in the house. The maid quit. Finally, they could not take the stench any longer and decided to move.
A month later, even though they had cut their price in half, they could not find a buyer for their stinky house. Word got out, and eventually, even the local realtors refused to return their calls.
Finally, they had to borrow a huge sum of money from the bank to purchase a new place.
The ex-wife called her ex-husband, and asked how things were going. He told her the saga of the rotting house. She listened politely, and said that she missed her old home terribly, and would be willing to reduce her divorce settlement in exchange for getting the house back.
Knowing his ex-wife had no idea how bad the smell was, he agreed on a price that was about 1/10th of what the house had been worth, but only if she were to sign the papers that very day. She agreed, and within the hour his lawyers delivered the paperwork.
A week later the man and his girlfriend stood smiling as they watched the moving company pack everything to take to their new home, including the curtain rods.
We rented a minivan and drove up to visit Oshu'sbrother and his family on Sunday and Monday. They have this huge, gorgeous house. We ate every little bit all weekend- I may not eat again for a week. Their youngest is 12- she played with George and Ethel almost the whole time we were there. The older two are 14 and 15- they took Ethel to the pool on Sunday, so they won her love forever. It was nice because I got to relax and enjoy the adults instead of constantly chasing the kids.
When Oshu returned the van last night, he forgot to take the carseats out... so I can't leave the house until my Mom comes and sits with the kids while I run over to the rental place and fetch them. No idea where he is- he worked until probably midnight last night, came home, switched vehicles and left again to who-knows-where (I certainly don't know) but he's scheduled to be at work at 11, so I will call then and see if he's there- if he isn't I guess he's in the hospital or jail. He doesn't have his license on him, cause I took it when I rented the van and forgot to give it back- and he forgot to pick it up when he came home to trade cars.
Why do I put up with him leaving and not even leaving a note? Your guess is as good as mine. I guess I have issues.
SOME people need to make sure they hang their phone up all the way, or SOME people's mother's might call other people and ask them to drive over to their house and check on SOME people... and said other people might call the hospital, and stop by the bar where SOME people go after work on Thursdays and ask the bartender to tell SOME people to call their mother because she's freaked out. (Is it a bad thing that the bartender knows who SOME people is?)
Apparently SOME people's mother spazzed because she read her caller id wrong and thought that SOME people had called from home, when SOME people was at work, happily oblivious to all the drama floating around. When SOME people's mother called back and got a busy signal, she assumed there was something horrifically wrong.
My little girl is seven today. It's hard to believe it's been that long since she was born. She's growing up so fast... she's spent the last three months worried about whether she would pass first grade, so the final report-card (with straight A's) and a little number two in the 'promoted to' box made her happy. (Don't ask me why she was worried- the kid reads on a fifth grade level and has an intuitive grasp of math that astounds me- but her handwriting is lousy. Maybe she'll be a doctor when she grows up.)
Granny is bringing her home today at lunchtime, and she, George, Oshu and Granny are going out for lunch. Then tonight when I get home from work and calculus Oshu and I are taking her and George out for dinner.
Well, I guess I've sat around long enough for now- surely I can find something work-related to do. (Preferably something that also involves sitting around, as opposed to shelving books or running around the building.) Oh, I just remembered, I need to update my database with several new books. Yay, I can sit around more!
I've been told that my blog takes forever to load, so I'm going to streamline it a bit. Calculus went pretty well, I forgot how to get the formula for an exponential function that passes through two points, but I managed to get the answer by trial and error anyway- so I oughta get at least partial points for getting the answer right. I feel fairly confident that I did well on everything else. We'll see when he returns the tests (hopefully tomorrow).
I've posted twice this evening, and motime ate it.
Update: On second thought, it didn't eat it... but it only shows up when I preview the page from inside my edit page. If I try to actually load the blog, I see my post from May 11. Weird.
The kids liked Sound of Music. Ethel started crying when all the kids sang 'The Hills Are Alive'. She said the song made her eyes get all teary. The kid isn't even seven yet. Does that mean she has a sensitive soul? Or just that she's an unusual first grader? Monday is her last day of school, and my first calculus test. Think smart thoughts at me, please. Next week should be lots of fun. Ethel has school Monday, then Monday night I'm taking her to visit her Granny (mil) and she's staying Monday and Tuesday night. She'll come home around noon on Wednesday (her birthday) and spend the day with her dad while I work and have class. We'll probably go out for dinner or something for her birthday, and have her party the next weekend whdn everyone is available. She will spend Thursday with her dad and Friday with my youngest (pregnant) sister. Fortunately for everyone involved, the Boys and Girls club will reopen the next week and she will go back to her routine, but with a twist- she gets to spend all day there, and she gets to swim every day instead of only three days a week. This is good. She loves going there- so much so that she was sad when I told her they would be closed all week.
Okay, it's 1:31 am, I have all sorts of stuff to do tomorrow- including laundry so we will have clean clothes to wear next week, flowers to plant, and a Brownie outing to Club Libby Lu (some spiffy club for ilttle girls). Nite.
We had White Castle for dinner tonight. Ethel informed me she was eating a Wiccan sandwich. What, you may ask, is a Wiccan sandwich, and why was my daughter eating one? I wondered that myself. Sounds like a cannibal's lunch. "So, Bob, what did you bring today?" "Oh, the meat market had a special this week- half price on alternative religion steaks."
A Wiccan sandwich, she informed me, far from being composed of a practitioner of Wicca, is a White Castle with a chicken ring on it.
George's favorite song these days is Old MacDonald. Unfortunately for me, his version goes something like this. "Old Mac Donald had a farm, E-I-E-I-Squid poop."
It's official. My kids are weird.
Well, we're watching The Sound of Music... and so far they are singularly unimpressed. They want to know when they're gonna sing Raindrops on Roses, which is what they call My Favorite Things. Oh well, maybe they'll get into it later.
Monday is Ethel's last day of school- and my first calculus test. Think brainy thoughts at me, please.
Well, in the words of Tino from The Weekenders- "Later days!"
Got a phone call today that- at the same time- filled me with glee and sent me into a minor panic attack. My brother-in-law called. From two time zones and several states away. They are moving back home this summer. We have known this for a while now. I thought it was the end of June, beginning of July. That was a time frame I could work with, as far as getting the apartment prettied up and organized and all. I've been working on it. (Spent all day yesterday outside planting lots of flowers and getting sunburnt. Our patio looks too cool.) Anyway, I'm really glad they are moving back- they have lived a looong way from here the entire time I've been a part of the family... so we've mostly only talked over the phone and stuff, and the few times they have come home for visits. They are both really awesome people, there's no doubt about that- and their kids are close in age to ours- their younger son is only two weeks older than George- and I'm glad they will be closer. The panic part? They're going to be here in something like 3 weeks if I understood correctly. That just doesn't seem like enough time for me to get the house finished the way I want it.
I suppose the problem is that his whole family makes me feel sort of inferior. Yeah, it's probably all just me... but still. It's how I feel. Oshu has 3 older brothers. Two of the three are very successful, make lots of money... all that jazz. I keep trying to tell myself that they didn't always have money- they started off the same way we did... but still. I also try to remind myself that they have over a decade on us, so they've been at this longer... and we sort of got a late start because we fucked around for the first several years we were married... but still. One is some kind of computer whiz for a big-deal company, has a house worth about half a million, you know... the other (the one who is moving back) spent a whole lotta years in the military and got promoted way up... plus his wife has a great job... they owned a nice house (well, until yesterday, when they sold it so they could move back home) and here we are, living in a lame-ass HUD apartment complex, the kids are on Medicaid because neither of us have a job with insurance, such a bad credit rating that we can't even buy a decent car (which means that we drive pieces of crap), no savings, and I have at least two full years of school before I graduate with a bachelors that I don't even want to use, and three or three and a half years before I'll be able to get the masters degree I want so I can do what I want with my life.
Yeah, I know, I'm throwing myself a major pity party. It just sucks to go to family get-togethers and my kids are wearing Walmart while theirs are running around in Old Navy, Gap and better. Not that I really think any of them care, but it bugs the hell out of me. Don't get me wrong, none of them has ever, by so much as a look, even hinted that I'm not as good as they are... but I don't do real well with people anyway. I don't handle people very well in a social setting. Now, give me someone who has a question that I can help answer, and I'm fine. But socially? Forget it. I say stupid stuff, I don't get the 'in' jokes, nobody gets my jokes... I wind up feeling like a complete idiot. And I hate that.
Not to mention that I'm afraid Oshu will be pissy because I still haven't lost weight. He's sort of majorly an asshole when it comes to my weight. I am 5'5. I weigh about 165. I wear a 12 or a 14. Having said that- only one of my sister-in-laws is smaller than I am. That doesn't matter. He doesn't like fat women. He made another comment last night about how I needed to ride my bike more. I wanted to ask when, exactly, I was supposed to be riding it, since he's gone during all the daylight hours five days a week. Can't get a whole lot of exercise riding a bike behind the kids- I can keep up with them at a walk. They just don't ride very fast yet. can't leave the kids home alone to go riding, and I'm just not willing to get up an hour earlier so I can exercise, when I don't sleep well as it is when he's working at night and I need all I can get. He gripes about the pop I drink. It's gotten to the point that I hide my soda so I won't have to listen to him talk about how it's not good for me. Duh, I'm not stupid. I know it's not good for me. I don't care. If he wasn't constantly bitching about my weight I'd probably feel a lot better about it myself. He wears a 34 waist pant. If I wear men's pants- so do I.
Okay, enough moaning. If anyone actually read all the way through that, I'm sorry. I think I have PMS, and my husband called earlier to ask if he could spend the night with a friend so he didn't have to drive 45 minutes home tonight just to turn around and go back tomorrow. I told him it was fine. I think I lied. Actually, I guess I'm just mad that he took the job in the first place, and that he sees his buddies all the time, and it seems to take an act of Congress for me to go out with my friends once in a while without the kids. I wanted to go with my little sister today- she had an appointment with a pediatric cardiologist to check out the baby's heart (everything seems fine, we do a follow-up next month to be sure) and I needed him to take the kids to school and daycare. He did offer to, but he made sure to preface it with a comment about having to work ten hours today and getting up two hours early would make him really tired- so of course I couldn't ask him to do it without feeling like a complete asshole. Either I'm suspicious and critical, or he is very manipulative sometimes. (Course, I am too... but that's another story for another day.) So I told him to forget it... and they ended up running late so I had time to get the kids where they needed to be and I got to go along after all. I'm also mad that he spends the night down there... but I can't exactly complain, since I told him it would be okay for him to stay down there on Friday nights after work. My problem is that I just give in and say whatever I think he wants to hear instead of talking about how I really feel. I guess it's because it doesn't feel like talking does any good anyway. I told him I didn't want him to take this job... and I told him why. He proceeded to quit his other job (by telling off the supervisor) and told me that the stuff I was worried about wouldn't be a problem. Yeah, it really felt like he cared what I thought. I came home from school that day to a done deal. It was either he go back to delivering pizza like he wanted or he'd be unemployed. Some choice, huh. One of my concerns was that he would spend a lot of his time down there after work. He said he wouldn't stay down there more than an hour or so. Yeah... sure. He stays whenever he wants... and it seems to be getting more frequent every week. Oh, yeah, I remember, he doesn't like to be at home because the house is a mess... that's right, it's my fault he isn't here because I'm a lousy housekeeper.
Okay, shutting up now, I'm just becoming a bitch. I think I'll go clean the kitchen and then maybe I'll be exhausted enough to sleep.
Absolutely brilliant.
One more final to take and I'm done. Can't type well today. Unfortunate accident with my pinky involving wet laundry, a too-long fingernail, and blood. Half my nail ripped off. Ouch.
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