A couple of days ago, I heard from an old friend who was concerned about me given the tenor of my last post to this blog. I thought "now it wasn't THAT bad was it?" and went back to take a little peek at what I said since my brain resembles a fairly small kitchen collander these days and retains nothing but the biggest chunks that won't slide through the holes.
I just got done reading and had to sit and think for a while. I remember when I wrote that. I remember struggling to get the words out because that stuff was hard to write. And then I stopped again and compared where I was then to where I am now and thought "hot damn what a difference a few months make!"
So let's put this puppy back on track, the track upon which I belong, get into the frame of mind that suits me best, and take a look around the present.
"When God takes something from your grasp, He's not punishing you, but merely opening your hands to receive something better." My mommy sent me that. She's a smart lady.
When God DOES answer a prayer, he simply does not dick around. When He finally decides to act, He does so with a bang like nothing you've ever seen. When He tosses you a gift, you'd better have both hands out and be ready to hang on for dear life cause it's gonna be a doozy. And it's gonna ROCK.
You can use a dinner knife as a screwdriver if you try hard enough.
There really is no law that says a female operating a television remote control is punishable by death.
And when a female operates a television remote control, the television will magically stay on one channel for the entire duration of a movie.
Curling up on the sofa and reading a fantastic book for as long as you want to doesn't make you a lazy bad person. It can, however, give you one crazyass cramp in your neck and make you realize that blinking is good.
It's really cool setting your own schedule, your own priorities, and making your own rules.
Having a pack of your friends over to your house for a girl bonding weekend is something I should have done YEARS ago, damn the fall-out.
My daughter is the most amazing person I've ever known, bar none. That kid makes me laugh every single day, teaches me something at least every other day, and has the kind of spirit, strength and integrity that could change the world if more people were like her. And she plays a mean Guitar Hero.
They say great things come in small packages, but I'm here to tell that you that sometimes incredible things come in really big forms too; things like humor, wit, kindness, generosity, brilliance, compassion, love and the best smile in the world, all in quantities so rich that they nearly don't quite fit into a six foot seven package. Like I said. God doesn't mess around.
Hindsight really is 20 / 20. Thank God for that.
I spend my time nowadays smiling, being thankful, looking ahead without cringing, looking back less and less, laughing, and knowing that while I'm thankful to be moving onto a new chapter of my life, it was the old chapter that made me who I am, shaped who I have become, gave me the best gift of my life in the form of a beautiful daughter, and will always be something that while I will never miss it, will always treasure. It's a part of my life. It always will be.
The future is bright because of all I have been through, all I have experienced and all that I have become as a result.
Thank you to my daughter for your never ending love and support. You are truly a one in a million special child.
Thank you to my sis for her scathing and hysterical commentary, complete lack of judgment, and open ear.
Thank you to my friends who never once left me alone, let me down, let me wallow, and who were there night and day, every night and day. The daily e-mails. The weekly cards. The constant love. You people are the best.
Thank you to my Mom. What in the world would I do without you?
Thank you to the six foot seven gift. There simply are no words.
So bring on the chocolate.
Friday, November 05, 2010
Thursday, August 05, 2010
Stepping Outside my Comfort Zone
I know that when I originally crafted this blog, it was ostensibly for the purpose of posting the silly and zany events of my life. While it probably will return to that in the future, I find that my life has taken a dramatic but not completely unanticipated turn. On some level, I understood that it was inevitable. But in my heart, I refused to accept that continued self-sacrifice and an iron will couldn't derail the train that has threatened to run me down for a very very long time.
The train caught me a few months back. The train ran me down. But that train didn't destroy me. It's going to take more than that because what I learned is that no matter how low you sink, no matter hard you're hit, no matter how outrageously you are betrayed, lied to and hurt, if you stop long enough to search deep within your soul, if you allow the people who love you to take your hand and help you in that search, you will find a tiny little glimmer of the light that once shone so brightly. I found that light. It was still there and it was just waiting for me to come and breathe gently breathe life back into it.
It's a slow, tedious and sometimes incredibly painful process. It requires hard work to shed the coping skills developed over the course of years that have taken up the space where your life should have been. It is hard and it hurts but the rewards are steady and never ending. Along the way, you learn:
You learn that not everyone deserves your love and devotion and that it's OK to figure that out long after everyone else has already done so.
You learn that even after you have learned the previous lesson, it's OK to have loved them and there is never any shame in having given your love, loyalty, devotion and care.
You learn that your capacity for forgiveness can sometimes be your greatest downfall - that every transgression can be forgiven, but not every transgression deserves a second or third chance. As the old song goes, "ya gotta know when to fold 'em".
You learn that the inability of another to accept you as you are is not a good enough reason to alter your very being. You learn that the inability of another to accept you as you are is good enough reason to instead surround yourself with people who can and do so freely.
It's OK to be smart.
You learn that if it looks like a lie and it smells like a lie, then it's a lie. Whether you like it or not.
You learn that life goes on. Maybe not in the fashion you anticipated and probably not along the path you had charted out ahead of time, but it goes on.
You learn that love can be blind but hindsight is 20/20.
You learn that although you were never really much of a Garth Brooks fan, you can still thank God for unanswered prayers, and that while John Lennon really did evolve from a really cute little fella to someone who looked like he had only a nodding acquaintence with a bar of soap there at the end, he had it right when he said "life is what happens while you're busy making other plans."
You learn you can survive that which you didn't think was survivable. You learn you can move forward when you didn't think you had to strength to even stand. You learn that you can do it scared. You learn that you don't leave behind the love that another squandered but instead, you take it with you for more sensible distribution in the future.
You learn. You simply keep learning. You keep loving. You never quit. Ever. Because you know that if you quit, everything you love loses and the assholes win.
Never. Ever. Quit. Just know when to stop playing the same old, endless and unwinable game.
Keep your chin up. Keep your dignity intact. Keep your friends close to your heart. Hold your family dear. Never stop trying. Never stop loving. And never ever stop reminding yourself that you are precious, valuable, worthwhile, and special - even if you've been told you're not.
Let go of regret. Wish people well. Hope for the happiness of others and mean it. Laugh often. Cry less.
Just get on about the business of living the life you were meant to have.
And eat lots of chocolate.
The train caught me a few months back. The train ran me down. But that train didn't destroy me. It's going to take more than that because what I learned is that no matter how low you sink, no matter hard you're hit, no matter how outrageously you are betrayed, lied to and hurt, if you stop long enough to search deep within your soul, if you allow the people who love you to take your hand and help you in that search, you will find a tiny little glimmer of the light that once shone so brightly. I found that light. It was still there and it was just waiting for me to come and breathe gently breathe life back into it.
It's a slow, tedious and sometimes incredibly painful process. It requires hard work to shed the coping skills developed over the course of years that have taken up the space where your life should have been. It is hard and it hurts but the rewards are steady and never ending. Along the way, you learn:
You learn that not everyone deserves your love and devotion and that it's OK to figure that out long after everyone else has already done so.
You learn that even after you have learned the previous lesson, it's OK to have loved them and there is never any shame in having given your love, loyalty, devotion and care.
You learn that your capacity for forgiveness can sometimes be your greatest downfall - that every transgression can be forgiven, but not every transgression deserves a second or third chance. As the old song goes, "ya gotta know when to fold 'em".
You learn that the inability of another to accept you as you are is not a good enough reason to alter your very being. You learn that the inability of another to accept you as you are is good enough reason to instead surround yourself with people who can and do so freely.
It's OK to be smart.
You learn that if it looks like a lie and it smells like a lie, then it's a lie. Whether you like it or not.
You learn that life goes on. Maybe not in the fashion you anticipated and probably not along the path you had charted out ahead of time, but it goes on.
You learn that love can be blind but hindsight is 20/20.
You learn that although you were never really much of a Garth Brooks fan, you can still thank God for unanswered prayers, and that while John Lennon really did evolve from a really cute little fella to someone who looked like he had only a nodding acquaintence with a bar of soap there at the end, he had it right when he said "life is what happens while you're busy making other plans."
You learn you can survive that which you didn't think was survivable. You learn you can move forward when you didn't think you had to strength to even stand. You learn that you can do it scared. You learn that you don't leave behind the love that another squandered but instead, you take it with you for more sensible distribution in the future.
You learn. You simply keep learning. You keep loving. You never quit. Ever. Because you know that if you quit, everything you love loses and the assholes win.
Never. Ever. Quit. Just know when to stop playing the same old, endless and unwinable game.
Keep your chin up. Keep your dignity intact. Keep your friends close to your heart. Hold your family dear. Never stop trying. Never stop loving. And never ever stop reminding yourself that you are precious, valuable, worthwhile, and special - even if you've been told you're not.
Let go of regret. Wish people well. Hope for the happiness of others and mean it. Laugh often. Cry less.
Just get on about the business of living the life you were meant to have.
And eat lots of chocolate.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
If You See a Big Fat Fly
If you should happen to notice a large, hairy, discombobulated fly buzzing around the lamp next to where you're sitting some evening, quietly reading, having a wonderful cup of coffee and minding your own business, do not ignore the fly.
Kill the fly.
Kill the barstid immediately.
Otherwise, you may find yourself, having just returned from wandering to the kitchen and back, taking a big gulp of the fresh coffee sitting at your side, under the lamp, feeling something in your mouth that doesn't belong there, and spewing that gulp of coffee back into the cup. Where you will see the now dead fly floating around in your drink, having just been forcefully ejected from your yap. And you will not be able to shed that gacky feeling for at least 6 hours.
Trust me on this. There isn't enough spitting, hacking, tougue scraping or Listerine in the world to shake that experience.
Kill the fly.
Kill the barstid immediately.
Otherwise, you may find yourself, having just returned from wandering to the kitchen and back, taking a big gulp of the fresh coffee sitting at your side, under the lamp, feeling something in your mouth that doesn't belong there, and spewing that gulp of coffee back into the cup. Where you will see the now dead fly floating around in your drink, having just been forcefully ejected from your yap. And you will not be able to shed that gacky feeling for at least 6 hours.
Trust me on this. There isn't enough spitting, hacking, tougue scraping or Listerine in the world to shake that experience.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Have I Known Peace?
My mom asked me yesterday whether or not I’d given up contributing to this blog. The answer was “I haven’t had anything to say.” The problem with that particular response is that it’s not necessarily true. I haven’t had anything funny to say and for some reason, I was, for the most part, limiting my posts here to the ridiculous, the funny and the outlandish episodes in my life. Since not a lot of ridiculous, outlandish or, God knows, funny things have been happening in my life here of late, I felt I had nothing to say where this blog was concerned.
It occurred to me this morning that this attitude was somewhat narrow minded and stupid. Hardly the first time, won’t be the last. As it turns out, I do have something to say, and those of you who know me well will now be thinking “We knew the peace and quiet simply couldn’t last. Here we go. Somebody either break that woman’s fingers or knock me the hell out right now.”
Someone very dear to me is going through a remarkably difficult time in what appears to me to be the culmination of a lifetime of never considering himself to be either good enough or worthy finally rearing its ugly head and making one hell of a good attempt at ripping him apart from the inside out once and for all. It’s a struggle we all have to eventually tackle, like it or not, and for some of us, the struggle is difficult. For others, that struggle takes on biblical proportions. I’d call this one semi-biblical. He asked me last night “have you ever known peace?” Well, me being me, I had an answer right out of the gate, but he asked me not to give my first thoughts. To stop. To think. To really consider the question. So I did, for all of about 60 seconds, which for me is taking some serious time to think about something before shooting off my mouth. But the question stayed with me, even after my stupid top of the brain answer. It stayed with me through the evening, right through a miserable and painful episode of American Idol, and was still there when I drifted off to sleep. I woke up this morning with an entirely different response.
When asked “have you ever known peace”, I immediately interpreted that question as “have I known peace in my life?” Well, yeah. Now and then. When the stars and planets align and everything goes right for maybe a day or so, I’ve known peace. When I’ve had enough money to pay my bills with something left over, when the scale is cooperating and I’m seeing the number I want to see without placing a hand on the bathroom counter and applying just enough pressure, when the sun is shining, and I have fun stuff to either do or look forward to, I know peace. When everybody I care about is reasonably healthy, I’m pooping on a fairly regular basis, and I’m in the middle of a really good book, yes - I’ve known peace. But upon waking, after giving my other brain, the smart one, time to really mull this over, I came up with not only an entirely different answer, but an entirely different answer to a completely different question. Perspective is truly everything.
Have I known peace? Why yes. Yes, I have. I know peace now. At a time in my life when just about all I hold dear is spinning in circles, when the outcome isn’t clear, and when I have no control over the finale, I know peace. I know that true peace isn’t all that other stuff I said just a paragraph ago. I don’t find true peace in absolute control. True peace is knowing a quiet calm within your own heart and being at rest with who you are, what you are and what that means. While my ego is clearly vying for space with just about every other function necessary for life, like breathing, it’s not enormous enough for me to presume I have the one-size-fits-all answer to this inner peace thing. I don’t know the meaning of life, I don’t know why we’re all here, I don’t know where that second sock goes when only one comes out of the dryer when you know damned well you put two in there, and I don’t know how to show the world how to attain inner peace.
But I know how I found it, how I maintain it and what it means to me. If it helps you, dandy. If not, thanks for reading anyway.
I once said to this same someone that my most urgent need in life wasn’t attention. It wasn’t being center stage, being looked up to, being catered to or being made to feel as though I was sitting up on some marble pedestal in the midst of my adoring public. My most urgent need in life is to find acceptance wherever I may be. Now please don’t misunderstand. I do not expect everybody to like me. I don’t like everybody else so naturally, everybody isn’t going to like me. That bothers me, yeah, but I can’t do much about it nor am I willing to do what is necessary to change their opinion of me, so it’s something I simply have to accept.
Acceptance. Yes. I crave and require acceptance from those around me but even more importantly, I understand that I must first and foremost accept and make peace with all that I am. Before I can ask for acceptance from a single soul, I have to first assess myself, come to terms with my limitations, my successes, my shortcomings, and everything that makes me me, and accept that the sum of all those parts is fine. Really and absolutely enough. On some days, it’s more than enough. One some days, it’s not quite up to par, but in the long run, when all the scores are tallied up and somebody other than me (because math is not my friend) runs the numbers, I average out to not half bad. Yes, I hate my legs. I fixed another part of my body I hated. I wish my feet were a little smaller, I wish I made a better income, I wish I had a little more self-discipline, I wish my memory were sharper, I’d like to not wake every morning with back pain and I’d like a lot of things in my life to be other than what they are.
But I like my eyes, my stomach is still flat at 50, I can pay my bills, I have some really cool stuff and could actually get by very comfortably on a lot less stuff, so clearly I have enough. I eventually get done the things I have to do, and I have become accustomed to setting up reminders for everything from dinner with friends to scooping the cat box on a regular basis within my handy dandy cell phone. While I’d like a lot of things within my life to be different, I wouldn’t trade most of what I am and what I have for the world.
I can’t. I won’t. It took me a very very long time and it took surviving some tremendously difficult life altering episodes to discover that I can’t be all things to all people. I can’t stop hurt from finding me by changing who I am. I can’t control the behavior of another. I can’t manipulate my future by manipulating my very being. I have to be content with myself, accepting all my warts and shortcomings right along with all the things about me that I proudly list on the “plus” side of my own personal spreadsheet. I try to keep that side of the sheet a little longer than the “you suck” side. And as long as I’m doing that, I’m ok.
Acceptance. Not from those around me – not at first. Acceptance from within. Acceptance that I’m doing the very best I can and that the best I can do will always have to be enough. Acceptance that not everybody will be enamored of the end result. Acceptance that I can’t change that inevitability. Acceptance that there isn’t anything I could do or would want to do to change that. Acceptance that embracing that philosophy could be costly and painful at times. Knowing that in order to be true to myself, I really have no choice. Understanding that for those who truly love and accept me, that will be enough.
So yes. I know peace.
It occurred to me this morning that this attitude was somewhat narrow minded and stupid. Hardly the first time, won’t be the last. As it turns out, I do have something to say, and those of you who know me well will now be thinking “We knew the peace and quiet simply couldn’t last. Here we go. Somebody either break that woman’s fingers or knock me the hell out right now.”
Someone very dear to me is going through a remarkably difficult time in what appears to me to be the culmination of a lifetime of never considering himself to be either good enough or worthy finally rearing its ugly head and making one hell of a good attempt at ripping him apart from the inside out once and for all. It’s a struggle we all have to eventually tackle, like it or not, and for some of us, the struggle is difficult. For others, that struggle takes on biblical proportions. I’d call this one semi-biblical. He asked me last night “have you ever known peace?” Well, me being me, I had an answer right out of the gate, but he asked me not to give my first thoughts. To stop. To think. To really consider the question. So I did, for all of about 60 seconds, which for me is taking some serious time to think about something before shooting off my mouth. But the question stayed with me, even after my stupid top of the brain answer. It stayed with me through the evening, right through a miserable and painful episode of American Idol, and was still there when I drifted off to sleep. I woke up this morning with an entirely different response.
When asked “have you ever known peace”, I immediately interpreted that question as “have I known peace in my life?” Well, yeah. Now and then. When the stars and planets align and everything goes right for maybe a day or so, I’ve known peace. When I’ve had enough money to pay my bills with something left over, when the scale is cooperating and I’m seeing the number I want to see without placing a hand on the bathroom counter and applying just enough pressure, when the sun is shining, and I have fun stuff to either do or look forward to, I know peace. When everybody I care about is reasonably healthy, I’m pooping on a fairly regular basis, and I’m in the middle of a really good book, yes - I’ve known peace. But upon waking, after giving my other brain, the smart one, time to really mull this over, I came up with not only an entirely different answer, but an entirely different answer to a completely different question. Perspective is truly everything.
Have I known peace? Why yes. Yes, I have. I know peace now. At a time in my life when just about all I hold dear is spinning in circles, when the outcome isn’t clear, and when I have no control over the finale, I know peace. I know that true peace isn’t all that other stuff I said just a paragraph ago. I don’t find true peace in absolute control. True peace is knowing a quiet calm within your own heart and being at rest with who you are, what you are and what that means. While my ego is clearly vying for space with just about every other function necessary for life, like breathing, it’s not enormous enough for me to presume I have the one-size-fits-all answer to this inner peace thing. I don’t know the meaning of life, I don’t know why we’re all here, I don’t know where that second sock goes when only one comes out of the dryer when you know damned well you put two in there, and I don’t know how to show the world how to attain inner peace.
But I know how I found it, how I maintain it and what it means to me. If it helps you, dandy. If not, thanks for reading anyway.
I once said to this same someone that my most urgent need in life wasn’t attention. It wasn’t being center stage, being looked up to, being catered to or being made to feel as though I was sitting up on some marble pedestal in the midst of my adoring public. My most urgent need in life is to find acceptance wherever I may be. Now please don’t misunderstand. I do not expect everybody to like me. I don’t like everybody else so naturally, everybody isn’t going to like me. That bothers me, yeah, but I can’t do much about it nor am I willing to do what is necessary to change their opinion of me, so it’s something I simply have to accept.
Acceptance. Yes. I crave and require acceptance from those around me but even more importantly, I understand that I must first and foremost accept and make peace with all that I am. Before I can ask for acceptance from a single soul, I have to first assess myself, come to terms with my limitations, my successes, my shortcomings, and everything that makes me me, and accept that the sum of all those parts is fine. Really and absolutely enough. On some days, it’s more than enough. One some days, it’s not quite up to par, but in the long run, when all the scores are tallied up and somebody other than me (because math is not my friend) runs the numbers, I average out to not half bad. Yes, I hate my legs. I fixed another part of my body I hated. I wish my feet were a little smaller, I wish I made a better income, I wish I had a little more self-discipline, I wish my memory were sharper, I’d like to not wake every morning with back pain and I’d like a lot of things in my life to be other than what they are.
But I like my eyes, my stomach is still flat at 50, I can pay my bills, I have some really cool stuff and could actually get by very comfortably on a lot less stuff, so clearly I have enough. I eventually get done the things I have to do, and I have become accustomed to setting up reminders for everything from dinner with friends to scooping the cat box on a regular basis within my handy dandy cell phone. While I’d like a lot of things within my life to be different, I wouldn’t trade most of what I am and what I have for the world.
I can’t. I won’t. It took me a very very long time and it took surviving some tremendously difficult life altering episodes to discover that I can’t be all things to all people. I can’t stop hurt from finding me by changing who I am. I can’t control the behavior of another. I can’t manipulate my future by manipulating my very being. I have to be content with myself, accepting all my warts and shortcomings right along with all the things about me that I proudly list on the “plus” side of my own personal spreadsheet. I try to keep that side of the sheet a little longer than the “you suck” side. And as long as I’m doing that, I’m ok.
Acceptance. Not from those around me – not at first. Acceptance from within. Acceptance that I’m doing the very best I can and that the best I can do will always have to be enough. Acceptance that not everybody will be enamored of the end result. Acceptance that I can’t change that inevitability. Acceptance that there isn’t anything I could do or would want to do to change that. Acceptance that embracing that philosophy could be costly and painful at times. Knowing that in order to be true to myself, I really have no choice. Understanding that for those who truly love and accept me, that will be enough.
So yes. I know peace.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Because You Can't Fix Stupid
Some of my best moments occur in the most unexpected of locations and situations. Take today for example.
I was sitting in the chair at my new dentist's office having my teeth cleaned and doing that chatting you do with your hygienist when you are trying to talk around a mouth full of hand. The girl from the front desk came bopping into the room. She is probably in her mid 20's and a pleasant if somewhat vacant girl. She asked the hygienist "Are you a vegetarian?" The hygienist, who for the sake of brevity I'll call "J", said "no, I'm not." Our hero, the receptionist, said "Oh. OK. I had a question." J told her to ask it because she could probably answer it.
So Miss Mensa says "can vegetarians eat animal crackers?"
OK, some of you know me well enough to know that having two hands, a mirror and a sharp object in my mouth at this particular moment was probably for the best. I froze. J paused. And giving the biggest benefit of the doubt I've ever seen in my life, J proceeded to tell her about the different kinds of vegetarians and how different kinds of foods, depending on how they're made, are ok for some and not for others. By this time, she had her hands out of my mouth and clenched in her lap so what the hell, I joined in too. And when we were done, Einstein utters the following words, and I shit you not, this verbatim:
"Oh. OK. So the shape of the food doesn't have anything to do with it?"
J tried her best, but I could see the muscles in her jaw twitching behind her mask. I dropped my head. I gnawed the inside of face off trying to keep it in. And J quietly said "No. Honey, no. The shape of the food doesn't matter."
As soon as the room was clear, I lost it. I turned to J and said "Holy Jesus and little fishes, tell me you don't let her play with any of the sharp shit around here, OK?" J fell apart. I said "you should tell her that if you order chicken nuggets in the shape of tiny dinosaurs, it's still not OK to eat them just because dinosaurs are extinct, but first tell her what extinct means, and that even though dinosaurs aren't real any more and the food is SHAPED like dinosaurs doesn't change anything and that it's still friggin chicken, OK?" J had to take off her mask. She had to wipe her eyes and blow her nose and change her gloves.
I said is she for REAL? Really?
J choked out "Girl, this is every single day around here."
I told her I have a blog and we need to chat because I'm going to start an entire chapter on "crap I heard while in the dentist's chair that you are not gonna believe."
Can vegetarians eat animal crackers.
That is right up there with "Did Jesus have a dog?"
I swear to you if I had money falling out of my ass, I'd go call a basket company, have them fill it with animal crackers and send it to J with a note that said "I've hated the dentist all my life and I must thank you because never have I laughed that hard within 100 yards of the chair of pain. You have my thanks and my sympathies."
I was sitting in the chair at my new dentist's office having my teeth cleaned and doing that chatting you do with your hygienist when you are trying to talk around a mouth full of hand. The girl from the front desk came bopping into the room. She is probably in her mid 20's and a pleasant if somewhat vacant girl. She asked the hygienist "Are you a vegetarian?" The hygienist, who for the sake of brevity I'll call "J", said "no, I'm not." Our hero, the receptionist, said "Oh. OK. I had a question." J told her to ask it because she could probably answer it.
So Miss Mensa says "can vegetarians eat animal crackers?"
I am not kidding here.
OK, some of you know me well enough to know that having two hands, a mirror and a sharp object in my mouth at this particular moment was probably for the best. I froze. J paused. And giving the biggest benefit of the doubt I've ever seen in my life, J proceeded to tell her about the different kinds of vegetarians and how different kinds of foods, depending on how they're made, are ok for some and not for others. By this time, she had her hands out of my mouth and clenched in her lap so what the hell, I joined in too. And when we were done, Einstein utters the following words, and I shit you not, this verbatim:
"Oh. OK. So the shape of the food doesn't have anything to do with it?"
J tried her best, but I could see the muscles in her jaw twitching behind her mask. I dropped my head. I gnawed the inside of face off trying to keep it in. And J quietly said "No. Honey, no. The shape of the food doesn't matter."
As soon as the room was clear, I lost it. I turned to J and said "Holy Jesus and little fishes, tell me you don't let her play with any of the sharp shit around here, OK?" J fell apart. I said "you should tell her that if you order chicken nuggets in the shape of tiny dinosaurs, it's still not OK to eat them just because dinosaurs are extinct, but first tell her what extinct means, and that even though dinosaurs aren't real any more and the food is SHAPED like dinosaurs doesn't change anything and that it's still friggin chicken, OK?" J had to take off her mask. She had to wipe her eyes and blow her nose and change her gloves.
I said is she for REAL? Really?
J choked out "Girl, this is every single day around here."
I told her I have a blog and we need to chat because I'm going to start an entire chapter on "crap I heard while in the dentist's chair that you are not gonna believe."
Can vegetarians eat animal crackers.
That is right up there with "Did Jesus have a dog?"
I swear to you if I had money falling out of my ass, I'd go call a basket company, have them fill it with animal crackers and send it to J with a note that said "I've hated the dentist all my life and I must thank you because never have I laughed that hard within 100 yards of the chair of pain. You have my thanks and my sympathies."
Monday, May 11, 2009
More Life Lessons With the Ringlet
More Life Lessons with the Ringlet
When I was in the third grade, my gym teacher took a special interest in me because I was a very fast runner. I was just naturally and tremendously fast. Not a single person in that school could touch me – boy, girl, didn’t matter – nobody could keep up. He thought it would be a good idea to have a chat with my parents and then shuttle me into town to see a man who was, at that time, already at 2 time women’s Olympic track coach. He ran a private team, separate and apart from high school teams, and would now and again recruit kids from the outlying areas to try out for his team. I was taken to him and given an opportunity to give it my best shot.
Up to this point, my best shot was always enough. Usually, whatever I felt like giving was enough. I was all of 8 years old and baby, as far as I was concerned, I was IT. At least that’s what I thought until about five minutes after arriving at my tryout. I went from being all that to “how do you like your view of my back ” in the space of about 10 seconds, which is about all it took for his runners to dust the floor with my lagging-behind little rear end. But in spite of it all, he took me on and I made the team.
I then spent the better part of the next year running and training and getting carted all over the east coast for AAU track events and coming home from each and every one of them with my tail between my legs, having at times been beaten so badly I doubt that anybody even knew I was there.
The long and short of it is that I was just as stubborn then as I am now, and I just kept working harder, trying harder, learning more and busting my gut to climb back up to the top of a mountain that had suddenly tripled in size in my little eyes. Eventually, I did. Eventually, I made it out the heats and into the finals just to get beaten in a quite glorious and tremendous fashion all over again. Then I started placing. Then I started winning. Then I was the one to beat again, but it took two years to get there. Eventually, I was probably the fastest sprinter in my age group on the east coast. In fact, I still have the trophy to prove it.
The big fish/little pond vs. little fish/big pond lesson is one of the most important lessons of my life and one that Ringlet learned the hard way this past weekend. I took her to an out of state tournament, in a state where they take their karate about as seriously as Snarks takes her politics. The level of competition was like nothing Ringlet had seen to date, and while I warned her about it, she really didn’t pay me any mind. She had already decided that she knew her kata well enough, didn’t really need to sharpen it up, didn’t need to really do much of anything. She walked in there with her eyes firmly planted on the enormous first place trophy.
She walked out of there a different kid.
To her credit, she realized early on in the day that this was a different world. and rather than crumple or find an excuse to get into the car and just RUN, she rose to the challenge and her performance was just about the best I’ve ever seen out of her. But she was from out of state, unknown and just a bit unprepared for what she was facing. She held it together until we got to the car and then she burst into tears. She was furious at having come four hours, stayed overnight and then spent a day in a hot stuffy gym for “a stinking medal”.
I told her we hadn’t come all that way for a medal. I told her that when she pulled it together, we’d head for the Sonic we spotted on the way there, get a couple of Blasts and have a chat about why we HAD come all that way.
And we did. And she listened. And after a while she got it, especially after listening with rapt attention to the story of my two year asskicking in track. But she got it. She wasn’t even mad at me for dragging her all that way for her very own asskicking. She realized that the second you think you know it all, the second you think you’re the best, when you think you don’t have to work harder or reach for more, that’s the time when somebody’s gonna come up to you and show you, usually in the most humbling manner possible, just how very wrong your assumptions have been.
She’ll head for practice tomorrow night with a new view on things. She’ll sit down with her Master to discuss her short term game plan and goals and she’ll up her game and her training to accomplish them. That alone made it worth my setting her up for a fall to teach her a lesson. Because I’m still not sure even this morning who had the hardest time with this particular lesson: her or me.
Right now I’m thinking probably me.
When I was in the third grade, my gym teacher took a special interest in me because I was a very fast runner. I was just naturally and tremendously fast. Not a single person in that school could touch me – boy, girl, didn’t matter – nobody could keep up. He thought it would be a good idea to have a chat with my parents and then shuttle me into town to see a man who was, at that time, already at 2 time women’s Olympic track coach. He ran a private team, separate and apart from high school teams, and would now and again recruit kids from the outlying areas to try out for his team. I was taken to him and given an opportunity to give it my best shot.
Up to this point, my best shot was always enough. Usually, whatever I felt like giving was enough. I was all of 8 years old and baby, as far as I was concerned, I was IT. At least that’s what I thought until about five minutes after arriving at my tryout. I went from being all that to “how do you like your view of my back ” in the space of about 10 seconds, which is about all it took for his runners to dust the floor with my lagging-behind little rear end. But in spite of it all, he took me on and I made the team.
I then spent the better part of the next year running and training and getting carted all over the east coast for AAU track events and coming home from each and every one of them with my tail between my legs, having at times been beaten so badly I doubt that anybody even knew I was there.
The long and short of it is that I was just as stubborn then as I am now, and I just kept working harder, trying harder, learning more and busting my gut to climb back up to the top of a mountain that had suddenly tripled in size in my little eyes. Eventually, I did. Eventually, I made it out the heats and into the finals just to get beaten in a quite glorious and tremendous fashion all over again. Then I started placing. Then I started winning. Then I was the one to beat again, but it took two years to get there. Eventually, I was probably the fastest sprinter in my age group on the east coast. In fact, I still have the trophy to prove it.
The big fish/little pond vs. little fish/big pond lesson is one of the most important lessons of my life and one that Ringlet learned the hard way this past weekend. I took her to an out of state tournament, in a state where they take their karate about as seriously as Snarks takes her politics. The level of competition was like nothing Ringlet had seen to date, and while I warned her about it, she really didn’t pay me any mind. She had already decided that she knew her kata well enough, didn’t really need to sharpen it up, didn’t need to really do much of anything. She walked in there with her eyes firmly planted on the enormous first place trophy.
She walked out of there a different kid.
To her credit, she realized early on in the day that this was a different world. and rather than crumple or find an excuse to get into the car and just RUN, she rose to the challenge and her performance was just about the best I’ve ever seen out of her. But she was from out of state, unknown and just a bit unprepared for what she was facing. She held it together until we got to the car and then she burst into tears. She was furious at having come four hours, stayed overnight and then spent a day in a hot stuffy gym for “a stinking medal”.
I told her we hadn’t come all that way for a medal. I told her that when she pulled it together, we’d head for the Sonic we spotted on the way there, get a couple of Blasts and have a chat about why we HAD come all that way.
And we did. And she listened. And after a while she got it, especially after listening with rapt attention to the story of my two year asskicking in track. But she got it. She wasn’t even mad at me for dragging her all that way for her very own asskicking. She realized that the second you think you know it all, the second you think you’re the best, when you think you don’t have to work harder or reach for more, that’s the time when somebody’s gonna come up to you and show you, usually in the most humbling manner possible, just how very wrong your assumptions have been.
She’ll head for practice tomorrow night with a new view on things. She’ll sit down with her Master to discuss her short term game plan and goals and she’ll up her game and her training to accomplish them. That alone made it worth my setting her up for a fall to teach her a lesson. Because I’m still not sure even this morning who had the hardest time with this particular lesson: her or me.
Right now I’m thinking probably me.
Monday, April 27, 2009
This One is for The Peanut
Today is one of those days when I can still remember the second I laid eyes on my good friend's beautiful adopted son, to whom we affectionately refer as the Peanut. Mostly I can remember it because at Ringlet’s karate tournament yesterday, there was this itty, bitty, teeny, tiny, wee itsy bitsy little brown boy-critter in a white uniform way too big for his little body, with a white belt wrapped around his waist about 3 times about to stand up in front of a couple of big scary black belt judges and perform his little kata and that kid looked just like the Peanut did way back when. I chit you not, this kid couldn’t have been more than 10 inches tall. OK, maybe a little more than that, but by God not much.
He got up there and with eyes about as big as saucers, he stood before the judges and whispered what information he could remember from Clarence, his ENORMOUS instructor (who is actually quite a teddy bear if you can get past the wicked-scary front he likes to present) and started. When the time came for him to do his little karate screams at various parts of his kata, he would pause, think for a second and then turn to the judges, grit his teeth and growl at them.
I was almost wetting myself from trying not to laugh.
And when this little adorable thing got done and bowed, the whole crowd stood up and clapped, whistled and cheered louder than they had all day long.
And THAT’s what made him cry.
He got up there and with eyes about as big as saucers, he stood before the judges and whispered what information he could remember from Clarence, his ENORMOUS instructor (who is actually quite a teddy bear if you can get past the wicked-scary front he likes to present) and started. When the time came for him to do his little karate screams at various parts of his kata, he would pause, think for a second and then turn to the judges, grit his teeth and growl at them.
I was almost wetting myself from trying not to laugh.
And when this little adorable thing got done and bowed, the whole crowd stood up and clapped, whistled and cheered louder than they had all day long.
And THAT’s what made him cry.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Tales from the Big Boat - Time to Throw Down
Our captain decided not to attempt to enter one of our ports of call due to high winds combined with big rocks in the entrance channel and, in response to the outcry of some passengers about missing a port of call, the ship was diverted to arrive in the Keys the following day. As a result, we found ourselves back in the States and required to go through immigration procedures before leaving the ship, which caused a bit of a backup on the staircases leading off the ship. People were hot, stuffy and getting more than a little cranky after half an hour of just standing on the stairs, waiting to make the most of their day.
Ringlet was standing at the bottom of the first staircase down, right before the landing that turns to head down the second set of stairs to the next deck level. I was right behind her and Mr. Ringie was bringing up the rear. There were lots of people around, just sullenly waiting it out. Quite suddenly, a man a little older than me and wearing sunglasses and a hat, who was situated past the landing and down a few stairs, looked directly up at Ringlet, clapped his hands and said “Come here L. Come to daddy honey.” By “L”, I mean called her by name.
I stopped breathing, turned and glared at him. Ringlet backed up a step toward me.
He did it again. He said “Come on L, my sweetie, come to your daddy.”
By now, he was speaking loudly enough for the half deaf Mr. Ringie to hear him as well, and I felt him stiffen from head to toe behind me, calculating how badly it would hurt his knees to launch himself at this guy who seeminly had a well developed death wish.
I said, out loud, “Who is that guy?” and a lady on the landing looked at me and, pointing to Ringlet, said “Why it’s HER father.” I said “the HELL it is. THAT’s her father” and pointed behind me. She looked up, spied Mr. Ringie and quietly murmured “uh oh.”
Just as I was about to turn to this guy and unload, he clapped his hands again, made a bunch of loud sloppy kissy noises and said “Come ON L. Come ON my sweetie. Come to your Daddy.”
And I snapped.
I whirled on the guy and bellowed “Who ARE you and why are you speaking to my child.”
He stopped and got this confused look on his face. He took off his sunglasses and looked at me, looked at Ringlet and then his eyes got rilly rilly wide as he held up his hands and said “no no nononononono” and pointing at Ringlet, said “beHIND her.”
Right behind Ringlet, same age, same hair, same everything was HIS daughter. Also named L. When he realized what was happening, he turned back to me and EVERYbody was holding their breath as he said “Oh My God. How much longer did I have to live?”
And me being me, smiled and said “Dude, you had approximately 5 seconds until I vaulted this rail, landed on you and force fed you those sunglasses by way of your a$$.”
The whole staircase broke up, and for the rest of the long shuffle out of the ship, you could hear people from all over piping up with “COME TO YOUR DADDY!!!!!”
Ringlet was standing at the bottom of the first staircase down, right before the landing that turns to head down the second set of stairs to the next deck level. I was right behind her and Mr. Ringie was bringing up the rear. There were lots of people around, just sullenly waiting it out. Quite suddenly, a man a little older than me and wearing sunglasses and a hat, who was situated past the landing and down a few stairs, looked directly up at Ringlet, clapped his hands and said “Come here L. Come to daddy honey.” By “L”, I mean called her by name.
I stopped breathing, turned and glared at him. Ringlet backed up a step toward me.
He did it again. He said “Come on L, my sweetie, come to your daddy.”
By now, he was speaking loudly enough for the half deaf Mr. Ringie to hear him as well, and I felt him stiffen from head to toe behind me, calculating how badly it would hurt his knees to launch himself at this guy who seeminly had a well developed death wish.
I said, out loud, “Who is that guy?” and a lady on the landing looked at me and, pointing to Ringlet, said “Why it’s HER father.” I said “the HELL it is. THAT’s her father” and pointed behind me. She looked up, spied Mr. Ringie and quietly murmured “uh oh.”
Just as I was about to turn to this guy and unload, he clapped his hands again, made a bunch of loud sloppy kissy noises and said “Come ON L. Come ON my sweetie. Come to your Daddy.”
And I snapped.
I whirled on the guy and bellowed “Who ARE you and why are you speaking to my child.”
He stopped and got this confused look on his face. He took off his sunglasses and looked at me, looked at Ringlet and then his eyes got rilly rilly wide as he held up his hands and said “no no nononononono” and pointing at Ringlet, said “beHIND her.”
Right behind Ringlet, same age, same hair, same everything was HIS daughter. Also named L. When he realized what was happening, he turned back to me and EVERYbody was holding their breath as he said “Oh My God. How much longer did I have to live?”
And me being me, smiled and said “Dude, you had approximately 5 seconds until I vaulted this rail, landed on you and force fed you those sunglasses by way of your a$$.”
The whole staircase broke up, and for the rest of the long shuffle out of the ship, you could hear people from all over piping up with “COME TO YOUR DADDY!!!!!”
Tales from the Big Boat #1: Ringlet Meets a Boy
Carnival Valor – pretty big ship. Lots of kids. Lots of kids Ringlet’s age. Lots of boys Ringlet’s age. Lots and lots and lots. Hysterically, this was our first full day on the ship, and we were relaxing in the lounge chairs on the level up above the pool where we could watch the ocean go by on one side and keep an eye on the pool in which Ringlet was splashing with the other. We had fruity drinks. We had nice people around us and the sun was pouring out 85 degree heat. It was great.
Until I felt Mr. Ringie poking me in the arm. I ignored him for the first 10 pokes or so and finally turned and hissed, “WHAT?” He was sitting there, waggling his arm in the direction of the pool with a panicky look on his face, telling me to “Go look. She’s talking to boys. Make it stop.” The people to my left started giggling behind their hands. I told him to just sit down and relax and leave her alone.
Not 10 minutes later, I saw her coming up the stairs to our level and right behind her was a nice looking young boy, around her age. They were kind of talking back and forth. Looked like a plot to me, but fortunately, Mr. Ringie was fretting and facing in an entirely different direction.
Ringlet parked herself in front of her father and one look at the shiteatin' grin on her face should have been enough to know what was coming, but she pulled the boy around her, placed him directly in front of her and this young boy looked Mr. Ringie right in the face, stuck out his right hand, and loudly blurted “Hello Mr. Ringie. My name is Casey. I’m 12 years old. I’m from Martinsburg, West Virginia and I’d like to ask you if it’s OK with you if I go with Ringlet to get some pizza.”
Mr. Ringie just sat there. I held my breath. I had to or I was gonna laugh out loud. The people next to us started snorting and giggling. Mr. Ringie stammered. Mr. Ringie struggled mightily to come up with something to say that was both stern and fatherly. What he managed to pinch out was “Uhhhh…….” I quickly told them to go get some pizza and have fun. When they were about 50 feet away, Mr. Ringie came out of his stroke and howled “Get some WHAT and have some WHAT?”
We quickly found a waiter and a big fruity drink.
Until I felt Mr. Ringie poking me in the arm. I ignored him for the first 10 pokes or so and finally turned and hissed, “WHAT?” He was sitting there, waggling his arm in the direction of the pool with a panicky look on his face, telling me to “Go look. She’s talking to boys. Make it stop.” The people to my left started giggling behind their hands. I told him to just sit down and relax and leave her alone.
Not 10 minutes later, I saw her coming up the stairs to our level and right behind her was a nice looking young boy, around her age. They were kind of talking back and forth. Looked like a plot to me, but fortunately, Mr. Ringie was fretting and facing in an entirely different direction.
Ringlet parked herself in front of her father and one look at the shiteatin' grin on her face should have been enough to know what was coming, but she pulled the boy around her, placed him directly in front of her and this young boy looked Mr. Ringie right in the face, stuck out his right hand, and loudly blurted “Hello Mr. Ringie. My name is Casey. I’m 12 years old. I’m from Martinsburg, West Virginia and I’d like to ask you if it’s OK with you if I go with Ringlet to get some pizza.”
Mr. Ringie just sat there. I held my breath. I had to or I was gonna laugh out loud. The people next to us started snorting and giggling. Mr. Ringie stammered. Mr. Ringie struggled mightily to come up with something to say that was both stern and fatherly. What he managed to pinch out was “Uhhhh…….” I quickly told them to go get some pizza and have fun. When they were about 50 feet away, Mr. Ringie came out of his stroke and howled “Get some WHAT and have some WHAT?”
We quickly found a waiter and a big fruity drink.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Reason #1 to Dropkick My Boss
OK. You people know me. Some of you know me better than my sister. Some of you know me maybe even better than that. Lots of you know me well enough to be fully aware of my greatest phobia in this life of mine. Hopefully, some of you know and care for me well enough to be willing to cough up some cash for bail money when I'm arrested and slammed into jail for drop kicking my boss all over this office for about half an hour or so.
He finally got me back for the mind-bendingly maddening repeated loop of “It’s a Small World” coming from a mysterious location in his office after he spent a week with his wife’s entire family in Disney. He got me back for re-wallpapering his entire office with post-it notes. He got me back for replacing his law school diploma with a photo of Alex Karras as Mongo in Blazing Saddles. If he knew that I planned to come in here with three rolls of plastic wrap and a hairdryer and shrink wrap his entire office when he next goes on vacation, I suppose it might have been worse. As it was, it was bad enough. In any case, this is how my morning went.
I was cranky and I was tired. It's tax season and while that is seldom a good season for much of anybody who owns their own business, this year in particular, the knowledge that April 15 was rapidly approaching has been keeping me up nights. I would have liked to have spent my evening chain smoking, eating pizza and drinking straight tequila, however, none of those activities were acceptable. On a Monday night that is. So instead, I came schlepping in here to work this morning and made a direct line to the little Keurig coffee maker my boss and I have on my desk. Anybody familiar with the mechanics of the Keurig? Let’s leave it at this. When you push the silver button that says “press to open” the front part springs up and open, revealing the place where you insert the little single serving coffee cups. It springs open pretty hard and damned fast.
This morning, as I groggily pressed the silver button, the coffee machine sprang open to reveal a huge, wriggly, hairy, moving, attacking, vicious, lethal blood dripping off it’s fangs ready to spring, got my name written all over it man eating..................…………………….black plastic Halloween spider.
Oh shut UP.
I screamed. Out loud. I actually almost threw up. I know I peed a little. I doubled over and put my hands on my knees to keep from passing out and that was my position when my evil young, no-sense-of-his-own-mortality boss came staggering out of his office, holding his stomach and howling with tears streaming down his face.
I’m shrink wrapping his office. Twice.
I’m replacing his keyboard with an old one and whiting out all the keys.
I’m going to collect packing peanuts and rig them over his door.
I’m going to open his mini blinds all the way and then steal the little controller.
I’m going to do all this and a lot more just as soon as I’m sure I’m not having a heart attack.
I might have to throw the stupid coffee machine away unless I can figure out how to smack that button and open it from 3 feet away, which may or may not be a safe distance, but in any case sure as hell beats standing right on top of the beast when he pounces.
He finally got me back for the mind-bendingly maddening repeated loop of “It’s a Small World” coming from a mysterious location in his office after he spent a week with his wife’s entire family in Disney. He got me back for re-wallpapering his entire office with post-it notes. He got me back for replacing his law school diploma with a photo of Alex Karras as Mongo in Blazing Saddles. If he knew that I planned to come in here with three rolls of plastic wrap and a hairdryer and shrink wrap his entire office when he next goes on vacation, I suppose it might have been worse. As it was, it was bad enough. In any case, this is how my morning went.
I was cranky and I was tired. It's tax season and while that is seldom a good season for much of anybody who owns their own business, this year in particular, the knowledge that April 15 was rapidly approaching has been keeping me up nights. I would have liked to have spent my evening chain smoking, eating pizza and drinking straight tequila, however, none of those activities were acceptable. On a Monday night that is. So instead, I came schlepping in here to work this morning and made a direct line to the little Keurig coffee maker my boss and I have on my desk. Anybody familiar with the mechanics of the Keurig? Let’s leave it at this. When you push the silver button that says “press to open” the front part springs up and open, revealing the place where you insert the little single serving coffee cups. It springs open pretty hard and damned fast.
This morning, as I groggily pressed the silver button, the coffee machine sprang open to reveal a huge, wriggly, hairy, moving, attacking, vicious, lethal blood dripping off it’s fangs ready to spring, got my name written all over it man eating..................…………………….black plastic Halloween spider.
Oh shut UP.
I screamed. Out loud. I actually almost threw up. I know I peed a little. I doubled over and put my hands on my knees to keep from passing out and that was my position when my evil young, no-sense-of-his-own-mortality boss came staggering out of his office, holding his stomach and howling with tears streaming down his face.
I’m shrink wrapping his office. Twice.
I’m replacing his keyboard with an old one and whiting out all the keys.
I’m going to collect packing peanuts and rig them over his door.
I’m going to open his mini blinds all the way and then steal the little controller.
I’m going to do all this and a lot more just as soon as I’m sure I’m not having a heart attack.
I might have to throw the stupid coffee machine away unless I can figure out how to smack that button and open it from 3 feet away, which may or may not be a safe distance, but in any case sure as hell beats standing right on top of the beast when he pounces.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
How Not to Navigate a Crowded Parking Deck
I park on the top floor of our parking deck. It’s where most of the tenants park because the spaces are wider, there aren’t any parking restrictions and you can see your car from the windows of your office. When you're bored, you can hit the alarm button on your keyfob and totally freak out people who get a little too close. But on days like this, I have to wonder if metered parking on the street and the risk of a parking ticket isn’t almost worth it. Days when I follow someone who prompts me to write the following rules and regulations of parking deck use:
1. Do not pull in, realize you didn’t read the instructions, and then attempt to back up with four cars in line behind you.
2. Your window rolls down. Really. It does. It is not necessary to take off your seat belt, open your car, get out of your car, peer at the admission ticket, read it, then get back in your car, put your seat belt back ON and then and only then move out of the damned way.
3. The speed limit through the deck is not one mile per hour.
4. The speed limit through the deck most certainly does not include “reverse”.
5. Do not come to a dead stop to examine every single parking space you see.
6. Do not back up to get a second look at that parking space you just passed.
7. Do not turn left where the big red sign says “exit left” instead of continuing through the deck, realize your mistake and once again, throw that sucker in reverse and back up into the now 8 cars lined up behind you.
8. At the end of each row, you can only turn left. You don’t need to stop, look right where there IS no oncoming traffic because it’s a CEMENT WALL and put on your blinker.
9. When there are five spaces available, do not stop and wait for the person walking through the deck to get to their car to see if they are going to vacate a different spot.
10. Once you have done so, and the person strolling to their car DOES get into the car and leave, do NOT then decide you don’t like that spot after all.
11. Do not just once again stop and ponder.
12. Parking your car does not require that you get out and physically examine the space.
13. All those hands extending from the driver’s side windows of the cars behind you are NOT waving at you.
1. Do not pull in, realize you didn’t read the instructions, and then attempt to back up with four cars in line behind you.
2. Your window rolls down. Really. It does. It is not necessary to take off your seat belt, open your car, get out of your car, peer at the admission ticket, read it, then get back in your car, put your seat belt back ON and then and only then move out of the damned way.
3. The speed limit through the deck is not one mile per hour.
4. The speed limit through the deck most certainly does not include “reverse”.
5. Do not come to a dead stop to examine every single parking space you see.
6. Do not back up to get a second look at that parking space you just passed.
7. Do not turn left where the big red sign says “exit left” instead of continuing through the deck, realize your mistake and once again, throw that sucker in reverse and back up into the now 8 cars lined up behind you.
8. At the end of each row, you can only turn left. You don’t need to stop, look right where there IS no oncoming traffic because it’s a CEMENT WALL and put on your blinker.
9. When there are five spaces available, do not stop and wait for the person walking through the deck to get to their car to see if they are going to vacate a different spot.
10. Once you have done so, and the person strolling to their car DOES get into the car and leave, do NOT then decide you don’t like that spot after all.
11. Do not just once again stop and ponder.
12. Parking your car does not require that you get out and physically examine the space.
13. All those hands extending from the driver’s side windows of the cars behind you are NOT waving at you.
Monday, January 26, 2009
"Tradition" Doesn't Equate to "Right"
Just because something's tradition doesn’t necessarily mean it’s right.
Some of you know me outside just reading my nonsense on this blog and, therefore, some of you know of the struggle I endured a few months back in pulling my daughter out of the karate dojo at which she had trained for over 3 years. In a nutshell, I had to decide between leaving her in a situation where the level of what I considered emotional abuse had risen to the point where she became physically ill at the idea of going to class, for the sake of being able to say she trained with one of the most highly respected 10th degree black belts in the country, or pulling her out and finding her a new trainer before she was emotionally compromised and quit the martial arts all together.
I had to choose between loyalties. I chose my daughter. I pulled her from the class and to be fair, I didn’t handle it well. I had wanted to approach him for months about my concerns. I was pissed, but I allowed myself to be intimidated, and convinced myself that his methods hadn’t really changed and that those same methods had brought her to where she was. Eventually, I had to step back and admit that what I was seeing was different and that under no circumstances was it healthy. Then I had to wait until I was in a foul enough mood that I could go in there and do what had to be done. Yeah, he’s that intimidating.
I’ve spent the past couple of months convinced that my issue was with her instructor as an individual. While I still believe that his methods are still very much a part of my problem with that situation, a conversation I had with another friend, another high ranking black belt, gave me a new perspective.
He asked about what had happened and I told him. His reply to me set me back on my heels. His reply to me essentially stated that in the old school Japanese style of teaching, most black belts of his level and her old instructor’s level only teach other black belts. That the student essentially has absolutely no say. That anything an instructor of their rank chooses to do in order to teach his students is not only acceptable, but above reproach. That while he was happy that my daughter had found a martial arts environment and instructor that nurtured her and brought her back to being in love with the martial arts, he was all about dojo loyalty and clearly took issue with changing instructors and dojos. That the old instructor wasn’t arrogant, and my believing that he was was simply me not understanding the Japanese culture. That he was ex-military and because of that, I probably misunderstood his true intentions.
I sat there and I read those words about half a dozen times and realized that if I got much angrier, I was going to lose the ability to learn from what he was telling me. What he was telling me wasn’t personal. What he was telling me was important because it was right about then that I realized my problem wasn't merely with the methods of an individual, but extended to a culture and tradition thousands of years old. And only then did I reply to him that while I understood what he said, the day I sacrificed my loyalty to my daughter’s well-being for loyalty to some dojo and the tradition behind it was the day that social services could come to my home, at my invitation, and take her away.
I started thinking about the few other young women who had trained with him and thought carefully about whether or not I wanted my child to emulate what they had become after years of exposure to his methods of teaching. I realized I had probably dodged one bigass bullet.
After all this time and up until this morning, I was still struggling with the idea that I had taken her away from what could potentially be the best instructor she’d ever know even if he was a complete jackass because I was annoyed and over-protective. I quit struggling this morning after reading that reply because:
1. Just because something is tradition, doesn’t make it right, healthy or necessary.
2. Falling back on “tradition” to justify treating somebody else, especially a child, like dirt is chickenshit. It sullies what might otherwise be an honorable and respected tradition.
3. Choosing loyalty based on tradition as opposed to what is right and proper is equally chickenshit.
4. If a child is working hard to excel and yet has difficulty mastering a concept and feels lousy about it, then that’s OK. But if that same child consistently walks away from instruction feeling worthless and less valuable than they did when they walked in, that’s not.
5. An age-old tradition that is based upon respect should not require that in order to show respect, one loses their dignity and respect for self. Respect is a two way street.
6. Discipline and respect can be achieved without breaking down the essential part of the student being taught.
7. I did the right thing. He believed in his heart that any method he chose to utilize in interacting with his students was justified based on tradition and that it was perfectly acceptable to treat 10 year old kids as though they were bootcamp soldiers. The act of claiming immunity based on a centuries old tradition isn’t going to change because I don’t approve. The only way I could ever have changed that situation was to remove her from it.
8. I'm finally at the point where I think I can stop being pissed off about it.
Some of you know me outside just reading my nonsense on this blog and, therefore, some of you know of the struggle I endured a few months back in pulling my daughter out of the karate dojo at which she had trained for over 3 years. In a nutshell, I had to decide between leaving her in a situation where the level of what I considered emotional abuse had risen to the point where she became physically ill at the idea of going to class, for the sake of being able to say she trained with one of the most highly respected 10th degree black belts in the country, or pulling her out and finding her a new trainer before she was emotionally compromised and quit the martial arts all together.
I had to choose between loyalties. I chose my daughter. I pulled her from the class and to be fair, I didn’t handle it well. I had wanted to approach him for months about my concerns. I was pissed, but I allowed myself to be intimidated, and convinced myself that his methods hadn’t really changed and that those same methods had brought her to where she was. Eventually, I had to step back and admit that what I was seeing was different and that under no circumstances was it healthy. Then I had to wait until I was in a foul enough mood that I could go in there and do what had to be done. Yeah, he’s that intimidating.
I’ve spent the past couple of months convinced that my issue was with her instructor as an individual. While I still believe that his methods are still very much a part of my problem with that situation, a conversation I had with another friend, another high ranking black belt, gave me a new perspective.
He asked about what had happened and I told him. His reply to me set me back on my heels. His reply to me essentially stated that in the old school Japanese style of teaching, most black belts of his level and her old instructor’s level only teach other black belts. That the student essentially has absolutely no say. That anything an instructor of their rank chooses to do in order to teach his students is not only acceptable, but above reproach. That while he was happy that my daughter had found a martial arts environment and instructor that nurtured her and brought her back to being in love with the martial arts, he was all about dojo loyalty and clearly took issue with changing instructors and dojos. That the old instructor wasn’t arrogant, and my believing that he was was simply me not understanding the Japanese culture. That he was ex-military and because of that, I probably misunderstood his true intentions.
I sat there and I read those words about half a dozen times and realized that if I got much angrier, I was going to lose the ability to learn from what he was telling me. What he was telling me wasn’t personal. What he was telling me was important because it was right about then that I realized my problem wasn't merely with the methods of an individual, but extended to a culture and tradition thousands of years old. And only then did I reply to him that while I understood what he said, the day I sacrificed my loyalty to my daughter’s well-being for loyalty to some dojo and the tradition behind it was the day that social services could come to my home, at my invitation, and take her away.
I started thinking about the few other young women who had trained with him and thought carefully about whether or not I wanted my child to emulate what they had become after years of exposure to his methods of teaching. I realized I had probably dodged one bigass bullet.
After all this time and up until this morning, I was still struggling with the idea that I had taken her away from what could potentially be the best instructor she’d ever know even if he was a complete jackass because I was annoyed and over-protective. I quit struggling this morning after reading that reply because:
1. Just because something is tradition, doesn’t make it right, healthy or necessary.
2. Falling back on “tradition” to justify treating somebody else, especially a child, like dirt is chickenshit. It sullies what might otherwise be an honorable and respected tradition.
3. Choosing loyalty based on tradition as opposed to what is right and proper is equally chickenshit.
4. If a child is working hard to excel and yet has difficulty mastering a concept and feels lousy about it, then that’s OK. But if that same child consistently walks away from instruction feeling worthless and less valuable than they did when they walked in, that’s not.
5. An age-old tradition that is based upon respect should not require that in order to show respect, one loses their dignity and respect for self. Respect is a two way street.
6. Discipline and respect can be achieved without breaking down the essential part of the student being taught.
7. I did the right thing. He believed in his heart that any method he chose to utilize in interacting with his students was justified based on tradition and that it was perfectly acceptable to treat 10 year old kids as though they were bootcamp soldiers. The act of claiming immunity based on a centuries old tradition isn’t going to change because I don’t approve. The only way I could ever have changed that situation was to remove her from it.
8. I'm finally at the point where I think I can stop being pissed off about it.
Monday, December 15, 2008
Peg Bundy Lives!!!!!
We were invited to a lovely costume party in honor of a good friend's 60th birthday this past Friday night.
I hate costume parties. I suck at picking a costume. I never come up with anything creative and I always wait until the last minute, throw a sheet on my head and call it good. Not this time. I planned ahead and I went for it.
I went as Peg "White Trash Queen of the Century" Bundy. I can attest to why Peg walked the way she did. Those heels were killer - I could feel my pulse in my feet by the end of the night. They hurt so badly, I forgot about trying to keep my head up with five pounds of hair extensions clipped in my normally short hair.
But the party was fun and for your amusement, this is my very first photo posted to my Blog ever. Because yanking off a Peg deserves something.
Friday, December 12, 2008
The Ringlet Learns a Lesson on Slang. And Cats.
Oh the joys of middle school. New classes, new teachers, new friends, new experiences and delightful, completely inappropriate slang phrases. And the occasional curse word, designed to test the boundaries and see just how much slack I’m giving her these days. The Ringlet’s school is very large and incredibly diverse, so she tends to be exposed to every single possible walk of life. On this particular day, the Ringlet and I were texting back and forth, me at work and her home doing her homework. We were joking around, picking at each other – an afternoon ritual for us – and I fired off a zinger in her direction, to which she replied, and I’m quoting here: “Hey. M’Dog. I’ma gone bust a cat in yo ass.”
Cat.
Cat???
In my WHAT????
So rather than text back, I picked up the phone and called her said “You’re going to do WHAT?” She tentatively repeated “Um. I’m gonna bust a cat in your…..ass?”
Me: Do you have even the slightest idea of what you just said?
Her: Well yeah. I’m gonna bust you in the butt with a cat.
Me: Um…no. First off it’s not CAT. It’s CAP.
Her: Well THAT doesn’t make any sense.
Me: (thinking oh my God she’s never gonna get into a good college) Hon, that phrase means “I am going to take a gun and shoot you.”
Her: Oh GOD that’s BAD. I said THAT?
Me: Yupper.
Her: Oh no.
Me: Actually what you said was more like you were going to bust somebody in the ass with your cat, but as long as we’re talking about things that don’t make sense . . . .
Her: Oh I can’t SAY that anymore!!!
Me: Most definitely not.
Her: I LIKE cats.
Me: Wait…….
Her: No no no no, I get it. I guess I should come home and ask you what things means before I say ‘em out loud next time, right?
Me: Absolutely.
Dear Lord: Please do your best to see that she doesn’t come home and ask me what “MILF” means. Thank you. Amen.
Cat.
Cat???
In my WHAT????
So rather than text back, I picked up the phone and called her said “You’re going to do WHAT?” She tentatively repeated “Um. I’m gonna bust a cat in your…..ass?”
Me: Do you have even the slightest idea of what you just said?
Her: Well yeah. I’m gonna bust you in the butt with a cat.
Me: Um…no. First off it’s not CAT. It’s CAP.
Her: Well THAT doesn’t make any sense.
Me: (thinking oh my God she’s never gonna get into a good college) Hon, that phrase means “I am going to take a gun and shoot you.”
Her: Oh GOD that’s BAD. I said THAT?
Me: Yupper.
Her: Oh no.
Me: Actually what you said was more like you were going to bust somebody in the ass with your cat, but as long as we’re talking about things that don’t make sense . . . .
Her: Oh I can’t SAY that anymore!!!
Me: Most definitely not.
Her: I LIKE cats.
Me: Wait…….
Her: No no no no, I get it. I guess I should come home and ask you what things means before I say ‘em out loud next time, right?
Me: Absolutely.
Dear Lord: Please do your best to see that she doesn’t come home and ask me what “MILF” means. Thank you. Amen.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Overachiever
**ring ring ring**
Me: Good morning. Litigation Department.
Confused Male Voice: Oh......I'm sorry.....I have the wrong number.
Me: Maybe not. Who were you attempting to reach?
Male Voice: I'm calling for Ringlet (insert her real name here)
Me: Really? Well I'm Ringlet's mother. What can I do for you??
Male Voice: I'm so-and-so from such-and-such organization. We're private headhunters engaged in the business of locating colleges that match up with the educational requirements of students based upon their chosen profession and field of study.
Me: You don't say?
Eager Male Voice: Yes and it is at no cost to the student. We were contacted on line by Ringlet regarding her interest in becoming a forensic scientist.
Me: Really?
Confident Male Voice: Yes ma'am. Can I please inquire whether the Ringlet is graduating from high school this year?
Me: Yes you may and no she is not.
Male Voice: Could you please tell me when she will be graduating so that I can better assess her scholastic opportunities.
Me: 2015
Completely Lost Male Voice: <>
Me: Hello?
Baffled Guy: She's..........11 years old?
Me: Yup.
Laughing Baffled Guy: Would you say she's a bit of an over-achiever?
Me: Yup. And I'm sorry that she has wasted your time.
Clearly Shaking His Head Baffled Guy: Not at all. Ya know, most kids her age are spending their time time messing around on sites where they don't belong, putting stuff they shouldn't on websites, and getting in trouble in chat rooms or porn sites and your 11 year old daughter is contacting college recruitment companies and giving them her mother's contact information.
Me: Apparently so.
Dude: Bravo.
Me: Maybe, but I'm still going to be chatting with her about giving out Mommy's phone number to people without talking to Mommy first. But thank you for your inquiry.
Nice Dude: No problem. Have her call me in about 5 or 6 years.
Me: Will do.
Me: Good morning. Litigation Department.
Confused Male Voice: Oh......I'm sorry.....I have the wrong number.
Me: Maybe not. Who were you attempting to reach?
Male Voice: I'm calling for Ringlet (insert her real name here)
Me: Really? Well I'm Ringlet's mother. What can I do for you??
Male Voice: I'm so-and-so from such-and-such organization. We're private headhunters engaged in the business of locating colleges that match up with the educational requirements of students based upon their chosen profession and field of study.
Me: You don't say?
Eager Male Voice: Yes and it is at no cost to the student. We were contacted on line by Ringlet regarding her interest in becoming a forensic scientist.
Me: Really?
Confident Male Voice: Yes ma'am. Can I please inquire whether the Ringlet is graduating from high school this year?
Me: Yes you may and no she is not.
Male Voice: Could you please tell me when she will be graduating so that I can better assess her scholastic opportunities.
Me: 2015
Completely Lost Male Voice: <
Me: Hello?
Baffled Guy: She's..........11 years old?
Me: Yup.
Laughing Baffled Guy: Would you say she's a bit of an over-achiever?
Me: Yup. And I'm sorry that she has wasted your time.
Clearly Shaking His Head Baffled Guy: Not at all. Ya know, most kids her age are spending their time time messing around on sites where they don't belong, putting stuff they shouldn't on websites, and getting in trouble in chat rooms or porn sites and your 11 year old daughter is contacting college recruitment companies and giving them her mother's contact information.
Me: Apparently so.
Dude: Bravo.
Me: Maybe, but I'm still going to be chatting with her about giving out Mommy's phone number to people without talking to Mommy first. But thank you for your inquiry.
Nice Dude: No problem. Have her call me in about 5 or 6 years.
Me: Will do.
Wednesday, September 03, 2008
The Ringlet Throws!!!! She Scores!!!! The Crowd Goes Wild!!!
Finding myself exceedingly bored and discovering Mr. Ringie down for the count with a migraine thanks to an overindulgence in Chinese food the night before, Ringlet and I decided to trek down the road a bit to the annual renaissance festival. It had been some years since I had been there and Ringlet had never been there as a grown up kid, so, since she was bored as well, and in light of the prospect of scoring some cool stuff at the vendor's tents, off we went.We wandered around looking at things, checking out some of the shows, snagging and horking down steak on a stake and eventually came upon a relatively bawdy dunk tank. I believe the word "wench" was used in the description somewhere. There was a pretty fair sized crowd watching the fun and gathered around the throwing area was the usual group of young men of varying ages ranging from about 17 to 24, all of whom were paying their dollar and winging softball sized leather sandbags at the target for all they were worth. Seldom, if ever, did they hit anything other than wall and dirt, but they didn't quit. Ringlet watched for a minute or two and then turned to me and requested a dollar. Not being the kind of mom to discourage her from trying anything within the confines of the law and within my ability to remain sane, I forked over the dollar and leaned against a tree to watch her calmly take her place in line behind all these big guys.
She's a pretty tall kid for her age and not a small or petite child by anybody's standards, but standing there amid all those young men in her karate t-shirt, baggy shorts and John Force Racing cap, she looked positively tiny. But she stood there, blond hair cascading down her back from under her cap, calmly clutching her dollar and waiting her turn. Eventually, as the young men gave up and one by one peeled off to the side, she moved up to the front of the line, reached up and waved her dollar in the face of the guy running the game who didn't even see her there, and got her three leather bean bags. All the young men had faded back to congregate off to the left of my tree and were smirking at the sight of a little girl trying to dunk the wench when they had all so miserably failed. Ringlet tossed the first bag in her hand a few times, getting a feel for the thing, peered over her shoulder to grin at me, turned, took a step back and launched that sucker in a wicked-hard over hand (nobody will ever accuse her of throwing like a girl) and BAM....down went the wench. The game-guy whirled around at the sound, spun back around, stared at her for a brief moment, leaned down to say something to the Ringlet and then stood up, placed both hands on the counter and bellowed at the now silent group of men: “YOU. Yes YOU, you so-called men there. Didja SEE that? Did you? That was a ten.year.old.girl. Ten. A girl. Each of you stand up here and turn in your man cards." One of the young men had enough presence of mind to yell back "yeah, a ten year old girl.........with a fricken CANNON for an arm!" She was so flustered and pleased that as the crowd howled in amusement and approval, she missed the next two shots. But she was so tickled and I laughed the rest of the day.
Now and then through the course of the afternoon, we'd pass by those young men and, invariably, one of them would strike a boxing pose and say "Hey, look out. If she can throw, she can probably punch too."
"Probably punch"
Right. I guess maybe I’d failed to tell them that little girl not only has an arm like a cannon, but that she also kicks like a mule, and has a brown belt.
My bad.
She's a pretty tall kid for her age and not a small or petite child by anybody's standards, but standing there amid all those young men in her karate t-shirt, baggy shorts and John Force Racing cap, she looked positively tiny. But she stood there, blond hair cascading down her back from under her cap, calmly clutching her dollar and waiting her turn. Eventually, as the young men gave up and one by one peeled off to the side, she moved up to the front of the line, reached up and waved her dollar in the face of the guy running the game who didn't even see her there, and got her three leather bean bags. All the young men had faded back to congregate off to the left of my tree and were smirking at the sight of a little girl trying to dunk the wench when they had all so miserably failed. Ringlet tossed the first bag in her hand a few times, getting a feel for the thing, peered over her shoulder to grin at me, turned, took a step back and launched that sucker in a wicked-hard over hand (nobody will ever accuse her of throwing like a girl) and BAM....down went the wench. The game-guy whirled around at the sound, spun back around, stared at her for a brief moment, leaned down to say something to the Ringlet and then stood up, placed both hands on the counter and bellowed at the now silent group of men: “YOU. Yes YOU, you so-called men there. Didja SEE that? Did you? That was a ten.year.old.girl. Ten. A girl. Each of you stand up here and turn in your man cards." One of the young men had enough presence of mind to yell back "yeah, a ten year old girl.........with a fricken CANNON for an arm!" She was so flustered and pleased that as the crowd howled in amusement and approval, she missed the next two shots. But she was so tickled and I laughed the rest of the day.
Now and then through the course of the afternoon, we'd pass by those young men and, invariably, one of them would strike a boxing pose and say "Hey, look out. If she can throw, she can probably punch too."
"Probably punch"
Right. I guess maybe I’d failed to tell them that little girl not only has an arm like a cannon, but that she also kicks like a mule, and has a brown belt.
My bad.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
I am the Goddess of Guitar Hero
As we all well know, there is nothing more predictable in this world than the outcome of a match between Michael Phelps and anybody else in the pool, the Redskins and just about any other team you can name, or a video game challenge between a 13 year old boy and a middle aged mother. Or so you would think.
Ringlet ended up not attending an annual karate banquet because of the weather forecast in the Outer Banks, the destination of her and her father the following day. They were leaving for vacation several days before me, affording me about 4 days of peace and quiet and complete and total possession of the remote control before I too left to join them. She ended up not attending the banquet because they decided to leave early to beat the tropical storm that was about to make an appearance in the Carolinas and there isn’t a lot in this world more frightening than driving a 40 foot long moving billboard over the Oregon Inlet bridge in high wind. So they left early, as in that very afternoon.
That left me with the predicament of entertaining her 13 year old friend who was to be attending the banquet with us. We had 4 hours to kill between the time he got to the house and the time we were to arrive at the banquet so he headed downstairs to check out the gaming options. He and the Ringlet had been playing Guitar Hero up until the time she had to leave and he had been soundly and easily thrashing her on every single song. He came trotting back upstairs to make the suggestion, very innocently, that maybe we could kill some time playing Guitar Hero.
Ben: Mrs. Ringie, do you wanna try to play Guitar Hero with me for a while?
Me: Sure. Let’s go.
Ben: Do you know HOW to play Guitar Hero, ‘cause if you don’t, I can show you.
Me: I’ve played. I think I can muddle my way through. It’s like playing piano, right?
Ben: (smiling) A little. Come on, I’ll take it easy on you at first.
Me: Dandy
And down the stairs we went.
He let me pick my guitar first. Such a gentleman. Such a nice boy. Such a sucker.
I held the guitar upsidedown for a while. He corrected me. I held it properly. He set up the game and he selected his playing level as “hard”. So I chose hard as well.
Ben: You might want to start on the easy setting at first. This can be pretty tough.
Me: Oh it’s all in good fun. I don’t care. We’re just having fun. It’s just a game. I don’t care if I lose. We're not actually playing for money or anything. Hey, do you wanna play for money?
Ben: I don't think that would be fair.
Me: Damn.
Ben: Oooooookay. You choose the song.
Me: SWEET! What are the songs……..keep going……..scroll down some more………THERE. That one. That Disturbed song, “Stricken.”
Ben: Are you sure?
Me: I LOVE that song.
Ben: OK, but it’s hard and I haven’t even made it through on hard yet.
Me: Let that sucker fly. Let’s go.
I strapped on, set my hands and he grinned the grin of the lamb being guided to the slaughter, provided, of course, that lambs can actually smile, and smacked the song and settled back to kick the old lady’s ass.
I suppose I should have given him a few details before we started. Details like Guitar Hero has become my chosen form of relaxation and meditation over the past year. That when I’m stressed or upset, I go downstairs when everything is calm and play Guitar Hero, sometimes for hours. That at this point, I’ve gotten through a few songs on the Expert setting. That "Stricken" is the song I work on the hardest, sometimes playing it dozens of times in a row. That I regularly and routinely kick Ringlet’s tail and glory in it because it is the absolute only video game I can really play well. That if I’m concentrating on something, I can go for nearly 90 seconds without blinking. That I’ve played keyboards since I was 4, type about 150 words a minute and have this really freaky ability to look at something and have the correct signals in my fingers before the conscious thinking part of my brain really ever registers it. I forgot to tell him all this.
Oooops.
My bad.
I completely kicked his cocky, 13 year old, video playing, brown belt ass. TOTALLY.
The song ended. He looked at his stats, grinned and looked over at mine and the grin sort of just melted from his face.
Ben: You’ve played this before.
Me: (imagine perfectly innocent blank expression). A few times. Yeah.
Ben: Mrs. Ringie, you LIED to me!!!!!
Me: I most certainly did not lie. YOU didn’t ask the right question. You asked if I had played. You didn't ask if I was any good. Face it. Age and treachery will overcome youth and enthusiasm every single time.
Ben: But…….but……..
Me: You lose. Pick a song. Loser buys the first soda later. I hope you brought some money.
Ringlet ended up not attending an annual karate banquet because of the weather forecast in the Outer Banks, the destination of her and her father the following day. They were leaving for vacation several days before me, affording me about 4 days of peace and quiet and complete and total possession of the remote control before I too left to join them. She ended up not attending the banquet because they decided to leave early to beat the tropical storm that was about to make an appearance in the Carolinas and there isn’t a lot in this world more frightening than driving a 40 foot long moving billboard over the Oregon Inlet bridge in high wind. So they left early, as in that very afternoon.
That left me with the predicament of entertaining her 13 year old friend who was to be attending the banquet with us. We had 4 hours to kill between the time he got to the house and the time we were to arrive at the banquet so he headed downstairs to check out the gaming options. He and the Ringlet had been playing Guitar Hero up until the time she had to leave and he had been soundly and easily thrashing her on every single song. He came trotting back upstairs to make the suggestion, very innocently, that maybe we could kill some time playing Guitar Hero.
Ben: Mrs. Ringie, do you wanna try to play Guitar Hero with me for a while?
Me: Sure. Let’s go.
Ben: Do you know HOW to play Guitar Hero, ‘cause if you don’t, I can show you.
Me: I’ve played. I think I can muddle my way through. It’s like playing piano, right?
Ben: (smiling) A little. Come on, I’ll take it easy on you at first.
Me: Dandy
And down the stairs we went.
He let me pick my guitar first. Such a gentleman. Such a nice boy. Such a sucker.
I held the guitar upsidedown for a while. He corrected me. I held it properly. He set up the game and he selected his playing level as “hard”. So I chose hard as well.
Ben: You might want to start on the easy setting at first. This can be pretty tough.
Me: Oh it’s all in good fun. I don’t care. We’re just having fun. It’s just a game. I don’t care if I lose. We're not actually playing for money or anything. Hey, do you wanna play for money?
Ben: I don't think that would be fair.
Me: Damn.
Ben: Oooooookay. You choose the song.
Me: SWEET! What are the songs……..keep going……..scroll down some more………THERE. That one. That Disturbed song, “Stricken.”
Ben: Are you sure?
Me: I LOVE that song.
Ben: OK, but it’s hard and I haven’t even made it through on hard yet.
Me: Let that sucker fly. Let’s go.
I strapped on, set my hands and he grinned the grin of the lamb being guided to the slaughter, provided, of course, that lambs can actually smile, and smacked the song and settled back to kick the old lady’s ass.
I suppose I should have given him a few details before we started. Details like Guitar Hero has become my chosen form of relaxation and meditation over the past year. That when I’m stressed or upset, I go downstairs when everything is calm and play Guitar Hero, sometimes for hours. That at this point, I’ve gotten through a few songs on the Expert setting. That "Stricken" is the song I work on the hardest, sometimes playing it dozens of times in a row. That I regularly and routinely kick Ringlet’s tail and glory in it because it is the absolute only video game I can really play well. That if I’m concentrating on something, I can go for nearly 90 seconds without blinking. That I’ve played keyboards since I was 4, type about 150 words a minute and have this really freaky ability to look at something and have the correct signals in my fingers before the conscious thinking part of my brain really ever registers it. I forgot to tell him all this.
Oooops.
My bad.
I completely kicked his cocky, 13 year old, video playing, brown belt ass. TOTALLY.
The song ended. He looked at his stats, grinned and looked over at mine and the grin sort of just melted from his face.
Ben: You’ve played this before.
Me: (imagine perfectly innocent blank expression). A few times. Yeah.
Ben: Mrs. Ringie, you LIED to me!!!!!
Me: I most certainly did not lie. YOU didn’t ask the right question. You asked if I had played. You didn't ask if I was any good. Face it. Age and treachery will overcome youth and enthusiasm every single time.
Ben: But…….but……..
Me: You lose. Pick a song. Loser buys the first soda later. I hope you brought some money.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
You want my evaluation? HERE's my evaluation.
Self Evaluation for the Ages in honor of my buddy and she knows exactly who she is.
Employee Name: As if you didn’t know
Appraisal Date: Should have been a year ago you dumbass
Period Covered: When I started to: Probably when Hell freezes over
Position: Your Job
Rate Range: As much as I can squeeze out of your penny pinching ass
Current Rate: Not nearly enough
Department: Any one I want
Dear Employee:
You have asked us to finally give you the salary increase we promised you when we hired you, never realizing you'd actually expect us to follow through with that promise. We will be unable to grant your request without your input regarding your job performance. Therefore, kindly carefully read the following categories and give us the benefit of your thoughts with regard to your job performance in each category. We will then carefully examine your responses and, in all likelihood, continue to screw you royally with regard to said imaginary salary increase.
Category: Interacts with others in an effective and appropriate manner; develops relationships (inside and outside the Company) that enhance understanding, communication
Employee Comments: Employee believes in the old adage of “do unto others before they wise up and stop giving you decent openings.” Employee is adept at the use of simple, if somewhat abrupt, language that clearly demonstrates her meaning, centers the majority of her communications around well chosen four letter, one syllable words that even the morons selected to supervise her daily activities are able to understand. Employee has mastered the art of communication through easy to remember hand signals.
Category: Teamwork/Cooperation - Works well with team members to accomplish the goals of the department. Works well with management to achieve Company goals. Flexible in accepting new or additional assignments.
Employee Comments: Team members have learned to by God do as they’re told and that’s really all that matters. Management is nothing more than toady mouthpieces and are best avoided. Employee’s flexibility has absolutely nothing to do with work assignments, but is impressive nonetheless.
Category: Dependability - Follows through on job responsibilities with thoroughness and accuracy. Reliable and consistent.
Employee Comments: Employee follow through on all threats, whether or not carrying out those threats is her responsibility. Employee can be counted on to accurately state her position (see “interpersonal skills”) in a clear and concise manner and is reliable and consistent in this endeavor.
Category: Time Management - Plans and manages own work to accomplish critical tasks on time. Adapts to changing conditions and situation.
Employee Comments: Employee must manage and plan her work with precision and accuracy as it seems that there is no clear criteria as to when assignments that should be the responsibility of others will suddenly show up on her desk with little or no warning. She adapts to these ever-changing conditions well and has learned how to use lighter fluid and a Zippo proficiently so as to negate the constant calls to the fire department to extinguish flaming heaps of paperwork.
Category: Problem Solving/Decision Making - Determines and obtains the information needed to solve a problem; draws appropriate conclusions. Weighs alternatives and selects the best solution; make decisions on a timely basis.
Employee Comments: Well of freaking COURSE. What are you? Blind? Stupid? Oh yeah. That’s right. You’re management. Never mind.
Category: Supervision - Ensures that subordinate positions are filled with qualified personnel. Monitors subordinate performance and resolves problems. Works toward increasing subordinates skills and competencies.
Employee Comments: Employee has performed admirably in this category when faced with a choice of a three armed monkey and the valedictorian of the short bus brigade as office support. The monkey eats too much, but sacrifices must be made and the monkey’s skills are much improved and potty training is on course.
Category: Management - Supports and enforces Company policies and objectives; sets example through personal conduct and performance.
Employee Comments: Employee is the epitome of class, self-control and professionalism. Really. No, I’m serious. And any other employees who claim additional prowess in the field of creative swearing due to Employee’s example are fucking liars.
Category: Expense Management - Works to establish appropriate reporting and control mechanisms; operates efficiently at lowest cost; stays within established targets.
Employee Comments: Employee doesn’t spend a damned dime and probably should. Employee requests that a fully stocked bar and a Spot Bot be incorporated into the annual budget for 2008/2009. See “Supervision”.
Category: Goal Setting - Sets objectives consistent with Company and department goals and follows action plans to achieve them.
Employee Comments: Employee consistently establishes and achieves lofty goals, be they her goals or those of the company and, really, aren’t they all the same anyway? Employee follows action plans to achieve these goals and, to date, has avoided perpetrating any colossal acts of fuckery that would otherwise derail said plans or get her ass sued off.
Category: Overall Evaluation
Employee Comments: Give the bitch a big fat raise already. Christ. What is it gonna TAKE?
Career Development Plans
Comments: Do it now. Retroactive to like a year ago or something. Just get off your over-fed, over-paid corporate keister and give the woman some money.
Additional Employee Comments: If you need me to discuss this evaluation, I’ll be packing up my office.
Employee Name: As if you didn’t know
Appraisal Date: Should have been a year ago you dumbass
Period Covered: When I started to: Probably when Hell freezes over
Position: Your Job
Rate Range: As much as I can squeeze out of your penny pinching ass
Current Rate: Not nearly enough
Department: Any one I want
Dear Employee:
You have asked us to finally give you the salary increase we promised you when we hired you, never realizing you'd actually expect us to follow through with that promise. We will be unable to grant your request without your input regarding your job performance. Therefore, kindly carefully read the following categories and give us the benefit of your thoughts with regard to your job performance in each category. We will then carefully examine your responses and, in all likelihood, continue to screw you royally with regard to said imaginary salary increase.
Category: Interacts with others in an effective and appropriate manner; develops relationships (inside and outside the Company) that enhance understanding, communication
Employee Comments: Employee believes in the old adage of “do unto others before they wise up and stop giving you decent openings.” Employee is adept at the use of simple, if somewhat abrupt, language that clearly demonstrates her meaning, centers the majority of her communications around well chosen four letter, one syllable words that even the morons selected to supervise her daily activities are able to understand. Employee has mastered the art of communication through easy to remember hand signals.
Category: Teamwork/Cooperation - Works well with team members to accomplish the goals of the department. Works well with management to achieve Company goals. Flexible in accepting new or additional assignments.
Employee Comments: Team members have learned to by God do as they’re told and that’s really all that matters. Management is nothing more than toady mouthpieces and are best avoided. Employee’s flexibility has absolutely nothing to do with work assignments, but is impressive nonetheless.
Category: Dependability - Follows through on job responsibilities with thoroughness and accuracy. Reliable and consistent.
Employee Comments: Employee follow through on all threats, whether or not carrying out those threats is her responsibility. Employee can be counted on to accurately state her position (see “interpersonal skills”) in a clear and concise manner and is reliable and consistent in this endeavor.
Category: Time Management - Plans and manages own work to accomplish critical tasks on time. Adapts to changing conditions and situation.
Employee Comments: Employee must manage and plan her work with precision and accuracy as it seems that there is no clear criteria as to when assignments that should be the responsibility of others will suddenly show up on her desk with little or no warning. She adapts to these ever-changing conditions well and has learned how to use lighter fluid and a Zippo proficiently so as to negate the constant calls to the fire department to extinguish flaming heaps of paperwork.
Category: Problem Solving/Decision Making - Determines and obtains the information needed to solve a problem; draws appropriate conclusions. Weighs alternatives and selects the best solution; make decisions on a timely basis.
Employee Comments: Well of freaking COURSE. What are you? Blind? Stupid? Oh yeah. That’s right. You’re management. Never mind.
Category: Supervision - Ensures that subordinate positions are filled with qualified personnel. Monitors subordinate performance and resolves problems. Works toward increasing subordinates skills and competencies.
Employee Comments: Employee has performed admirably in this category when faced with a choice of a three armed monkey and the valedictorian of the short bus brigade as office support. The monkey eats too much, but sacrifices must be made and the monkey’s skills are much improved and potty training is on course.
Category: Management - Supports and enforces Company policies and objectives; sets example through personal conduct and performance.
Employee Comments: Employee is the epitome of class, self-control and professionalism. Really. No, I’m serious. And any other employees who claim additional prowess in the field of creative swearing due to Employee’s example are fucking liars.
Category: Expense Management - Works to establish appropriate reporting and control mechanisms; operates efficiently at lowest cost; stays within established targets.
Employee Comments: Employee doesn’t spend a damned dime and probably should. Employee requests that a fully stocked bar and a Spot Bot be incorporated into the annual budget for 2008/2009. See “Supervision”.
Category: Goal Setting - Sets objectives consistent with Company and department goals and follows action plans to achieve them.
Employee Comments: Employee consistently establishes and achieves lofty goals, be they her goals or those of the company and, really, aren’t they all the same anyway? Employee follows action plans to achieve these goals and, to date, has avoided perpetrating any colossal acts of fuckery that would otherwise derail said plans or get her ass sued off.
Category: Overall Evaluation
Employee Comments: Give the bitch a big fat raise already. Christ. What is it gonna TAKE?
Career Development Plans
Comments: Do it now. Retroactive to like a year ago or something. Just get off your over-fed, over-paid corporate keister and give the woman some money.
Additional Employee Comments: If you need me to discuss this evaluation, I’ll be packing up my office.
Friday, August 08, 2008
Friday Morning Life Lessons
1. When they told you in school that certain metals are excellent conductors of heat, I hope they remembered to tell you that silver should be at the top of the list. Therefore, when blow drying your now neck skimming hair, take OFF your sterling silver necklace unless you want a chain link burn mark.
2. Beware of women in mini-vans, talking on their cell phones while driving too quickly through the drop off zone of summer camp because they WILL then slam on the brakes and pull a u-turn in front of you AND the oncoming car in the middle of the next intersection.
3. Crossing your eyes repeatedly might not cause them to some day “stick that way”, but picking at scabs will create a freakin’ scar.
4. Write down the brand name of the shoes you love beyond reason BEFORE you’ve worn them out and can no longer read the stupid name that is only written where you’ve completely rubbed it off with your heel over the past two years.
5. If falling asleep with your really wide cuffed watch caused a rash once, it will cause a rash the second time you do it as well.
6. Blasting Seether out the windows of a Cadillac will scare old people on the sidewalk who were probably expecting to hear Perry Como.
7. Don’t underestimate how much shredded paper it takes to fill up file cabinet and desk drawers.
8. Check the status of the toilet paper supply in a bathroom stall before you sit down.
9. Fathers who answer their daughter’s question “Can we go to HobbyTown USA” with “No, we’re not going to HobbyTown USA because you don’t need anything and we just got back from vacation.” while in your presence, seldom give the same answer to that same question when you’re not there.
It’s been a long morning.
2. Beware of women in mini-vans, talking on their cell phones while driving too quickly through the drop off zone of summer camp because they WILL then slam on the brakes and pull a u-turn in front of you AND the oncoming car in the middle of the next intersection.
3. Crossing your eyes repeatedly might not cause them to some day “stick that way”, but picking at scabs will create a freakin’ scar.
4. Write down the brand name of the shoes you love beyond reason BEFORE you’ve worn them out and can no longer read the stupid name that is only written where you’ve completely rubbed it off with your heel over the past two years.
5. If falling asleep with your really wide cuffed watch caused a rash once, it will cause a rash the second time you do it as well.
6. Blasting Seether out the windows of a Cadillac will scare old people on the sidewalk who were probably expecting to hear Perry Como.
7. Don’t underestimate how much shredded paper it takes to fill up file cabinet and desk drawers.
8. Check the status of the toilet paper supply in a bathroom stall before you sit down.
9. Fathers who answer their daughter’s question “Can we go to HobbyTown USA” with “No, we’re not going to HobbyTown USA because you don’t need anything and we just got back from vacation.” while in your presence, seldom give the same answer to that same question when you’re not there.
It’s been a long morning.
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