Harumph

This blog has no purpose, no focus, and is full of completely meaningless content that will make you regret wasting the last ten seconds you just spent using up your eyeball juice to read it.

eyeball
I’m trying out my reviewing skills. What do you think? Not bad, right?

Er, do reviewers get reviewed?  If not, they should.

Isn’t this photo gross.  How does he do that??  My dad used to do this trick where he pulled up his eyelids and rolled his eyes so his pupils weren’t visible and they looked all white.  Scared the crap out of me….

Now that I think of it, my dad was some kind of sadist.  He used to stand out on the porch during a horrendous thunderstorm and harry me into joining him.  I’d put on my bravado face and throw out a comment on the amazing lightning show until the seconds between light and boom were a little too short.  Then I’d mutter some excuse about having to put my Barbies away and skedaddle.

We enjoyed this same ritual whenever Dad decided to watch a horror movie on late night tv.  This was how my eyeballs were first assaulted by “The Exorcist,” and some weird film about a creepy severed hand that crawled around and attacked teenagers making out in a car.  Don’t worry, I got my parents back by becoming a complete insomniac who would refuse to go to bed and allow them some “adult time.”

My mom informed me years later that my father was probably too chicken to watch these movies alone and needed the company while she pretended to be cleaning up my Barbies.

Sigh …I miss my crazy-eyed, thunder-lovin’ chicken dad.

 

Once Upon a Mattress…

Aside

Sorry, this blog post is about to explode into a temper tantrum……..Um……Ah….Grrrrr……Ooooo……..AGUAAAGOOGOOGAGA!!!

DOES ANYONE, KNOW HOW TO DO THEIR #@!&# JOB???!!!!!

My husband decided to do some spring cleaning which, unfortunately, usually requires my involvement, as in, “Hon, would you help me lug this queen-sized mattress and box spring up 3 flights of stairs, across the swamped out backyard full of alligators, through the four foot high flea-infested front lawn and sling it onto the curb without slamming into the neighbor’s precious BMW or knocking over the Harley that belongs to the friendly but rather raucous crack house across the street?”

So after a few broken fingers, head-rattling concussions, foot-long gashes and loudly murmured “BOB SAGETS!”, the mattress patiently waits for the trash truck to carry it to its final destination.

thPRXTF5AW

A few days later, it’s still waiting….

thESZHL3DGthXHHZZ1Y4

And a few weeks later.  IT’S. STILL. “@ONADGA%#(#*%BOB SAGET!!!!!” WAITING THERE!!!!!!

Yes, we made arrangements with the trash collectors beforehand.  Yes, my husband contacted the dispatcher every day – her name’s, Savannah, and they’re expecting their first baby in October.  Yes, I posted on Angie’s List and gave them an “F” Rating.  Then. Just as I was about to file with the BBB.  The mattress vanished.

Not really sure if it was our official trash collectors, though, because some savvy neighbor got their hands on the box spring a few days earlier.

The thing is, this isn’t just a tale about a mattress.

I wouldn’t have been so upset if I hadn’t just spent the past week dealing with other situations where people either didn’t do their job, messed up the job, or weren’t even available to mess up the job.

Do you see the unwelcome trend here?

Here is my theory, which has prevented me from reaching through the receiver and sadistically plucking every nose hair from the Bungler Du Jour on the other end:

1) Company carries a glut of managerial dead weight and a small set of “little workers” who actually possess skills

2) Company needs to make more money to pay their CEOs

3) Company shuffles around deadweight and dumps more work on little workers without compensation, along with the phrase “Hey, at least you still have a job!”

4) Little Worker tells frustrated consumer on the phone, “Hey, at least I’m still on the line feeding you bull$@(%!”

End of theory and rant.

Speaking of work……….I better get back to my job, before someone tries to pluck out my nose hairs.

 

What day is it in Beijing?

Aside

Good Morning!

Sunday morning….

Reflection Time.Image

When we do attend church, we go in the evenings.  For us, Sunday mornings are not to be rushed events.

I’m a stomach sleeper.  So, I’ll start the day by rolling over and flat lining on my back while entertaining peaceful thoughts and watching the sun rise through my eyelids.

Then I’ll cautiously open my eyes, but only enough to reveal small blurry slits of daylight.  I have to pretend I’m still asleep, you see, so when our daughter wakes up and starts yelling or the boys start noodling around the kitchen for food my husband has to be the one to jump to attention.  It’s also a waiting game on who will be up first to make the coffee.

I usually win.

Except when he wakes up and squeezes my shoulders in a big hug and asks sweetly, would you mind…..?

Grrrr, well played! ;(

Now we’ll see who can hold out long enough to get out of making breakfast, er brunch.

Happy Sunday! (unless you live in China or Korea, whatever, then all my best wishes for a durable, pain-free Monday)

Will Work for Food

I am not a good motivator.

I can’t even motivate myself…have you seen the dates on my last blogs? Of course you haven’t, because I haven’t been motivated enough to network for more readers.

Money motivates me to some extent, therefore I work, but in a very blasé, unmotivated fashion. As in, I work from my bed. I wake up, get the kids to school, then lie on my bed and work on the computer. Sometimes I get dressed.

Hunger motivates me to arise from the bed and shuffle a few steps to the refrigerator, which is only a few feet away in the kitchen right. outside. my bedroom. I AM motivated to do this several times a day, but I’m not sure that bad habits/food addiction/boredom really count as proper motivational tools in the How to Be a Motivator Rule Book.

Soooo….with my point demonstrated and grossly overstated, let me move on to my dilemma over motivating my unemployed husband to arise from the couch.

He lost his job 9 months ago after working for my family’s business that went OUT of business. Same ol’ same ol’ Main Street story in America these days – highly qualified, over-skilled fifty-something competing with entry level college grads for some 70 hr/week understaffed job that pays a little higher than minimum wage. My husband sends out about 10 resumes a day into cyberspace, has received about 5 excited calls about his resume with no follow up calls and NO INTERVIEWS. So, yeah, he kind of doesn’t feel like getting up off the couch.
I’d let him stay in bed, but this is my domain.
Oh, and also, his mom died.
And his dad will probably soon follow, considering he’s on a few borrowed months’ time with stage 4 cancer.

Comcast put out a wonderfully helpful article entitled, “Is Your Job Search Getting You Down?” that suggests the prospective job hunter surround himself with positive motivational people.

I don’t know any Suzy Sunshinesspongebob. Do you?

Excuse me while I put on my slippers and shuffle into the kitchen for a bag of Cheetos.

I might as well be blogging

So, I got a new job.

A few weeks ago, I wasn’t so insouciant- it was more like “I GOT A JOB!  AND IT’S FULL-TIME FROM MY HOME OFFICE!!!”  The work is enjoyable.  I mean, I tell people that I work on excel worksheets all day, and they give me a look that implies, should I offer you a loaded gun to move things along a little more quickly which compels me to explain that, “no, really, I really like doing this stuff because I have some weird anal side to me that loves tedious data entry work.”  And I do truly enjoy it, because, to me, it’s like playing an endless game of Cake Mania and getting paid for it….

but see, that’s the thing….getting paid for it.  Because, even though I’ve been working for these people for about a month, and they seem like very nice, normal people, I’ve only received one paycheck for about half a week’s pay.

So now I’m forced into this unfortunate position of essentially having to beg for money like Oliver holding out his bowl for more porridge.  I’m grateful for this job and all, but, in America at least, I was under the assumption that receiving a paycheck was an employee’s right.  And I’m not just bagging on this particular employer…because, for some reason, I’ve been placed in this awkward position with several other jobs as well.

Which leaves me no choice but to ask – is it ME???!! 

Seriously, I would love to hear from others on this one on whether this is a common occurrence or not.

If not, then maybe I should reconsider searching for employment on Craig’s List.  Just sayin’

Ooh-Rah!

There may be many awful things happening in the world,

Horrible crimes committed by misguided creatures.

And, of course, there’s always the question of

Why “bad things happen to good people.”

But as the riddler runs by

Tossing out excuses

Does he ever stop to gather the answer?

Shit happens

But God’s there with His strength and compassion

Ready to dig us out.

War happens

But soldiers are there with their courage and conviction

Ready to bail us out.

Thank You, Lord, for our veterans!

Happy Veterans Day, America

and Happy 236th Birthday, Marines!

p.s. Thanks for your service, Honey.  Now go out and enjoy that free slurpee or lunch – you deserve it!  Ooh-Rah!

The Weighting Game

At least three times a day, my daughter and I play a game that isn’t fun for either of us. 

The first round, which begins at about six thirty a.m. on weekdays and eight a.m. on weekends, plays like a Pokemon or Bakugan battle arena: 1) Mom rolls the dice to find out what condition Jess will be in when she awakes  2) Mom plays the yellow “bright and cheery good morning” card while she offers a bottle full of 250 calories of nutritional goodness 3) Jessica then selects a red card to counteract Mom’s sugary sweet attack – these cards provide a selection of the following responses – a/ vehemently refuse the bottle and kick mom in the gut,  b/shove the bottle away and smack mom on the arm,  c/accept the bottle and only drink half  4) After playing her card, Jessica rolls the dice to ascertain what Mom’s disposition will be when she responds to her counter attack card.  This round continues on an endless cycle until either Jessica’s bus arrives or an episode of iCarly comes on.

Round 2, which only occurs on weekends or days-off around noon, is strictly verbal and played like a game of Outburst.  Mom always starts first:

“Jessica, what would you like for lunch?”

“Nothing.”

“You have to eat something.  How about a ham sandwich and some applesauce?”

“No.” (Mom then makes a ham sandwich with ten pieces of ham, two slices of cheese and gobs of mayo, and mixes a tbsp of Duocal, a calorie supplement, into a cup of applesauce, and mixes another tbsp of Duocal into a cup of strawberry milk….totaling a meal of approx 850 calories.  Mom sets meal on table in front of Jessica.)

Jessica: “I’m not hungry.”

Mom: “Eat your lunch.  Do you need help?”

Jessica: “No!  I don’t want it!  I want chips.”

Mom: “You can eat chips after you take a bite.”  (Jess takes a bite that would starve an ant.  Mom gives her a potato chip.  Jess takes one hour to eat one chip.  Mom gets Jess to eat a few more bites of sandwich and one bite of applesauce.)  Gameplay continues until Jessica finally eats at least 100 calories.

Round 3 includes the whole family and is played at, you guessed it, dinner time.  This round is a combination of the two previous gameplays with the additional use of the bright, neon, fire engine red card called, “*The Feeding Tube.”  This card, which can be played by all family members excluding Jessica is threatened in the following way: “Jessica, if you don’t eat this, we will have to put you on the feeding tube.”

*Round 4: The Feeding Tube card must be played if the previous three rounds have been unsuccessful.  This game involves the entire family and is played like “Rock ’em, Sock ’em Robots.”  Dad holds Jessica.  Brother holds Jessica’s cup of water with a straw.  Mom attempts to place feeding tube through Jessica’s nose and down her throat into her stomach.  Jessica screams and flails her arms around.

If Round 4 is unsuccessful, which lately has been the case, most likely because Jessica’s back is too twisted to allow the tube to be placed properly, then the entire game must be played again the next day….and the day after that…and the day after that…until my sweet, amazingly adorable 11-year-old daughter who has cerebral palsy, supravulvular pulmonary stenosis, severe scoliosis and a heady case of failure-to-thrive, finally wins this arduous, disheartening, energy-zapping, life-sucking Weighting Game.

Living Green (or not)

I’ve been remiss with my posting.

But I have an excuse, NO POWER!!  Thanks to the freak snow storm that hit us before Halloween.  Maybe not so weird at the North Pole, but for the Philadelphia area, yeah, it’s weird.  Normally, when our power goes out it pops back on in about 15 minutes or less.  This time it went out for pretty much the whole weekend.  I used the experience as a test…..I’ll explain why.

About a year ago I read a book by William Powers called “Twelve by Twelve.”  In it, the author describes his experience of living in a twelve-foot-by-twelve-foot cabin without running water or electricity in a rural area of North Carolina – as he describes it, “a one-room cabin off the grid and beyond the American Dream.”  After a decade of aid and conservation work in Africa and Latin America, Powers returned to his parents’ home in New York city and felt completely disillusioned by the changes he saw, so he shacked up in a friend’s cabin to discover how humanity could “transition to gentler, more responsible ways of living by replacing attachment to things with deeper relationships to people, nature, and self.”  Some people may fantasize about escaping it all with a trip to the Bahamas.  After reading this book, I fantasized, obsessed, about living this kind of lifestyle with my family.  First of all, I want to get rid of stuff.  Why do we accumulate so much stuff?  For one, I never seem to be able to turn down a hand-me-down, and we end up suctioning up everyone’s discards.  Then, when we want to get rid of our stuff, no one wants it.  I don’t blame them, our stuff is crap.  Second, I just want to simplify.  Our society is driven by comfort, on what’s going to make our lives easier.  Supposedly, technology, gadgets, public-owned utilities, online shopping, yeah, all that stuff makes our lives easier.  I think it makes more demands on us.  The more we have of these fabulous inventions, the more is expected of us i.e. “It’s okay if you’re stuck in a blizzard in Ackley, Wisconsin, I’ll just email your smartphone the 200 page document that needs to be whittled down to 3 pages by tonight.”  Ohhhhh, yeahhhh, sipping herbal tea in a hut in the middle of a wireless field sounded pretty freakin’ good.

Unfortunately, we completely failed the test of surviving without power for two days.  Couldn’t find the candles and when we did, discovered many of them were cracked or broken.  Couldn’t find a match…had to borrow some from the neighbors (the ones who had about 20 candles, 50 matchboxes, a dozen flashlights, a battery-operated radio, 3 cases of water and a generator, I might add).  Attempted to make pb&js for the kids, then after making a few sandwiches, realized the “peanut butter” I thought I put on the bread was actually mustard that came in a jar that looks exactly like “Skippy” in candlelight.  Got frustrated because I was in the middle of a document that was due the next day and couldn’t finish it.  Got frustrated because I’d already finished the book I was reading instead of working on the document.  Husband got frustrated because he had to suffer through a night without television.  Kids walked over to my brother’s house to play the Wii since they already got their power back after only a few hours.

Guess I should start dreaming about drinking pina coladas on that cruise to the Bahamas instead.

Really, it’s not you. It’s me.

Against my better judgement, I participated in one of those Facebook surveys (I know, don’t you hate people like me – I swear I’ve only done this once or twice) where you get to discover your “animal spirit” or something like that.  I couldn’t help it.  A lot of my friends were churning up photos of spewing llamas on their status page, and I secretly wanted to prove that my animal would be way cooler.  So, after answering about ten questions meant to sum up all the esoteric particles of my scintillating personality, up pops a pic of this awesome dude (um, see above – do I have to point out everything?)  Oh yeah, Baby, I’m a Jaguar!!  Jaguars are definitely cool!  Although, I picture myself more of the black kind stalking Mowgli before he safely reaches the village (don’t start with me, black panthers are jaguars).  Jaguars do all kinds of cool things.  They hang out in trees….alone.  They hunt prey at night…..alone.  They love to swim…..alone.  Okay, so maybe they aren’t sociable like the llama, but at least they don’t spit, right?

Believe it or not, I think this feckless, mind-muddling, ten-question FB survey is actually on to something.

I marched with the band in high school, but I technically, couldn’t be called a “band geek” because I also sang and danced in the school musical, helped publish the school magazine and volunteered with the Key Club.  In college I studied with the broadcasting, film and theater majors, slam-danced with the hardcore musicians, played quarters with the football players and booed Buckner with the Red Sox fans.  Now, as an adult, I still find myself floating in and out of social groups who have all been very welcoming, but I just don’t feel like I fit in with any of them.  Did I mention that jaguars are known to be very solitary animals?

What’s wrong with me?  Why do I keep lounging around in trees by myself?  My husband comes from a family of nine brothers and sisters.  He says he never really needs to feel like he’s part of a group because, when you’re in a big family, you are always part of a group.  Well, I have a family too.  I’m a part of that group…..so why have I always toyed with the idea that I was adopted?

Maybe what I’m searching for is definition.  Yeah, that’s the ticket.  Maybe this is why I hate filling out applications and blog “about me” pages.  I’m a Wife, check.  I’m a Mom, check.  I’m a Step Mom, check.  I’m a Special Needs Mom, check.  I’m a Writer, check.  I’m a Musician, check.  I’m a Christian, check.  I Hate all politicians,  check (except for the local commissioner who keeps showing up at my door and asking me to vote for him which I’ll be happy to do because he helped get the township pool built and it’s really awesome with a lazy river and all these slides….)  I’m a Korean Exchange Student Host, check.  I’m a Caterer, check.  I’m an Entertainment Business Has-Been, check.  I’m a Loner Sitting At My Laptop Spilling the Beans to No On in Particular Blogger, check.  I’m a freakin’ Solitary, Standoffish, Thinks-They’re-So-Great-Because-They-Look-Cool Jaguar.  Check!

Sigh.  I don’t care if they spit and the yarn spun from their undercoats make me itch.  Alpacas are intelligent, well-socialized, friendly and pleasant to be around, and they like to hang out with each other.  Why can’t I be a freakin’ llama?!

I need to retake that $%$%@&!  *Bob Saget survey!!

*(see my “Why I Have a Potty Mouth” post – do I have to point out everything?)

Why I Have a Potty Mouth

WHERE ARE MY @)%& @! TWEEZERS?!!?!

I don’t get mad often, unless it’s that time of the month, you know, when the PECO bill is due.  And I don’t really sound like a truck driver all of the time; though, let’s be honest, I think truck drivers get a bad rap for this – I know a few, and their mouths are sparkling clean (maybe they chew Orbit while they’re driving?)  But, I do tend to erupt during certain unfortunate incidents, such as: losing the most prized constituent of my vanity maintenance kit (I am extremely attached to my tweezers.  See “Why Old and Fuzzy” for FAQ), watching the Phillies “dream team” lose the first part of the playoffs (are you $*#%! kidding me!?), or plunging the toilet and mopping inches of cesspool water from the first-floor bathroom and basement floor after my son finally releases a sequoia log that he’s stockpiled inside his intestines for about a week. 

I blame my father for my occasionalinfrequent, (really not too often. quit judging me. who are you, Donna Reed?) potty mouth.  Watch “A Christmas Story,” especially during the untangling-the-Christmas-lights scene – That’s My Dad.  Funny thing is he hates that movie.  Apparently, he also wasn’t allowed to have a Red Ryder BB gun because he was told, “you’ll shoot your eye out.”  Shame on Jean Shepherd for writing my father’s unauthorized biography.

Although my brother and I frequently overheard our dad’s imprecations, we, of course, knew we would get in big trouble if those same words ever came out of our own mouths.  They never did, until some weird, inexplicable switch went off in my head when I became an adult.  I don’t know if the minute I turned eighteen some little devil popped on to my shoulder and whispered, “hey, you’re an adult now.  curse away.”  Can’t remember the exact moment I let those first expletives fly.  All I know is that I’m doing it now.  And I’m falling into the same family tradition that prohibits my children from repeating anything they overhear.  I’ve decided, however, to only use this as a temporary parenting technique.  Yep, I’ve decided to up the bar a bit by monitoring my potty mouth and making myself a, gasp, positive role model.

I have a wonderfully perfect friend whom I admire a great deal and try, but frequently fail, to imitate.  She and her super cool husband have four beautiful, talented girls with great big hearts and strong Christian values.  The youngest two girls are twins with cerebral palsy.  The oldest is in her first year of college.  My friend keeps herself incredibly busy with parenting and keeping an immaculate house and teaching music therapy and running a Joni and Friends support group for Moms of Special Needs.  And she says, “for pity’s sake,” when something goes awry.  What the hell…..heck!  Who says that? 

“Tessa!  Your house is on fire and all of your designer silk floral arrangements and custom Italian tiles are melting!!”

“What?  Oh for pity’s sake!”

I don’t think I can do it, you know, limit myself like that.  I just don’t see me using phrases like “Heavens to Betsy,” or “Oh My Stars.”  And I’m not Catholic, so I can’t use the standard, “Holy Mary, Mother of God, Sweet Mother of Mercy.”

I have an idea though.  My stepdaughter was a regular viewer of Tourettes Guy  (click link at your own risk) on Youtube (for the record, she watched this at her Mom’s house).    Danny, the Tourettes Guy Who Didn’t Really Have Tourettes But, Apparently, Had Many Other Issues, is dead now.  However, he did leave behind a legacy.  For some reason, in between tirades of blaspheme that would turn even my dad’s face crimson with embarassment, Danny would randomly shout out “Bob Saget!”  I can’t stand the guy, Bob Saget, that is….tv dad in one of the worst sitcoms ever made other than Small Wonder….obviously disgruntled “I don’t want to be here, even though it pays far more than I’m worth,” host of America’s Funniest Videos.  Soooo, Bob Saget has become the chosen one.  The chosen catch phrase.

“Mom!  The coffee pot’s clogged again and leaking unbrewed swill all over the countertop and shorting out the toaster that’s causing the circuit breaker to pop, thereby cutting off the electricity in Section A, which includes the plug that powers your laptop with the dead battery you never replaced and causing you to lose your 3,000 word document that you never saved that’s due tomorrow!”

“@#%O&O!$%(&%…..Bob Saget!!”