Spending all day yesterday thinking it was Friday and realizing, as I got ready for bed, that I had one. more. day. at work.
Even the Beek is sad.
If you are of a certain age, you will remember when computers were new and shiny and scary. When schools had “computer labs” rather than providing 5-year-olds iPads. When mobile phones in cars were something special and *gasp* had cords.
Now? Almost everyone has at least 1 computer, 2 phones, an e-reader, or some combination of this. Buying a computer for your child is not an event; it’s almost expected.
So, what brings on this rant?
As a corollary to my previous post of looking for beauty, I feel like I have become hyper-aware of the constant barrage of media stories about celebrities and politicians who think they can get away with things and act “surprised” when they get caught.
I cannot watch the news – local or national. I’m sure I’ve written about this before. I just cannot do it. The constant reminder of all the horrible things that go on in the world – what’s that saying? “If it bleeds, it leads”? Um, no. There *are* good things going on in the world. Babies being born, weddings, medical advances, estranged families finding each other. Really. Happy events occur all the time.
Obviously, horrible things *do* happen. I’m not living in a fairyland bubble where everything is rainbows and glitter. I just get to choose what I am exposed to.
Now, here’s where the love/hate part comes in. There is a headline today about a judge, caught on video beating his disabled daughter. My first thought, other than the obvious disgust and horror, was “Who the hell would put that on video and put it on the Interwebs???” That was quickly followed by “Thank goat someone DID video it and exposed this monster!” I will not now, or ever, watch the video. It would make me physically sick, I’m sure. Nor will I put a link to the story. This “thing” is (hopefully *was* at this point) a judge, tasked with the duty of deciding the fate of the people in his court. My heart hurts for his daughter.
Another example is the ocean of information we get about celebrities. Who is dating/marrying/divorcing/having dinner with whom. I know many celebrities court this notoriety and call the press to let them know where they are. I cannot imagine living that life. Luckily, I will never have to.
I follow celebrities on Twitter. I read some magazines (NOT tabloids!) about celebrities. Just as I am looking for new blogs to read, I have changed my taste in magazines as well. I am just as susceptible as anyone else to checking out who is doing what over there in Hollywood. But, jeepers! Leave these people alone! I don’t need to see stars grocery shopping. Or going to the dry-cleaner. Nor do I need to know every. single. move. they make throughout the day. The celebrity that most recently “announced” her divorce after 2 months? Now we get to hear every. gory. detail. Over. And over.
Technology is fantastic. I love my laptop. And I would be lost without my phone. I get my exposure to world events online. Some of my favorite people in the world? I know them from online. Exposing horrible people so that they will stop doing what they do? Good thing. Holding a magnifying glass to every facet of life? Could go either way, quite honestly.
I could never see myself “going off the grid” as they say and giving up technology. I can’t change it. But I can change my attitude about it. I can change how much I allow myself to be exposed to. I can turn off the “bad” things. And I can surround myself with the glitter and rainbows.
So, after such a horrible post yesterday, I thought I would post something mindless and superfluous.
These are just questions that rattle around my brain, in regards to fashion dos and don’ts.
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Why are scrunchies so vilified? I missed the memo about why we hate these. Can someone enlighten me, please? I don’t find them offensive. And I’d let to get on board with the hate.
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If horizontal stripes are such a huge issue, why do designers still use them? (I was going to write more, but really? That says it all.)
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Why, in the name all kittens, are designers making t-shirts sheer? I know I have complained about this before, but jeepers! I don’t want to look at others’ bras, not do I expect they want to see mine. I like to wear them to work under a jacket or sweater, with the knowledge that if it gets hot, I can take the top layer off behind the slurpee machine and not be scandalous. No more, it seems.
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Crocs. Really?
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I don’t understand the people who stretch their ear lobes with those big pipe-like things, where there used to be an earring. And they keep increasing the size of said pipe-like thing. I’ve seen people who, evidently, went too big and the lobe ripped. *hork*
I am all for piercings. Go crazy. I wouldn’t do it personally, but eyebrow, nose, lip, whatev…if it makes you happy, do it. But that stretching thing? Nope. I don’t get it.
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Pantyhose. I *know* many women look better with them. I *know* that many workplaces require them. But, they are SO. PHUCKING. UNCOMFORTABLE. The nylon does not keep it’s shape. They sag. They pull. They snag. They start making your feet burn if you have to walk any distance. The crotch sags. Le sigh. Who made up the rule about hose?
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Short shorts.
Belly shirts.
Micro-minis.
I hate all these trends.
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I very likely have NO business with this query, but WHAT is up with dressing little girls like slutty, 25 year old women?? When I go to Target (a magical place where nothing bad ever happens) and walk by the “Girls” department and glance at what is currently being offered to young girls as fashion?? Oh Em Gee. Mothers? I’m so sorry for you. My mother would not more allow me to wear some of that garb *in* the house, let alone out in public. And I mean NOW. When I was a kid? (Back in my day…). Pants. Turtlenecks. T-shirts – long, NOT belly shirts. Skirts – knee-length or longer.
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That’s all for now. I’m sure I’ll come up with more. (Oh, and an update about my post yesterday. I am seeing my doctor Tuesday.)
I’ve read that if something bugs you, you need to either write about it or talk about it – just get it out, or it will eat at you. So here goes….
People. Not *all* people, of course. But the ones who walk around completely oblivious to the world around them. You know who I mean – they cut you off in a store without a second thought; they park their shopping cart randomly in the middle of an aisle and ignore your attempts to get around them; they stay on their cell phone at the checkout line.
What in the world has happened to common courtesy?? I have even tried to act like these people. I was mortified for myself. The total disregard for anyone around me made me feel like I was the biggest jerk. Ever.
Lately, when I go to Target – a magical place where nothing bad ever happens – I leave thinking “I need to not be out among people”. I find myself less and less tolerant of this type of behavior. Thank goat for online shopping.
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Commercials. When did we, as a culture, become so stupid? 98% of the ads I see on television make me cringe. Apparently, ad companies think it is okay to treat consumers as if they have the collective IQ of a dandelion. Cartoon bears to sell toilet paper? Cartoons to sell car insurance? Cartoons to sell *anything* to adults?? I get it if they are using cartoons to sell to kids. (I don’t know that it’s appropriate, but I get it.) But to adults? Really?
And restaurants who show how big their portions are? Do we *really* need a 2 pound calzone? Or tacos the size of a loaf of bread? How about we just get a real portion and pay less?
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As-seen-on-TV-products. Don’t get me wrong – I love me some info-mercials and shopping TV. I am a WEN girl because of the info-mercial. And I got my ped-egg from seeing an info-mercial.
But have you seen some of the other things that are being hawked? The plastic egg cooker things that make it “so much easier” to make hard-boiled eggs? The premise is that peeling hard-boiled eggs is *really* hard. And takes forever. Really? Is that a huge problem of which I am not aware?
And the bags that save you space? On one hand, I do get that. But the ad shows a closet where everything is stuffed in and it seems that they have 4,319 comforters and 80 pairs of pants and 24,941 sweaters. Perhaps the problem isn’t that you don’t have room. Maybe you just HAVE TOO MUCH STUFF!! I’m just spit-balling here.
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Blogs that require a verification every time you comment. I don’t like spam any more than anyone else, but if I comment on a blog frequently enough, I should be “approved” to comment. OR if you don’t like what I comment, delete it.
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There are so many more things. I’ll complain more, I’m sure. But I needed to get that stuff off my chest.
If any of the above hits a nerve with you, I’m sorry. I am fully aware that I bug people. All. The. Time. And I’m sorry for that too.
163 days ago, I broke my comfort zone. I don’t know what I was thinking of at the time, but it seemed then like a really good idea.
14 days from now, it will be done. My life will be forever changed, for good or bad. I think it will be for good, so that’s how I’m approaching it.
I had such high hopes and grand plans to get ready for this. I started a “Couch to 5K” program, since I HATE RUNNING. I knew it would be my least favorite portion, so I thought I would train most on that. Within a month, I had a beautiful squishy lump on my knee and couldn’t run. It was identified as runner’s knee and was followed by 2 months of PT. I will be walking the running portion.
I’m getting pretty good at the biking portion. For years, I said I was going to start riding my bike to work, since I live only 7 miles away from the Gas ‘n Sip. This gave me an excuse to actually do it. Of course, I am incredible at coming up with excuses to NOT ride, but so far, I have gotten more use from my bike this summer than I have in the past 10 years.
The swimming was the portion I was least worried about. However, putting on a wetsuit? YIKES! I decided that I would deal with it with the same attitude I deal with getting a massage – they have seen bodies FAR better and FAR worse than mine. And after I attended a swim clinic, that is so true! I’m fine.
I have 2 weeks to mentally prepare. I’ll get there.
And thanks to my extraordinarily generous friends (and some strangers) I have managed to raise almost $750 for breast cancer research. That was the main purpose of signing up. I’m very pleased about that fact.
Thank you for your support! I’ll let you know how it goes.
Miss me?
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I have 4,396 blank journals. I think it’s a borderline sickness. I love buying them. I love looking for pretty ones. And I get them all with the best of intentions. I don’t honestly mean to write on the first page or two and then put it aside for the next new, pretty book.
I’m pretty sure that if I wrote an average of 2-3 pages a day, steadily, it would take me about 3 years to get through all the journals I currently have. It’s crazy. I would love to donate them (sans my initial efforts, of course) but I don’t know who would take them.
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My house was broken into yesterday. The front door had been kicked in. What did they take? Abso-frickin-lutely NOTHING. It’s very odd. My laptop was right there. My emerald ring was right there. My Ambien was right there. F*ckers.
The stranger part of this is that I live on a crazy-busy (for this area) corner, with an average of 100-500 cars/hour going by and they did it IN BROAD DAYLIGHT!!! Whoever did it has a huge set, let me tell you. AND, one of my back windows was open to give the cats some air. Burglers are stupid.
Also? Despite having watched 10,000 hours of crime shows? I touched everything before I called the police. Good going, MaM! *eye roll*
And? Finger print dust makes a crazy mess.
Oh, well, it could have been so much worse. Right?
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I am down to 40 days before the Tri. I am in no way, shape, or form “ready” for it. But I’m going to go, and have fun. And hopefully change my life.
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I *really* want a new job. I have finally reached the decision that I am not enjoying what I am doing. However, I don’t want to just jump to some other random job. I don’t want to feel this way again in 6 months. I want to find something that excites me.
Now. To just figure out what that is.
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Thank you, Debra.
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Oh, hello! Come on in and have some iced tea.
There’s something wrong with me. Mentally. I’m convinced of it. Someone here at the Gas ‘n Sip just invited me to his child’s first birthday party. I almost started crying.
This is strange for many reasons.
- Crying? Really?
- I don’t enjoy children, typically.
- I don’t enjoy socializing with circus work folks, typically.
- Crying? Really?
Thank goat I decided to take this Friday and Monday off. Evidently, I need a nap. Or, you know, a smack in the head.
Oh, hello! Come on in and have a taste of blueberry pie. But watch the stains on your teeth. I have extra toothbrushes for those who need them.
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A quick hello to Mr. Farty! I think you commented for the first time. I will be honest – I SQUEEd when I saw your comment… including the fart. Welcome to my very neglected blog.
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I haven’t been around much. Not for any major or catastrophic reason though. More as a function of the fact that I really didn’t think I had anything to say. And if *I* think I’m boring, I certainly don’t want to subject *you* to that. You’re welcome.
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K2Kid and I went to see SATC2. Oh. Mah. Gah. If you haven’t seen it yet, and are thinking about it, or thinking about waiting to get it on DVD, don’t even bother. It was that bad. It was forced, and contrived, and it tried WAY to hard. The ladies have NOT aged well… or at least the cameras made it seem that way. Samantha is still slutty, Charlotte is still a goody-goody, Carrie is still nagging Big, and Miranda is still icky. This isn’t even a fun, rainy-day movie that you could pop in for something mindless. Save yourself $9 and 2 hours and watch the first one again. Or watch Mamma Mia. At least those two were fun. And mindless.
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My seeming year of reading memoirs continues with “The Year We Disappeared” by Cylin Busby and John Busby. It’s the story of John and what happens to him and his family after he gets shot in the face on the way to work one night. He was a cop on Cape Cod. The chapters switch back and forth from John to Cylin, who is John’s daughter. She was 9 at the time this happened. Her chapters are written from the perspective of her 9-year-old self. His chapters are told from his perspective at that time. The shooting occurred in 1979. Overall, it was an interesting story and it read very fast. I would have liked to hear more about the wrong cops who failed to properly investigate, but I guess that might be another story. I’d give it 7 out of 10.
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I was going to do a post about how this year I have decided to embrace my “girliness”. You know, more dresses, matching unmentionables, high heels, better makeup, blah blah blah. But then the week that causes me to HATE being a girl happened and blew that out the window. Maybe another time.
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I have been participating in an online class workshop exercise something that is meant to encourage participants to take more time to rest and play and generally enjoy life. The purpose is to be kinder to yourself and ultimately get more out of your life. What have I learned so far? I have no idea how to play.
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What else….. I don’t know. I guess that is it for…. OH!
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I’ve been thinking about NaNoWriMo. I only found out about it last year in the last week of October, so I had no time to prepare. It’s a writing event, designed to encourage free writing of quantity over quality. 50,000 words in 30 days with no editing. It’s a wonderful way to stretch your creative muscles and write a novel in a month. I signed up last year and only made it to about 15,000 words. And what started out as a “novel”, with a “plot line”, devolved into more of an online journal. And it was BAD!
So I’ve been thinking about it for this year. And I thought I would start to develop an outline or at least characters on which to build a story. Yeah. I think any writing creativity has left the building. I know I should “write what I know” but if I am to base a story on my life? SNOOZE FEST!!! I will likely be skipping the even this year. But I will be there cheering on others who I know are participating!!
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Okay. That’s it. I’m done. Have a lovely day.
Oh, hello! Have a Skinny Cow ice cream cone. Yummy!
This may be a stream of consciousness type post. But I’m serious. Stop reading.
I am completely sick of myself. Have you ever gotten to that point? (You can’t answer, because you stopped reading up there when I recommended it.) Judas priest. It seems like there should be more. A better job. Less fear. More confidence – in myself, my abilities, my life. More… Just more.
And despite how much time I spend thinking about how to make that happen, or reading about how to make that happen, or wishing to make that happen, it seems that all end up doing is whining about it more. It’s like I’m sick of where I am but afraid to move on or try for more. So then it becomes my fault for not doing something, and then OH MY GOD! JUST SHUT UP ALREADY!!!!
I want to be thin. I want to write. I want to be in a happy relationship. I want I want I want. Well, then DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT!! STOP TALKING ABOUT IT AND JUST START.
Why is it so hard for me (or, I suspect, many people) to make changes – positive changes – in my life? Is it fear only? Fear of the unknown? Fear of leaving what is comfortable?
I mean, really. What is the worst thing that can happen? I fail? I don’t lose weight? I send out a resume and don’t hear back? SO WHAT! That doesn’t make me a bad person. At least I could say I tried.
I am so sick of being afraid. And I’m so sick of saying this over and over. And I’m so sick of wallowing in my own uncertainty. And I’m so sick of myself right now. UGH.
I need to shake this off. I need to move past this. I don’t know if putting it out here will help. God knows, I haven’t put good use to any of the 47,312 blank journals I have. I have every intention, when I buy them, to write all my deep, dark thoughts in them. Pfft. I put them on the shelf next to all the other good intentions.
But. How do I start? I feel like I am completely out of control in my life. I feel overwhelmed and at a loss. I don’t know where to start or how to start or what to start with. A plan would probably help, but I don’t even know where to start with that either!
God, I’m boring. What’s that Nike slogan? It sounds easy…. but give me a second, and I’m sure I’ll find a way to complicate it and end up completely whipped up and whimpering in the corner.
Oh, hello! Come on in. Have some tortellini. Grated cheese is on the side.
I am afraid
Why am I so afraid?
Afraid of so much –
Of success
Of failure
Of trying.
What is there to fear?
If I try, I will learn.
If I fail, I will learn.
If I succeed, I will rejoice.
But it all seems so scary.
The familiar is comfortable.
Growing is an unknown.
Stretching may hurt.
Watching others try
Make me envious.
Of their courage
Of their strength
Of their fearlessness.
Irony:
I want to get
as a tattoo.
It means “fearless”
In Gaelic.
But I haven’t because
I am afraid
I can’t live up to the sentiment.
What happened to me
To make me fear being happy.
I don’t want to not be happy.
I don’t want to be afraid anymore.
I want to actually live.
I am afraid.
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