- I wanna be rich.
- No not really.
- I wanna be cool.
- I’ll never be truly cool.
- I wanna go to far away places.
- Yeah, that ain’t happenin’ any time soon.
- I wanna have things that so far are just scribbled on pieces of paper, pinned to Pinterest boards and in my friends’ Facebook photo albums.
- Does having the Pinterest board count?
March is rough. Come mid- to late-February, I start dreading March. It gets harder and harder each day, until the 19th passes and I can start to breathe again.
They say grief eases with time, and it’s somewhat true. It’s not the daily struggle to just get out of bed like it was the first year. It’s more like an aimless wandering of thoughts and emotions, some high…some low. Unless you’ve been through what I have, it’s hard to understand.
Today is March 3, 2016.
It’s been 30 years since I lived what was probably the best period of my entire life; a charmed existence teens dream of; a seemingly endless stream of concerts, parties, and tightly knit friends. Work was mixed in there somewhere, if you can call it work. It was too much fun to be work. Whatever it was, I first started developing into the person I am now right there and then.
It was amazing.
I had no clue.
Man, I wish I could go back, just to revisit those kids and tell them.
Not to chose a different path. Just to make the one I was on a little different, maybe a little easier? Maybe a little longer.
I wonder how that would have worked out.
I found this post in my draft folder. I wrote it quite a while ago. I find it amusing now that it’s almost Mother’s Day, so I thought I’d share. Happy Mother’s Day to all you moms out there.
I was talking to a friend the other day and the topic of college came up. I admitted that although I’ve attended numerous schools and have switched majors about six times (not an exaggeration), I still do not hold a degree. She looked at me like I was bat-shit crazy. I have a lot of theories as to why I never finish, but not so much why I keep changing my mind about what to study.
I keep coming back to one central concept: I don’t want to work.
I know that sounds lazy, but it’s not. I DO work. I have worked incredibly hard and enjoyed it. I have also done the most mundane tasks and enjoyed the crap out of those too. I have earned my own living to support my family. I definitely can work. I just don’t want to do things that I don’t like and once I stop liking something, I’m pretty much done. Then it’s time to move on.
There is one thing that I have done that I’ve always loved, always strived to be my best, always tried to be perfect and of which I am most critical. It’s my longest running job to date and the one thing to which I sincerely wish I could devote all of my time and energy.
I’m a mom.
That’s it. That’s all I’ve ever wanted and I could classify everything else as being either a hobby or an inconvenient necessity.
I love staying home, sweeping floors, doing laundry, baking cookies. Nothing makes me happier than afternoons by the pool or playground, hearing “Mom, watch this!” a hundred thousand times while re-reading the same page of my book over and over again.
I don’t want to be a lady of leisure. Being a mom is damn hard work! I would definitely like to have “hobby jobs” to get out of the house, talk to grown-ups and do something I like. A career? No. That’s really, honestly and truly not me.
But yeah…that’s it. They don’t teach “MOM” in school, so that’s why I’ve never landed on my thing. After my kids have gone off to school and their own lives, I think I’ll go back too. I’ll learn how to do yet something else. In the meantime, I’ll enjoy being Mom.
I am so tired of having to have complicated passwords. Why do I have to have one capital letter and one number for the password to my grocery store account? If that actually got hacked, what is at risk? My penchant for SmartOnes frozen lunches? OMG, they may steal my gas points!! I mean…seriously? That’s the worst that’s going to happen.
Years ago, I tried to simplify my life and create three levels of passwords for online activity. I had one simple password for all my non-critical interactions; one more complicated password for email, etc.; and one very cryptic password exclusively for my bank account. Then shit got complicated and websites started putting more demands on me. The problem is that their level of importance didn’t fit into my nice, neat password boxes. So, I met the criteria by capitalizing the first letter and adding a number at the end. Problem solved, right?
Not even close.
They added punctuation.
Okay, so I added a random punctuation mark in the middle of my now capitalized password with the number at the end.
At this point, I’m up to about 85 passwords to remember – my email password, my bank account password and 83 variations of the cheap, useless password, which were supposed to be easy to remember. Okay, I can do that.
New problem. They don’t tell you what the password format is for each individual website. This starts a whole game of “guess which fucking password you used the last time you shopped at Target.com you dipshit you”.
Username: Shenanigans@hootmail.com – OK.
“sparkle” – NO
“Sparkle” – NO
“Sparkle9” – NO
“Sp@rkle9” – NO!
DAMMIT!!! RESET PASSWORD!!
Secret answer: – BiteMe!
“sparkle” – You cannot re-use a previous password.
“Sparkle” – You cannot re-use a previous password.
“Sparkle9” – You cannot re-use a previous password.
“Sp@rkle9” – You cannot re-use a previous password.
“Sp@rkle98” – Password has been changed.
Grrrrr………Didn’t I already tell you this?
Oh. My. God. Seriously????
At this point, I throw my phone. Because of course, I was trying to do all this on a teeny-tiny touchscreen and I now not only need a break, but also an Advil and a very strong drink…at 10 a.m.
And then I get a text message from my kid.
“Mom I’m out of lunch money. Can you put some on my account? I’m going to lunch now.”
P.S. The thing that I failed include in this entry is all the times that I ran through the 82 possible password variations, clicked on the link for my “forgotten password” reminder and discover that I simply had a typo the very first time.
P.P.S – I also failed to mention all the times that I forgot my username, because your username can’t be your real name, email address or anything that you could even remotely identify with.
P.P.P.S. – Oh, I forgot to mention the variations of my secret question because of a phase I went through where I got tired of trying to answer secret questions and just answered everything “blue”. This regularly has me screaming at the computer “YES THAT IS THE NAME OF THE STREET WHERE I GREW UP!! YOU DON’T KNOW ME MOTHERFUCKER!!” “Oh, sorry…it’s “blue”.
P.P.P.P.S. – This doesn’t even begin to cover my work email, where you have to change the password every six months.
P.P.P.P.P.S. – Or my husband’s accounts.
P.P.P.P.P.P.S. – Or my kids.
P.P.P.P.P.P.P.S. – I need a nap.
I got tired of listening to the hubster complain about how I make our son’s lunch, but not his. So, this morning I made his lunch. Hubster came in the kitchen just as I was finishing.
Me: “Mustard okay on your sandwich?”
Him: “Nooo! Mayoooh! Who the hell puts mustard on turkey!?”
Me: “I thought you did. Okay, I’ll take it off.”
Him: “YOU CAN’T TAKE IT OFF! YOU’LL WASTE HALF OF IT!”
Me: “Yes I can…see?” (Scraping mustard off the cheese) “I only wasted one piece of bread. You’re good.”
Him: (muttering) “Mustard on turkey…that’s just wrong………..”…blah blah blah….
Then this afternoon, I got a text message:
Him: “Where the hell is my dessert?!?!?!”
Me: “You got yogurt. You ate all the cookies.”
Him: “That was my fruit.”
Me: “Yogurt can be fruit and dessert.”
Him: “Yogurt is fruit dammit!”
Me: “And dessert. Yogurt and pudding would be redundant.”
Him: “The hell you say!”
Me: “Tomorrow you can have blueberries and pudding.”
Him: “I hate you.”
I figure another few days of this and he’ll be demanding to make his own lunch. 🙂
The other day, I found my 13 year-old son in the garage, painting and listening to music on the radio. He’s always been into classic rock, but like many kids, has no idea about the names of the groups or their significance. What followed was…well… pretty much what you’d expect.
Oh, you’re listening to The Who!
No, The Who.
The group you’re listening to. They’re called The Who.
The Who! The band! The band is called The Who!
I don’t get it.
I guess I should just be glad he has good taste in music. Heaven help me if he discovers The Band.
I know many people don’t buy into the whole “things happen for a reason” thing. Others don’t believe in the spirits of our dearly departed guiding us, but they do believe in divine guidance from God.
Regardless of what you believe, there is some serious shit going on with my computer today.
The hubster and I are looking into financing a venture and I got a list of lenders from one of our contact people. I’m working my way down the list, emailing contacts, explaining what we’re looking for. I started on the phone and was unable to get an answer at two different banks.
The first sent me on a wild goose chase of electronic prompts that eventually landed on a busy signal. This wasn’t some 1-800 call center. It was the local number of a small credit union. The next bank had the wrong number on their website. Undeterred, I emailed the “contact us” address on the site and it got bounced back as an invalid address. Also, not a large bank.
So, I moved on to just emailing my list of contacts. I got one message out and when I went to send the second, my gmail went down. Totally down. Everything else was up and running, but my gmail refused to send the message. I tried 6 or 7 times before saving it to drafts. Hrm.
I composed my message to the third contact and it went right through, but got bounced back as an invalid address!
Then I got an ‘out of office” response from the first one. Okay….
The fourth went through no problem. The fifth got bounced back, so I went to their website to find another contact. Their website would not load!! Go to any other page on the Internet and it was fine. Not Wells Fargo…
I went to the next one and the message went right through.
Eight banks and I got two messages to go through. Bottom line? If I get financing from one of those two, I’m going to be seriously freaked out.
Imagine this: you’re standing with a group of friends, talking about something that you all have in common. For this example, let’s say you’re discussing your mutual love of the color chartreuse. You’re opinion is that chartreuse is just the coolest color ever. Your friends may not all share your intense enthusiasm for chartreuse. Perhaps they really like it, but they have other favorite colors too. The conversation is friendly, respectful and fun. These are your friends, so you feel safe gushing about chartreuse.
Suddenly, you’re joined by someone else you know – someone who really, really digs vermilion. In fact, they think people that like chartreuse are downright idiotic. They join your conversation, call you ignorant names and questions your intelligence. What makes matters worse is that this person is a relative/close friend/person you can’t really escape being associated with. You’re humiliated, not because of your differing views, but because this person just vomited all over the conversation.
Then they say, “We’re in public. I can say whatever I want. Don’t put it out there if you don’t want people commenting on it.”
Sure, you’re standing in the mall, but you’re clearly talking with your friends…or not. Why would someone who cares about you, walk up to you and bitch slap you in front of 300 of your friends and family?
Okay, by now you probably get that I’m not talking about standing in the mall talking about obscure colors. I’m talking about the way people treat each other in the social media. Rather than rant, I’d simply like to point out a few things and hope it sinks in with some people.
- Social media is not necessarily “a public forum”. If you’re on Facebook, (where most of these offenses occur), your privacy settings are very likely limited to your “friends”. I don’t know many people that put everything out there for public consumption. Therefore, when you swoop in and shit all over someone’s post, it’s the same as walking up to them and calling them out in front of every person they know. Because, who are we kidding, we probably all have people “friended” who are like our bff’s next door neighbor’s cousin because we went to a party once with them. I don’t know about you, but I don’t exactly want everyone I know to be aware of the fact that Aunt Sally can’t control her mouth when she’s drunk…again.
- Just because you disagree with someone, it does not mean they are wrong. Seriously. Deal with it and move on.
- Comments on social media are not a private conversation between you and the original poster or anyone else who may comment on the post. To spell this out further…EVERYONE CAN READ THEM. Please. There are many other ways to find out if she slept with so-and-so. Truly, none of the rest of us care.
- The same goes for blogs. If I say Mary is my best friend in my blog, don’t comment that you think Mary is a tramp. Guess what…Mary can read it and you’re an idiot.
- Lastly and most importantly (yet, what I know will be lost on most people), don’t treat people like shit just because you can’t see the hurt you inflict. I learned this one the hard way. If you don’t agree with someone’s opinion, move on. Hide the post or close the browser. Rant to your husband about what a drunken idiot Aunt Sally is. But don’t call her one on Facebook or anywhere else. Words hurt and sometimes the hurt lasts a lot longer than you’d imagine.
And for the record, this is chartreuse.
A friend just posted a picture on Facebook of a 50’s style kitchen with white metal cabinets. It reminded me of my grandparents’ kitchen in the house that I later bought. It had white metal cabinets with doors that made that “whoommmm” sound when you opened them. To a little me, those were the coolest cabinets on earth. To a grown-up me, they were positively magical.
Somewhere in the late 70’s, Gramma wanted to remodel the kitchen so they installed your standard laminate wood cabinets and moved some of the metal base cabinets to the basement. They put the sink and its cabinets near the washer/dryer, where they stored cleaning supplies and Grandad’s tools in the drawers. It was the equivalent of having a half kitchen of junk drawers and it made me crazy.
However, the other one was a single base cabinet with drawer, still with its original red counter top. That one stood alone at the bottom of the basement steps. That one was the Magic Cabinet.
Grandad died in 1981, but Gramma never moved things from the cabinet. So when I bought their house in 2005, everything was right where he left it. Or so one would assume. However, the cabinet had a knack for containing exactly what I needed every single time!
For example, we moved into the house in the spring. That summer, when the lightning bugs emerged, I was reminded of my childhood, catching them and putting them into a jar. Anxious to share this experience with my kids, I went looking in the house for an appropriate jar. Not finding any in the kitchen, I went to the basement and looked in the Magic Cabinet. There, I found a pickle jar with lid, a hammer and a nail suitable for punching air holes in the lid. Smiling, I thanked Grandad and went on to catch lightning bugs with the kids (which they squicked about, squealed that they were “creepy” and we never did it again…magical childhood memory over…but I still enjoyed it! LOL)
Another time, I needed twine, checked the cabinet and there it was!
- Weed whacker line? Check.
- Floor cleaner? Check.
- Black spray paint? Check.
- Green paint? Check.
- WD40? Check
- Adapter to change an outlet into a light socket? Check. (Yes, I really did need one of these, went looking for it and there it was!)
- Allen wrench? Check.
- Measuring tape? Check.
- Wood stripper? Check. (Along with it the lesson that if you use old wood stripper with steel wool it will burn your hardwood floor.)
- Protractor and ruler for math homework? Check?
- Assorted nails, bolts, screws and hooks? Check.
It never failed and I learned to check the cabinet before going to the store for anything.
We moved from the house in 2008. I couldn’t take the cabinet with me, but made sure I took the “special” Grandad things from the drawer. I smiled as I left the cabinet for the last time, wondering if the next owner would find it as magical as I did. I like to picture my Grandad, smiling mischievously as he put exactly what I needed in the cabinet for me to find. In that case, probably not. But to me, that cabinet will always be very, very special. Just like my Grandad.
The other day, the Hubster accused me of giving up on my diet. “NOT SO!” I said. (Well, actually it was more like “F-you, Shit-for-brains”. But I digress.)
In actuality, I’ve been pretty good throughout the holidays as far as my weight-loss goals go. I didn’t make my 25 pound loss by Christmas challenge, due to five pounds I put on over Thanksgiving….and the subsequent pigging out for the next two–ahem-three weeks with my friends. (Hey, it’s called “holiday celebration” for a reason!) But all in all, it wasn’t so bad.
So, I lost the T-giving weight and managed not to balloon up over Christmas and New Years, which for me is a HUGE achievement. (I did pop on an extra three pounds last week, right there :points to left hip:) And now here we are…January 4th…and I’m back in the saddle again. The Weight Watchers points tracker is fired up, I’ve got some bomb new tunes to work out–erm–dance around the house in my underwear to, and I’ve got my eyyyye :wink left: on the priiiize :wink right:.
July 26, 2012 – 160 lbs
January 4, 2013 – 143 lbs.
Goal: 123 lbs.