Branching Out

I ran across a forum for depression and late night meandering found me reading through posts of people telling life stories that simply squeezed my insides.  The ones that simply plumbed my soul were posts by kids.  Teens talking about being kicked out of their homes.  Thoughts of suicide and worthlessness.  Worries of where they were going to live and not many choices.  Replies from people asking if they talked to the school and the school brushing them off.  Families torn apart and a parent's new boyfriend taking precedence.  In my mind I'm sure there's more to be said from the parent's point of view, because a troubled teen is not a picnic, but these are their kids!  It bothers me to my very core to see everywhere a society that boasts of excess and advancement of the self... and then reading that means at the expense of one's own child.  Where is the dedication to parenting plastered on magazine covers, seasonal marketing signage and Mission statements of Nonprofits?  We hear so much about how important toddlers are and the problems of bullies.  You know, when it comes to teens and the media, all that comes to mind is bad press.  Teen pregnancies.  Gangs and the decline of values.  The press I hear drops the burdens of what society deems teen problems to be just that:  them.  What?  It translates to me that a bunch of parents just drop the ball and blame someone else.  Blame the schools.  Blame the media.  How about dropping that smart phone and realizing that the ball of hormones that happens to be your child isn't a problem unless you tell them they are.  Surround a kid with negativity and what are they supposed to believe.  My friend and I were talking on the phone and she said she could not believe all the mothers in prison for harming their kids... it takes my breath away.  These are people that got caught.  Then I read this forum and hear these kids with no answers and no parents, and to them, its normal.  They think they are the problem.  How ludicrous.

Elementary School and the Flip Side

In today's world we are so interconnected with the Internet and I lament about the cyber world taking the place of actual human contact.  I should rethink this you know.  My daughter is in Elementary School and its such a wondrous time of learning and growing.  Then again, I feel the romance is over.  All the touch and feel of being a kid allows for parents to freak out when the horrible happens.  Oh yes, so many things network.  Playdates have become the medium for which more than kids playing occurs.  This is where Lice have an opportunity to network.

*SOB*

I came upon this happy discovery and had my first brush with the horrors of washing everything I own inside my washer on Sanitary cycle and using the Allergen superheat of the Dryer.  It makes me feel itchy just typing about it.

Now I go to 'Nit'pick yet again, as I have been the responsible parent that sends a note to my daughter's teacher to tell her about my discoveries.  It happens all the time.. this is the comfort I get from people I've had to notify.

*SOB*

It doesn't make it any easier, or less itchy, less embarrassing.. or the feeling of wanting to take vengeance out on something..

*SIGH* SOB*

*SCRATCH*

TV Show Reality Check Done by Husband

I was flipping through Netflix and came upon the old TV series Beauty and the Beast.  I soon found myself sighing like millions of women since the 80s.. watching Vincent and Catherine.. the romance.  Oh the things we wish men really would say.  Read us Shakespeare... whisper in some deep voice that comes from behind a curtain of luxurious locks of feline hair.. *sigh*  Tell me how you can't live without my very presence... how you can feel my every feeling of sadness or joy... ohh...ohhhh .. I just .. *my imagination backfires here*

What a load of garbage.  My husband came in with the reality airbag and ruined the whole chick flick scene.  I had to dry my eyes and get my head out of the clouds and remember where I was.  The only thing in my life resembling that show is the dark hole my house can become.. and when the dishwasher and the washing machine are going.. a mind stretch makes my house sound like those pipes always clanging in the show..

No one is leaving me pressed roses inside a Shakespeare book of sonnets.  John might have the hair... but that's about it.  I hate the reality air bag.  I love John.  He has his moments.  Moments.  I want an event.  A spectacle even.  I wish my imagination worked better, but it doesn't... most of the time I don't mind.  You know, that show is one of the good memories I have about my mom.  We used to watch it together.  *sigh*  Double airbag hit. 

I guess since the analogy is TV....

There is an episode of Roseanne that kind of sums these feelings up.  Roseanne fantasizes that Dan looks like Fabio... and Fabio is lying in her bed with Dan's voice saying not so sexy things... and Roseanne says: Don't talk Dan.

Don't talk John.

Representing from My Side

I have so much to be thankful for in this world.  Watching my child get a late card from her Uncle meant so much to me.  I sent him a picture of Nattie a week ago, and you know, I think he's so happy to just be someone's favorite Uncle.  I blink back tears in wistfulness though.  I wish so terribly that my side of the family thought to send her a card.  Any kind of acknowledgement they were happy to know her.  But they didn't.. they wouldn't ... and they never will.

It hurts so much that they can't see her.  It hurts they don't want to make an effort to bridge a gap to know someone so wonderful.  She could change their lives.  They are missing the magic of loving her.  I would feel sorry for them if I could.. but I can't.  I've had too many dreams shattered in wishing for events that just won't happen.

I guess its selfish of me to be so melancholy about it all.  I know how happy it would make me if they took that chance, and I want that feeling.  I want her eyes to light up for my family, I wish they would.  So mine could light up too.

My one comfort was my niece that came to her party, but it was so chaotic we couldn't spend time visiting with her.  At least one person from my side of the family represented.  There is so much more though.. a history I wish I could make a difference in.  If they only could see, but they can't because the walls of the past don't allow little girls purchase in their hearts.  What a shame for them.

World Peace Treaty in Saltwater Tank Violated

I have been on cloud nine about my fish tank.  In the excitement of my child's birthday, I forgot to mention that Mr. Secret Reef came to do a water change and remarked heavily on how great everything is doing.  He was so impressed he brought me a Hi Fin Red Banded Goby, one small enough to match the size of Thing One and Thing Two... my barnacle blennies that are supposed to be scared.

Anyway, he dropped that little guy in, I saw him once that night, and he's been missing ever since.  I think the cannibals in the tank ate the new guy.  Secret Reef swears he's a master of hiding, but my trusty mag lite has not located said fish we were jokingly calling 'Hidey'...(Heidi).

I then realized that a certain zebra striped damsel acts like a baboon... he spends 80 percent of his day making the rest of the tank denizens' life hell.  He's gotta go.  I signed his eviction notice on Secret Reef's next visit.

He hopes he'll find Hidey then.  I doubt it.  I would love to be wrong.

Why The Obsession?

I told you guys I had a lot to say.  I must confess I felt like a rabid animal a few times this past weekend.  I have to add why I sound so belligerent in the OPP post.  There was a kid at my child's party that I could not pin to a parent.

I so wanted to dart this child and hold him up by his ears and scream:  WHO OWNS THIS?  The kids at my daughter's party were supposed to be from ages six to nine.  This kid was ten or eleven and loud.  He had no idea when to shut up in this little party room.  I could not tell him.  Oh how I wanted to, and if I had known his parents, I would have given them the look of: Do Something.

What made me have to leave the room was when he looked down my shirt and loudly commented and asked if I knew I had a scratch on my chest.  After he asked me twice, my husband stepped in the way and I retreated wishing I could catapult him from the room.  I was so embarrassed because I could see other parents looking at each other and shaking their heads as if to say: WHY?

No one made him shut up.  Everyone heard him.  Repeatedly commenting on everything.  I wanted to scream out:  CONTAIN YOUR YOUNG!

Especially this little pervert that wont stop staring down my shirt as I am serving cake.  A shirt with a very conservative neckline that you really had to dive into to see where a puppy had scratched me.   AHHH!

Gamestop Said Call Nintendo and I Said Are You Serious

This is part two of upgrading to the new 3DS XL Nintendo from a DS XL and first version 3DS.  I decided to open the gaming systems and set up my daughter's so she could just unwrap and go.  I figured having the old SD cards would be enough.  Oh no it is not.

The system requires the OLD nintendo to move your information and purchases to the new system.  Do you think Gamestop told me this?  NO!  Did they know I was upgrading?  YES!  I spent an hour and half in this store trading in the old systems.  Right here I must insert this is not a potshot at Nintendo, because Gamestop sold them to me as authorized dealers for Nintendo.  I will get to the shortcomings of Nintendo and postulations of how such incredibly smart people can neglect everyday thoughts in product design in a moment.

I call the store and get a manager on the phone.  I am expecting the normal coolness that Gamestop people exude in talking with someone as inexperienced as myself in the gaming realm.  Oh man, the romance is over.  I get handed good luck with this problem, as its not ours, and we have reformatted your old systems, but we'll hold them for you to come pick up.  You will have to call Nintendo and work this out with them and you will also have to repurchase these old systems in order to get online with Nintendo as we have no WiFi.  WHAT??  I am fortunate enough to have credit to do this operation, but what about other people that simply saved enough for the new system?  They are screwed.  Nice job of telling people the ins and outs of updating.  This guy wanted me off the phone, and when he told me he was over the store I interpreted that to:  I am the biggest jerk in the store and could care less that you spent over four hundred dollars yesterday.  I about blew a gasket.

I called Nintendo.  That part was painless, and with the old serial numbers the nice lady on the end of the phone said my data was intact, but yes, I had to get the old systems.  So off to the store to pray that manager had went home.  My old systems cost me two hundered and thirty dollars.  I am so glad I had presence of mind to not try going over to Panera bread and using their WiFi.  I just went home and went to bed.

The next day, I plugged in old SD cards and found all my software.  Another call to Nintendo about how to move software between two systems.  This is where Nintendo falls short.  First thing, I can't just move things if I had points on the DS XL, I had to spend them before transfer.  So I lost money on that little venture.  Then I could only transfer all this software to one system.  I could not move the Suduku to my system and let my daughter have Sparkle Snap Shots.  All this took over six hours to do.  Downloading two systems, updating and combining them onto one 3DS. 

Sprint loads my phone into a handy plug and transfers the data every couple of years.  Card or no card.  I had thought it would be so simple.  I need to quit assuming and realize anything with an electrical outlet has the potential to be a customer service nightmare because I refuse to let go of anything I paid for as:  Oh well.  Whatever, I paid for it, I want it, and by God no one is going to make me pay for it a second time.

And people do this every day.  Just chalk it up to whatever the salesperson says as being true.  I really wish I were paid to do this kind of thing, but the only good thing is the fact my little voice saved me the agony of all this drama with a seven year old chomping at the bit to have her new toy.

So buyer beware.  Know your product and do the research, because no one else cares until you make them.  I will say Nintendo has the absolute nicest customer service people and you don't hold for long.  That alone makes the idea of calling them in the future more palatable than switching over to a playstation.  Woe is Me.

Never Assume Upgrading Nintendo Should be Like Getting A New Phone

The title to this post has been in the draft folder since Wednesday of last week.  I have passionately wished for the time to voice (quite loudly) a few shortcomings in the digital world.  I consider myself to quite conservative when it comes to purchasing new technology.  I tend to say oooh and ahh like the rest of the world when some new tech-toy greets the world market.  I do not camp outside of stores to be the first person to own something white with an '' i' in the front of it.  I am also not chomping at the bit to go and purchase a new television so I can don dorky glasses and have things jump out at me.  Nevertheless, I do know way too much about the plugs on the back of my televisions.  I also realize that not being able to navigate some of these toys will be detrimental to my child.  We live in an age where everything is on the Internet, and to NOT be savvy, leads our peers to rating our intelligence on our pocketbooks, not on actual brains.  Where this philosophy of one must own or one is ignorant mystifies me, and I can only fight the machine so much.  So, here I am, mother of one.  Owner of Nintendo, two short years ago.  Yes, I grew up without any video game in my life.  Did I want one?  Of course.  When opportunity arose, eating was more important.  I digress.

My daughter has faced the computer age stoically, and only school has made her branch out to want to play with anything other than the TV itself.  That said, this year, she went from zero to wanting the whole enchilada.  I've had to take my phone away and remind her we have a land line.  She went from hitting buttons on the Nintendo DS XL to really playing with it, and using some of the features I had no use for like the recorder.  I feel I have to put in this background before I launch my reasoning that lies behind the title of this entry.

I was at a loss to find my child another gift for her birthday other than the record player, and the answer came to me via email from Gamestop.  Oh happy day!  Finally Nintendo decided to make the screen on the 3DS the size of the DS XL!  What this means:  A handheld game larger than my Smart phone, and easy to see.  I knew I just had to wait.  I liked Nintendo for this simple fact:  There are not a bunch of buttons.  I know there are lots of systems out there, but when you have a kid playing with it, the more buttons there are, the harder it is to explain.  You also have to factor in parents that did not grow up with video games.  I will also insert here that we own a Nintendo wii and to my frustration and disappointment, my child has not been enthralled.  Moving on.

Gamestop is nifty in that one can buy and trade their games.  So being a member, I boxed up both my own 3DS and the DSXL, a bunch of accessories and games my daughter has outgrown.  I managed to use member benefits and current sales to purchase two new 3DS XL systems.  I was so excited to have two handheld systems that she could play with me and her friends.  I assumed when I reminded the Gamestop employee that I needed the SD cards from the old systems that putting my DSiware purchased from the eShop in gaming system I would be able to redownload my software.  I assumed it would be like buying a new phone and moving my information from one to the other would be no problem.  I was so wrong.

A little voice inside me said, open the new system and set it up, so my daughter could just hug me and go in her room and play.  I am so glad I listen to the little voice.  Here is where the drama begins. I will continue this in another post.

Birthday Week Excuse

I have been in Mom mode full tilt.  Please excuse the blatant lack of posts.  I have tons to report and pick apart, and cannot wait for free time to do so.  I promise I'm here, its  this having a life thing I have to keep balanced with having a blog.

Exactly WHY do cupcakes come with an inch of Frosting? The Sugared Answer

I am certain many of you out there have pondered the frosting of bakery items.  No, this little question does not keep you awake at night, but I am positive it comes up more than once a year for those of us with children.  I find myself questioning the great mystery every time I force myself to take a bite of a grocery store cupcake with frosting I am sure has a Geiger counter reading.  Usually there is more frosting than actual cake.  Furthermore, most kids eat about half the icing then peel it off to find the pitiful cupcake underneath.  Ring any bells?  Why do people buy these things?  Why do they frost them so much?  I have the answer!!

My husband and I had lunch with our daughter at school and provided cupcakes for the children to celebrate her birthday.  Since I have a deep seated disgust for grocery store cupcakes, I set out to find a bakery.  I had to find one that would provide a ingredient and nutrition label for the school.  Wow, this was difficult, but I did it.

Anyway, we handed out the mini cupcakes.  They had an inch of frosting and an inch of cake.  Every single cupcake disappeared entirely.  These cupcakes TASTED GOOD from from top to bottom.

The kids held the cakes like a huge lollipop and licked the frosting off.  How ingenious.  The frosting tasted like fudge and was downright delicious.

So the theory is that grocery stores think we like the taste of radioactive sugar.  NO way.  You're supposed to slowly savor the frosting like an ice cream.  My husband and I were dumbfounded.  This was an expensive cupcake bakery, but it was principle for me, and learning this truth has been a bonus.

Why won't anyone tell them the frosting in grocery stores tastes horrible?  Because they still sell.  Anyway, mystery solved.

I have so much more to blog about, but I'm still in birthday weekend and will get to it soon.

Use of the word Status feels Applicable

My perception of the word STATUS and how I absorb the cultural delivery occasionally takes my breath away *when I'm paying attention* The brick wall built by our own hands .. that we the people allow social websites to control the few doors windows, vents and fresh air...How?  With a single question to satisfy.  You know it, we all know the MAGIC of:  "What's your Status?"  People subconsciously fall for the misuse of the word Status employed by overpaid marketing weasels.  How you might ask?  The corporate weasels whet America's Ego Obsession by loosening our subconscious to the point of obscenity utilizing ONE WORD... and magically this one word implies how terribly intelligent, important and essential to world function we ALL are.  Status?  Oh Yes, and since we are all egotists, we fall for it and do what they want, talk about ourselves.  What an ingenious way to stroke an ego into an almost Pavlovian response.  Because everyone must know everyone else's status and coveting begins.  From kids to stories to dogs to causes... Duped.

I ask people to ponder this perverse perspective.  I need to desist at the moment, as I'm tired but the implications of marketing and unconscious suggestion is staggering.

Getting back to me (Where did I say I escaped by chewing off a leg?)

I feel the word status fits in the summary of today.  It's about time I admit all the 'gripes and moans' I point out are band-aid descriptions for Depression.  I am writing enough to be the armchair anthropologist again.  I hope to make thing click with this admission, as this is where I choose to express / interpret / digest how to manage my life with another clunky word that is too vague to describe me.

However, the past weeks have been very motivating and positive, and events in the past year threaten the fabric of motivation and positivist potential from becoming kinetic.  I want to NOT use words like COPE, DEAL, GET OVER because I refuse to allow those words to dictate how I should feel. No STATUS. No service. No Ego. BAH!

Anyway, my STATUS:  I am so tired (but I still fell for it).  Physically and emotionally.. These feelings of tired are so welcome because they feel healthy... and I have struggled to find peace of mind to feel tired.

How did I do this today?  I entered my daughter's wormhole ... where time stops as I hung a mountain of clothes ... I emerged triumphantly hours later dazed that her room was clean...

I also visited a friend and we talked about things to make the eyebrows wriggle. I came home and the idea of "*knitting a sweater" lost some of its pissed off luster.

So my STATUS:  I think I am putting me first, which amazingly leads to smiling and happiness. I'm case in point.  Me first.  Ego stroked.

I also believe this blog and research is filling a draft I forgot my psyche had.

Sweet Dreams Everyone.  May they be squishy ones. *giggle*

STATUS:  Let go my Ego...

*Knit a Sweater Phase:  Urban Dictionary

I Fell Asleep with Beats and Dr. Dre

How many lucky people get to say that?  Yeah, I fell asleep with my headphones on.. and it was a good night.  I should have them locked in my basement .. ahhhh... so the truth is out Eminem had first dibs ...

I digress.  So far, nothing disturbs the harmonious groove I have laid out for today.  I intend to keep the headphones on until housework magically disappears.  Then I plan on staking out the local Gamestop because I opened my email ... oh darn.  Birthdays and Christmas are my favorite holidays.

I am about to bust because I just want to play with everything with my child.

The PowerPoint presentation keeps me in check.

Starting Back at Grade One

This is not the normal gripe and grit, however, it reeks of sweat and elbow grease used so profusely I may just have tennis elbow...  My daughter is turning seven this weekend.  I am delighted!  Party planning and finding that perfect gift ... in process.

My daughter's teacher, and I love her so, made it more interesting by making this also the week my child is Star Student.  OOOOOOhh.  It is very cool and fun, and helps your child to talk about themselves in an encouraging way and to share themselves with their fellow classmates.

A whole week of wonderful creative ways for my daughter to express herself.  Since we had a holiday today, tomorrow will be a full day for my girl.  A bag was sent home with instructions for her to place three items that are important to her, a show and tell of sorts.  So, insert canoe paddle, china doll and ballet trophy.  Yes, a canoe paddle, her very own child sized one.

Then, choose a book to share with the class.  She chose Magic Thinks Big.  A family standard.  (wow)

Fill out a sheet of her favorite things:  movie Red Dog (oh I love my kid), a picture of her, and of her family, favorite food, favorite treat and her birthday.

Then:  send in pictures to share OR make a PowerPoint presentation, send a video or poster board with photo highlights...

Let's just say that PowerPoint presentation saved me precious printer ink and album spaces... but kept me up very late.

OKKKK.

All that is packaged up for school.

But wait there's more.  On Thursday, we get to have lunch with our daughter and are bringing mini-cupcakes for the class.  School rules insist upon items purchased with ingredients:  thus most parents include radioactive treats from the local supermarket.  Last time, my daughter got sick from the icing.  So, I spent more time finding a bakery that would make a cupcake palatable.  I found one, and it was expensive.. I about gagged... but I was committed.  Thirty six mini-cupcakes packaged with ingredients that read:  sugar, flour, eggs..

Last job for star student will be to write a letter to the class telling them why my daughter is so special to me. I tear up at this point wondering how to fit such a powerful emotion into a Kid Sized vocabulary.  How can I express to twenty four seven year olds the simple fact that my daughter is my greatest treasure?  I'll be sure to blog excerpts from tomorrow's late night session.

Meanwhile, I am planning a party painting pottery and try to hide my excitement over two presents.  One:  I bought a portable record player and she can have her own little goldfish...  She is getting my 45 collection, the whole batch... because she went nuts over them when we last hung out in my DJ room.  She asked for a record player.  Dreams do come true.

My dreams didn't include going through first grade again in the age of PowerPoint, but when her eyes lit up over my creation, I guess that's all that matters.

My Greatest Treasure

Stomping Foot over Understatement

Upon sharing goals and hopes with the real world, I want to burn the house down and run away screaming.. I know.. I know... dramatic.

However, its not every day morality patrol sits beside me and introduces the following reasons to lose a night of sleep:

1.  Yes, you've written so many things for me that I don't appreciate like you do.
2.  We just are not intellectually matched, but we are meant for one another
3.  Your extremes are just not ordinary, but they are you
4.  I can't tell you I mean, I don't know what to say
5.  No I'm not judging you, I'm just not like you

What the heck did that mean?

I am feel sensory deprived at the moment as I believe I have been told in summary:  No I don't listen to a damned thing you say, as it doesn't apply to me.

OK.

You stay here and I'll run and get help.

When crawling became more dubious in Nature

I just figured out how to get to webmaster tools for this blog and my favorite music video by Maroon Five, which dutifully, is labelled as being located on YouTube, and IS NOT MINE, would not play... It did for a long time, and then I guess denial has so many forms in which to confuse the new and overwhelmed ... why? The deeper I dig to make sure I am editing things correctly... It gets more depressing.

I don't have the time to nitpick, but I realize that immortal soul and status as a good girl are in mortal danger of immense ignorance.  Of which, there is no excuse, reprieve or allowance.

So, hopefully, I will learn more in less hours with less cursing.

Then again, if I dig for worms again, those plus ones I asked God about would keep me from sweating..

And I'm not even in Hell.

Or so I thought.

Lard Factor

I had a teacher in high school that graded with a firm hand and a deft knife with a concept she liked to call The Lard Factor.  Oh what a precision slasher.  Grammatical perfection without a single tear shed on pretext.  I think my writing would keep her awake with her red ink pen annotations rabid to the point the pages would never dry.

I think of her now, late at night, as I trudge through some more idea places and wish I could find myself an agent more precise than the Demigod Google.

I have pounds and pounds of lard to sift through and gift to someone.  In theory all my writing and work could be handed over and processed.  Then someone would talk to me about options and direction, and where to go.  Hopefully somewhere better than Hell.

*smile*
I bet hell has the best advertising agents and lawyers.

Hell certainly has a public following, as I've heard its pretty damn hot.

*smile*
[God, if you are following my blog, please +1 me and send it to all your friends]

Walking the Kinks Out Brings up Bile

Having issues standing and/or walking has fallen into the category of that was so a month ago.  No, I hate to admit, right now I hurt in places that just seem unfair and a low blow to my Karmactic belt.  My quads have neverot knotted up to the degree I agonized over last night.  I roller blade people.  What a blow to realize the effects of two months of inactivity and record asthma and the emotional roller coaster of summer tore me down to a shadow of what I was before.  As my blog indirectly talks about the surgery I underwent, I'll elaborate a little.  I had two bunions on my right foot corrected, which involved wire in one and a pin in the other.  The overhaul included relaxing the toes because hammertoe was not so evident, but the tendons in my foot stood out in neutral.  All this surgery and the decision stemmed from the pain my foot and my body compensation caused so much back pain.  I never understood how much I hurt all the time, until recently.  My foot daily amazes me in the sheer complexity of just how much algebra and physics calculations my body crams into a size six shoe.

I am at a loss of words on how I feel as I finger the proverbial slap to the face I garnered from people who do not believe my foot actually hurts to the degree it does.  All the past week of energetic enthusiasm have been marked off as a bi-product of self-medication.  I am also reeling from admonishment of how some of my activities should be considered beneath someone my age. (#%$U#$U%*  Hasn't that gotten old? With an eyebrow raised? (Oh really.. I guess sweaters are back in again too)

Ok.  I wanted to draw a circle around myself as my hackles rose to new heights.  How one can even begin to pass judgement on me was beyond comprehension as reasons why even go there loomed in my thoughts. I kept very quiet and didn't move, for fear I would resort to something simple:  violence.

Oh I am still processing the entire turn of events and I feel victimized and judged by a self appointed morality patrol.  I must suppress the vindictive sensation that comes up with my bile.

Triumph for the WHO

I managed after three months of absence, to locate Swagger in clothing for my date with older distinguished Ken... I love my people at my Macys.  Yes, that's www.macys.com to The one I frequent absolutely makes me glad I have them as friends that care about the importance of finding John a slick outfit as a surprise. I love getting giddy confiding date night to my favorite salesgirls.

Design Flawed..

OK, so  bear with me, I'm learning new things about not fixing something that isn't broke.  I like having the picture of my Dad's old Zenith in the background.  Yeah, and I love messing around with color and vogueing.  But all my backgrounds are me.  I can't decide, but this one centers better, and until I get bored enough to actually decide to add to vanity.  All weasels use Google plus to verify that those are my cool Versaces.

Any tips on design or ideas on gadgets would be appreciated.  I am wanting to do more, but need an all inclusive place for those with lives.

So please, zip me some links, or better yet, talk me up sometime.  About design.

Here's hoping.

Civic Duty Perks: Who knew?

Voting should be taken seriously.  As in, do it. Ok. That said...
I have spent the day overdosing on hanging out with my daughter, but rushed home to vote.  I drop her off at home, go to town hall.. get my sticker and stand at the WAIT HERE sign juggling foot, purse and my I Voted sticker.  The nicest little old lady grins and says dubiously: Are you ready? I grinned like I ate a canary and said: "As ready as I can be." She says: "I've heard that many times today."  We laugh and walk to booth and I said without thinking, "Well, you know after giving birth, I'm pretty sure this won't hurt a bit!  Ooops.  She dies laughing and breaks out with mock horror:  "I've not heard of that happening here before, and I can say I'm not trained to deal with that one!" We giggle some more and she asks if I'm familiar with the {SERIOUS} voting box.  Grinning, I tell her she might wanna refresh me on procedure.  We go over the choices and she says finally:  "If it shows crazy things just let us know, we're right here to run and help!"  I laugh with her again and people look and like a conspirator add... "Guess I'd better start dancing now, huh?" She twinkled at me and told me how much my humor made her long day worth it.  Then I voted.  Laughing put the needed energy back in my step. 

Upon leaving the parking lot, I realized how my parents would have reacted at my choices.  My Dad tearing his hair and sobbing: The horror....eeegadsss..
I put the car in park and laughed so hard at the absurdity of the circus going on in my head sparked by laughter.  The snowball got bigger..... hummm.....MAN!!!  They have privacy because parents would redo it if you did it, DO it if you didn't and even if they let their kids push the buttons fur would probably fly... because who am I/you/we to be grown up enough to do it right? Much less when did I decide who was boss?  ooooh Mom.  A sticker says I'm a grownup.  The visa machine just made note.

Let them Eat Cake. 

Senile...

I like to talk to myself when I am focused on a task.  I believe I need to let a notch out on the life belt.  I told myself I wanted to drink the phone and light a drink.

What the *#(Y(#

De v/s Su in terms of Pression

I think the word Depression gives people the wrong impression.  I don't think I'm very depressed at all.  Suppressed?  Now there's a humdinger.  I spend much time attempting to avoid those people that excel in sucking all the happiness right out of a perfectly good day.

And I thought I was a succubus.

This is the area I must have my head examined thoroughly.

I'm perfectly fine.  It's the rest of the crazies to medicate with self imposed doldrums.

What to do, What to do

I guess I've never talked about a wealth of other fun stuff I thought about publishing on this blog.  About a year ago, I decided to get Dragon software that turns text to speech and it came with a handy recorder.  So, I have some fun recordings that upon listening, I know would lose the flavor if I attempted turning them to text.  Again, I want to stay in one place, and the very idea of YouTube seems like an invitation for some sort of social disaster, but needless to say, I wish I knew more about web design, because I have some fun stuff.  I picked up this habit and its helped me deal with stress and get past things, but upon reflection later, its hilarious.  I would advise anyone to carry around a recorder and just turn it on when you have some dilemma.  Then cool off and listen to yourself later.. its a good way to save face... whether yours or someone else's.

Anyway, note to self:  I must find my recordings about Wal-Mart and The decline of customer service.  These two recordings alone are priceless.

*sigh*  I need to go to bed, but a friend told me a secret, and boy do I not know how to interpret what he told me.  Again, the statement.. what to do.. what to do.  I've heard let's do something, even if its wrong... *if only*

 

Rejection: Keep Your Sandwich

My blog has been in obscurity for some time, and until recently, I've always thought this was good.  My line of thinking this was for safety reasons, whether real or imagined, I dunno.  You see, Facebook has become a place where your life story can be researched by anyone, including people I might want employment from.  Sensibly, its not a place to discuss things like depression, sex, duct tape, spiders or use profanity to get a point across.  To me, Facebook belongs in family category, where you can read about the happy fluffy things and that's about it.  However, I like to write, but, don't have time to babysit a million comment places.. and after much thought, chose Blogger.  Google seems to have a safe haven where my writing can be in one place, and I wouldn't get emails with attachments of people's nether-regions as tokens of appreciation.  I learned this tidbit being a member of Friend finder for a little while.  I wasn't looking to ply my wares in joining there, but it was fun to hold a top position for a long time.. but .. you know.. the manamanah thing makes the idea of that website clash with who I am really.  I made one fantastic friend whom I speak with often, and whom I cite as helping save my marriage even.  Sidenote:  We became friends because of his first comment on one of my posts:  You spelled paraphernalia correctly.  We became fast friends, and well, still are.  If only I could network and have more friends like George.  I promise I'm getting to the point.  What I realized is that I missed people commenting.  I missed the ease of commenting on other people's thoughts of the day.  In going around the net, I tire of anecdotes and plagiarized kittens, misspelled euphemisms and hairball hacking crap.  I almost signed back up for Friend finder just because of the banter.  However, I happened upon Blogger and decided obscurity was better.  Then latenight, read an email about improving site traffic.  Why not?  So I signed up for Adsense.  To my dismay, I am peddling anything Google wants to grace my blog with.  Killjoys.

Upon further reading and befuddlement, I have a lot to learn about website building.  My reaction:  I want to throw a tantrum.  Who has time for this?  No, I don't want to pay for it!!  I really wanted that cookie world.  *sigh*  What to do now.  I really want to write, I have kept handwritten things for years.. but this is better.  In writing though, this is the way I do it, and I have no uber-skills except those handed to me by the 'joys' of my daily life.

I'm not mad at Google.  I'm more disappointed that because I don't follow norms, used the word Fuck and other profanity.. I'm speculating... and I don't specifically promote one thing only when I write ..

So give up writing?  Nah.. So what that a blog is about an interest or product.  I can't market life and will not stoop to marketing myself... there are streetcorners if I become that desperate.

I learned something new:  I must package my Sandwich in a more attractive package that's rated E for everyone, not G for Google.

This is as graceful as I get.
Whaaa!

How Many Lights Does it Take to Screw Up My Groove?

So far, three and counting.  Yes, this is a FISH story, or more accurately, a coronary coral event.  This is tale worth telling.  My 36 gallons of world peace proceeded to decline into turf wars since my surgery on my foot.  My protein skimmer was a joke, and in frustration over the noise I cut it off.  The new canister filter was a dream.  I just managed to get the water a bit salty and my light fixture was going out.  I had ordered a Marineland T5 and Halide fixture that had all the timers built in.  People, I took my old jewelry to my jeweler to justify this outrageous light.  Two months went by and I finally hired that PAID PROFESSIONAL.  Whew.  He's great, and I manged not to start crying in front of him when he said that the light would have melted my tank had it been hung.  Praise the PIC for procrastination inclination!!  I ordered the light from Dr. Foster's.  I was so afraid they were not going to take the light back because two months went by.  Needless to say, customer service is alive and well because the lady that helped me was so kind.  Anyway, I went ahead and ordered a new fixture that Mr. Secret Reef recommended.  Oooooh, a Marineland LED, 36 inch fixture.  I was so excited.  The box that came in the mail was about a foot shorter than me.  WHAT!  It didn't fit.  Secret Reef made certain I ordered this size, I even had to make a second call because I ordered a smaller one...Anyway.  RULE TO REMEMBER:  Men do not come preprogrammed with the ability to look at any object and accurately cite it's size.  Á proverbial light bulb went off in my head and I fetched a tape.  Sure enough, a 36 inch bow front tank is 30 inches across.  What a killjoy to know I had ordered the right one and suffered the cancellation call for nothing.  It was alright though.  I called Dr. Foster's and actually miraculously got the same customer service person and she was wonderful again, and sent me another fixture.. which arrived a day ago.  It is wonderful.  It fits.  Only the actinic blue LEDs don't work.  I'm waiting again.  What can I complain about?  Actually, nothing.  For once in my life, a company has been gracious to me, a paying customer.  The first light I paid shipping on, the last two they did.  I am just so excited watching everything thrive in the short time someone lent me their time and patience.

Future Reference Crock Pot Stock

My life seems to change gears and just when I think overdrive should be engaged, I have to slap it back into third and stretch my proverbial five foot two self out to brake.. all the while thinking in my head .. 'ramming speed'.  TOWANDA just does not work these days.  I would have a conniption fit if I rear ended someone in Betty.  I am getting off subject though.  I know my tangents reek of hypocracy at times; I will be honest.  I have a ton of faults I strive to keep in check.  (for example:  I complain, I take things too literal, I need to listen closer, I am late for everything and don't answer the phone..)

So grounded in the reality of S.O.C.K.S really happens to be: IT IS WHAT IT IS, I preservere.  In the spirt of that thought, I am sorting things out, and right now its a jumble of feelings that I have no order to find a starting point.  I catch myself accomplishing nothing because I feel so smothered.  Here goes a list that will gain a rolling momentum.. of sorts.

1.  My daughter will be seven in a couple of weeks.  Wow, I've got to get on the stick.

2.  Tomorrow is Halloween and I have the cutest Goldfish to take trick-or-treating.  What a cool costume, and I went all out this year, as I feel my grip slipping on having majority rule on clothing and 'little girl' things.

3.  Speaking of little girl things:  Vamp/Goth used to be a phenomenon of self expression ruled by anything but fashion and a mother could not just go to Wal-Mart and find a whole outfit .. for herself and her single digit aged child.  I'd like to smack the idiots that want to advertise slut suits for Halloween.

4.  Following that thought I think about the movie High School Musical having clothing out in a 3T.  When Grandma brought that shirt home, I promptly tossed it.  Seriously?

5.  OK.  Twitlet.  Twilight.  NOT A KID book.

6.  My daughter unrolled capri pants and wore them with boots today.  My husband thought they looked fine.

7.  Same daughter is against socks.

8.  OEHOIEFOIFENBEFIUEYEG*&#$Y she will wear them .

9.  I have the song Afro Circus running through my mind from Madagascar 3... and upon thinking about it... that's about the theme for some of the clothing choices my kid makes.. and I have to keep a straight face.

10.  My cousin left me a message that she has been clean since October 7th.

11.  So another friend gets out of jail in a couple of weeks. 

12.  Another friend got mad she had to pick up her kids early on Sunday because it ruined her only day to do something.  Something being go to the bar up the street.  I am not knocking the bar concept.  Let's get that straight.  It's just drinking costs a bunch, and Stokesdale does not buy that much liquor out of chivalry.  Oh don't go down the drain with this statement either.  A few things go through my head.. but I'm allowed... to speculate.  She's convinced I have swallowed the idea she fell off a turnip truck three days ago.  I only think when she fell.. it was under a wheel.  The thing is, I really don't give a fig about whether or not she's got a good history.. I like her for who she is and what I know ..  That said, I copiously smile and listen to the comments about this guy and that and he bought this, blah .. blah.. (I am insecure, and want to feel sexier and the way I do that is to stomp on an ego I believe you have).. whanka..  The thing is, a few years ago, this compensation technique would have gotten the desired effect of crushing my vanity and making me a hater, but these days, I am more offended that my friend can't read me well enough to see how pointless it is.  It makes me sad that life gets people down like this.

13.  OK, get off soap box because it sounds like I am on one, the real point is why go and drink when finances are so tight?  Why laughingly tell me how toasted you were and then how you fought with your husband.  Two drunks don't make a right.

14.  Then there is the bar itself.  The floor is chipboard.  I have been one time, and mopped a guy all over the floor within ten minutes.  And what?  No ice? 

15.  So we have a difference of lifestyle.  If my Sunday consisted of watching the race at the bar.. I'd rather take a pack of M&Ms and a flask into the bathroom.  Then I could drink good alcohol, throw M&Ms in the toilet and watch them go round in circles.  Then I could go out and take over some other numbing activity like scrapbooking.

16.  Customer service = Good luck with that.

17.  My sister called to wish me a Happy Halloween.  Again with the acid tongue.  I am so glad I have not spoken to her because eventually I am going to have a bad day and be emotional.  Unfortunately, when we hang up the phone because she has to 'hop off' to avoid anything personal, I will be halfway to Thomasville.  I feel so volatile.  I'm tired of being written off.

18.  So I wished I didn't find an envelope with Gma's name and body farm on it.  It gives me nightmares about my sister.  Plus I had to work with cadavers in college. 

19.  I want to redo the house, and this hesitation thing I've got going on sucks balls.

 

Well, that's it for the moment, more to come later.

Oh one final thing, I am very grateful for the person that sent me the positive email about this blog.  It made my day.  Happy fluffy cloud heart feelings for you.