One of the girls in my group last night informed us all (randomly and totally off topic) that she used to hit babies so that they would bruise and pinch them so that they would cry.
My response: Bug eyed silence followed by the question: "Whose babies?"
You have GOT to see the humor in that. Whose babies? That's the best my therapeutic mind could come up with.
Brilliant. I've got this therapy thing DOWN!
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Friday, November 30, 2007
Full Day-Bullets
I go through long periods of time wherein I have the urge to write but can't come up with interesting subject matter. Then days like today happen, when multiple topics and or incidents occur which are worthy of blog exploration. The problem is, if I don't write about them immediately, the mundaneness of every day life tasks will whisk me away and the topics will never be explored via the published blog post. For that reason, I will offer today's multitude of worthy moments and thoughts in a bullet format with the purpose of keeping the post at a readable length and covering all relevant topics.
-I was listening to NPR today and the discussion of the Military's "Don't ask don't tell" policy was discussed. This is not a subject which is on the forefront of my mind because, luckily, this prejudiced governmental policy has little to no effect on my every day life. I can't honestly believe that in this day in age, with civil rights struggles that have been battled by people for generations, when our children are encouraged to play shooting games wherein they commit murder and crimes, adults who have consensual sex with adults of the same sex cannot choose to defend their country. What's the fear? Seriously? That as the bombs fall they'll turn to a comrade and ask..."Hey wanna get lucky?" Ludicrous. It's such a backwoods policy that has no place in this day and age...it pisses me off.
-My supervisor and I met with two gentlemen today who are retired and want to volunteer some of their time to the kids in our facility. One of them was particularly quirky and didn't appear to have the self assurance that comes with 60 years of life experience, but both were pleasant. They want to join efforts and get a group of our kids together to take photographs relevant to them in some way and then write about them. I'm really excited, think this is a great idea, and hope that we can find some magical funding for cameras.
-My office doubles as an art room and a storage area in addition to housing my desk and computer. It is not a large space and occasionally I get the urge to reorganize. While reorganizing today I found a creation that had been made by a resident and brought it to him. I didn't choose my words carefully when I presented him with the piece, stating that I had been "cleaning out" my office. He looked at me with this horrified expression and said "Cleaning out your office?! You're leaving?" I was touched that he was so upset at the prospect of my leaving...it made me feel a little special.
-That awful woman with no respect for Islam gets to live. What's this damned world coming to when 7 year olds can name a Teddy Bear Mohammad? Next thing you know they'll name their pet lizard Jesus. Shoulda just be-headed her, would have made the world a better place. Craziness! Are people really this nuts?!
-Made a new friend! Which is pretty exciting considering my best friend of 15 years recently dumped me. 2x4 wrote a great post about our first 'date'...stop by his blog if you have time. It's way more entertaining than mine. Oh, and he doesn't mention it, but, she's a hugger. That'll take some getting used to. She's hug happy...full of love and wants to spread her joy via the warm embrace. It's sweet and doesn't creep me out, it's just not something I'm used to.
There you have it...my bullets post. I'll keep trying to come up with more inspiring material. I guess I'm having a slow start getting back into blogging.
-I was listening to NPR today and the discussion of the Military's "Don't ask don't tell" policy was discussed. This is not a subject which is on the forefront of my mind because, luckily, this prejudiced governmental policy has little to no effect on my every day life. I can't honestly believe that in this day in age, with civil rights struggles that have been battled by people for generations, when our children are encouraged to play shooting games wherein they commit murder and crimes, adults who have consensual sex with adults of the same sex cannot choose to defend their country. What's the fear? Seriously? That as the bombs fall they'll turn to a comrade and ask..."Hey wanna get lucky?" Ludicrous. It's such a backwoods policy that has no place in this day and age...it pisses me off.
-My supervisor and I met with two gentlemen today who are retired and want to volunteer some of their time to the kids in our facility. One of them was particularly quirky and didn't appear to have the self assurance that comes with 60 years of life experience, but both were pleasant. They want to join efforts and get a group of our kids together to take photographs relevant to them in some way and then write about them. I'm really excited, think this is a great idea, and hope that we can find some magical funding for cameras.
-My office doubles as an art room and a storage area in addition to housing my desk and computer. It is not a large space and occasionally I get the urge to reorganize. While reorganizing today I found a creation that had been made by a resident and brought it to him. I didn't choose my words carefully when I presented him with the piece, stating that I had been "cleaning out" my office. He looked at me with this horrified expression and said "Cleaning out your office?! You're leaving?" I was touched that he was so upset at the prospect of my leaving...it made me feel a little special.
-That awful woman with no respect for Islam gets to live. What's this damned world coming to when 7 year olds can name a Teddy Bear Mohammad? Next thing you know they'll name their pet lizard Jesus. Shoulda just be-headed her, would have made the world a better place. Craziness! Are people really this nuts?!
-Made a new friend! Which is pretty exciting considering my best friend of 15 years recently dumped me. 2x4 wrote a great post about our first 'date'...stop by his blog if you have time. It's way more entertaining than mine. Oh, and he doesn't mention it, but, she's a hugger. That'll take some getting used to. She's hug happy...full of love and wants to spread her joy via the warm embrace. It's sweet and doesn't creep me out, it's just not something I'm used to.
There you have it...my bullets post. I'll keep trying to come up with more inspiring material. I guess I'm having a slow start getting back into blogging.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Coffee-My Pickmeup of Choice
I got up early this morning and dragged my exhausted butt to a customer's house to clean. I was so tired and out of it that I broke this thermometer-tube-liquid-with-floating bubbles thing while dusting the picture hanging on the wall above it. It broke on the carpet. And it smelled. And the liquid was not water but some greasy/oily substance which I will likely spend several days attempting to clean out of her really expensive carpet in her really expensive home. Then I spent the rest of my klutzy time there almost breaking everything I touched. Luckily she's a great lady and was totally cool about it, told me not to worry and was very understanding. Nonetheless...I was ready to go home and crawl back into bed, sleep through the day, and start with a do-over tomorrow.
But I couldn't...I have that pesky full time job to go to. So I stopped for coffee, bucked up, and started my do-ever at noon. I was in high spirits, had great groups, a long conversation with my sister (who has been playing a very noble game of phone tag for about 2 weeks now), and left oodles of comments on blogs tonight, perhaps making some new bloggy friends.
And tonight I'm in a great mood. The coffee shakes have passed but I seem to be suffering from a small case of insomnia. I drink coffee so infrequently that a 12oz coffee gives me the shakes and continues to keep me awake 10 hours after being consumed. And...well, it gets my intestines working over time if you know what I mean ;-) Oh, overshare? Sorry. My bad.
Oh, and sorry about the boring "This is how I spent my day" post. I don't generally do that because, frankly, who cares about my mundane day to day existance? But it's caffeine/insomnia induced so try not to hold it against me, k? And did you know..."i before e does except after c" does not apply in caffeine? I didn't. But thanks to blogger's helpful spell checker, I do now!
But I couldn't...I have that pesky full time job to go to. So I stopped for coffee, bucked up, and started my do-ever at noon. I was in high spirits, had great groups, a long conversation with my sister (who has been playing a very noble game of phone tag for about 2 weeks now), and left oodles of comments on blogs tonight, perhaps making some new bloggy friends.
And tonight I'm in a great mood. The coffee shakes have passed but I seem to be suffering from a small case of insomnia. I drink coffee so infrequently that a 12oz coffee gives me the shakes and continues to keep me awake 10 hours after being consumed. And...well, it gets my intestines working over time if you know what I mean ;-) Oh, overshare? Sorry. My bad.
Oh, and sorry about the boring "This is how I spent my day" post. I don't generally do that because, frankly, who cares about my mundane day to day existance? But it's caffeine/insomnia induced so try not to hold it against me, k? And did you know..."i before e does except after c" does not apply in caffeine? I didn't. But thanks to blogger's helpful spell checker, I do now!
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Damn Him!
Dumbledore is DEAD?!
And that bastard Snape whom he trusted even when everyone said he was a greasy haired piece of trash KILLED HIM?!
I'm so mad. I don't know if I'm angrier with Snape or J.K. Rowling for making me think that Snape might actually have been a good guy.
Grrrrrr.....
And that bastard Snape whom he trusted even when everyone said he was a greasy haired piece of trash KILLED HIM?!
I'm so mad. I don't know if I'm angrier with Snape or J.K. Rowling for making me think that Snape might actually have been a good guy.
Grrrrrr.....
Friday, November 16, 2007
Forgiveness-An Intricate Chain
He came back from Vietnam a different man than the one who ventured into the war named for a country years before. Those that knew him prior recognized the difference. It wasn't the shrapnel still embedded in various points throughout his body, nor the various physical injuries that made the differences obvious. It was the fact that when his smile appeared (less frequently), the corners of his mouth didn't reach as high, and wasn't reflected in his eyes. There were other differences, subtle as the smile, and some as plain as the yelling at his wife, the cold demeanor that took over without warning.
There were therapeutic groups for people like him, people who had seen horrific scenes of friends and enemies suffering and dieing while they fought for survival, of carnage unspeakable, of the constant awareness that their life could end at any moment, their families receiving that horrible knock on the door. People who couldn't transition back into their previous lives without assistance and understanding from others who shared similar terrifying ordeals. However, years of being a United States Marine, years of enduring mental torture, years of shielding any vulnerability, staying hardened in order to keep alive, left him feeling as though those therapeutic groups were for the soft. He didn't want to be involved in anything that required him to soften, to admit that he wasn't strong enough to survive without help. He couldn't admit to himself that he needed these things, admitting a need for support to others was unthinkable. He truly believed he could heal unassisted, and had every intention of doing so.
His life began spiraling out of control when his wife disappeared while he was at work, taking their two children with her. She left with no warning and with no clue as to her whereabouts, seperating him from his children for weeks before making contact. That period of time was torturous for him, and caused him to withdraw deeper into the hardened shell that had become his shelter from the world. This incident was one more anguish he was forced to endure but would not permit to break him.
Years later he made himself a fresh start. He met a woman who made him happy, who needed and appreciated the strength that emminated from him, the strength that had been years in the making. She accepted him into her home and was happy to have assistance with parenting her young daughter, perhaps too eager to give him control over their lives. Together they had another daughter and he was given another chance at family. It was accepted with little questioning that he chose not to honor or celebrate holidays and birthdays, seperating himself from the mirth others experienced on these occasions. His son and daughter still resided with their mother but he had visitation and tried hard to be an admirable father figure to them despite the limited time they spent together. It was difficult for his son, in whose eyes he hung the moon, to be seperate from his father. As his son grew, his patchwork of emotions towards each parent emerged as demons he would spend years trying to ward off with alcohol and illegal drugs containing escatlating strength and risk. The father/son relationship had ups and downs over the years as the two went back and forth between understanding and alienating each other.
His step-daughter suffered numerous abuses at his hands over the years as his wife turned a blind eye. He had little understanding of why his step-daughter became the outlet for his emotional turmoil. She, in turn, recognized how far reaching the repercusions would be should she expose the happenings within their walls, and chose not to share, fearing her whole world would crumble. She held onto that burden, to the guilt, kept it hidden, protecting her mother and mother's husband from being exposed.
He reached the breaking point after all of his children had grown and left home. After years of working long hours to provide for his family he found himself unable to leave his home, the thought of being around people or venturing out of the haven of his abode left him in a cold sweat, his heart racing; an experience labled by professionals as a "panic attack". His wife struggled to be supportive but it was difficult as his smiles and happiness appeared next to never, making living with him a near constant struggle. Ultimately he sought help from the Veteran's Association, his syndrome was labled PTSD and his family was finally granted an understanding of the odd behaviors he had displayed over the course of their lives. He finally began to see a therapist regularly and took medications aimed at regulating his mood and minimizing panic attacks. However, the years of repressed vulnerability and emotion would not disappear easily, having laid dormant for years, rearing their heads with fury.
Sadly, his step-daughter no longer spoke to him and he, in turn, chose to dismiss her in total. He suffered a great deal of guilt where she was concerned and being around her was a constant reminder of his crimes. It was much easier to view her as the heartless enemy than feel the tightness in his chest that the thought of her invoked in him.
It was tragic that he and his son were in a period of allienation from each other when his son, at 34 years of age, died of a drug overdose. After years in and out of rehab and jail, when everyone thought he had won the fight with his demons, having once again started a business for which he had a great deal of passion, the son succumbed to his demons.
Now, as the Christmas season approaches, as the theme of forgiveness is prevalent in the air, as the family continues to accept and heal after the death mere months before of the son, the step-daughter believes that the time to forgive has come. She has carried the burden and guilt of being the scapegoat of emotional turmoil for the majority of her life. Yet, she sees the human frailty behind the abuser, sees that he too is a victim, she sees that he has suffered for the sins of others, and that she is only one link in chain of hurt, anger, sadness and torture. She sees that in order for the man to forgive himself, he must first be forgiven, and perhaps that forgiveness will spread its way through the chain. That finally he may have some peace, because he is indeed only human, as has suffered enough for several lifetimes. He deserves forgiveness from others, but primarily he deserves forgiveness from himself.
There were therapeutic groups for people like him, people who had seen horrific scenes of friends and enemies suffering and dieing while they fought for survival, of carnage unspeakable, of the constant awareness that their life could end at any moment, their families receiving that horrible knock on the door. People who couldn't transition back into their previous lives without assistance and understanding from others who shared similar terrifying ordeals. However, years of being a United States Marine, years of enduring mental torture, years of shielding any vulnerability, staying hardened in order to keep alive, left him feeling as though those therapeutic groups were for the soft. He didn't want to be involved in anything that required him to soften, to admit that he wasn't strong enough to survive without help. He couldn't admit to himself that he needed these things, admitting a need for support to others was unthinkable. He truly believed he could heal unassisted, and had every intention of doing so.
His life began spiraling out of control when his wife disappeared while he was at work, taking their two children with her. She left with no warning and with no clue as to her whereabouts, seperating him from his children for weeks before making contact. That period of time was torturous for him, and caused him to withdraw deeper into the hardened shell that had become his shelter from the world. This incident was one more anguish he was forced to endure but would not permit to break him.
Years later he made himself a fresh start. He met a woman who made him happy, who needed and appreciated the strength that emminated from him, the strength that had been years in the making. She accepted him into her home and was happy to have assistance with parenting her young daughter, perhaps too eager to give him control over their lives. Together they had another daughter and he was given another chance at family. It was accepted with little questioning that he chose not to honor or celebrate holidays and birthdays, seperating himself from the mirth others experienced on these occasions. His son and daughter still resided with their mother but he had visitation and tried hard to be an admirable father figure to them despite the limited time they spent together. It was difficult for his son, in whose eyes he hung the moon, to be seperate from his father. As his son grew, his patchwork of emotions towards each parent emerged as demons he would spend years trying to ward off with alcohol and illegal drugs containing escatlating strength and risk. The father/son relationship had ups and downs over the years as the two went back and forth between understanding and alienating each other.
His step-daughter suffered numerous abuses at his hands over the years as his wife turned a blind eye. He had little understanding of why his step-daughter became the outlet for his emotional turmoil. She, in turn, recognized how far reaching the repercusions would be should she expose the happenings within their walls, and chose not to share, fearing her whole world would crumble. She held onto that burden, to the guilt, kept it hidden, protecting her mother and mother's husband from being exposed.
He reached the breaking point after all of his children had grown and left home. After years of working long hours to provide for his family he found himself unable to leave his home, the thought of being around people or venturing out of the haven of his abode left him in a cold sweat, his heart racing; an experience labled by professionals as a "panic attack". His wife struggled to be supportive but it was difficult as his smiles and happiness appeared next to never, making living with him a near constant struggle. Ultimately he sought help from the Veteran's Association, his syndrome was labled PTSD and his family was finally granted an understanding of the odd behaviors he had displayed over the course of their lives. He finally began to see a therapist regularly and took medications aimed at regulating his mood and minimizing panic attacks. However, the years of repressed vulnerability and emotion would not disappear easily, having laid dormant for years, rearing their heads with fury.
Sadly, his step-daughter no longer spoke to him and he, in turn, chose to dismiss her in total. He suffered a great deal of guilt where she was concerned and being around her was a constant reminder of his crimes. It was much easier to view her as the heartless enemy than feel the tightness in his chest that the thought of her invoked in him.
It was tragic that he and his son were in a period of allienation from each other when his son, at 34 years of age, died of a drug overdose. After years in and out of rehab and jail, when everyone thought he had won the fight with his demons, having once again started a business for which he had a great deal of passion, the son succumbed to his demons.
Now, as the Christmas season approaches, as the theme of forgiveness is prevalent in the air, as the family continues to accept and heal after the death mere months before of the son, the step-daughter believes that the time to forgive has come. She has carried the burden and guilt of being the scapegoat of emotional turmoil for the majority of her life. Yet, she sees the human frailty behind the abuser, sees that he too is a victim, she sees that he has suffered for the sins of others, and that she is only one link in chain of hurt, anger, sadness and torture. She sees that in order for the man to forgive himself, he must first be forgiven, and perhaps that forgiveness will spread its way through the chain. That finally he may have some peace, because he is indeed only human, as has suffered enough for several lifetimes. He deserves forgiveness from others, but primarily he deserves forgiveness from himself.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
I'm Learning How to Lie
Therapists, counselors, and those who work with children in some capacity in a residential setting have a really tricky line they must traverse between being caring/approachable and having bad boundaries wherein they share too much of their personal lives. Personal life sharing is totally inappropriate for a variety of reasons, though, the not sharing is easier said than done. In my art groups there's a lot of talking. The kids talk to each other about he said/she said stuff, things going on with their families, school dilemmas, and your average adolescent drama. Some of these kids are regulars in my group and have therefore become increasingly comfortable around me. With that comfort level comes normal human curiosity about the person with whom you are spending time. So, they've started asking questions. Some of the questions are innocuous and I can answer freely. For instance, Paula, who is fascinated that I'm a vegetarian asks me every time we're together, "What's for dinner tonight?" I of course tell her what I'm having (if that decision has been made) because clearly this is a fun and harmless little connection between us.
However, yesterday I was caught off guard when Julia asked "How long have you been married?" Ugh. I gave an honest response because some of the kids on campus know I got married this past summer. No sense in lying (arrgh! how do you spell that?!). The most professional thing would have been to divert the conversation somehow. But, I'm still figuring out how to say "none of your business" while continuing to be an approachable figure in their lives. "Sure, tell me your woes, share with me your inner demons, poor your heart out to me and let me help you better your life, but my life is off limits." Kind of a mixed message. So I was already stumbling back into a (metaphorical) upright position from the previous stumble when she rapid fired, "Where you ever married before?" Inside my head I'm thinking: "Good God why do you care and how the hell can I tell you that we shouldn't really talk about me because it's poor ethics, and where the heck did this brain freeze come from and why CAN'T I THINK?!" So, I responded, "Ummmmm....no".
So, there you have it. I lied. Bald faced lie. Felt like crap. Kinda still do. Still don't know where I went wrong. I've had supervisors tell me to explain to clients who show an interest in parts of my life that should be off limits: "My role is one of a therapist and I am therefore here to help you work on getting better so we really shouldn't focus on me, let's focus on you" Or something to that effect. Except, these kids see me as 'arts lady' not 'therapist lady' they find me approachable because I'm not like any of the other staff, I stand alone in my own separate and distinct category. So...that spiel doesn't fly. Great. Still don't know what to do next time.
However, yesterday I was caught off guard when Julia asked "How long have you been married?" Ugh. I gave an honest response because some of the kids on campus know I got married this past summer. No sense in lying (arrgh! how do you spell that?!). The most professional thing would have been to divert the conversation somehow. But, I'm still figuring out how to say "none of your business" while continuing to be an approachable figure in their lives. "Sure, tell me your woes, share with me your inner demons, poor your heart out to me and let me help you better your life, but my life is off limits." Kind of a mixed message. So I was already stumbling back into a (metaphorical) upright position from the previous stumble when she rapid fired, "Where you ever married before?" Inside my head I'm thinking: "Good God why do you care and how the hell can I tell you that we shouldn't really talk about me because it's poor ethics, and where the heck did this brain freeze come from and why CAN'T I THINK?!" So, I responded, "Ummmmm....no".
So, there you have it. I lied. Bald faced lie. Felt like crap. Kinda still do. Still don't know where I went wrong. I've had supervisors tell me to explain to clients who show an interest in parts of my life that should be off limits: "My role is one of a therapist and I am therefore here to help you work on getting better so we really shouldn't focus on me, let's focus on you" Or something to that effect. Except, these kids see me as 'arts lady' not 'therapist lady' they find me approachable because I'm not like any of the other staff, I stand alone in my own separate and distinct category. So...that spiel doesn't fly. Great. Still don't know what to do next time.
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
How is it Possible to be Exhausted and Unable to Sleep at the Same Time?
My day went like this: Got up and went to the gym. Why did I go to the gym? Because I spent a lot of years being the chubby friend, and all those Halloween inspired snacks are threatening to send me back into fatty town. When discussing what Star Wars character each of the people in the room would be, one of the kids I work with said that I would be C3PO because (and I quote) "You're mad tall and skinny" (Translation for those of you who don't speak inner city adolescent dialect; mad may be translated as extremely) I don't think I have been described as extremely skinny ever before in my entire life. It was hilarious to me. I was beaming.
Then I went and helped my aunt plant and move monstrously large trees. She has a small landscaping business and I help out when she needs the assistance as I could always use the extra money. We spent our time together yanking and pulling trees around that were too big for us to move. But...seeing as we are two pig headed women, neither of us was willing to admit aloud that some large muscles (ahem, like maybe those of an, ahem, man) would be helpful. So we tugged and pulled and I got a bloody nose from a wayward stick up the nostril (hilarity ensued because truly, who else does that sort of thing happen to?) Then it was time for me to head to my full time job.
So...next I traveled to my full time art therapy job and spent the day forcing art therapy down the throats of uninterested adolescents.
Now I'm home, I've had a beer, I've eaten dinner, my body and mind are exhausted...yet I can't sleep. What kind of utter nonsense is that?! And I'm doing it all over again tomorrow! I guess tomorrow will be a large coffee day. (Yes I take cream and sugar, what of it? I like it that way!)
Then I went and helped my aunt plant and move monstrously large trees. She has a small landscaping business and I help out when she needs the assistance as I could always use the extra money. We spent our time together yanking and pulling trees around that were too big for us to move. But...seeing as we are two pig headed women, neither of us was willing to admit aloud that some large muscles (ahem, like maybe those of an, ahem, man) would be helpful. So we tugged and pulled and I got a bloody nose from a wayward stick up the nostril (hilarity ensued because truly, who else does that sort of thing happen to?) Then it was time for me to head to my full time job.
So...next I traveled to my full time art therapy job and spent the day forcing art therapy down the throats of uninterested adolescents.
Now I'm home, I've had a beer, I've eaten dinner, my body and mind are exhausted...yet I can't sleep. What kind of utter nonsense is that?! And I'm doing it all over again tomorrow! I guess tomorrow will be a large coffee day. (Yes I take cream and sugar, what of it? I like it that way!)
Thursday, November 01, 2007
Shut up about Dumbledore Already
I'm a reader, have been for as far back as I can remember. When I was just breaking into the teenage years, and had yet to know everything and hate everyone, my dad used to take me to this great locally owned bookstore (which to this day is one of my favorites) and would tell me to pick out one book. Well, anyone who is an avid reader realizes that narrowing the selection down to one book in a bookstore filled to the brim with shiny new books is virtually impossible. So...I rarely left that store with less than two books. Because, how do you say no to a kid that is begging for books? Poor dad and his wallet never stood a chance.
When I went back to school several years ago my days were so full of classes, commuting, textbook reading, paper writing, and work, that leisurely reading time became damn near non-existent. Since graduating I think I have spent equal amounts of time in the public library and sending out resumes. The library and all of its free loner books is my new favorite place. Some women shop for shoes, I linger at the library reading the back jacket of all the new releases.
When Harry Potter first came out I was one of the gazillions of people on the "Harry Potter Rocks" bandwagon. I love the stories and the amount of imagination that oozes from every page.
J.K. Rowling is a freaking genius in my humble yet very relevant opinion. I was furious when the books were turned into movies since the Harry Potter craze was an "Oh my God my illiterate child is reading this totally cool book series" craze. But, I digress, that's another post...ahem.
Anyway, I got through Book 5 before returning to school. Even as I was reading The Order of the Phoenix in '03 I realized that I needed to start back at Book 1 because I couldn't remember a lot of the back story. Then I went to school and Harry Potter became a distant memory. Now the last book in the series has been released and I have re-embarked on my Hogwarts journey. I'm back up to Book 5 and have been very careful to shield myself from climax ruining information. I shush people who talk about the books, don't read articles, and change the station when anything HP related is the topic of discussion.
Then Yahoo fudged it all up. They had some headline posted about the controversy over Dumbledore's homosexuality that simply could not be ignored.
DAMN IT! How does that fit into the story line? I couldn't care less about Dumbledore's sexuality but now I'm left wondering...was he in love with Tom Riddle before he went all Evil Empire on the wizarding world? Does the ministry have it out for him because they're bigots? I'm trying not to think about it but I can't make this tidbit of knowledge go back in the box. It's out.
So, my request is...give me 3 weeks. I should be done with the whole series by then. Until then Shut up about Dumbledore!
When I went back to school several years ago my days were so full of classes, commuting, textbook reading, paper writing, and work, that leisurely reading time became damn near non-existent. Since graduating I think I have spent equal amounts of time in the public library and sending out resumes. The library and all of its free loner books is my new favorite place. Some women shop for shoes, I linger at the library reading the back jacket of all the new releases.
When Harry Potter first came out I was one of the gazillions of people on the "Harry Potter Rocks" bandwagon. I love the stories and the amount of imagination that oozes from every page.
J.K. Rowling is a freaking genius in my humble yet very relevant opinion. I was furious when the books were turned into movies since the Harry Potter craze was an "Oh my God my illiterate child is reading this totally cool book series" craze. But, I digress, that's another post...ahem.
Anyway, I got through Book 5 before returning to school. Even as I was reading The Order of the Phoenix in '03 I realized that I needed to start back at Book 1 because I couldn't remember a lot of the back story. Then I went to school and Harry Potter became a distant memory. Now the last book in the series has been released and I have re-embarked on my Hogwarts journey. I'm back up to Book 5 and have been very careful to shield myself from climax ruining information. I shush people who talk about the books, don't read articles, and change the station when anything HP related is the topic of discussion.
Then Yahoo fudged it all up. They had some headline posted about the controversy over Dumbledore's homosexuality that simply could not be ignored.
DAMN IT! How does that fit into the story line? I couldn't care less about Dumbledore's sexuality but now I'm left wondering...was he in love with Tom Riddle before he went all Evil Empire on the wizarding world? Does the ministry have it out for him because they're bigots? I'm trying not to think about it but I can't make this tidbit of knowledge go back in the box. It's out.
So, my request is...give me 3 weeks. I should be done with the whole series by then. Until then Shut up about Dumbledore!
Thursday, October 18, 2007
Venting-Beware: NOT a happy post
Ever in one of those moods where it's a good thing nobody is around because you'd drag them kicking and screaming into your cloud of negativity? Yeah, that's where I'm living right now. I spent the last of my shift today 'running' a group of 5 angry adolescent girls. I put 'running' in quotations because I had little to no control over what took place in that room. I had defiance, fighting, complaining, and oodles of negativity, but I had next to no control. Was it a lack of experience? Perhaps. Was it the phase of the moon? Maybe. Was it the fact that I work in a facility that houses adolescents in residential placement who already have a repertoire of bad habits and then comes to live in a shoddy run facility with kids that teach them a whole new set of bad habits to add onto the old one? Yup, that's it.
When the direct care staff consists primarily of underpaid undereducated angry unionized individuals with bad boundaries who allow things like bullying to take place, I don't think the organization is helping the majority of its charges. I do believe that it is likely, in this scenario, that the organization does more harm than good. When a staff member does something like, say, SLEEP when they are supposed to be supervising developmentally delayed adolescents, they should be reprimanded...right? Except, when said emplyee's supervisor is too busy to address his ongoing problems, said employee remains employed and continues to influence already troubled developing minds. Marvelous.
I spoke with my supervisor a couple of weeks ago and told her that I question whether or not I'm helping or making and impact on these kids. Her response was "I think that you do a lot more than this, but, at the very least, you're being a positive adult role model. And as you know, that is something that these kids are seriously lacking."
Gaaa! So, I can keep working for an organization which I have been told is 'resume suicide' and try to make my measly 'positive' impact. Or, I can recognize that I am one damn person and there is only so much I can do. Do I leave the few kids that have a positive attachment to me because I think the organization is a joke, funneling funds out of programs where the money belongs, and I feel may do more harm than good? Or do I try really freaking hard to recognize that impacting a few kids is pretty damn important? For that matter, is my impact all that great? I tend to doubt it.
And frankly, the commute sucks.
Vent over.
This is Negative Nancy, signing off.
When the direct care staff consists primarily of underpaid undereducated angry unionized individuals with bad boundaries who allow things like bullying to take place, I don't think the organization is helping the majority of its charges. I do believe that it is likely, in this scenario, that the organization does more harm than good. When a staff member does something like, say, SLEEP when they are supposed to be supervising developmentally delayed adolescents, they should be reprimanded...right? Except, when said emplyee's supervisor is too busy to address his ongoing problems, said employee remains employed and continues to influence already troubled developing minds. Marvelous.
I spoke with my supervisor a couple of weeks ago and told her that I question whether or not I'm helping or making and impact on these kids. Her response was "I think that you do a lot more than this, but, at the very least, you're being a positive adult role model. And as you know, that is something that these kids are seriously lacking."
Gaaa! So, I can keep working for an organization which I have been told is 'resume suicide' and try to make my measly 'positive' impact. Or, I can recognize that I am one damn person and there is only so much I can do. Do I leave the few kids that have a positive attachment to me because I think the organization is a joke, funneling funds out of programs where the money belongs, and I feel may do more harm than good? Or do I try really freaking hard to recognize that impacting a few kids is pretty damn important? For that matter, is my impact all that great? I tend to doubt it.
And frankly, the commute sucks.
Vent over.
This is Negative Nancy, signing off.
Sunday, October 14, 2007
That is so NOT what I meant
Yesterday was a crisp autumn day. The temperature was just shy of the 50 degree mark, and the breeze was enough to penetrate my thick wool sweater as we stood on the sidelines at the kid's soccer games. The Boy was the first to play his game, so 2x4, The Girl, and I were on the 'parents' side of the field offering up encouragement to the team and laughing at the minimal attention The Boy was paying to the game.
We're a family of jokesters. We make jokes about random things that most bystanders would either; not find funny, find totally inappropriate out of context, or simply would not get. That being the case, when I saw a woman across the field carrying a child that was wearing a black hoody sweatshirt that was 2 sizes too big, making his arms look all gangly and making his back side appear very similar to the back side of a chimpanzee, I said to my family (as a joke!) "Look, that lady is carrying monkey!" Now, keep in mind all I could see of this child was the back of his oversized hoody, hood UP.
Neither 2x4 or The Girl laughed. In fact, 2x4 got pretty serious and stated, "You better be careful." What? So I explained the rather obvious long sleeve, monkey arm looking characteristics...and he remained silent with, that look. You know the look, the "I'm not saying anymore, figure it out on your own" look. Infuriating. Next, The Girl begins to explain to me that the woman carrying the child is the mother of a boy on the team. The African-American boy on the team, and that he and his little brother are adopted.
The light bulb went on.
Good Lord, the baby is African-American.
Crap.
I so didn't mean it as a racial slur. The woman was WHITE. All I saw of the baby was a sweatshirt!
Crap.
There is no getting this king sized foot out of my mouth.
Crap.
We're a family of jokesters. We make jokes about random things that most bystanders would either; not find funny, find totally inappropriate out of context, or simply would not get. That being the case, when I saw a woman across the field carrying a child that was wearing a black hoody sweatshirt that was 2 sizes too big, making his arms look all gangly and making his back side appear very similar to the back side of a chimpanzee, I said to my family (as a joke!) "Look, that lady is carrying monkey!" Now, keep in mind all I could see of this child was the back of his oversized hoody, hood UP.
Neither 2x4 or The Girl laughed. In fact, 2x4 got pretty serious and stated, "You better be careful." What? So I explained the rather obvious long sleeve, monkey arm looking characteristics...and he remained silent with, that look. You know the look, the "I'm not saying anymore, figure it out on your own" look. Infuriating. Next, The Girl begins to explain to me that the woman carrying the child is the mother of a boy on the team. The African-American boy on the team, and that he and his little brother are adopted.
The light bulb went on.
Good Lord, the baby is African-American.
Crap.
I so didn't mean it as a racial slur. The woman was WHITE. All I saw of the baby was a sweatshirt!
Crap.
There is no getting this king sized foot out of my mouth.
Crap.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Still Alive
Hello!
I'm glad you still stop by periodically. I'm not officially retired from blogging but life is crazy busy right now. I just wanted to update on the off chance that someone still happens by.
Somewhat incoherent quicky update: Married now. Still in love. Wedding ring is engraved with 'These are better days" and overall, it's true. Am employed as an art therapist. Still not paid what I'm worth, but hey, who is? Cleaning rich people's houses to subsidize the crappy income. Kids are great, healthy, happy, growing like little weeds, smart as whipper-snappers. Step-brother died of a drug overdose, still dealing with that in my own slow to comprehend and accept kind of way. Cat is still a big fat weirdo-attacks my feet and emits a weird meow like he's being tortured. Considering going back to school for a Master's degree.
Them's the highlights. Hope you're doing well. Hard to say when I'll be back. I try to keep people guessing.
xoxo
WiP
I'm glad you still stop by periodically. I'm not officially retired from blogging but life is crazy busy right now. I just wanted to update on the off chance that someone still happens by.
Somewhat incoherent quicky update: Married now. Still in love. Wedding ring is engraved with 'These are better days" and overall, it's true. Am employed as an art therapist. Still not paid what I'm worth, but hey, who is? Cleaning rich people's houses to subsidize the crappy income. Kids are great, healthy, happy, growing like little weeds, smart as whipper-snappers. Step-brother died of a drug overdose, still dealing with that in my own slow to comprehend and accept kind of way. Cat is still a big fat weirdo-attacks my feet and emits a weird meow like he's being tortured. Considering going back to school for a Master's degree.
Them's the highlights. Hope you're doing well. Hard to say when I'll be back. I try to keep people guessing.
xoxo
WiP
Thursday, June 07, 2007
You Can't Make Me
I realize that I have been MIA. I've actually had a variety of blog worthy moments in the last several months, I just haven't had the time to put finger to keyboard (so to speak). This is a short anecdote, and somewhat amusing so I figured I'd take the time to share.
I am somewhat of an environmentalist. I try to minimize my impact on nature by doing things like bringing cloth bags with me to the supermarket, recycling, reusing, driving the shortest route, you know, the basics and then some. Plastic bags are awful for the environment for a variety of reasons. First and foremost, they never go away (when I say never, I mean not in my life time or the life time of my potential great-grandchildren).
I went shopping for 2x4's birthday recently and purchased him the 10 inch frying pan he's been anxious to receive for a while now. A frying pan has a HANDLE. Keep this small fact in mind while I share with you the exchange between myself and the older lady at the department store register.
I put the pan on the counter. The nice lady scaned the pan and then grabbed a plastic bag. As I took my money out of my purse, I stated; "You know what, I don't need a bag, I'll just carry that as is."
The nice lady then proceeded to put the pan in the bag and declared, "No, I have to give you a bag or I'll get in trouble with security. If you want to remove the bag when you get outside, you can." Clearly she missed the point. I don't want to use a bag nor waste a bag, nor add one more plastic bag to the world.
I handed the nice lady my money and then removed the pan from the bag stating, "If I get stopped by security, I'll inform them that you tried valiently to give me a bag but I resisted your efforts"
The nice lady was clearly annoyed and moved more stealthily than I would have thought someone her age could, producing a role of tape with the store's logo printed on it and before I had a chance to protest, stuck some to the pan announcing, "Then I have to give you some tape!"
This was particularly amusing because I wouldn't have objected to the tape but somehow her approach made me feel victimized, like she had just smacked me across the face with her glove.
But, as my middle name is compromise, I smiled and said, "That's just fine." After all, the situation had quickly evolved from a simple "I'll do one little thing to help sustain the health of the planet" into "I WILL win."
I feel that in the end, mother nature and I were triumphant. Our team won the battle.
I am somewhat of an environmentalist. I try to minimize my impact on nature by doing things like bringing cloth bags with me to the supermarket, recycling, reusing, driving the shortest route, you know, the basics and then some. Plastic bags are awful for the environment for a variety of reasons. First and foremost, they never go away (when I say never, I mean not in my life time or the life time of my potential great-grandchildren).
I went shopping for 2x4's birthday recently and purchased him the 10 inch frying pan he's been anxious to receive for a while now. A frying pan has a HANDLE. Keep this small fact in mind while I share with you the exchange between myself and the older lady at the department store register.
I put the pan on the counter. The nice lady scaned the pan and then grabbed a plastic bag. As I took my money out of my purse, I stated; "You know what, I don't need a bag, I'll just carry that as is."
The nice lady then proceeded to put the pan in the bag and declared, "No, I have to give you a bag or I'll get in trouble with security. If you want to remove the bag when you get outside, you can." Clearly she missed the point. I don't want to use a bag nor waste a bag, nor add one more plastic bag to the world.
I handed the nice lady my money and then removed the pan from the bag stating, "If I get stopped by security, I'll inform them that you tried valiently to give me a bag but I resisted your efforts"
The nice lady was clearly annoyed and moved more stealthily than I would have thought someone her age could, producing a role of tape with the store's logo printed on it and before I had a chance to protest, stuck some to the pan announcing, "Then I have to give you some tape!"
This was particularly amusing because I wouldn't have objected to the tape but somehow her approach made me feel victimized, like she had just smacked me across the face with her glove.
But, as my middle name is compromise, I smiled and said, "That's just fine." After all, the situation had quickly evolved from a simple "I'll do one little thing to help sustain the health of the planet" into "I WILL win."
I feel that in the end, mother nature and I were triumphant. Our team won the battle.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Our New Family Member
Growing up, the only type of animals we were permitted to have as pets were dogs. My mom hated cats, and rodents and reptiles were out of the question. We had a Chow named Frisky when I was 4 or 5 years of age. Her stay in our household was short-lived. Though my memory of her is limited, I'm told Frisky was simply too frisky to keep. And she was none to friendly, to boot.
Being the product of a broken home meant that I also had dogs at my dad's house. Belle was a wonderful soul. She was the runt of an English Spaniel litter and came as a package deal with step-mother number one. This pair introduced me to the idea that a dog can be loved through training, and that a well trained dog is much more of a pleasure to have around than a jumpy lunatic who can't tell a sit command from a call for dinner time. Belle lived a long life, and I have no doubt that she went to dog heaven for all her years of family love and devotion.
Next at mom's we had Annie the beagle. I loved Annie like crazy as she was the first pet I truly considered mine. I even had pictures of her in my school locker. As much as I loved Annie, she was a slave to her nose like any hound dog and would go deaf when on a scent. She also ate every disgusting thing you can imagine. There was never a dirty pair of underwear or used tissue safe when Annie was around. To my beloved Annie, these were delectable treats. I once watched her crap out a whole damn sock. It wasn't a small sock either, it was a long tube sock. She died young. I couldn't talk about her without crying from saddness for a good 2 years after she was gone. But, Annie's foibles were enough to make me decide that I will never again own a hound of any variety.
Then there was Bandit who slept with me every night. Bandit was a mutt. She was full of energy and as loyal as every other dog I was fortunate enough to own. When I moved out of my mom's house I felt more guilty about leaving Bandit than I did about leaving my mom.
When I started dating my first husband he had Nikki, a beautiful Dalmation who may very well have been Belle reincarnated. Her disposition was similar and she took to me immediately. As a matter of fact, I think my ex-husband was forever jealous that she so easily became my companion and would wait for me at the door every day knowing it was about time for me to arrive home from work. He never grasped the simple concept that I was the one who showered her with love and affection, that I was as excited to see her as she was me, while he was mostly indifferent to her existance. I cried for days after Nikki was gone. And I still miss her.
Why this long tribute to the pets of my past? Because while I am clearly a dog person, 2x4 is a cat person. So, recently, we adopted a beautiful cat from a local shelter. We named him C.K. Dexter Haven (C.K. or Dexter for short) from my favorite movie of all time (ten points if you can tell me the movie without googling it).
And here's the lesson Dexter has taught me: Cats are totally different than dogs. TOTALLY. I don't understand how attacking me with his teeth and claws means he's happy. Dogs don't do that! Or, at least when they do, it's clear that they're playing. The first time Dexter did this, I FREAKED. 2x4 had to explain that this is normal and he's playing. Call me crazy but I don't think playing should involve sharp instruments.
Dexter seems to get more lively the longer we have him. This morning he got all worked up and was stalking my feet. It led to me yelping, jumping onto the couch, and tucking my feet up under my butt so that they wouldn't be ripped to shreds. You wanna know how he got worked up?! I was lovingly PETTING him. Next thing I knew, my feet were near victims of his happy excitement. With dogs, the difference between a play face and an "I'm really viscious and am about to attack you" face are clearly defined. With cats, they're the same! The "you're a juicy mouse and I'm going to eat you" face is the very same face as the "I love you sooo much that I'm going to grab your arm with my paws and nibble on your hand a little, but it's jut because I'm happy and wanna play" face.
Don't get me wrong, it's only been a couple of weeks and I'm totally attached. I'm an animal person, always have been. I love him despite the fact that he makes me sneeze and makes my eyes water. And he seems to like me as well. We're teaching each other. I'm learning how to interact with animals of the feline variety, and he's learning how to deal with a neurotic human.
Being the product of a broken home meant that I also had dogs at my dad's house. Belle was a wonderful soul. She was the runt of an English Spaniel litter and came as a package deal with step-mother number one. This pair introduced me to the idea that a dog can be loved through training, and that a well trained dog is much more of a pleasure to have around than a jumpy lunatic who can't tell a sit command from a call for dinner time. Belle lived a long life, and I have no doubt that she went to dog heaven for all her years of family love and devotion.
Next at mom's we had Annie the beagle. I loved Annie like crazy as she was the first pet I truly considered mine. I even had pictures of her in my school locker. As much as I loved Annie, she was a slave to her nose like any hound dog and would go deaf when on a scent. She also ate every disgusting thing you can imagine. There was never a dirty pair of underwear or used tissue safe when Annie was around. To my beloved Annie, these were delectable treats. I once watched her crap out a whole damn sock. It wasn't a small sock either, it was a long tube sock. She died young. I couldn't talk about her without crying from saddness for a good 2 years after she was gone. But, Annie's foibles were enough to make me decide that I will never again own a hound of any variety.
Then there was Bandit who slept with me every night. Bandit was a mutt. She was full of energy and as loyal as every other dog I was fortunate enough to own. When I moved out of my mom's house I felt more guilty about leaving Bandit than I did about leaving my mom.
When I started dating my first husband he had Nikki, a beautiful Dalmation who may very well have been Belle reincarnated. Her disposition was similar and she took to me immediately. As a matter of fact, I think my ex-husband was forever jealous that she so easily became my companion and would wait for me at the door every day knowing it was about time for me to arrive home from work. He never grasped the simple concept that I was the one who showered her with love and affection, that I was as excited to see her as she was me, while he was mostly indifferent to her existance. I cried for days after Nikki was gone. And I still miss her.
Why this long tribute to the pets of my past? Because while I am clearly a dog person, 2x4 is a cat person. So, recently, we adopted a beautiful cat from a local shelter. We named him C.K. Dexter Haven (C.K. or Dexter for short) from my favorite movie of all time (ten points if you can tell me the movie without googling it).
And here's the lesson Dexter has taught me: Cats are totally different than dogs. TOTALLY. I don't understand how attacking me with his teeth and claws means he's happy. Dogs don't do that! Or, at least when they do, it's clear that they're playing. The first time Dexter did this, I FREAKED. 2x4 had to explain that this is normal and he's playing. Call me crazy but I don't think playing should involve sharp instruments.
Dexter seems to get more lively the longer we have him. This morning he got all worked up and was stalking my feet. It led to me yelping, jumping onto the couch, and tucking my feet up under my butt so that they wouldn't be ripped to shreds. You wanna know how he got worked up?! I was lovingly PETTING him. Next thing I knew, my feet were near victims of his happy excitement. With dogs, the difference between a play face and an "I'm really viscious and am about to attack you" face are clearly defined. With cats, they're the same! The "you're a juicy mouse and I'm going to eat you" face is the very same face as the "I love you sooo much that I'm going to grab your arm with my paws and nibble on your hand a little, but it's jut because I'm happy and wanna play" face.
Don't get me wrong, it's only been a couple of weeks and I'm totally attached. I'm an animal person, always have been. I love him despite the fact that he makes me sneeze and makes my eyes water. And he seems to like me as well. We're teaching each other. I'm learning how to interact with animals of the feline variety, and he's learning how to deal with a neurotic human.
Monday, March 26, 2007
Impossible
Girl and Dog has tagged me and asked that I list my 5 favorite songs. This is impossible primarily because my list of favorites shifts drastically with my mood. Also, narrowing it down to 5 is a tall order (though I do appreciate the fact that the list won't be a daunting task). Unlike the rest of the world, I can't refer to a songlist in my mp3 player 'cause I don't have one. Therefore, I'm going to the CD shelves and attempting to recall via osmosis. So, in an effort to participate honestly, I will list 5 songs that I can listen to when in almost any mood. Songs that have stood the test of time and maturity. Songs that I would enjoy hearing at my wedding. Now, without further ado, I give you 5 of my favoritish songs.
1. The Best is Yet to Come performed by Frank Sinatra. LOVE IT. 2x4 once told me this song makes him think of us. It should most definitely make an appearance at the wedding.
2. Mambo Italiano performed by Dean Martin. Whenever this song comes on, I. cannot. sit. still. It always makes me smile. I'm smiling just thinking about it. "Hey mambo, mambo italiano..."
3. Repetetive? maybe. But I have to do it: Withcraft also performed by old blue eyes. An explanation isn't always necessary. This is just a good song.
4. Why Georgia by John Mayer. John Mayer wrote the soundtrack for my life around the time that I decided to end my first marriage. The idea that he wanted to skip his freeway exit and just keep driving, leave his current life because, "might be a quarter life crisis, or just a stirring in my soul"...so what I was feeling. My very own quarter life crisis left me with the realization that I had made a mistake and married the wrong man, but that I could rectify that mistake. Had I not done so, I wouldn't have been available to spend the rest of my life with the man who makes me feel complete.
5. Sunrise by Nora Jones. Happy. Tranquil. Just plain enjoyable.
1. The Best is Yet to Come performed by Frank Sinatra. LOVE IT. 2x4 once told me this song makes him think of us. It should most definitely make an appearance at the wedding.
2. Mambo Italiano performed by Dean Martin. Whenever this song comes on, I. cannot. sit. still. It always makes me smile. I'm smiling just thinking about it. "Hey mambo, mambo italiano..."
3. Repetetive? maybe. But I have to do it: Withcraft also performed by old blue eyes. An explanation isn't always necessary. This is just a good song.
4. Why Georgia by John Mayer. John Mayer wrote the soundtrack for my life around the time that I decided to end my first marriage. The idea that he wanted to skip his freeway exit and just keep driving, leave his current life because, "might be a quarter life crisis, or just a stirring in my soul"...so what I was feeling. My very own quarter life crisis left me with the realization that I had made a mistake and married the wrong man, but that I could rectify that mistake. Had I not done so, I wouldn't have been available to spend the rest of my life with the man who makes me feel complete.
5. Sunrise by Nora Jones. Happy. Tranquil. Just plain enjoyable.
Thursday, March 08, 2007
Inspiration via 2x4
I sat at my desk, chin deep in med charts, service plans, and scheduling challenges when my purse emitted that tell tale vibration sound, indicating a text message. I absent mindedly fished through the middle pocket, not taking my eye off the puzzling chart in front of me, full of microscopic squares, intended to monitor medication compliance. I used my left thumb in an often practiced maneuver to flip open the phone and read the incoming message.
"Do you want to go out on a date with me tonight?"
My heart skipped a beat at the prospect. Two simultaneous reactions occurred within me.
1. Absofreakinlutely.
2. We can't afford this.
I took a split second to hush number 2. We need this. Our schedules have been opposing, we've both been somewhat on edge, and due to a scheduling snafu I get out of work at 6 this evening instead of 9 which would have put me home just in time to hear the first of his sleeping breaths. Instead, my wonderful love wants to take advantage of the rare opportunity of an evening together and treat the stressed out woman that he loves to a night of wining and dining. God I love this man. So, I responded:
"YES!"
His response:
"Put on something nice"
I paused from my paperwork hell to swoon.
Of course, mental health clients being what they are, my last client decided that TODAY would be the day he does a 180 degree turn and wants to be compliant with his treatment, and talk about it. All I could think was, 'Good GOD would you shut up? Don't you understand I have a life? Why after 3 weeks of bitching and moaning must you want to be chatty today?' How's that for empathy?
I barely made it out of work at 6. I came in the door and he was at the computer, dressed up, sexy as hell. I greeted him with a kiss and stated, "I'm sorry I don't have time to chat, I have a hot date tonight"
He was very understanding, and gave me my space.
Showered, sexy, excited and light hearted, we headed out. We had never been to this restaurant before. We walked in the door and were greeted by a pleasant gentleman who lead the way to our table. We followed him, a slight limp causing his gait to be slow, and I took in the atmosphere, trying to savor each moment. The white linen table clothes looked crisp. The wine glasses on each table held cloth napkins, alternating in black and white. The walls were a calming pale green with a darker chair rail breaking the monotony of the one color The contrast was appealing to the eye. The lighting was just right and the small lanterns on each table helped set the low-key, relaxing mood.
He pulled out my chair, a gesture that I love, and that has never been performed for me by another man. We settled in and ordered a bottle of Chianti. The waitress understood right away that we were not in a hurry and allowed us to enjoy our meal at a slow pace with minimal interruptions. The sounds within the restaurant ebbed and flowed as we immersed ourselves in conversation, enjoying each other's company, catching up on the small portions of life that get lost when our time together is limited. The meals were marvelous, specialty culinary creations not on the menu as there were no vegetarian selections. He had called ahead, he thought of everything. He decided on a white sauce, and I on a red. We sampled each other's, both impressed with the chef's ability to make pasta primavera so enticing, the vegetables cooked just right and the ratio of veggies to pasta perfect.
As the waitress wrapped the remainder of my meal (He had nothing to wrap, his bowl was clean) I noticed that the din had decreased. Many of the evenings diners had moved on, few of us remained. I ordered the triple chocolate cheesecake for desert and was generous enough to feed Him a couple bites. The chocolate was a wonderful pairing for the remainder of Chianti in my glass, the bottle drained.
As we exited the dining room we took a moment to glimpse at the artwork on the walls, offering forth critiques to one another. I shared that wine still lifes are appealing to me despite their generic qualities. Perhaps it's the reaction they invoke in my soul, the feel of romantic evenings, of time well spent, of the unencumbered passage of time.
I'll leave you to your imagination regarding how the night ended. Rest assured, the end was no disappointment. I can't imagine a more inspiring evening. Sometimes, my muse is channeled through the love of my life.
"Do you want to go out on a date with me tonight?"
My heart skipped a beat at the prospect. Two simultaneous reactions occurred within me.
1. Absofreakinlutely.
2. We can't afford this.
I took a split second to hush number 2. We need this. Our schedules have been opposing, we've both been somewhat on edge, and due to a scheduling snafu I get out of work at 6 this evening instead of 9 which would have put me home just in time to hear the first of his sleeping breaths. Instead, my wonderful love wants to take advantage of the rare opportunity of an evening together and treat the stressed out woman that he loves to a night of wining and dining. God I love this man. So, I responded:
"YES!"
His response:
"Put on something nice"
I paused from my paperwork hell to swoon.
Of course, mental health clients being what they are, my last client decided that TODAY would be the day he does a 180 degree turn and wants to be compliant with his treatment, and talk about it. All I could think was, 'Good GOD would you shut up? Don't you understand I have a life? Why after 3 weeks of bitching and moaning must you want to be chatty today?' How's that for empathy?
I barely made it out of work at 6. I came in the door and he was at the computer, dressed up, sexy as hell. I greeted him with a kiss and stated, "I'm sorry I don't have time to chat, I have a hot date tonight"
He was very understanding, and gave me my space.
Showered, sexy, excited and light hearted, we headed out. We had never been to this restaurant before. We walked in the door and were greeted by a pleasant gentleman who lead the way to our table. We followed him, a slight limp causing his gait to be slow, and I took in the atmosphere, trying to savor each moment. The white linen table clothes looked crisp. The wine glasses on each table held cloth napkins, alternating in black and white. The walls were a calming pale green with a darker chair rail breaking the monotony of the one color The contrast was appealing to the eye. The lighting was just right and the small lanterns on each table helped set the low-key, relaxing mood.
He pulled out my chair, a gesture that I love, and that has never been performed for me by another man. We settled in and ordered a bottle of Chianti. The waitress understood right away that we were not in a hurry and allowed us to enjoy our meal at a slow pace with minimal interruptions. The sounds within the restaurant ebbed and flowed as we immersed ourselves in conversation, enjoying each other's company, catching up on the small portions of life that get lost when our time together is limited. The meals were marvelous, specialty culinary creations not on the menu as there were no vegetarian selections. He had called ahead, he thought of everything. He decided on a white sauce, and I on a red. We sampled each other's, both impressed with the chef's ability to make pasta primavera so enticing, the vegetables cooked just right and the ratio of veggies to pasta perfect.
As the waitress wrapped the remainder of my meal (He had nothing to wrap, his bowl was clean) I noticed that the din had decreased. Many of the evenings diners had moved on, few of us remained. I ordered the triple chocolate cheesecake for desert and was generous enough to feed Him a couple bites. The chocolate was a wonderful pairing for the remainder of Chianti in my glass, the bottle drained.
As we exited the dining room we took a moment to glimpse at the artwork on the walls, offering forth critiques to one another. I shared that wine still lifes are appealing to me despite their generic qualities. Perhaps it's the reaction they invoke in my soul, the feel of romantic evenings, of time well spent, of the unencumbered passage of time.
I'll leave you to your imagination regarding how the night ended. Rest assured, the end was no disappointment. I can't imagine a more inspiring evening. Sometimes, my muse is channeled through the love of my life.
Monday, March 05, 2007
Re-evaluating
Some blogs have specific goals or themes. Some are simply an outlet for writers, an opportunity to practice writing with the added bonus of connecting with others. Some seem to be ramblings about day to day life, and again a connection to others through comments and reading other's blogs. Some blogs are devoted to hobbies such as photography or computer jargon.
When I first began blogging I never chose a theme. I simply decided that it would be enjoyable to have a writing outlet that wasn't graded or evaluated. A location where I was the one in control and could write about everything from the mundane and trivial to the deep and meaningful. In turn, I enjoy a variety of blogs. I enjoy those devoted to humor and those devoted to introspection. I enjoy the ones that are simply online journals, providing a connection to others that I would otherwise never have met. I've connected with other people from across this country and beyond and look forward to reading about the daily lives of people that I consider friends, friends that I have never met in person but who know more about me than many people I have met in person. I believe that I also know a great deal about these people, perhaps more than many that they have met in person. All of these new connections, and not once did I have to sign up for an online dating service!
Lately I have been somewhat self conscious about the quality of my writing. My blog has slipped into the land of the mundane much too frequently. I feel as though my muse has left the building and left the 'time expected to return' portion of the community bulletin board blank. I have spent a great deal of the last several months seeking out inspiration wherever I may find it and I routinely become frustrated with my inability to translate whatever inspiration I eke out into art. I have always used art in one form or another to keep the depression grip at bay. I have used writing, painting, drawing, pottery, scrapbooking, stamping, watercolor and assorted craft making to keep myself busy, occupied, and content. But, quality has always been important to me as well. A concept that my mother beat into me (figuratively of course) was, "If you're going to do something, do it right." This applied to everything from dusting the living room to the biggest tasks that one decided to take on, and I take this idea very seriously. Otherwise, what's the point of committing yourself to something?
With my blog, I simultaneously feel the desire to hold my writing up to a quality that I am proud to call my own, and to post simply to stay connected to my (for lack of a better term) cyber friends. I have felt as though my posting keeps them coming back, and if I go too long without posting, they'll forget about me and move on to the more entertaining and predictable blogger.
Mel, one of my favorite bloggers ever, has decided to take a break from the world of blogging. She says she's not feeling it anymore. And while I stand behind her need to take a break, I'm saddened that I will no longer be able to take a peak into her entertaining and touching personal world. At the same time, I have zero intention of taking her off my blogroll and will probably stop by her site daily as a matter of habit. So, when she decides she's up for writing again I'll be one of the first to comment and welcome her back on board with cyber hugs and kisses. In the mean time I'll probably drop her an email and ask that she keep in touch.
I guess this made me realize that I don't need to fill my blog with fluff to keep people coming. The people that matter (like 2x4, Mel, Shoparound, Amy, Cyberoutlaw, and Steph, for instance) will stop by periodically regardless of the frequency of posts. For that reason I've decided to focus on quality and not quantity. I will post when inspired to do so and not stress out about how long it's been since my last post. Those of you who are interested, by all means keep coming back as the frequency of my posts is bound to vary. I have no doubt that some weeks I'll post like my muse came back from her hiatus and is full with renewed energy from her invigorating vacation. And some weeks, my unpredictable muse will leave, feeling the unforeseen urge to recharge her battery. Either way, I've decided that I want to be proud of what I put forth in this format, and I can't predict how frequently my mind will offer forth worthy material.
When I first began blogging I never chose a theme. I simply decided that it would be enjoyable to have a writing outlet that wasn't graded or evaluated. A location where I was the one in control and could write about everything from the mundane and trivial to the deep and meaningful. In turn, I enjoy a variety of blogs. I enjoy those devoted to humor and those devoted to introspection. I enjoy the ones that are simply online journals, providing a connection to others that I would otherwise never have met. I've connected with other people from across this country and beyond and look forward to reading about the daily lives of people that I consider friends, friends that I have never met in person but who know more about me than many people I have met in person. I believe that I also know a great deal about these people, perhaps more than many that they have met in person. All of these new connections, and not once did I have to sign up for an online dating service!
Lately I have been somewhat self conscious about the quality of my writing. My blog has slipped into the land of the mundane much too frequently. I feel as though my muse has left the building and left the 'time expected to return' portion of the community bulletin board blank. I have spent a great deal of the last several months seeking out inspiration wherever I may find it and I routinely become frustrated with my inability to translate whatever inspiration I eke out into art. I have always used art in one form or another to keep the depression grip at bay. I have used writing, painting, drawing, pottery, scrapbooking, stamping, watercolor and assorted craft making to keep myself busy, occupied, and content. But, quality has always been important to me as well. A concept that my mother beat into me (figuratively of course) was, "If you're going to do something, do it right." This applied to everything from dusting the living room to the biggest tasks that one decided to take on, and I take this idea very seriously. Otherwise, what's the point of committing yourself to something?
With my blog, I simultaneously feel the desire to hold my writing up to a quality that I am proud to call my own, and to post simply to stay connected to my (for lack of a better term) cyber friends. I have felt as though my posting keeps them coming back, and if I go too long without posting, they'll forget about me and move on to the more entertaining and predictable blogger.
Mel, one of my favorite bloggers ever, has decided to take a break from the world of blogging. She says she's not feeling it anymore. And while I stand behind her need to take a break, I'm saddened that I will no longer be able to take a peak into her entertaining and touching personal world. At the same time, I have zero intention of taking her off my blogroll and will probably stop by her site daily as a matter of habit. So, when she decides she's up for writing again I'll be one of the first to comment and welcome her back on board with cyber hugs and kisses. In the mean time I'll probably drop her an email and ask that she keep in touch.
I guess this made me realize that I don't need to fill my blog with fluff to keep people coming. The people that matter (like 2x4, Mel, Shoparound, Amy, Cyberoutlaw, and Steph, for instance) will stop by periodically regardless of the frequency of posts. For that reason I've decided to focus on quality and not quantity. I will post when inspired to do so and not stress out about how long it's been since my last post. Those of you who are interested, by all means keep coming back as the frequency of my posts is bound to vary. I have no doubt that some weeks I'll post like my muse came back from her hiatus and is full with renewed energy from her invigorating vacation. And some weeks, my unpredictable muse will leave, feeling the unforeseen urge to recharge her battery. Either way, I've decided that I want to be proud of what I put forth in this format, and I can't predict how frequently my mind will offer forth worthy material.
Thursday, March 01, 2007
World Domination
I just want to share with you, my friends, the fact that the Hershey company is taking over my mind. They have implanted some undetectable microscopic device inside the wrappers of the two confections you see here. This device has been programed to erase all will power I have spent decades amassing by making me unable to think about anything else as my mouth waters uncontrollably until I both purchase and consume these confections. Near as I can tell, they are in cahoots with Lane Bryant as both will profit from the expansion of my waist size.Beware the conspiracy my friends. They're trying to take over the world.
Sunday, February 25, 2007
I'm It.
Mel tagged me. The idea of the game, apparently, is to list 6 weird things about myself and 1 thing that isn't true. Then, in the comments section, you all get to guess which is the untrue statement. Truthfully, I'm having a difficult time coming up with strange things, which is peculiar, because, I'm an odd duck. So...guess away!
1. I have a black thumb (figuratively of course). House plants shudder when I come nearby, knowing that despite my best efforts, I will be the death of them. Pansies and ferns alike have suffered my unintentional murderous ways. Despite this, I can't wait to buy a house, so that I may have a bountiful garden and oodles of fresh produce.
2. I am immune to the smell of baby poo. The substance is gross to me but I have some freak resistance to the smell, it doesn't bother me. This has made me a popular babysitter for friends and family alike (the fathers who have diaper duty especially love it when I'm around!)
3. My ex-husband and I had bed bugs at one point. It was one of the most disgusting and horrific experiences of my life. Unbeknownst to us both our bedroom was infested with the little blood suckers and we had to douche our entire apartment and purchase a new bed. I swear I am NOT a dirt-bag. I'm convinced I got them from a laundromat and will not ever go to them anymore. The one requirement I had for my solo apartment after leaving him was a washer/dryer hook-up.
4. I can't function with long fingernails. I keep them really short because simple tasks such as pulling up my pants become nearly impossible for me. This is tragic because I LOVE the look of a French manicure. For that reason, when I get a pedicure (which is very infrequent, mind you) that I get a French Pedicure. I even have a picture of my toes adorning their first French-style pedicure!
5. I have never imbibed alcohol to the point of vomiting. I REALLY hate to puke. If I feel I am anywhere close to the puke limit, I stop immediately. The idea of upchucking into a throne while inebriated is all the motivation I need to put on the brakes. I have, however, eaten till I puke. Which is, of course, something I'm not proud of. I just didn't want you all to get the idea that I'm perfect ;-) We're not talking eating disorder either, we're talking no self control where chocolate is concerned.
6. One of my baby toes faces the wrong direction. I broke it on a pool side chair and it turned so that the nail is facing out. My sister calls it my alien toe. The other baby toe experienced a similar incident with a door jam, but that one stayed at a 45 degree angle from the rest of the toes and a trip to the emergency room to have it set was in order. Ahh, good times.
7. I don't wear makeup of any kind. Don't get the point. For me, there is an acne issue. I put on makeup, then zits pop up like chicken pox. Then, more makeup is required to cover said zits. It's a vicious cycle. And, mascara makes my eyes itch. Inevitably, I forget that I have it on, I rub my eyes, and spend the day looking like a raccoon or a victim of violence. Luckily, I have a natural type of beauty that doesn't require artificial enhancement :-)
So....what's your guess?
1. I have a black thumb (figuratively of course). House plants shudder when I come nearby, knowing that despite my best efforts, I will be the death of them. Pansies and ferns alike have suffered my unintentional murderous ways. Despite this, I can't wait to buy a house, so that I may have a bountiful garden and oodles of fresh produce.
2. I am immune to the smell of baby poo. The substance is gross to me but I have some freak resistance to the smell, it doesn't bother me. This has made me a popular babysitter for friends and family alike (the fathers who have diaper duty especially love it when I'm around!)
3. My ex-husband and I had bed bugs at one point. It was one of the most disgusting and horrific experiences of my life. Unbeknownst to us both our bedroom was infested with the little blood suckers and we had to douche our entire apartment and purchase a new bed. I swear I am NOT a dirt-bag. I'm convinced I got them from a laundromat and will not ever go to them anymore. The one requirement I had for my solo apartment after leaving him was a washer/dryer hook-up.
4. I can't function with long fingernails. I keep them really short because simple tasks such as pulling up my pants become nearly impossible for me. This is tragic because I LOVE the look of a French manicure. For that reason, when I get a pedicure (which is very infrequent, mind you) that I get a French Pedicure. I even have a picture of my toes adorning their first French-style pedicure!
5. I have never imbibed alcohol to the point of vomiting. I REALLY hate to puke. If I feel I am anywhere close to the puke limit, I stop immediately. The idea of upchucking into a throne while inebriated is all the motivation I need to put on the brakes. I have, however, eaten till I puke. Which is, of course, something I'm not proud of. I just didn't want you all to get the idea that I'm perfect ;-) We're not talking eating disorder either, we're talking no self control where chocolate is concerned.
6. One of my baby toes faces the wrong direction. I broke it on a pool side chair and it turned so that the nail is facing out. My sister calls it my alien toe. The other baby toe experienced a similar incident with a door jam, but that one stayed at a 45 degree angle from the rest of the toes and a trip to the emergency room to have it set was in order. Ahh, good times.
7. I don't wear makeup of any kind. Don't get the point. For me, there is an acne issue. I put on makeup, then zits pop up like chicken pox. Then, more makeup is required to cover said zits. It's a vicious cycle. And, mascara makes my eyes itch. Inevitably, I forget that I have it on, I rub my eyes, and spend the day looking like a raccoon or a victim of violence. Luckily, I have a natural type of beauty that doesn't require artificial enhancement :-)
So....what's your guess?
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
The New Girl
I started my new job. I've put in three 10 hour days and foresee lotsa mounds of paperwork in my future. I'm still undecided as to whether or not the job will be rewarding, but at this point I do feel as though I made the right decision. I think the experience will help immensely in future job pursuits. And there are perks, like, I have my very own desk. I never had my very own desk before! I've spent the last three days agonizing over how I should go about decorating my personal space. Currently I'm going minimalist but I think I'm going to commission a couple of artists I know to make me some pieces. They work cheap, a couple of cookies as incentive and these artists will put paint to paper like Picassos in the making.
And, I work with some really nice girls. Really nice. Super duper nice.
Too nice.
Like, gag me nice.
Like, you can't possibly be this nice for real nice. I can't handle chicks like this with their singsong voices and their super sweetness. I'm not one of those chicks. I'm nice, and I'm friendly, and I'm outgoing. But I don't raise my voice several octaves while carrying on a conversation. And, I'm not excited every time someone comes in the room (HI!!! HOW ARE YOU?! I know we just saw each other yesterday, but HI, HOW are you??!!!!) And I'm sorry, I realize that the folks we work with are mentally ill, but they're not children. If you spoke to me that way, with your singy songy tone I would slap you. I have a feeling I'm going to be the outcast in super fakey catty nicey girl land. But that's ok. I can handle it.
Perhaps I'm being to harsh. Perhaps these girls are sincerely very nice people. I don't intend to be mean or rude, and I intend to keep an open mind, but I sure as hell have no intention of acting like every person that walks into the office is my long lost best friend. I intend to continue speaking at the same decibel and for the love of all that is holy, please do not invite me to a purse party.
And, I work with some really nice girls. Really nice. Super duper nice.
Too nice.
Like, gag me nice.
Like, you can't possibly be this nice for real nice. I can't handle chicks like this with their singsong voices and their super sweetness. I'm not one of those chicks. I'm nice, and I'm friendly, and I'm outgoing. But I don't raise my voice several octaves while carrying on a conversation. And, I'm not excited every time someone comes in the room (HI!!! HOW ARE YOU?! I know we just saw each other yesterday, but HI, HOW are you??!!!!) And I'm sorry, I realize that the folks we work with are mentally ill, but they're not children. If you spoke to me that way, with your singy songy tone I would slap you. I have a feeling I'm going to be the outcast in super fakey catty nicey girl land. But that's ok. I can handle it.
Perhaps I'm being to harsh. Perhaps these girls are sincerely very nice people. I don't intend to be mean or rude, and I intend to keep an open mind, but I sure as hell have no intention of acting like every person that walks into the office is my long lost best friend. I intend to continue speaking at the same decibel and for the love of all that is holy, please do not invite me to a purse party.
Saturday, February 17, 2007
Quick Update
First of all, I apologize for the lengthy time period between posts. I had some kind of weird seasonal depression set in and I didn't want to doom and gloom my readers. Nobody wants the amout of sad negativity I would have spewed had I posted.
But, I seem to be better now. I accepted the job and just completed my second full day. It has been an eventful week. I had to call in sick on my first day because I was attacked by a stomach bug that tried to take my life (okay, that's a slight exaggeration but it sure as hell didn't feel it at the time) and I couldn't stray far from either my bed or the bathroom. Then we had a winter's worth of snow dumped on us in less than 24 hours. Then our computer crashed. So...I'm attempting to compose this post on our new laptop which is seriously testing my typing skills. I can't even begin to guess how many times my left pinky had hit the caps lock instead of the a in the last 10 minutes.
It's late, and I just got home from a 10 hour shift wherein I saw lots of mentally ill adults, so please forgive me if this post is short and slightly less than inspired. I promise to update soon...damn blogger made me switch to beta today. Forcibly! Can you believe that?!
But, I seem to be better now. I accepted the job and just completed my second full day. It has been an eventful week. I had to call in sick on my first day because I was attacked by a stomach bug that tried to take my life (okay, that's a slight exaggeration but it sure as hell didn't feel it at the time) and I couldn't stray far from either my bed or the bathroom. Then we had a winter's worth of snow dumped on us in less than 24 hours. Then our computer crashed. So...I'm attempting to compose this post on our new laptop which is seriously testing my typing skills. I can't even begin to guess how many times my left pinky had hit the caps lock instead of the a in the last 10 minutes.
It's late, and I just got home from a 10 hour shift wherein I saw lots of mentally ill adults, so please forgive me if this post is short and slightly less than inspired. I promise to update soon...damn blogger made me switch to beta today. Forcibly! Can you believe that?!
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