Saying yes...

Words That Make My Head Want to Explode

Ok, I've confessed to hating the word, panties, before... gads, even typing it makes my face start twitching... but the word... or words that can potentially make my head explode??? Well, come to think of it, it's not the words themselves, but the pronunciation...

I heard this particular pronunciation on one of the Sunday morning news shows and let out a roar/growl so intense that the youngest lamblet spontaneously started to pick up her toys...

The word?

Strength... or length...

The pronunciation?

STRENTH!!! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!! Lenth is just as BAD!

Even worse? Shtrenth.

While my less than crisp, clear esses have dogged me through my life (Your S is bordering on sibilant my dear!), it now appears to be ok to say sh for ssssssssssssssssssssss.  Adding the sh to the already mispronounced word is just rubbing salt in my wound.

I can't take it.

I can take many, many forms of pronunciation. I can find reginal differences to be charming. I can even deal with the occasional "matooer" instead of "machure" that I prefer. I could deal with the geomotry teacher who said, "mazeyoor" instead of measure. Lit-a-chure has been known to make me clench my teeth and need a moment to regroup, but strenth?? AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!! JUST TYPING IT MAKES ME WANT TO THROW SOMETHING!

And it doesn't matter if I like you or not... doesn't matter if you could get away with any other infraction... strenth could make me have to turn and on walk away.

Even Elvis Costello, whom I dearly love, nearly lost me on this one... and I liked this song to start with... liked the song, loved Elvis... what could possibly go wrong!?

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! Yes... God give me strength to not stop listening to you Elvis!!! God give me strengggggggth to remember your scratchy voice drives me crazy. God give me strength to ignore.

Attack of the 50 Ft Taskbar!

I had a hand spaz today, held my cursor in the wrong spot while inadvertently clicking, and now I've got a freakin' taskbar that is double in thickness... I can make it completely disappear or I can make it larger, but I can't get it back to its orginal single line thickness and it's DRIVING ME NUTS!!!

I can live with enormous chaos. I can deal with things that would make others insane and should probably make me insane, but little things like a double-wide taskbar. NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!! I CAN'T TAKE IT!

There it is... mocking me... the big-ass chunk of BRIGHT BLUE... a digital flipping of the bird. It's not even the mere fact that I can see it, it's throwing my hand memory off. My hand/mouse dance is doing the dance it's always done, but now it's not ending up in the same place. Now I have to pay attention...

I've rebooted. I've sworn. I've done irate clicking and dragging on any number of things, but it won't reduce. It will not go back to normal.

It's been nice knowing you, but I'm guessing by the end of the day, I'll be thoroughly and completely insane. I'll be twitching and muttering "Taskbar! Taskbar!" somewhat like Paul Dooley in Breaking Away after he finds out his son offered a refund.

Lighten Up, Francis

It had been raining for most of the afternoon yesterday. The youngest lamblet had a playoff softball game scheduled for the evening, I was certain there was no way she was going to play. How could she? The heavy rain wasn't even here yet. The field had to be soaked. But... no call.

At 5:15, I finally gave up praying for thunder and headed over even though there was no way this game was going to go forward as planned. Imagine my surprise when I got to the field and saw both teams warming up. How warm they could get in 62 degree weather with pouring rain, but I went with it. I didn't understand, but hey, we'd had so many canceled games and make-up games, I could see... kind of... wanting to get it in... and pigs can fly and sparkle ponies live in my backyard.

The rain increased. The puddles grew. I saw the radar, this was not passing. Call the damn game. But alas, the other coach would not give in. It was then that I realized who the other coach was... he was the only person out on the field who was wearing sunglasses. He was the former pro.

I remember hearing about him last year and being impressed by his fine oiled machine, err... team. They were impressive, but they also had access to his indoor batting cages/fields. The other teams weren't as lucky and it was a reeeeally wet season last year. Still, I thought of how wonderful it must be to have that kind of experience teaching you.

Don't get me wrong, I love our coach. He's wonderful, played college ball, and believes that at this stage, learning is important, but fun still takes center stage. I've never heard him say a mean word, I've never seen him lose his cool. But still... to have a former pro teaching you. That would be interesting.

Then I found out he was a dick. There appeared to be no fun on his team, only drill team precision. He would congratulate if someone did well, but boy could he berate if someone did poorly and berate he did, didn't matter which team. He was busy berating last evening as well. Apparently we were all wimps for wanting to call the game. Silly us, worried about pulled groins and sprained ankles by kids sliding through deep puddles. Never mind that the pitcher's mound was a tiny island in a sea of water.

Apparently he also berated at the coaches' meetings, saying he'd bet anyone $500 that his team would take it all with barely an effort. One of the other coaches said it took all restraint to not tell him he'd bet him $100 that he was about to kick his ass.

Forty minutes later, the game was finally called. The other coach finally ceded. What did it?? Was it the flooding field? No. Was it the irate parents who were going to pull their kids from the game? No. It was a plane. Living about 20 minutes from O'Hare, planes go by all the time. We all know what planes sound like. Apparently the pro doesn't. He thought it was thunder. He probably thought his sunglasses had blocked the lightning.

As a Courtesy, We've Removed the Late Fee on Your Zero Balance...

All is well in credit card land. Grizzled, as usual, took care of it. He didn't tear anyone a new one, but made sure a letter was winging its way to us, saying not only did we owe nothing, but we owed no late fee for owing nothing.

I could have made the phone call, but Grizzled is much better with this type of thing. He does not back down and uses logic. Those two skills leave me when on the phone with any business-type person. I am suddenly back in the 3rd grade and am trying to please the teacher. Not only would I have not gotten the situation cleared up, but I probably would have sent them extra money to hold in case there were new, "unforeseen" charges on our zero balance.

Credit Card Person: "Ms. Jennifer?? I'm sorry, but we cannot keep your account open with no money. How do you expect us to make money if you keep paying off your balance. We charged you a late fee because you've been late in using your card. We have a new plan for people like you... send us a $5,000.00 retainer fee to keep your account open, any interest that is made on said monies will also be kept by us. We'll also have to charge you a monthly fee for managing these monies, this fee cannot be deducted from the $5K. If you do use your card, balances will also not be deducted from the $5000.00 fee, but will need to be paid in full... n'kay??"

Me: "Sounds like a plan! I'll cut the check!"

Of course, had the credit card person called me, Sir... well, that would have been a different story. I might have torn him a new one.

Grizzled is also much better at dealing with telemarketers. While I prefer to ignore the 800# on the caller ID, Grizzled tends to view it as a challenge. Can he make the person crack. Can he make the telemarketer want to hang up. His usual game is telling the person that he'll listen to them if they don't read from their script.

Grizzled: "Ok, Steve... I know you're trying to sell something and I can appreciate that. We all have to make a living, but really, why don't you treat me as a person and really talk to me? I'll tell you what... I'll listen to you if you don't read for your script. The minute I notice you're reading, I'll give you 3 seconds before I hang up. Deal?"

Steve: "Blah, blah, blah.... blah, blah, blah, blah...."

Grizzled: "Steve? You're reading... I can tell you're reading... you've got 3 seconds... one, two... Ok, that's better..."

Steve: "Blah, blah, blah."

Grizzled: "Oops! I think you're reading again, aren't you Steve??

Steve: "Blah, blah, blah..."

Grizzled: "Steve... you obviously can't stop reading... I'm going to have to hang up now. Have a wonderful evening."

I've witnessed this scenario lasting anywhere from a few seconds to a few minutes. I always cheer a little bit for the person who is really giving it their all, especially because I know Grizzled isn't going to buy anything anyhow. But me?? I would probably have been a different story. They would have had me at hello... unless they had said, "Hello, Sir!"

Grrrrrrrrrrrr.

Bend Over and Exhale

Today's interesting conundrum: Grizzled opens a credit card bill from a credit card on which we owe no money. It says, $0 balance, $0 minimum payment, $29 late fee. I kid you not. This came after last month's, $0 balance, $43 minimum payment. I'm almost tempted to let this one slide just to see if we get charged interest on the late fee, but I know better. I almost feel sorry for the poor person who is going to be talking with Grizzled this morning. No... the poor person who will be listening to Grizzled this morning.

Music Soothes the Savage Breast, But It's Amazing We Don't Kill Each Other

I'm working on another painting. No... not another honey bear. This is a "real" one... a larger one, not a dalliance, not a distraction and no, I'm not showing. When I'm working on something that I know I'll be working on for awhile, I like to play the same music. It gets me in the same groove when I approach the canvas. I hear the music and I'm ready to start, back on the same page I left. It doesn't even necessarily need to be something I really like, but could just be something I heard or was playing briefly and then I realize I've started and I'll need to play it again and again and again. This is why I tend to play something I have... just in case. If I'm listening to the radio, I have to be working on something that takes a long time so I can be sure the play list will recirculate. The White Stripes, My Doorbell was integral to my work during the summer of '05 even though I wanted to kill him by the end.

For this last piece, I had the radio on when Cold Play's, Lovers in Japan came on. Well, I confess, I have Viva La Vida and I like it, naysayers be damned!! It wouldn't even matter if I didn't like it... it was intrinsically anchored to my painting and I would be listening to it until I was finished.

We're going on day 6 now of hearing Viva La Vida... it's doing what it needs to do... but the Eldest Lamblet came in this morning and said, "Mom!! You've been playing the same Cold Play CD for a WEEK!!! Can't you listen to something else?? PLEASE???"

I tried to explain, thinking we're similar souls, surely she'll understand. No. She didn't. Grizzled, never really being on board with Cold Play, gave me assorted doses of crap even though he knows the drill... It didn't matter. I will listen until I'm finished and when I am, I'll probably never listen to it again. Or if I do, I'll remember days of constructive painting. I can look back at many paintings and hear the music I was listening to. Doesn't really matter if I liked it or not... I look at the photo of one painting long gone and I hear, Simply Red. I look at another and hear Elton John. One I started last year and still need to finish was backed by Claire's, Valentine's Mix CD. I even have one that was finished while listening to Bob Wills. Some of it may not be my favorite music, but I don't care if it gets me there.

Things that tick me off...

Nothing can irk me more than finding out they've discontinued my favorite bra!!! The bra that supported yet still allowed me to look human. And there was no warning, just poof! It's gone! I'm sure most of you would say, "Just go out and buy a new one. There are millions of different styles!" Well yes, there are, but out of those million, only about 3 will work and you've got to start going through the million, hoping you find the 3 in the first 20 tries or before you go broke. Bras, especially if you've got bazooms, are not cheap.

When I first found out my old bra had been retired, I was irked, but knew I had 3 in my clutches. I'd baby them, I'd take extra good care of them, I'd make them last, but sure enough, these started giving up the ghost faster than their previous sisters. I started my hunt, knowing the point of no return was coming. I've been hunting for naught. Oh sure, I've come home with stuff that I thought was ok, but realized in the cold hard light of day, most made me look like I had martian breasts or angular breasts or mixing bowls attached to my chest or they felt even worse.

There comes a point when you don't need to lift and separate everything. I came to grips with the fact that my breasts lost their separate identities and became a singular bosom sometime after my second child. There was no point in separating these two. It just looked absurd, and on top of it, took some kind of engineering I just didn't want to wear. However, I also didn't want to look like I was bound.

My old favorite hinted at separation without needing to fully divide. Everything I've tried since has not only tried to divide, it's tried to make them look like they're running separate ways.... or look like Marty Feldman's eyes. Ill-fitting bras... abstractly-shaped breasts just make me cranky. The thought of having some old woman fit me makes me even crankier and brings back memories of the first time one sized me up in Levine's department store... The wrong bra makes me self-conscious, they make me mad. Who is designing these?? Don't they have any idea what a boob looks like?? Sure I want and need support and some shaping, but I don't want it to look like my boobs have been put into pastry bags. I am not Madonna... I am also not Nurse Diesel...

But, I will continue in my quest. I have no other choice. Going without makes me even crankier. And when I find it, for I know one has to be out there, I'm buying 100.... and I'll look forward to the day when I'm old enough and my boobs are long enough that I can just pour them into a pair of support hose...

I am not afraid of needles...

...but I do wish my veins would get on board with the idea that blood tests are necessary. I can watch the needle going in. Doesn't bother me. I can watch the blood being taken. I can also see the very moment when my surly vein decides the test is ovah! I should have been forewarned that my blood vessels were feeling recalcitrant when the nurse said she couldn't find a pulse in my arm. Having been through this before, I spoke, thus confirming the fact that I was still alive... but I'm never sure if this reassures or scares them. Shouldn't a speaking person have a brachial pulse?? Everyone except for Perry Como and Margo Timmins??

I was stabbed 3 times today... once in each hand (my hand veins are less cranky than my arms) and once in one arm. I told the woman she was allowed to go for the second arm, but her confidence was shot even though she seemed to be a seasoned pro. I reassured her that I was fine and that this was nothing new. I related the story of how I went to donate blood when I was in high school and after 30 minutes of trying to coax blood from this turnip, they told me not to come back. Ever. My father has a container full of little blood drop pins reflecting the gallons he has given over his life. I can barely give a tablespoon.

Again, I can deal with the needles, I can even deal with the lovely hematomas and the ensuing, suspicious glances (She never looked like a druggie! No wonder she wears longsleeve shirts!), but I hate the waste of time. I hate hearing, "We hope we got enough, but you may have to come back...". I was ready to call Grizzled. Grizzled spent many summers during high school and college working as a phlebotomist. He has always hated it when I came home from a bloodtest with bruises. I don't get that many tests, it's just I never get away from one without at least one blown vein. He'll see the bandage and the growing bruise and will say, "You should have let me do it! I could get blood out of anyone and not leave a mark!" I had to stop him from messing with my IV after one of the lamblets was born... the IV which they had to put in my hand because, well... you know...

I swear though, after the long stretch today, I was ready to call him. Hell, I was ready to gnaw open my wrist and let them get it that way. I think the phlebotomist would have been relieved.

Ouch

My sinuses woke me up this morning. They were large and loud and impossible to ignore. I'm not sure what they want. Maybe they feel neglected. If they did, they're getting my full attention right now...

Am I just being a hardass?

Family Reading Night at my youngest lamblet's school has been a burr under my saddle since its creation back when the eldest lamblet went there. Do I love to read? Yes. Do I think reading is important? Yes. Do I support reading?? Yes, in many ways, so why on earth would a school function that supports reading bug me so much? It started waaaaay back when. I know, I should just let it go, but it still bugs me.

Way back when, long ago, back when the eldest lamblet was just a little scrunchle chunchle who loved to read, the PTA decided to add one more school function to their already bursting list of activities that encouraged you to leave your home at night and not spend quality time with your own family, within your own walls. The activities are called optional and yet there is always pressure to have 100% attendance. Family Reading Night was no different. Here's what you did, you went to the school, you sat in a circle with your family and you read while other families were reading within their own circles.

I can understand why you would encourage those who are not reading as a family to undertake this, but we were already doing that at home. We read all the time, together and alone. There is reading material oozing from our house so I felt no need to go to the school to prove we supported reading. I felt the fact that the lamblet was in accelerated reading proved she was supported in her reading endeavors. If anything, we probably needed to be reading less. Now if they had a "Family Scrub Your Baseboards Night", I might be able to benefit from that. As for the reading night, I felt fine not going and just spending a wonderful night together in our home.

That was the wrong answer. At the bus stop the day after FRN, I had numerous mothers asking me why we weren't there! Was something wrong?! Had something happened? No, I told them, we just chose to stay home, it was our one night that week that was not busy and I thought we needed that more.

"DON'T YOU SUPPORT READING!?!?" one of them cried. She was aghast that I wouldn't go to something so important. I told her I most definitely supported reading, I did every single day as did Grizzled. I found it ironic that the same woman who was questioning my support of reading was the same one who told me I'd have much more room in my home if I just got rid of all of those stupid books. This was the same women who introduced Grizzled and me at a party as people who actually read daily newspapers. But apparently she had forgotten and all of that didn't matter if my family wasn't reading where no one could see it. If it didn't happen at school, it didn't count.

Grrrrrrr.

It's been many years since that happened and we have not been to one FRN event. In my defense, it still happens on the one night where none of us has anything else going on. I can't see dragging us out of the house to prove we read when I know we read. On top of that, my kids spend a lot of time at school already and could probably use a little extra time just being with their family. I don't think everything has to be scheduled to the nth degree although I might go to a scheduled "Don't Schedule Everything Night"...

I support reading. I just don't support those extra-curricular activities that are optional until you don't go...

End of gripe. Happy Monday!