He said, She said [Sunday Edition]

Why did you spend so much at the store?
Option 1: Because I felt like it. Next question.
Option 2: I'm sorry. They had some "name-brand" items on sale, and I thought we'd try them this time. Look, I got the GOOD toilet paper!

Do you think you could get this place vacuumed sometime this week?
Option 1: Do you think you could navigate your way anywhere near the laundry hamper, like, EVER?
Option 2: Yes, dear, I've not done much recently, I admit.

Why can't you ever put the clean clothes AWAY?
Option 1: Hmmm... let's see. After carting everything down two flights of stairs, sorting, washing, drying, folding, and bringing them b-a-c-k up those same two flights of stairs, I kind of lost my focus.
Option 2: Why don't YOU?
Auxiliary argument: I don't know where they go.
???WTF??? How do you ever manage to clothe yourself in the morning?
Well, I can put up my own things, but you can do yours.
Care to wash your own clothes and cook your own food, then, as well? I can fend for myself.
I'm just saying, it's your job.
(ed. note - it got a little ugly right about here...)

Why is this garbage piled up? Can't you take it down once in a while?
Option 1: Yes, I'll just grow an additional appendage to facilitate carrying the laundry baskets AND the garbage all in one trip. Hey, here's a thought, do you think you might ever find the time to pitch in?
Option 2: Well, you see, it's like this. I had to stop my whole washing-of-the-dishes festivities this morning to service you. Then, it was time to drive The Boy to hockey practice. What were you doing? Oh yes, wandering the woods in search of deer droppings. I decided to get the groceries while I was out, and upon my return I had to put them away and get dinner started. Now, I have TWICE as many dishes to clear through, but you're fed properly, so just go lay down on the couch honey, I think a game is on. I'll tend to this, don't worry.

Just how much time out of your day does it take to run him places, anyway?
1: Depends on the purpose, why?
2: Once I'm done with my pedicure and massage, I usually am able to return home in under 5 hours.
Seems like you can never get anything done. You use him as an excuse.
1: Ah, yes. And a handy excuse he has been for quite some time. Your son, he has served his purpose well.
2: Once he gets his license, things should get easier.
Auxiliary argument: Why doesn't he have his license already, DEAR?
Because he was doing poorly in school.
And why is that?
1: He's every bit as lazy as YOU?
2: I'm a bad mother who made him develop bad habits?

We don't have enough money to pay these bills. Fuck it. I'm going golfing.
How much will that cost?
About 40 bucks. I'm getting a cart.
Wha??? You bitch at me about GROCERIES, and you're getting A CART?! You complain when I buy a book I need for SCHOOL, after you plunked down hundreds of dollars for a new bow and all the little hunting accessories you get every. single. year??
Well, my ass hurts.
Please explain.
My hemorrhoids have flared.
I told you I thought you were a pain in the ass.
No, you are.
Oh, so it's my fault.
Can I go now?
Yeah, have fun. But, just one more thing...
Aren't you glad I bought the GOOD toilet paper?

An idle mind

Ok, so clearly I need to get a hobby to occupy myself. Some notes from this morning's odd 'dreams':

1. I was an anchor on a nightly news program. Sports, no less. I told them I thought all I had to do was read the teleprompter, but they insisted I write up the stories myself. I asked if I could do weather instead.
2. I was signing to someone. I never saw the other person, and I didn't get a feeling as to whom it might have been. I was spelling out words with my limited knowledge of the ASL alphabet. As I went through the letters "T", "A", "D", I realized I didn't remember the fingering for "P", so I wrote it down. I continued on with "O", "L", and "E". Other than that, Laura, it had nothing to do with you. Promise.
3. I was trying to drive an enormous piece of construction equipment. Even though I can a drive a stick, for some reason I could not get the hang of this.
4. I drowned someone. I'm not sure who it was, but I held their head underwater as they thrashed about.

Do you get the feeling I am spending too much time online and not enough effort in pursuit of more enriching endeavors? Thought so.

I am slowly going crazy 123456 switch; crazy going slowly am I 654321 switch; I am slowly...

As The Boy and I both return to school on Monday, I am certain that I will be otherwise occupied, and not diddling around on here as often.
[a collective sigh of relief is heard]
Perhaps I will take a break, or perhaps I shall increase my posts to purge my head of all things nonsensical. I'm sure I can find something to bitch about. That's what I do.
At any rate, much love to all of you.

Thursday thoughts

Just a summary of various nonsense that is on my mind at this moment...

Feeling a bit nautical
Not really, but I just like the way it sounds. Bought myself some awesome Sperrys in Oatmeal. Apparently these are a previous season's style, as I can't find them on the website to provide a link to this particular shoe. Received a bit of a price break since I bought them at a 'discount warehouse'-style store. These shoes are stiff as hell. As with all things leather, of course, one must break them in. As such, I am wearing them around the house constantly, and I must say they make an awesome accessory to my faded cotton summer nightie. And since I'm on the subject of shoes... I was rummaging thru my closet, trying on what works for me currently, and dug out a pair of clogs I simply adore, but could not wear last year due to the increased girth of my horrible little sausage feet. I hate my feet. If I had to compare them to something, Fred Flintstone comes to mind. So I have the shoes, some cute little tops I've found along the way this summer, now I have to find PANTS. Oy.
Humpty dumpty
Again with the comparisons. Picture a big round upper body with teeny little legs; I am most definitely an "apple" shape. I find pants shopping unbearable. At a fraction over 5' tall, I have, at best a 27" inseam in heels. How in the hell can one expect to find 'petite' pants in piggish proportions? Yet, sometimes I do. Because of my short and oddly slender legs, and no real butt to speak of, finding waist sizes that accommodate my gut result in enormously sized pants legs. What is UP with clothing designers that feel chubby girls are large all over? I remember how horrific it was shopping for maternity clothes. Oh.my.god. I swear, if I get pregnant again, I had better hope for a spring/summer gestation so I can just wear shorts and jumpers.
So, anyway, Catherine... those tops I bought worked out quite nicely. I still need to find a 'coverup' for that sleevless number I found. It was so nice to go browsing with you. All hail retail therapy! First impressions mean so much, I've been told, and I did want to explain to you that my appearance that day was not representative of my norm. With working nightshift and braving the 350 degree heat in a broken-down POS with no a/c, accompanied by a surly teenager with the patience of a flea, I know I looked frumpy and possibly deranged. I'm pretty sure I smelled. If you knew me on a daily basis, you'd find me fashionably yet comfortably clothed, freshly showered with a touch of makeup and combed hair. Honest. Give me another chance, I can make it up to you. teehee
$^%#*&! computer
For a while now, I have been jonesing for a new keyboard and mouse. Just too damn lazy to go out and get one. Not at the top of my shopping list and all. My keyboard has keys that stick, most notably the "shift" key, which has enabled me to drop caps every.single.fucking.time I need to type an "I". Just a minor aggravation, nowhere near the frustration I have developed with The Boy. Since I often work the 3-11 shift, the darling child has endless amounts of unsupervised free time to surf his little eyes off. Anyone care to guess what sites he frequents? I've been fairly fortunate in that my firewall and virus program(s) [I have tried several over time] seem to be keeping out most of the nasties; however, my current version of spyware-stopper is failing miserably. As such, even though the little smartypants thinks he is sly enough to cover his trail, there is always something left behind that makes me go hmmmm. Today, I was greeted with a new desktop icon that appeared to be a misspelled shortcut to "exsplorer". A quick little hover-over showed the path to be that of a pornographic nature, so I have been trying to clean up little traces of shit all morning. Somewhere in here, I have another nifty little program that is hijacking my browser to a gambling site, with all the pop-ups en espanol. While my pop-up blocker halts many, many pop-ups in areas where it doesn't need to, it seems impervious to these. The virus scan found one virus, fixed it, and is taking a nap. The spyware scan, however, estimates a completion time of 2 days, 19 hours, and 34 minutes to do the job. Cool. I'm going back to Norton once I get this all cleaned up. You truly get what you pay for, and I was a fool to leave.
I really like Doritos
And that's all I have to say about that.

I had a dream (edited)

(Edited version, 11am - I previously left out some other weirdness).

For whatever reason, we were part of a large crowd of people, all milling around outside of a large convention center-type building at night. There was a large concrete patio area, with plenty of steps and ramps (with handrails) and walls at an appropriate height for sitting around mulched greenery boxes. We seemed to be just hanging out, rather than waiting for something.
As the sun began to rise, a black man (who reminded me of Scatman Crothers from the Shining) began calling out like the town crier "Day-light! Get inside! Day-light! Hurry-up!" - not in a panic, just mater-of-factly, sort of like a porter ("All aboard!).
We all filed inside, not in the most orderly fashion of course, and I kept reminding people (loudly, impatiently) to "close the doors!". Some people would forget, so I had to march over there and make a big production out of shutting the doors and windows, to show them how it should have been done properly the first time. Oddly, I never locked any of them.
Inside, this building reminded me of a large train station or cathedral. There were four of us sitting on some chairs; my husband was immediately to my left, my former sometimes-best 'friend' from high school was on the far right, and seated between Traci and I was a gentleman who seemed to transform between a Middle-Eastern looking man and Pierce Brosnan. Actually, other than the occasional Remington Steele appearance, somehow I knew this man to be a physician, though he never alluded to such, I just 'knew' it in my mind. This is my dream, so what can I say. To further the enigma, even though I did not address him as such, I knew his name to be "Gupta" (in my head, not the dream, figure that one out, I dare you), and he was from India. Although, I digress in that unnecessary description, as it never was even an issue in the dream, somehow I feel it may be a point in the back of my mind. Whatever.
So, it seems we all had to bunker ourselves inside, since it was now morning, because there were flesh-eating zombies due to make an attempt at consuming us shortly. These particular zombies were somehow repelled by the night, and thrived on Vitamin D or something. And they couldn't cross over a threshold if the door was simply shut. Yeah, I'm creative.
One of the late arrivals was this gal, who just HAD to stop and get some fresh-baked bread. She had run out to a nearby Subway to purchase some of their tasty loaves. For starters, I have never met her, so other than identifying the picture on the blog with the woman in my dream, somehow I just knew it to be Julie. Secondly, I was not hungry at the time, nor am I overly fond of Subway sub rolls, but the bread smelled So.Damn.Good. And she sure was proud of it, too. She took her bags of buns around to show people, and offered little tastes. Such a nice gesture. Even if she did almost make me late in shutting all the doors. Sheesh.
Traci was flirting with the guy between us like the little ho-bag she is, and he seemed to be dishing it out to both of us rather freely. I, of course, ignored the advances because my husband was right there, but I did find him mildly exotic and curiously tempting. The guy turned to my husband (G) and me, and said "You know, studies have shown that - given the opportunity - a woman would be more likely to cheat on her husband with his best friend, rather than a complete stranger". G became incensed, loudly questioning why Dr. 007 would feel the need to even MAKE such an inappropriate comment. Dr. 007 simply shrugged and stated, "All I'm saying is, they have fingers, too". I spoke up, arguing that perhaps it had less to do with desperation and accessibility than the notion that, as one's best friend goes, they possibly were more alike in many ways, and it had more to do with commonalities and comfort, somehow.
At this point, the subject matter changed to G and I discussing the pros and cons regarding the provision of current events media and learning materials for prisoners.
And then I woke up.

WTF was that all about? Anyone care to offer analysis?

Halves

Half empty? Half full? Half crazy, half sane? Half care, half care less?
I posted once before about middle of the road. I guess that would be half on the path and half laying in the ditch. I just don't know. I'm kind of in that nowhere land right now, which is a good thing. Maybe. Sort of so-so. Kind of, "meh". (thanks Catherine, I have now stolen your sentiment).
I have somehow managed, for the time being, to let go of half of my angst.
I "relaxed" on vacation. (halfway, at least!)
I enjoyed quality time with my better half - whom I now have spent half of my life with.
I spent half of today trying to catch up on everyone else's blogs.
I have half a mind to sleep in tomorrow! Just because.

Anyway, enough of the nonsense.
I am back, and I'd like to think you all for holding down the fort for me while I was away. Ya'll are just too kind. Really, I mean that. And here I was, all worried and shit. heehee

So, while I regroup... I want to make this as user-friendly and interactive as possible. I'm all about customer service. Well, that, and I'm just really spent.
I want YOU to tell me what I should blog about next.
So, tell me, what do you want to hear about? C'mon, don't be shy.

So. Freakin. Hot.

Ack.
And I know that it will be even hotter down South.
So, this evening we shall be arriving at my brother's place in NOVA.
S-W-I-M-M-I-N-G ... P-O-O-L
Tomorrow, we'll make the last leg of our trek to Chesapeake.
Unfortunately, we will not be spending every waking moment at the beach, but what the heck.
It's vacation!
And I am so there.
I will miss you.
Please, everyone, no crises this week. 'k?
Adios, amigas.
Behave yourselves!
xxooxoxox

C'mon Vacation!

Man, I can't get through this week fast enough. I managed to schedule myself to the hilt between my two jobs, and now I barely have time to take care of the fine details before heading out of town and into a total brain meltdown.
Realized this morning that I had neglected to call the kennel to reserve the master suite for BigDawg, needed this Saturday. They, of course, don't answer the phone before 4pm, when I am at work. Can't call from work, because I'm too busy, er, working. Can't have The Husband call because he hates talking on the phone. And he never gets it right anyway. Or so he says. It's just like laundry and dishes. "I can't do them correctly, so I just won't do them at all". What he means to say, is "I don't WANT to do them, so I will mess up, causing you to fix my mistake(s), thus relieving me from having to perform this task in the future".
Anyway, I digress.
We're headin' back to Old Virginny. Every year at this time, we spend a good week or two visiting my parents. We missed out on our annual trek last year, because I was on bed rest. This year, I guess we'll have to make up for time lost. It will be the same thing as usual, but I'll try to enjoy as much fun as I can. The guys will go golfing. Mom and I will go shopping. We will take in a Tides game. We will get sand in our britches, and perhaps a nasty burn. And, this year, we're debating between Busch Gardens and Kings Dominion. Now, I don't care for amusement parks all that much, but The Boy does, and sometimes, with sufficient liquid encouragement, The Husband will indulge him on the Big And Scary Rides. Rides I wouldn't go near if you paid me. More power to them.
I'm a simple gal who likes to relax. I'm not a young kid anymore. I will turn 36 (thirty-six!) while we are away. Wow. Where did the time go? I don't go for the whole touristy boardwalk scene. I need less hustle and bustle and more booze in my cooler. And a pillow. Anyway. We'll go to quiet little Sandbridge to avoid the madness that is Va Beach itself. Ask me if I care about the ambiance and beach 'experience' we are missing. Go ahead, ask me. I'll sock you with my flotation device.

Furry Friends

When I came home last night, I was met at the door by a rather unattractive version of this.
Seriously, he appeared to be a somewhat unfortunate mix of an Ewok and my cousin LaNelda, with nicer hair (and better breath).
It seems as though The Boy found this animal rolling around in the street, completely ignoring suggested traffic patterns, and dusting himself up good with the piles of dirt and gravel piled on the double yellow lines.
Standing in the foyer, he looked at me quizzically, stating in inaudible doggie telepathy that I probably shouldn't be allowed inside, but, what the hell. He never barked. He never jumped. He never even came over to sniff me. Just blank stares and a nervous grin.
My own furbabies, however, were just beside themselves with concern. "Mom! Mom! Look what The Boy brought home THIS time! Mom! Mom! Can we keep him? Huh? Mom! He's stupid, look at him! We can use him as a tackling dummy, c'mon, PLEASE??!"
I couldn't quite confirm if the dog was deaf, or just ignorant. He did not come when called, even when attempting to entice him with some really smelly chewy dog-treat-impersonation-type chunks of bliss. He pissed on my new table. He ate all the dog food and drank three bowls of water. He pissed on my dishwasher. He wandered around shamelessly, ignoring the desperate attentions of Big Dawg. Little Dawg guarded a corner of the kitchen with a snarling welcome. He didn't "do" stairs. I had to coax him to the basement and out to the yard to show him the proper place to potty. By 'coax', I mean lift and carry, because, well, he just didn't "do" stairs. We've already established that.
Josh knew the owners, as confirmed by several passers-by who knew the dog as well. Attempts made to contact these owners were futile, so naturally, we again became the halfway house for rescued strays. We have installed a revolving door, clearly marked by a flashing neon "vacancy" sign. The non-emergency phone number to the borough police is posted on my fridge. Andy and Barney themselves have stopped by on occasion to check my inventory if someone's pet goes missing. And most people are grateful with our efforts. We've had cats and dogs of all shapes and sizes, from orange tabbies to snotty siamese, from a little rat terrier to a big bull mastiff. One time we had a guinea pig. The owners tend towards proclaiming "Oh THANK YOU, I was so worried". But not this family. No, we were chewed out this time. After a full day out of drinking and playing in the sun, the last thing they wanted to do was fetch their pet. They hadn't been home since NOON, after all, and now they have to run this silly errand. How dare we.
Seems this dog gets out frequently. He just wanders around and always comes home. They seemed miffed that they had to come and get him. Next time, they scolded, just leave him where you found him. He'll come back, he always does. He hasn't been hit yet. YET. I love that. Not an ounce of appreciation. They scoffed at the concern over the large coal trucks barreling down the highway that narrowly missed him. They sniffed at the inquiry about the dog's hearing and lack of startle reflex - even sudden movements didn't faze him. We were reprimanded for the rescue, for having caused them to come over at 1:30 AM to fetch their pet. I said it could wait until morning. Oh, no no no, they groaned, we wouldn't want your dogs to get their cooties all over him, after all. That would just be icky. Jaggoffs.

One more for the road

For those of you playing the home version of this game:

Punctuation 1
Ms. Julie 0

But, who's keeping score. Actually, to keep things in true Sisyphean context, I still come out the winner, because this is how the game is played.
I am not in true despair, because I had little invested in this month anyway. And, to bring a little "hmmm" into the mix, I went a full 28 days with nary a spot. Sure, I had that weird pain business going on a week or so ago, but I can't expect the gourmet cheese to be served with my whine. So "maybe" I'm beginning to normalize a little. Maybe?
As long as things go "smoothly" this cycle, I will be content to wait until my OCTOBER 4TH APPOINTMENT. Time is moving quickly, anyhow, so I'll hardly notice that there are a mere FIFTY-NINE FREAKING DAYS until I get to see Dr. Wonderful.

Just Breathe

Quite often, I have to remind myself to take a deep breath, and... just breathe. At some point during each and every day, I find my mind wandering, tears welling on the edges of my eyes, and an enormous lump in my throat, choking off my air. I spent most of my drive into work today boo-hooing my bad luck and wondering where to go from here. Each new day brings with it another chance to breathe (hopefully; there are no guarantees, though, remember?). So, why can't I just dust myself off and try another course?

Cause you can't jump the track
We're like cars on a cable
And life's like an hourglass glued to the table,
No one can find the rewind button now
So cradle your head in your hand...
And breathe, just breathe
Whoa breathe, just breathe

There's a light at the end of this tunnel you shout
Cause you're just as far in as you'll ever be out
And these mistakes that you've made
You'll just make them again
If you only try turnin' around

2am and I'm still awake writing this song
If I get it all down on paper it's no longer
Inside of me threaten' the life it belongs to...
And I feel like I'm naked in front of the crowd
Cause these words are my diary screamin' out loud
And I know that you'll use them however you want to...

But you can't jump the track
We're like cars on a cable
And life's like an hourglass glued to the table,
No one can find the rewind button now
Sing it if you understand...
Yeah and breathe, just breathe
Ohho breathe, just breathe
Ohho breathe, just breathe...

---Breathe (2am); Anna Nalick

My Life as an Axe Murderer

While one should not just run out and meet complete strangers they've met on the computer, sometimes things fall in to place in a most excellent way. Such was my meeting with Cathy yesterday.
Far from being sweaty, fat, balding, creepy 70-year old homicidal maniacs with ped0ph!l!c tendencies in stained tank tops, no pants, and a bag of mutilated appendages, I think we both were pleasantly relieved to confirm we're normal, and more alike than we had hoped. I only wish we lived closer. She is one awesome lady.
Coming from completely opposite directions, and having chosen a middle ground at which to meet, we both encountered the wondrous joys of Western PA road destruction, delaying our suggested arrival times ever so slightly. We had brought in tow the requisite chaperones, each of whom had their own shopping/browsing agenda to keep them occupied while we chatted away like old friends. I would like to thank our guys for being so patient and kind as we had our own time together.
And yes, it was HOT.
Cathy is every bit the warm and thoughtful woman in real life as she comes across as in her blog. She smiles, somehow. She is kind and caring, and cute and funny and all good things wrapped into one. And her kid, oh how cute that child is! What a boy. Sam, you are so adorable. And smart. Here's where I need to apologize for my own faux pas.
One thing about 'onlies', is how smart and mature they tend to be.
Now, why, you may ask, would I feel the need to spout out that nugget of wisdom?
In a moment of awe at darling Sam's conversational skills (and self-sufficient entertainment), I verbally marveled at his development. I in no way thought before I spoke, thus cramming my foot ankle deep into my gaping maw. One simply does NOT, and I mean EVER, refer to a grieving mother's live child as an 'only'. I deserve to be lashed mercilessly for that one. Cathy, I am so, SO, so very sorry. What I meant to convey, was how wonderful a job you have done with him, and that your future child(ren) will be equally perfect.
I have an 'only'. For 16 years, he has been my one and only. And, if my previous 14 years of infertility have proven anything to me, he will continue to be my only. We had long ago come to accept that fact, and moved on to living our lives status quo. Why or how I somehow managed to conceive, twice - and then lose them, both - recently is far beyond my ability to understand. And as much as I would like to delude myself into thinking that any continued efforts could net me another (live) baby, I really must acclimate my desires with my reality.
And this, my dear friend, is why I cried. I know you understand the frustrations we both face, even if they aren't completely the same, they are our losses, and we share them. I try to keep my emotions in check, and if you haven't noticed, attempt to use humor as my shield, but there are chinks in the armor, in all of our armor. I saw yours, too, and I'm not sure I adequately helped to patch it. I'm sorry.
Overall, though, it was a most wondrous day, filled with stories, feelings, laughter, sweat, tears, iced coffee (Yum, thank YOU), affordable designer clothing, and sharing a piece of our hearts and minds. I sincerely hope that we can meet up again, sometime soon, and enjoy each other's company some more.
Luv ya! {{hugs}} ... [a freshly showered hug, today]

I got nuttin'

Nothing to say, that is.
Pick yourselves up off the floor, it's the TRUTH! I actually am out of banter.

I wrote about three pages of utterly boring vehicle-related brooding, and it sits in my draft folder just waiting to be published. I'm being stubborn, and making it sweat it out.

Traveling tomorrow to meet with the VP of the Autumnal TTC Make-A-Wish Psychosis Club.
(ATTCMAWPC for short, sound it out quickly, it's funny. C'mon, it is.)
Always recruiting new members. I think we're at 3 and growing strong. Jump on board!

I'll be more interesting some other time. Allegedly.