Archive for May, 2007

My friends can tell just exactly how bored I am on the job some days by the sheer number of links I forward them.  It’s the technological equivalent of clipping articles to send to people, which is something I would never do, and yet I have no problem passing on links to websites and articles.  Hm.  I think laziness is a factor there. 

The other side of boredom at work is the opportunity to shop online.  When your shopping forays consist of nothing more than a weekly trip to Walmart, then online shopping fills the void. 

Now I’ve taken to sending my friends ebay links.  I finally waded into the fray of ebaying and have bought and sold a few items and am relatively comfortable with it.  But I just won’t be satisfied unless I drag a few friends along with me.  It’s like going to the mall, only we all live far apart and have crazy lives so we can’t physically hit Banana Republic together. 

I really need a vacation, y’all. 

— Mox

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I’m usually pretty happy to play along with a meme, mostly because I don’t get tagged for them too often.  If it were a habit I’d probably sow the ground with salt and call it a day. 

Anyway, Mike tagged me for his self-created Offend-O-Fest and though I am not by nature an offending sort I thought I’d give it a try.  (Sorry, Mike, but I’m such a nice girl that I can’t on purpose offend anyone.  I suck.) 

  • Religions other than my own are wrong because ______.
  • Ok, when people who are not of my own faith tradition (read:  Christian) die, where do their souls go? Then again, if they don’t go where I think I’m going to be going, then what am I worrying about? Right? Right?

  • Although it’s not politically correct, I like to make fun of _____
  • The stupid! (Mike and I should have a drink sometime.  Bet we’d be cracking one another up over that.)  Specificially, some of my family members.  And woo, the ones I inherited through marriage.  Wow.  Because if you can’t razz on your own kin, then what good are they? 

    • Ways that George Bush is not like the Anti Christ include ______

    He’s not the sharpest tool in the shed.  I would think the big A-C would at least be smarter than the average bear. 

  • The celebrity rumor that I wish to start is _____
  • That Paris Hilton is actually working (in secret, natch) on her PhD in psychology and that all of her antics and stupidity are actually part of her research for her dissertation.  Like a great big social experiment or something. 

  • Kids suck because _____  
  • Dude, if I didn’t have my kid, I’d be able to drink more. I hate having to be the responsible party all the time. At least I’d like to be able to take a nap once in a while. 

    So there you have it.  And I’m such a big wuss that I’m not tagging anyone. 

    — Mox

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    Number 14

    If you had told me some 20 years ago that the guy I met up on the frat floor, who was simultaneously playing chess and being a loudmouth jerk, that that guy would somehow worm his way into my life, I would have laughed.  And possibly thrown something at your head.  Because he was SO not my type. 

    And 14 years ago today, I married this guy who was not my type.  He’s a pain in the ass, but I guess so am I.  So hey!  Birds of a feather! 

    And we have created a mostly awesome kid, who just this weekend lost another tooth, making for a completely adorable gap-tooth smile. 

    So, 14 years and we’ve managed to survive being with one another all that time, even when one or both of us was ready to hang it up.  I think that calls for a toast. 

    — Mox

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    We all have those days, don’t we?  Those days that would be best served by staying in bed, incommunicado?  I seem to be having my fair share of them here lately. 

    Right.  So I signed Spawn up for day camp at the local YMCA, figuring that the kid would have fun and learn some stuff and have fun and make friends and have fun.  Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, camp was fun.  Yesterday, the kid decided that camp was NOT fun.  The tears, the hystrionics, the clinging to me… well, I am a bad mom, I guess, but that sort of stuff goes all through me.  I have no patience for it.  When Spawn was a toddler I understood it as a developmental phase and I muddled through it until the kid was older.  Now that Spawn is Six, it’s less a developmental phase than it is a ploy designed to a) make me feel guilty, b) make me do whatever it is the kid wants, and c) make me crazy. 

    And I feel like a bad mom for leaving the kid crying and clinging like that, but by the same token I can’t coddle the kid either. 

    So that pretty well set the tone for the day. 

    At the end of my (very exciting!) workday, I headed back out to Y Camp to pick Spawn up.  By that point in the day Spawn was worn out from having fun and was consequently in a whiny mood. 

    I also have no patience for the whining. 

    So we stop at a convenience store to get the kid something to snack on because it’s two hours until dinner and we’ve got errands to run and MY GOD I want to stop the whining.  I back out of my parking space and right into the tailgate of someone’s truck. 

    Well, GREAT. 

    So now in addition to feeling like a bad mom and not having any patience for whining and still having errands to run, now I have a lovely palm-sized beauty mark on the back of my car, complete with a generous scrape of primer to decorate it. 

    And then I had to go home and cook dinner which no one particularly enjoyed and then tried to get my husband to pay attention to the fact that our dehumidifier in the basement has quit working, which he decided to ignore, and that’s just what I need, some other damn thing to do in life, go buy a new dehumidifier, and is it any wonder I have decided I am going to run away from home now? 

    — Mox

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    When you were in 4th grade, did they separate the boys and the girls and show each group a filmstrip about what puberty was going to do to them? 

    Wow, boy, they did that when I was in school.  Pretty traumatic stuff for a bunch of 9-year-olds.  And I daresay the only sex education some of my classmates ever got. 

    But what I’m wondering is — and the guys out there are the only ones who can answer this — was that the day they also taught the boys how to strut? 

    Ladies, you know what I’m talking about.  That swagger that all men have to some degree.  Where do they get that?  When do they get it? 

    I think about that a lot when I’m walking my four miles at the gym.  On the walking track you see various states of physical fitness (or the utter lack thereof), and though we have our fair share of old men shuffling along, there is a certain contingent of youngish men with that cock-of-the-walk strut. 

    I find it a bit absurd, truth be told. 

    — Mox

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    It’s taken over 30 years, but my mother finally resorted to opening a can of store-bought green beans to serve for supper the other night. 

    The magnitude of this will probably go unappreciated by those who do not know my parents well.

    See, my parents have always had a garden, every year.  And they’ve always canned from the garden, mostly tomatoes and green beans.  Spaghetti sauce and chili made with home-canned tomatoes is infinitely better, in my opinion.  And the green beans — in the seven years since my father has been retired, he’s learned to can beans on his own, without my mother’s help.  And when the beans are making, he’s in the kitchen canning. 

    But last year his beans didn’t produce (and neither did mine, I have no idea why).  So they’ve been making do with what was already put up, and the stock has been dwindling. 

    Trust me when I say that my parents’ home-canned green beans are the best.  Even people who profess not to like green beans will eat these.  I can’t describe the distinction, only to say that their home-canned beans aren’t waxy in texture the way other canned beans are.  And when it’s time to open a jar, they cook them with a bullion cube and some dried minced onion, which is in my opinion the best and only way to serve green beans.  At a potluck you can always pick out my parents’ beans; in fact, that was the number one request for my dad’s contribution to potlucks at his job over the years. 

    Yes, they’re that good.  Yes, it’s close to lunchtime here and I’m torturing myself. 

    Dad has planted a couple of extra rows of beans this year, because he’s planning on putting up extra.  I hope I never have to eat another store-bought canned bean again. 

    — Mox

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    I haven’t slept well these past couple of nights, and that makes for some long, hard days on the job. 

    I need a crown on one of my teeth.  Big bucks there.  So I have a choice — spend the money getting preventive maintenance on my car, or put my money where my mouth is.  I need the car to get to my jobs, and I need the jobs to pay for my dental work. 

    I am at my wit’s end with Spawn.  The kid is far too young to adopt a teenage mindset.  If I hear “I’m bored” or “that’s boring” one more time I will not be responsible for my reactions.  Seems all the kid wants to do is sit in front of the TV and eat junk food.  Uh uh not on my shift.  And ohmygod the whining and crying that comes when things don’t go Spawn’s way.  I have very little patience for that. 

    I’m just feeling really beat up today. 

    — Mox

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