My Mom's side of the family is a little crazy.
And by crazy I mean running through stores singing "Yo ho, yo ho, a pirates life for me!" crazy. Loud and obnoxious crazy. Tears streaming and gut split open because you're laughing so hard crazy. Yeah. I know.
My mother is one of 6 sisters. Each sister is married making 12 aunts and uncles. 35 cousins. 20 children from 13 of those 35 cousins. If you were to gather those 67 people to one place for, say a family reunion? Imagine the above CRAZINESS MANIFESTED IN 67 PEOPLE. Ok, ok. So maybe not every single person possesses the same level of crazy because I was including the implants* in my count of 67. You figure though that the implants must have a screw or two loose to join the family in the first place. It's not like they didn't know what they were getting themselves into. Sure my mom's side of the family put on a show! Just not a fake one. We joke about that being the ultimate test for implants. SURVIVING THE FAMILY. I know my husband thought twice about the whole marriage thing after a family get-together. They're hugging me! Why are they hugging me?! I've never met these people in my life! Wait . . . did she just grab my butt?! Ok, ok. None of my aunts or cousins ever actually grabbed Gary's butt. But I wouldn't put it past them! It may yet still happen!
To transition into what I was originally trying to tell you all, that's where I was this past weekend. THE QUICK FAMILY ROUND-UP OF 2008. Or in plain English, the bi-annual family reunion for the crazies. And boy did it deliver! A full helping of insanity all around! Seconds anyone? There's leftovers! My super creative cousin Lora planned and organized the entire event. It's all about the details for her and she left nothing untouched by her imaginative genius (we played a lot of make-believe as kids). Lora launched a full-scale pirate themed weekend complete with an Under the Sea Dining restaurant, Scallywag Cinema, and of course an intense, battle-to-the-death treasure hunt! Well, actually, I think we had a couple of those. The bodies kept piling up . . . . ahem. Anyhoo, moving on. Popcorn, an outdoor theater, fog machines, pirate coins, a treasure chest cake, "Arrrrgh mateys!", the most amazing snow cones . . . . . . . should I keep going? Because I totally can.
Lora had treasure hunts and water games planned to keep the kids entertained. She also threw in a couple for the adults. I don't think Lora anticipated the adults being WAY more competitive than the children. Sticking the bandanna-clad adults behind the wheels of three 15 seater vans for a video scavenger hunt might not have been the safest idea. Curbs were ran over, traffic laws were broken, and some of the general public were a little freaked out I'm sure. Then again, we were in Utah. They were probably thinking, "Those (insert expletive here) Mormons! Why can't they just get drunk like normal people!" ADRENALINE. The Latter-Day Saint's drug.** Instead of needles we use crazy timed scavenger hunts to procure a hit. We had 30 tasks with only one hour to complete them all. You'd have adrenaline surging through your veins too if you thought you were going to loose to the Brown Team! I cringe at the thought!
For five days my aunt Terrie's house was packed with bodies. Her yard sported four RVs and a scattering of tents. Races to the food, lines for the bathroom, and kids, kids, kids! EVERYWHERE. It was loud. Overwhelmingly loud. Everybody is loud in that family. Even the implants. Well except for Karen and Gary, and Amy always fills both of their noise quotas. Talking, crying, whining, yelling, sneezing, singing, cackling and laughing filled the house, or property rather. Mostly laughing though. My abs were seriously protesting. But it was seriously fun (oxymoron anyone?). And I decided that I seriously love having a loud, obnoxious, unscrupulous family. I'm serious about this. And if you're really good, I might tell you about the HANDS-DOWN, WITHOUT QUESTION, MOST SIDE-SPLITTING GAME I'VE EVER PLAYED. But only if you're good. Seriously.
*Those individuals who have married into the family. Yeah, I'm not sure what they were thinking either.
**Do you think I'll get struck down?
Monday, August 25, 2008
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Immortal
I really dislike having blood work done because, in order to do blood work, they must first draw blood. With a needle. In your underarm. Frankly, it gives me the creeps.
I don't believe that the core issue for me is needles though. I can handle needles in my upper arm just fine. I did allergy shots twice a week for three years. Yeah, it was uncomfortable and my arm was sore most of the time, but I didn't turn into an anxious, freak-out mess before each one. Anxious, freak-out mess is what happens before drawing blood or putting in an IV. Those needles have to stay in your skin longer and THAT freaks me out. Those needles are also stuck in your tender underarm and THAT FREAKS ME OUT even more. I do not like my arms pulled away from my body and I feel naked, exposed, and extremely vulnerable when my underarms are turned towards the sky by someone other than me. Every experience I've had with blood work and IVs has been traumatizing and very painful. EVERY ONE. So when my new doctor asked for blood work on day 22, I was a little less then ecstatic.
Thankfully they called me right back when we arrived. The less time I had to sit and devise how I was going to snatch the needle and turn it on the evil nurse, the better. After sitting down in the devil's chair, I turned my head to the left as the nurse had her way with my right arm. Looking at anything she was doing would have launched my anxiety into overdrive. She tied off my arm (a little too tight I might add), kneaded the inside of my elbow with her fingertips, and had me make a fist. After fiddling around for a minute I felt the cold, alcohol-soaked swab on my arm. I waited for needle to puncture my skin and the pain it would bring. Please just get it right the first time. I did not want to be poked more then once. There was a quick pinch of pain and then . . . . . nothing. Just great. She didn't hit a vein and now she's gonna have to do it again. Still nothing, but I didn't dare look.
"Well, we didn't make you wait, but there's no blood. I've got it in the vein and everything."
What? The needle is still in my arm?! NO WAY! Reacting to her words, I turned to look. Sure enough, there was the needle lodged securely in my vein. But I can't feel it! I was so surprised to find it stuck in my arm (because I wasn't in agony) that it took me a moment to register what the nurse had said. There's no blood? Huh? The little tube hanging from the needle remained a pale yellow. That's weird. The needle had been in my arm for a good 15 seconds.
"Did you bake in the car on your way here?"
"It was an hour and a half drive and I haven't had a lot to drink today."
"Yeah you're dehydrated and your veins are shriveled up."
Finally pale yellow turned to crimson. Blood flowed for a couple of seconds then she pulled out the needle and taped some gauze to my arm. After verifying my birth date she sent me on my way.
Gary opened my car door and asked, "How'd it go?"
"Um it went really well actually. It barely hurt! Compared to previous episodes it was great." Oh yeah, and by the way, I was immortal for 15 seconds.
I don't believe that the core issue for me is needles though. I can handle needles in my upper arm just fine. I did allergy shots twice a week for three years. Yeah, it was uncomfortable and my arm was sore most of the time, but I didn't turn into an anxious, freak-out mess before each one. Anxious, freak-out mess is what happens before drawing blood or putting in an IV. Those needles have to stay in your skin longer and THAT freaks me out. Those needles are also stuck in your tender underarm and THAT FREAKS ME OUT even more. I do not like my arms pulled away from my body and I feel naked, exposed, and extremely vulnerable when my underarms are turned towards the sky by someone other than me. Every experience I've had with blood work and IVs has been traumatizing and very painful. EVERY ONE. So when my new doctor asked for blood work on day 22, I was a little less then ecstatic.
Thankfully they called me right back when we arrived. The less time I had to sit and devise how I was going to snatch the needle and turn it on the evil nurse, the better. After sitting down in the devil's chair, I turned my head to the left as the nurse had her way with my right arm. Looking at anything she was doing would have launched my anxiety into overdrive. She tied off my arm (a little too tight I might add), kneaded the inside of my elbow with her fingertips, and had me make a fist. After fiddling around for a minute I felt the cold, alcohol-soaked swab on my arm. I waited for needle to puncture my skin and the pain it would bring. Please just get it right the first time. I did not want to be poked more then once. There was a quick pinch of pain and then . . . . . nothing. Just great. She didn't hit a vein and now she's gonna have to do it again. Still nothing, but I didn't dare look.
"Well, we didn't make you wait, but there's no blood. I've got it in the vein and everything."
What? The needle is still in my arm?! NO WAY! Reacting to her words, I turned to look. Sure enough, there was the needle lodged securely in my vein. But I can't feel it! I was so surprised to find it stuck in my arm (because I wasn't in agony) that it took me a moment to register what the nurse had said. There's no blood? Huh? The little tube hanging from the needle remained a pale yellow. That's weird. The needle had been in my arm for a good 15 seconds.
"Did you bake in the car on your way here?"
"It was an hour and a half drive and I haven't had a lot to drink today."
"Yeah you're dehydrated and your veins are shriveled up."
Finally pale yellow turned to crimson. Blood flowed for a couple of seconds then she pulled out the needle and taped some gauze to my arm. After verifying my birth date she sent me on my way.
Gary opened my car door and asked, "How'd it go?"
"Um it went really well actually. It barely hurt! Compared to previous episodes it was great." Oh yeah, and by the way, I was immortal for 15 seconds.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Hey you, come to my party & spend all your money so I can get free stuff!
Hey everyone, I'm having a Lia Sophia open house Wednesday the 23rd from 12:00-3:00. So yeah, that's like tomorrow. And I know, I know, I'm not typically the type to do these sorts of things. I just feel stupid inviting people. Hey you, come to my party and spend all your money so I can get free stuff! It just doesn't seem right does it? The only problem is that my husband said I can't spend any more money on all this fabulous jewelry I want. The only way I can get it is if I have a party and I did promise a friend I would.
The sale will only last until the end of this week so if you want to take adavntage of it at all, now would be the time. It's buy one at full price and get two other items for half price. The best part is that your first item doesn't have to be the most expensive. You can choose to pay full price for your $15 earrings and get a $50 item half off. The jewelry is good quality too. But my favorite thing about Lia Sophia is their Lifetime Guarantee. If at any time you decide you don't like that piece you got or you're ready for some new bling, or you even snap your necklace in half, you can exchange it for whatever you want. Let's say though that you bought a $50 bracelet at half price (so $25) and you decide you're not in love. Lia Sophia will give you a full $50 credit, even though you only paid half of that. So basically you can start with one set of jewelry and just keep upgrading every year as the fashions change. Also the new catalog is coming out in August. That means that a lot of things are being discontinued. Last chance to get those things. I've definitely got my eye on some discontinued items, but my master plan is to buy a whole bunch of stuff at the sale prices and then trade it all in for glam from the new catalog. I'm in love, love, LOVE with the new line they've rolled out.
Ok, ok. I'm done. If you are interested you can check out both the old & the new catalogs online at www.liasophia.com. If you have any questions or actually want to place an order you can call me at 702-371-2028. I'll be keeping the party open for the rest of the week. And finally, if you actually want to stop by and see the oodles of jewelry we'll have on display, please do. It'll be at my house. For those of you who don't know where that is, call me. I might tell you.
The sale will only last until the end of this week so if you want to take adavntage of it at all, now would be the time. It's buy one at full price and get two other items for half price. The best part is that your first item doesn't have to be the most expensive. You can choose to pay full price for your $15 earrings and get a $50 item half off. The jewelry is good quality too. But my favorite thing about Lia Sophia is their Lifetime Guarantee. If at any time you decide you don't like that piece you got or you're ready for some new bling, or you even snap your necklace in half, you can exchange it for whatever you want. Let's say though that you bought a $50 bracelet at half price (so $25) and you decide you're not in love. Lia Sophia will give you a full $50 credit, even though you only paid half of that. So basically you can start with one set of jewelry and just keep upgrading every year as the fashions change. Also the new catalog is coming out in August. That means that a lot of things are being discontinued. Last chance to get those things. I've definitely got my eye on some discontinued items, but my master plan is to buy a whole bunch of stuff at the sale prices and then trade it all in for glam from the new catalog. I'm in love, love, LOVE with the new line they've rolled out.
Ok, ok. I'm done. If you are interested you can check out both the old & the new catalogs online at www.liasophia.com. If you have any questions or actually want to place an order you can call me at 702-371-2028. I'll be keeping the party open for the rest of the week. And finally, if you actually want to stop by and see the oodles of jewelry we'll have on display, please do. It'll be at my house. For those of you who don't know where that is, call me. I might tell you.
Monday, July 21, 2008
"He's Old."
I wasn't nervous.
That is, I wasn't nervous until I was sitting on a patient table, draped in a hospital gown, my backside exposed, crinkling on the sanitary paper, my cold feet dangling. And waiting. Waiting for eternity. Each minute that ticked by was accompanied with mixed feelings. Why couldn't they just hurry up?! I'd been sitting there feeling cold and vulnerable for 40 minutes. Let's just get this done and over with! At the same time, the longer he took, the longer I had before he brought with him the judgement I was freaking out about. Once that door opens, I'm going to shrivel up and die. I just know it. So I'm cool with waiting for the next couple of days. My husband shot me a smile. "You're nervous aren't you?" he said, amused. Nothing gets past that guy I tell ya. "There's nothing to be nervous about you know? It's no big deal." Yeah, easy-peasy for you to say. You're not the one sitting here naked waiting for some guy to come and STICK HIS HAND UP YOUR VAGINA! Instead, "I know, I know. Logically there's nothing to be scared of." But we all know that emotions are rarely logical.
When the door opened, the doctor I'd never met before walked in with a newbie medical student on his heels. I had a small heart attack. For the past hour I'd been preparing myself to meet this ONE doctor. I'd thought about the questions to ask. I'd rehearsed my medical history. And now, without warning, there was a second person who I would be exposing myself to. The thing that kept me from locking my legs together is that the eager learner was a woman. I could deal.
The doctor proceeded to ask questions about my cycle, birth control, and our family timetable. My cycle's regular & fairly normal. There's hiccups every now and again. I was on birth control for 6 months, been off for two years. We didn't prevent pregnancy for 6 months, we've been actively trying for the past year. Etc. Now came the part that I was most fearful of. The emotional beat-down. You're asked exactly what you've been doing to get that egg and sperm hitched, you fill them in, and then, "Did you try x+y=z?" You stare at your feet and mumble a no. "Well it's no wonder you're not pregnant!" I experience this quite often. Mostly from well-intentioned friends. They're just trying to help, but my feelings always take a hit. Even more so when x+y=z is tried and fails. At times I feel that I've worked every equation possible, then another is slapped up on the whiteboard. So I put on my thicker skin and tried my best to mask my face for the list of Well it's no wonder!s from my doctor.
"When dealing with this there are four areas we cover," he explained. "We'll start with the first, which is making sure you're ovulating and I suspect you are based on what you've told me. The second is anatomy. Some exams and procedures will be done that will tell us if everything is where and how it should be. We'll deal with the third and fourth areas if the first two check out." He then told us to get busy on such & such dates. He also wanted to see me again the first of the month and do a small test. And then . . . . . he moved on. What? THAT'S IT? What happened to all the questions about the inner workings of our sex life? Whether or not I've been overdosing on prenatal vitamins? Do I stand on my head afterwards? Really? NOTHING ELSE?
The remainder of the appointment was relaxed and informative. He examined me and took a little bit longer doing so because he was too busy pointing and discussing things with the med student. This here is the vagina. That's the hole the baby comes out of in case you missed that nugget in class. I didn't care. They could have invited the rest of the clinic in for a seminar on a woman's downstairs. What mattered to me is that the doctor didn't automatically assume I was doing something wrong. He didn't poke fun or make me feel incompetent. I didn't walk out of there with a bunch of lotions and potions and a list of old wives techniques and remedies. It was . . . . . relieving. Liberating. Simply put, my doctor was the first person who made me feel that it wasn't my fault we hadn't achieved pregnancy. Logically I know it couldn't possibly be my fault. But we all know that emotions are rarely logical.
"So how do you feel about this new doctor Gary?"
"He's old."
That is, I wasn't nervous until I was sitting on a patient table, draped in a hospital gown, my backside exposed, crinkling on the sanitary paper, my cold feet dangling. And waiting. Waiting for eternity. Each minute that ticked by was accompanied with mixed feelings. Why couldn't they just hurry up?! I'd been sitting there feeling cold and vulnerable for 40 minutes. Let's just get this done and over with! At the same time, the longer he took, the longer I had before he brought with him the judgement I was freaking out about. Once that door opens, I'm going to shrivel up and die. I just know it. So I'm cool with waiting for the next couple of days. My husband shot me a smile. "You're nervous aren't you?" he said, amused. Nothing gets past that guy I tell ya. "There's nothing to be nervous about you know? It's no big deal." Yeah, easy-peasy for you to say. You're not the one sitting here naked waiting for some guy to come and STICK HIS HAND UP YOUR VAGINA! Instead, "I know, I know. Logically there's nothing to be scared of." But we all know that emotions are rarely logical.
When the door opened, the doctor I'd never met before walked in with a newbie medical student on his heels. I had a small heart attack. For the past hour I'd been preparing myself to meet this ONE doctor. I'd thought about the questions to ask. I'd rehearsed my medical history. And now, without warning, there was a second person who I would be exposing myself to. The thing that kept me from locking my legs together is that the eager learner was a woman. I could deal.
The doctor proceeded to ask questions about my cycle, birth control, and our family timetable. My cycle's regular & fairly normal. There's hiccups every now and again. I was on birth control for 6 months, been off for two years. We didn't prevent pregnancy for 6 months, we've been actively trying for the past year. Etc. Now came the part that I was most fearful of. The emotional beat-down. You're asked exactly what you've been doing to get that egg and sperm hitched, you fill them in, and then, "Did you try x+y=z?" You stare at your feet and mumble a no. "Well it's no wonder you're not pregnant!" I experience this quite often. Mostly from well-intentioned friends. They're just trying to help, but my feelings always take a hit. Even more so when x+y=z is tried and fails. At times I feel that I've worked every equation possible, then another is slapped up on the whiteboard. So I put on my thicker skin and tried my best to mask my face for the list of Well it's no wonder!s from my doctor.
"When dealing with this there are four areas we cover," he explained. "We'll start with the first, which is making sure you're ovulating and I suspect you are based on what you've told me. The second is anatomy. Some exams and procedures will be done that will tell us if everything is where and how it should be. We'll deal with the third and fourth areas if the first two check out." He then told us to get busy on such & such dates. He also wanted to see me again the first of the month and do a small test. And then . . . . . he moved on. What? THAT'S IT? What happened to all the questions about the inner workings of our sex life? Whether or not I've been overdosing on prenatal vitamins? Do I stand on my head afterwards? Really? NOTHING ELSE?
The remainder of the appointment was relaxed and informative. He examined me and took a little bit longer doing so because he was too busy pointing and discussing things with the med student. This here is the vagina. That's the hole the baby comes out of in case you missed that nugget in class. I didn't care. They could have invited the rest of the clinic in for a seminar on a woman's downstairs. What mattered to me is that the doctor didn't automatically assume I was doing something wrong. He didn't poke fun or make me feel incompetent. I didn't walk out of there with a bunch of lotions and potions and a list of old wives techniques and remedies. It was . . . . . relieving. Liberating. Simply put, my doctor was the first person who made me feel that it wasn't my fault we hadn't achieved pregnancy. Logically I know it couldn't possibly be my fault. But we all know that emotions are rarely logical.
"So how do you feel about this new doctor Gary?"
"He's old."
Monday, July 7, 2008
Monday, June 23, 2008
My Concern (Because Obsession is Such a Strong Word)
I don't know about the rest of you guys, but I have issues with public places. Not your typical anxiety or claustrophobia being surrounded by crowds of people, but more the things that those crowds touch. Railings, carts, counters, doors, bathrooms . . . . . . . the list goes on. I simply do not feel comfortable touching all those things too. I don't steady myself on banisters going up stairs. I avoid leaning on counters and tables in stores. There's a special love between me and automatic doors. And, above all, I never touch anything in public restrooms. Do not misunderstand, I mean ANYTHING. Forget going out with a bang, I come in with one. BANG! That bathroom door never saw it coming. Yet another perfectly executed kung fu, germ-avoidance kick. I just cross my fingers and hope nobody is behind the door. Once inside, the odor and filth are so assaulting, I feel as if I'll contract a disease simply by inhaling. Squatting in a bush is so much better than public restrooms. After surveying the available toilets I choose the least offensive one, close the door with my foot, then proceed to pile the porcelain with layers of toilet paper (since they're always out of the convenient seat liners). Once business is taken care of, the only way anything gets flushed down is if my hand is mummified. It's also the only way I end up out of the stall. It all feels so 'What About Bob?'ish (OK, I'm not that OCD . . . . . . I swear). Washing my hands is strange because even though I'm about to scrub the skin off 'em, I still hesitate to touch the faucet & soap dispenser. The paper towels is even harder. I just eradicated the germs from my hands, why would I want to risk contamination again? My elbow usually bails me out. And Mr. Paper Towel who dries my digits, yeah he's real sweet. He always hold my hand, opens doors for me (kung fu, germ-avoidance kicks aren't as effective the opposite way), pushes my cart while I shop. The relationships never seem to last though. I just can't commit for longer than one Target trip. It's not you, it's me.
I don't know exactly when my paranoia set in, but I'm pretty sure it got a big push by me having a job that deals with the public every day. Working at Radioshack for the past 5 years has made me acutely aware of how unbelievably disgusting a person can be. I'm sorry, but when I help a customer who always wears the same set of clothes with the same food dribbles, hair matted, stench unbearable, greasy build-up of who knows what on his skin, teeth rotted out of his head because the last time he brushed them was 20 years ago, yeah you can't convince me not to be a germaphobic. You're telling me there are people like that out there TOUCHING things and you aren't worried? And don't tell me that that guy is some homeless bum. Because he's not. He has a house. And money. He just chooses to let his body and every sort of bacteria get together for dinner and, while they're at it, create the disease that will WIPE OUT THE ENTIRE HUMAN RACE.
You'd be surprised about how many of those types of people I come in contact with through work. They all stink and they all want to standthisclosetoyou. I've almost tossed my cookies on more than one occasion. THE SMELL IS THAT BAD. I don't know what I'm going to do when I'm finally pregnant and am blessed with a supernose and queasy stomach. I'm sorry sir, but I'm pregnant and you smell really, really bad. Flesh-eating acid up the nostrils is way more appealing than inhaling your body odor ever again. Please go home and soak yourself in bleach. Thank you. Have a nice day.
You may feel I'm over-reacting, but just stop and think about it. A man goes to the bathroom, fails to wash his hands, then touches a door handle. A little kid sticks her hands in her diaper & wipes some on a chair. An old lady sneezes mucus and saliva (and whatever cold virus she has) all over a cart handle. The aforementioned greasy guy who hasn't showered in months leans on a store counter. Then you come along and get comfortable with all those germs. You open that door. You sit on that chair. You push that cart. You lean on that counter. You then proceed to wipe something from your eye, put a piece of gum in your mouth, and generally touch your face everywhere WITH YOUR BARE HANDS THAT JUST TOUCHED ALL THOSE EXTREMELY PUBLIC PLACES. Sheesh, get a room already! What's that? You haven't gotten sick and died a horrible death yet? Well neither have I, but I guarantee you if you would've seen that lady sneeze all over that cart, you would've picked a different one. That's the issue, we just assume, because we didn't see the offense happen, that things are clean. They're not. For me, if I touch a counter in a store, I see that greasy man wiping his body grime everywhere. He's laying on the counter making grease angels. Yeah, it's time for hand sanitizer. NOW.
Yeah, I know, I have issues. I told you so. But this concern (obsession is such a strong word) doesn't stop me from living life and doing things that make me happy. I still love to shop, eat out, go to shows, etc. I just keep my hands to myself when I do.
I don't know exactly when my paranoia set in, but I'm pretty sure it got a big push by me having a job that deals with the public every day. Working at Radioshack for the past 5 years has made me acutely aware of how unbelievably disgusting a person can be. I'm sorry, but when I help a customer who always wears the same set of clothes with the same food dribbles, hair matted, stench unbearable, greasy build-up of who knows what on his skin, teeth rotted out of his head because the last time he brushed them was 20 years ago, yeah you can't convince me not to be a germaphobic. You're telling me there are people like that out there TOUCHING things and you aren't worried? And don't tell me that that guy is some homeless bum. Because he's not. He has a house. And money. He just chooses to let his body and every sort of bacteria get together for dinner and, while they're at it, create the disease that will WIPE OUT THE ENTIRE HUMAN RACE.
You'd be surprised about how many of those types of people I come in contact with through work. They all stink and they all want to standthisclosetoyou. I've almost tossed my cookies on more than one occasion. THE SMELL IS THAT BAD. I don't know what I'm going to do when I'm finally pregnant and am blessed with a supernose and queasy stomach. I'm sorry sir, but I'm pregnant and you smell really, really bad. Flesh-eating acid up the nostrils is way more appealing than inhaling your body odor ever again. Please go home and soak yourself in bleach. Thank you. Have a nice day.
You may feel I'm over-reacting, but just stop and think about it. A man goes to the bathroom, fails to wash his hands, then touches a door handle. A little kid sticks her hands in her diaper & wipes some on a chair. An old lady sneezes mucus and saliva (and whatever cold virus she has) all over a cart handle. The aforementioned greasy guy who hasn't showered in months leans on a store counter. Then you come along and get comfortable with all those germs. You open that door. You sit on that chair. You push that cart. You lean on that counter. You then proceed to wipe something from your eye, put a piece of gum in your mouth, and generally touch your face everywhere WITH YOUR BARE HANDS THAT JUST TOUCHED ALL THOSE EXTREMELY PUBLIC PLACES. Sheesh, get a room already! What's that? You haven't gotten sick and died a horrible death yet? Well neither have I, but I guarantee you if you would've seen that lady sneeze all over that cart, you would've picked a different one. That's the issue, we just assume, because we didn't see the offense happen, that things are clean. They're not. For me, if I touch a counter in a store, I see that greasy man wiping his body grime everywhere. He's laying on the counter making grease angels. Yeah, it's time for hand sanitizer. NOW.
Yeah, I know, I have issues. I told you so. But this concern (obsession is such a strong word) doesn't stop me from living life and doing things that make me happy. I still love to shop, eat out, go to shows, etc. I just keep my hands to myself when I do.
Friday, May 9, 2008
Do you mind if I sing it to you?
I went to Relief Society for the first time in two years a couple of weeks back.
No, I haven't been inactive, I've simply been in Primary since the day I was married. I've bounced from this ward to that one, that nursery to this one, Valiant 10 and sharing time. I've survived short attention spans, questions that the kids know answers to better than me, and unnaturally high-pitched squeals of excitement. I have all the answers to life's great questions in the form of a song. What's that sir? You're curious about what happened before you were born? Well I've got you covered, but . . . . do you mind if I sing it to you?
There were times when strangulation almost occurred, but then I remembered they had parents who would miss them, and in truth, so would I. I have grown to love and respect children. They're smart little boogers! I don't remember being that knowledgeable as a snot-nosed kid. Hopefully my future children will inherit the genius genes from my husband.
I went to Relief Society for the first time in two years a couple of weeks back because I was released as a primary teacher. Wow, was I uncomfortable! I didn't know what to say or do, how to act, where to sit. Well, I take that last part back. I knew exactly where to sit. Left side, third row back, in the middle (about the 4th chair). Yep, that was my spot, or at least it was during sharing time. Chair ownership is transferable, right?
Although Relief Society that first week was unfamiliar, I've faithfully gone for three weeks now and I've found that things aren't that different from Primary. I still encounter short attention spans, questions I don't know the answers to, and unnaturally high-pitched squeals of excitement. Albeit in smaller quantities, but still.
Overall I think I'm adjusting quite nicely. I do miss all the singing though. Sometimes, when the kids sing really loud, I'll hear them during Relief Society and my attention shifts to the songs. I mean, come on, I've got to be prepared for those tough questions.
Um, sir, that question is a bit harder. You might need to wait until I have children in Primary. I haven't learned the song for that one yet.
No, I haven't been inactive, I've simply been in Primary since the day I was married. I've bounced from this ward to that one, that nursery to this one, Valiant 10 and sharing time. I've survived short attention spans, questions that the kids know answers to better than me, and unnaturally high-pitched squeals of excitement. I have all the answers to life's great questions in the form of a song. What's that sir? You're curious about what happened before you were born? Well I've got you covered, but . . . . do you mind if I sing it to you?
There were times when strangulation almost occurred, but then I remembered they had parents who would miss them, and in truth, so would I. I have grown to love and respect children. They're smart little boogers! I don't remember being that knowledgeable as a snot-nosed kid. Hopefully my future children will inherit the genius genes from my husband.
I went to Relief Society for the first time in two years a couple of weeks back because I was released as a primary teacher. Wow, was I uncomfortable! I didn't know what to say or do, how to act, where to sit. Well, I take that last part back. I knew exactly where to sit. Left side, third row back, in the middle (about the 4th chair). Yep, that was my spot, or at least it was during sharing time. Chair ownership is transferable, right?
Although Relief Society that first week was unfamiliar, I've faithfully gone for three weeks now and I've found that things aren't that different from Primary. I still encounter short attention spans, questions I don't know the answers to, and unnaturally high-pitched squeals of excitement. Albeit in smaller quantities, but still.
Overall I think I'm adjusting quite nicely. I do miss all the singing though. Sometimes, when the kids sing really loud, I'll hear them during Relief Society and my attention shifts to the songs. I mean, come on, I've got to be prepared for those tough questions.
Um, sir, that question is a bit harder. You might need to wait until I have children in Primary. I haven't learned the song for that one yet.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
