I've always found reading among the plethora of things I thoroughly enjoy. My mother used to catch me still awake under the blankets with a flashlight at 4:00 in the morning, my nose stuck in a book and by golly, IT WAS A SCHOOL NIGHT. When it came to books, I wasn't a casual reader, I was completely and hopelessly addicted. I'd plunge headfirst into a book & the only way to get me to come back up for air was to physically shake me. Yeah, my parents learned real quick that grounding me or sending me to my room wasn't punishment. They finally changed tactics and simply took away the book I was IN THE MIDDLE of reading. That's just cruel.
I don't devour books like I used to and mind you, not for lack of interest. I simply made a commitment to a full-time job, husband and a whole host of additional responsibilities, but I'll tell you what, that commitment weakens when a book steps into the picture. The love affair that ensues is hot, steamy, and completely absorbing.* Books become the other woman in a weird, twisted, backwards sort of way. Once an addict, always an addict I guess. So when I say that at some point I will have a beautiful library full of the books I've come to love, my husband is a little worried. It's like your unfaithful spouse asking for all his/her lovers to move in. That's just awkward.
Now I wouldn't place reading in the category of quirks, maybe of obsessions, but not quirks. That which I place in the category of quirks is the process by which I purchase the books that will one day reside in my beautiful library. So I suppose the above two paragraphs really don't mention Quirk #2 at all, but are simply background info to understanding Quirk #2 more fully. I don't have many requirements to read a book beyond being filled with words and the pages in numerical order, but to actually buy the book, well now, that's a different story (no pun intended). Often times, the same novel is published in a handful of different ways. Hardback, paperback, large, small, abridged, unabridged, various cover art . . . um . . ya get it. When in the market for a new book, I explore all my options. I consider the weight and sturdiness of the book, the texture of the paper and after much deliberation I employ the tried and true method of book selection. I smell it. Yes you read right, I SMELL IT. I open 'em up and take a whiff RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE STORE. Needless to say my husband always makes himself scarce at these times. Do you think he's jealous? Maybe he just can't handle seeing me that way with another . . . . .um, novel. The whole sniffing thing seems strange I know, but I LOVE smelling books. I find myself smelling everything I read and have discovered that there are a lot of different scents that accompany their hosts and, to be honest, some are downright terrible. Others have a certain musk that lays hold on my nostrils and all I can think about is how much I want to get that book alone and dive between the sheets of paper. I have been known to buy random books based on scent alone. I told you I was quirky. So if you catch me in a Barnes & Noble with a book plastered to my face, you'll know why. Not only will my beautiful library be full of the books I love, but it's gonna smell AWESOME.
What can I say, I'm head-over-heels for having my nose stuck in a book (ok, ok pun totally intended).
*To clarify in case anybody misunderstood, no, I do not read literary pornography, unless you count The Twilight Series in that class, then I'm totally guilty. So when I talk about my love affair with books, it has nothing to with the content of them.
Friday, October 31, 2008
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Quirk Nombre Uno
My friend Esther tagged me with 6 Quirky Things About Me. While I typically don't participate in the whole tagging thing, I decided to give this one a shot, but in my own way. I won't be tagging anybody else (mostly because there is no one left to tag) and I'll deliver one quirk per post. I can't seem to handle doing all six at once, which is due to another quirk of mine that I won't get into now. So I guess if you care just how screwed up I am, you'll have to check back another FIVE TIMES to get the rest.
Quirk #1
My husband works nights and is often gone for work or school. I've become accustomed to being alone and even revel in it because I can watch, read, or do whatever I want without disturbing or being disturbed (mostly I just blare my music and dance around our small space like a gypsy). While I enjoy the freedom of being a single wife, it does have it's downfalls, one of which being that every now and then my imagination punches into overdrive and I effectively freak myself out for NO REASON. My most common mind-induced freak-out occurs when I come home after dark and try to unlock my front door. Having not been home, there are never any lights on. You'd think I'd learn to leave an outside light on before leaving, but I just can't bring myself to willingly turn on a porch light in the middle of the day. I'd worry that my mom would pass by and see how irresponsible and wasteful I was being. Then she'd feel like a failure as a mother. Not wanting to be responsible for doing that to her, I walk alone in the dark to my door. It's about this time that my imagination kicks in and my perfectly safe yard in my perfectly safe neighborhood turns into a dark alley in the city with rapists and murderers lurking in the shadows, waiting for me. Subsequently I walk a little faster and breath a little harder. My mind fills with horrible images of scary men as I fumble with my keys, trying to unlock my stupid door! CURSES! Why did I lock the door? I locked it to keep the scary men out while I was away and now they're gonna get me anyway because I'M SHAKING SO BAD THAT I CAN'T GET MY KEY IN THE LOCK! It takes about another, oh . . . um, 0.5 seconds for my freak-out level to jump off the charts and all I can think is MUST. GET. INSIDE. My rational at that moment is all I need to do is close the door behind me and I'll be safe. It never occurs to me that if there really was a rapist outside my house he'd probably wait until I was inside anyway before inviting himself in and having his way with me. The key finally slips in the lock, I turn the handle and burst inside. I slam the door back shut, turn the dead bolt, flip on every light in the house and then try to compose myself. Everything is ok now. You're inside, the lights are on, the door is locked and you're really just suffering from an over-active imagination. Turn on some tunes, eat some ice cream and calm down. So I take my advice.
Then I go and retrieve my keys from the outside lock.
Quirk #1
My husband works nights and is often gone for work or school. I've become accustomed to being alone and even revel in it because I can watch, read, or do whatever I want without disturbing or being disturbed (mostly I just blare my music and dance around our small space like a gypsy). While I enjoy the freedom of being a single wife, it does have it's downfalls, one of which being that every now and then my imagination punches into overdrive and I effectively freak myself out for NO REASON. My most common mind-induced freak-out occurs when I come home after dark and try to unlock my front door. Having not been home, there are never any lights on. You'd think I'd learn to leave an outside light on before leaving, but I just can't bring myself to willingly turn on a porch light in the middle of the day. I'd worry that my mom would pass by and see how irresponsible and wasteful I was being. Then she'd feel like a failure as a mother. Not wanting to be responsible for doing that to her, I walk alone in the dark to my door. It's about this time that my imagination kicks in and my perfectly safe yard in my perfectly safe neighborhood turns into a dark alley in the city with rapists and murderers lurking in the shadows, waiting for me. Subsequently I walk a little faster and breath a little harder. My mind fills with horrible images of scary men as I fumble with my keys, trying to unlock my stupid door! CURSES! Why did I lock the door? I locked it to keep the scary men out while I was away and now they're gonna get me anyway because I'M SHAKING SO BAD THAT I CAN'T GET MY KEY IN THE LOCK! It takes about another, oh . . . um, 0.5 seconds for my freak-out level to jump off the charts and all I can think is MUST. GET. INSIDE. My rational at that moment is all I need to do is close the door behind me and I'll be safe. It never occurs to me that if there really was a rapist outside my house he'd probably wait until I was inside anyway before inviting himself in and having his way with me. The key finally slips in the lock, I turn the handle and burst inside. I slam the door back shut, turn the dead bolt, flip on every light in the house and then try to compose myself. Everything is ok now. You're inside, the lights are on, the door is locked and you're really just suffering from an over-active imagination. Turn on some tunes, eat some ice cream and calm down. So I take my advice.
Then I go and retrieve my keys from the outside lock.
Thursday, October 9, 2008
I Miss . . . .
There are times when I'm suddenly struck with an odd feeling of emptiness. The absence of something or someone that once was is keenly felt and though the space has been vacant for some time, only now do I realize the loss. Only now do I feel appreciation for what was and miss that which can no longer be.
I miss being a kid.
There are certain things that just come with the territory of being a kid. Extravagant forts, playing in the mud, sleep-overs on the trampoline, laying in the grass & finding shapes in the clouds. Things you did because school, chores, and homework were finished. Because Mom turned off the TV. Because you had a big imagination. And by you I mean me. Random ideas would pop into our heads and my siblings and I would say, "That sounds fun!" then promptly run off and put our plan into action. We didn't wait to think every detail through before starting. We didn't look at a calendar to see when we could afford to squeeze the fun in later that week. We simply acted, right then. I miss that. I miss being so impulsive. I miss sleeping on the trampoline. I miss getting dirty and not thinking twice about it. I miss taking the time to enjoy life. There are many reasons that form my desire for children. Having a good excuse to play is one of them. When my kids are going crazy with a hose, I want to be there. When their bodies are plastered with mud and smiles, I hope mine is too. When I find them awake after bedtime laughing and having a pillow fight, I hope I join them. And when their dad builds them a tree-house, it better be big enough for me.
Make-believe, one of my favorite past-times as a little girl. I was different than a lot of other kids in that I tried to create the most tangible world I could. While other children playing cowboys and Indians were satisfied with a feather in their hair and a toy gun, I played outside with separate camps at either end of the yard. The Indians would have tepees of sheets wrapped around trees, stuffed animals scattered around, gathered sticks and string for bows and arrows, faces would be painted. The cowboys would wear button up shirts, hats and had forts built out of various scrap wood we found. Out of my many make-believe worlds, the one I visited most often was pretending to be a grown-up, doing grown-up things. My mom's checkbook was fascinating and it was magic when she would sign her name and hand it to the clerk of the grocery store. My cousin Lora had a playhouse her dad built for her with two rooms, a shingled roof, and curtains in the windows. I was so envious of Lora. Having a house of my own was my strongest childhood desire (it's transformed into an adult desire now). I never did get one, but that didn't stop me from pretending I was a mommy paying the bills or changing a diaper. I sent my brother Bryce to work while I cleaned the house. A plastic hot dog and mashed potatoes would be waiting for him when he returned. As a child I couldn't wait to be a big girl with big girl responsibilities and now that it's happened and I'm there . . . . well, let's just say that pretending to be an adult is much more glamorous than actually being one.
I LOVE vacations. I think most people do. Of the many reasons to love them, I believe the one that tops my list is that a vacation is the closest I come to carefree adventure. Notice I say close to carefree. I don't feel that any responsible adult can be truly carefree, especially poor starving college students trying to eck out a living. Sure we can relax and leave worries at home, but there is still a level of awareness of funds, gas, food, lodging, etc. Unlike a child, who's mind never ventures to those areas. There is always enough money, always enough gas, always enough food, always a place to sleep and when there's not, a child doesn't feel the loss, at least not at that time. Maybe when they're older and the world as it really is comes into focus. Childhood is filled with make-believe, learning, games, discovery, but not worries. A child doesn't ponder on tomorrow, unless it's Christmas or the first day of school. A child doesn't notice the passing of time. Childhood is truly carefree. I miss that.
My parents used to know EVERYTHING and while now they're still extremely knowledgeable, they don't have all the answers. My woes, worries, and wonderings aren't wiped away as cleanly as they used to be, if they're wiped away at all. I'm sure that has something to do with the fact that my trials and challenges have entered an entirely different sphere than that of a 8 year old. The biggest issues my parents had to deal with then were Why are there ugly cockroaches? (I still wonder about that) When will Christmas be here? Bryce is bugging me again! Mom and Dad could handle those. They're much more uncertain on what investments Gary and I should make or why I'm not pregnant. The easy answers are gone, the comfort and security incomplete. It's part of being an adult, I know, never having an absolute knowledge of the why, how, and when. Even though my mom and dad have never actually wielded an all-knowing mind, I miss feeling like they did. I miss saying, "My dad is smarter than your dad."
I miss being a kid.
What do you miss?
I miss being a kid.
There are certain things that just come with the territory of being a kid. Extravagant forts, playing in the mud, sleep-overs on the trampoline, laying in the grass & finding shapes in the clouds. Things you did because school, chores, and homework were finished. Because Mom turned off the TV. Because you had a big imagination. And by you I mean me. Random ideas would pop into our heads and my siblings and I would say, "That sounds fun!" then promptly run off and put our plan into action. We didn't wait to think every detail through before starting. We didn't look at a calendar to see when we could afford to squeeze the fun in later that week. We simply acted, right then. I miss that. I miss being so impulsive. I miss sleeping on the trampoline. I miss getting dirty and not thinking twice about it. I miss taking the time to enjoy life. There are many reasons that form my desire for children. Having a good excuse to play is one of them. When my kids are going crazy with a hose, I want to be there. When their bodies are plastered with mud and smiles, I hope mine is too. When I find them awake after bedtime laughing and having a pillow fight, I hope I join them. And when their dad builds them a tree-house, it better be big enough for me.
Make-believe, one of my favorite past-times as a little girl. I was different than a lot of other kids in that I tried to create the most tangible world I could. While other children playing cowboys and Indians were satisfied with a feather in their hair and a toy gun, I played outside with separate camps at either end of the yard. The Indians would have tepees of sheets wrapped around trees, stuffed animals scattered around, gathered sticks and string for bows and arrows, faces would be painted. The cowboys would wear button up shirts, hats and had forts built out of various scrap wood we found. Out of my many make-believe worlds, the one I visited most often was pretending to be a grown-up, doing grown-up things. My mom's checkbook was fascinating and it was magic when she would sign her name and hand it to the clerk of the grocery store. My cousin Lora had a playhouse her dad built for her with two rooms, a shingled roof, and curtains in the windows. I was so envious of Lora. Having a house of my own was my strongest childhood desire (it's transformed into an adult desire now). I never did get one, but that didn't stop me from pretending I was a mommy paying the bills or changing a diaper. I sent my brother Bryce to work while I cleaned the house. A plastic hot dog and mashed potatoes would be waiting for him when he returned. As a child I couldn't wait to be a big girl with big girl responsibilities and now that it's happened and I'm there . . . . well, let's just say that pretending to be an adult is much more glamorous than actually being one.
I LOVE vacations. I think most people do. Of the many reasons to love them, I believe the one that tops my list is that a vacation is the closest I come to carefree adventure. Notice I say close to carefree. I don't feel that any responsible adult can be truly carefree, especially poor starving college students trying to eck out a living. Sure we can relax and leave worries at home, but there is still a level of awareness of funds, gas, food, lodging, etc. Unlike a child, who's mind never ventures to those areas. There is always enough money, always enough gas, always enough food, always a place to sleep and when there's not, a child doesn't feel the loss, at least not at that time. Maybe when they're older and the world as it really is comes into focus. Childhood is filled with make-believe, learning, games, discovery, but not worries. A child doesn't ponder on tomorrow, unless it's Christmas or the first day of school. A child doesn't notice the passing of time. Childhood is truly carefree. I miss that.
My parents used to know EVERYTHING and while now they're still extremely knowledgeable, they don't have all the answers. My woes, worries, and wonderings aren't wiped away as cleanly as they used to be, if they're wiped away at all. I'm sure that has something to do with the fact that my trials and challenges have entered an entirely different sphere than that of a 8 year old. The biggest issues my parents had to deal with then were Why are there ugly cockroaches? (I still wonder about that) When will Christmas be here? Bryce is bugging me again! Mom and Dad could handle those. They're much more uncertain on what investments Gary and I should make or why I'm not pregnant. The easy answers are gone, the comfort and security incomplete. It's part of being an adult, I know, never having an absolute knowledge of the why, how, and when. Even though my mom and dad have never actually wielded an all-knowing mind, I miss feeling like they did. I miss saying, "My dad is smarter than your dad."
I miss being a kid.
What do you miss?
Friday, September 26, 2008
Cure: A Bullet to the Brain
I thought I was getting an early jump on allergies this year with all the dust being stirred up from deep cleaning. Sneezing and watery eyes have been a companion of mine for the last couple of weeks now and so on Wednesday, when my nose started to get stuffy and my throat a little sore, I believed I was heading into full-blown allergy territory. After an extremely fitful night's rest, I awoke on Thursday morning and determined I was past full-blown allergies and into more of a miserable cold. I could deal. By Thursday afternoon it was clear to me that I had gone way past a cold and had ventured into the land of KILL-ME-NOW-BECAUSE-WHATEVER-I-HAVE-IS-GOING-TO-WIPE-OUT-A-SMALL-CITY-AND-EVEN-IF-IT-DOESN'T,-KILL-ME-ANYWAY-'CAUSE-I-DON'T-WANT-TO-FEEL-LIKE-THIS-FOR-ONE-MORE-MINUTE.
I'll spare you the icky details and just say that the bug I have is kinda like the super spiders off of Spiderman and includes such things as allergies, cold, fever, and flu. NOT. FUN. AT. ALL. I didn't know the body could produce so much mucus and in such varied colors. Usually when I'm sick or don't feel good I employ my defense mechanism and simply go to sleep. Sleeping makes it so I don't have to be conscious for the suffering and the passing time. Good plan, huh? Um, yeah, hasn't worked out so well. I've been soooooooooo congested that no amount of air as been allowed to pass through my nostrils for 2 days now. I've filled up a trash can with snotty Puffs Plus Lotion tissues and you'd think after blowing that much mucus out of your head that your wish of breathing through your nose would be granted. No such luck for me, hence I haven't been able to sleep much. I keep waking up every 45 minutes because my head is about to explode bright yellow snot all over the walls. I diffuse the bomb and add another handful of used tissues to the trash. Then I get to lay awake for the next 30 minutes, acutely aware of the time and how miserable I am, and try to sleep again. Play. Repeat. All night long.
On top of it all, I still have to work (the employee who covers for me is out of town) and any medicine I've taken hasn't provided much relief. Oh hey, Relief Society anyone? I could use a casserole, but please, no dairy products 'cause then you'd have to pick up the pieces of my brain from the resulting pressure explosion.
Just shoot me. Please?
I'll spare you the icky details and just say that the bug I have is kinda like the super spiders off of Spiderman and includes such things as allergies, cold, fever, and flu. NOT. FUN. AT. ALL. I didn't know the body could produce so much mucus and in such varied colors. Usually when I'm sick or don't feel good I employ my defense mechanism and simply go to sleep. Sleeping makes it so I don't have to be conscious for the suffering and the passing time. Good plan, huh? Um, yeah, hasn't worked out so well. I've been soooooooooo congested that no amount of air as been allowed to pass through my nostrils for 2 days now. I've filled up a trash can with snotty Puffs Plus Lotion tissues and you'd think after blowing that much mucus out of your head that your wish of breathing through your nose would be granted. No such luck for me, hence I haven't been able to sleep much. I keep waking up every 45 minutes because my head is about to explode bright yellow snot all over the walls. I diffuse the bomb and add another handful of used tissues to the trash. Then I get to lay awake for the next 30 minutes, acutely aware of the time and how miserable I am, and try to sleep again. Play. Repeat. All night long.
On top of it all, I still have to work (the employee who covers for me is out of town) and any medicine I've taken hasn't provided much relief. Oh hey, Relief Society anyone? I could use a casserole, but please, no dairy products 'cause then you'd have to pick up the pieces of my brain from the resulting pressure explosion.
Just shoot me. Please?
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Just Like Raiders of the Lost Ark
Hasn't the weather been freakin' awesome as of late?
True, summer hasn't quite let go of the days, but oh, the nights with their cool breezes. The other night I flipped the AC switch to OFF, opened every window and slept blissfully to the sounds of crickets and distant dogs barking. The air that circulated through my home was perfect. I absolutely love autumn and it's coming fast. I'M BEYOND EXCITED. Summer brings a lot of fun activities like swimming and camping, but my face melting off every time I walk outside is getting really old.
True, summer hasn't quite let go of the days, but oh, the nights with their cool breezes. The other night I flipped the AC switch to OFF, opened every window and slept blissfully to the sounds of crickets and distant dogs barking. The air that circulated through my home was perfect. I absolutely love autumn and it's coming fast. I'M BEYOND EXCITED. Summer brings a lot of fun activities like swimming and camping, but my face melting off every time I walk outside is getting really old.
Monday, September 8, 2008
Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire
You wanna know something strange? I'm sitting here hoping with all I have that I start my period TODAY. Yeah. WEIRD. Oh, and you should all hope right along with me because . . . . . . . because I said so. WEIRDER. That is all.
Ok, ok, let me explain. As if I could ask you all to will my female cycle to begin without a good reason, especially when last you heard I'm trying to get a loaf in the oven. Basically I need this test done. And this test can only be administered on days 7-10 of my cycle. So about a month ago I attempted to get this test taken care of, but the attempt was in vain and has only lead me to believe that the people at Southwest Medical Radiology are some of the most INCONSIDERATE SERVANTS OF LUCIFER I'VE EVER HAD TO DEAL WITH. Yes I know that is harsh, but I'm PMSing and emotional so I'm allowed a certain level of irrational thinking and I'm not the one who treated them like ABSOLUTE CRAP! Let's just say I haven't had a day that bad in over a year and those (insert expletive) people helped make in possible. After spending a day on the phone with various doctor offices and insurance companies all I had to show for it was a gallon of tears and a five pound bag of anger. To be honest, I FELT A LITTLE JIPPED! Oh and to clarify, Southwest Medical is not who my doctor is with. I know you're all thinking What the caboose is she thinking for choosing to go there in the first place? I'm not that irrational folks. And the only reason I'm going through them at all is that they are the ONLY flippin' people that can provide the test I need under the wing of my $10 co-pay insurance. The alternative is forking out $1000+.
So here we are, a month later, a month wasted. I had my husband call the children of Satan this time because I don't think I could have made it through without hot tears spilling all over my cheeks. This test is all about timing (remember days 7-10?). Last month I was told to call on the first day of my cycle and an appointment would be scheduled. Last month my clock began chiming on a SATURDAY. Last month Southwest Medical Radiology WASN'T OPEN on a Saturday and because I didn't call EXACTLY on the first day of my cycle, they were booked through the 20th which was at least a week after my four day window. Makes a lot of sense huh? HENCE MY ANGER WITH THEM. Well that and the whole treating me like crap thing. Like I wasn't an individual woman who hasn't been able to get pregnant for over a year and just wants to KNOW what the heck is going on with her body, but can't get anything figured out until she gets this test done and YOU'RE BASICALLY TELLING HER YOU DON'T GIVE A @$&%. Yeah, like that. On top of everything they REFUSE to schedule the test UNTIL you have actually started your period. A heap of good it does me since a typical female cycle lasts four weeks which puts me right back to starting on a Saturday. AGAIN. So, to prevent a repeat of last month, my husband came up with the ingenious idea to lie about my start date. "We'll just call them up Friday morning and fib." Um . . . . . . I'm ok with that. We called, told our little lie, and BARELY got an appointment for Monday the 15th (which would be the 10th day if I really did start on Friday). So things are perfect right? I've got the stupid test scheduled, it'll be within the four days, and I made it out minus the tears. SERIOUS PLUS. There is one teensy-weensy, small, minor problem though. IT'S MONDAY MORNING AND THE BLOOD'S NOT FLOWIN' YET! Curse my uterus for choosing this month of all months to be behind. I need to start TODAY or tomorrow at the absolute latest to make my Monday appointment work. If I don't, I'm gonna have to call 'em up and spin a new story about why I can't go through with it. Either that or tell them the truth and we all know that's just not a viable option if I'm going to have any luck rescheduling next month.
Wo unto the liar . . . . .
UPDATE: I'm not pregnant, but I was expecting that anyways. I did start my period late Monday night/Tuesday morning. I've never been so relieved to start a week of cramping, bloated misery.
Ok, ok, let me explain. As if I could ask you all to will my female cycle to begin without a good reason, especially when last you heard I'm trying to get a loaf in the oven. Basically I need this test done. And this test can only be administered on days 7-10 of my cycle. So about a month ago I attempted to get this test taken care of, but the attempt was in vain and has only lead me to believe that the people at Southwest Medical Radiology are some of the most INCONSIDERATE SERVANTS OF LUCIFER I'VE EVER HAD TO DEAL WITH. Yes I know that is harsh, but I'm PMSing and emotional so I'm allowed a certain level of irrational thinking and I'm not the one who treated them like ABSOLUTE CRAP! Let's just say I haven't had a day that bad in over a year and those (insert expletive) people helped make in possible. After spending a day on the phone with various doctor offices and insurance companies all I had to show for it was a gallon of tears and a five pound bag of anger. To be honest, I FELT A LITTLE JIPPED! Oh and to clarify, Southwest Medical is not who my doctor is with. I know you're all thinking What the caboose is she thinking for choosing to go there in the first place? I'm not that irrational folks. And the only reason I'm going through them at all is that they are the ONLY flippin' people that can provide the test I need under the wing of my $10 co-pay insurance. The alternative is forking out $1000+.
So here we are, a month later, a month wasted. I had my husband call the children of Satan this time because I don't think I could have made it through without hot tears spilling all over my cheeks. This test is all about timing (remember days 7-10?). Last month I was told to call on the first day of my cycle and an appointment would be scheduled. Last month my clock began chiming on a SATURDAY. Last month Southwest Medical Radiology WASN'T OPEN on a Saturday and because I didn't call EXACTLY on the first day of my cycle, they were booked through the 20th which was at least a week after my four day window. Makes a lot of sense huh? HENCE MY ANGER WITH THEM. Well that and the whole treating me like crap thing. Like I wasn't an individual woman who hasn't been able to get pregnant for over a year and just wants to KNOW what the heck is going on with her body, but can't get anything figured out until she gets this test done and YOU'RE BASICALLY TELLING HER YOU DON'T GIVE A @$&%. Yeah, like that. On top of everything they REFUSE to schedule the test UNTIL you have actually started your period. A heap of good it does me since a typical female cycle lasts four weeks which puts me right back to starting on a Saturday. AGAIN. So, to prevent a repeat of last month, my husband came up with the ingenious idea to lie about my start date. "We'll just call them up Friday morning and fib." Um . . . . . . I'm ok with that. We called, told our little lie, and BARELY got an appointment for Monday the 15th (which would be the 10th day if I really did start on Friday). So things are perfect right? I've got the stupid test scheduled, it'll be within the four days, and I made it out minus the tears. SERIOUS PLUS. There is one teensy-weensy, small, minor problem though. IT'S MONDAY MORNING AND THE BLOOD'S NOT FLOWIN' YET! Curse my uterus for choosing this month of all months to be behind. I need to start TODAY or tomorrow at the absolute latest to make my Monday appointment work. If I don't, I'm gonna have to call 'em up and spin a new story about why I can't go through with it. Either that or tell them the truth and we all know that's just not a viable option if I'm going to have any luck rescheduling next month.
Wo unto the liar . . . . .
UPDATE: I'm not pregnant, but I was expecting that anyways. I did start my period late Monday night/Tuesday morning. I've never been so relieved to start a week of cramping, bloated misery.
Monday, August 25, 2008
A Full Helping Of Insanity
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?
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?
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