...goes to Republican Bob Taft (Ohio)..."This is hindsight, but it was a mistake to bury FEMA under the Department of Homeland Security".
Republicans, they think too, just slower than the rest of us! drreid-blockston@cavtel.net
Monday, February 27, 2006
A greeting, from the island of germs!
I've actually reached a new, personal-best record.
4 doctor visits, in 5 days. This, of course, spans the weekend, and does not include the 1/2 hour I spent on the phone with the doctor, on the only day we didn't actually go into the office.
I am of the opinion, as I have excellent health insurance, that frequent-fliers, of the pediatrician office, should get some perks. I'm not knocking the parent that only comes in two or three times a year. I'm just sayin', that those of us that are on a first name basis with all the staff, who, actually recognize our voice before we identify ourselves, when calling to make an appointment, should be rewarded.
I have, single-handedly, put at least one of the doctors children through college, as well as paid off the doctor's student loans. If you visit sub shops, you get a little coupon, entitling you to a free sub, after so many purchases. As my doctors make about $50, every time I drag one of my germy booger heads into their offices, how 'bout a little kickback?
I'm not asking for much. Maybe a "Frequent Visitors" parking spot, located right near the elevator, as opposed to the back of the damn lot, where I end up having to park, and then lug in sick child, plus whatever extras I happen to have joining the germ soup, that day. Or, perhaps a special waiting room, preferable roped off with velvet cord, that has real books, instead of 27 copies of "Parenting", and "Your Baby" magazines, perhaps some coffee and tea as well.
"I'd like to make an appointment for my son today"
"Ah, Mrs. Blockston, we have an 11:30 opening, which should put you here, just in time for fresh coffee and muffins".
I hardly think, it's too much to ask.
lysol away! drreid-blockston@cavtel.net
4 doctor visits, in 5 days. This, of course, spans the weekend, and does not include the 1/2 hour I spent on the phone with the doctor, on the only day we didn't actually go into the office.
I am of the opinion, as I have excellent health insurance, that frequent-fliers, of the pediatrician office, should get some perks. I'm not knocking the parent that only comes in two or three times a year. I'm just sayin', that those of us that are on a first name basis with all the staff, who, actually recognize our voice before we identify ourselves, when calling to make an appointment, should be rewarded.
I have, single-handedly, put at least one of the doctors children through college, as well as paid off the doctor's student loans. If you visit sub shops, you get a little coupon, entitling you to a free sub, after so many purchases. As my doctors make about $50, every time I drag one of my germy booger heads into their offices, how 'bout a little kickback?
I'm not asking for much. Maybe a "Frequent Visitors" parking spot, located right near the elevator, as opposed to the back of the damn lot, where I end up having to park, and then lug in sick child, plus whatever extras I happen to have joining the germ soup, that day. Or, perhaps a special waiting room, preferable roped off with velvet cord, that has real books, instead of 27 copies of "Parenting", and "Your Baby" magazines, perhaps some coffee and tea as well.
"I'd like to make an appointment for my son today"
"Ah, Mrs. Blockston, we have an 11:30 opening, which should put you here, just in time for fresh coffee and muffins".
I hardly think, it's too much to ask.
lysol away! drreid-blockston@cavtel.net
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
Step away from the snack dip,
party's over.
Pity party, that is...
oh, grow UP already! drreid-blockston@cavtel.net
Pity party, that is...
oh, grow UP already! drreid-blockston@cavtel.net
Sunday, February 19, 2006
No Lid = Sonic Boom
It's amazing to me, how the little things really do matter.
I've been having a bit of an attitude problem lately. Shocking, of course to those around me, as my even-keeled nature is known for miles around, LOL. I haven't been able to really put my finger on what exactly, has me so tied up in cranky knots.
This morning, I was in a pretty good mood, getting the kids dressed and out the door, to hit the grocery store, leaving Doug behind to nurse a wicked hangover in peace and quiet. Then, I went to fetch my coffee mug, to take with me.
No lid. No where to be found.
Putting away the dishes is the one task I've pretty much managed to farm out to other laborers in my house. However, this means, that finding any sort of gadget, lid, or basically, anything that is not a bowl, plate, or cup, is a 10 minute process. I've been very clear, about my mug, and my lid. I love my coffee. I cannot function without my coffee, and I adore my mug.
I totally lost my SHIT. I ranted, raved, screamed, cursed, and generally threw a gigantic temper tantrum (mark this one down, for when my children begin therapy, I'm sure it will come up). I put the kids in the car, drove 1/2 to the store, realized I was just irrationally angry, turned around, dropped off the children, and took off.
At that moment, I could totally relate to those people that just get in their cars, and roll the fuck OUT.
After driving around for about 1/2 an hour, I think I pinpointed just *what* has been bothering me.
It may sound silly, but something tells me, that any woman, who is either married, or has children, just may be able to relate.
I am a work-at-home-mom. I stay home with my children, while providing day care to two of my friend's children, as well as being a Mary Kay consultant (don't spread that around, you'll ruin my street cred, LOL), run a part-time ebay business, and have been working on some freelance work as well. I'm a really busy gal. I also cook dinner 4 nights a week, as in, homecooked, and hot dogs don't count. Since the New Year, I've been actually doing really well with my time management goals, and the house has not only been relatively mess-free, but clean as well.
If I'm spending more time (well, more effectively spending time, I suppose is a better way to phrase that), I don't think that it is entirely out of the realm of realistic expectations, to have others that, you know, live in this house, to pick up after themselves. Now, by this, I do not mean I expect my 4 year old, to do the dishes, or scrub the floors. I do, however, expect that when people, including the other tall person that lives here, to put their laundry in the hamper, not on the floor, next to the hamper. I expect people to throw their own trash away, put their dirty dishes in the sink, and, if something is on the floor, not to step over it, but rather, to bend over, and pick it up.
Now, this may seem a digression, but bear with me. On Valentine's Day, which I generally think is a crap holiday, since it doesn't seem very special to me, to celebrate love on the same day of the year, as everyone else, I really, really, REALLY, wanted to go to the Visionary Art Museum, one of my favorite places in the world, anyway, for the Post Secret Exhibit, since the creator would also be there, until 6. My wanting to go, had nothing to do with it being Valentine's Day, it just happened to be the only day that the creator would be there. The timing didn't work out. I get that. It's hard to arrange an outing, on a Tuesday, a work and school night, much less, one that has to occur before dinner time.
The thing that bothered me, is that there was absolutely NO effort. None. In looking back, I cannot remember the last time, that someone in this house, made any sort of an effort, to do something, just because *I* wanted it done.
This brings me back to the coffee mug lid, and the housework. I've finally realized, that the reason I've been so tense, cranky, and generally unpleasant to live with for the last two weeks, has a lot to do with the fact, that I just don't feel like *I* matter.
I know my husband loves me. I do. I also know that my children love me. I also realize how incredibly lucky I am, to have such a fantastic family, a solid marriage, and healthy children. It would just be nice, to be reminded, perhaps twice a damn year, that I matter to them. That my needs and desires, at least make the list, occasionally, of things they are willing to think about, and perhaps act upon.
My husband wants to go to Atlantic City for his birthday. Not my thing. Not at ALL. I can't think of just about anything I'd rather do less, besides an colonoscopy. Yet, I've planned a weekend trip for his birthday weekend, arranged the babysitting, talked to our best friends about going with us (they are), and have spent a few hours, researching the different hotels and casinos.
It would never occur to him, to do the same for me. In looking back, Doug has arranged babysitting, twice. That's two times, in eleven years of marriage. The first time, I told him I wanted him to take me on a date, and he had a week to set it up, and find a sitter, and the second, he was horny, so he dropped the kids off at his parents for an hour. I don't want it to seem as if I am inappreciative of these efforts, especially the last one, since I'm always up for child-free nookie, LOL.
I just don't feel as if anyone gives a shit, about things that are important to me, unless I'm yelling, or crying. The thing that is currently, really pissing me off, is that I feel GUILTY about feeling this way! I feel as if perhaps, I'm being unrealistic, and selfish. After all, men are, obviously different than women. I have a husband with a great job, who is a wonderful father, and I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, really DOES love me.
I just wish that how I felt, and the things that I want, made enough of an imprint, on the people that I love the best, that they would consider them, and occasionally, act upon them. Even if it's just twice a damn year.
Guilt trips, no travel agent required! drreid-blockston@cavtel.net
I've been having a bit of an attitude problem lately. Shocking, of course to those around me, as my even-keeled nature is known for miles around, LOL. I haven't been able to really put my finger on what exactly, has me so tied up in cranky knots.
This morning, I was in a pretty good mood, getting the kids dressed and out the door, to hit the grocery store, leaving Doug behind to nurse a wicked hangover in peace and quiet. Then, I went to fetch my coffee mug, to take with me.
No lid. No where to be found.
Putting away the dishes is the one task I've pretty much managed to farm out to other laborers in my house. However, this means, that finding any sort of gadget, lid, or basically, anything that is not a bowl, plate, or cup, is a 10 minute process. I've been very clear, about my mug, and my lid. I love my coffee. I cannot function without my coffee, and I adore my mug.
I totally lost my SHIT. I ranted, raved, screamed, cursed, and generally threw a gigantic temper tantrum (mark this one down, for when my children begin therapy, I'm sure it will come up). I put the kids in the car, drove 1/2 to the store, realized I was just irrationally angry, turned around, dropped off the children, and took off.
At that moment, I could totally relate to those people that just get in their cars, and roll the fuck OUT.
After driving around for about 1/2 an hour, I think I pinpointed just *what* has been bothering me.
It may sound silly, but something tells me, that any woman, who is either married, or has children, just may be able to relate.
I am a work-at-home-mom. I stay home with my children, while providing day care to two of my friend's children, as well as being a Mary Kay consultant (don't spread that around, you'll ruin my street cred, LOL), run a part-time ebay business, and have been working on some freelance work as well. I'm a really busy gal. I also cook dinner 4 nights a week, as in, homecooked, and hot dogs don't count. Since the New Year, I've been actually doing really well with my time management goals, and the house has not only been relatively mess-free, but clean as well.
If I'm spending more time (well, more effectively spending time, I suppose is a better way to phrase that), I don't think that it is entirely out of the realm of realistic expectations, to have others that, you know, live in this house, to pick up after themselves. Now, by this, I do not mean I expect my 4 year old, to do the dishes, or scrub the floors. I do, however, expect that when people, including the other tall person that lives here, to put their laundry in the hamper, not on the floor, next to the hamper. I expect people to throw their own trash away, put their dirty dishes in the sink, and, if something is on the floor, not to step over it, but rather, to bend over, and pick it up.
Now, this may seem a digression, but bear with me. On Valentine's Day, which I generally think is a crap holiday, since it doesn't seem very special to me, to celebrate love on the same day of the year, as everyone else, I really, really, REALLY, wanted to go to the Visionary Art Museum, one of my favorite places in the world, anyway, for the Post Secret Exhibit, since the creator would also be there, until 6. My wanting to go, had nothing to do with it being Valentine's Day, it just happened to be the only day that the creator would be there. The timing didn't work out. I get that. It's hard to arrange an outing, on a Tuesday, a work and school night, much less, one that has to occur before dinner time.
The thing that bothered me, is that there was absolutely NO effort. None. In looking back, I cannot remember the last time, that someone in this house, made any sort of an effort, to do something, just because *I* wanted it done.
This brings me back to the coffee mug lid, and the housework. I've finally realized, that the reason I've been so tense, cranky, and generally unpleasant to live with for the last two weeks, has a lot to do with the fact, that I just don't feel like *I* matter.
I know my husband loves me. I do. I also know that my children love me. I also realize how incredibly lucky I am, to have such a fantastic family, a solid marriage, and healthy children. It would just be nice, to be reminded, perhaps twice a damn year, that I matter to them. That my needs and desires, at least make the list, occasionally, of things they are willing to think about, and perhaps act upon.
My husband wants to go to Atlantic City for his birthday. Not my thing. Not at ALL. I can't think of just about anything I'd rather do less, besides an colonoscopy. Yet, I've planned a weekend trip for his birthday weekend, arranged the babysitting, talked to our best friends about going with us (they are), and have spent a few hours, researching the different hotels and casinos.
It would never occur to him, to do the same for me. In looking back, Doug has arranged babysitting, twice. That's two times, in eleven years of marriage. The first time, I told him I wanted him to take me on a date, and he had a week to set it up, and find a sitter, and the second, he was horny, so he dropped the kids off at his parents for an hour. I don't want it to seem as if I am inappreciative of these efforts, especially the last one, since I'm always up for child-free nookie, LOL.
I just don't feel as if anyone gives a shit, about things that are important to me, unless I'm yelling, or crying. The thing that is currently, really pissing me off, is that I feel GUILTY about feeling this way! I feel as if perhaps, I'm being unrealistic, and selfish. After all, men are, obviously different than women. I have a husband with a great job, who is a wonderful father, and I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, really DOES love me.
I just wish that how I felt, and the things that I want, made enough of an imprint, on the people that I love the best, that they would consider them, and occasionally, act upon them. Even if it's just twice a damn year.
Guilt trips, no travel agent required! drreid-blockston@cavtel.net
Saturday, February 11, 2006
Now, I'm sure...
...that when most people say, "I've had a shitty week", they're speaking metaphorically.
I, however, have the distinction, of being able to use that sentence, in a very literal way this past week.
I took a very long, very hot shower, for about 40 minutes on Tuesday night.
At 10 PM, Doug goes down to the basement, where his throne room is set up, immediately comes back upstairs, curious as to why there is water in the basement, out past the couches.
This baffles me as well, especially considering, I was half asleep.
Turns out, it was not the washing machine, or the utility sink. There was a nice big clog, in the main line, causing the..... (I'm building up the suspense here, LOL)....
...toilet in the basement, to, quite literally, explode, with all the water from my long, hot, shower, all over the floor, along with all the waste, from the previous day's, toilet flushes.
For the next day, there were no safe drains, no flushing of toilets, no washing of dishes.
There were, however, turds that had to scooped out of the 1-2 inches of water (the floor on 2/3 of the basement is concrete, and about 100 years old, so not completely level), with the pool skimmer.
Renting the snake, was yet another learning experience. I have an old home. The first house we purchased was another older home, which we rennovated. I'm a rather handy gal, if I do say so myself. So, I walk into the local Home Depot, and tell them I need to rent the longest snake they have. Howdy Doody, tells me, "We have a 75-footer".
I then tell him, I'm going to check elsewhere, I need a 100 foot snake, it's a main line clog.
Him: "We've got a hundred footer (I loathe that word, footer, BTW), if that's what you're looking for.
No. Really, I just wanted to quiz you?
He then proceeds to ask me, "What kind of car are you driving?"
I tell him, I have the Machine of Evil parked outside, and it's a minivan.
He then points to my neice and nephew, who I had with me, and says...."Okay, because you know you can't leave them here, right?"
Seriously?
Is this a question that actually needs to be answered?
"Really? I thought this was more of a 'swap out' kind of place, as opposed to a tool rental. I leave you the kids, take the machine, and when I'm done, I just bring it back, and you give me the kids. No?"
After all of this, I pull the van around to the front, where he argues with me, about my ability to lift the snake into the van. I'm 5'10". I'm not a tiny person. Finally, I just shut up, and backed away, whereupon, he proceeded to almost drop it on his foot, LOL. I just looked at him, and said "You know, it's not going to carry itself out of my car, up my front porch steps, and down into my basement. Eventually, I will be picking the thing up. Perhaps now would be a good time for me to start?"
He graciously allowed me to help him.
Flush away! drreid-blockston@cavtel.net
I, however, have the distinction, of being able to use that sentence, in a very literal way this past week.
I took a very long, very hot shower, for about 40 minutes on Tuesday night.
At 10 PM, Doug goes down to the basement, where his throne room is set up, immediately comes back upstairs, curious as to why there is water in the basement, out past the couches.
This baffles me as well, especially considering, I was half asleep.
Turns out, it was not the washing machine, or the utility sink. There was a nice big clog, in the main line, causing the..... (I'm building up the suspense here, LOL)....
...toilet in the basement, to, quite literally, explode, with all the water from my long, hot, shower, all over the floor, along with all the waste, from the previous day's, toilet flushes.
For the next day, there were no safe drains, no flushing of toilets, no washing of dishes.
There were, however, turds that had to scooped out of the 1-2 inches of water (the floor on 2/3 of the basement is concrete, and about 100 years old, so not completely level), with the pool skimmer.
Renting the snake, was yet another learning experience. I have an old home. The first house we purchased was another older home, which we rennovated. I'm a rather handy gal, if I do say so myself. So, I walk into the local Home Depot, and tell them I need to rent the longest snake they have. Howdy Doody, tells me, "We have a 75-footer".
I then tell him, I'm going to check elsewhere, I need a 100 foot snake, it's a main line clog.
Him: "We've got a hundred footer (I loathe that word, footer, BTW), if that's what you're looking for.
No. Really, I just wanted to quiz you?
He then proceeds to ask me, "What kind of car are you driving?"
I tell him, I have the Machine of Evil parked outside, and it's a minivan.
He then points to my neice and nephew, who I had with me, and says...."Okay, because you know you can't leave them here, right?"
Seriously?
Is this a question that actually needs to be answered?
"Really? I thought this was more of a 'swap out' kind of place, as opposed to a tool rental. I leave you the kids, take the machine, and when I'm done, I just bring it back, and you give me the kids. No?"
After all of this, I pull the van around to the front, where he argues with me, about my ability to lift the snake into the van. I'm 5'10". I'm not a tiny person. Finally, I just shut up, and backed away, whereupon, he proceeded to almost drop it on his foot, LOL. I just looked at him, and said "You know, it's not going to carry itself out of my car, up my front porch steps, and down into my basement. Eventually, I will be picking the thing up. Perhaps now would be a good time for me to start?"
He graciously allowed me to help him.
Flush away! drreid-blockston@cavtel.net
Far be it from me...
to criticize another person's parenting skills...
Oh, wait.
That's exactly what I'm going to do.
Having never been pursued by the paparazzi, since, apparently, getting your children to school on time, every morning of the school year, garners no awards, or accolades (especially from those same children, who inherited their mother's morning people skills), I've never known how scary it must be, to have your every move, videotaped, or photographed. It has to be more than annoying, to have your every grocery receipt published, your trips to the gas station bathroom, tabloid fodder (but seriously, you can get flip flops for like $2.50 from Old Navy), your every move tracked.
However.
There is, just no way, in my own little pea-brain, I've found a way, to be remotely sympathetic, to Britney Spears. I've never been a fan, can't stand her singing (if you even want to call that warbling she does, singing), but in the past two years, she's gone from being a moderately annoying pop celebrity, to being a trainwreck. I find myself wanting to just *shake* the crap out of her. All that changed, the minute I saw the pictures of her driving, on a HIGHWAY, with her infant son, on her damn lap.
What the FUCK?
"I'm being aggressively pursued by people, enough so that I'm scared for my well-being, so I'll just snuggle up my infant on my lap, and hop on the freeway, so as to avoid them".
I'm blown away, by not only her lack of understanding, of just how dangerous that really is, but the local authorities choosing not to press charges.
If I can garner, not one, but two, "Failure to come to a complete stop at a stop sign" tickets, on basically deserted streets, how can they *not* write her a ticket, make her take a damn parenting class, or, even more appropriately, have a little sit down with the parents of a child lost in a car accident? Especially considering, they've got a picture of the crime in action?
Reality check @ Drreid-blockston@cavtel.net
Oh, wait.
That's exactly what I'm going to do.
Having never been pursued by the paparazzi, since, apparently, getting your children to school on time, every morning of the school year, garners no awards, or accolades (especially from those same children, who inherited their mother's morning people skills), I've never known how scary it must be, to have your every move, videotaped, or photographed. It has to be more than annoying, to have your every grocery receipt published, your trips to the gas station bathroom, tabloid fodder (but seriously, you can get flip flops for like $2.50 from Old Navy), your every move tracked.
However.
There is, just no way, in my own little pea-brain, I've found a way, to be remotely sympathetic, to Britney Spears. I've never been a fan, can't stand her singing (if you even want to call that warbling she does, singing), but in the past two years, she's gone from being a moderately annoying pop celebrity, to being a trainwreck. I find myself wanting to just *shake* the crap out of her. All that changed, the minute I saw the pictures of her driving, on a HIGHWAY, with her infant son, on her damn lap.
What the FUCK?
"I'm being aggressively pursued by people, enough so that I'm scared for my well-being, so I'll just snuggle up my infant on my lap, and hop on the freeway, so as to avoid them".
I'm blown away, by not only her lack of understanding, of just how dangerous that really is, but the local authorities choosing not to press charges.
If I can garner, not one, but two, "Failure to come to a complete stop at a stop sign" tickets, on basically deserted streets, how can they *not* write her a ticket, make her take a damn parenting class, or, even more appropriately, have a little sit down with the parents of a child lost in a car accident? Especially considering, they've got a picture of the crime in action?
Reality check @ Drreid-blockston@cavtel.net
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
I'd like to say
that I'd die if you left me,
but we both know,
that just isn't true.
Because, that's not what I do.
I don't fall apart
I don't pick up the pieces
I just leave them behind.
I'd like to tell you that you are the world to me
but I know, deep down,
that just isn't true.
The world is bigger than both me, and you.
What I can tell you
is that your eyes,
they change colors,
according to your mood,
and that you make this funny noise,
that only I hear, when you chew your food.
I sure would miss that.
but we both know,
that just isn't true.
Because, that's not what I do.
I don't fall apart
I don't pick up the pieces
I just leave them behind.
I'd like to tell you that you are the world to me
but I know, deep down,
that just isn't true.
The world is bigger than both me, and you.
What I can tell you
is that your eyes,
they change colors,
according to your mood,
and that you make this funny noise,
that only I hear, when you chew your food.
I sure would miss that.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
