So this post has been percolating in my mind for, like, almost two months now . . . and yet I'm still not sure it's fully brewed. Or that the coffee metaphor isn't weird.
Anyway.
Back in December the first graders wrote their "What I Want To Be When I Grow Up" . . . thing. IT was really interesting. Out of 21 kids there were nine or ten doctors and one veterinarian. And one each of pretty much everything else you'd expect - teacher, cop, fireman, pilot, racecar driver - and mom.
Scene: first grader drawing a picture of two adults, each holding a baby.
Me: Are those your kids (Brittany)?
(Brittany): Uh-huh. they're twins and their names are Cinderella and Cinderella and that's my husband.
Me: Cinderella and Cinderella? Won't that get a little confusing?
(Brittany): It's okay. They're going to already be potty trained when they're born.
Me: Well it sound like you've got it all worked out then.
I don't remember ever having "Mom" as my occupational aspiration. I have listed it a time or two, but it's always been more out of a sense of obligation . . . because it's what I was supposed to want, not what I actually wanted . . . I think.
The more time that passes, especially with both working at an elementary school AND being in Primary, the more I'm beginning to think that I have no maternal instinct. At this point it's pretty certain I lack a biological clock - while I have nothing against the idea of having kids sometime, I feel no sense of urgency about it. I don't find myself looking at the couples with babies in our ward and feeling jealous. I enjoy getting pictures of Rogan texted to me in the middle of the day, but when I see them I don't feel jealous. And as for that old joke about the most popular w(h)ine in Utah - I get the punchline, but I don't get how it's possible.
I'm not against having kids . . . but I just don't have any particular desire to have them either.
Which is not to say I don't love kids in general, and the kids I work with specifically. I'm switching from first to second grade tomorrow, which is really depressing because I adore that class. I love it when the littlest kids in Primary who remember me from nursery aren't up for sitting with their class and sit on my lap in the back instead. And while it's less enjoyable to have to threaten to take the oldest kids to their parents if they don't shut up at church or tell the fourth grader who has to narrate EVERY. SINGLE. THING. HE. DOES. to shut up without actually saying "shut up" twenty times a day, I still mostly like them too. So does that mean I would suck as a mom . . . or rock? I do not feel maternal, like, at all. Ever. In the slightest. I don't think. But that begs the question . . . what does that even mean? Does it kick in when you have the kid? Or does the fact that some ten-year-olds drive me up the wall mean it's a bad idea to even think about it? (On that note, what happens if it doesn't kick in?)
I know it's perfectly normal to feel this way, but as with everything else, location is everything. And around here it's hard to not feel like I'm broken. Malfunctioning. I am most decidedly the odd one out. The good news is that 99% of people don't bring it up and most of the time I don't even think about it. But then conversations like ^that one^ happen and I find myself trying to wrap my head around it.
And I mostly keep my mouth shut because generally the people I've talked to don't get it. Where I'm coming from I mean. It's hard to find other ambivalent people. Most people are very all or nothing - they want twenty kids or they despise the very idea of kids. Not a lot of people are the type to shrug their shoulders with me and just go with whatever happens. Sometimes I wonder why that is.
Mostly I just ramble on and on with a clearly not fully percolated idea. And bad coffee metaphors.
P. ost S. cript
Shameless plug alert! But it's not for me, so it's okay. The school I work at, Ellis Elementary, is a finalist in a video contest for trees. It sounds kinda weird, but the prize is $10,000 to plant trees around the school and stuff, and they could really use the money. The kids put a lot of effort into the video, and it's really cute! Of course, at this point it's nothing but a popularity contest, but the good news is that you can vote every day between now and Valentine's Day, so even though we're kind of losing badly right now with YOUR help things can totally turn around for us! As they say, vote early, vote often! Because this is too cute not to win:
Showing posts with label I probably shouldn't admit this . . .. Show all posts
Showing posts with label I probably shouldn't admit this . . .. Show all posts
Thursday, January 23, 2014
Friday, August 30, 2013
Goodreads Just Needs to Add Half Stars Already
Good books are all alike, bad book are each bad in their own way.
~Anna Karenina (sort of)
So I just finished a series last week. It was . . . not good. Frankly, it started at "meh" and descended into "awful" by the time I finished. It was not so bad that I regret reading it - I've read a few of those - but it was bad enough that I do kind of wish I'd known from the start not to pick it up. I realize that probably doesn't make a lot of sense, but it makes perfect sense in my head so we're just gonna go with it.
I picked it up because it sounded like a fun read, and with multi-thousand reviews giving an average of almost four out of five stars it seemed like it must be at least tolerable, right? And that's where things all fell apart. Because I absolutely do not see what it is that the other 93% saw in it to give it a high rating. (perhaps I need to occupy goodreads?)
The hardest part is looking at the ratings my friends have left on the books, which also influenced my expectations of what I was reading - ten ratings, all fours and fives. And it took some real internal debate for me to give even two stars.
So now we get an oft-visited topic around here - How Lacey Hates Being Noticeably Different from Everybody: Books Edition. I'd say that easily 90% of my goodreads books haven't even been added by any of my goodreads friends. But of the books that do have opinions to compare, it's usually pretty varied, and more or less middle of the road. I don't feel bad about giving a book two stars when I see that people I know have already given it a one, a four, and three threes. But giving something a one when it has seven fives and three fours . . . is actually a little distressing. Which sounds totally ridiculous, and is a total non-issue, but at the same time I look at that little list of stars and I can't help but think - what did I miss? Did we even read the same book? (I'm about 75% we didn't at this point)
And then I get all self-conscious like I'm in the wrong class or wandered into a wedding reception at some hotel ballroom where I don't know anyone but got pulled into the conga line before I could duck back out and now everyone's asking me how I know the newlyweds and I'm just trying to figure out how to answer in a way that won't make me look like a party crasher.
I feel a little guilty about not liking this trilogy too, almost as if I am crashing a party considering how almost universally well-liked it is. But the simple fact of the matter is, it's bad. The first book is iffy, the second book wipes away any potential for redeeming the whole, and the third book is just bad metaphor after stupid cliche after plot hole after illogical and unexplained escape from painted corners. Rinse, repeat. I really don't get it . . . and, for a couple of weeks at least, I feel like I almost can't trust my own opinions. I much prefer the books where I can say it's not my thing but I can see how others would like it. But when there's more to like in Twilight . . . yeah. This does not work for me.
That said, I have to admit there is something that is just so . . . satisfying about writing a review about a book I didn't like. I guess it's a cathartic thing, the angrier I am when I finish the book, the better I feel when I finish the review. I do my best to be nice while still being honest, although I assume it probably doesn't always come across that way. (actually, if we're being honest I'm coming to realize it's probably safest to assume I'm coming across more or less the opposite way from what I intended in most situations) I don't know what it is, but I always have an easier time expressing what I didn't like about a book (or movie or whatever) than I do about what I like about it. Reading a good book is such an overall enjoyable experience . . . was it because the characters were fun? Because the dialogue was snappy and clever? The overall premise and plot were unique and well written? they all blend together so seamlessly in a good book, one aspect making up for where another might be a little bit lacking that it just becomes hard for me to say what it was that took it from two stars to three, or three to four. But a one star book, now - those I can almost always point to the moments where I was thinking something didn't make sense, or was too convenient, or not as funny as the book itself thought it was, or just plain didn't work. Especially in a book I wanted to like (as these were) it's so easy to point to where and how that desire was disappointed.
The good news is the book I'm currently reading is sitting at a solid three, depending on the ending, and only one other person has even added it. And the next one in my pile is the fifth in a series I've become quite the fan of. So hopefully I can shake off this dissonance by the time they're both done.
P. ost S.cript
Have I already posted this one? Oh well, don't care. It's cute. And we've been singing this song around here a lot lately . . . not sure why though . . .
~Anna Karenina (sort of)
So I just finished a series last week. It was . . . not good. Frankly, it started at "meh" and descended into "awful" by the time I finished. It was not so bad that I regret reading it - I've read a few of those - but it was bad enough that I do kind of wish I'd known from the start not to pick it up. I realize that probably doesn't make a lot of sense, but it makes perfect sense in my head so we're just gonna go with it.
I picked it up because it sounded like a fun read, and with multi-thousand reviews giving an average of almost four out of five stars it seemed like it must be at least tolerable, right? And that's where things all fell apart. Because I absolutely do not see what it is that the other 93% saw in it to give it a high rating. (perhaps I need to occupy goodreads?)
The hardest part is looking at the ratings my friends have left on the books, which also influenced my expectations of what I was reading - ten ratings, all fours and fives. And it took some real internal debate for me to give even two stars.
So now we get an oft-visited topic around here - How Lacey Hates Being Noticeably Different from Everybody: Books Edition. I'd say that easily 90% of my goodreads books haven't even been added by any of my goodreads friends. But of the books that do have opinions to compare, it's usually pretty varied, and more or less middle of the road. I don't feel bad about giving a book two stars when I see that people I know have already given it a one, a four, and three threes. But giving something a one when it has seven fives and three fours . . . is actually a little distressing. Which sounds totally ridiculous, and is a total non-issue, but at the same time I look at that little list of stars and I can't help but think - what did I miss? Did we even read the same book? (I'm about 75% we didn't at this point)
And then I get all self-conscious like I'm in the wrong class or wandered into a wedding reception at some hotel ballroom where I don't know anyone but got pulled into the conga line before I could duck back out and now everyone's asking me how I know the newlyweds and I'm just trying to figure out how to answer in a way that won't make me look like a party crasher.
I feel a little guilty about not liking this trilogy too, almost as if I am crashing a party considering how almost universally well-liked it is. But the simple fact of the matter is, it's bad. The first book is iffy, the second book wipes away any potential for redeeming the whole, and the third book is just bad metaphor after stupid cliche after plot hole after illogical and unexplained escape from painted corners. Rinse, repeat. I really don't get it . . . and, for a couple of weeks at least, I feel like I almost can't trust my own opinions. I much prefer the books where I can say it's not my thing but I can see how others would like it. But when there's more to like in Twilight . . . yeah. This does not work for me.
That said, I have to admit there is something that is just so . . . satisfying about writing a review about a book I didn't like. I guess it's a cathartic thing, the angrier I am when I finish the book, the better I feel when I finish the review. I do my best to be nice while still being honest, although I assume it probably doesn't always come across that way. (actually, if we're being honest I'm coming to realize it's probably safest to assume I'm coming across more or less the opposite way from what I intended in most situations) I don't know what it is, but I always have an easier time expressing what I didn't like about a book (or movie or whatever) than I do about what I like about it. Reading a good book is such an overall enjoyable experience . . . was it because the characters were fun? Because the dialogue was snappy and clever? The overall premise and plot were unique and well written? they all blend together so seamlessly in a good book, one aspect making up for where another might be a little bit lacking that it just becomes hard for me to say what it was that took it from two stars to three, or three to four. But a one star book, now - those I can almost always point to the moments where I was thinking something didn't make sense, or was too convenient, or not as funny as the book itself thought it was, or just plain didn't work. Especially in a book I wanted to like (as these were) it's so easy to point to where and how that desire was disappointed.
The good news is the book I'm currently reading is sitting at a solid three, depending on the ending, and only one other person has even added it. And the next one in my pile is the fifth in a series I've become quite the fan of. So hopefully I can shake off this dissonance by the time they're both done.
P. ost S.cript
Have I already posted this one? Oh well, don't care. It's cute. And we've been singing this song around here a lot lately . . . not sure why though . . .
Wednesday, August 14, 2013
Lights, Tunnels
This will probably be a little cryptic to the handful of people still keeping up with the likes of us, but if everything keeps going the direction it is now . . . yeah. Details will happen.
And I know you're not supposed to talk about money and stuff, but that's totally happening here so if you have a problem with that . . . well, you'll not be the first person to hit that unfollow button.
Anyway. I got the call I'd been waiting for last night. A week later than I expected it, and a week later than Sue had planned to make it. Apparently to reach a cell phone number based in Cedar City when calling from a school in Logan dialing that 1 before the rest of the number is pretty essential. But I have my job back, which is the important thing. And it's as part-time as ever, which is the frustrating thing. Because, hey, why hire ten good aides and have them work decent hours and want to stick around continuing to be good aides because it's a job they can get by with when you can hire twenty aides most of whom just need something to do? Right Katie? (we've ranted on this together many a time)
The best news regarding my job is the possibility of an additional hour. Apparently all the schools in Utah are giving all the kids free breakfast now or something? Luke remembers seeing a story about it a little while back, but I missed it so I'm a little unclear on things. All I know is that means there will be lots of kids on the playground early in the morning and they will need supervision and if I'm lucky that will be me . . . even though it will involve getting up and going and out of the house earlier than I've had to do in YEARS. Oy. Not gonna be pretty. But that additional one hour will go a long way toward nearly doubling my paycheck - which mostly goes to show how few the hours that the power-that-be-even-though-they-don't-have-a-clue see fit to grant are. If those who can't do teach (which I totally don't agree with, btw) then those who can't teach work in district offices. Or in governmental positions that oversee education.
In other news, Luke's paycheck may be more than doubling in the semi-near future, which is pretty freaking awesome. It's a slightly complicated, slightly convoluted story that's still playing out and that's where the details being unfolded later come in. But for now if you have any voodoo charms, prayers, good vibes, etc. to spare we would not turn down a few to help ensure that this works out. 'Cause it's looking like the second half of this year is going to prove that some decisions/changes/achievements we made during the first half were totally the right ways to go.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have precisely eleven more days of sleeping in to do. The morning of the 26th is going to be ugly.
P. ost S. cript
So I can hear all the ones I'm "supposed" to . . . and it's like my ears can remember being able to hear the others. I swear I can feel them trying to hear the rest!
And I know you're not supposed to talk about money and stuff, but that's totally happening here so if you have a problem with that . . . well, you'll not be the first person to hit that unfollow button.
Anyway. I got the call I'd been waiting for last night. A week later than I expected it, and a week later than Sue had planned to make it. Apparently to reach a cell phone number based in Cedar City when calling from a school in Logan dialing that 1 before the rest of the number is pretty essential. But I have my job back, which is the important thing. And it's as part-time as ever, which is the frustrating thing. Because, hey, why hire ten good aides and have them work decent hours and want to stick around continuing to be good aides because it's a job they can get by with when you can hire twenty aides most of whom just need something to do? Right Katie? (we've ranted on this together many a time)
The best news regarding my job is the possibility of an additional hour. Apparently all the schools in Utah are giving all the kids free breakfast now or something? Luke remembers seeing a story about it a little while back, but I missed it so I'm a little unclear on things. All I know is that means there will be lots of kids on the playground early in the morning and they will need supervision and if I'm lucky that will be me . . . even though it will involve getting up and going and out of the house earlier than I've had to do in YEARS. Oy. Not gonna be pretty. But that additional one hour will go a long way toward nearly doubling my paycheck - which mostly goes to show how few the hours that the power-that-be-even-though-they-don't-have-a-clue see fit to grant are. If those who can't do teach (which I totally don't agree with, btw) then those who can't teach work in district offices. Or in governmental positions that oversee education.
In other news, Luke's paycheck may be more than doubling in the semi-near future, which is pretty freaking awesome. It's a slightly complicated, slightly convoluted story that's still playing out and that's where the details being unfolded later come in. But for now if you have any voodoo charms, prayers, good vibes, etc. to spare we would not turn down a few to help ensure that this works out. 'Cause it's looking like the second half of this year is going to prove that some decisions/changes/achievements we made during the first half were totally the right ways to go.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have precisely eleven more days of sleeping in to do. The morning of the 26th is going to be ugly.
P. ost S. cript
So I can hear all the ones I'm "supposed" to . . . and it's like my ears can remember being able to hear the others. I swear I can feel them trying to hear the rest!
Wednesday, July 31, 2013
On That Note
It's amazing how easily four years can get away from you. And how easy it is to forget about things.
For instance - a few of you may remember a particular wedding reception about four years ago . . . wherein the youngest cousins were given disposable cameras to photograph said reception however they saw fit . . . and were promised a copy of the pictures they took.
Well, those cameras got placed in a drawer until such time as the happy couple had more than one part time job between them. And while that happened relatively quickly . . . the cameras stayed in the drawer. Until there was a joint yard sale to be had with some friends and drawers and bins that were rarely looked in were looked in to see if there was anything in them that could be put up for sale.
Yeah.
So.
Anyway.
Heaven only knows if the film is still any good, especially after how cold it got last winter - cold is bad for film, right? - but we shall see if anything comes out. I'm not sure I'm hopeful, especially when it comes to the underwater cameras, but we'll see. If nothing else, it'll be a fun blast from the past just getting them developed. :-)
P. ost S. cript
I'm pretending it's winter here. And that there are koalas here.
For instance - a few of you may remember a particular wedding reception about four years ago . . . wherein the youngest cousins were given disposable cameras to photograph said reception however they saw fit . . . and were promised a copy of the pictures they took.
Well, those cameras got placed in a drawer until such time as the happy couple had more than one part time job between them. And while that happened relatively quickly . . . the cameras stayed in the drawer. Until there was a joint yard sale to be had with some friends and drawers and bins that were rarely looked in were looked in to see if there was anything in them that could be put up for sale.
Yeah.
So.
Anyway.
Heaven only knows if the film is still any good, especially after how cold it got last winter - cold is bad for film, right? - but we shall see if anything comes out. I'm not sure I'm hopeful, especially when it comes to the underwater cameras, but we'll see. If nothing else, it'll be a fun blast from the past just getting them developed. :-)
P. ost S. cript
I'm pretending it's winter here. And that there are koalas here.
Thursday, May 2, 2013
Finding My Place
I used to be really good about writing in a journal. All through high school I wrote consistently every week . . . well, I missed a few here and there, but not many. That tapered off pretty quickly in college - and even though I much prefer actually physically writing, blogging has pretty much replaced it. Which, obviously, has its pros and cons.
Anyway. (Sort of) on that note I just want to take a moment to record for posterity how glad I am that the internet exists. Because if I do have a place in this world, the internet seems to be it.
I've known this for a long time, but in some ways I'm rediscovering it: there is a niche for everyone on the internet. You'd never guess it reading the comments on a random news article or youtube video, those seem to bring out the very dregs of humanity. But dig a little deeper and you can find close-knit little communities dedicated to everything under the sun . . . and probably a few things over it too.
Sometimes I feel a little out of place on these sites. I mean there are people who's lives appear to completely revolve around Stargate SG-1, or color guard, or Tamora Pierce books. And mine . . . doesn't. It almost makes me feel like I have ADD or something because I'm a casually-huge fan of sooooooooo many things, so I kind of hop from one "club" to another depending on my mood. But even so, every time I've stuck my toe timidly into a new fandom pool I've been welcomed whole-heartedly. And I've really appreciated it - especially considering how much free time I have to spend online.
It's just so nice to have a place(s) and group(s) where I'm completely and truly welcomed and accepted. Heaven knows that has yet to happen to me in real life. I'm a somewhat socially awkward person, and the larger the group the more awkward I get. And that has led to groups where I was tolerated . . . or marginalized . . . or even made into a charity improvement project. While I've always come away from a group with one or two friendship that have and will last a long time, I've never found success in group settings. In fact, more often than not my time in them seems to end in some sort of over-dramatic explosion or implosion that's crushing, but deep down is also expected. (I kind of can't believe I lasted as long as I did in my last attempt at a group, actually.) And while I don't think my interests are all that out of the ordinary, it's always seemed like I'm the only one I know in real life who's into those things. In one recent case one of my interests was so mocked that I've been hesitant to even mention it to anyone ever since - even online.
So yeah. I'm glad the internet exists. And that there are places on it where people are nice to each other. I may know a lot of my friends only by screen name and avatar, but at least they don't get snarky when I mention a favorite tv show or movie. I hope this post doesn't sound like I'm depressed, I'm really feeling more included and encouraged than I have in a while . . . possibly my entire adult life. Like I'm moving on from some things, getting over others, closing chapters and all those other cliches. I'm good. As long as the power doesn't go out. :-)
P. ost S. cript
Another reason to love the internet. How else could a bunch of bored Welshmen show off their absolute brilliance?
Anyway. (Sort of) on that note I just want to take a moment to record for posterity how glad I am that the internet exists. Because if I do have a place in this world, the internet seems to be it.
I've known this for a long time, but in some ways I'm rediscovering it: there is a niche for everyone on the internet. You'd never guess it reading the comments on a random news article or youtube video, those seem to bring out the very dregs of humanity. But dig a little deeper and you can find close-knit little communities dedicated to everything under the sun . . . and probably a few things over it too.
Sometimes I feel a little out of place on these sites. I mean there are people who's lives appear to completely revolve around Stargate SG-1, or color guard, or Tamora Pierce books. And mine . . . doesn't. It almost makes me feel like I have ADD or something because I'm a casually-huge fan of sooooooooo many things, so I kind of hop from one "club" to another depending on my mood. But even so, every time I've stuck my toe timidly into a new fandom pool I've been welcomed whole-heartedly. And I've really appreciated it - especially considering how much free time I have to spend online.
It's just so nice to have a place(s) and group(s) where I'm completely and truly welcomed and accepted. Heaven knows that has yet to happen to me in real life. I'm a somewhat socially awkward person, and the larger the group the more awkward I get. And that has led to groups where I was tolerated . . . or marginalized . . . or even made into a charity improvement project. While I've always come away from a group with one or two friendship that have and will last a long time, I've never found success in group settings. In fact, more often than not my time in them seems to end in some sort of over-dramatic explosion or implosion that's crushing, but deep down is also expected. (I kind of can't believe I lasted as long as I did in my last attempt at a group, actually.) And while I don't think my interests are all that out of the ordinary, it's always seemed like I'm the only one I know in real life who's into those things. In one recent case one of my interests was so mocked that I've been hesitant to even mention it to anyone ever since - even online.
So yeah. I'm glad the internet exists. And that there are places on it where people are nice to each other. I may know a lot of my friends only by screen name and avatar, but at least they don't get snarky when I mention a favorite tv show or movie. I hope this post doesn't sound like I'm depressed, I'm really feeling more included and encouraged than I have in a while . . . possibly my entire adult life. Like I'm moving on from some things, getting over others, closing chapters and all those other cliches. I'm good. As long as the power doesn't go out. :-)
P. ost S. cript
Another reason to love the internet. How else could a bunch of bored Welshmen show off their absolute brilliance?
Thursday, March 14, 2013
So That's Over
I severed ties with someone recently. Well . . . as much as unfriending someone on facebook counts as severing ties when you didn't really have any other ties to begin with. It was something that needed to be done . . . something that should have been done a while ago, and I've known it all along . . . but when it came down to actually doing it . . . let's just say it took one of those pesky final straws to get me there.
I don't regret it, but it's left me thinking. About everything from friendship vs. facebook friends to the part where I'm feeling a little lost this year without having some big goal like I have for the last couple of years - even if one was only to read 150 books in a year. It was a little thing in the grand scheme of all the things, but it was a thing. And so far this year I've just been all kind of "what shall I do?" and I just . . . don't . . . know.
Anyway. It's so interesting to go through your list of friends every so often. Luke recently went through his, finding dozens of people he wasn't even sure he knew. Of course, he joined facebook when you had to have a .edu address to join so it was all new and exclusive(ish) and classmates were adding everyone in the massive Intro to Whatever 101 because they could. Fast forward the better part of a decade and you have a bunch of meaningless names you've never actually spoken to in real life, much less interacted with on facebook. The ones who wouldn't recognize your name or care if facebook did notify people when you unfriended them. I never used my school email, so I couldn't join until it opened up to everyone - and one would think that that little delay would lead to more logical friending. But no. Going back to the original situation, I really did know from the start that this was a friend request that I should not have accepted. And accepted anyway. And wondered several times since what the heck I was thinking but just never hit that final button until a little while ago.
It's not quite a relief - we could have truly been friends in different circumstances. At least, I like to think so. But at the same time it's so nice to have that knowledge in the back of my mind that I don't have to hold my breath and hope they don't pop up on my feed or comment on something I post. While I do wish it hadn't had to play out the way it did, I'm pretty sure I always knew it was inevitable.
So the thing I'm wondering now is - am I supposed to be feeling mature and accomplished for recognizing the reality of things and taking the best action for the situation? Or wistful about crossed wires that could have made a great neon light display had they just connected correctly in the beginning?
tl;dr:
If pictures are worth 1000 words I'm pretty sure this entire post can be summed up thusly:
Just another reason this whole being-a-grown-up thing kinda sucks.
P. ost S. cript
Perhaps I shall do another grown-up thing and learn physics. Does it still count if it's kitten physics?
I don't regret it, but it's left me thinking. About everything from friendship vs. facebook friends to the part where I'm feeling a little lost this year without having some big goal like I have for the last couple of years - even if one was only to read 150 books in a year. It was a little thing in the grand scheme of all the things, but it was a thing. And so far this year I've just been all kind of "what shall I do?" and I just . . . don't . . . know.
Anyway. It's so interesting to go through your list of friends every so often. Luke recently went through his, finding dozens of people he wasn't even sure he knew. Of course, he joined facebook when you had to have a .edu address to join so it was all new and exclusive(ish) and classmates were adding everyone in the massive Intro to Whatever 101 because they could. Fast forward the better part of a decade and you have a bunch of meaningless names you've never actually spoken to in real life, much less interacted with on facebook. The ones who wouldn't recognize your name or care if facebook did notify people when you unfriended them. I never used my school email, so I couldn't join until it opened up to everyone - and one would think that that little delay would lead to more logical friending. But no. Going back to the original situation, I really did know from the start that this was a friend request that I should not have accepted. And accepted anyway. And wondered several times since what the heck I was thinking but just never hit that final button until a little while ago.
It's not quite a relief - we could have truly been friends in different circumstances. At least, I like to think so. But at the same time it's so nice to have that knowledge in the back of my mind that I don't have to hold my breath and hope they don't pop up on my feed or comment on something I post. While I do wish it hadn't had to play out the way it did, I'm pretty sure I always knew it was inevitable.
So the thing I'm wondering now is - am I supposed to be feeling mature and accomplished for recognizing the reality of things and taking the best action for the situation? Or wistful about crossed wires that could have made a great neon light display had they just connected correctly in the beginning?
tl;dr:
If pictures are worth 1000 words I'm pretty sure this entire post can be summed up thusly:
Just another reason this whole being-a-grown-up thing kinda sucks.
P. ost S. cript
Perhaps I shall do another grown-up thing and learn physics. Does it still count if it's kitten physics?
Wednesday, February 27, 2013
In Which I Am a Despicable Person
Remember the part where there are, like, a thousand kids in my fourth grade class this year? One of them is moving at the end of this week . . . maybe. We're all a little unclear about what exactly is going on.
Anyway. I'm having a bit of a hard time getting upset over it. And by getting upset I mean not jumping for joy over it.
I know, I know. I'm horrible. But this particular kid has been nothing but frustration all year. He's never even pretended to care about what's going on in class . . . and to say that he's actually brought his homework half a dozen times all year might be overestimating the case. I just don't get how a nine-year-old could already be to the point where he couldn't care less about school.
The part that really confuses me though is the fact that his parents apparently don't care either. I mean, if it was high school I could totally understand, heaven knows I didn't learn anything there that has turned out to be useful since (at least, not in the classroom, but that's a subject for another day). But fourth grade? It may be (and is) on the tail end of the things you'll actually use in real life - but it's still got some pretty important stuff in there. For three years now I've been trying to wrap my head around parents like that. Do they really not care if their kids can't read? Have they really convinced themselves that technology is moving in a direction that makes knowing how to add single digit numbers unnecessary?
Because when I ask a kid what six plus nine is and all I get is this:
That's kind of a problem. (granted, I could watch Sean Connery all day, but when I get this look from fourth graders I kind of find myself wanting to carve my eyes out with a plastic spork)
But anyway. Seriously. How does that work? The not caring part? I mean, clearly it starts at the top and works its way down to where the kid doesn't care either, and doesn't try to hide it like the kids who's parents do care but the kids don't . . . they try to hide it. How they don't care, I mean. But this one (and a couple of the others over the past couple of years) . . . there's just such an air of "whatever" about them. And I just don't get it.
I feel bad for the kid - I can't imagine things are going to be pretty in about ten years. But there's not exactly much you can do when they choose to doodle instead follow directions when you're trying to help them. It just gives me one more instance where I feel like I'm not doing any good.
On the plus side . . . the class is down to 33. That's, like, a record low. For this year.
P. ost S. cript
So I'm guessing everyone has seen this one already since it was making the rounds on facebook back around Christmas or so, but it's kind of awesome.
I know, I know. I'm horrible. But this particular kid has been nothing but frustration all year. He's never even pretended to care about what's going on in class . . . and to say that he's actually brought his homework half a dozen times all year might be overestimating the case. I just don't get how a nine-year-old could already be to the point where he couldn't care less about school.
The part that really confuses me though is the fact that his parents apparently don't care either. I mean, if it was high school I could totally understand, heaven knows I didn't learn anything there that has turned out to be useful since (at least, not in the classroom, but that's a subject for another day). But fourth grade? It may be (and is) on the tail end of the things you'll actually use in real life - but it's still got some pretty important stuff in there. For three years now I've been trying to wrap my head around parents like that. Do they really not care if their kids can't read? Have they really convinced themselves that technology is moving in a direction that makes knowing how to add single digit numbers unnecessary?
Because when I ask a kid what six plus nine is and all I get is this:
That's kind of a problem. (granted, I could watch Sean Connery all day, but when I get this look from fourth graders I kind of find myself wanting to carve my eyes out with a plastic spork)
But anyway. Seriously. How does that work? The not caring part? I mean, clearly it starts at the top and works its way down to where the kid doesn't care either, and doesn't try to hide it like the kids who's parents do care but the kids don't . . . they try to hide it. How they don't care, I mean. But this one (and a couple of the others over the past couple of years) . . . there's just such an air of "whatever" about them. And I just don't get it.
I feel bad for the kid - I can't imagine things are going to be pretty in about ten years. But there's not exactly much you can do when they choose to doodle instead follow directions when you're trying to help them. It just gives me one more instance where I feel like I'm not doing any good.
On the plus side . . . the class is down to 33. That's, like, a record low. For this year.
P. ost S. cript
So I'm guessing everyone has seen this one already since it was making the rounds on facebook back around Christmas or so, but it's kind of awesome.
Thursday, June 14, 2012
Everything Good For You Sucks
I am a rather introverted person. That doesn't come as a shock to anyone, does it? I mean, in certain situations you'd never know it, and on the internet we're all loudmouthed jerks of varying degrees depending on the level of anonymity in whatever corner we're hiding in at any particular time. But generally speaking - in real, physical, actually-interacting-with-actual-people life I am an introvert. I've known it for a long time. I've been ashamed of it, I've tried to hide/overcome/change it, I've felt like it was something I needed to fix about myself. And in the last couple of years I've finally started to accept that this is just who I am, and that it's not a bad thing to be . . . even when it seems like I'm the only one in the world sometimes.
At this point I'm sure it doesn't sound like it, but this isn't something about myself that I think about a lot anymore. But it was brought up to me a little while ago, so I've been paying more attention to what goes on when I'm out and about with people. And I noticed something in the last couple of weeks that I already knew, but I guess I'd forgotten - I'm not very good at the whole "having conversations" thing.
I think I've mentioned once or twice that I prefer communicating in writing as opposed to verbally, because in writing I can change things as much as I want until I've got my words expressing what I actually meant to say. When I talk a lot of the time I know what I meant, but that's not what the people I'm talking to hear. Sometimes I know where things got lost and sometimes . . . not so much. But when someone asks you a question in person, you have to answer more or less immediately. A response in writing can take a lot longer without looking weird/rude. (side note/fun fact: this blog post is probably going to take me most of the afternoon)
I saw this gif recently, and it really describes me perfectly - especially the second box. And that, I think, is what makes it so hard for me to have a conversation . . . because I've also noticed that it's a lot easier for me if it's one-on-one rather than a big group of people all talking. I get lucky sometimes with the occasional witty one-liner or something, but generally speaking the more people there are involved the more likely it is that by the time I think of something to say the group will have moved on to four or five new topics and my comment is completely irrelevant now. And of course since I'm trying to be a good listener and they say good listeners don't just think of what the next thing they're going to say is I'm getting my topics mixed up and feeling guilty for thinking too much of myself when I should be listening to the people I'm spending time with but if I didn't then I would never say anything and that would just look weird . . . and I just can't win. L'esprit de l'escalier? Story of my life. All. the. time. One on one is easier, but even then sometimes I find myself at a loss for words - even with Luke, and if you don't know how to talk to the person you're married to, how the crap are you supposed to talk to anyone else?
I suppose it's something I should practice. Actually, I had a roommate who would try to get me to practice . . . mostly, I think, as practice for her since she was a psych major, lol. (love you, Cindy!!) And it worked great because we were roommates and she was one of my best friends and so we'd just sit in the living room and chat so it didn't take that much effort on my part. Because we all know I'm not one to go out on a limb for social interaction.
Man, three years of blogging . . . the list of reasons that a shrink would have field day with me must be in the quadruple digits by now . . .
Anyway. I'm a little at a loss. Hiding in a hole forever isn't exactly a practical option (even if it is what I mostly do in the summer). Practice doesn't seem to help - heaven knows I've had enough to make me a pro if that were the case. Like I said, I've been paying more attention lately and I can see exactly where I'm . . . failing, I suppose. But what does one say when one doesn't know what to say? When the mind is blank or you feel like you have nothing to add to the conversation? It's not that I don't feel welcome - but I do feel overwhelmed sometimes.
I suppose it's no surprise really that I have over 1200 books on my to-read list, is it? Books let you talk when you're ready.
To end on a lighter note, a classic Luke-ism for you: we were playing Disney trivia. I don't remember the question, but the answer was Crimson Tide, and as a hint Luke said we'd watched it at my parents house once.
Me: No we didn't. I've never seen that movie.
Luke: Yes we did. Wait . . . that was Hunt for Red October. But they both have red in the title!
I cracked up . . . but maybe that's because I've won 17 games to his 6. :-)
P. ost S. cript
I . . . kind of want one. Don't judge.
At this point I'm sure it doesn't sound like it, but this isn't something about myself that I think about a lot anymore. But it was brought up to me a little while ago, so I've been paying more attention to what goes on when I'm out and about with people. And I noticed something in the last couple of weeks that I already knew, but I guess I'd forgotten - I'm not very good at the whole "having conversations" thing.
I think I've mentioned once or twice that I prefer communicating in writing as opposed to verbally, because in writing I can change things as much as I want until I've got my words expressing what I actually meant to say. When I talk a lot of the time I know what I meant, but that's not what the people I'm talking to hear. Sometimes I know where things got lost and sometimes . . . not so much. But when someone asks you a question in person, you have to answer more or less immediately. A response in writing can take a lot longer without looking weird/rude. (side note/fun fact: this blog post is probably going to take me most of the afternoon)
I saw this gif recently, and it really describes me perfectly - especially the second box. And that, I think, is what makes it so hard for me to have a conversation . . . because I've also noticed that it's a lot easier for me if it's one-on-one rather than a big group of people all talking. I get lucky sometimes with the occasional witty one-liner or something, but generally speaking the more people there are involved the more likely it is that by the time I think of something to say the group will have moved on to four or five new topics and my comment is completely irrelevant now. And of course since I'm trying to be a good listener and they say good listeners don't just think of what the next thing they're going to say is I'm getting my topics mixed up and feeling guilty for thinking too much of myself when I should be listening to the people I'm spending time with but if I didn't then I would never say anything and that would just look weird . . . and I just can't win. L'esprit de l'escalier? Story of my life. All. the. time. One on one is easier, but even then sometimes I find myself at a loss for words - even with Luke, and if you don't know how to talk to the person you're married to, how the crap are you supposed to talk to anyone else?
I suppose it's something I should practice. Actually, I had a roommate who would try to get me to practice . . . mostly, I think, as practice for her since she was a psych major, lol. (love you, Cindy!!) And it worked great because we were roommates and she was one of my best friends and so we'd just sit in the living room and chat so it didn't take that much effort on my part. Because we all know I'm not one to go out on a limb for social interaction.
Man, three years of blogging . . . the list of reasons that a shrink would have field day with me must be in the quadruple digits by now . . .
Anyway. I'm a little at a loss. Hiding in a hole forever isn't exactly a practical option (even if it is what I mostly do in the summer). Practice doesn't seem to help - heaven knows I've had enough to make me a pro if that were the case. Like I said, I've been paying more attention lately and I can see exactly where I'm . . . failing, I suppose. But what does one say when one doesn't know what to say? When the mind is blank or you feel like you have nothing to add to the conversation? It's not that I don't feel welcome - but I do feel overwhelmed sometimes.
I suppose it's no surprise really that I have over 1200 books on my to-read list, is it? Books let you talk when you're ready.
To end on a lighter note, a classic Luke-ism for you: we were playing Disney trivia. I don't remember the question, but the answer was Crimson Tide, and as a hint Luke said we'd watched it at my parents house once.
Me: No we didn't. I've never seen that movie.
Luke: Yes we did. Wait . . . that was Hunt for Red October. But they both have red in the title!
I cracked up . . . but maybe that's because I've won 17 games to his 6. :-)
P. ost S. cript
I . . . kind of want one. Don't judge.
Friday, May 25, 2012
Looking for Something to Say
Ever have that feeling that you want to talk to someone but you just can't think of anything to say? That pretty much explains my blog absence for the last little while, which a few people have mentioned/questioned. Sorry, it's just been one great big "I've have nothing to add to that" moment around here. I still love the kids at school (except for the days when I can't stand them), there's nothing monumental going on in our lives (unless you count Luke's schedule changing so he gets off at 10 instead of midnight, which we see as kind of a big deal), and I haven't had any particularly philosophical moments to ramble on about (a side effect of end-of-the-year burnout, I'm thinking).
So I suppose this post is mostly just to assure everyone that we're still alive . . . and also (just a little) to celebrate the wonderful feeling you get when you discover that lots of people agree with you on something when you thought you were the only one who felt that way. Shockingly, I'm not in the mood to rant (I must be really burned out!) but maybe I will be by the time comments start rolling in, lol.
Anyway. I shall just make my two little points and leave you all to duke it out. Or unfollow me, as the case may be. (although I hope that doesn't happen!)
I totally agree with this, it's kind of really horrible and probably is going to do more harm than good in the long run. And some people really need to get this kind of grip on reality and stop judging people they don't even know.
And this? Unnecessary, disrespectful to the artist, and more than a little hypocritical.
Well . . . it'll be nice to see who still talks to me this time next week, lol.
P. ost S. cript
Title says it all. The mind, she is boggled.
So I suppose this post is mostly just to assure everyone that we're still alive . . . and also (just a little) to celebrate the wonderful feeling you get when you discover that lots of people agree with you on something when you thought you were the only one who felt that way. Shockingly, I'm not in the mood to rant (I must be really burned out!) but maybe I will be by the time comments start rolling in, lol.
Anyway. I shall just make my two little points and leave you all to duke it out. Or unfollow me, as the case may be. (although I hope that doesn't happen!)
I totally agree with this, it's kind of really horrible and probably is going to do more harm than good in the long run. And some people really need to get this kind of grip on reality and stop judging people they don't even know.
And this? Unnecessary, disrespectful to the artist, and more than a little hypocritical.
Well . . . it'll be nice to see who still talks to me this time next week, lol.
P. ost S. cript
Title says it all. The mind, she is boggled.
Thursday, May 10, 2012
Just a Thought
And it's going here because I'm not sure I wouldn't be virtually drawn and quartered if I made it my facebook status. :-)
Anyway. We saw The Avengers a couple of days ago. It was pretty awesome, and this is coming from someone who's not exactly big on the comic book movies, so you know it's got to be pretty incredible. But personally, I couldn't help but think how sweet it would be if Samuel L. Jackson pulled out a purple lightsaber and said something about monkey fighting snakes and Monday to Friday planes. Because seriously, whenever I think of the TV edit of that line (which does not happen as often as I just made it sound) I crack up.
I'm telling you, it would have made this my favorite movie of all time. :-)
P. ost S. cript
Seriously. Of all the things you could have edited that line to become, is there any result more hysterically ridiculous? I love it!
Anyway. We saw The Avengers a couple of days ago. It was pretty awesome, and this is coming from someone who's not exactly big on the comic book movies, so you know it's got to be pretty incredible. But personally, I couldn't help but think how sweet it would be if Samuel L. Jackson pulled out a purple lightsaber and said something about monkey fighting snakes and Monday to Friday planes. Because seriously, whenever I think of the TV edit of that line (which does not happen as often as I just made it sound) I crack up.
I'm telling you, it would have made this my favorite movie of all time. :-)
P. ost S. cript
Seriously. Of all the things you could have edited that line to become, is there any result more hysterically ridiculous? I love it!
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Can We Just Leap To Spring Already?
Stir crazy.
I. Am. There.
I know really have no right or reason to complain (and that it must seem like I'm always talking about the weather and you're all really bored with it) since it's not like I've been housebound for any reason lately. And lets be honest, everyone gets the winter blues to some degree and mine certainly haven't come anywhere Certifiable Mental Disorder level.
But.
There's always a but, isn't there? Anyway, in my case I have spent this entire month in a rather depressed-ish funk that is semi-normal for this time of year for me, but more pronounced. And I just can't seem to shake it. Low-brow TV (*nudge*Katie*nudge*) and mint oreos and the like can perk me up for a while, but every afternoon when Luke goes to work I find myself staring at hours and hours of nothing more productive to do than find new recipes on pinterest and nothing sounds appealing and I just can't help but think "this cannot be how I'm going to spend the rest of my life!!!"
(and seriously, the first person to mention kids as the antidote to that thought gets minus a gazillion points because frankly nothing sounds less desirable to me at the moment . . . even though there are a few newborns I'm dying to see!)
I know this is pretty normal for me in February - just more pronounced than usual. And I know it'll go away in a few more weeks . . . assuming spring comes this year. The way this winter has gone, who knows? Seriously, the mere fact that it's snowing right now is depressing even though I know it'll probably gone by morning. (for those of you not around here who think I'm kidding - the snow from yesterday morning was all gone by the time it dusted up again last night. and that was gone by the time I got off work today. and now it's snowing again. this winter? has. been. nuts.)
That's part of the problem I think - I didn't get to enjoy winter when I like it and now that I'm done I'm getting taunted. Right now I could seriously kill to be able to walk to the zoo, wander around for a while, and walk home all comfortably without a jacket.
On a cheery note, I'm working on planning our first real vacation since going to Australia in 2008. It's not until July, but frankly I'm counting down the seconds.
If it snows in July, heads will roll. Seriously.
P. ost S. cript
Things that always cheer me up:
~ Cellos
~ Electric cellos (but now I'm aching to play "Lord of the Dance"!)
~ Israel Kamakawiwoʻole's "Over the Rainbow"
I. Am. There.
I know really have no right or reason to complain (and that it must seem like I'm always talking about the weather and you're all really bored with it) since it's not like I've been housebound for any reason lately. And lets be honest, everyone gets the winter blues to some degree and mine certainly haven't come anywhere Certifiable Mental Disorder level.
But.
There's always a but, isn't there? Anyway, in my case I have spent this entire month in a rather depressed-ish funk that is semi-normal for this time of year for me, but more pronounced. And I just can't seem to shake it. Low-brow TV (*nudge*Katie*nudge*) and mint oreos and the like can perk me up for a while, but every afternoon when Luke goes to work I find myself staring at hours and hours of nothing more productive to do than find new recipes on pinterest and nothing sounds appealing and I just can't help but think "this cannot be how I'm going to spend the rest of my life!!!"
(and seriously, the first person to mention kids as the antidote to that thought gets minus a gazillion points because frankly nothing sounds less desirable to me at the moment . . . even though there are a few newborns I'm dying to see!)
I know this is pretty normal for me in February - just more pronounced than usual. And I know it'll go away in a few more weeks . . . assuming spring comes this year. The way this winter has gone, who knows? Seriously, the mere fact that it's snowing right now is depressing even though I know it'll probably gone by morning. (for those of you not around here who think I'm kidding - the snow from yesterday morning was all gone by the time it dusted up again last night. and that was gone by the time I got off work today. and now it's snowing again. this winter? has. been. nuts.)
That's part of the problem I think - I didn't get to enjoy winter when I like it and now that I'm done I'm getting taunted. Right now I could seriously kill to be able to walk to the zoo, wander around for a while, and walk home all comfortably without a jacket.
On a cheery note, I'm working on planning our first real vacation since going to Australia in 2008. It's not until July, but frankly I'm counting down the seconds.
If it snows in July, heads will roll. Seriously.
P. ost S. cript
Things that always cheer me up:
~ Cellos
~ Electric cellos (but now I'm aching to play "Lord of the Dance"!)
~ Israel Kamakawiwoʻole's "Over the Rainbow"
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
A Different Kind of Live Blogging
Or: That Awkward Moment When . . .
So. Our landlord is in our kitchen as we speak replacing our garbage disposal. I'm never sure what the etiquette or whatever is for this sort of thing. Should I make conversation? Small talk about the weather? Or would that be too distracting? Sitting here in silence just feels awkward, but what the crap am I supposed to say? We've only seen this guy a handful of times since we moved in almost a year ago, it's not like we're pals who hang out all the time and have tons to chat about. It's even worse when they're doing something in the bathroom, like patching up the bathtub faucet leak a couple of weeks ago. Do you stay there? Keep them company? But what if you look like you don't trust them to not rummage around in the cabinet? And again, what would you say?
Instead - I'm blogging. Because the sound of typing makes it seem like I'm doing something more important and useful and productive than just wasting time on pinterest of giggling over lolcats or something. Which . . . let's be honest, is what we all know I spend a lot of my time doing. It's also kind of pathetic because I'm pretty sure if he took two seconds to think about it he could easily guess what's going on over here - heck, what's stopping me from just having the computer open but nothing running and just typing in order to make it sound like I'm doing something even if no actual words are appearing anywhere? I have never once seen this guy without his bluetooth hooked to his ear so I get the feeling he's rather familiar with concept of digital avoidance devices, lol.
On that note (sort of) can I just say that I miss the sound of old school keyboards? you know, the ones with the ginormous spring-loaded keys that made a clacking sound that must have registered several gazillion decibels? Compared to modern keyboards, anyway. I'm a huge fan of the sound of a typewriter, but I'm not quite old enough for it to have that same sort of pleasant nostalgia for me. While one of my best childhood memories of going to Grandma's house in New Mexico was the time I got to try out typing on theirs and how it was SO COOL that the thingy-thing actually went back and forth just like in the movies . . . well, it is a sound that belongs in the movies for me. Instantly recognizable, but I visualize watching a black and white movie rather than the self-important way I would sometimes type up my book reports back in the day when most of my friends didn't even have computers at home.
(see also: those awesome printers that had the paper with the holes on the sides that you tore off and that was how it got threaded through the printer. they sounded cool too.)
But seriously, those old keyboards, where you actually had to push the keys instead of just sneezing on them . . . they were cool. It didn't matter what sort of stupid thing you were doing - it sounded important and official and that was what mattered.
You know . . . the older I get the more I realize just how much of a NERD I was when I was a kid. And you know we're talking about some epic nerdular nerdence because how often do I mess with text sizes around here? Seriously . . . sometimes I look back and I'm a little surprised I didn't wear pocket protectors.
But back to the sound thing. Ummmmm . . . it was a really cool. And I wish modern keyboards still did that.
Okay, bad news: I'm running dry on anything to say.
Good news: disposal is fixed, yay!! So I don't need to pretend to be useful anymore.
On that note, peace out, and all that jazz.
P. ost S. cript
Well, clearly we screwed up on Monday. I need two iphones so I can entertain myself like this!
So. Our landlord is in our kitchen as we speak replacing our garbage disposal. I'm never sure what the etiquette or whatever is for this sort of thing. Should I make conversation? Small talk about the weather? Or would that be too distracting? Sitting here in silence just feels awkward, but what the crap am I supposed to say? We've only seen this guy a handful of times since we moved in almost a year ago, it's not like we're pals who hang out all the time and have tons to chat about. It's even worse when they're doing something in the bathroom, like patching up the bathtub faucet leak a couple of weeks ago. Do you stay there? Keep them company? But what if you look like you don't trust them to not rummage around in the cabinet? And again, what would you say?
Instead - I'm blogging. Because the sound of typing makes it seem like I'm doing something more important and useful and productive than just wasting time on pinterest of giggling over lolcats or something. Which . . . let's be honest, is what we all know I spend a lot of my time doing. It's also kind of pathetic because I'm pretty sure if he took two seconds to think about it he could easily guess what's going on over here - heck, what's stopping me from just having the computer open but nothing running and just typing in order to make it sound like I'm doing something even if no actual words are appearing anywhere? I have never once seen this guy without his bluetooth hooked to his ear so I get the feeling he's rather familiar with concept of digital avoidance devices, lol.
On that note (sort of) can I just say that I miss the sound of old school keyboards? you know, the ones with the ginormous spring-loaded keys that made a clacking sound that must have registered several gazillion decibels? Compared to modern keyboards, anyway. I'm a huge fan of the sound of a typewriter, but I'm not quite old enough for it to have that same sort of pleasant nostalgia for me. While one of my best childhood memories of going to Grandma's house in New Mexico was the time I got to try out typing on theirs and how it was SO COOL that the thingy-thing actually went back and forth just like in the movies . . . well, it is a sound that belongs in the movies for me. Instantly recognizable, but I visualize watching a black and white movie rather than the self-important way I would sometimes type up my book reports back in the day when most of my friends didn't even have computers at home.
(see also: those awesome printers that had the paper with the holes on the sides that you tore off and that was how it got threaded through the printer. they sounded cool too.)
But seriously, those old keyboards, where you actually had to push the keys instead of just sneezing on them . . . they were cool. It didn't matter what sort of stupid thing you were doing - it sounded important and official and that was what mattered.
You know . . . the older I get the more I realize just how much of a NERD I was when I was a kid. And you know we're talking about some epic nerdular nerdence because how often do I mess with text sizes around here? Seriously . . . sometimes I look back and I'm a little surprised I didn't wear pocket protectors.
But back to the sound thing. Ummmmm . . . it was a really cool. And I wish modern keyboards still did that.
Okay, bad news: I'm running dry on anything to say.
Good news: disposal is fixed, yay!! So I don't need to pretend to be useful anymore.
On that note, peace out, and all that jazz.
P. ost S. cript
Well, clearly we screwed up on Monday. I need two iphones so I can entertain myself like this!
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Appealing to Those with More June Cleaver in Them than I
I sliced open two fingers while cooking today. (they're both still attached, don't worry!) Now that the pain has subsided - and one hurt so bad I'm telling myself it must rival childbirth because that helps me believe I'll be able to survive it . . . childbirth, not the cut. Anyway. Now that I'm no longer in pain I'm not sure whether to be -
A ~ embarrassed that neither happened while I was chopping onions with a rather sharp knife.
B ~ ashamed that one was on a canned corn can lid and the other was on the dishwasher . . . still haven't figured out how I managed that one.
C ~ insane for admitting my incredible talent for hurting myself in ways that would make Bella Swan mock me.
So I'm asking everyone out there who can manage to make taco soup without seasoning it with blood (which I didn't!) - A, B, or C?
P. ost S. cript
Want a peek into where Luke and I live? Here you go! A few fun facts:
~ Apparently I should have gone shopping on black Friday this year.
~ This building gives new definition to "mini mall." It is seriously MINIATURE. In fact, you see it all here, pretty much.
~ At least 95% of the audience was planted there for the video. There are NEVER that many people there - not even on black Friday!
~ Pretty sure I saw at least half a dozen people I know.
Thursday, December 1, 2011
No Rest For The Grammar Nazi
The Santa Clause. Clever movie. You've seen it, don't lie. (feel free to lie about seeing the sequels though) It came out in 1994. I was . . . well, since this is the internet I shall just say that my age had two digits and I was not a teenager. Even then I thought it was an immensely clever title. Because you see, the mythical fat man in a red suit is named Santa Claus. No e on the end. There's an e on the end in the title of the movie because the movie isn't talking about the Bearded Dude (or Jeff Bridges . . . ten points!). No, the title was referencing the legal definition of the word clause, which is a stipulation or article in a legal document. As in "if you put on the red suit you are contractually obligated to keep it on blah, blah, blah." The clause pertaining to being Santa, if you will. And they even made the e a different color to emphasize what they were going for. And maybe I'm being a little arrogant here, but as a child still in elementary school I recognized that, got it, and enjoyed the pun.
So it breaks my heart a little to see that now, 17 years later, somehow everyone has come to believe that the jolly old elf's name is Santa Clause. Because you can hardly find it in writing anywhere properly any more. I think I die a little inside every time I see it spelled wrong. And you know Santa's gotta be pretty ticked by now. I hate it when people misspell my name, and I haven't been around for a century or two. I think this shall be my battle in the "war" on Christmas. Team CLAUS, y'all.
I would hide everyone in my facebook feed who spells it wrong . . . but I don't think I'd have many people left unhidden by the end of the month.
Let the Christmas blogging begin - happy holidays folks!
P. ost S. cript
Talk about a movie that just won't end - I much prefer this version!!
So it breaks my heart a little to see that now, 17 years later, somehow everyone has come to believe that the jolly old elf's name is Santa Clause. Because you can hardly find it in writing anywhere properly any more. I think I die a little inside every time I see it spelled wrong. And you know Santa's gotta be pretty ticked by now. I hate it when people misspell my name, and I haven't been around for a century or two. I think this shall be my battle in the "war" on Christmas. Team CLAUS, y'all.
I would hide everyone in my facebook feed who spells it wrong . . . but I don't think I'd have many people left unhidden by the end of the month.
Let the Christmas blogging begin - happy holidays folks!
P. ost S. cript
Talk about a movie that just won't end - I much prefer this version!!
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Feeling Guilty
I think working with older kids is either making me heartless or bringing out my mean and vicious personality. Or maybe I'm doing this right and it just feels like I'm being mean. (feel free to loudly and vehemently support that third option, lol.)
So. Fourth grade. Math test today. Last day before Thanksgiving break . . . cruel, but it would be crueler to save it for the first day back, no? Anyway, I'm walking around answering questions - and to state the obvious I can clarify a question they don't quite understand but can't tell them what to do if they don't remember.
There is a kid in this class who spends math time either spaced out, doodling, or trying to talk to other kids. Every. Single. Day. I kid you not. Every day someone - the teacher or me - calms him out for not paying attention. I've watched him pull his warning card, right down what he did on the "I had to pull a card" paper, go back to his desk and go right back to the doodling or whatever he just got in trouble for. It kind of boggles my mind. It's so crazy . . . a good chunk of the time the first half of the assignment is done as a class and then they get turned loose to finish it. And this kid freaks out because not only does he not know what to do, everyone else is way ahead of him. And when you ask him why he didn't copy the work down when the teacher was doing everything step by step he never has an answer.
So today when he asked for help my answer, naturally, was "this is a test, you have do it by yourself." This nearly brought him to tears as he tried to explain that it was too hard to do by himself. My answer? "That's what happens when you don't pay attention."
I know that was the right answer. And I wouldn't change it if I could go back. And that by fourth grade he should have figured out the whole connection between paying attention and learning thing. But for a moment I thought this kid was going to have (or perhaps fake) a panic attack. And now I feel evil. Because, you know, I was totally supposed to hold his hand through the whole test and practically do it for him . . . because let's face it, half the time he gets things like "3-1" wrong. Heaven help this kid when he gets to high school.
Woo hoo.
On a lighter note, I told you that you'd be hearing from Georgette again!
So among other things 5th graders do linguistically, they learn a lot of root words and prefixes and how you can combine them and they mean similar things.
For those of you totally not following - recently they did "graph." As in photograph. And "graphy" and "grapher," which can be combined with "photo" to talk about pictures or "carto" to talk about maps. With me now?
The one they're currently working on is ology/ologist/ologic. And they had a worksheet with those roots and prefixes that included bio/herb/geo . . . and arche. Obviously, most of them needed these prefixes defined and from there they could more or less figure things out.
So I'm explaining that "arche" means old, so archeology is the study of old things. And the kid I'm explaining it to says "like what?" and before I can answer Georgette jumps in with "PEOPLE!"
I about died.
Okay, so technically she was right . . . except she wasn't talking about remains of people found at Pompeii, you know? She was thinking people . . . ummmmmmm . . . of ages . . . similar to . . . some people who read this blog. Yeah, we'll put it that way. (take that, dad!) I'm still giggling. She's a really smart girl when she thinks - she just doesn't think until after she's said something, generally speaking. Good times.
So in conclusion: I'm a horrible person and Georgette is not a spaz, she just has no 5-second delay button yet. Yay.
P. ost S. cript
There are no words for this kind of awesome sauce.
So. Fourth grade. Math test today. Last day before Thanksgiving break . . . cruel, but it would be crueler to save it for the first day back, no? Anyway, I'm walking around answering questions - and to state the obvious I can clarify a question they don't quite understand but can't tell them what to do if they don't remember.
There is a kid in this class who spends math time either spaced out, doodling, or trying to talk to other kids. Every. Single. Day. I kid you not. Every day someone - the teacher or me - calms him out for not paying attention. I've watched him pull his warning card, right down what he did on the "I had to pull a card" paper, go back to his desk and go right back to the doodling or whatever he just got in trouble for. It kind of boggles my mind. It's so crazy . . . a good chunk of the time the first half of the assignment is done as a class and then they get turned loose to finish it. And this kid freaks out because not only does he not know what to do, everyone else is way ahead of him. And when you ask him why he didn't copy the work down when the teacher was doing everything step by step he never has an answer.
So today when he asked for help my answer, naturally, was "this is a test, you have do it by yourself." This nearly brought him to tears as he tried to explain that it was too hard to do by himself. My answer? "That's what happens when you don't pay attention."
I know that was the right answer. And I wouldn't change it if I could go back. And that by fourth grade he should have figured out the whole connection between paying attention and learning thing. But for a moment I thought this kid was going to have (or perhaps fake) a panic attack. And now I feel evil. Because, you know, I was totally supposed to hold his hand through the whole test and practically do it for him . . . because let's face it, half the time he gets things like "3-1" wrong. Heaven help this kid when he gets to high school.
Woo hoo.
On a lighter note, I told you that you'd be hearing from Georgette again!
So among other things 5th graders do linguistically, they learn a lot of root words and prefixes and how you can combine them and they mean similar things.
For those of you totally not following - recently they did "graph." As in photograph. And "graphy" and "grapher," which can be combined with "photo" to talk about pictures or "carto" to talk about maps. With me now?
The one they're currently working on is ology/ologist/ologic. And they had a worksheet with those roots and prefixes that included bio/herb/geo . . . and arche. Obviously, most of them needed these prefixes defined and from there they could more or less figure things out.
So I'm explaining that "arche" means old, so archeology is the study of old things. And the kid I'm explaining it to says "like what?" and before I can answer Georgette jumps in with "PEOPLE!"
I about died.
Okay, so technically she was right . . . except she wasn't talking about remains of people found at Pompeii, you know? She was thinking people . . . ummmmmmm . . . of ages . . . similar to . . . some people who read this blog. Yeah, we'll put it that way. (take that, dad!) I'm still giggling. She's a really smart girl when she thinks - she just doesn't think until after she's said something, generally speaking. Good times.
So in conclusion: I'm a horrible person and Georgette is not a spaz, she just has no 5-second delay button yet. Yay.
P. ost S. cript
There are no words for this kind of awesome sauce.
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
For Your Entertainment
Well, I laughed.So when people talk to me about my blog the thing I hear most often is that it's really funny. Apparently I missed my calling as a stand-up comedian or something. And I feel like I haven't been very funny lately and that I ought to apologize for that. And excuse myself in the future by saying that I'm discovering that 4th and 5th graders are generally not as cute and funny as smaller kids . . . mostly they're just obnoxious.
Anyway, to make amends, I present you with three (hopefully) amusing stories. At my expense. Enjoy. :-)
1 ~
So back when I'm trying on my Elizabeth Bennett dress and discovering I suddenly have the shoulders of a . . . whatever football position it is that people talk about having big shoulders like . . . well, my first thought for alternatives was my other formal dress.
You see, back when I was in high school, my mom was in some ways a perfect Mormon Tiger Mother. Meaning her oldest daughter (me) was going to go to every formal dance ever and would need the most fabulous dresses ever and so we bought four over the course of time at massive blow-out sales that meant I got 4 rather expensive dresses for two-figure prices. Which is pretty awesome.
I got pity asked to junior prom a week before (good thing I got a dress so far in advance, eh?!) and didn't go to another formal . . . ever. Except for one semi-formal, the only dates I went on in high school were girl's choice. Same goes for college - minus the semi-formal. As Mormon Tiger Daughters go, I was an epic failure.
On the plus side, I have this lovely burgundy-ish formal dress that I've never worn. I was planning on wearing it for Valentine's Day, which Ellis also does up in epic style, but I figure I can wear it twice. So I try it on.
The good news: It still fits, ten years after buying it. And possibly even better than when I got it. Woot!
The bad news: I can only assume this is because it's just been sitting in a closet for a decade, but as I get the zipper nearly all the way up - it snaps. As in the flippy thingy you grab onto snaps off the part that does the actual zipping. And as I try to use the little piece of flippy thing that's left attached to the zippy thing . . . it crumbles into dust. I kid you not.
So here's your lovely and amusing mental picture: it's, like, 10:00 on (I think) Friday night. I'm stuck in a formal dress, the zipper of which will not go down now that I have no flippy thing to grab on to. Luke is at work and won't be home for a couple of hours.
I'm sure you can all picture the look of "oh crap!" on my face. Go ahead and giggle for moment. I'll wait.
Okay, long story short I'm not really sure how I did it, but I got the zipper down and the dress off, although there was at least ten minutes there where I thought I was just going to have to wait until Luke got home to help. And now I'm pretty impressed with the way I can contort my arms when I really need to.
Also - is there anyone out there willing/able to replace the zipper sometime in the next three and a half months? I'd still like to wear it for Valentine's Day.
2 ~
So Monday. When I was doing the scaring. I had to crouch pretty far down to get all of me behind that bench. I was pretty much curled up in the fetal position, both so that my cat ears and tiara wouldn't be seen, and also so my head would be down to the part of the bench it was easier to see through to know when the perfect moment to jump up was.
However, in order to jump up quickly, I kept my right leg up. And put most of my weight on it. And jumped up rapidly on the one leg. Repeatedly.
I'm too old to be doing that.
You know the muscle in you thigh? Not the quadriceps, the one in the front. I think I pulled my right one or something, because, holy crap, I have been feeling that since . . . well, shortly after I posted my last post. I'm fine when I'm moving, or when I'm still - but starting and stopping the motion . . . yesterday I thought I was going to die. Okay, maybe not that bad, but I have been limping. Not a lot, I'm sure no one else has noticed. But dangit, I have!
And . . . I may or may not have exaggerated it a bit at home for a little sympathy. :-) Not that it's really necessary, I've discovered I married a man who jumps to wait on me hand and foot if I so much as sneeze. Which kind of makes the fact that he's the one who gets sick the most often a little frustrating, ya know? :-) I'm feeling better (but still stiff) today - yesterday morning I could barely bring myself to get out of bed. Clearly I'm just not . . . ummmm . . . 26 . . . anymore? I mean, seriously. This sort of thing isn't supposed to start happening, like, another FIVE years at LEAST, right? This story? Is the story of my life in a nutshell.
3 ~
'Kay, so among other things I do in 5th grade, I do fluency timings. Basically, a fifth grader should be able to read about 150 words a minute and I time them on passages to see how close they are to that. A couple of the timings aren't passages, but lists of phrases - mostly things commonly seen on road signs or other signs out in the big blue world. (ten points unless you're Eric, lol) Things like "no passing" or "construction zone" or "pedestrian crossing" or whatever. Anyway, one of them is "no minors" which (Phillip) reads as "no mirrors." So afterward I tell him to look at it again, and he gets it immediately because his problem was, as I figured, just going too fast and misreading. But then he asks me what it means. So I explain the minor is the opposite of major and means something smaller or less important or lesser or lower or whatever, and then I explain that in context it meant someone younger than 18 and that he is a minor. This look of excitement and light bulbs clicking on comes to his face and he says all pleased with himself, "And you're a major!"
It may not see as funny when you're just reading it, but I cracked up. And through the giggles (this kid is used to me laughing at him, he's pretty quirky) I stumble out with something garbled like "well . . . yes and no . . . sort of . . . I guess . . . kind of . . . " and I'm thinking something like well, yeah, TECHNICALLY I guess, but the word is . . . wait . . . what is the word? What am I? Seriously? Did I seriously just ask myself that? I'm an . . . adult . . . is that word? Adult? Wait, yeah . . . yeah?
Or something like that. I hope my explanation was clear, because I get the feeling that this kid says he gets things even when he doesn't quite get them. I think I said something about how major wasn't the opposite of minor in this case and people over 18 are just called adults. Or something. I was giggly and a little flustered.
So . . . here's hoping this was funny enough to hold people over for a while. I'm certainly laughing at two of them. And I'll probably be laughing at the other one in a couple of months. :-)
P. ost S. cript
So . . . I totally should have posted this Monday and saved the monkey for today. But here's a little bit of late kitty Halloween fun. :-) We watched this last week, and it's seriously still kind of scary!
Friday, October 7, 2011
I Don't Do Suspense
Somehow I get the feeling this isn't going to happen this year . . .Anyway.
And by suspense I mean secrets from me.
So. Last year. At school. They did this cute little secret Santa thing where all the staff's (dude . . . I'm staff!) names were written on cute little paper ornaments on this cute little paper Christmas tree in the copy room and one person would pull a name off the tree and buy a little gift for that person and leave it in their mailbox (dude . . . I have a work mailbox! So mature and grown-up-ish!) and when you get a gift it's your turn to pull a name off the tree and get them something. Apparently it went really well because we're doing a Halloween version this year. As I discovered Tuesday when there appeared in my box an awesome pair of black socks that say "VAMPIRES SUCK" with a couple of tooth holes and a little bit of blood dripping down like my ankle just got bitten or something.
(let us all have a moment of silence for the passing of the awesome socks store. If I were willing to wear all black socks, I would be in deep foot mourning.)
These socks are AWESOME. And I have NO FREAKING IDEA where they came from. I looked on the board trying to guess who might have given them to me. And . . . everyone on the rather short list of people at the school who it seems to me MIGHT pick me is still there. So I picked one of them and they had a very easy to pick but slightly heavy to carry gift waiting for them Wednesday morning. (You're welcome. ;-) )
This is where the suspense part comes in. It is driving me ABSOLUTELY NUTS wondering who got me these socks. I mean, seriously how did they know I'm a sock junkie? How the crap did they know how I've been ranting about pansy vampires lately?! Are there people I know reading my blog and I don't know about it ?!?! And seriously how did they find it?!?!
So Luke's immediate reaction to my "holy crap, I'm being spied on!" bit Tuesday afternoon was that whoever it was obviously asked Aunt Sharon for suggestions. Or that maybe it was just random chance and coincidence . . . which, you know, makes sense . . . but where's the fun in that?
So now I'm just waiting for these socks to start randomly moving around by themselves and perhaps eventually strangle me vaguely a la Talky Tina. Because that's obviously how they got into my box at work. It's going to be quite the way to go.
P. ost S. cript
So we're wasting time on youtube because that's how we roll around here, and I click on this video expecting to see some silly cute cat video because everybody knows that both Luke and I are totally suckers for those. But no . . . instead we discover a pretty epically awesome website (seriously, check out some of the other stuff too!). And pretty much all of this stuff is now on my wish list.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
I'm Crying Great Big Cotton Kiwi Tears
The Awesome Sock Store? Is closing.
Acceptance of copious amounts of condolence chocolate begins . . . now.
P. ost S. cript
We saw this show just before we left Florida (literally two days before). AMAZING!! Videos can't even pretend to do it justice. Seeing a Cirque show should be on everyone's bucket list.
Acceptance of copious amounts of condolence chocolate begins . . . now.
P. ost S. cript
We saw this show just before we left Florida (literally two days before). AMAZING!! Videos can't even pretend to do it justice. Seeing a Cirque show should be on everyone's bucket list.
Monday, September 5, 2011
Coming Soon
So . . . I'm a bit of prankster. Love it. Can't get enough. I do try to keep it mostly harmless, but holy crap they can be so much fun!!
My dad taught me to play little jokes on people. The first place we lived in IF was right across the street from a small park. The edge was lined with evergreen trees that, while still large, had branches low enough to the ground for anyone to hide inside them. (it was seriously traumatizing to see they'd grown so much even dad could walk under them without ducking this summer . . . so not right!!!) We'd go to the park and dad would send me under the trees and mom would start to freak out that I was missing and I would jump out and yell "BOO!" and mom would freak out some more and dad and I would laugh. Perhaps a little cruel the first time . . . but she fell for it. Every. Single. Time. One would think that she would start checking under the trees before panicking . . . but not so much.
Then right before we got married I convinced Luke that he was giving a speech at our reception. Even better - I had him convinced that not only was he giving one, but that he'd already agreed to do it and had "forgotten" about it. That was pretty awesome. I love April Fool's Day. :-)
Anyway, getting to the point. My parents have gone to Washington for the next couple of weeks. I have a key to their house. Today Luke and I completed what just may be my most epic prank yet. Sadly, on the off chance that they get online before they get home, that is all I shall be saying for now. (wonder of wonders, weirdness of weirdnesses, my dad has actually read my blog a couple of times. dude.)
But I do have a preview . . . sort of. A teaser, if you will. Keep an eye out on my facebook page around this time next week!
P. ost S. cript
Holy cake pottery, Batman!! This is SO!! COOL!!!
My dad taught me to play little jokes on people. The first place we lived in IF was right across the street from a small park. The edge was lined with evergreen trees that, while still large, had branches low enough to the ground for anyone to hide inside them. (it was seriously traumatizing to see they'd grown so much even dad could walk under them without ducking this summer . . . so not right!!!) We'd go to the park and dad would send me under the trees and mom would start to freak out that I was missing and I would jump out and yell "BOO!" and mom would freak out some more and dad and I would laugh. Perhaps a little cruel the first time . . . but she fell for it. Every. Single. Time. One would think that she would start checking under the trees before panicking . . . but not so much.
Then right before we got married I convinced Luke that he was giving a speech at our reception. Even better - I had him convinced that not only was he giving one, but that he'd already agreed to do it and had "forgotten" about it. That was pretty awesome. I love April Fool's Day. :-)
Anyway, getting to the point. My parents have gone to Washington for the next couple of weeks. I have a key to their house. Today Luke and I completed what just may be my most epic prank yet. Sadly, on the off chance that they get online before they get home, that is all I shall be saying for now. (wonder of wonders, weirdness of weirdnesses, my dad has actually read my blog a couple of times. dude.)
But I do have a preview . . . sort of. A teaser, if you will. Keep an eye out on my facebook page around this time next week!
P. ost S. cript
Holy cake pottery, Batman!! This is SO!! COOL!!!
Monday, July 25, 2011
That's Good to Know. Blast!
Have you ever seen one of those Random Weird Disorder commercials, and as they're listing off all these symptoms that seem like they go with pretty much everything found yourself thinking, "hey, that sounds kind of like me?"
I haven't.
Have you ever noticed that you can self diagnose practically everything except maybe cancer with internet tests these days?
That one . . . I have.
A few weeks ago, for a variety of reason, I found myself looking into Social Anxiety Disorder self tests. They all had those scoring systems where 1-5 or whatever was normal and 6-10 is a little wacko and 11-15 means you may as well just have yourself committed already - you know?
I took four. All four scores were off the charts high.
Blargh.
Okay, so all the sites made it clear that even the most astronomical score is not actually a diagnosis (just an indicator that you really need to go get an official one), and they didn't tell me anything I didn't already kind of know, and I really don't want to start using this "diagnosis" as a crutch or anything (and please, smack me thoroughly upside the head if I do!) . . . but still. Semi-officially becoming a head case? Sigh.
I really have thought there must be something like this going on in my head for a while. The mere idea of doing anything unfamiliar or meeting anyone new is almost cripplingly terrifying. I like to think no one would ever guess, because I've gotten really good at faking my way with people/things until I'm comfortable with them. Actually, the only thing I've never been able to fake my way through is talking in church, which tends to bring on mild panic attacks.
I've always been what one would clinically call Super-Duper-Really-Really-Very-Much-Ultra-Shy. (official term right there, lol) I have a very vague memory of being five or six and at my grandparents' house in New Mexico. My uncle (the one closer to my mom's age, not mine) came over so I was hiding in a bedroom . . . because for some reason I was a little afraid of him when I was a kid. No idea why whatsoever - I just was. I don't remember the whole situation . . . just my mother insisting I come out and say hello . . . to the point that she was dragging me down the hall and grandma's little blue hat thing got knocked off the wall and I got plopped in a chair across the table from him and couldn't lift my eyes out of my lap. I wish I could remember more details, but that's it.
That kind of sums up how I've always been when things are unfamiliar. I freeze up, clam up, and try to sneak out. Unless, you know, I'm at work or something. Dude, my first couple of months at Disney were a bit like torture - it's a good thing I started out at Honey, where I didn't have to actually talk to anyone most of the time! And of course it only intensifies my hopes of going back to Ellis next month. Now that I'm pretty comfortable there it would be awful to have to start over again.
Honestly, this doesn't change anything much. I guess it's nice to have a name for my personal version of nutjob, but it's not like I'm going to be going to therapy or trying to get on some medication or something. It's manageable, just frustrating. And I can't decide if I should feel differently now. Should knowing what it's called make me more shy? Less? Is blogging about it going to make other people look at me differently? Treat me like a weirdo - or invalid?! I've mentioned once or twice that I had some "friends" in high school who were anything but . . . did that influence my condition? How much? We could never in a million years afford all the shrink appointments it would take to sort me out . . . so I guess it's a good thing I don't mind being a bit tangled. I think I might even like it. At the very least it makes me more human, right?
I keep telling myself that everyone has something wrong - or at least not quite right - about them, and at least I'm not, like, a pyro or klepto or something like that. And there's always that cliched old story about trading your burdens in for new ones and how everyone chooses to keep their own because it's the smallest cross or whatever . . . I better stop now before I start monstrously mangling metaphors.
On the plus-slash-probably-inappropriate side: does this mean I can finally voice all the opinions about those commercial drugs that I've never dared before? Because seriously, some of those side effects strike me as worse than the problem they're supposed to be treating. I mean, how desperate do you have to be to take something when the side effects include DEATH? It's like, "hey, you might die from taking this, but at least your legs won't itch when you go!" I'm sure it's a terribly unpleasant condition and I wouldn't wish it on anybody . . . but I think I'd take the itchy legs!
And on that slightly morbid attempt at humor . . .
P. ost S. cript
Happy Excuse to Shoot Off Fireworks Day! If you got yours in Wyoming . . . make sure you don't do this. (rated PG13 for "brief strong language" if you care about that sort of thing.)
I haven't.
Have you ever noticed that you can self diagnose practically everything except maybe cancer with internet tests these days?
That one . . . I have.
A few weeks ago, for a variety of reason, I found myself looking into Social Anxiety Disorder self tests. They all had those scoring systems where 1-5 or whatever was normal and 6-10 is a little wacko and 11-15 means you may as well just have yourself committed already - you know?
I took four. All four scores were off the charts high.
Blargh.
Okay, so all the sites made it clear that even the most astronomical score is not actually a diagnosis (just an indicator that you really need to go get an official one), and they didn't tell me anything I didn't already kind of know, and I really don't want to start using this "diagnosis" as a crutch or anything (and please, smack me thoroughly upside the head if I do!) . . . but still. Semi-officially becoming a head case? Sigh.
I really have thought there must be something like this going on in my head for a while. The mere idea of doing anything unfamiliar or meeting anyone new is almost cripplingly terrifying. I like to think no one would ever guess, because I've gotten really good at faking my way with people/things until I'm comfortable with them. Actually, the only thing I've never been able to fake my way through is talking in church, which tends to bring on mild panic attacks.
I've always been what one would clinically call Super-Duper-Really-Really-Very-Much-Ultra-Shy. (official term right there, lol) I have a very vague memory of being five or six and at my grandparents' house in New Mexico. My uncle (the one closer to my mom's age, not mine) came over so I was hiding in a bedroom . . . because for some reason I was a little afraid of him when I was a kid. No idea why whatsoever - I just was. I don't remember the whole situation . . . just my mother insisting I come out and say hello . . . to the point that she was dragging me down the hall and grandma's little blue hat thing got knocked off the wall and I got plopped in a chair across the table from him and couldn't lift my eyes out of my lap. I wish I could remember more details, but that's it.
That kind of sums up how I've always been when things are unfamiliar. I freeze up, clam up, and try to sneak out. Unless, you know, I'm at work or something. Dude, my first couple of months at Disney were a bit like torture - it's a good thing I started out at Honey, where I didn't have to actually talk to anyone most of the time! And of course it only intensifies my hopes of going back to Ellis next month. Now that I'm pretty comfortable there it would be awful to have to start over again.
Honestly, this doesn't change anything much. I guess it's nice to have a name for my personal version of nutjob, but it's not like I'm going to be going to therapy or trying to get on some medication or something. It's manageable, just frustrating. And I can't decide if I should feel differently now. Should knowing what it's called make me more shy? Less? Is blogging about it going to make other people look at me differently? Treat me like a weirdo - or invalid?! I've mentioned once or twice that I had some "friends" in high school who were anything but . . . did that influence my condition? How much? We could never in a million years afford all the shrink appointments it would take to sort me out . . . so I guess it's a good thing I don't mind being a bit tangled. I think I might even like it. At the very least it makes me more human, right?
I keep telling myself that everyone has something wrong - or at least not quite right - about them, and at least I'm not, like, a pyro or klepto or something like that. And there's always that cliched old story about trading your burdens in for new ones and how everyone chooses to keep their own because it's the smallest cross or whatever . . . I better stop now before I start monstrously mangling metaphors.
On the plus-slash-probably-inappropriate side: does this mean I can finally voice all the opinions about those commercial drugs that I've never dared before? Because seriously, some of those side effects strike me as worse than the problem they're supposed to be treating. I mean, how desperate do you have to be to take something when the side effects include DEATH? It's like, "hey, you might die from taking this, but at least your legs won't itch when you go!" I'm sure it's a terribly unpleasant condition and I wouldn't wish it on anybody . . . but I think I'd take the itchy legs!
And on that slightly morbid attempt at humor . . .
P. ost S. cript
Happy Excuse to Shoot Off Fireworks Day! If you got yours in Wyoming . . . make sure you don't do this. (rated PG13 for "brief strong language" if you care about that sort of thing.)
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