A Short Story

Several months ago there was a Facebook post going around where you were supposed to make up a completely fictional story of how you met a friend.  My friend's and I had a ton of fun with our fake stories and they were almost an exercise in "five minute" writing (the kind where you're given a subject and five minutes to write as much as you can about it.)

Without further adieu, for your reading enjoyment:

How I Met Marc

A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away there was a small planet called Sporgia. On the equator, near the Pelvienne Inlet lay the Kingdom of Rougburnne.

The princess of Rougburnne, the horrific Janet, was a tyrant of the worst kind. Her humble servants slaved all day to fill her every whim while the good people of Rougburnne, were forced by cruel taskmasters to mine germantium.

One day, a tall roguish man calling himself Marc stumbled into Rougburnne. When it was discovered he came from a mysterious planet called Earth, Princess Janet sought to lure him into a coalition. Together, Earth and Sporgia would pool their resources against the nearby planet, Splunk.

Splunk, was a peaceful planet and had been withstanding attacks from Rougburrne for years. Overtime, the great and mighty Sarah, ruler of Splunk, decided she was sick and tired of Janet's behavior. From the opposite side of the planet, Sarah had been swiftly removing the germantium from the planets core. The supply of germantium was now so low that Princess Janet would surely notice within a few short weeks.

About the time Marc stumbled into the scene, Sarah had begun secretly helping the citizens of Rougburnne off the planet, as she intended to destroy it.

Now the real reason Marc was on planet Sporgia was because he had gotten off track. He was an astronaut tasked with interstellar preservation. Yes folks, he was an galactic sanitation engineer. He had ended up on Sporgia by mistake when he warped to the wrong coordinates. His natural curiosity then got the best of him and of course, he explored the planet and did what he did best, got into a pickle.

Marc was in the royal breakfast chamber with Princess Janet being served green eggs and ham when her trusted advisor rushed in and informed her of the mutiny and the planet’s impending destruction. Being totally into self-preservation, Marc grabbed the hand of the pretty servant and rushed with her to his space ship. Together they blasted off the planet just as it caved in on itself becoming a black hole.

And that's how I ended up on earth with Marc.

Damsel in Distress (Vulnerability, part 1)

I'm feeling a bit snarky. Even a person with the most simple needs, is complicated. I admit that. I often don’t even understand myself. There are subjects in which I contradict myself. I believe this is one of them.


Early in my youth, my childhood was very normal for the time period. My mom was stay at home mom while my father worked. She made all of our meals from scratch, hung our clothes out to dry to save money on electricity, helped us with our homework, read books to us at night, baked cookies, and grew a garden. Later in life, my father was injured and my mother took "what she knew" and became a housekeeper to support our family. After he recovered, they both continued to work together in the business my mom established.


Through this I learned perseverance, responsibility and independence. I remember a critical point when I was about seven when I realized that tears were a weakness and using them would not change things or get me what I wanted. I've hated to cry ever since. Emotions left you vulnerable. It was much safer to suppress them and not have to rely on anyone.


I had always wanted to keep up with the boys, but I began down a road of striving to be as good as them if not better.  I prided myself on my ability to throw the football as well as they could, to chase down a pop fly, to glory in my scabs and bruises and how I got them.


I think there are a lot of women out there like me.  We don't need a man. We possibly know more about our cars than you do, can change our own oil and a flat tire. We can balance our check book.  We'll work multiple jobs if that's what needs to be done to make ends meet. We don't mind traveling alone. We're perfectly capable of setting up a tent, starting a fire and aren't scared of things that go bump in the night. We can mow the lawn, wield an ax, fix a broken pipe, handle killing small rodents and even take out the trash.  I'm proud of being a strong woman. I wouldn't want to be co-dependent. However…


No one told me going down this road was going to completely backfire on me.


No one told me that men flock to the damsel in distress vibe like sharks react to blood.


Just because I don't  need a man, doesn't mean I don't need a Man. I'm not talking about sexually, because there are solutions for that…lots of them. Those of us that are strong and independent need emotional support. Even if we have trouble admitting it. 


We're dying inside.


Worse, we'll justify with ourselves that we're fine.  We're always fine.


I read that when people drown they don't actually flail around screaming and calling for help like they portray in the movies. It's actually when they're quiet and still that they're probably drowning. How To Identify Drowning (Fascinating article; check it out if you spend much time around water.)


I guess, bottom line what I'm saying is, before you go play hero to rescue that whiny bitch needy damsel flailing around looking for attention calling for help with her Facebook posts or tweets, better make sure your own people aren't drowning.

Guys..I'd really like YOUR feedback on this. 

Age is Just a Number?

The airport is boring.  Really, really boring. It is however entertaining to watch people. Some people quietly wait, reading their books, newspapers, and magazines. Others work dutifully on their laptops, tapping away on documents, emails and spreadsheets. A few chatter obnoxiously on their cell phones oblivious to others around them. Then there are those putting up that "leave me alone" signal with their earbuds in, jamming to music or playing games on one electronic device or another. Finally, there are those traveling with children.

I don't know how many times the average traveler flies in a year, but I have flown at least 30 segments this year. I'm looking at another four for certain before December. I'll actually hit MVP with my main airline very shortly. So, I spend a fair amount of time in airports. I can tell you with authority that you are constantly reminded not to leave your bags unattended. Even without TSA's multiple reminders, I wouldn't leave my stuff sitting anywhere anyway. I don't know about you, but I can't afford to replace my laptop if someone decides to relieve me of it while I'm off grabbing a coffee or using the bathroom.

Since I feel so strongly about my laptop and cell phone it disturbs me to see people leave their CHILDREN unattended. Not older children (although they also can be vulnerable), but anyone under the age of twelve. As I write this, I'm killing time in Sky Harbor International in Phoenix, Arizona. Since the flight isn't for two hours the gate area only has a dozen or so people in it.  There is a woman near me and apparently her smallest child needed the bathroom.  She asks the older girl to stay with the bag while she takes the younger girl to the bathroom.  This woman has one small duffel bag.  Just one.  No carry-ons, no stroller, no backpacks full of stuffed animals and entertainment for the airplane. Nope, just one small duffel bag.

Now, I've used airport bathrooms loaded down with a carry-on suit case, my laptop backpack, a coffee drink, and my jacket.  You do some juggling, but it is perfectly manageable and better than the alternative of losing your stuff. Regardless, this woman thought it was a better idea to leave this small girl ALONE in the airport, than pick up her bag and take both girls with her to the restroom.

After the woman left, I gathered my stuff up, went down the terminal a few feet and grabbed some food.  It probably took me about eight minutes. I returned to the same seat and noticed there was now a little boy playing at a nearby table and a man sitting a few chairs away from him. I assumed they were together, but the man wasn't paying much attention to the boy so I wasn't sure.  There were no other adults in the near vicinity.  The little girl smiled at me as I pulled out a slice of pizza and I asked her how old she was. Nine, was her response. Her mother (perhaps Grandmother) had left her alone. In an airport. At age nine.

Now, I fully recognize that at age nine I was riding my bike around my neighborhood and walking to my friends' houses. However, I really feel this is a different time and I don't know about you, but my children are irreplaceable.

The girl has now decided that she needs the bathroom. She starts to walk off but returns to do what? To talk to the little boy at the table.  This is apparently her brother. Oh. My. God! This woman didn't leave ONE child alone in the airport, she left TWO.  The boy is clearly younger than the girl. I'll guess he is seven. Older sister tasks HIM with the job of watching the single duffle bag, while she skips off down the terminal.

Eventually, the girl returns and not too long later the woman and the youngest girl return so there is a happy ending to this story.  This time.

How many of you have experienced that near heart stopping panic when you turn around and your child has DISAPPEARED? Standing right next to you one moment, and absolutely gone the next. They're sneaky little devils. I, for one, don't want my children to be scared of the world, but I do want them to be aware. Of course, I've preached Stranger Danger. It's foolish to think that alone will protect them. Children are, in my opinion, inherently trusting. It is our job as adults to keep them safe and not put them in situations where they need to be fearful and distrusting.

It's hard to find the balance between letting them stretch their wings and keeping them safe.  I've heard it likened to a spring.  If you hold it tightly in your hand, eventually you'll grow tired and it will spring out and fly crazy.  But if you slowly and gently release the spring, it'll stand steady where you place it.  I hope I'm striking the right balance with my own children.

What do you think? How old is old enough to be unsupervised? Would you leave your small children unsupervised at the airport? Playground? At home? I'm curious to know.

Beauty in the Desert

As I am enjoying the dry beauty of the desert, I thought you should as well.

All Dressed Up?

Where did we go wrong when it comes to acceptable attire in public?!?

How did we go from this:

To allowing this?

Is this what Women's rights are all about?  Our right to look like trash in public? The right to expose our bits? Did we stand up against pantyhose, heels and knee length skirts to make this okay?

And what is it with everyone wearing their pajamas in public??

I have nothing against Pajama Day at school. I understand needing to quickly run into the store after a day at the lake in your pool coverup for a single item like milk. I don't understand the complete lack of pride and refusal to look in the mirror before leaving the house. 

I'm betting this lack of pride in appearance translates into a lack of caring about community, education, and in general, anyone except themselves. I bet if you confronted any of these people, they'd defend their right to look the way they do instead of being embarrassed by their asses hanging out for all to see.

What are your thoughts? Are you willing to make a quick run to the store in your PJs and think nothing of it?

(Picture credits go to: www.peopleofwalmart.com; www.publicpajamas.com; and www.clarabelleblog.com)

Change is Inevitable

My ex commented the other day that I’d changed. He said it like it was a bad thing. 

I do see some changes, but mostly I see me. The me that was suppressed. Not that he was oppressive in that way. He didn’t control what I wore or who I was friends with, but there were certain expectations to our life and I never wandered much outside of them.  In addition, he wasn’t particularly supportive of my dreams or ideas.  (I’m still pretty timid in sharing a lot of things about me because of that. I didn’t start writing again, for example, until a couple months before we separated.)  Mostly, it was just the crushing weight of unbalanced responsibility that kills the spirit.

All those years we were together he never really knew me. He says I’m a cold, heartless bitch. I call it determined, focused, and steady. Being determined to do the right thing, to not give into emotional weakness, does not a bitch make.

Whether we want to admit it or not, our past relationships influence our present ones. We may even deliberately refuse to compare our new interest with our past interests. In spite of our best efforts, however, we’re going to. We're going to make sure that old feelings of inadequacy aren't dredged up. We're going to be cautious against traveling down the same road of acceptance. We're going to find it hard not to expect result B from action A.

I don't want to go down an old path. I desperately want to know and be known. I want to find that person who’ll take the time to know me better than I know myself. I still feel lost and I want to be found. Call me morbid, but sometimes I wonder who would speak at my services if I passed away. Who really knows me well enough to? What would they say?

I read once, “You learn to like someone when you find out what makes them laugh, but you can never love someone until you find out what makes them cry.” I remember lonely nights when the tears fell silently, the reason I was crying a scant eighteen inches away, oblivious to my hurt. I want someone to know what makes me cry. I never want to feel like I have to censor my emotions. Equally important, I want to know that person in return.

Blake Shelton sings a beautiful song called, “Who Are You When I’m Not Looking?”

Do you pour a little something on the rocks?

Slide down the hallway in your socks?

When you undress, do you leave a path?

Then sink to your nose in a bubble bath?

Do you break things when you get mad?

Eat a box of chocolates cause you’re feeling bad?

Do you paint your toes cause you bite your nails?

Call up momma when all else all fails?

I don’t want to be Kim Kardashian or Paris Hilton and you’re never going to see me try out for reality TV show, but just for fun, I’ll share a couple things I do when no one is looking:

• I drink straight out of the milk carton.
• I belch…not burp, belch. Loudly.
• I cry when I’m drinking alone. (It’s not pretty.)
• I rent movies with music and dancing like the Step Up series and old Doris Day flicks.
• I almost always burn at least one grilled cheese sandwich.

What about you? Who are you when no one is looking?

Time Keeps Ticking

There are simply not enough hours in the day.  For fun let’s break it down.

Assuming you can manage to function on say, seven hours of lying in your bed tossing and turning sleep, that gives you seventeen hours to get stuff done. If you have a “normal” job like I do your day probably starts rather early, especially if you have a commute. Don’t forget to take into account the amount of time it takes you to get ready in the morning and get to work.  For me, it is summer break right now and the kids are with the ex so I don’t have to get anyone up or ready for school.  This means my alarm goes off at 6 am.  I snooze it at least twice…twenty minutes, gone. Sometimes, I’ll snooze it once more and try to think of reasons to call in sick or dead or something. Responsibility and honesty always win and begrudgingly I roll out of bed and literally into my clothes.

Completely bleary-eyed I stumble to the kitchen for a cup of caffeinated something for the road. I usually only eat breakfast early when the kids are around (thus the excessive snoozing), so I grab a bowl and spoon for later and head out the door.  Fifteen minutes later I arrive at work. I’ve killed an hour of my seventeen and the death of eight hours begins. Take away an hour for lunch, since even if I run a few errands on it, it’s pretty much a lost hour. Seven left.

After work I often have to run into town to the post office, bank, grocery store, et cetera. If I’m lucky I manage to get home by 5. I now have six hours left.

Keep in mind that during the nine hours I killed at work, I was thinking about all the stuff I needed to do after work. Unload the dishes, mow the lawn, empty the cat litter, clean the guinea pig cage, pick up groceries, drop off some movies, pick up the dry cleaning, jot down that story idea, update the blog, create a budget, fold the laundry, call Mom, go to church, be a friend, go to the gym, and the list goes on and on.

Wipe out another hour for dinner and clean up and we’re down to five. Tonight I mowed the lawn and obliterated another hour. Four hours left. At this point I have to make some decisions. Do I a) take some much needed down time or b) try to get some more chores done or c) admit I’m exhausted and hit the sack early?

Tonight I needed down time. It’s been a crazy week already. Lots of stress! So I watched a movie, wrote this blog, and mentally added a bunch of new stuff to my to-do list. (Sadly, I realized while mowing the lawn that things are starting to feel fall-ish. So many outside things to be done before our summer drifts away, its dark by 5 and the rain never stops.)

Now that I really think about it, tonight’s four hours were actually really special. In two weeks those four hours are going to be filled with homework, after school activities, and meal planning. Oh…I’m exhausted already! 

My coworker said something the other day that instantly had me imagining the next evil villain.  This guy goes around stealing the world’s clocks and watches.  Somehow he figured out a way to capture time. If he owns two watches, his time doubles, three, it triples, four, well...you get the point. Doesn’t it sound like something straight out of an old Batman and Robin comic book? I wish it were true. I’d go buy several watches ASAP!

How about you? How do you manage your seven "free" hours a day?

Make It So

It is really so hard to do what you say you're going to do?

My ex couldn't ever seem to grasp that concept. He claimed I didn't understand his health issues and how they made things hard for him. Not true. I did and still do. However, I don't care how small the thing is that you say you're going to do, just do it. If you tell me you're going to take out the trash, I don't care if you don't accomplish one other single thing as long as the one thing you said you would do is done.

A few weeks ago he asked if we could work some legal issues out between us. I said okay...stupidly. After multiple indepth discussions about what compromises we'd be willing to make to finalize our divorce he promised to send me an email so I could have my attorney draw up the papers for us to sign. The promised day comes and goes. As does the next. And the next. And once again, the next. Finally, he sends me the email with his demands...Er, I mean compromises. Only problem? No compromises. Same crap I'd already said I couldn't and wouldn't agree to. The very things we had discussed. The very things he said he'd agree to compromise on.

Now, perhaps I'm being a hypocrite. I did, after all, vow in sickness and in health and I've broken that vow. However, I don't recall vowing in abuse, laziness and negativity. I recall vowing to a partnership of love and hard work. Not to becoming the support of an individual willing to look harder for ways out of doing work than doing the work itself. If that makes me a hypocrite, well, so be it.

A 5x5 Short Story

I've been reading more and more tweets. It's pretty entertaining if you can weed past the useless retweets. Anyway, I found John Avery and he tweeted about creating a 5 x 5. Basically, it's a short story.  A really, really short story. Five sentences composed of only five words that tell a whole story. Here's mine. Hope you enjoy.


Sacrifices by KK Sierra

"Please don't go," she plead.

Arms wrapped tightly around her.

"It is my duty, Babe."

They both had their obligations.

Love would bring them back.

Are you up to the 5x5 challenge?? I'd love to read your short.

Ain't No Rest for the Wicked, Part 2

As long as I'm on my high horse of confusion, allow me to continue this line of thought. If the bible is just a good book and nothing in it about Armageddon and the end of the world is true, then what will be done about the oppression in the world? Are the people who live on other continents lesser humans somehow? I've said it before and I'll say it again, I do not believe I am entitled. I believe I live in America based on luck. I could have just as easily been born in Ireland or the Philippines or any other country rife with oppression, fighting and poverty.

My parents live in an agricultural area. Many of the fields around them are empty. Why? The government is paying the farmers not to plant crops. There is a famine in Somalia and these fields sit empty. I'm told the reason is because if there is too much grain it drives the price down. So perfectly good ground sits empty.

Not that it would matter, I suppose. From what I understand the warring factions in these countries stop the efforts of humanitarians and the food either sits on docks and containers rotting and getting infested with rats or is intercepted and sold on black markets.

What makes people do these things to one another? What kind of person thinks sacrificing a few lives for their cause is okay?  Or maybe its better stated who sacrifices lives and thinks nothing of it?

How many horrors can be attributed to religion? To someones interpretation of what has been written down in the bible? I believe we were created and as such I think we have a genetic need to believe in something. If the bible is just a good book, or a fable, what else is there? If it's not, if it really is the word of God, what do you do if you no longer have faith in everything you've read in it?

Survival!

Eighteen. That's the number of rides I took and didn't die. (No need to update my will after all Tim.)

Nope, I didn't die. In fact, I ended up having an amazing time. Even on the ride we got stuck on. (Just for a few minutes before they let us deboard. It was a great ride...we did it twice.)

The first ride we went on was called X2. It is touted as a fifth demention ride. I have no idea what that means.  It's a new ride at the park and there was a huge line for it. I think there was nearly a two hour wait. Thank you fast pass (and he who made the awesome decision to purchase it)! We had an appointment with destiny and only waited about fifteen minutes to meet it. I'm pretty sure I missed half the ride with my eyes shut. I was told I missed the part where the fire blasts. I would've liked to have gone on it again...with my eyes open. There's a part as the ride comes cresting over a hill that you can't see the rest of the cars, you can't see the track, all you can see is the ground rushing up as screams erupt around you.

The one ride I really, really didn't want to go on ended up the least gut churning in actuality. I did not want to be Superman, or Supergirl as the case may be. The thought of being launched straight up in the air was not a happy one...even after I'd gone on a dozen rides before it. Turned out we were up and back down so quickly there was hardly time to be scared. The sound of the ride echoing across the park probably lasted longer than our trip. I even kept my eyes open.

I think what made this experience help me to put my fears behind me was the safety equipment. The modern rides have thickly padded safety gear that really makes you feel locked in. A significant improvement, in my opinion, to the metal bar that almost didn't keep me in place on the upside-down ride I took as a teen. I had a hand to hold, too. Although its owner was wincing at one point...sorry babe.

All in all, its a day I'll look back on with fond memories. Wonder what fear challenging adventure is up next?

Responding to Comments

Does anyone familiar with Blogger know how to respond to comments?  Other than posting my own comment after theirs? Thank you and even if I haven't responded please know I read, love and appreciate your comments and would like some more. :D

**Update. In 09/11 I switched to the Disqus commenting system which allows replies and such. I really like it...except that when people comment via their mobile interface it doesn't connect correctly. I am notified of the comments but they don't show up on the site for others to read unless I reimport my entire comment database. I hope Disqus fixes that soon.

Ain't No Rest for the Wicked

I was recently discussing douche bag people with my friend. I told her, “This is when I’d like to believe all the things I learned in Church. That God is going to destroy all these stupid losers.” The problem is, I can’t reconcile myself to understanding who God is going to destroy. Based on the beliefs I was raised with, my very close friends will be destroyed by God.  I will be destroyed by God. This seems really messed up to me.

You hear people say, “I just try to be a good person.”  A good person in whose opinion?  I’m betting that Hitler thought he was being a good person. I’m betting he had what he perceived as the best interests of his friends, family and countrymen in mind when he decided to attempt to wipe the Jews off the face of the planet.

                           

Who sets the standards for “being a good person?” If you use the standards set in the bible, none of us are good people and we’re all doomed.

As the world continues to fill with atrocities, what is the solution? Too many people won’t raise their voice. They see bad things, but keep their mouth shut. Attempts at raising awareness of issues peacefully end up with little to no recognition.  Attempts to raise awareness in other ways ends with news events like the recent riots in London, Egypt, Tunisia, Syria…there have been more riots in the news this year than I can remember.  Then, in countries with a democratic system in place, where individuals can express themselves through voting, how many take advantage of the opportunity.  How many sat out thinking, “well, my little vote doesn’t matter anyway.” (Look at the douches in Congress as a result!)

I make no offer of a solution here.  I really have absolutely no idea.  What I do know, is that I worry about making the right decisions in life for myself, for my children, for the future.  What do you consider on this Sunday, God’s day of rest? Can you find reconciliation and peace of mind within your belief system?

P.S. This has been prescheduled. It is not a sign that I survived Six Flags. :P

Turn My World Upside Down

I just want to let you all know that I’m probably going to die today and this will be my last blog post. Why? Today I’m going to Six Flags. I’m going to ride roller coasters. I hate rides. They scare me to death. So don’t be surprised when you hear about my death on the news tonight.

Since it’s evident that this scares me, significantly, you may wonder why I’m doing this. For a couple reasons: one, it’s good to address your fears, right? I fear falling. I fear high places. I fear mechanical failure. Two, I’m going with someone who LOVES these things. It’s good to be interested in the things that interest the person you’re interested in, right? Three, part of me actually wants to do this. It’s some sick perverted side I’m not very familiar with. It’s the same side that prompted me to go parasailing a few weekends ago and the same side that will probably get me on the end of a giant rubber band.

So as I head out this morning I hope for a couple things: one, I hope I won’t need the change of clothes I brought. Two, I hope every safety person has done their job with the thoroughness they’d use if they personally were going to be on the ride. Three, I hope the contents of my stomach stay where they belong. Finally, I hope I discover my fear is unfounded after the first ride or two and enjoy the rest of the day…without dying.

Assuming I live, I’ll let you know all about it tomorrow!

It's All Fun and Games

Two of my very favorite games have finally come out for Android. I found them originally when I got an iPhone and I've missed them.

1) Scrabble -- I know lots of people don't like Scrabble but I love to play.  I love the challenge of figuring out where to put words. I love figuring out how to place them for maximum points. The only thing I don't like about Scrabble for Android is that it doesn't have a play offline feature like the original for iPhone did. This is perhaps because its a free version. They aren't offering a paid version yet.  I learned lots of word placement and unique words by playing the computer.

Remember Speedo Man? On another occasion when he wouldn't leave me alone I was playing Scrabble on my phone in the hot tub. Speedo Man was just as clueless then as the previous time.

2) Doodle Bowl -- This is a fun game that tries to replicate real bowling on your phone. You touch the ball to pick it up and then flick it down the lane.  If you've screwed up and react fast enough, a quick swipe across the screen will attempt to put a spin on the ball. The original alley is quite literally a drawing. The background is notebook paper and your ball and pins are doodles. When you toss the ball it crashes through the paper at the end of the lane. As you play games you earn credits and can unlock more alleys.  There's a fire alley, a "back" alley (get it? hahaha), and a space alley, for example.  There's even an alley under the sea where your pins look like they're made of air (much like Bubble Buddy from SpongeBob SquarePants).

I also enjoy playing Plants vs Zombies on my phone. It requires actual thinking to complete the game versus beating the ever popular Angry Birds.  I have Angry Birds in all its incarnations and I have to say that I don't really like it. It is difficult, in my opinion, to learn from your mistakes and position the bird just slightly from where it was before to reach your goal.

My all time favorite mindless phone game is Tetris. I have had it on my last five phones. The latest version from EA is by far the best, in my opinion. It is a great stress reliever and I enjoy it because it requires little brain power. Its just flick, flick, double tap, slide.

What do you enjoy playing on your phone?

Parched

I have a plant in my office. It lives there because there aren’t enough windows for it to live happily in my home. Thank you dark, gray, Pacific Northwest, but I digress. This plant has been with me for about seven years now and this is the second office it has lived in.

Thing about my poor plant is despite the fact that it is less than three feet from me and I walk past it multiple time a day, I forget to water it. It gets droopier and droopier and eventually the leaves start falling off.  That’s usually the moment I realize Doh! I forgot to water my plant.  I’ll give it a bunch of water over the next couple days and before long it has perked back up and looks happy.  Sometimes the effort will even trigger new growth.  While my plant recovers and may even flourish for a while there is no way that it is healthy. I’m sure its growth is stunted by its inconsistent, inadequate watering. It’s root system is probably weak, maybe even rotted in places. Not only that, I’m pretty sure my plant is supposed to be tree-like, not bush-like.  I’m certain I’ve prevented it from ever reaching its full potential.

My plant reminds me of my marriage. My ex treated our relationship like I treat my plant. Although it was right there in front of him every day quietly pleading for attention, he forgot all about it until it was wilted and dying at his feet. Then he’d make a big show of putting all this effort into us, tooting his horn with “look at all the changes I’ve made,” and we’d perk up for a little while, until he forgot again.  (Believe me when I say I’m oversimplifying this. I could write a daily blog for years about that fiasco.)

Our relationship is over. Dead. Unfortunately he doesn’t see it that way. He’s spent the last seventeen months dragging out our divorce because he thinks I’m going to change my mind. In an effort to speed things along, I’ve agreed to open, direct dialog without our attorneys. He’s taken this as an opening to “water the plant.” It’s not working. The plant is dead. The branches may still be there but the leaves have fallen off and its root system is destroyed. No amount of pretty words will bring it back. I’ve moved on and he’s lost all rights to claim my attention or my heart.

It’s rarely big things that destroy a relationship. It’s the little things that undermine it, erode it, and weaken its core. You might be able to replenish it for a time, but unless it’s given the care and attention it needs on a regular basis, eventually it’s not going to make it.  I love this quote from Anais Nin. I couldn’t have said it better.

"Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of withering, of tarnishing."

Pressure Cooker

I'm prone to outbursts.

Some of you reading this may have trouble with that statement. Those of you who really know me, will laugh and agree wholeheartedly. (Some of you like to exploit this because I also tend to take things a bit too literally.)

It's mostly at work, often while driving. I'm convinced it helps counteract my genetic disposition to high blood pressure. It's also entertaining...at least to me. It helps to keep from bringing stress home too.  (Although on the days when everything goes sideways, I go to the gym...I think I mentioned that earlier.)

I have absolutely no problem saying exactly what I think about a given situation. Sometimes the office will be completely quiet and something I'm working on is just bugging me and I'll say, "Ugh! Boss! Have I ever told you I hate xxx?!" 

My girlfriend and I were recently discussing our "hates" and decided we needed to make a list.  Making the list made us conclude it was too long and really all the items fell into two categories: people and technology.  My coworker further summed it up, "So, what you're really saying is that you just hate everything."

I really don't hate anyone, but at that given moment in time, they are the source of my frustration. An example would be the joker that called seventy-six minutes after he sent an email wondering why I hadn't responded yet. Seriously? WTF? I was at lunch. If you want an immediate response, don't send an email jackass!

 

Anyway, today a gentleman (we'll call him Ed) contacts our office to ask why our software is not transferring information correctly.  Why is the software telling him that it needs human intervention to figure out if he means x or y? Why is our software so dumb and annoying? Our new employee, just four weeks old, was trying very hard to help but needed a hand with knowing where to look for the answer. It went kind of like this:

Me: Okay, get on the server and go to X. Now go to table A. See the twelve items listed?

NG: Yes.

Me: Go back to  Ed's computer. What is the message telling him about?

NG: Herpaderp.

Me: Go back to the server. Is Herpaderp listed on the server?

NG: No.

Me: Okay, now go to Y location in Ed's computer and see if Herpaderp exists there? (Begin outburst) It doesn't exist? Holy sh**! Soooo, the software says, "Hey moron, Herpaderp isn't in your system" because why???? Oh yeah, because its not F***ing there! That's right our software is f***ing smart!  You're getting notified it's not in the f***ing table because it's really NOT in the f***ing table. And why is it not in the f***ing table, because you didn't put it there F***tard! (End outburst) (Yes, you read that correctly, I used f***ing smart in a real context unlike those Epic Mealtime dudes.)

New Guy explains this to Ed (sadly without the F-word). A short time later New Guy turns around and says, "I'd love to see you play a first person shooter game."

Me: Ummm, because I have anger management issues?

NG: (Laughing) No.

Me: I don't play those games. I suck at them.

NG: I wouldn't care if you sucked.  I just want to hear you through the headset telling everyone off.

Ha ha ha...I love the new guy. He's awesome.

Lemons

Does hearing "I know how you feel" make you feel better or worse? Do you have hope that if someone else coped you can too? Or do you think there is no way anyone can relate? Do you feel obligated to tell them your story? What can be said when just listening isn't enough?

My friends are struggling with various personal conflicts. Some are engaging in destructive behavior. I feel useless to help them. Everyone has to walk their own path, right?

What would you say? No cliches about life and lemonade...

The Car Mystery

I’d like to say I was one of those people whose car always smelled fresh off the lot and looks pristine, but I’m not. Probably I won’t be one of those people for several more years. Regardless, I do my best. A couple months back I did a thorough cleaning, vacuumed, washed the windows, the whole nine yards.

A couple days after doing this, I opened the glove box to find a horrible sticky mess. When I cleaned there were a couple ketchup packets and a sweet and sour sauce packet in the car and I had thrown them in the glove box to be used later. At first I thought they’d just leaked and I was annoyed at the mess, but when I picked up the sweet and sour sauce it looked like it had been opened with a can opener.  What in the world!? I asked my son if he’d been playing with it and he said no. My next thought was what freaky bug was in my car! I cleaned up the mess but didn’t find the perpetrator.

About a week later we had grabbed fast food and unbeknownst to me one of the girls left the remains of their burger in the car.  The next day I found crumbs scattered about and once again, wondered what in the world was in my car? I cleaned up the mess but found no more evidence of what was causing the issue. I was beginning to suspect a mouse. An investigation revealed nothing.

Finally, the next day a piece of paper that was in the car had been completely shredded and I knew it must be a mouse. A mouse? In my car?! WTH?!

I went to the store and grabbed a mouse trap. It had a plastic piece designed to look like an orange piece of cheese.  I don’t know who the designers were, but I really think a mouse is going to know that just because it looks like cheese, doesn’t mean it IS cheese. Regardless, I smeared it with peanut butter, set it, and left it in my car.

The next day the trap remained perfectly intact except for one thing. It had been completely licked clean! There wasn’t any evidence it had previously been covered in peanut butter.  Damn that smart mouse!

Frustrated, horrified, and worried it was going to start chewing on my wires, I went back to the store for a real mouse trap. All metal! I was about to leave for a business trip and I didn’t want the mouse traveling with me.

This time I baited not one, not two, but three mouse traps.  Two of the old fashioned metal mouse traps were baited with some “stinky” cheese, a delicious herbed Swiss I’d picked up on a wine tour. Just for the heck of it, I also rebaited the plastic trap with the peanut butter.

When I left the house at 3 AM to drive to the airport, I crossed my fingers that the stupid thing had been caught.  To my simultaneous pleasure and disgust, I caught it! If you’ve never seen a mouse caught in a trap before, let me tell you, its gross.  At least this was because the bar came right down on its skull and its eyes were bugging out.  Ew! However, let me tell you that mouse was smart.  It had once again licked off half the peanut butter.  My guess was it was midlick when it got a whiff of the cheese and decided to check it out.

Yay the mouse was dead!  I’ve lived here for nearly a decade and never seen a mouse before.  I hope to never see one again.  Just in case, however, I decided to get a cat. She’s about four months old. She’s an indoor/outdoor cat, litter box trained and an already experienced mouser.  Right now, she’s pouncing on my keyboard. Maybe she’s a writer in disguise?

Wait a Minute Mister Postman...

According to a recent Wikipedia article there are over two hundred active social networking sites. Sometimes I picture humanity as a giant school of fish darting from one social network to another. Getting your friends and family to sign up for a new platform is easy. Getting them to use it is quite another. Finding a single common one? Nearly impossible.

With so many forms of communication, how do you talk to people? Actual phone calls? Emails? Text messages? Instant messages? Twitter? Facebook posts? Facebook messages? Blog posts?

Do you repeat the same message across platforms? Or do people who follow you on twitter get a different persona than those who friend you on Facebook?

Do you have an open personality where your work, personal and family life all blend? Or do you keep your work friends separate from your family? I don’t know about you but I don’t want my work friends to have the same information about me as my aunts, uncles and cousins. I don’t want my parents seeing the drunken picture from last week’s BBQ when I thought it would be a good idea to put my bra on the outside of my clothes.

On average, how far from your body is your smart phone at any given moment? For me, on average, two feet. Maybe less. At night, it’s on my bedside table charging. It also doubles as my alarm clock. In addition, we offer emergency tech support and have a phone tree system that I’m a part of.  When I’m working it sits under my monitor. When I’m driving it’s in a little cubby in the dash. When I shower, I use it to listen to music. Getting a clear picture? My phone is pretty much a constant companion which means I’m always connected to email, Facebook, twitter and text messages.

I don’t know if they’re to the same extreme, but most my friends are similar. So it begs the question, in my opinion, what’s an acceptable time frame for responding to said communications? Minutes? Hours? Days? Does it vary depending on the form? Text messages should be responded to within a certain number of hours? Emails a few days? Facebook posts, maybe never? What makes sense to you?  Does the ease of accessibility make you more inclined to respond quickly or less? Does the type of relationship change your expectation? Do you expect your best friend to respond to your text messages within minutes? Your parents in days? Does friending your parents on Facebook get you out of developing a more personal relationship with them? Does it substitute for an actual relationship or help build your “real” life one?

When we get communication from someone that takes a little more effort, do we give it the appreciation it deserves?  A well thought out email or even more rarely, a hand written letter, should be treated as the special gift that it is. Someone took the time to sit down and type you their thoughts and feelings or to share some news. Perhaps they physically took pen to paper, added an actual stamp and maybe even licked the envelope!

My parents aren’t techie people. They still sign their text messages, “love mom.” I can’t tell you how awesome it makes me feel when I open my mailbox and find bill, bill, bill, letter from Mom.  When my friend was last deployed to Afghanistan I sent several care packages. I'll always treasure the handwritten thank you letters I received.

I hope this inspires you to pick up a Hallmark card or write a letter and make someone’s day a little brighter.

http://www.anysoldier.com

Weekend Wandering

I remember as a kid getting ready to go on a weekend trip, or a vacation or off to see Grandma and we could never get out the door.  My brothers and I would be playing in the yard, reading books, or some other things while it seemingly took my parents forever to get ready. If we complained at all we were promptly sent to move pipes or pull weeds or some other horrific task.

Now that I’m an adult and it’s my responsibility to get us out the door I find myself in the same conundrum my parents must have been in.  Fact is leaving the house for the weekend means stuff either a) doesn’t get done or b) needs to be crammed in before we go.  All those tasks that are normally done on the weekend like laundry, mowing the lawn, or cleaning out the fridge; yeah, that stuffs not going to happen because you’re not home!  Then there’s making sure the pets are taken care of…either by being sure they have enough food to last two days or by finding pet sitters.  Finally, there are the things you wouldn’t think of normally because they won’t apply.  Like making sure the trash is taken out before you go so the house doesn’t smell when you get back, running the dishwasher, checking the washer for wet clothes or making sure stuff in the fridge won’t go bad before you return.

Now that all that house stuff is taken care of, there’s the task of making sure everyone has their things.  I can’t tell you how much money has been spent on camping trips because we’re five hours from home when someone realizes they forgot their jacket, their swimsuit, the sunscreen or the firewood. Trying to make sure four people all have the things they need for the number of days we’re going to be gone is crazy. Living in the great state of Washington makes it even worse. If I’m traveling from the west side to the east side, we’re starting with long pants and sweatshirts and ending in shorts and tanks tops.

Mom and Dad, my hats off to you.  I’m sorry I gave you such a hard time! Loves! J

The Hot Tub

It had been a stressful day and I just wanted a few minutes to relax. I flipped the timer and the bubbles started pumping furiously in the salty water. The kids were entertaining themselves in the swimming pools and had promised not to let anyone drown. Just in case, I had a clear view of them from the hot tub.

Easing into the hot water, I popped my ear buds in and started my favorite playlist. After taking a deep breath, I slowly blew it out, relaxing as I enjoyed the water pounding against my back. Not perfection, but a good start towards relief.

A few minutes later there’s a disturbance in my serenity. No, it’s not the kids trying to kill each other or being too rambunctious. It’s a man in swimwear inappropriate outside of Europe; swimwear that only Daniel Craig can get away with. I acknowledge his presence with a slight smile and a nod and return to my music. Only, a polite smile and nod wasn’t good enough for Speedo Man. Nope. Speedo Man wants to talk.

I can see his lips moving but I have no idea what he is saying with Eminem blasting in my ears. With considerable effort not to sigh aloud, I pull out my ear buds and with raised eyebrows ask, “I’m sorry, what?”

Speedo Man wants to know about my cell service provider, if I’m happy with them and what kind of coverage they have. He makes the assumption that I’m Mexican and asks if I’ve heard of the super popular cell phone plan they’re selling at the market down the street. We talk for a couple minutes before I put my ear buds back in. It’s a universal sign for conversation over, right? Apparently not because barely one song later, he’s starting again. When I pretend not to notice, he waves his hand in my face.

Now he wants to tell me about the evils of metal fillings. I laugh because in my opinion dentists are the devil. A mistake because now he thinks I'm interested. He goes on and on and on. Seriously? I’m not discussing my dental health with a stranger in the hot tub. I leave one ear bud in so I don’t really have to listen to him and try to recapture my zen. He goes on for another ten minutes. Mercifully, just as I’m about to hold his head under water until the bubbles stop, another person enters the hot tub and Speedo Man gives his dental spiel to him. I put my ear buds back in and ignore them.

I’m getting warm. My son joins us in the hot tub and sadly this causes the attention to return to us. “Oh is that your sister?” Speedo Man coyly asks. My son looks at him like he’s grown another head, “This is my mom.” Dumbfuck is clearly implied but not spoken. Speedo Man gives me a flirty grin. Eww. Now I’ve really had enough. I give up and leave the hot tub while wondering how much a tub with jets is at Home Depot and how I could've politely told the dumbass that ear buds in means leave me the hell alone.

Blog Hop

This is my first blog hop. Pretty much, you follow me and I follow you and you get exposure to some new blogs you might not have checked out otherwise. Sounds fun, right?

The hosts of this hop are listed 1, 2, and 3 below...please be sure to follow them as a thank you for hosting!

I hear voices...

First can I say I love technology? How awesome is it that I'm sitting at the doctor writing this on my phone?

I'm always excited to meet clients when I go to conventions. I love to put a person with the voice. I like to see if they look anything remotely like the person I envisioned based on their voice. Tall, short, thin or chunky. Edgy or fashion challenged. I'd say it’s a fifty/fifty accuracy rate.  I'm most often wrong with the women. I'm also stunned when I meet someone who has a gruff, nearly abusive demeanor on the phone but then in person gives a big ole hug and a thank you.

Sometimes after meeting the person I still have trouble reconciling what they actually look like with the voice.  At my first convention I met a southern gentleman that looked like Rhett Butler stepped straight out of Gone with the Wind with thick black hair, perfect posture and manners. His voice however, then and now, had me picturing him more along the lines of Larry the Cable Guy. I know what he looks like and I still have trouble picturing him when he calls.

The radio leads to lots of body and voice mismatch. Josh Turner's deep country crooning does not seem to match his body. The guys on my favorite radio show, the Men's Room on KISW 99.9, don't look anything like I pictured them when I heard their voices.  I thought Ted was a little Asian dude! 

I live in a small community and there is pretty much one local company to work with if you've got an integrated telephone system. Their main tech seems to get tasked with recording messages when he does installs and maintenance. You can hear him when you call the doctor, the credit union, and the local transit. His deep baritone lets you know dialing 122 will get you to customer service and the bus service runs from 5 am until 9 pm. I wonder if other people know he's just a regular local guy and not a paid voice. He does a good job. I bet he could pick up some money on the side doing audio books.

What about you? Who doesn't match their voice in your opinion?

Say what?

Every year we get a new calendar to put up in the office so we can write vacations and such in a single easily visible place. Why does a software company not use a centralized electronic system? Mostly because my boss is comfortable and doesn’t want to upgrade his email system to Outlook or something with a calendar. So, in spite of technical advances, this calendar hangs on the wall behind my boss’s desk.

One year my boss’s wife brought in a girly calendar; Mary Engelbreit or something similarly icky. I protested such a thing in the office. It was completely out of place. If we were going to look at a picture for thirty days it was going to be something interesting. On my next trip to the store I picked up an awesome Harley-Davidson calendar. For the next twelve months we enjoyed shiny chrome and dreamed of loud pipes and the open road.

This year I picked up a swimsuit calendar. It's an unspoken "rule" that we're not allowed to look ahead and at the beginning of the new month we comment on whether or not the girl is hot. I’m pretty sure Miss December 2010 is still sitting in first.

Go into any corporation and you can usually tell where the boss sits based on the size of the office AND the size of the desk. My boss’s desk is huge. It takes up a 1/3 of the office. In addition, since we mostly work on our computers, his electronic “desk” is also huge. He has a 30” monitor with an untold number of pixels.  Believe me, he could rattle it off in a moment, but I really don’t pay attention to such things. He recently got a second one and set it up right next to the first. It’s a gigantic display. He can easily have three or four programs open full scale simultaneously. It’s probably a gamer’s wet dream.

Although it is rare for men, my boss sometimes suffers from migraines that affect his vision making it difficult to focus.  Little floaties and bursts of light make it nearly impossible to focus on the computer screen. I’ve experienced this myself and it’s very trippy; like seeing stars after hitting your head but more intense.

Yesterday was one of those rare times when he was experiencing a migraine. After leaving the office for a short time, he returned and told me, “I have to stand up to see my calendar now.”

My immediate thought was, “Say what? Why are you trying to scope out the calendar girls when you have a migraine?”

What he meant was, “My big ass monitors are now blocking the calendar and I can’t see it from my chair.”

We all got a good laugh out of it. Just so you know, I’m an equal opportunity ogler…next year we get Seattle Firemen!

http://www.firefightercalendar.org/11.htm

Lies...it's all lies!

Why do we tell our children lies? They’re masked as beautiful fairy tales, mythical creatures or jolly old men, but they’re still lies.  Since we insist on telling these lies is it any wonder our children grow up with unrealistic expectations? We're setting our children up for failure in so many ways.  Let’s see some examples:

Santa Claus:

The story: Be good all year and a man will pop down your chimney and leave you presents.

Lesson learned: Something for nothing.

The consequence: Living off welfare. Do nothing, get money. It worked as a child, why not as an adult?

The reality: Being good or bad really has no bearing on what happens to you in life. You need to work hard and even if you do, success is not guaranteed.Sorry, but its the cold, hard truth.

Cinderella:

The story: Cinderella works her butt off cleaning, cooking and slaving for her evil stepmother. Eventually her true love rescues her and whisks her away to his castle where we presume she never has to lift a finger again.

Lesson learned: A man is the solution to all the evil in your life.

The consequence: A world full of gold diggers preventing men from finding authentic women.

The reality: If a man sees that you’re capable of working hard, he will expect you to continue doing so.

Belle:

The story: A nasty, snarling, hairy beast with horrible table manners does a couple nice things for a girl and ultimately she feels indebted to him. She hangs out with him and they engage in the age old dance of flirting by pushing each others buttons until when faced with his death she realizes she loves him. She kisses his hairy face and boom he turns into a handsome prince.

Lesson learned: Love will conquer all and buried under nastiness is a wonderful man.

The consequence: Rose colored glasses. We find one or two traits in a man that we can’t live without and ignore the ones that tweak us and make us crazy.

The reality: If you marry a beast, he will continue to be a beast. All those bad habits that you overlooked while you were dating will not go away. He won’t change until he wants to no matter how much you wish he would. He may make some progress, he may drink less, or watch less TV, or play fewer video games, but ultimately if you don’t like who he is now 100% do yourself a favor and walk away.

I can only think of one fairy tale that’s pretty true.

Peter Pan:

The story: Peter Pan and the lost boys decide they need a woman to take care of them and tell stories. Wendy falls for it for a little while.  Pretty soon she sees her situation for what it really is and leaves them.

The reality for girls: Boys will never grow up.

The reality for boys: If you have a smart woman she’s only going to put up with your bullshit for so long before she leaves your sorry ass.

Enough said.

How Comely are the Feet...

Occasionally I get a bug and decide I want to be a runner. Generally this happens when 1) I reach a frustrating plateau in my weight loss or 2) when I’m stressed out. Sometimes hurting physically is preferable to hurting emotionally.  So I go out and pound the pavement and beat up my body for a while hoping to shut off my brain, if only for a few minutes.

I've made changes in the last twelve months. First, I’ve never really cared for distance running at all, but now it has grown on me. Second, when I started losing weight I began running on the treadmill. I preferred that to running outdoors. Now, however, I do enjoy running outside.  One thing that’s awesome about it is the fact that it forces me to push myself. Why? I can’t exactly stop when I’m three miles from my house.  I’m pretty much required to continue. (Please note I use “running” loosely. My preferred term is RJW for Run Jog Walk. This means I start running, I slow to jogging and end up walking. After I brief rest, I resume running and the cycle repeats. Some days I manage to stay in the running stage longer than others.) 

My problem is I can’t seem to find the right pair of running shoes. I’ve tried Nike, Reebok, Adidas, and most recently an expensive pair of Saucony’s. I like my shoes tight. I want to feel like my shoe is part of my foot. I’ve tried runners and cross trainers. When they’re long enough in the toe box, they’re too loose in heel. I normally wear a seven and a half; going up to an eight just makes them too big all over. When they're too big all over my heel slides out, my foot bounces around inside the shoe, and I might as well sign up for the new barefoot running trend. 

Twice now I’ve gotten shoes that feel great in the store, but after a few miles make my toes go to sleep.  A weird sensation while you’re running, believe me. Loosening my laces in an attempt to relieve the numbness makes my index toe (do toes have names like fingers?) hit the front of my shoe on every forward stride. This causes bruising of the nail bed and inevitably my toe nail falls off. Gross!

I even went to REI and consulted with an “expert” to find the right pair of shoes. I tried some of those crazy toe-finger shoes. They were hideous and uncomfortable. I tried a few other pairs before settling on the Saucony’s. Maybe I need to invest in some custom made inserts?

Are you a runner? Do you have shoes you love and recommend? I’d love to hear about it. Otherwise, I’m afraid I’m going to have to resign myself to constantly having a goofy looking pedicure.

Guest Blogger

I had the privilege of writing today's blog on http://rsemeline.blogspot.com for my very dear friend.
She's an amazing writer that I believe will become a household name just like JK Rowling. Please take a moment to check her out and follow her.

Fun House Mirrors

The average American woman wears a size 14. Hollywood stars average size 4. Is it any wonder we have a skewed, unrealistic view of our bodies? Like looking at ourselves in fun house mirrors.

 A little over a year ago I wore a size 18; today I wear a size 8. I’m not at the end of my weight loss journey. For me, reaching my goal is not about the size of my pants or a number on the scale. It’s ultimately about how I feel inside and out. I know that even when I reach my body's "happy weight", there will be the struggle to maintain the loss.

I recently discovered some pictures on my camera from when I was near my heaviest. I’m nowhere near that weight and god forbid I ever am again, but those old feelings, disgust, and low self-esteem immediately surfaced. Since I’ve lost the weight I worry more now about the tiniest fluctuation of the scale than I ever did before. Instead of increasing self-confidence, I’m unsure of myself. I may have changed my body, but inside I still feel like a fat girl.

Logically it makes no sense whatsoever. I have friends that are heavier than I am that I think are beautiful women. I look at them and see the wonderful people they are. I never think, “wow, look at her cellulite butt jiggle.” In fact, I’m jealous of the ease with which they seem to navigate their lives, the confidence they exude.

I can positively say to any one of my friends that "she’s amazing and beautiful."  I can tell her to stop stressing about a pound or two and let her body settle at it's happy weight. As long as she’s healthy she doesn’t need to worry. How can I convince myself of the same thing?

A + B = C

I love to read and I read a lot. In fact, sometimes I read so much I forget exactly what I’ve read. This was recently brought to my attention as I attempted to update my abandoned Shelfari bookshelf. Without the assistance of my Amazon purchase history, I would’ve been missing at least seven books.

Currently I’ve been enjoying the works of Tom Clancy and the memoirs of Eugene Sledge. Every once in a while, however, I indulge in some smutty romance. There is a reason harlequin romance novels exist and thrive. They've found a perfect, fool-proof novel template and an ever changing audience.

It goes something like this: Take one insanely hot, independent but struggling woman, add rough and rugged, devilishly handsome, misunderstood and/or damaged man with a hidden heart of gold, throw them together in a difficult situation with lots of sexual tension and make sure one, if not both of them, have a devastating secret. Escalate the sexual tension for the first third of the book. In the middle third they hook up or at a minimum grow incredibly close and attached to each other (how smutty this gets depends on the publisher and ranges from PG to X-rated). At the beginning of the final third of the book the world must come tumbling down around them. Either their secret pasts come back to haunt them, or the woman is kidnapped, or there is a car accident or some kind of traumatic situation. This plays out until the last chapter where they realize that true love can indeed overcome it all and they'll live happily ever after.

Totally sappy stuff, right? Why do I find myself suckered into reading it? Part of that ever changing audience? I'm really not sure. Especially when half the time I'm annoyed at the stupidity of the heroine. The last book I read, however had a new twist that had me applauding the author.

It's a classic scene, in movies, books and probably in real life, heroine sees hero (or vice versa) in a compromising position and instead of finding out what is really happening, jumps to conclusions and runs away. In this case, the guy and girl go to a dance club. While the girl steps out to make a phone call the guy's ex approaches and asks for a dance. He figures there is no harm in being nice and they share a dance. The ex doesn't want to leave it at that. Next thing he knows she's all over him with her legs wrapped around his waist as she attempts to suck face. Of course, this is when the girl walks back in and normally the drama would ensue. I was pleasantly surprised when instead the girl laughed at the ex, made fun of her sexual prowess (to quote "Look! You didn't even give him a hard on."),assured her that she'd better stay off her man in the future, and then proceeded to attempt to beat the crap out of her. No woe is me, feeling sorry for herself bs for that girl!

I think this genre thrives mostly because relationships are hard. They don’t tie up with a pretty little bow at the end of the day. Sometimes we just want to have that fantasy where the man really does dote on our very existence and he proves it through actions not empty words. Where he calls just to say, “I was thinking about you.” Where flowers and poetry are given from the depths of the heart rather than the marketing influence of FTD. Where all that really matters is the safety and serenity found in sharing yourself with the one you love and the priceless gift of having them share themselves in return.

Girls Don't Shake

There are just some basics you can't do without. Coffee is a big one for me, for example. So when I make a trek to the almighty Costco there are specific supply levels I check before I go: coffee, toilet paper, paper towels, laundry detergent, cold cereal, milk and bread.

Unless you live under a rock you know Costco sells pretty much everything in bulk. This includes the toilet paper. Thirty-six individually wrapped super rolls. If I have less than a dozen in my linen closet, it's time to buy more. Presently, I believe, there are five left, so Costco is in my near future.

My safety net against running out of TP is the holder in my bathroom. It hangs off the tank and holds four rolls. In the unlikely event that I don't have any more TP in the linen closet, I should (theoretically) have four in the holder. The net is further strengthened by the fact I have two bathrooms, one of which is rarely used, so if I commit a fatal shopping oversight I can steal the roll from the second bathroom.

In the words of Taro Gomi, “Everyone Poops!” and therefore running out of TP is a debacle everyone should work proactively to avoid.

I'm betting everyone has been in the missing TP predicament. I actually have several stories, but the best one would get me disowned, so we'll go with this one: One time we were hiking in the Olympic Mountains, and my daughter, nearly four at the time (she’s going to love me for sharing this), needed to use the bathroom. Outhouses were down the trail at least a half mile, and we quickly headed towards them. However, being a small child, we weren't down the trail very far when she insisted she could absolutely not make it one more step. Tears ensued, and we quickly hid off the trail in the woods so she could do her business. Did she need to pee? Oh heck no…she needed to poop. Regretting potty training now, aren’t we?! Pants were fully removed, deed was done and then what? No TP! No tissues in my pocket. No napkins or paper towels. Not even a grocery receipt. Nada! I suppose if I were a “real" man, I might have been inclined to pick off some leaves, but we are talking about a child’s hiney. Solution? Her underpants, of course. I wonder how long it takes for underwear to degrade.

My friend recently moved into a new place, and of the essentials listed above, only one was in his house. I mentioned he was going to need to go shopping…soon! The advice went unheeded and guess who was left without TP? Yeah, that would be me. Thanks, babe.

All you guys out there, I have news for you…Girls Don’t Shake!

Our Gimme Society

There are really a million ways this discussion could go. So many people think they’re entitled when the reality (typically) is that someone down their lineage was either forced to come here against their will or came here against all odds seeking something better for their offspring. In other words, the fact that you were born in a country with affluence and freedom was dumb luck on your part. However, I digress. The point of this particular “gimme” is the lack of effort people put forth to comprehend what they read.

I work in the IT field and I can’t tell you how often people ask for help regarding notifications and errors instead of taking even a moment to try to comprehend the message. For example, a client recently emailed, “What does this mean??!?!” accompanied by a screen shot of a box. The content of the box included some cryptic code but at the bottom in plain English was “It appears the credit card number is invalid.”

This wasn’t even a matter of reading comprehension! This was simply a complete lack of effort to TRY. The client saw "error result status 500 (internal server error)", glazed over and gave up. In case you're curious, I went one step further and counted the digits in her card number. Only fifteen. All credit cards except American Express require sixteen. Don't you wish you had access to IT tech support to help you figure stuff like that out?!

Another example: Recently there was an article about some good Samaritans that are suing the woman they rescued. I won't get into the details, but there were many, many posts about how horrible these men were for suing when it was their "JOB!!" to help her. Only thing, these men were NOT firemen or police as the angry posters seemed to think. Rather, they were just men who saw someone in distress and tried to help. In their complete lack of reading comprehension, the fact that they were firemen was just dreamed up.

My best friend is an aspiring novelist. Her works are thought provoking, edge of your seat adventures filled with rich characters and compelling details. Recently she had a piece of her work critiqued by a fellow aspiring writer. As I read through her edits, I was downright pissed! Why? Simple reading comprehension or should I say, the lack thereof.

Her first critique was of the sentence: The baby’s hair was a soft smattering of auburn silk. (To me, this evokes a clear picture of a sparse amount of delicate brownish red hair.) The critique: Too many descriptors, it ruins the flow. The suggestion: The baby’s hair was as soft as auburn silk. My problem with this: the first sentence tells me how much hair the baby has, what it looks like, what it feels like. Having children of my own, I can even imagine what it smells like. The critic’s sentence, on the other hand, invokes soft red hair. In a word, it’s BORING!

The next critique was in reference to the author’s use of “in the man’s arms”. The critic states, “You can use “his” here since there is no other man in the room.” Please note we are five sentences into the story…yes, that's all, just five. This wonderful critic who tooted her own horn “I did a pretty thorough crit of this”, made an assumption five sentences into the story. It would be like assuming a painting will include a horse and stable when the only thing painted is the sky.

This amateur’s critique continues complaining in many places about the depth of details being expertly weaved into the story. So we’re clear, I’m not talking about sentences like, “and she stepped into the room with orange walls, large TV, and buffet near the door.” We’re talking about a detail rich scene more like, “The plasma TV blared from its perch on the sunset colored walls as she tossed the mail on the buffet.” Totally different way for the reader to picture the room.

The critic then completely flip-flops, screaming for more details where the intent is completely clear to anyone with one ounce of reading comprehension. For example, “She hooked her arm through Jenny’s and practically dragged her though the front door. [Begin new paragraph] Loud music blared through the house.”

The critic was confused and demanded a “transition” to explain how they got from outside to inside. Seriously? Do you need “and they walked through the front door”?

Basically this gal needs the equivalent of: See Jane. See Spot. Spot digs a hole. See Jane yell at Spot.

“Jane’s Dalmatian, Spot, dug a hole in her freshly manicured lawn,” is just too much detail for her to comprehend, and it is easier for my client to email me a message than to actually read the clear details in a message box.

Gimme, gimme cause if it requires the slightest bit of intellect and effort, it’s just too much to ask.