I think just about the only thing more annoying than card and gift companies insisting I should want cheap stuffed animals, chalky candy, and trashy lingerie today are other women insisting I should be somehow upset or disgruntled in some way because I'm not getting them. I must have read half a dozen times today on various blogs/journals/columns how today is a special day to tell that special someone in your life how you feel about them and they are, in return, supposed to blow overpriced flowers up your badunkadunk, too. Not so much.
"Love" one day is a year is as invalid to me as people who attend church on Christmas and Easter. If Mike could only tell me he cared about me by telling me today because the entire country is telling him he's less of a man if he doesn't, it just wouldn't mean anything to me. I define how he cares based on how he treats me the other 364 days a year. The only things I've ever seen come out of Valentine's Day are a wad of people feeling absolutely miserable because they're alone and a bunch of people measuring their worth compared to everyone else they know based on the commercialistic "devotion" offered up by someone they love. And I guess it guarentees someone will get laid tonight because they spend those other 364 days not putting out or something?
Meh, I dunno.
Thank you for the 6am wakeup call. I appreciate your willingness to think and operate outside the box but unfortunately our house is aluminium. I don't know if you lost a bar fight or were drunk on wood alcohols, but please refrain from future alarm clock service.
For some reason, the neighborhood kids have decided the most possible fun to be had on the street is by playing at the end of our driveway and in a group of shrubs and plants where our yard meets the driveway. By "kids" I mean three kids from one family ages 3-7 and random other neighborhood kids 4-7. Some of the kids use push scooters, some ride bikes, and some drive those little battery operated Jeeps. And no, parents are nowhere to be seen.
They take their implements of transportation, stow them on our lawn, in our driveway, on the sidewalk, on the street, or whever they want, then proceed to tromp around like it's their property. And of course kids don't play quietly. There's screaming and yelling and toy gun sounds. None of our neighbors even HAVE kids, these kids live at the other end of the street. And don't get me started on why a 3 year old doesn't need to be driving a car down a sidewalk that connects with people's driveways without any adult supervision.
Our next door neighbors, with whom we share a driveway entrance, add another scare level to the mix: one's an alcoholic and the other is such a horrible driver she's hit the alcoholic's parked car one more than one occassion while backing out the driveway. Yes, the same driveway these kids leave their shit in and play on. It's a recipe for me looking out my office window and seeing something I'd much rather not see.
So how do I approach this situation? I'd rather not piss off the entire neighborhood because I do have to live here for a few more years. Do I just try asking the kids to stay away from our yard? Do I add some fire ant colonies to the garden area so next time they decide it makes a cool fort they get their legs chewed off? Hornet nests? Do I tell their mother she should monitor her children as ferociously as she does where her dog is, whom she keeps chained to their front steps all day long?
I keep having this image of me, just after waking up, with full-on bed head, surrounded by cats weaving past my ankles as I stand at the front door with a shotgun.
What I'd realllllly like to do is walk down to their house and, in front of the kids, tell their mother "there's a reason we don't have kids. it's because they're a huge responsibility. or at least, it should be. if we wanted to babysit and monitor kids all day long, we could have our own. howsabout you give it a shot with your lawn monkeys?"
But I'm guessing there's a level of social protocol to follow.....any hints?
I'm a little confused. So, you have to be 19 and a year out of high school to be eligble for the NBA draft. To ensure kids go to finish high school? To encourage them to enter college? Is the NBA also going to create a minimum college GPA requisite to ensure their new recruits and draftees actually GOT an education or are they just interested in knowing they jumped through the hoops?
Perhaps the goal is to make them risk injury in the college level trying to impress more scouts, live the life of a college student who really isn't in the school for education and degree so much as a stepping stone to the NBA while helping drive the NCAA market, making loads of money for.....whom?
I guess I'd feel differently about it if, oh, the US Government felt all enlistees to the military should meet a similar requirement. You know, to encourage them to go to college, give them a chance at seeing the world through more educated eyes? Maybe that year between 18 and 19 as an exploratory time where your future is limitless instead of pressuring kids their senior year of high school to join the military and escape their horrible lives so they can risk their lives for pretty miserable pay?
Why is it ok for the military to recruit IN the high schools for people willing to kill or be killed for such low wages but the NBA needs to wait an extra year or so in order for you to work for them and make millions at risk of just your knees blowing out or something?
I allow one day a week as a total "day off." I don't work out and I allow myself to eat the things I avoid the rest of the week; things that generally aren't that nasty or won't kill you in moderation anyway. I have a whole week of dietary goodness and exercize and look forward to Sunday. This Sunday's plan was to include: a breakfast of Real Eggs, hashbrowns (potato product!!!,) a croissant (real bread made with real flour,) and bacon (not tofu or turkey!; sushi for dinner, and real ice cream (not sugar free sorbet!) for dessert. Generally the "day off" would seem like a chance for people to glutton themselves but for me, not so much. Why? Welp, it's simple: my daily diet is pretty simple and plain. Fruits, veggies, very lean meats or fake meat products, no sugar, and only whole grains (with attempts to steer clear of flour all together.) I learned real darned quick if you go buck wild on your day off you really, erm, pay the price the following day.
So here's where I was going with this: breakfast was good. Two scrambled eggs, a potato galette, two pieces of bacon, and a croissant and they were all the YUM. I was pretty full most of the day but snacked on some dried apple slices and an english muffin. Then we went to my favorite sushi restaurant only to learn it's closed on Sundays. So, we went to a second sushi restaurant. Closed on Sundays. We ended up at a third sushi restaurant which was actually fucking open. Yay. We declined dessert because we were going to get ice cream. But the fucking icecream place closed at 6:30 on Sunday. It was 6:15 when we arrived and they were already closed. WTF. You might think with it being my "free day" for food I'd have easily found a runner-up idea but nope. I wanted sweetcream icecream with Heath bar mixin, on a small waffle cone. Mike offered up other ideas and options but I just wasn't interested. He thought we'd come home and find something for dessert but we don't keep that sort of stuff stocked. Instead I cleaned like a fucking maniac for five hours.
I can't believe this fucking town has three sushi restaurants and two are closed on Sundays. All three are closed the rest of the week from like, 2pm until 5. Two icecream places, one of which closes when the mall does and the other doesn't actually MIX anything into the icecream, they just dump it on top and can't even do that if you order a cone. You'd think you wouldn't have to drive thirty minutes to have a decent selection of restaurants on a Sunday evening.
I'm beginning to suspect most people are assholes. The question which differentiates them: are they tolerable assholes or intolerable assholes? Mike, for example, is an asshole. He's tolerable. My old boss Kenn? Huge, raging asshole. Totally tolerable. My old boss Tom? Biggest asshole in the history of ever. Intolerable. Completely and utterly intolerable. While discussing this with Mike, we discussed our circles of friends. We came to realize almost everyone we know falls in the "tolerable asshole" category. We also acknowledged there are people who aren't assholes; still, they're intolerable.
The US Post Office is a raging pile of crap. I've been waiting since March 15th for an ebay delivery. It made it's way to Denver CO from Arizona by March 18th and ever since it's been MIA. I'm pretty darned annoyed.
I'm also a liar. I think I've known people are assholes for a long time. The only newness is the creation of subdivisions of assholeness.
So, Heaven is this faboo place and when you die you get to hang out with God and angels and the Big J, right? I mean, if you've lived a pius life, having been a good person and followed the scriptures of the bible and asked forgiveness for your sins and stuff? It's the ultimate reward for a life well lived, an eternity in bliss. So when I read about all these people praying for the pope I wonder: are they praying for him to live (and deprive him of his eternal bliss) or are they praying for him to die and finally get to Heaven?
I was discussing the death of the pope with a friend who is obsessed with the Dead Sea scrolls. He's freaking out about the pope and the "possibility of him dying." I felt sort of rotten but I had to correct him. There is no possibility the pope will die. He WILL die. It's just a matter of time. The concern my friend has: the death of this pope will bring out the last three popes before "the end of times." I don't know how even a person who believes fully in prophecies can get all worked up about the phrase "end of times." It's so vague. Maybe it means "end of the times for Catholicism." Or, end of times for "global domination" Maybe it just means "the end of times for which they thought they could come up with prophecies?" I dunno. I just can't get worked out about stuff like that when we still have problems predicting tomorrow's weather.
And poor Terri Shiavo. Best case scenario: she was brain and "spirit" deal fifteen years ago and her family has been arguing for their own selfish needs and reasons, having long since lost what the fight was really FOR or worst case scenario: she was somehow concious and spent the last fifteen years in a state of having to watch her family argue over what she'd want, never being able to say a word. Either way, the woman is dead and they're still fucking fighting over her. In all this time they haven't seemed to learn the important lesson of appreciating what they have when they can. Think of all the loved ones they've all missed spending time with bickering over Terri.
And so help me god, if anyone tries to make a Johnnie Cochran, Terri Shiavo, Pope "they die in threes" statement, they get a kicking square in the teeth. I mean, people die all the fricken time. They don't DIE in THREES, you're COUNTING in threes. I mean, the third person kicks the bucket and when the next person dies, no one goes "wait....that's FOUR people....." Nope, they say "oh no! we're back at ONE. who will the next two be?"
Today I had the largest chunk of cerumen in the history of ever removed. I regret not taking a photo of it or asking to keep it, either. Why? Well how else can you get someone to understand how amazing it is to see an inch and a half of fucking ear wax the diameter of a pencil removed from your ear? Even of more fascination to me: there was even more flushed out before the tweezered removal.
The wax was impacted when I tried to remove water that'd gotten into my ear canal while showering. Yes, I used a Q-tip and yes I'd heard the adage "never stick anything smaller than your elbow into your ear" but it was told to me by people who said things like "if you keep making faces your face will freeze like that" and "if you play with your bellybutton your hiney will fall off." God knows telling me the latter only encouraged my navel playing and I don't even want to think how fat my ass would be if I hadn't put so much effort into making it fall off.
I was completely embarrassed at the amount of wax the nurse removed. She told me not to be: my case was mild and there really isn't a way to prevent the amount of wax your ear produces. You also can't really make your body disperse the wax with normal means.
And there's your heathwatch for the day.
I'm pretty upset by the construction of new housing behind my house. At first I was upset at the animals and blahblahblah yeah I eat meat but what about my cute squirrels and woodchucks and birdies blahblahblah. Yeah, I know they killed animals and destroyed their homes when they built this house too, but I didn't have to SEE it. I'll be the first to tell you if I had to milk a cow and then slaughter it to get my cheeseburger I'd like a side of edamame with a dandelion salad side, please; I'm not beyond acknowledging the hypocrisy of it all. Next came my upset over the removal of an acre of trees. Blah, whatever, again. But there is no fucking reason on God's green earth I should have to hear saws and woodchippers and bulldozers at 7 o'clock in the fucking morning. On. A. Sunday.
Now, I'm not going to act like I'm some religious zealout who finds Sunday to be a day of meditation and religious devotion but in this country, Sunday is considered the 'unofficial' sleep late day of the week. And whether it's based in religious reasonings or not, Sunday is the relaxation day, the day a lot of places don't sell booze and some businesses don't even open. It's sort of like how Christmas isn't largely a religious holiday for many people but there's still gift exchange and nativity scenes and people tend to give more to charity at that time of the year.
After spending some of the morning annoyed I finally found the municpal codes for the county in which I reside. NO demolition or construction in residential neighborhoods outside the hours of 8am and 5pm.
About a year ago, I met the owner of the company doing the construction and he was a patronizing asshole. Granted, as a construction guy he doesn't need a bedside manor but it may have behooved him to be a little nicer to the people who's lives he's altering with his subdivision. A little understanding and grace would have gone a long way to preempt the negativity I feel for him and his project. For instance, I don't care about noise at 5:15 or 6 even. This week he's had his crew working until 7pm. No big. Except now I'm highly tempted to be out there at 5pm staring down my watch and with a phone in hand to call the proper authorities. Petty, I know, but rude 7am awakenings to the sounds just 50 feet away put a real damper on my temperament. And just like he doesn't need to be my friend, I don't need to make things easier for him.
And why, prey tell, haven't I updated? Well, with 80 billion other people reporting their hatred of snow and ice and twice as many reporting the Creeping Crawling Ick, I've had nothing new to add. Oh, but now I can report I am almost over the Ick and Mike has brought new Ick home from New Hampshire.
I am forced to endure the grocery store alone. I don't know if there are enough negatives and profanities in the English language to explain how much I loathe grocery shopping. I mean, other than Juan, the mentally challenged and partially blind and deaf grocery cart attendand and Chris, the effeminate heterosexual, it's just a forced hour of soccer moms and their snot nosed kids. And don't get me started on the moms wiping the snotnoses then groping all the produce.....
School started Monday. Mission: Macroeconomics.