You've pulled the knife out only to find a deep gash that needs time to mend.
A broken heart indiscriminately bleeds all over the place. The blood pools beneath when lying down. It hits passersby. It sprays on the walls and drips onto the floor. It coats the inside of the car's windshield. It is a mess.
You lose your footing slipping along on the red fluid while unsuccessfully trying to bypass the puddles you yourself have formed. You take a shower trying to get clean but the watered down blood circles at your feet as it goes down the drain.
With each pump of the heart more blood leaks out until it eventually clots, scabs over, and then leaves a scar. The question then is this - would you take the chance again?
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Saturday, October 15, 2011
Dementia
One of the courses I am taking is psychology for the health care worker. I am currently reading the chapter that deals with the elderly and just finished reading a case study concerning a husband and wife where the wife has dementia. The husband takes care of the wife on his own but in the end puts her in a nursing home.
This sparked a memory for me from when I was a bookkeeper at a nursing home. There was a lovely, kind older gentleman who visited his equally lovely wife every day. When I say every day, I mean every day. The two of them would sit on one of the benches in a common area holding hands while he spoke to those that passed by. He would turn to his wife and explain who the people were and what they were doing. Even though she had no idea who he was or probably where she was she didn't seem to mind the contact and in response to his explanations she would look at you, nod, and smile.
That was all he needed. Holding her hand, sitting next to her, being able to talk to her was enough. He relished each day that he still had with her and even though he knew that one day, possibly in the near future, her mind would further deteriorate, this is what he had now and he would be happy with it.
The love this man demonstrated towards his wife was special. I couldn't help but be drawn to it. It was simple and complete. It didn't demand; it gave. It wasn't forceful but instead kind and patient. It was apropos to the moment not trying to mold or shape. It was a life lesson that I've never forgotten.
This sparked a memory for me from when I was a bookkeeper at a nursing home. There was a lovely, kind older gentleman who visited his equally lovely wife every day. When I say every day, I mean every day. The two of them would sit on one of the benches in a common area holding hands while he spoke to those that passed by. He would turn to his wife and explain who the people were and what they were doing. Even though she had no idea who he was or probably where she was she didn't seem to mind the contact and in response to his explanations she would look at you, nod, and smile.
That was all he needed. Holding her hand, sitting next to her, being able to talk to her was enough. He relished each day that he still had with her and even though he knew that one day, possibly in the near future, her mind would further deteriorate, this is what he had now and he would be happy with it.
The love this man demonstrated towards his wife was special. I couldn't help but be drawn to it. It was simple and complete. It didn't demand; it gave. It wasn't forceful but instead kind and patient. It was apropos to the moment not trying to mold or shape. It was a life lesson that I've never forgotten.
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Back to School
After searching job websites for a couple of months I concluded that my skills were more suited to Baltimore than to Sarasota and that no matter how long I looked the outcome would be the same. What this job search did net me was knowing what employers are looking for here. I did some research and have decided to go back to school and learn medical insurance billing and coding. This is a one year program and when I was signing the oodles of enrollment paperwork I had to tamp down the panic of commitment. I aced the assessment tests and had orientation this afternoon.
I also am required to wear color coded scrubs....blue for medical. I tried them on today as they need to be special ordered to have the school's emblem embroidered on them. They are mostly made of polyester which increases the sweat factor. Since this is the only drawback I shouldn't complain.
Once I graduate, I have to work one full year in the field before I am allowed to test for certification.
Now that I am past the panic stage, I am settling down to quiet excitement. This is where I am right now and this is what I have to do. As I continue to turn the pages in my book, I am happy. I am happy.
I also am required to wear color coded scrubs....blue for medical. I tried them on today as they need to be special ordered to have the school's emblem embroidered on them. They are mostly made of polyester which increases the sweat factor. Since this is the only drawback I shouldn't complain.
Once I graduate, I have to work one full year in the field before I am allowed to test for certification.
Now that I am past the panic stage, I am settling down to quiet excitement. This is where I am right now and this is what I have to do. As I continue to turn the pages in my book, I am happy. I am happy.
Friday, August 12, 2011
Blue Valentine
My mom and I just finished watching the movie "Blue Valentine". If you are depressed, I don't recommend it because you will only feel worse after watching it. Although I'm sure the point of the movie was not to depress but to enlighten, it was still depressing. So that I don't have to write "spoiler alert" it basically is about how two people got together, married, and then split. (I am such a sucker for Ryan Gosling and Michelle Williams.)
I'm betting I feel so strongly about this because some of the script hit so close to home the writer may as well have resided there with me, took notes, and then transcribed them verbatim.
Yesterday morning I was reading an obituary about an 80-something year old man that had recently died. I normally don't read the obits let alone the newspaper but my mom left it lying on the kitchen table. I picked it up to read while I ate my meal. This man's obit stood out because it took up a whole 1.5 columns! Whoever wrote it took the time and care to make it detailed so I figured the least I could do was honor the effort.
This man had been married to his High School sweetheart for 66 years. She passed away on March 11th of this year. About 4.5 months later he joined her. I don't recall the obit saying he had been sick.
I wish I could interview them separately and together. So many questions for a couple that was a success. Why is it that some people are able to be married for 66 years and others can't make it past 6 months? Mutual respect? Communication?
Since the divorce rate hovers around 50% here in the US, maybe I shouldn't be asking any of you to answer these questions. I should ask the citizens of Kazakhstan. Their divorce rate is 39%.
I'm betting I feel so strongly about this because some of the script hit so close to home the writer may as well have resided there with me, took notes, and then transcribed them verbatim.
Yesterday morning I was reading an obituary about an 80-something year old man that had recently died. I normally don't read the obits let alone the newspaper but my mom left it lying on the kitchen table. I picked it up to read while I ate my meal. This man's obit stood out because it took up a whole 1.5 columns! Whoever wrote it took the time and care to make it detailed so I figured the least I could do was honor the effort.
This man had been married to his High School sweetheart for 66 years. She passed away on March 11th of this year. About 4.5 months later he joined her. I don't recall the obit saying he had been sick.
I wish I could interview them separately and together. So many questions for a couple that was a success. Why is it that some people are able to be married for 66 years and others can't make it past 6 months? Mutual respect? Communication?
Since the divorce rate hovers around 50% here in the US, maybe I shouldn't be asking any of you to answer these questions. I should ask the citizens of Kazakhstan. Their divorce rate is 39%.
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
It's either just the rain or I am actually really pissed off.
I've been living in Florida for one week now. I have crossed off quite a few of the entries on my list of things that must be accomplished including changing over the tags on my car and transferring my MD driver's license to a FL one. Last night, despite the three nightmares in a row, I slept in later than 4:30 in the morning. I'm going to have to learn how to use the DVR because I missed Mr. Ed.
As I'm writing this, I see that it is pouring outside.....again. No draught here! Yesterday when I was driving Jesse to the airport to catch his flight back to Baltimore, I nervously drove through a deluge. I'm sure the intermittent storms are normal for this time of year, but they are bumming me out. Add to that being pissed off that at 50 I am starting my life over, well, just ask my mother if her tongue isn't shredded yet from biting it. Yes, I am pissed off and the weather isn't helping.
Those that see the glass as half full tell me that I should look at this as an opportunity for new beginnings that I otherwise wouldn't have. While I understand this on an intellectual level, my emotions are wearing boxing gloves and mouth guard while dancing around the ring looking for a fight.
The good news? Trixie the cat is showing signs of feeling more comfortable around the house when it isn't just me walking around. Shadow the dog can't wait for Trixie to want to play with him.
As I'm writing this, I see that it is pouring outside.....again. No draught here! Yesterday when I was driving Jesse to the airport to catch his flight back to Baltimore, I nervously drove through a deluge. I'm sure the intermittent storms are normal for this time of year, but they are bumming me out. Add to that being pissed off that at 50 I am starting my life over, well, just ask my mother if her tongue isn't shredded yet from biting it. Yes, I am pissed off and the weather isn't helping.
Those that see the glass as half full tell me that I should look at this as an opportunity for new beginnings that I otherwise wouldn't have. While I understand this on an intellectual level, my emotions are wearing boxing gloves and mouth guard while dancing around the ring looking for a fight.
The good news? Trixie the cat is showing signs of feeling more comfortable around the house when it isn't just me walking around. Shadow the dog can't wait for Trixie to want to play with him.
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Mr Ed
I am an early riser. Always have been. Getting up early allows me time to eat a quick breakfast before running out the door to go to work. One morning not more than a month ago I was watching the early news and decided it was #1 - depressing and #2 - boring. I started channel surfing and found "Mr. Ed". I had shadowy memories of watching it when I was little and so I pushed the button on the remote.
Very rarely do I get to see a whole show. Most of the time I don't sit my butt in front of the TV until the final 15 minutes. I like it! From what I've seen so far, most of the story lines are pure eye-rolling silliness but the jokes aren't half bad and I find myself laughing at the them. Imagine playing Wilbur, the straight man to Mr. Ed's funny lines.
There is a naivete and simplicity that is endearing. Each show seems to have at least one joke about being married and surprisingly conservation is a common thread, too. The show aired from 1961 to 1966. One wouldn't expect gas usage in our vehicles to be a topic, but it was.
It is silly humor that is part of the start of my weekdays. That's much better than the news....at least it is for me.
Very rarely do I get to see a whole show. Most of the time I don't sit my butt in front of the TV until the final 15 minutes. I like it! From what I've seen so far, most of the story lines are pure eye-rolling silliness but the jokes aren't half bad and I find myself laughing at the them. Imagine playing Wilbur, the straight man to Mr. Ed's funny lines.
There is a naivete and simplicity that is endearing. Each show seems to have at least one joke about being married and surprisingly conservation is a common thread, too. The show aired from 1961 to 1966. One wouldn't expect gas usage in our vehicles to be a topic, but it was.
It is silly humor that is part of the start of my weekdays. That's much better than the news....at least it is for me.
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Scrapings from the bottom of the frying pan
First Scraping
I have a $5,000 deductible on my health insurance. This is for Individual coverage, mind you. If I had Family coverage, it would be $10,000. When I last saw my endocrinologist we discussed me getting a series of shots and then a blood test that will give me a true reading as to the possibility of the thyroid cancer growing again. This can't be done by only drawing blood and then running tests because my thyroid medication is dosed to keep me at a certain level of whatever that inhibits cancer cell growth. (I'm sure you don't want a science lesson here so I'm keeping it simple.) The shots are very expensive....somewhere to the tune of $2,000. When my doc found out what my deductible was, he offered another suggestion. Since I had the neck dissection one year ago, we could bypass the shots/blood test and just do the neck ultrasound this September. He said I should make the ultrasound appointment in the morning and then an office appointment with him same day in the afternoon. I thought that was a good idea and agreed to it.
Now that it has been a month and a half since I made that decision, I realize it isn't going to work for me. It was these annual shots/testing results that made me want to change docs in the first place. (See earlier posts.)
Second Scraping
It's Spring and I am back to mowing and planting. I love all of it. I feel so much satisfaction after having mowed a row, turning around and seeing the difference in the height of the grass. I could compare it to the immediate results one experiences when ironing clothes, but I hate ironing. Actually, I hate everything about ironing except for the hiss a steam iron makes when setting it back upright. That's kind of cool.
I love all of the different flowers, except for orange marigolds. I look at them and feel pissed off. Weird, right? They are innocent and I am holding back from snapping off their heads. Other than my issues with marigolds, I find the differences in flower's leaf construction, bloom, colors, textures, and smells intriguing. My blood pressure lowers and I just want to sit and stare. I could sit on the forest floor for hours taking in the different sounds the trees, animals, and bugs make. I love the patterns of light made by the sun's rays shining through the canopy overhead. Where the sun breaks through those spots are warm and toasty.
Third Scraping
I don't like sweating. Because of my medication, I sweat more easily and it is gross. I won't even try to pretend this is not gross by calling it perspiration. If I just sweated from my armpits, I would be almost OK with that but my head is the sweatiest part of my body. Sweat runs through my hair down my neck and behind my ears. It interferes with my vision as it falls from my eyebrows. It makes my eyeglasses slip down my nose. For those of you familiar with West Side Story, sing along with me.....I feel pretty. Oh so pretty....
I have a $5,000 deductible on my health insurance. This is for Individual coverage, mind you. If I had Family coverage, it would be $10,000. When I last saw my endocrinologist we discussed me getting a series of shots and then a blood test that will give me a true reading as to the possibility of the thyroid cancer growing again. This can't be done by only drawing blood and then running tests because my thyroid medication is dosed to keep me at a certain level of whatever that inhibits cancer cell growth. (I'm sure you don't want a science lesson here so I'm keeping it simple.) The shots are very expensive....somewhere to the tune of $2,000. When my doc found out what my deductible was, he offered another suggestion. Since I had the neck dissection one year ago, we could bypass the shots/blood test and just do the neck ultrasound this September. He said I should make the ultrasound appointment in the morning and then an office appointment with him same day in the afternoon. I thought that was a good idea and agreed to it.
Now that it has been a month and a half since I made that decision, I realize it isn't going to work for me. It was these annual shots/testing results that made me want to change docs in the first place. (See earlier posts.)
Second Scraping
It's Spring and I am back to mowing and planting. I love all of it. I feel so much satisfaction after having mowed a row, turning around and seeing the difference in the height of the grass. I could compare it to the immediate results one experiences when ironing clothes, but I hate ironing. Actually, I hate everything about ironing except for the hiss a steam iron makes when setting it back upright. That's kind of cool.
I love all of the different flowers, except for orange marigolds. I look at them and feel pissed off. Weird, right? They are innocent and I am holding back from snapping off their heads. Other than my issues with marigolds, I find the differences in flower's leaf construction, bloom, colors, textures, and smells intriguing. My blood pressure lowers and I just want to sit and stare. I could sit on the forest floor for hours taking in the different sounds the trees, animals, and bugs make. I love the patterns of light made by the sun's rays shining through the canopy overhead. Where the sun breaks through those spots are warm and toasty.
Third Scraping
I don't like sweating. Because of my medication, I sweat more easily and it is gross. I won't even try to pretend this is not gross by calling it perspiration. If I just sweated from my armpits, I would be almost OK with that but my head is the sweatiest part of my body. Sweat runs through my hair down my neck and behind my ears. It interferes with my vision as it falls from my eyebrows. It makes my eyeglasses slip down my nose. For those of you familiar with West Side Story, sing along with me.....I feel pretty. Oh so pretty....
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Doggie Heaven
I wasn't very brave at the vet's office. I cried in the waiting room, in the exam room, and afterward while writing the check. My final goodbye to Belle included rubbing her head, telling her she was a good girl, and a kiss on the head.
On the drive home a scene popped into my mind's eye. It was like a picture in a coloring book in that the lines were simple and it was composed of only three elements. The sky was robin egg blue and the grass was crayon green. I knew the temperature was just right and the sun was somewhere in the sky. I saw Belle bounding around like she did when she was young and she would play. She was happy and no longer in pain. I felt calm afterward and gained some peace. Even though some of you will think I've definitely gone off the deep end, I felt I was allowed a glimpse of her in doggie heaven.
On the drive home a scene popped into my mind's eye. It was like a picture in a coloring book in that the lines were simple and it was composed of only three elements. The sky was robin egg blue and the grass was crayon green. I knew the temperature was just right and the sun was somewhere in the sky. I saw Belle bounding around like she did when she was young and she would play. She was happy and no longer in pain. I felt calm afterward and gained some peace. Even though some of you will think I've definitely gone off the deep end, I felt I was allowed a glimpse of her in doggie heaven.
RIP Belle
RIP Belle. She's our 11-year oldish Pointer/Doberman/? mix. Her legs aren't working well anymore and she's in pain. She's lost quite a bit of muscle mass and her back is somewhat bowed. It's that time when an owner makes that hard choice. The only thing making this easier is believing that she is going to see her ole pal Budderbutt who passed before her.
I can still see her sitting pretty in her run at the shelter. I walked through the door to the doggies and spied her immediately. She looked back at me and that was all it took. Yes, she was neurotic but how would you be if you had been beaten by some slob and then dropped off because you were thought of as a pain in the ass instead of a loved companion? Eventually loud noises, sudden movements, and reaching over to pet her stopped causing her to panic.
We got the submissive urination under control.....for the most part. Her first year took patience but it was worth it. Yes, she never lost the habit of sounding the alarm bark because a leaf floated by in front of the window and she had a stubborn streak. She was prone to ear infections, too.
But, she was protective and loving. She was very smart, too, and had a large vocabulary. She even figured out what we meant when we spelled certain words. When she was young she had the most beautiful gait and I used to love watching her run around the back yard like a crazy person. Now just getting up from a prone position is hard work and sometimes not a reachable goal.
I love that dog. She used to climb up on the bed with me at night and cuddle. All 80 pounds of her lying right next to me so we touched. I didn't mind that she always rudely turned her back to me. I guess it was her way of forcing me to put my arm over her.
I'm not looking forward to our 7:45 pm visit to the vet's tonight. I don't want to watch the light leave her eyes but I will be there for her. She was there for me.
I can still see her sitting pretty in her run at the shelter. I walked through the door to the doggies and spied her immediately. She looked back at me and that was all it took. Yes, she was neurotic but how would you be if you had been beaten by some slob and then dropped off because you were thought of as a pain in the ass instead of a loved companion? Eventually loud noises, sudden movements, and reaching over to pet her stopped causing her to panic.
We got the submissive urination under control.....for the most part. Her first year took patience but it was worth it. Yes, she never lost the habit of sounding the alarm bark because a leaf floated by in front of the window and she had a stubborn streak. She was prone to ear infections, too.
But, she was protective and loving. She was very smart, too, and had a large vocabulary. She even figured out what we meant when we spelled certain words. When she was young she had the most beautiful gait and I used to love watching her run around the back yard like a crazy person. Now just getting up from a prone position is hard work and sometimes not a reachable goal.
I love that dog. She used to climb up on the bed with me at night and cuddle. All 80 pounds of her lying right next to me so we touched. I didn't mind that she always rudely turned her back to me. I guess it was her way of forcing me to put my arm over her.
I'm not looking forward to our 7:45 pm visit to the vet's tonight. I don't want to watch the light leave her eyes but I will be there for her. She was there for me.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Country Music & Love
There are very few Country music songs that I will listen to all the way through. I just find the lyrics way too sappy and then I end up getting nauseous and it just isn't pretty.
It's not that these people can't sing. I think some of these artists have the most beautiful voices. It's not that the musicians lack talent. There is no hiding behind electro-pseudo-techno machinations. It's the lyrics. And the whining.
Sometimes love stinks. Sometimes love is grand. The verdict is out on love as a whole and that is why there are so many songs about it, people have killed themselves over it, and some have killed others because of it. Remember the one hit wonder by Haddaway, "What is Love?"?
Maybe that is why, if in the mood, I can enjoy listening to Johnny Cash. He didn't whine. I don't mind the twang. Having lived in Oklahoma and Texas, I find it endearing.
Maybe this isn't about Country music. Maybe this is really about love.
It's not that these people can't sing. I think some of these artists have the most beautiful voices. It's not that the musicians lack talent. There is no hiding behind electro-pseudo-techno machinations. It's the lyrics. And the whining.
Sometimes love stinks. Sometimes love is grand. The verdict is out on love as a whole and that is why there are so many songs about it, people have killed themselves over it, and some have killed others because of it. Remember the one hit wonder by Haddaway, "What is Love?"?
Maybe that is why, if in the mood, I can enjoy listening to Johnny Cash. He didn't whine. I don't mind the twang. Having lived in Oklahoma and Texas, I find it endearing.
Maybe this isn't about Country music. Maybe this is really about love.
The Dog Gauge
On this New Year's Day, 2011, I found myself really looking at my two dogs.
Belle, who is somewhere around 10 or 11, had a very bad inner ear infection that caused Bell's Palsy on her left side. She's had it for a little over a month now. While she still can't blink her left eye, it is now moving in synch with her right, her inner lid functions normally, and she is able to move her left ear a little. The left side of her mouth still droops, though, and we administer drops in her left eye a couple of times a day to keep it moist. Her pretty brown muzzle is white with age. Even though she still suffers from deterioration in her back,this morning she sped out the back door and ran the length of the back yard.
Nigel, who will be 7 this February, also has white on his muzzle where it used to be all black. He has become quite the curmudgeon, too. Being part Chow he was always opinionated, but now when I look at him I see an old man standing on his front porch in plaid pants hiked up to just under his chest waving a fist in the air at the neighborhood kids.
My dog's lives represent a timeline. What was I doing when they were young? What was I doing when we only had Belle? How about when Nigel was added to the clan? How have things changed now that we all are older?
These two also are an example of no matter how we sometimes would like the clock to stop and things to never change, time forces change to happen. It is the way the world was devised, for better or for worse.
One time, when I was around 12 years old, I was a very upset little girl crying during a family gathering while seated at our dining room table. I was trying so desperately to move from one phase of my life and into the new one and it was so confusing at times. Some of my extended family was embarrassed by the emotion and walked away. I can remember my father standing at the head of the table holding on to the back of one of the chairs looking like he was so lost as to how to help me with the pain. All at once, my grandmother walked into the room, sized up the situation, and said, "Nancy, it won't always be this way." She then proceeded to gather up my hurt and pain and replace it with peace and calm.
No matter whether change charges at us head on or creeps up from behind, we cannot stop it from happening. All we have to do is look at our dogs to see that.
Belle, who is somewhere around 10 or 11, had a very bad inner ear infection that caused Bell's Palsy on her left side. She's had it for a little over a month now. While she still can't blink her left eye, it is now moving in synch with her right, her inner lid functions normally, and she is able to move her left ear a little. The left side of her mouth still droops, though, and we administer drops in her left eye a couple of times a day to keep it moist. Her pretty brown muzzle is white with age. Even though she still suffers from deterioration in her back,this morning she sped out the back door and ran the length of the back yard.
Nigel, who will be 7 this February, also has white on his muzzle where it used to be all black. He has become quite the curmudgeon, too. Being part Chow he was always opinionated, but now when I look at him I see an old man standing on his front porch in plaid pants hiked up to just under his chest waving a fist in the air at the neighborhood kids.
My dog's lives represent a timeline. What was I doing when they were young? What was I doing when we only had Belle? How about when Nigel was added to the clan? How have things changed now that we all are older?
These two also are an example of no matter how we sometimes would like the clock to stop and things to never change, time forces change to happen. It is the way the world was devised, for better or for worse.
One time, when I was around 12 years old, I was a very upset little girl crying during a family gathering while seated at our dining room table. I was trying so desperately to move from one phase of my life and into the new one and it was so confusing at times. Some of my extended family was embarrassed by the emotion and walked away. I can remember my father standing at the head of the table holding on to the back of one of the chairs looking like he was so lost as to how to help me with the pain. All at once, my grandmother walked into the room, sized up the situation, and said, "Nancy, it won't always be this way." She then proceeded to gather up my hurt and pain and replace it with peace and calm.
No matter whether change charges at us head on or creeps up from behind, we cannot stop it from happening. All we have to do is look at our dogs to see that.
Thanksgiving Eve
As I sit in front of my computer monitor on the eve of Thanksgiving, I want to say that I am thankful that I am alive. There were two pivotal points in my life within the past 8 years in which dying was a real possiblity.
In the Fall of 2004 in the examination room, my primary care doctor could have not continued to listen to me after I pointed my finger at him and told him he had to figure out what was wrong with me and that I didn't care what the results of the tests were. I could not continue my life the way it was. Unbeknownst to everyone, the cancer was growing front to back and starting to infiltrate bone. My thyroid was riddled with it and because of that I was gaining weight, my hair was falling out, my skin was a mess, I slept through my weekends, and was in a brain fog. He ordered an ultrasound and voila!
Last year around this time I could have believed my original endocrinologist that the cancer was not growing even though the annual testing said otherwise. It could have multiplied past the 12 lymph nodes removed in May of this year and become inoperable. My new endocrinologist had it right. And so did the surgeon.
In the Fall of 2004 in the examination room, my primary care doctor could have not continued to listen to me after I pointed my finger at him and told him he had to figure out what was wrong with me and that I didn't care what the results of the tests were. I could not continue my life the way it was. Unbeknownst to everyone, the cancer was growing front to back and starting to infiltrate bone. My thyroid was riddled with it and because of that I was gaining weight, my hair was falling out, my skin was a mess, I slept through my weekends, and was in a brain fog. He ordered an ultrasound and voila!
Last year around this time I could have believed my original endocrinologist that the cancer was not growing even though the annual testing said otherwise. It could have multiplied past the 12 lymph nodes removed in May of this year and become inoperable. My new endocrinologist had it right. And so did the surgeon.
Cop Cars and Strobe Lights
I woke up at 2:30 this morning to strobe lights flashing through the blinds and lighting up the bedroom like a dance club. At first I thought there was something wrong with my eyes but when blinking didn't stop it, I woke up enough to realize they were police strobes from more than a couple police cars up and down my street. I guess someone's party got a little too raucous and someone else called the cops. There was a steady stream of young adults laughing and talking loudly as they walked along the street to get in their cars to leave.
I hang my head in shame as I am now forced to admit my street is like a librarian - looks quiet but wait until it loses the glasses and lets it's hair down.
I hang my head in shame as I am now forced to admit my street is like a librarian - looks quiet but wait until it loses the glasses and lets it's hair down.
Do I Really Look Like a Hooker?
The other day a guy driving down one of the main roads near our house mistook me for a hooker. All I was trying to do was look around the parked cars to see when there was a break in traffic so that I could cross the street. Maybe I looked too....expectant? I just wanted to get my prescription that was ready for pick-up at CVS. Jamie says it was the red shirt I had on. I've never heard that hookers like to wear the color red but apparently it makes them stand out.
This guy was talking on his cell phone, driving, and looking at me. All of a sudden he slowed down, put his blinker on and started pulling over right near where I was standing. My first thought was, "Why is he pulling over? This is a one way street and he would be driving the wrong way." It was then that my brain registered that he had "that look". Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about. You guys reading this probably practiced it in the mirror when you hit puberty. The girls practiced it on each other before heading out to the Jr. High dance. As we got older and more experienced, it just came naturally. When I was in my late teens, very late teens, and someone in college would give me the look, the intensity of it would sometimes be so intimidating it would have the opposite effect on me and I would feel the need to turn tail and run instead of move closer.
I quickly looked left and right again and was extremely relieved to find the coast was clear for me to cross the street. The guy in the car seemed surprised by my behavior. I wasn't following the script! And here he thought he had scored. This one looks healthy!
I'm still not sure how I should feel about this. It's rather insulting. At the same time, I have a niggling voice in the back of my head saying I should take it as a compliment of sorts. It makes my brain catch on fire and smoke if I think too hard about it. What do you think?
This guy was talking on his cell phone, driving, and looking at me. All of a sudden he slowed down, put his blinker on and started pulling over right near where I was standing. My first thought was, "Why is he pulling over? This is a one way street and he would be driving the wrong way." It was then that my brain registered that he had "that look". Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about. You guys reading this probably practiced it in the mirror when you hit puberty. The girls practiced it on each other before heading out to the Jr. High dance. As we got older and more experienced, it just came naturally. When I was in my late teens, very late teens, and someone in college would give me the look, the intensity of it would sometimes be so intimidating it would have the opposite effect on me and I would feel the need to turn tail and run instead of move closer.
I quickly looked left and right again and was extremely relieved to find the coast was clear for me to cross the street. The guy in the car seemed surprised by my behavior. I wasn't following the script! And here he thought he had scored. This one looks healthy!
I'm still not sure how I should feel about this. It's rather insulting. At the same time, I have a niggling voice in the back of my head saying I should take it as a compliment of sorts. It makes my brain catch on fire and smoke if I think too hard about it. What do you think?
Shopping Carts
Yesterday I took my lunch hour to go to PetSmart for dog and cat food. I did this so that it wouldn't be part of the one hundred chores already lined up for this weekend. Even though the staple of the critters' diet is dry, we supplement it with canned. I really dislike shopping so when I take the time to do this I purchase enough to last a couple of weeks. Since I have to check the ash content on the cans for the cats and Nigel gets itchy from certain brands, it does end up taking a bit of time to accomplish this.
The checkers at the registers may put on a happy face when I show up in their queue, but they only do that because they get paid to act that way. If anyone gets in line behind me, they aren't required to act happy. Sometimes they don't even try to act polite. Some are so annoyed that they have to wait their turn for service they will stand right on top of me making their physical presence known while their purse bangs into me...accidentally, of course. I have had mothers push their kids up against me. Notice my examples if this childish behavior are all women? A man may be annoyed but I not once had one act in a passive-aggressive way. He will either stand there with the patience of Job yet again suffering because of a woman or he will be stone faced not wanting to upset the apple cart no matter how steamed he is feeling. Yet again another difference between the sexes.
I had finally checked out, made it to my car, and noticed something odd while setting the bags full of cans in my open trunk. There was a woman walking behind an empty cart in a meandering fashion. I watched her for a couple of seconds as she walked between cars looking around and it hit me that she was looking for one of those parking lot shopping cart depositories.
I always feel sorry for the person responsible for rounding the carts up and returning them to the store. The carts are either slammed in there every which way or they are lined up linked together 5 feet past the end of the enclosure. This is a sucky job especially when the weather is crap so I always properly take care of my cart.
As I finish loading the trunk I'm thinking to myself that sooner or later Miss Brilliant will realize that these cart kiosks are few and far between and since she is so close to the store anyway it would behoove her to just take a few more steps and take it back to the building. I close my trunk and start back to the store to return my cart. Half way there I see an empty cart sitting at the end of a car. I don't see anyone near it so I figure the person is in the last throws of their shopping experience probably knee deep in their car arranging their goods.
I've already checked my watch a thousand times to make sure I won't be late getting back to work. I have two more rows of cars left when I hear someone call, "Ma'am!" Guess who it was.
If she had been using crutches, in a wheelchair, or a little old lady or man, I would have said yes when she popped out from between cars asking in the most sickly sweet manipulative way my teeth hurt if I am taking my cart back to the store would I take her cart back for her, too. I yelled over my shoulder that I was late for work and kept walking.
Was she just hiding waiting for someone to walk by? The time it took to do that she could have returned the cart herself and been on her way. Call me a bitch, but that kind of behavior does not warrant a reward. I am not required to complete her tasks nor do I feel any guilt over it.
Believe it or not, this is the second time a woman has asked this of me. The first time I played the martyr and was pissed at myself for it. This time I did what I felt was right.
Isn't it amazing that as I crossed the threshold from store back to parking lot she and I passed each other as she was walking her cart back to it's home? Now....how hard was that?
The checkers at the registers may put on a happy face when I show up in their queue, but they only do that because they get paid to act that way. If anyone gets in line behind me, they aren't required to act happy. Sometimes they don't even try to act polite. Some are so annoyed that they have to wait their turn for service they will stand right on top of me making their physical presence known while their purse bangs into me...accidentally, of course. I have had mothers push their kids up against me. Notice my examples if this childish behavior are all women? A man may be annoyed but I not once had one act in a passive-aggressive way. He will either stand there with the patience of Job yet again suffering because of a woman or he will be stone faced not wanting to upset the apple cart no matter how steamed he is feeling. Yet again another difference between the sexes.
I had finally checked out, made it to my car, and noticed something odd while setting the bags full of cans in my open trunk. There was a woman walking behind an empty cart in a meandering fashion. I watched her for a couple of seconds as she walked between cars looking around and it hit me that she was looking for one of those parking lot shopping cart depositories.
I always feel sorry for the person responsible for rounding the carts up and returning them to the store. The carts are either slammed in there every which way or they are lined up linked together 5 feet past the end of the enclosure. This is a sucky job especially when the weather is crap so I always properly take care of my cart.
As I finish loading the trunk I'm thinking to myself that sooner or later Miss Brilliant will realize that these cart kiosks are few and far between and since she is so close to the store anyway it would behoove her to just take a few more steps and take it back to the building. I close my trunk and start back to the store to return my cart. Half way there I see an empty cart sitting at the end of a car. I don't see anyone near it so I figure the person is in the last throws of their shopping experience probably knee deep in their car arranging their goods.
I've already checked my watch a thousand times to make sure I won't be late getting back to work. I have two more rows of cars left when I hear someone call, "Ma'am!" Guess who it was.
If she had been using crutches, in a wheelchair, or a little old lady or man, I would have said yes when she popped out from between cars asking in the most sickly sweet manipulative way my teeth hurt if I am taking my cart back to the store would I take her cart back for her, too. I yelled over my shoulder that I was late for work and kept walking.
Was she just hiding waiting for someone to walk by? The time it took to do that she could have returned the cart herself and been on her way. Call me a bitch, but that kind of behavior does not warrant a reward. I am not required to complete her tasks nor do I feel any guilt over it.
Believe it or not, this is the second time a woman has asked this of me. The first time I played the martyr and was pissed at myself for it. This time I did what I felt was right.
Isn't it amazing that as I crossed the threshold from store back to parking lot she and I passed each other as she was walking her cart back to it's home? Now....how hard was that?
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