Lord knows I don't want to turn into one of those dreaded "mommy-bloggers" but my brain is about to explode and I'm afraid i'm going to throw a sharp knife at my spouse as soon as he walks thru the door rather than greet him with a sweet kiss after leaving me alone for 3 days straight with a sick toddler, if I dont' write. Said Toddler is so cranky, and understandably so, from her fever, diarrhea, runny nose and cough that ALL she wants to do is watch the Dora portion of this Nick Jr. videotape we got from a friend/babysitter whose VCR broke. I don't know whether to thank her or throttle her. Normally little girl loves Blues Clues, which follows Dora on the tape, but lately she's decided it's "scary" - her new favorite word.
So I'm subjected not only to horrendously stinky poopy diapers, crankiness, non-napping, and worrying about her fever, but in addition, I have to watch this goddamned video apparently, 25 or so times today alone. Nothing else will do. This episode involves Dora and freaky monkey friend saving their stupid bull friend by patching his leaky hot-air balloon with the magical "STICKY TAPE! STICKY TAPE! STICKY TAPE!" Repite por favor, boys and girls. "STICKY TAPE!!!" it's highly likely that this is what I will scream at Bruce right before I throw the kitchen knife at his head when he walks in that door. There will be drool coming out of my mouth and my clothes and hair, as usual, will be in disarray. The difference between me and the other homicidal, drooling, driven mad with too-much-kidshit-overload "mommy bloggers" is that i'm not some whiny stay-at-home mom who just needs a break but other than that has no real stress, because hello, if you can afford to stay at home, than obviously you can pay the heating bill and buy groceries without taking a calculator with you to the store. Nope, I gots me a full-time job just like 90% of my sisthren, and though spouse has also just started a full-time job, he doesn't accrue any PTO til like 2 months from now, which blows. However, since one or all of us has been sick since November, it seems like, I am now totally out of sick time and making a pretty big dent in my vacation.
My point is, the spousal unit is staying home with little girl tomorrow if she's still running a temperature, not me. Given my current mental state, I think this is fair. We're also in the Final Stage of the BIg Project I was hired to complete at work, code red, damn the torpedoes until March 30th, and every second counts. And since I've had so many sick days, needless to ssay I'm behind. Stressed? me?
The other point of this venting blog is that clearly, somehow, someway, I've got to find a way to write more regularly and turn this into something real, or my brain will REALLY explode, and not even the magical sticky tape will be able to fix it. (Come to think of it, i need some of that stuff. Dora fixed her backpack strap, a bird's nest that had fallen out of a tree, made her shoes sticky enough to get over Slippery Rock, some rips in a sailboat, and yes, that accursed hotair balloon with their dumb friend in it. I needs me some of that.
Monday, February 25, 2008
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
What were you doing 15 years ago?
Originally posted on Myspace December 18, 2007:
WARNING: LOOOOONNNNNNGGGGGG
Yesterday evening-ish time I was processing a survey report, likes I always do, and noticed that the date of the report was the same as yesterday- December 18th- except it was 15 years prior. This got me to thinkin', so I sent off the following epistle to my fren' Peeps.
December 18, 1992. A small group of contract archaeologists were writing up their reports from the field season and decided against formally recording the 47 IFS ("Isolated" Finds) they ran across in one survey, in one relatively small area. Apparently they also decided against 2nd guessing their own crappy work and maybe taking a look at their own damn maps and thinking, "hmm, all these IFS occur in a relatively concentrated area….. maybe it's a site? Maybe we should go back and try to actually record it? Naaahhhh… Christmas is coming! I have shopping to do! Let the SHPO deal with it!"
December 18, 2007. Bitter desk archaeologist at the SHPO processes crap-tastic 15 year old report and attempts to formally record 47 IFS that are 400 miles away and buried under 2 feet of snow not to mention years of paperwork, and subsequent overlapping surveys.
I feel old.
________________________________________
Then I just couldn't stop thinking. Darn you, monkey – mind! Put down the pipe!
What else was going on though? In my personal life, I had just helped the train wreck posing as my parents move from the house I had grown up into temporary digs in a nearby town-home, that belonged to the people who had just bought their house (long story- too bad reality TV didn't exist back then- we could have done "House Swap!" Right before the Holidays! Watch the action! )what reeked of their chain-smoking and bad, greasy food. They were from Ohio. The woman's name was Arlene (not making that up), her common-law husband's name was John, and he had a 16 year-old's spiky new wave mullet haircut on top of his 35-year-old head. They had a one-year-old baby boy that they hadn't gotten around to naming yet, so they called him "Boy" jokingly. The other candidate for a name was "John, Junior." Very creative. The poor kid was strapped into some kind of baby-bouncer-chair every time I saw him, his eyes glazed over because of their constant chain - smoking, and he probably already had asthma. He was the latest in their collection of children from either of their previous relationships, ranging in age from 8 to 17. They were so excited about moving into our house because they would finally have enough room to house all of their children, who were scattered around various parts of the country (I'm assuming, in foster care). But they couldn't sell their town-home in time to move, so they needed to rent it out, and whaddya know, my parents needed a place for them and all their crap to stay for about 4 months until their brand-spanking-new mini-mansion was completed. So a deal was struck.
In the myopic, co-dependent misery that was my life prior to divorcing my parents (if someone knows of a better word for it, notify me) I remember thinking that they deserved the mini-mansion with all the trimmings, despite the fact that only days earlier, and with much fake hand-wringing and crocodile tears they had both told me that, much as they wanted to, there was no possible way they could help me with college, so I was on my own. I distinctly remember my mother shaking her head and scoffing at me after yet another fruitless phone call to the UNM financial aid office; "Well you'd better get a scholarship or something, otherwise you won't be able to go. Honestly S--- I don't think you plan for anything." At the same time, her pride and joy, the first-born, baby-boy and prince of the family, aka my brother, was petitioning to the get into Nebraska's School of Architecture because he didn't make the cut on the first or second rounds, his grades weren't good enough. So he had to present his projects and applications to a 7-person jury of Architecture professors and basically plead his case and beg them to take him, because despite failing Calculus twice and taking more than 6 years to complete a 2-year prerequisite program, he really did show promise, etc. etc. So he was on the phone to us every 10 minutes giving us/them updates on what the verdict would be. I also distinctly remember, during one such phone call, fraught with all the drama and tension of a spoiled little prince going up against the judges and jury of the Real World for the first time, my dad getting on the phone and declaring that if poor widdle Jeeemy DID manage to get into Architecture School, they would pay his rent for the rest of college so he could concentrate on his classes and finish. About 2 minutes later, they both turned to me and told me that'd I'd better get down to New Mexico early and get a couple jobs lined up before classes even started, because work-study and financial aid probably wouldn't cover my living expenses. But, clueless as I was 15 years ago, I took their peculiar brand of bullshit at face value.
On that bright note-- So there I was- about to head off for my 3rd try at a Bachelor's degree, starting Spring semester, January 1993 at UNM in Albuquerque. Bill Clinton had just been elected. I had voted for Ross Perot because he was a 3rd party candidate, but I wasn't bitter that he lost, I was happy that he got a third of the vote. Overall, we felt hopeful that the country, and the economy, was about to take a turn for the better. In spite of the blind-siding WHACK upside the head we (here in Colorado) also received on Election night- that a nascent hate group down in Colorado Springs (which would later become Focus On the Family) had stealthily managed to shove through legislation through subterfuge and flat-out lying, which specifically took away equal rights for gays. It was called Amendment 2, and it was struck down 2 weeks later as unconstitutional, but no matter, the damage was done.
For anyone reading this who is not from Colorado, but likes to judge us as a bunch of ignorant, gun-toting rednecks who hate them there gays, let me just tell you that the majority of us (who are nothing like the aforementioned stereotype) were totally like, DUDE, WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED??????
I mean, we were all well aware that Colorado Springs, and El Paso County in general, is so saturated with military installations and right-wing churches (they seem to go hand-in-hand) and rich retirees originally hailing from East Coast military installations, that essentially, the place has its head so far up its own ass it can't tell night from day. But still, DENYING BASIC HUMAN RIGHTS TO GAYS BASED ON SOME MISINTERPRETATION OF BIBLICAL RHETORIC AND YOUR OWN HOMOPHOBIC REPRESSED NEUROSES???? COME ON!!
They had gone too far. And while New York-based groups made a big deal over canceling their scheduled conventions at our brand-spanking-new Convention Center in Downtown Denver in protest, and we were scratching our heads trying to figure out how this all happened without our knowing it, a few of us secretly admitted to ourselves that this here cloud might have a silver lining. I mean, uh, not to sound just as hateful as the anti-gay freaks down south, but um, anything that keeps a bunch of nastyass, no-manners east coasters out of our fair state can't be all bad, right? Anyway, that's what we were secretly and not-so secretly thinking. It's funny because, in 1992 the "flood" of immigrants from the East Coast, West Coast, and everywhere in between was barely a trickle, but man, you wouldn't know it from all the bellyachin' we did about them taking our jobs, driving up housing prices, polluting our air and wasting our water.
Wooo! If we had only known then the true inundation that was to occur as the '90's roared into the 21st Century! Weee, doggies! as us rednecks like to holler. My attitude towards newcomers has tempered since then, but only slightly. (sorry, Peeps.) My friends in Montana have a similar philosophy. They were overjoyed when Ted Kaczynski (the Unabomber) and that crazy militia dude were arrested in Montana within weeks of each other. E.g. "Woohoo!! Now the whole country will think we're a bunch of psychotic, gun-toting red necks, and maybe they'll stop moving here!!" You get the picture.
Anyhoo, the other reason I've been thinking about this 15-year thing is that, you guessed it, we're gluttons for punishment, and we just moved into a new place…. Right before the holidays, with all the associated stressors, yada yada. Except that, it's my own little family what moved, whom I happen to love very much, and not my abusive moon-bat-crap crazy parental-unit birth family and their associated junk that they value more than personal relationships, so really, it wasn't that bad. I'm tired, but stressed? Nah, it's nothing like 15 years ago, thank God.
For those of you (probably girls, I'm guessing) waiting with baited breath to hear the outcome of my brother's fate, yes he DID make it into Architecture school, and today he is a successful architect along with his lovely wife, who is a partner in her own firm and makes way more money than him (see? Karma does exist), and they have two adorable children, and they both make about 14 times as much coin-ola as Bruce and I combined. And although he has pulled his head about halfway out of his arse regarding our parents, he still fails to see the connection between their favored treatment of him and his relative success. And he probably never will. :) But hey, he doesn't get the rare privilege of being an Archaeologist for the great State of Colorado and fixing crappy-ass 15 year old reports, now does he?
(* for those of you snickering at my musical choice, below, let me say I was specifically thinking of the Judy Collins' song, "Who knows where the time goes?"
Plus, she went to East High School, what I lived across from for almost 8 years, but, no more!
Currently listening :
The Very Best of Judy Collins
By Judy Collins
Release date: By 21 August, 2001
WARNING: LOOOOONNNNNNGGGGGG
Yesterday evening-ish time I was processing a survey report, likes I always do, and noticed that the date of the report was the same as yesterday- December 18th- except it was 15 years prior. This got me to thinkin', so I sent off the following epistle to my fren' Peeps.
December 18, 1992. A small group of contract archaeologists were writing up their reports from the field season and decided against formally recording the 47 IFS ("Isolated" Finds) they ran across in one survey, in one relatively small area. Apparently they also decided against 2nd guessing their own crappy work and maybe taking a look at their own damn maps and thinking, "hmm, all these IFS occur in a relatively concentrated area….. maybe it's a site? Maybe we should go back and try to actually record it? Naaahhhh… Christmas is coming! I have shopping to do! Let the SHPO deal with it!"
December 18, 2007. Bitter desk archaeologist at the SHPO processes crap-tastic 15 year old report and attempts to formally record 47 IFS that are 400 miles away and buried under 2 feet of snow not to mention years of paperwork, and subsequent overlapping surveys.
I feel old.
________________________________________
Then I just couldn't stop thinking. Darn you, monkey – mind! Put down the pipe!
What else was going on though? In my personal life, I had just helped the train wreck posing as my parents move from the house I had grown up into temporary digs in a nearby town-home, that belonged to the people who had just bought their house (long story- too bad reality TV didn't exist back then- we could have done "House Swap!" Right before the Holidays! Watch the action! )what reeked of their chain-smoking and bad, greasy food. They were from Ohio. The woman's name was Arlene (not making that up), her common-law husband's name was John, and he had a 16 year-old's spiky new wave mullet haircut on top of his 35-year-old head. They had a one-year-old baby boy that they hadn't gotten around to naming yet, so they called him "Boy" jokingly. The other candidate for a name was "John, Junior." Very creative. The poor kid was strapped into some kind of baby-bouncer-chair every time I saw him, his eyes glazed over because of their constant chain - smoking, and he probably already had asthma. He was the latest in their collection of children from either of their previous relationships, ranging in age from 8 to 17. They were so excited about moving into our house because they would finally have enough room to house all of their children, who were scattered around various parts of the country (I'm assuming, in foster care). But they couldn't sell their town-home in time to move, so they needed to rent it out, and whaddya know, my parents needed a place for them and all their crap to stay for about 4 months until their brand-spanking-new mini-mansion was completed. So a deal was struck.
In the myopic, co-dependent misery that was my life prior to divorcing my parents (if someone knows of a better word for it, notify me) I remember thinking that they deserved the mini-mansion with all the trimmings, despite the fact that only days earlier, and with much fake hand-wringing and crocodile tears they had both told me that, much as they wanted to, there was no possible way they could help me with college, so I was on my own. I distinctly remember my mother shaking her head and scoffing at me after yet another fruitless phone call to the UNM financial aid office; "Well you'd better get a scholarship or something, otherwise you won't be able to go. Honestly S--- I don't think you plan for anything." At the same time, her pride and joy, the first-born, baby-boy and prince of the family, aka my brother, was petitioning to the get into Nebraska's School of Architecture because he didn't make the cut on the first or second rounds, his grades weren't good enough. So he had to present his projects and applications to a 7-person jury of Architecture professors and basically plead his case and beg them to take him, because despite failing Calculus twice and taking more than 6 years to complete a 2-year prerequisite program, he really did show promise, etc. etc. So he was on the phone to us every 10 minutes giving us/them updates on what the verdict would be. I also distinctly remember, during one such phone call, fraught with all the drama and tension of a spoiled little prince going up against the judges and jury of the Real World for the first time, my dad getting on the phone and declaring that if poor widdle Jeeemy DID manage to get into Architecture School, they would pay his rent for the rest of college so he could concentrate on his classes and finish. About 2 minutes later, they both turned to me and told me that'd I'd better get down to New Mexico early and get a couple jobs lined up before classes even started, because work-study and financial aid probably wouldn't cover my living expenses. But, clueless as I was 15 years ago, I took their peculiar brand of bullshit at face value.
On that bright note-- So there I was- about to head off for my 3rd try at a Bachelor's degree, starting Spring semester, January 1993 at UNM in Albuquerque. Bill Clinton had just been elected. I had voted for Ross Perot because he was a 3rd party candidate, but I wasn't bitter that he lost, I was happy that he got a third of the vote. Overall, we felt hopeful that the country, and the economy, was about to take a turn for the better. In spite of the blind-siding WHACK upside the head we (here in Colorado) also received on Election night- that a nascent hate group down in Colorado Springs (which would later become Focus On the Family) had stealthily managed to shove through legislation through subterfuge and flat-out lying, which specifically took away equal rights for gays. It was called Amendment 2, and it was struck down 2 weeks later as unconstitutional, but no matter, the damage was done.
For anyone reading this who is not from Colorado, but likes to judge us as a bunch of ignorant, gun-toting rednecks who hate them there gays, let me just tell you that the majority of us (who are nothing like the aforementioned stereotype) were totally like, DUDE, WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED??????
I mean, we were all well aware that Colorado Springs, and El Paso County in general, is so saturated with military installations and right-wing churches (they seem to go hand-in-hand) and rich retirees originally hailing from East Coast military installations, that essentially, the place has its head so far up its own ass it can't tell night from day. But still, DENYING BASIC HUMAN RIGHTS TO GAYS BASED ON SOME MISINTERPRETATION OF BIBLICAL RHETORIC AND YOUR OWN HOMOPHOBIC REPRESSED NEUROSES???? COME ON!!
They had gone too far. And while New York-based groups made a big deal over canceling their scheduled conventions at our brand-spanking-new Convention Center in Downtown Denver in protest, and we were scratching our heads trying to figure out how this all happened without our knowing it, a few of us secretly admitted to ourselves that this here cloud might have a silver lining. I mean, uh, not to sound just as hateful as the anti-gay freaks down south, but um, anything that keeps a bunch of nastyass, no-manners east coasters out of our fair state can't be all bad, right? Anyway, that's what we were secretly and not-so secretly thinking. It's funny because, in 1992 the "flood" of immigrants from the East Coast, West Coast, and everywhere in between was barely a trickle, but man, you wouldn't know it from all the bellyachin' we did about them taking our jobs, driving up housing prices, polluting our air and wasting our water.
Wooo! If we had only known then the true inundation that was to occur as the '90's roared into the 21st Century! Weee, doggies! as us rednecks like to holler. My attitude towards newcomers has tempered since then, but only slightly. (sorry, Peeps.) My friends in Montana have a similar philosophy. They were overjoyed when Ted Kaczynski (the Unabomber) and that crazy militia dude were arrested in Montana within weeks of each other. E.g. "Woohoo!! Now the whole country will think we're a bunch of psychotic, gun-toting red necks, and maybe they'll stop moving here!!" You get the picture.
Anyhoo, the other reason I've been thinking about this 15-year thing is that, you guessed it, we're gluttons for punishment, and we just moved into a new place…. Right before the holidays, with all the associated stressors, yada yada. Except that, it's my own little family what moved, whom I happen to love very much, and not my abusive moon-bat-crap crazy parental-unit birth family and their associated junk that they value more than personal relationships, so really, it wasn't that bad. I'm tired, but stressed? Nah, it's nothing like 15 years ago, thank God.
For those of you (probably girls, I'm guessing) waiting with baited breath to hear the outcome of my brother's fate, yes he DID make it into Architecture school, and today he is a successful architect along with his lovely wife, who is a partner in her own firm and makes way more money than him (see? Karma does exist), and they have two adorable children, and they both make about 14 times as much coin-ola as Bruce and I combined. And although he has pulled his head about halfway out of his arse regarding our parents, he still fails to see the connection between their favored treatment of him and his relative success. And he probably never will. :) But hey, he doesn't get the rare privilege of being an Archaeologist for the great State of Colorado and fixing crappy-ass 15 year old reports, now does he?
(* for those of you snickering at my musical choice, below, let me say I was specifically thinking of the Judy Collins' song, "Who knows where the time goes?"
Plus, she went to East High School, what I lived across from for almost 8 years, but, no more!
Currently listening :
The Very Best of Judy Collins
By Judy Collins
Release date: By 21 August, 2001
LANDLORDHOOD
It's official- for those who don't already know, today is the day we officially enter into landlord-hood, and that adjacent fantasy get-rich-quick (not) realm of "real estate investing." Or rather, we tried to sell our house for 3 years and for various reasons couldn't, and little girl isn't getting any smaller, so measures had to be taken.
We did most of the final clean-up this morning on my way to work, and tomorrow we'll do the walk-through and handing over of keys to our new, superstar tenants and kick off the new year in style.
I'm going to focus on what amazing luck we've had in finding these great tenants, at the price we wanted, rather than the glitches encountered along the way, like the fact the flooring guys were supposed to be completely done the Friday before Christmas but instead RIGHT NOW, AS I TYPE THIS are finally applying the last coat of varnish/sealer/ whatever the fuck it is I don't care if it's toxic waste, I don't live there anymore!!!
Also an amazing bit of luck that our tenants took their time getting out here and are now staying with friends in Boulder for the night, because their furniture won't get here til tomorrow anyway... which gives the varnish time to dry, and PHEWW we dodge the whole inevitable-neighbors-throwing-their-New-Year's-Rockin-Eve party-the-first-night-our-nice-tenants-get-into-town-perhaps-prompting-them-to-change-their minds - and-move-out-immediately-bullet.
Phew. That was close.
But anyway, before I get started on another rant, I wanted to post this link to a clip of Will Farrell's daughter as his landlord- she's about the same age as 'ella in this clip, and so , inspired by this , we're pretty sure we're going to leave any rent collection/ confrontative type issues up to her from now on. :)
http://www.funnyordie.com/videos/74
We did most of the final clean-up this morning on my way to work, and tomorrow we'll do the walk-through and handing over of keys to our new, superstar tenants and kick off the new year in style.
I'm going to focus on what amazing luck we've had in finding these great tenants, at the price we wanted, rather than the glitches encountered along the way, like the fact the flooring guys were supposed to be completely done the Friday before Christmas but instead RIGHT NOW, AS I TYPE THIS are finally applying the last coat of varnish/sealer/ whatever the fuck it is I don't care if it's toxic waste, I don't live there anymore!!!
Also an amazing bit of luck that our tenants took their time getting out here and are now staying with friends in Boulder for the night, because their furniture won't get here til tomorrow anyway... which gives the varnish time to dry, and PHEWW we dodge the whole inevitable-neighbors-throwing-their-New-Year's-Rockin-Eve party-the-first-night-our-nice-tenants-get-into-town-perhaps-prompting-them-to-change-their minds - and-move-out-immediately-bullet.
Phew. That was close.
But anyway, before I get started on another rant, I wanted to post this link to a clip of Will Farrell's daughter as his landlord- she's about the same age as 'ella in this clip, and so , inspired by this , we're pretty sure we're going to leave any rent collection/ confrontative type issues up to her from now on. :)
http://www.funnyordie.com/videos/74
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
COME TO JESUS, SISTHREN & BRETHREN
OK FOLKS- You read the headline, here's the deal. I've been wanting to hold some kind of forum online for people of privilege, specifically, to come forward and fess up to the fact that all of their entitlements, adventures, wealth, good things in general are due to their wealth and privilege and NOT due to any specialness that they have themselves created. Then I thought, wow, won't that be a dead forum. THe blog equivalent of crickets chirping, essentially. Plus, just a wee bit negative on my part since I do tend to rail about trustfunders and how they drive me absolutely bonkers (perhaps because my beloved home state of Colorado is OVERRUN with them.)
Also, it's just a little bit narrow.
Really, all of us have things we need to Come to Jesus about. Coming to Jesus, for those unfamiliar with the phrase, is about giving up your grand illusions/delusions about yourself or something/someone dear to you, and receiving the sweet embrace of forgiveness in the arms of the "lord", or in my mind, the bosom of the Virgin Mary. (She's the mythical unconditionally-loving mother to all who will always hold a distraught child to her breast to comfort them, no matter what stupid accident they've just caused or crawled out of- more on that later). In the Baptist American tradition, it's the term for when congregants literally crawl on their knees up to the pulpit, weeping and sometimes rending garments, asking the preacher but more importantly their co-religionists to forgive them for ______________. Usually, some version of "living a falsehood." For example, perhaps you are unemployed, and desperately broke, but for some reason are still holding out for that $100k a year job, rather than facing reality or "coming to Jesus" and getting some sort of temp job so that you can pay your bills and put food on the table.
Yes, it generally involves giving up on a small dream, or more accurately, fantasy, and although I would NEVEr tell anyone to give up their dreams, I do encourage people to place their dreams within reality, not outside of it.
If you've ever "Come to Jesus" about anything, you know there's a profound sense of relief that washes over you when you finally do.
Here's a small example of some folks that need to Come to Jesus.
http://denver.craigslist.org/fur/321282370.html
I'm sorry, but honey, your PLASTIC PATIO FURNITURE CIRCA 1984 IS NOT WORTH $100!!!
Come on now, Come to Jesus. Rest your tear-stained, weary head on his forgiving chest, and admit it. You'll be lucky to get $20 for that stuff.
Seriously man. The world would be a better place if more people came to Jesus on a regular basis.
That's it for now- i'll figger out a way to make this a more accessible, regular forum so that more people can use it as an online sort of confessional. :)
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
VISUALIZE A NEW HOUSE
FOR US. Suffice it to say, we need to move. The sagging market has prevented us from selling our place the last two summers, but third time's a charm, right? Since I want to keep this blog positive, I will refrain from complaining about our atrocious duplex neighbor who is driving this urgent need to move (that might appear on my Myspace blog) but for here...
picture a snug, cute, peaceful house... surrounded by a fairly large yard, with either a garage or basement for storage... close to a park, with great neighbors on either side, and friends just blocks away. it's on a safe street, where my baby girl can learn to ride a bike someday and not worry about high school kids drag racing et.al.
and where if our future dog gets out, she won't be almost instantly killed by traffic.
There's some stuff planted in the gardens, but not so much as to present a huge "removal" problem. the back yard is enough of a blank slate for us to build an addition without guilt, and for me to play around with xeriscaping and do my little plant experiments.
Maybe I should draw a picture.
thanks in advance for all your good thoughts.
picture a snug, cute, peaceful house... surrounded by a fairly large yard, with either a garage or basement for storage... close to a park, with great neighbors on either side, and friends just blocks away. it's on a safe street, where my baby girl can learn to ride a bike someday and not worry about high school kids drag racing et.al.
and where if our future dog gets out, she won't be almost instantly killed by traffic.
There's some stuff planted in the gardens, but not so much as to present a huge "removal" problem. the back yard is enough of a blank slate for us to build an addition without guilt, and for me to play around with xeriscaping and do my little plant experiments.
Maybe I should draw a picture.
thanks in advance for all your good thoughts.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
SHOUT OUT TO THE SPYDR MAN
So before this blog gets too old and crusty, I have to give props to my co-worker, Spydr Wren, who unwittingly inspired this. He's a photography dude (more like photography GOD) here at CHS who, a couple weeks ago, and with the help of friends and family, started a blog complete with photos, AFTER nearly cutting one of his legs off by walking into a brush-cutting machine on his family farm in Louisiana.
That's right. While they were sewing him back together, and before the ambulance helicopter even got out to their remote location, he was croaking out commands for his brother to take a picture for posterity.
THAnk the gods, he's doing AMAZINGLY well now, back in Denvah, and it looks like he'll regain the full use of his leg.
So naturally, I thought, ok- if he can blog while his leg is being sewn back together, than by golly I can too. I may have a toddler in the house (which we're trying to sell, yada yada) but by god my legs and arms are fully attached.
So in the full spirit of full props, here's the link to his blog so y'all can check on Spydr. http://community.livejournal.com/jaydoh/
That's right. While they were sewing him back together, and before the ambulance helicopter even got out to their remote location, he was croaking out commands for his brother to take a picture for posterity.
THAnk the gods, he's doing AMAZINGLY well now, back in Denvah, and it looks like he'll regain the full use of his leg.
So naturally, I thought, ok- if he can blog while his leg is being sewn back together, than by golly I can too. I may have a toddler in the house (which we're trying to sell, yada yada) but by god my legs and arms are fully attached.
So in the full spirit of full props, here's the link to his blog so y'all can check on Spydr. http://community.livejournal.com/jaydoh/
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
hello! Hola! Bonjour! Ya'a tahey, shboy! Namaste!
Wow, this is so exciting, my first post on my first blog! I can hardly believe that actual websites/hosts offer this service for FREE to the general public. Do they realize what they're doing? Well, while the internet is still a "free" democratic place to air opinions, I figure it's stupid not to take advantage of this amazing technological service. Seriously? I can vent and air my opinions on everything from the best travel mugs to the current Bizarro World situation, post my writing, shamelessly self-promote myself, my friends, anything i want.... for free? It seems too good to be true.
So, on with the mission statement of this blog:
My intention is for this to be a place of positivity, both with my postings and with any comments that might be submitted (yes, they will be moderated). I believe that whatever you focus on, visualize, dream about, etc, grows. We can all name examples of how ourselves or people we know have gotten caught in "negativity vortexes" at one time or another (e.g. a traumatic event happens, and then bad things keep happening to that person) and attest to the "truth" of that phenomenon, but what about "positivity vortexes?" For some reason all of us have a harder time "believing" in those positive blessings coming true for us... I could write a thesis on how our Puritan-Christian based culture has overlaid its own moralistic beliefs on this basic law of the universe to twist and subvert it to its own ends... but i won't. Instead, let me sum it up: no haters! I've stumbled onto some blogs where the posters and commenters basically advocate genocide of whatever group of people they're currently hating, or being told to hate, and while I celebrate free speech, that type of thing will NOT be tolerated on here or any thing i might link to.
I intend to use this as a free space to hone and re-sharpen my writing skills, and critical thinking skills, with the future intention of very soon (hopefully!) launching a new stay-at-home career of freelance writing.
This will also be a space to publish excerpts of that writing, poetry, reviews, articles, etc. and also for personal stuff, like family updates, pictures, links to projects my friends are doing that I think are way cool, other stuff that i think is way cool and needs promotion, and of course, a gallery of my travel mug collection.
Let me just say this now and get it out of the way: If you have a travel mug that I don't already own, you can be sure that i'm coveting it. I love travel mugs. They are the sacred vessels that usually and generally contain my friend (addiction) coffee. Ojala que si, they contain some form of mocha, with lots of whipped cream on top. I will try and post pictures of my favorites on here from time to time, as well as new acquisitions. yes, i already have a stainless steel one engraved with the words, "Queen of Travel Mugs, Suzy-Q" but thanks for asking. ;) Of course, it would be unspeakably rude for me to reject ANY travel mug given as a gift, so bring 'em on.
Anyway, that's enough for now, more later!
Oh, and I love to DISCUSS things- let's just keep it civil, shall we? As Al Franken so astutely put it in his book, "Rush Limbaugh is a Big Fat Idiot" - the decline of civil discourse in this country is just appalling. :) :) TTFN!
So, on with the mission statement of this blog:
My intention is for this to be a place of positivity, both with my postings and with any comments that might be submitted (yes, they will be moderated). I believe that whatever you focus on, visualize, dream about, etc, grows. We can all name examples of how ourselves or people we know have gotten caught in "negativity vortexes" at one time or another (e.g. a traumatic event happens, and then bad things keep happening to that person) and attest to the "truth" of that phenomenon, but what about "positivity vortexes?" For some reason all of us have a harder time "believing" in those positive blessings coming true for us... I could write a thesis on how our Puritan-Christian based culture has overlaid its own moralistic beliefs on this basic law of the universe to twist and subvert it to its own ends... but i won't. Instead, let me sum it up: no haters! I've stumbled onto some blogs where the posters and commenters basically advocate genocide of whatever group of people they're currently hating, or being told to hate, and while I celebrate free speech, that type of thing will NOT be tolerated on here or any thing i might link to.
I intend to use this as a free space to hone and re-sharpen my writing skills, and critical thinking skills, with the future intention of very soon (hopefully!) launching a new stay-at-home career of freelance writing.
This will also be a space to publish excerpts of that writing, poetry, reviews, articles, etc. and also for personal stuff, like family updates, pictures, links to projects my friends are doing that I think are way cool, other stuff that i think is way cool and needs promotion, and of course, a gallery of my travel mug collection.
Let me just say this now and get it out of the way: If you have a travel mug that I don't already own, you can be sure that i'm coveting it. I love travel mugs. They are the sacred vessels that usually and generally contain my friend (addiction) coffee. Ojala que si, they contain some form of mocha, with lots of whipped cream on top. I will try and post pictures of my favorites on here from time to time, as well as new acquisitions. yes, i already have a stainless steel one engraved with the words, "Queen of Travel Mugs, Suzy-Q" but thanks for asking. ;) Of course, it would be unspeakably rude for me to reject ANY travel mug given as a gift, so bring 'em on.
Anyway, that's enough for now, more later!
Oh, and I love to DISCUSS things- let's just keep it civil, shall we? As Al Franken so astutely put it in his book, "Rush Limbaugh is a Big Fat Idiot" - the decline of civil discourse in this country is just appalling. :) :) TTFN!
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