But first, DestructoGirl only had to be put back into bed twice tongiht. After trick-or-treating and discovering with all the awe that only a two-year old can muster that people just give you candy. This was a big day.
However, yesterday I had my first physical in two years, (not counting obstetrical stuff surrounding the arrival of the second FoilBaby and the subsequent hernia surgery), with the doctor I've been seeing since 1986. She's a nice, down to earth person. However, I got read the riot act. ("You have to take care of yourself first. That way you can take care of those two beautiful girls.") I allowed that Dr. Falk was right and I would take better care. In the meantime, I weigh 20 pounds less than when I gave birth to DestructoGirl (and had lost 30 pounds during my pregnancy -- don't ask). My blood pressure (on three big cups of coffee and my Adderal) is 120/80 (apparently normal, but high for me). I got a tetanus booster. And I had an EKG and all kinds of blood tests. Apparrently I have a blockage cluster (?) in my EKG which I've had forever, but she's just telling me about it now. Why? According to the doctor, this has pretty much no significance, but then she mailed me a clip of the EKG showing my report with instructions to keep it in my wallet. While I believe her when she says this means nothing, then why do I have an EKG report to keep in my wallet? Seems a tad odd.
But I've been told I'm disgustingly healthy. I simply need to keep up the dietary choices (not eating or sleeping for long periods of time?) that have helped me drop weight over the last few years and keep losing a bit more. And keep on the Zoloft and Adderal. Yup. That's it.
Of course, my puny medical concerns are negligible. Except FoilMormor had breast cancer in 1996 and I'm getting my second mammogram ever in a few weeks. Yes, I know I should get them yearly, but why don't you go get your tits squished in a vise instead of me? Thank you.
Really, if just part of the worried well. I'm not needing hospitalization for my depression, unlike some worshipped-from-afar people who blog a lot less frequently than I would like, but who get a bye on that issue right now for understandable reasons. I'm still losing weight, so gastric banding isn't necessary. I've just had a ton of dental work done, but no-one has suggested removing a half-dozen of my teeth.
I definitely will be anxious until I get an all-clear on the mammogram front, and yes, I'm depressed right now but still fully functional.
October 31, 2006
October 30, 2006
Because I'm Lazy and Shameless (And Hypocritical, Because I Think Astrology, Numerology, and All New Age Bunkum Is Bogus)
| Your Birthdate |
 Independent and dominant, you tend to be the alpha dog in most situations. You're very confident, and hardly anything ever shakes you. Mundane tasks tend to drain you - you prefer to be making great plans. You are quite original. When people don't "get" you, it bothers you a lot. Your strength: Your ability to gain respect Your weakness: Caring too much what others think Your power color: Orange-red Your power symbol: Letter X Your power month: October |
As meaningless as I think this crap is, I do care too much what other people think of me, and wish I didn't. However, my power color is red. Not orange-red. Red. And my power symbol is the Letter X? No, my power symbol is the knitting needle (the better to stab you with) or the raised fist (hit me, and I'll hit back). Anway, it's meaningsless. Just filling space.
October 24, 2006
Okay, Someone Tell Me How to Do This Better, Because I Am, to My Horror, At a Loss
DestructoGirl has decided that my ability to sleep is not something than can remain undestroyed. It's her mission in life. As short and cheerful as her life has been to date, it seems rather sadistic and unfair that she should somehow be launched on the path of ensuring that I become a sleep-deprived hag.
I never had to deal with this with TigerGrrl, the FirstFoilBaby. I would tuck her into bed, sing her a song, and that would be it. Tonight, I read DestructoGirl her bedtime story, Kiss Goodnight (which she clearly knows by heart and she intones along with me as I read aloud). Then I sang Mary Chapin Carpenter's Dreamland to her, then Tom Petty's Close Your Eyes. Then Four Strong Winds, then Silkie, then Hush Little Baby, then many others. No sleeping DestructoGirl. I was saved by TigerGrrl, after an hour, when TigerGrrl properly interpreted "Lala" to mean that DestructoGirl wanted her ElmoCellPhone, which sings "Lalalala, lalalala, Elmo's World" in a deeply annoying voice.
I was spoiled by TigerGrrl. She would go to sleep when I put her to bed.
I'm so tired that I started writing this post on the 23rd, it's now the 27th, and I still haven't finished it because I keep falling asleep. The FoilKids have been to their Papa's home for two days and returned, and I'm still trying to catch up on sleep. What time did I finally get DestructoGirl to bed tonight? 10:30. Of course, part of that was because TigerGrrl's school had its fall harvest festival(read: Halloween party) tonight and DestructoGirl amused many an adult with her dance stylings. You'd think she might have gotten tired out. Not my superior being offspring. Uh-uh.
I never had to deal with this with TigerGrrl, the FirstFoilBaby. I would tuck her into bed, sing her a song, and that would be it. Tonight, I read DestructoGirl her bedtime story, Kiss Goodnight (which she clearly knows by heart and she intones along with me as I read aloud). Then I sang Mary Chapin Carpenter's Dreamland to her, then Tom Petty's Close Your Eyes. Then Four Strong Winds, then Silkie, then Hush Little Baby, then many others. No sleeping DestructoGirl. I was saved by TigerGrrl, after an hour, when TigerGrrl properly interpreted "Lala" to mean that DestructoGirl wanted her ElmoCellPhone, which sings "Lalalala, lalalala, Elmo's World" in a deeply annoying voice.
I was spoiled by TigerGrrl. She would go to sleep when I put her to bed.
I'm so tired that I started writing this post on the 23rd, it's now the 27th, and I still haven't finished it because I keep falling asleep. The FoilKids have been to their Papa's home for two days and returned, and I'm still trying to catch up on sleep. What time did I finally get DestructoGirl to bed tonight? 10:30. Of course, part of that was because TigerGrrl's school had its fall harvest festival(read: Halloween party) tonight and DestructoGirl amused many an adult with her dance stylings. You'd think she might have gotten tired out. Not my superior being offspring. Uh-uh.
October 23, 2006
Even More How to Do Anything Better -- Home Management Edition
How to Have a Better, Happier, Well Organized Home Without Going Broke
Of course, this doesn't help if you, like me, are broke all ready. But here's the Foilwoman edition of Godey's Lady's Book/Hints from Heloise, etc.
1--Remember, at all times less is more. Unless you are dealing with a guy named Les who dated a woman that Innana and I both knew once upon a time, in which case, Les is less. But on the less-is-more front, don't overdo. One of my inlaw aunts (not herself of Scandinavian descent, as will become obvious) keeps buying little knick-knacks and tchotchkes. She has a McMansion, but is overstuffed and seems small. She collects. Dolls, types of dishes, silverwear. She has potpourri everywhere. She has doilies. She has antimacassars. She has footstools for the sofa (I thought the whole point of a sofa was to be able to put your feet up on it). She has two types of good china, china for various holidays, three types of casual stonewear, plus picnic dishes. You get the idea. They are drowning in things. This is not gracious living. This is not attractive. The is expensive squalor. Plus, the more little things you have, the more little things you have to move to clean, and let's face it, no one cleans that much anyway, but in those circumstances, anyone would just shop.
2--Set a budget and keep it. This is easier if you go on a cash basis. It becomes very easy then. When you run out of money, you stop. See how simple?
3--Learn how to assemble furniture. It's less expensive that way.
4--Assemble furniture without someone else driving you crazy. If you do it yourself, you know it's done right.
5--Macaroni and cheese cooked from scratch is better than macaroni and cheese from the box. Or the grocery store. Cook from scratch.
6--Mend clothes.
7--Practice saying "no" to your offspring. Then actually do say no.
A riff. I'm too tired, because I assembled two chairs and a bureau. More later.
Of course, this doesn't help if you, like me, are broke all ready. But here's the Foilwoman edition of Godey's Lady's Book/Hints from Heloise, etc.
1--Remember, at all times less is more. Unless you are dealing with a guy named Les who dated a woman that Innana and I both knew once upon a time, in which case, Les is less. But on the less-is-more front, don't overdo. One of my inlaw aunts (not herself of Scandinavian descent, as will become obvious) keeps buying little knick-knacks and tchotchkes. She has a McMansion, but is overstuffed and seems small. She collects. Dolls, types of dishes, silverwear. She has potpourri everywhere. She has doilies. She has antimacassars. She has footstools for the sofa (I thought the whole point of a sofa was to be able to put your feet up on it). She has two types of good china, china for various holidays, three types of casual stonewear, plus picnic dishes. You get the idea. They are drowning in things. This is not gracious living. This is not attractive. The is expensive squalor. Plus, the more little things you have, the more little things you have to move to clean, and let's face it, no one cleans that much anyway, but in those circumstances, anyone would just shop.
2--Set a budget and keep it. This is easier if you go on a cash basis. It becomes very easy then. When you run out of money, you stop. See how simple?
3--Learn how to assemble furniture. It's less expensive that way.
4--Assemble furniture without someone else driving you crazy. If you do it yourself, you know it's done right.
5--Macaroni and cheese cooked from scratch is better than macaroni and cheese from the box. Or the grocery store. Cook from scratch.
6--Mend clothes.
7--Practice saying "no" to your offspring. Then actually do say no.
A riff. I'm too tired, because I assembled two chairs and a bureau. More later.
October 21, 2006
Second Hand Blues
I don't have the Foilkids this weekend. They're with their feckless father, PdeFF. Innana is visiting family in Dixie, SNV is busy with important Scandinavia-related work, and I'm having a quiet weekend. So far, I've fixed most of my lack-of-furniture-problems via Freecycle and Craig's List. I will say this: whoever posted the "shower rod hanger covers" (WTF????) on Freecycle, who has the time for that? Someone else posted that they had "three scarves" to give away. Without posting a picture of the scarves. Excuse me, but that's just annoying and insulting. So someone should take a half hour out of their day to come to your home to look at scarves that might be truly hideous? Why not just give the stuff to Goodwill or the Salvation Army? Then someone can come in scouting for bargains, and if they like your horrible taste, they can buy your horrible scarf. Or shower curtain hanger covers, whatever they are.
Freecycle is supposed to be recycling to keep things out landfills. Larger items, I would presume. If you have a bunch of small junk, great, but if it's just one salt shaker, please. Spare us.
Also, for Craig's List: The really hideous orange and mauve velvet sofa? No-one is going to pay $500 for it, even if you did (idiotically) pay $3000 for it new. No-one wants it. It's ugly. Maybe as a freebie, but be honest. I've found some decent stuff: a perfectly acceptable hardwood bureau and nightstand from a woman who lives two blocks from me who's getting married and consolidating a household, and a nice couch, a decent blue with no hideous features, and they'll deliver.
However, a lot of Freecycle and Craig's List seems to consist of people who (1) hold on to junk for way too long, (2) have no sense of proportion, and (3) really have a lot of time to kill. No, I don't want to talk and talk and talk. I want to look at the item, make my decision, and leave. It took me three whole minutes to decide on my couch. It was the right color, it was comfortable, it was the right price, and they said they'd deliver. Same with the bureau. If I were willing to pay more, I'd be choosier, but I don't think there are two many $40 solid wood bureaus out there, nor that many $100 couches that aren't hideous.
The two people I bought from were lovely. They simply wanted to get rid of stuff rather than keep it and have too crowded a home. They didn't want to overcharge, and they were friendly without being intrusive. Nice.
I'm furniture shopping because my rent is going up and I have to get rid of my rental furniture to pay the rent. I gave up the house furniture (except family antiques) and now just have to locate another bureau, a desk for TigerGrrl, and possibly a comfy chair. BigGrampa and FoilMormor have funded this furniture buying extravaganza, and I'm determined to come in under budget.
Now I have to go renew the lease (they're open on Saturday afternoon).
Freecycle is supposed to be recycling to keep things out landfills. Larger items, I would presume. If you have a bunch of small junk, great, but if it's just one salt shaker, please. Spare us.
Also, for Craig's List: The really hideous orange and mauve velvet sofa? No-one is going to pay $500 for it, even if you did (idiotically) pay $3000 for it new. No-one wants it. It's ugly. Maybe as a freebie, but be honest. I've found some decent stuff: a perfectly acceptable hardwood bureau and nightstand from a woman who lives two blocks from me who's getting married and consolidating a household, and a nice couch, a decent blue with no hideous features, and they'll deliver.
However, a lot of Freecycle and Craig's List seems to consist of people who (1) hold on to junk for way too long, (2) have no sense of proportion, and (3) really have a lot of time to kill. No, I don't want to talk and talk and talk. I want to look at the item, make my decision, and leave. It took me three whole minutes to decide on my couch. It was the right color, it was comfortable, it was the right price, and they said they'd deliver. Same with the bureau. If I were willing to pay more, I'd be choosier, but I don't think there are two many $40 solid wood bureaus out there, nor that many $100 couches that aren't hideous.
The two people I bought from were lovely. They simply wanted to get rid of stuff rather than keep it and have too crowded a home. They didn't want to overcharge, and they were friendly without being intrusive. Nice.
I'm furniture shopping because my rent is going up and I have to get rid of my rental furniture to pay the rent. I gave up the house furniture (except family antiques) and now just have to locate another bureau, a desk for TigerGrrl, and possibly a comfy chair. BigGrampa and FoilMormor have funded this furniture buying extravaganza, and I'm determined to come in under budget.
Now I have to go renew the lease (they're open on Saturday afternoon).
October 20, 2006
More How to Do Anything Better
More How to Be a Better Boss*
1--Tell the truth. To subordinates, peers, and superiors.
2--Tell your subordinates what you expect from them.
3--Protect your turf, i.e., don't let idiots abuse your subordinates.
4--Know you're going to have to be a hardass sometimes, and accept that. Being a boss means you're not everyone's friend.
5--Don't raise your voice.
6--Return phone calls promptly.
7--Be understanding, but not a doormat.
8--Don't play favorites.
9--Acknowledge that special circumstances allow for grading on a curve (divorce, death, major illnesses).
10--Call malingerers, work-avoiders, and constant-crisis-mongerers on their idiocy. They cost their coworkers time, make more work for everyone else, and make everyone feel like bad behavior is tolerated.
11--Fight hard to get your subordinates the raises, etc., they deserve.
12--Remember people respond to praise much more than they do to criticism. If you can't find anything to praise about someone, transfer them to someone who can or fire them or figure out why you're being such a hardass.
13--Don't be afraid to fire someone who deserves it. Most people deserve a second and third chance, but once an employee is on chance number four or five, call it a day.
14--Don't tolerate abusive behavior. Anyone who yells at, touches, or physically threatens or encroaches on your employees needs a talking to, disciplinary action, and if he or she can't learn, a career-change opportunity.
15--Remember you can't fix everything. Do what you can and don't overpromise.
More later.
*Most of this is from the example of the superlative Ms. Bossy, the best boss I've ever had (and I've had a lot of bad bosses). I am striving for this level, not claiming that I have attained it.
1--Tell the truth. To subordinates, peers, and superiors.
2--Tell your subordinates what you expect from them.
3--Protect your turf, i.e., don't let idiots abuse your subordinates.
4--Know you're going to have to be a hardass sometimes, and accept that. Being a boss means you're not everyone's friend.
5--Don't raise your voice.
6--Return phone calls promptly.
7--Be understanding, but not a doormat.
8--Don't play favorites.
9--Acknowledge that special circumstances allow for grading on a curve (divorce, death, major illnesses).
10--Call malingerers, work-avoiders, and constant-crisis-mongerers on their idiocy. They cost their coworkers time, make more work for everyone else, and make everyone feel like bad behavior is tolerated.
11--Fight hard to get your subordinates the raises, etc., they deserve.
12--Remember people respond to praise much more than they do to criticism. If you can't find anything to praise about someone, transfer them to someone who can or fire them or figure out why you're being such a hardass.
13--Don't be afraid to fire someone who deserves it. Most people deserve a second and third chance, but once an employee is on chance number four or five, call it a day.
14--Don't tolerate abusive behavior. Anyone who yells at, touches, or physically threatens or encroaches on your employees needs a talking to, disciplinary action, and if he or she can't learn, a career-change opportunity.
15--Remember you can't fix everything. Do what you can and don't overpromise.
More later.
*Most of this is from the example of the superlative Ms. Bossy, the best boss I've ever had (and I've had a lot of bad bosses). I am striving for this level, not claiming that I have attained it.
October 19, 2006
The How to Do Anything Better Guide
I think I'm referring to a Glamour magazine column, which implies, not very subtly, that women always have to be improving. But maybe I'm wrong and it's from Esquire, which will throw off my whole women-are-oppressed analysis. Be sure and let me know.
But regardless of whom I stole the title phrase from, I have some advice for people. I don't claim to be all-knowing, but I actually have learned some stuff in the first half of my life.
Work (How To Be A Better Employee)
I've been a good employee and a bad employee in my time. I've been fired from a few jobs, and been a star employee in others. Now I'm an employee and a boss of about 20 people* and I have had the great joy of having one real bad apple employee quit (because I'm so unreasonable as to expect on-time arrivals, among many other examples of me being ultra-demanding) and the not so great joy of firing another employee (who, being a fact-checker, couldn't understand why people didn't like it when she continually got our address wrong and then argued about it) and having coddled several other employees through various not-incredibly-difficult-to-solve problems, I think many people would benefit from the insights (that seem incredibly obvious to me) that I am about to share.
Okay, here's the list of how to be a better employee.
1--Be polite to your superviser. Really. Return her calls promptly, acknowledge her presence at work related meeting, say hello and goodbye. This won't have any effect on how your performance is viewed, except you will get points for being polite and mature. If you're rude to your boss, who else are you going to be rude to? And believe me, you're boss is going to think about that.
2--Ask permission to take leave, don't just take it. Someone who is managing a staff has to ensure coverage of certain key functions. Therefore, you need to check in advance. Don't be shocked that Christmas and Thanksgiving are busy, busy times.
3--Actually do your own work, and let people know ahead of time that you might have trouble meeting a deadline. Do not call five minutes before the deadline and say "Oh, this is going to be late." Try to actually plan your work.
4--Do not borrow money from your boss. If you do borrow money (even $1), PAY IT BACK. I don't loan to subordinates, but there are some in my office who do, and are pretty pissed off when that $5 or $10 never gets paid back.
5--Do not borrow money from your coworkers, and sure as shit, do not borrow money from subordinates. Just don't. Just say no to being a feckless jerk, okay?
6--Do try to correctly spell your employer and your boss's names. No, don't try. Just do it, okay?
7--Do know your employer's address and phone number. I can't believe I have to write that, but I did, which is pretty sad.
8--When you are in the work area or office or a boss, a coworker, or a subordinate, don't pick up and put down things in their work area (or their tools, or their personal items) and do not read their email or mail. Respect everyone's privacy.
9--Everyone has personal crises sometimes, but don't have them all the time. You only have a certain number of sympathy/oops, it's a crisis/get out of jail free cards. These can be replenished with good work and a good attitude, but the don't replenish at the rate of one crisis a week. So save up, and practice stiff-upper-lip and all that.
10--Do not be too obvious about staring (if your male) at female colleagues' breasts. And please, do not be obvious at all about staring at subordinates' breasts. And if you need to be told not to stare at your female boss' breasts, well, good luck to you. You're going to need it.
11--Appreciate the help other people give you. Say please and thank you.
12--Don't bad mouth your coworkers. Or your boss. Or your employer.
13--Bathe regularly.
14--Do not obviously do recreational things in the office. If you read a book at your desk, do not be surprised if some really unpleasant work is dropped on you. You clearly had free time. Sweep the floors sooner than be obviously lazing around on company time. There's a file room that could be cleaned, a report that could be written or edited, memos to file that could be written, even if it is a year or so after they were requested.
15--Get along with people. Every time your boss has to intervene in problems between you and a coworker or anyone else, that's non-productive time. People who can solve their own problems are better employees than people who can't. Especially if the problems a pissant. Which most of them are.
More later. That's it for now.
*I supervise more people now than when I started a year ago, but I've changed the numbers and a bunch of other identifying features about benefits, job-descriptions, etc., to keep the identity of my employer as anonymous as possible, as well as the identities of my subordinates. Assume all numbers are a bit different, and all identifying descriptions altered at least slightly.
But regardless of whom I stole the title phrase from, I have some advice for people. I don't claim to be all-knowing, but I actually have learned some stuff in the first half of my life.
Work (How To Be A Better Employee)
I've been a good employee and a bad employee in my time. I've been fired from a few jobs, and been a star employee in others. Now I'm an employee and a boss of about 20 people* and I have had the great joy of having one real bad apple employee quit (because I'm so unreasonable as to expect on-time arrivals, among many other examples of me being ultra-demanding) and the not so great joy of firing another employee (who, being a fact-checker, couldn't understand why people didn't like it when she continually got our address wrong and then argued about it) and having coddled several other employees through various not-incredibly-difficult-to-solve problems, I think many people would benefit from the insights (that seem incredibly obvious to me) that I am about to share.
Okay, here's the list of how to be a better employee.
1--Be polite to your superviser. Really. Return her calls promptly, acknowledge her presence at work related meeting, say hello and goodbye. This won't have any effect on how your performance is viewed, except you will get points for being polite and mature. If you're rude to your boss, who else are you going to be rude to? And believe me, you're boss is going to think about that.
2--Ask permission to take leave, don't just take it. Someone who is managing a staff has to ensure coverage of certain key functions. Therefore, you need to check in advance. Don't be shocked that Christmas and Thanksgiving are busy, busy times.
3--Actually do your own work, and let people know ahead of time that you might have trouble meeting a deadline. Do not call five minutes before the deadline and say "Oh, this is going to be late." Try to actually plan your work.
4--Do not borrow money from your boss. If you do borrow money (even $1), PAY IT BACK. I don't loan to subordinates, but there are some in my office who do, and are pretty pissed off when that $5 or $10 never gets paid back.
5--Do not borrow money from your coworkers, and sure as shit, do not borrow money from subordinates. Just don't. Just say no to being a feckless jerk, okay?
6--Do try to correctly spell your employer and your boss's names. No, don't try. Just do it, okay?
7--Do know your employer's address and phone number. I can't believe I have to write that, but I did, which is pretty sad.
8--When you are in the work area or office or a boss, a coworker, or a subordinate, don't pick up and put down things in their work area (or their tools, or their personal items) and do not read their email or mail. Respect everyone's privacy.
9--Everyone has personal crises sometimes, but don't have them all the time. You only have a certain number of sympathy/oops, it's a crisis/get out of jail free cards. These can be replenished with good work and a good attitude, but the don't replenish at the rate of one crisis a week. So save up, and practice stiff-upper-lip and all that.
10--Do not be too obvious about staring (if your male) at female colleagues' breasts. And please, do not be obvious at all about staring at subordinates' breasts. And if you need to be told not to stare at your female boss' breasts, well, good luck to you. You're going to need it.
11--Appreciate the help other people give you. Say please and thank you.
12--Don't bad mouth your coworkers. Or your boss. Or your employer.
13--Bathe regularly.
14--Do not obviously do recreational things in the office. If you read a book at your desk, do not be surprised if some really unpleasant work is dropped on you. You clearly had free time. Sweep the floors sooner than be obviously lazing around on company time. There's a file room that could be cleaned, a report that could be written or edited, memos to file that could be written, even if it is a year or so after they were requested.
15--Get along with people. Every time your boss has to intervene in problems between you and a coworker or anyone else, that's non-productive time. People who can solve their own problems are better employees than people who can't. Especially if the problems a pissant. Which most of them are.
More later. That's it for now.
*I supervise more people now than when I started a year ago, but I've changed the numbers and a bunch of other identifying features about benefits, job-descriptions, etc., to keep the identity of my employer as anonymous as possible, as well as the identities of my subordinates. Assume all numbers are a bit different, and all identifying descriptions altered at least slightly.
October 18, 2006
The Last King of Scotland
Has anyone (who I know of enough to weigh his or her opinion properly -- i.e., someone I've corresponded with or who comments here at least occasionally) seen The Last King of Scotland, and, if so, what did you think of it?
October 14, 2006
Moral Dilemma
This one's a toughie. There's an acquaintance in my life (someone I have to see regularly given some volunteer work I do that is a fairly large part of my life) who I loathe. Why do I loathe him? He's insensitive, narcissistic, mean-tempered, and never has a good word to say about anyone other than himself. He's not loyal to colleagues, subordinates, or superiors (he has bad things to say about everyone). He's also very needy. If he asks for help, and one provides that help, instead of saying "Thank you," he immediately ups the ante and wants something else.
For instance, and this is a real example, he asked me for information about an organization. I got him the information he asked for (the address, the open-to-the-public hours, a list of materials they had available for public use on the subject on interest, and the organization's website link, which had a map attached). Instead of saying thank you to me for helping him get information he then made it clear he hadn't really used the information and asked me if I could either (1) go to the place for him (in my spare time), and when I rejected that option, (2) show him exactly where on the city map the damn this is located (has he heard of Mapquest and map.yahoo.com, or is he just a social moron?). Now, this is non-obligatory stuff, and he's not even in my branch of the volunteer project. He's not my boss. I actually outrank him in terms of our charity. Every interaction with him is like this.
He also stands way too close to me. I thought this problem went away when I left my twenties a few decades ago. Used to happen, now it doesn't. Except this guy is too socially clueless to pick up on the physical freeze-out and now outright hostility I'm sending his way. If I'm working at a desk, he'll stand right behind me. He'll pick up things that I'm working on. He acts, in general, like someone with some social dysfunction (which I'm pretty sure is an accurate read on the situation).
What's my dilemma? If you're thinking, how to get him to physically back away, let me just say (and thank you Gary, for this immortal phrase): What a rube. You don't know me yet? I've already told him to (1) "Back off." Then, (2) "You're in my space. My personal space." and last, (3) "Whatever has given you the mistaken impression that I don't mind you ignoring social niceties and getting too close to me, trust me when I tell you you are mistaken. Either that or my definition of personal space and yours diverge greatly. Think about keeping yourself a good yard or meter away from me at all times, and don't walk up behind me to surprise me, and don't reach into my work area." He was offended. Whoop-de-doo. There's more where that came from.
No, my dilemma is that another acquaintance (who is going to be quickly moved to non-acquaintance status) who also dislikes this man revealed her true colors and it was not pretty. The obnoxious man in question (short red-headed egotistical nitwit or SRHEN) is Jewish. Apparently, according to prejudiced acquaintance (PA), all of SRHEN's truly annoying or worse personality traits are due to his religious ethnic background. The clincher was the description of SRHEN's homelife. His wife, according to PA, is a "true JAP*."
I have met the maligned wife, and she is a pleasant woman, unlike her husband. I'm not sure what she does or is that makes her a "true JAP". Let's see: she smart, she has a slight New York accent, she's not shy, she can tell a joke, and she doesn't kowtow to her husband. Sounds like a new and improved Hillary Rodham Clinton to me, but apparently those traits make one a JAP?
But I have a duty here. Normally when someone says something truly prejudiced (and not just of the "White people dance funny" variety, which is verifiably true everytime you watch the next generation of young men entering adulthood act as though playing air guitar is an effective night club courtship technique. Has anyone ever seen a Spanish guy or an African American guy play air guitar? I should set up a monetary reward for the photo, if it can be found. This entire parenthical is, I hope, obviously tongue in cheek.) I either drop the dime on PA and let her know that I'm bigger than SRHEN or she is, can take care of myself certainly don't need any anti-semitism to help me, and am getting pissed off. I also, when the white supremacy loons go on about miscegenation and mud people and the like, pull out pictures of DestructoGirl and TigerGrrl, show off their beauty and obvious intelligence and explain that I don't worry about sickle cell, Tay-Sachs, or any genetic anomalies, because by broadening my daughters' gene pools (Africa/Scandivania -- see The Thirteenth Warrier and imagine the Antonio Banderas/Vladimir Kulich combination), I'm creating the true master race: sort of like Amazon Women on The Moon, only the Children of the Foil, or the FoilFilles, or Whatever. No-one goes off about the supposed inferiority of certain groups in front of me.
The tough thing about anti-semitism is that it's normally sort of reverse-prejudice, if you will. It's almost a compliment: Jews are loathed by these idiotic anti-semites (IASes) because, according to the IAS, Jews are smarter, better with money, more ambitious and just more capable. And we play into it by sort of thinking to ourselves, "Hey, these guys can take care of themselves. They don't need me, not a chosen person, to step in and make all right with the world.
But that response is wrong. It's buying into the underlying prejudice, and doesn't stop the expression of prejudice at all. So I should have called PA about her statement. But what can I say? And what should I do. SRHEN actually probably inspires anti-semitism whereever he goes, but it's for his truly loathsome self, not for his ethnicity. Anyone who thinks being Jewish makes him an asshole is truly missing the fact that Jewishness is the religion/ethnicity in which he was raised. Assholishness is his essential nature. He could have been raised Catholic, Hindu, Muslim, Shinto, or whatever. He'd still be him, and at his core he's an asshole.
What to do? Let sleeping dogs like? Or something else?
So I know the correct response would be to engage
*JAP = Jewish American Princess**, for those not familiar with U.S. ethnic slurs by acronym.
**It could also be, of course, Jewish American Prince, but that just doesn't get used as much, because mysogyny works so much better when spreading hate. And the whole "attack a man by attacking his woman" trick by which the woman then gets blamed for everything is an age-old and really hateful technique. Ugh.
For instance, and this is a real example, he asked me for information about an organization. I got him the information he asked for (the address, the open-to-the-public hours, a list of materials they had available for public use on the subject on interest, and the organization's website link, which had a map attached). Instead of saying thank you to me for helping him get information he then made it clear he hadn't really used the information and asked me if I could either (1) go to the place for him (in my spare time), and when I rejected that option, (2) show him exactly where on the city map the damn this is located (has he heard of Mapquest and map.yahoo.com, or is he just a social moron?). Now, this is non-obligatory stuff, and he's not even in my branch of the volunteer project. He's not my boss. I actually outrank him in terms of our charity. Every interaction with him is like this.
He also stands way too close to me. I thought this problem went away when I left my twenties a few decades ago. Used to happen, now it doesn't. Except this guy is too socially clueless to pick up on the physical freeze-out and now outright hostility I'm sending his way. If I'm working at a desk, he'll stand right behind me. He'll pick up things that I'm working on. He acts, in general, like someone with some social dysfunction (which I'm pretty sure is an accurate read on the situation).
What's my dilemma? If you're thinking, how to get him to physically back away, let me just say (and thank you Gary, for this immortal phrase): What a rube. You don't know me yet? I've already told him to (1) "Back off." Then, (2) "You're in my space. My personal space." and last, (3) "Whatever has given you the mistaken impression that I don't mind you ignoring social niceties and getting too close to me, trust me when I tell you you are mistaken. Either that or my definition of personal space and yours diverge greatly. Think about keeping yourself a good yard or meter away from me at all times, and don't walk up behind me to surprise me, and don't reach into my work area." He was offended. Whoop-de-doo. There's more where that came from.
No, my dilemma is that another acquaintance (who is going to be quickly moved to non-acquaintance status) who also dislikes this man revealed her true colors and it was not pretty. The obnoxious man in question (short red-headed egotistical nitwit or SRHEN) is Jewish. Apparently, according to prejudiced acquaintance (PA), all of SRHEN's truly annoying or worse personality traits are due to his religious ethnic background. The clincher was the description of SRHEN's homelife. His wife, according to PA, is a "true JAP*."
I have met the maligned wife, and she is a pleasant woman, unlike her husband. I'm not sure what she does or is that makes her a "true JAP". Let's see: she smart, she has a slight New York accent, she's not shy, she can tell a joke, and she doesn't kowtow to her husband. Sounds like a new and improved Hillary Rodham Clinton to me, but apparently those traits make one a JAP?
But I have a duty here. Normally when someone says something truly prejudiced (and not just of the "White people dance funny" variety, which is verifiably true everytime you watch the next generation of young men entering adulthood act as though playing air guitar is an effective night club courtship technique. Has anyone ever seen a Spanish guy or an African American guy play air guitar? I should set up a monetary reward for the photo, if it can be found. This entire parenthical is, I hope, obviously tongue in cheek.) I either drop the dime on PA and let her know that I'm bigger than SRHEN or she is, can take care of myself certainly don't need any anti-semitism to help me, and am getting pissed off. I also, when the white supremacy loons go on about miscegenation and mud people and the like, pull out pictures of DestructoGirl and TigerGrrl, show off their beauty and obvious intelligence and explain that I don't worry about sickle cell, Tay-Sachs, or any genetic anomalies, because by broadening my daughters' gene pools (Africa/Scandivania -- see The Thirteenth Warrier and imagine the Antonio Banderas/Vladimir Kulich combination), I'm creating the true master race: sort of like Amazon Women on The Moon, only the Children of the Foil, or the FoilFilles, or Whatever. No-one goes off about the supposed inferiority of certain groups in front of me.
The tough thing about anti-semitism is that it's normally sort of reverse-prejudice, if you will. It's almost a compliment: Jews are loathed by these idiotic anti-semites (IASes) because, according to the IAS, Jews are smarter, better with money, more ambitious and just more capable. And we play into it by sort of thinking to ourselves, "Hey, these guys can take care of themselves. They don't need me, not a chosen person, to step in and make all right with the world.
But that response is wrong. It's buying into the underlying prejudice, and doesn't stop the expression of prejudice at all. So I should have called PA about her statement. But what can I say? And what should I do. SRHEN actually probably inspires anti-semitism whereever he goes, but it's for his truly loathsome self, not for his ethnicity. Anyone who thinks being Jewish makes him an asshole is truly missing the fact that Jewishness is the religion/ethnicity in which he was raised. Assholishness is his essential nature. He could have been raised Catholic, Hindu, Muslim, Shinto, or whatever. He'd still be him, and at his core he's an asshole.
What to do? Let sleeping dogs like? Or something else?
So I know the correct response would be to engage
*JAP = Jewish American Princess**, for those not familiar with U.S. ethnic slurs by acronym.
**It could also be, of course, Jewish American Prince, but that just doesn't get used as much, because mysogyny works so much better when spreading hate. And the whole "attack a man by attacking his woman" trick by which the woman then gets blamed for everything is an age-old and really hateful technique. Ugh.
October 12, 2006
Capitalism on How to Be Female 101
I'm watching ER right now, which has gone sadly downhill in the last decade or two. Ugly Betty is much better. Grey's Anatomy? Feh. But overall a night of watching TV is seriously enough to mke me feel totally inadequate as a woman. The ads alone are enough to make you heave.
Apparently, we (women, because only women were shown in the ad) need to worry about all the things that can make us look older. Because age (knowledge, wisdom, self-confidence, experience, competence) is bad. One thing that can make us look old: not-white-enough teeth. So we should use tooth-whiteners (without regard for the fact that whiteners can cause painfully heightened tooth sensitivity) to stay young (and innocent, ignorant, callow, insecure, inexperienced, incompetent).
I'll take slightly aged teeth that aren't supersensitive.
Other products I might want, to be youthful, superfeminine and attractive include the right new car, controlling pantyhouse that costs a ton, runs quickly, and makes one look slimmer than one is, because nothing says attractiveness like compressed flesh.
Also, flesh-colored solution to hide (and decrease) any wrinkeles and other signs of aging, as well as any uneven skin tone (because attractive women's skin always looks uniformly-toned, as though all our flesh came from one single colored crayon (what color liquid veil do they try to sell to freckled women?).
Oh, and there are drinks out there with fake flavors (so much better than real flavors) and no calories (I always thought water worked as a no-cal drink, but that's just me) so we can shrink (again, all bodies shown are female).
Now, I should just keep watching until the late night shows are on and I can watch the fortune-telling ads and the "call this number for hot women who will want to talk with you if you give them your credit card number." But those guys don't even think about actually using more toiletry or cosmetic products to make themselves more attractive to women (or do anything else, like read a book). They just want to use the credit card and have the woman say that she's hot for them. Then they'll be shocked to discover that she didn't really mean it. What part of assuming a persona don't they get?
Apparently, we (women, because only women were shown in the ad) need to worry about all the things that can make us look older. Because age (knowledge, wisdom, self-confidence, experience, competence) is bad. One thing that can make us look old: not-white-enough teeth. So we should use tooth-whiteners (without regard for the fact that whiteners can cause painfully heightened tooth sensitivity) to stay young (and innocent, ignorant, callow, insecure, inexperienced, incompetent).
I'll take slightly aged teeth that aren't supersensitive.
Other products I might want, to be youthful, superfeminine and attractive include the right new car, controlling pantyhouse that costs a ton, runs quickly, and makes one look slimmer than one is, because nothing says attractiveness like compressed flesh.
Also, flesh-colored solution to hide (and decrease) any wrinkeles and other signs of aging, as well as any uneven skin tone (because attractive women's skin always looks uniformly-toned, as though all our flesh came from one single colored crayon (what color liquid veil do they try to sell to freckled women?).
Oh, and there are drinks out there with fake flavors (so much better than real flavors) and no calories (I always thought water worked as a no-cal drink, but that's just me) so we can shrink (again, all bodies shown are female).
Now, I should just keep watching until the late night shows are on and I can watch the fortune-telling ads and the "call this number for hot women who will want to talk with you if you give them your credit card number." But those guys don't even think about actually using more toiletry or cosmetic products to make themselves more attractive to women (or do anything else, like read a book). They just want to use the credit card and have the woman say that she's hot for them. Then they'll be shocked to discover that she didn't really mean it. What part of assuming a persona don't they get?
October 11, 2006
Sometimes I Wish I Were Born Male
Really. Especially as the reality of being a woman "of a certain age" (middle-aged, no longer in my first youth, blah blippity blah) hits me. I'm actually looking better than I have in a while, but the burden of looking good as a woman is sometimes just to much for me. And I don't do a lot of the stuff most women do: I don't have time.
I don't blowdry or style my hair. I just comb it and put it up. I look forward to affording haircuts again and having a truly bulldyke short hair cut that I can style by running my fingers through it. I don't worry about color coordination. Most of my clothes are black, white, or red or some variant, and I can just pull a skirt of pants, a shirt, and a jacket or sweater own of the closet, and everything will go. I'll look like a Nazi flag, but actually better and more friendly. And no agonizing. I don't spend time doing my nails, or going to the salon, or really doing anything like. I do soak in the tub, but that's actually pleasant.
However, the minimal grooming stuff that I do do is getting to be too much. Dying my hair. I have salt and pepper hair, what's wrong with that. Shaving my legs. I'm 5'11" and even though I'm not one of those long-legged model types, legs are a lot of acreage. I work in a fairly "professional" office and just don't feel up to handling the looks at the feminist unshaved legs, but I really resent spending the time. Hosiery: it takes to long to put on and then in runs. I hate it. Tweezing. Something about aging means I have to do more of that or have the occasional gnarly whisker, which itches and makes me self-conscious.
Men don't worry about crap like this. I don't want to worry about crap like this. But I don't want to turn into the weird neighbor-lady with ungroomed facial hair and the line from her last dye-job halfway down her waist length hair. Women look weird, not charmingly eccentric.
I wear sneaker type ballet slippers to walk the mile or so to the Metro, and I know I look weird, walking a mile along a busy road where everyone except illegal immigrants drives. But I can't be bothered, and I need to preserve my good leather shoes.
It would be so much easier to be a guy. I'd bath, I'd get dressed. That would be it. And I would never worry if I was being pushy in approaching someone. Of course, I'd have to worry about getting and sustaining an erection and I'd probably have performance anxiety, but hey, to give up tweezing my chin? A fair trade. Except then I'd be a guy, and then I wouldn't be me. Not okay. And I'd have to do all that posturing and pushing others around.
No I wouldn't. I would be a weird guy rather than a weird gal.
I don't blowdry or style my hair. I just comb it and put it up. I look forward to affording haircuts again and having a truly bulldyke short hair cut that I can style by running my fingers through it. I don't worry about color coordination. Most of my clothes are black, white, or red or some variant, and I can just pull a skirt of pants, a shirt, and a jacket or sweater own of the closet, and everything will go. I'll look like a Nazi flag, but actually better and more friendly. And no agonizing. I don't spend time doing my nails, or going to the salon, or really doing anything like. I do soak in the tub, but that's actually pleasant.
However, the minimal grooming stuff that I do do is getting to be too much. Dying my hair. I have salt and pepper hair, what's wrong with that. Shaving my legs. I'm 5'11" and even though I'm not one of those long-legged model types, legs are a lot of acreage. I work in a fairly "professional" office and just don't feel up to handling the looks at the feminist unshaved legs, but I really resent spending the time. Hosiery: it takes to long to put on and then in runs. I hate it. Tweezing. Something about aging means I have to do more of that or have the occasional gnarly whisker, which itches and makes me self-conscious.
Men don't worry about crap like this. I don't want to worry about crap like this. But I don't want to turn into the weird neighbor-lady with ungroomed facial hair and the line from her last dye-job halfway down her waist length hair. Women look weird, not charmingly eccentric.
I wear sneaker type ballet slippers to walk the mile or so to the Metro, and I know I look weird, walking a mile along a busy road where everyone except illegal immigrants drives. But I can't be bothered, and I need to preserve my good leather shoes.
It would be so much easier to be a guy. I'd bath, I'd get dressed. That would be it. And I would never worry if I was being pushy in approaching someone. Of course, I'd have to worry about getting and sustaining an erection and I'd probably have performance anxiety, but hey, to give up tweezing my chin? A fair trade. Except then I'd be a guy, and then I wouldn't be me. Not okay. And I'd have to do all that posturing and pushing others around.
No I wouldn't. I would be a weird guy rather than a weird gal.
October 8, 2006
More Annoying Self-Congratulation
Yup, I've got Saintly Babysitter's bed completely assembled too. And I have done my shopping, including getting Halloween candy (important to take care of early and often, just like voting in Chicago). I am soooooo tired it's almost unreal.
Let Us All Pause and Appreciate the Wonder That Is Me
Actually, to be grammatically correct, I should have titled this "Let Us All Pause and Appreciate the Wonder That Is I", but that just reads wrong. But pause and take note: it is 1:45 p.m., and the girls bunk bed is entirely assembled with no help from anyone else. I used to always have trouble assembling furniture with others because, really, I do it better than they do. Now I'm going to go run some errands, pick up a Sunday paper, and assemble Saintly Babysitter's bed.
Now I feel redeemed from the anti-feminist ickiness of having Srijesh (cute guy, that) do all the roof-tying-on stuff at Ikea. FoilMormor always does this sort of thing herself and I feel marginally less incompetent having managed to do in 20 hours what she could do in about 4. It's hard having an ultracompetent mother. You have to be superhuman just to measure up.
Now I feel redeemed from the anti-feminist ickiness of having Srijesh (cute guy, that) do all the roof-tying-on stuff at Ikea. FoilMormor always does this sort of thing herself and I feel marginally less incompetent having managed to do in 20 hours what she could do in about 4. It's hard having an ultracompetent mother. You have to be superhuman just to measure up.
October 7, 2006
Where to Start?
It's been a week. A busy, horrible, scary, satisfying, victorious, and self-affirming week.
But first of all, those of you who know and love Innana or don't know her, but worship her respectfully from afar, nothing is wrong, she has just decided not to keep up her blog. As all comments on this blog get forwarded to my Foilwoman at gmail email, if you want to reach her, just post a comment here. If she doesn't get to my blog (hey, she gets busy: it's hard work being a deity) I'll forward any comments or questions to her divine yet undisclosed email address. She's fine, I saw her today, and her beautiful chocolate brown cat is fine too, if annoyed that she spent the afternoon with me at Ikea rather than with him.
Now, I'll just dive in. Real custody wars are starting, and I can't detail that much here, but it promises to be unpleasant. At the sametime, PdeFF and I reached a financial settlement. He's waived his claim to alimony and all but $9,000 of my retirement accounts in return from the money from the sale of the house that my attorney was holding in escrow. My retirement accounts (not touchable now, at least not by anyone with half a brain and an ability to plan for the future) are worth about 4x what he took, but he wanted the ready cash.
He wants ready cash because, earning about $40,000/year (a good bit less than me, and really, not that much) he has bought a condo for a little less than $400,000. With an 80/20 mortgage. I.e., 0% down. I finally figured out how he managed to borrow that much money. He used our 2003 tax return (showing earnings over $140K) and our 2004 tax return (showing earnings over $100K) and neglected to inform the lender that he wasn't the part of the couple who earned the money. That'll work. I guess I should just start a foreclosure pool. I personally think he'll last until late 2007, with the settlement he just got.
But really, it's just depressing. Of all the stupid decisions he makes, this one really takes it. It's watching him destroy himself and commit financial suicide.
Nonetheless, he therefore was ready to come to the table and deal regarding money, and he gave me a real edge. I'm broke for cash, but I have long term savings. And because we've reached a property settlement (signed and everything), he can't walk away from it. So that part is over, and I have some assets. Not a lot, not something I can use to pay bills, but I'm 45, I need my retirement accounts. And honestly, if I have an emergency, I still have the bank of Mom and Dad.
Speaking of which, my rent, already high ($1,600/month) is going up by $250. So I have to cut expenses, even though I will be getting a small raise soon. It won't cover the $250, and I'm already pretty close to the edge.
When FoilMormor moved me in here, she rented the furniture. Since then, I've gotten most of the family antiques back, and my oriental rugs and my piano, but I still have a rented couch, and rented furniture in the kids' room as well as some rented lamps, bureaus, etc. So that furniture is going back to the rental store. And since I have property settlement, FoilMormor and BigGrampa both announced they would each send me $400 to buy a bunkbed (TigerGrrl wants a bunkbed). BigGrampa and I had seen a nice bunkbed for about $500 at a store, so the amount they are sending would cover the bed, mattresses, and possibly a few other pieces of furniture.
Well. Did I show them how frugally I can shop? Let me just say: Ikea at Potomac Mills. I got a bunk bed and mattresses for $220. I then got a bed for the Saintly Babysitter as well (she lives with me). For $130, bed plus mattress. So I got the bunkbed for the kids, and another bed, mattresses included, for less than half the "go get some furniture" money I've been sent. Now, I'll have to be careful, but between CraigsList, Freecycle, Target, and thrift shops, I should be able to replace all the rental furniture and cut the rental expense out of my life.
Speaking of Ikea, I love their inexpensive but functional furniture, but I hate the shopping experience (I generally hate shopping, but this is extra awful). People seem not to notice other people and there is lots of bumping and rudeness and the like. Fortunately, Innana went with me and saved a clueless sales clerk (the one who couldn't describe prices adequately and kept marking things up, not down) from certain death, and then stepped in and explained the crisis to the supervisor in words of one syllable when I was rendered incoherent (and probably incandescent as well) with rage ("You see ma'am, she really only wants to pay the $99 advertised price, not some other higher price that your subordinate selected. She's funny that way."). We had a nice Swedish meatball lunch, and when we were tying everything on the car, Innana went and selected a lovely handsome young man of Indian subcontinental ancestors to help witht he tying on. Somehow, she selected the most attractive boy in the bunch. Srijesh was just lovely to watch (I had already been tying on the stuff, but hey, help isn't something I reject anymore) and had beautiful manners as well. I'll let Innana select all male personal assistants in the future.
We drove by SNV's house to drop off Scandinavian cinnanom buns, and then headed homeward.
DOL, talking to Innana after I had left heard that I was assembling an Ikea bunk bed tomorrow (actually, it's already half done) said: "Don't even think about going over there. Just stay out of her way." DOL is a very wise woman. But I'm actually having fun, even if I am getting tired. When PdeFF and I used to assemble furniture, I would always be resisting the urge to brain him with the wrench. I'm actually pretty relaxed. I sorted all the pieces, and half been following the instructions. It's working pretty well. So far. More later.
But first of all, those of you who know and love Innana or don't know her, but worship her respectfully from afar, nothing is wrong, she has just decided not to keep up her blog. As all comments on this blog get forwarded to my Foilwoman at gmail email, if you want to reach her, just post a comment here. If she doesn't get to my blog (hey, she gets busy: it's hard work being a deity) I'll forward any comments or questions to her divine yet undisclosed email address. She's fine, I saw her today, and her beautiful chocolate brown cat is fine too, if annoyed that she spent the afternoon with me at Ikea rather than with him.
Now, I'll just dive in. Real custody wars are starting, and I can't detail that much here, but it promises to be unpleasant. At the sametime, PdeFF and I reached a financial settlement. He's waived his claim to alimony and all but $9,000 of my retirement accounts in return from the money from the sale of the house that my attorney was holding in escrow. My retirement accounts (not touchable now, at least not by anyone with half a brain and an ability to plan for the future) are worth about 4x what he took, but he wanted the ready cash.
He wants ready cash because, earning about $40,000/year (a good bit less than me, and really, not that much) he has bought a condo for a little less than $400,000. With an 80/20 mortgage. I.e., 0% down. I finally figured out how he managed to borrow that much money. He used our 2003 tax return (showing earnings over $140K) and our 2004 tax return (showing earnings over $100K) and neglected to inform the lender that he wasn't the part of the couple who earned the money. That'll work. I guess I should just start a foreclosure pool. I personally think he'll last until late 2007, with the settlement he just got.
But really, it's just depressing. Of all the stupid decisions he makes, this one really takes it. It's watching him destroy himself and commit financial suicide.
Nonetheless, he therefore was ready to come to the table and deal regarding money, and he gave me a real edge. I'm broke for cash, but I have long term savings. And because we've reached a property settlement (signed and everything), he can't walk away from it. So that part is over, and I have some assets. Not a lot, not something I can use to pay bills, but I'm 45, I need my retirement accounts. And honestly, if I have an emergency, I still have the bank of Mom and Dad.
Speaking of which, my rent, already high ($1,600/month) is going up by $250. So I have to cut expenses, even though I will be getting a small raise soon. It won't cover the $250, and I'm already pretty close to the edge.
When FoilMormor moved me in here, she rented the furniture. Since then, I've gotten most of the family antiques back, and my oriental rugs and my piano, but I still have a rented couch, and rented furniture in the kids' room as well as some rented lamps, bureaus, etc. So that furniture is going back to the rental store. And since I have property settlement, FoilMormor and BigGrampa both announced they would each send me $400 to buy a bunkbed (TigerGrrl wants a bunkbed). BigGrampa and I had seen a nice bunkbed for about $500 at a store, so the amount they are sending would cover the bed, mattresses, and possibly a few other pieces of furniture.
Well. Did I show them how frugally I can shop? Let me just say: Ikea at Potomac Mills. I got a bunk bed and mattresses for $220. I then got a bed for the Saintly Babysitter as well (she lives with me). For $130, bed plus mattress. So I got the bunkbed for the kids, and another bed, mattresses included, for less than half the "go get some furniture" money I've been sent. Now, I'll have to be careful, but between CraigsList, Freecycle, Target, and thrift shops, I should be able to replace all the rental furniture and cut the rental expense out of my life.
Speaking of Ikea, I love their inexpensive but functional furniture, but I hate the shopping experience (I generally hate shopping, but this is extra awful). People seem not to notice other people and there is lots of bumping and rudeness and the like. Fortunately, Innana went with me and saved a clueless sales clerk (the one who couldn't describe prices adequately and kept marking things up, not down) from certain death, and then stepped in and explained the crisis to the supervisor in words of one syllable when I was rendered incoherent (and probably incandescent as well) with rage ("You see ma'am, she really only wants to pay the $99 advertised price, not some other higher price that your subordinate selected. She's funny that way."). We had a nice Swedish meatball lunch, and when we were tying everything on the car, Innana went and selected a lovely handsome young man of Indian subcontinental ancestors to help witht he tying on. Somehow, she selected the most attractive boy in the bunch. Srijesh was just lovely to watch (I had already been tying on the stuff, but hey, help isn't something I reject anymore) and had beautiful manners as well. I'll let Innana select all male personal assistants in the future.
We drove by SNV's house to drop off Scandinavian cinnanom buns, and then headed homeward.
DOL, talking to Innana after I had left heard that I was assembling an Ikea bunk bed tomorrow (actually, it's already half done) said: "Don't even think about going over there. Just stay out of her way." DOL is a very wise woman. But I'm actually having fun, even if I am getting tired. When PdeFF and I used to assemble furniture, I would always be resisting the urge to brain him with the wrench. I'm actually pretty relaxed. I sorted all the pieces, and half been following the instructions. It's working pretty well. So far. More later.
October 3, 2006
Sex and Gender Roles
So, no, as a woman, I reject the idea that I need to always try to aim for osteoporosis (the smaller you are-- in thinness, not height, the more likely you are to have osteoporosis). I am not going to try to shrink. I am going to try and be fit. Lift weights (weightbearing exercise helps avoid bone shrinkage), hike, skate, bike, swim, lift daughters, play "flying kid" and "flying baby" and "tickle monster" and "run-around-after-giggling-like-mad-offspring-for-some-dire-but-undefined-purpose-that-is-wildly-entertaining-for-all-three-participants". I wonder how fitness has come to be defined by weight rather than performance. I know weight does reveal a lot, but what about blood pressure (120/80 when I'm stressed, 110/70 normally), resting pulse rate (60), distance one can walk in an hour (4 miles, breaking a slight sweat), weight one can lift (right now, pretty pathetic: I was able to bench press 80 pounds the other day, which is just dismal, that number is going to rise, damnitall).
Yet every fitness article that isn't geared toward women training competetively seems geared toward what the woman looks like rather than what she is like. When
FoilMormor had a mastectomy for cancer, the doctor tried to get her to have a "tram flap" reconstruction, where the doctor removed abdominal muscle, and recreates a breast, with nipple. Of course, you then have to recover from someone messing with abdominal muscles as well as chest muscles. (I can't speak regarding the chest muscles, but I can regarding abdominal: it hurts. I wouldn't volunteer for any abdominal interference ever.)
Instead, FoilMormor had a semi-reconstruction. They stuck a bag of saline solution (I think) between her ribs and her chest muscles. Of course, this hurt less than the "tram flap" creepy thing, but wasn't as "realistic"*, for instance there was no nipple. However, the placement of the fake bazoonga created problems all its own. The insertion of the saline bag under the pectoral muscles really hampered FoilMormor regaining her freedom of movement. The reconstruction really, really, really increased FoilMormor's recovery time and impeded her ability to use her arm. But of course, you're not a woman without a boob, right? FoilMormor really was pissed off when she realized that the reconstruction was going to limit her ability to do things. For several years thereafter, she had to favor her right side when doing things she loved to do: ski, swim, bike, paint**, cook, etc. So to keep my mother looking feminine enough, they encouraged her to losefunctionality. Sick.
I like my breasts. I don't want to lose them and probably won't (I'm not high risk. FoilMormor was post-menopausal when diagnosed.), but I see so many areas where what a woman looks like is more important that what she is like. More on this, but I'm going to sleep so that I can beat up strangers with more energy and a good strong unimpeded right hook tomorrow. And maybe a few left uppercuts. If that doesn't work, I'll just trip them.
*Note to everyone, reconstructed tissue is by its very nature erstatz, i.e., not the real thing.
**FoilMormor loves to paint.
Yet every fitness article that isn't geared toward women training competetively seems geared toward what the woman looks like rather than what she is like. When
FoilMormor had a mastectomy for cancer, the doctor tried to get her to have a "tram flap" reconstruction, where the doctor removed abdominal muscle, and recreates a breast, with nipple. Of course, you then have to recover from someone messing with abdominal muscles as well as chest muscles. (I can't speak regarding the chest muscles, but I can regarding abdominal: it hurts. I wouldn't volunteer for any abdominal interference ever.)
Instead, FoilMormor had a semi-reconstruction. They stuck a bag of saline solution (I think) between her ribs and her chest muscles. Of course, this hurt less than the "tram flap" creepy thing, but wasn't as "realistic"*, for instance there was no nipple. However, the placement of the fake bazoonga created problems all its own. The insertion of the saline bag under the pectoral muscles really hampered FoilMormor regaining her freedom of movement. The reconstruction really, really, really increased FoilMormor's recovery time and impeded her ability to use her arm. But of course, you're not a woman without a boob, right? FoilMormor really was pissed off when she realized that the reconstruction was going to limit her ability to do things. For several years thereafter, she had to favor her right side when doing things she loved to do: ski, swim, bike, paint**, cook, etc. So to keep my mother looking feminine enough, they encouraged her to losefunctionality. Sick.
I like my breasts. I don't want to lose them and probably won't (I'm not high risk. FoilMormor was post-menopausal when diagnosed.), but I see so many areas where what a woman looks like is more important that what she is like. More on this, but I'm going to sleep so that I can beat up strangers with more energy and a good strong unimpeded right hook tomorrow. And maybe a few left uppercuts. If that doesn't work, I'll just trip them.
*Note to everyone, reconstructed tissue is by its very nature erstatz, i.e., not the real thing.
**FoilMormor loves to paint.
The Destroy Your Life and Lose Weight Diet
When I was pregnant with the DestructoGirl, in 2004, I lost weight. I was nervous and keyed up and couldn't eat and slept much less than I should have (I still managed 9 hours a night, but I know from my pregnancy with TigerGrrl and my other miscarriage-resulting pregnancies, that I need, in my first trimester, at least 10 hours a night with naps and rests, and will happily sleep 12 hours a night without any wish to sleep less). After having DestructoGirl, I then had an umbilical hernia repair and the next time I stepped on a scale in early 2005, I weighed 25 pounds less than I had before my pregnancy. I know that's not supposed to happen, but it did.
The weight has stayed off, and I've lost another 25 pounds. Now, of course, in 2003 I was quite overweight, but I've never been one to diet, relying on activity to keep me fit. But in 2005, I just didn't like eating that much. I'm not losing anymore (I'm still a bit plump, but I'm looking good), but I'm not gaining, and I am eating again. And enjoying it.
I'm not going to diet. I could try to lose a little more weight to enhance my soon-to-be-newly-single-and-back-on-the-market state, but I'm not going to do that. On feminist principles, and just because hey, I'd rather be able to kill an intruder with my bare hands than look slim and probably not-so-interesting. I'm taller but a good bit slimmer than the woman in question there. And I'm not going to try and look prepubescent. I've got the breasts, the hips, and, not in the least coincidentally, the lats, the biceps, the triceps, the quadriceps, and lots of other muscles that I clearly inherited from my large (female and male) Scandinavian and New England forbears.
I am going to try and eat in a healthy manner. DestructoGirl is going to need my guidance for quite some time, and when she's 20, I'll be 63. I figure I need to be healthy and dynamic well into my eighties and possibly nineties to be an effective parent. Also, I need to be plenty intimidating as both my beautiful girls come under the focus of *cough* icky men. And nothing makes a courting man behave better toward a woman than the knowledge that there is a parent who is perfectly willing to risk prison time should he misbehave. Also, I want to be 94 and swim with my descendants, just like Nuclear Grammy has done. I'm not going to be able to do the cartwheel she did at 70, I've never been able to do that.
The weight has stayed off, and I've lost another 25 pounds. Now, of course, in 2003 I was quite overweight, but I've never been one to diet, relying on activity to keep me fit. But in 2005, I just didn't like eating that much. I'm not losing anymore (I'm still a bit plump, but I'm looking good), but I'm not gaining, and I am eating again. And enjoying it.
I'm not going to diet. I could try to lose a little more weight to enhance my soon-to-be-newly-single-and-back-on-the-market state, but I'm not going to do that. On feminist principles, and just because hey, I'd rather be able to kill an intruder with my bare hands than look slim and probably not-so-interesting. I'm taller but a good bit slimmer than the woman in question there. And I'm not going to try and look prepubescent. I've got the breasts, the hips, and, not in the least coincidentally, the lats, the biceps, the triceps, the quadriceps, and lots of other muscles that I clearly inherited from my large (female and male) Scandinavian and New England forbears.
I am going to try and eat in a healthy manner. DestructoGirl is going to need my guidance for quite some time, and when she's 20, I'll be 63. I figure I need to be healthy and dynamic well into my eighties and possibly nineties to be an effective parent. Also, I need to be plenty intimidating as both my beautiful girls come under the focus of *cough* icky men. And nothing makes a courting man behave better toward a woman than the knowledge that there is a parent who is perfectly willing to risk prison time should he misbehave. Also, I want to be 94 and swim with my descendants, just like Nuclear Grammy has done. I'm not going to be able to do the cartwheel she did at 70, I've never been able to do that.
Mo' Money
Really, the gift of the baseball tickets from Innana, followed by a visit with Lt. Col. Katie really were what sent me over the edge yesterday. Yesterday the FoilKids and I headed down to visit Lt. Col. Katie. She has a condo that she bought about 15 years ago. She has a lot of savings. She just spent $100,000 refurbishing the darn thing with some sort of expensive wood flooring (I do want non-wall-to-wall-carpeted floors at some point in the future, it's one of the few actual things I want, and I want it with a fiery passion), and redid her kitchen with those stainless steel appliances, some sort of coppery colored Italian and glass tiles, and weird and obviously expensive lighting fixtures.
She's 40, childless, and never-married and has disposable income. She also dotes on my girls, and is heading overseas (not to Iraq or Afghanistan, thank heavens, I want her alive) to a hardship posting, so upon finding out her orders, she and I got together for the first time in almost a year. We'll get together again, Katie, Lourdes, and me before Katie heads off to do some peacekeeping (literally) somewhere that a few years ago had all the tourist appeal of Fallujah today.
It was great to see her, and she and TigerGrrl had lots of fun. TigerGrrl put on Katie's scuba diving belt, her weightlifting belt, her soccer shorts, her volleyball knee pads, her soccer shin pads, her army uniform (well, the jacket and the hat), her scuba equipment, a golfing glove, asking how each piece of sporting equipment was used. Katie and I couldn't find Katie's camera for a memorial picture of the TigerGrrl, ready for absolutely anything, but it was pretty damn priceless. TigerGrrl has announced that she wants to be a soldier. Bless Katie's pretty conservative and military-bound heart, she took one look at my face and hemmed and hawed. She allowed as how she has seen the world, but some of it has been pretty scary. She didn't discourage TigerGrrl (this may be an ideal career for my daughter, if she weren't my daughter and bullets weren't flying -- TigerGrrl does have a fair amount of physical coordination and derring do and does tend to play with the boys, and that doesn't seem likely to change) and did mention that the U.S. Military Academy (called just the Academy by its alumni, not West Point, which reveals the speaker to be an outsider) would give my child a free college education (current price tag: $200,000 give or take), if certain conditions were met.*
Katie has given up a lot for her adventurous life. She would like to be married, but one year postings in trouble spots don't help you connect. But I was feeling some real envy, for her life planning skills, her savings account, her flooring, and her kitchen with its absolutely silent dishwasher in a drawer.
Oh well. I'm pretty sure she was looking at my girls with undisguised longing, and I have the truly priceless treasure, even if I do end up living under a bridge. I hope she comes home safe, which, since her trouble spot of choice has been cooling down, seems very likely and is the outcome I will be awaiting.
*If that phrase rings a bell, then you too are probably a fan of the syndicated TV Show Friday the Thirteenth, which had absolutely nothing to do with the movie of the same name, and was a guilty pleasure that Innana, of all people, introduced me to, and which I still enjoy, even though it airs nowhere any more.
She's 40, childless, and never-married and has disposable income. She also dotes on my girls, and is heading overseas (not to Iraq or Afghanistan, thank heavens, I want her alive) to a hardship posting, so upon finding out her orders, she and I got together for the first time in almost a year. We'll get together again, Katie, Lourdes, and me before Katie heads off to do some peacekeeping (literally) somewhere that a few years ago had all the tourist appeal of Fallujah today.
It was great to see her, and she and TigerGrrl had lots of fun. TigerGrrl put on Katie's scuba diving belt, her weightlifting belt, her soccer shorts, her volleyball knee pads, her soccer shin pads, her army uniform (well, the jacket and the hat), her scuba equipment, a golfing glove, asking how each piece of sporting equipment was used. Katie and I couldn't find Katie's camera for a memorial picture of the TigerGrrl, ready for absolutely anything, but it was pretty damn priceless. TigerGrrl has announced that she wants to be a soldier. Bless Katie's pretty conservative and military-bound heart, she took one look at my face and hemmed and hawed. She allowed as how she has seen the world, but some of it has been pretty scary. She didn't discourage TigerGrrl (this may be an ideal career for my daughter, if she weren't my daughter and bullets weren't flying -- TigerGrrl does have a fair amount of physical coordination and derring do and does tend to play with the boys, and that doesn't seem likely to change) and did mention that the U.S. Military Academy (called just the Academy by its alumni, not West Point, which reveals the speaker to be an outsider) would give my child a free college education (current price tag: $200,000 give or take), if certain conditions were met.*
Katie has given up a lot for her adventurous life. She would like to be married, but one year postings in trouble spots don't help you connect. But I was feeling some real envy, for her life planning skills, her savings account, her flooring, and her kitchen with its absolutely silent dishwasher in a drawer.
Oh well. I'm pretty sure she was looking at my girls with undisguised longing, and I have the truly priceless treasure, even if I do end up living under a bridge. I hope she comes home safe, which, since her trouble spot of choice has been cooling down, seems very likely and is the outcome I will be awaiting.
*If that phrase rings a bell, then you too are probably a fan of the syndicated TV Show Friday the Thirteenth, which had absolutely nothing to do with the movie of the same name, and was a guilty pleasure that Innana, of all people, introduced me to, and which I still enjoy, even though it airs nowhere any more.
October 1, 2006
The Love of Money Is The Root of All Evil
Sure it is. Unfortunately, one has to come to terms with money to live a life in a reasonable manner. I've never been great with money. I was very good at earning it for a while. I made a lot of money (over $200,000 in my high earning year), but those days are gone. Now, I have a less stressful single mother friendly job that pays a little over a third of what I used to make as a "successful" super-professional. I have a good job that is not glamorous, working for an organization that does meaningful things (it doesn't just throw ideas around and collect money for it: I help support the provision of some very basic and essential services to the area in which I live) that I approve of and support. I have a regular schedule, job security (really), decent benefits*, and work I actually enjoy. I didn't enjoy being a super-professional. I loathed it.
I like being a not-so-super-professional. Part of that is that I like the things I do every day (I'm responsible for some specialized research functions and supervise more than a handful of people), and I like the people I work with. I don't think I've ever really thought that before, aside from working with Innana when she was seven, twenty years ago.
But earning lots less than I used to, even if it still is more that the national average (or state average) is tough. You get into lots of habits that you can't live with anymore.
Living with PdeFF and the dismaying realization that his vaunted financial expertise was non-existant really has made me radically reorganize my financial life in the last year.
Things I have done to save money that I did not use to do:
I buy in bulk when things are on special.
I buy at large container stores.
I no longer buy on impulse.
I never buy on credit.
I simply don't spend money on things like hair cuts (I just put my hair up).
I do all my own beauty treatments. If I can't do it, I don't need it. Also, I'm good-looking enough, or that's what I tell myself.
I use the library.
I buy books second-hand (thank you, McKay's) and rarely pay money: I normally use a store credit from trade ins.
I accept gifts graciously (I hope), especially if they benefit my kids.
I do not hesitate to ask family for help (this I never used to do).
I clip coupons.
I cadge stuff off of free-cycle and Craig's List.
I buy meat on it's last sell by date and cook it up then.
I don't buy processed stuff: I make my own tomato sauce, macaroni and cheese, banana bread, pancakes, etc. (with exceptions of frozen waffles and biscuits and chicken noodle soup).
I cook up leftovers in creative ways.
I use the water from steaming vegetables to make broth.
I use vegetables that I would have thrown out before to make soup.
I use fruit I would have thrown out before to make things like banana bread or apple pastry.
I pack lunches.
I mend clothing.
I keep repairing shoes again and again.
I go to the $1.85 dry cleaner.
I wash clothes in cold water.
I hang dry clothes.
I don't eat out except for very special occasions (such as Innana's 27th *cough*).
If people want me to visit, they can buy the darn ticket. That goes for BigGrampa in Europe in particular, but also for anyone else.
I don't start wearing tights (which last longer than nylons, which I have given up on) until it really is cold. I'll just go bare-legged rather than wear a pair of $3 hosiery that will run immediately.
Ross, Marshall's, T.J.Max, and Filene's Basement are just fine places to shop.
Talbots is for gift certificates given to me, but not for spending actual real money.
Wine is not an essential. I do like it, but I'll only buy it if I have met my budgetary goals for the month.
New clothes really aren't necessary.
I have plenty of stuff. I really don't need anything else.
Having said all that, I live in a very expensive suburb, and I'm trying to think what else I can cut out so that I can afford to buy a home again in the foreseeable future. I really am not saving now, but that's not surprising. I just wrote a check for $2,500 for my last set of legal fees. Of course my savings account is shrinking. But someday, this damn divorce will be over, and I will want to buy a home. I'll be able to cut back father, but on what?
I'll worry about that later. But I am thinking about money more than sex now, and that's rather scary. Actually, I'm thinking about money the way I used to think about sex: rather obsessively and rather fantastically. I worry that if I found a wallet full of money I would keep it rather than return it to its owner or at least try.
Okay, food, sex, and gender roles still to come. But not tonight.
*Since I switched to the "high-end" medical provider (no more OCI HMO, thank you very much), I pay a whopping** $250 a month for good medical coverage where I can choose my health care providers for some additional fee. I get dental coverage as well, a contribution equal to 4% of my salary tossed into a retirement plan, and, if I contribute money as well, the first 4% is matched, 100%. So by contributing 4% (actually, I contribute more) of my salary, I have actually managed to save 12%. Nice trick, huh? I get better leave than most Americans (not much, but it grows with seniority) and am actually allowed to take vacations. I get highly subsidized public transit. Plus many other benefits, such as tuition reimbursement and the like.
**Sarcasm: My cost for coverage is much lower than most people pay.
I like being a not-so-super-professional. Part of that is that I like the things I do every day (I'm responsible for some specialized research functions and supervise more than a handful of people), and I like the people I work with. I don't think I've ever really thought that before, aside from working with Innana when she was seven, twenty years ago.
But earning lots less than I used to, even if it still is more that the national average (or state average) is tough. You get into lots of habits that you can't live with anymore.
Living with PdeFF and the dismaying realization that his vaunted financial expertise was non-existant really has made me radically reorganize my financial life in the last year.
Things I have done to save money that I did not use to do:
I buy in bulk when things are on special.
I buy at large container stores.
I no longer buy on impulse.
I never buy on credit.
I simply don't spend money on things like hair cuts (I just put my hair up).
I do all my own beauty treatments. If I can't do it, I don't need it. Also, I'm good-looking enough, or that's what I tell myself.
I use the library.
I buy books second-hand (thank you, McKay's) and rarely pay money: I normally use a store credit from trade ins.
I accept gifts graciously (I hope), especially if they benefit my kids.
I do not hesitate to ask family for help (this I never used to do).
I clip coupons.
I cadge stuff off of free-cycle and Craig's List.
I buy meat on it's last sell by date and cook it up then.
I don't buy processed stuff: I make my own tomato sauce, macaroni and cheese, banana bread, pancakes, etc. (with exceptions of frozen waffles and biscuits and chicken noodle soup).
I cook up leftovers in creative ways.
I use the water from steaming vegetables to make broth.
I use vegetables that I would have thrown out before to make soup.
I use fruit I would have thrown out before to make things like banana bread or apple pastry.
I pack lunches.
I mend clothing.
I keep repairing shoes again and again.
I go to the $1.85 dry cleaner.
I wash clothes in cold water.
I hang dry clothes.
I don't eat out except for very special occasions (such as Innana's 27th *cough*).
If people want me to visit, they can buy the darn ticket. That goes for BigGrampa in Europe in particular, but also for anyone else.
I don't start wearing tights (which last longer than nylons, which I have given up on) until it really is cold. I'll just go bare-legged rather than wear a pair of $3 hosiery that will run immediately.
Ross, Marshall's, T.J.Max, and Filene's Basement are just fine places to shop.
Talbots is for gift certificates given to me, but not for spending actual real money.
Wine is not an essential. I do like it, but I'll only buy it if I have met my budgetary goals for the month.
New clothes really aren't necessary.
I have plenty of stuff. I really don't need anything else.
Having said all that, I live in a very expensive suburb, and I'm trying to think what else I can cut out so that I can afford to buy a home again in the foreseeable future. I really am not saving now, but that's not surprising. I just wrote a check for $2,500 for my last set of legal fees. Of course my savings account is shrinking. But someday, this damn divorce will be over, and I will want to buy a home. I'll be able to cut back father, but on what?
I'll worry about that later. But I am thinking about money more than sex now, and that's rather scary. Actually, I'm thinking about money the way I used to think about sex: rather obsessively and rather fantastically. I worry that if I found a wallet full of money I would keep it rather than return it to its owner or at least try.
Okay, food, sex, and gender roles still to come. But not tonight.
*Since I switched to the "high-end" medical provider (no more OCI HMO, thank you very much), I pay a whopping** $250 a month for good medical coverage where I can choose my health care providers for some additional fee. I get dental coverage as well, a contribution equal to 4% of my salary tossed into a retirement plan, and, if I contribute money as well, the first 4% is matched, 100%. So by contributing 4% (actually, I contribute more) of my salary, I have actually managed to save 12%. Nice trick, huh? I get better leave than most Americans (not much, but it grows with seniority) and am actually allowed to take vacations. I get highly subsidized public transit. Plus many other benefits, such as tuition reimbursement and the like.
**Sarcasm: My cost for coverage is much lower than most people pay.
Take Me Out to the Ballgame
I actually got two cute little French boys to sing that song at the Nationals game last night (along with everyone else in the stadium). We ate hotdogs. We ate peanuts. A complete stranger gave Moose (Romeo's older brother) a baseball that would measure how fast you throw it ("Now, I want to hear that you're throwing at 85 mph, dude" was what the young man said).
TigerGrrl and Romeo spent the game climbing into one another's seats and stealing the blanket I brought along to keep them wrapped up. And throwing peanuts in the air and trying to catch them in their mouths.
Of course, I could never actually afford to do this. The tickets for the game were $40 each (these were good seats, a little far off in right field, but close: just seven rows back). We could see the players without binoculars.* The parking would have been at least $10, probably more. Fortunately, I didn't have to spend $170 to get there. I didn't spend as much as I could have on food: I brought fruit juice and rice krispie bars and marshmallows and other snacky foods with us. I did spring for hot dogs ($16 -- $4/each), two waters ($8 -- $4 each, which the kids needed after the peanuts -- $6.50 -- that Romeo bought), one beer ($6.50!, but it's not a baseball game if you don't have a beer), and three programs ($15 -- $5 each), one for each kid, which seemed excessive, but I thought it would make a nice memento for each since we wouldn't be doing this again most likely. So, without paying for admission or parking, I still managed to drop $45.50 taking three kids to the ballgame.
But for a special treat, hey. We had fun and it was an evening the kids will remember. Even if the Nationals barely got on base and never scored. The Mets won, 13-0, which was rather embarrassing.
*Please note, Shawn Green, the Mets' right-fielder looks a lot better in person than he does in his baseball card photo, and made for nice viewing all evening.
TigerGrrl and Romeo spent the game climbing into one another's seats and stealing the blanket I brought along to keep them wrapped up. And throwing peanuts in the air and trying to catch them in their mouths.
Of course, I could never actually afford to do this. The tickets for the game were $40 each (these were good seats, a little far off in right field, but close: just seven rows back). We could see the players without binoculars.* The parking would have been at least $10, probably more. Fortunately, I didn't have to spend $170 to get there. I didn't spend as much as I could have on food: I brought fruit juice and rice krispie bars and marshmallows and other snacky foods with us. I did spring for hot dogs ($16 -- $4/each), two waters ($8 -- $4 each, which the kids needed after the peanuts -- $6.50 -- that Romeo bought), one beer ($6.50!, but it's not a baseball game if you don't have a beer), and three programs ($15 -- $5 each), one for each kid, which seemed excessive, but I thought it would make a nice memento for each since we wouldn't be doing this again most likely. So, without paying for admission or parking, I still managed to drop $45.50 taking three kids to the ballgame.
But for a special treat, hey. We had fun and it was an evening the kids will remember. Even if the Nationals barely got on base and never scored. The Mets won, 13-0, which was rather embarrassing.
*Please note, Shawn Green, the Mets' right-fielder looks a lot better in person than he does in his baseball card photo, and made for nice viewing all evening.
Several Forthcoming Posts on Baseball, Money, Food, Sex, and Gender Roles
I simply can't fit it all into one post. So please note, there are lots of posts for today, October 1. But most importantly: GaahGirl is hereby dubbed DestructoGirl. She's a weapon of mass destruction all on her own. I suppose she has an avatar in Iraq and that's what Bush was looking for. She's certainly smarter and more intellectually developed than our fearless* leader. Of course, that's not saying much.
*Fearless only because he's just way too stupid to know when to feel fear. Leaving the rest of us to feel it in abundance.
*Fearless only because he's just way too stupid to know when to feel fear. Leaving the rest of us to feel it in abundance.
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