In the interest of family peace, I’ve decided to become less demanding of my cellmates when it comes to housework. Obviously, I have a much more refined sense of what constitutes cleanliness than the average human being. But since my relatively new zen approach to life, where I have accepted that it would be mentally and physically healthier for me to just learn to chill the hell out about The Shit That Bugs Me, and Let Things Slide A Wee Bit, I like to think I've become a softer, gentler version of my previous animal self.
Plus, stress kills, ya know.
That said, I come home today to find the bathroom looking like a tsunami hit it. Kitchen, ditto. I walk around with that look on my face that usually indicates impending doom for the person(s) responsible. As I wander, I ponder my deep inner zen-ness, and the gargoyle face gradually cracks, crumbles, and let’s my happy face shine through. I remind myself that it’s just a house (really nice one!) and it’s just a bit (understatement, but no matter) messy, and a mere 10 minutes or so of tidying can rectify the situation, should the need arise. I tell myself (Self, are ya there?) that nothing will change if I do not do it. In fact, what if I…*gasp* just left it the way it is? Like, all messy like. Like. Would the world cease to turn? Would it’s axis change? Would the universe alter? Time space contiuum crack and let in the creepybleepies from another dimension? It’s possible, I ponder. Who knows. But I decide to just Take The Chance, and see. That was two whole hours ago, and thus far, nothing has appeared in my livingroom with 14 heads and battery acid saliva.
So far, so good. If I don't check back in by midnight, it means something horrible crawled out from under the sofa and ate me. And then rudely barfed me back up onto my previously spotless hardwood floors. Please alert the proper authorities and remember, God loves us enough to create an anti-universe. He calls it Hell. I call it a messy house. Sick one, that ole God.
A real sick one :)
Saturday, January 19, 2008
Friday, January 18, 2008
Q-Ray, It's A Miracle, or How My Belief in Mankind Was Restored. A little bit.
While shopping in a mall recently, I turned to walk into a store that I thought was a pharmacy, but turned out to be an optometrist. Shelf after shelf of bejeweled, designer eyeglass frames gave it away instantly. I turned to walk back out and thought, what the hey, it's time for an eye appointment anyway. I figure every couple or three of years is a good enough schedule for this.. I’ve been getting my eyes checked by the same optometrist for the last ten years now, but something held me there, in that new place. Psychic vibes? Positive energy? Instinct? Or maybe the fact that I’m too lazy to look up my own optometrist's phone number? Heh.
I firmly believe in gut instinct, so I looked around again with a bit more interest. Nice place, looked a bit on the pricey side. The receptionist was eyeing me expectantly, waiting for me to say something. So I walked over and asked for an appointment. Hell, let’s make it three, one for me, one for each of my kids. She marked down the date and time, handed me a card, and off I went, wondering what my gut instinct was up to.
A week later and it’s time to leave for our appointment. Daughter One (for future reference, we can call her Sassy), is ready to go, Daughter Two (Feisty) cannot find her medical card. I tell her she will have to stay home, we gotta leave now. If you can’t find your card, not to worry, we will make you another appointment for next week. Sassy decides to drag her friend along, since there is room in the car now. I love sports cars. Hey, sue me. Off we go.
We are shown into the waiting area, where we wait on comfortable leather bench seats, and are soon ushered into the optometrists office. He is immediately likable, puts my daughter at ease with his questions regarding her vision, says a couple of funny things, and then I notice his wrist…is that a frikkin Q-RAY bracelet?? Say it ain’t so. Say I am not about to trust my (our) vision to this lunatic wearing a miracle pain-away hunk of metal alloy! Nay! I freeze. Do I mention it? No, better not to. Do I drag my offspring kickin and screamin out the door? No, do not panic. Let’s give the man a shot. Off he goes to test my daughters vision, so I sit back and ponder. Perhaps someone else bought it for him, I think to myself, grasping at straws. Surely a grown man, a professional optometrist, does not buy himself a Q-Ray. No, sounds like something a daughter would do. I look around the office, searching out family pictures. Indeed, there they are. Hmmm. When he returns, I await the proper moment, and say something along the lines of “Kids these days, know what I mean?” and he says, yes, he has 4, two girls and two boys. Phew! I think to myself, a glimmer of hope.
By the end of the session, he has assured me that my eyes are fine, I do not need to spend a million dollars on a brand new pair of flashy designer glasses, but I do have a slight infection. (knew that…) He gives me a prescription for antibacterial eye drops. Sassy though, she needs glasses, I knew that, too. She gets an eyeglass prescription, and some advice about her eyes, and out the door we go, not a penny poorer. Sassy will need glasses, she can come back and choose a pair. But I am relieved to have been let off with the eyewear I already wear. I wear. Haha.
Climbing into the car, I think to myself, what a great optometrist. Charming, likable, professional, knows his stuff. And loves his kids enough to risk his credibility as a doctor by wearing a Q-Ray to work. The world needs more people like this.
Thanking my gut, I drive home. Thanks, gut!
I firmly believe in gut instinct, so I looked around again with a bit more interest. Nice place, looked a bit on the pricey side. The receptionist was eyeing me expectantly, waiting for me to say something. So I walked over and asked for an appointment. Hell, let’s make it three, one for me, one for each of my kids. She marked down the date and time, handed me a card, and off I went, wondering what my gut instinct was up to.
A week later and it’s time to leave for our appointment. Daughter One (for future reference, we can call her Sassy), is ready to go, Daughter Two (Feisty) cannot find her medical card. I tell her she will have to stay home, we gotta leave now. If you can’t find your card, not to worry, we will make you another appointment for next week. Sassy decides to drag her friend along, since there is room in the car now. I love sports cars. Hey, sue me. Off we go.
We are shown into the waiting area, where we wait on comfortable leather bench seats, and are soon ushered into the optometrists office. He is immediately likable, puts my daughter at ease with his questions regarding her vision, says a couple of funny things, and then I notice his wrist…is that a frikkin Q-RAY bracelet?? Say it ain’t so. Say I am not about to trust my (our) vision to this lunatic wearing a miracle pain-away hunk of metal alloy! Nay! I freeze. Do I mention it? No, better not to. Do I drag my offspring kickin and screamin out the door? No, do not panic. Let’s give the man a shot. Off he goes to test my daughters vision, so I sit back and ponder. Perhaps someone else bought it for him, I think to myself, grasping at straws. Surely a grown man, a professional optometrist, does not buy himself a Q-Ray. No, sounds like something a daughter would do. I look around the office, searching out family pictures. Indeed, there they are. Hmmm. When he returns, I await the proper moment, and say something along the lines of “Kids these days, know what I mean?” and he says, yes, he has 4, two girls and two boys. Phew! I think to myself, a glimmer of hope.
By the end of the session, he has assured me that my eyes are fine, I do not need to spend a million dollars on a brand new pair of flashy designer glasses, but I do have a slight infection. (knew that…) He gives me a prescription for antibacterial eye drops. Sassy though, she needs glasses, I knew that, too. She gets an eyeglass prescription, and some advice about her eyes, and out the door we go, not a penny poorer. Sassy will need glasses, she can come back and choose a pair. But I am relieved to have been let off with the eyewear I already wear. I wear. Haha.
Climbing into the car, I think to myself, what a great optometrist. Charming, likable, professional, knows his stuff. And loves his kids enough to risk his credibility as a doctor by wearing a Q-Ray to work. The world needs more people like this.
Thanking my gut, I drive home. Thanks, gut!
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Another day, another....5 cents.
Every once in a while I get introspective. It doesn't usually last long, just long enough to piss myself off. And so today I ponder my place in the universe. What the big hairyass fuck am I doing here? And how can I get somewhere else? Warmer, like. Why do our lives cage us in? Obviously, the answer is to just do what needs doing, you know, go with the flow, one day at a time, don't pet the sweaty stuff. Not so simple, hoo boy. What of responsibility? What of dependants? What of obligations??? What if I lose my everlovin' mind?
Really. What's it all about? Why go through the motions of yet another day, sameness after sameness. What is there to look forward to tomorrow? More work? More universal bad manners as yet another incompetent driver cuts me off with a flash of well polished fender and a well polished finger gesture? More, ye gods, work.
I like to think it's just the winter blues. Dig my self out, dig myself back in. Pay atrocious bills to keep warm. Bundle my ass up like frikkin Charlie Brown and stagger through the snow to yet another dreary day full of ill-tempered coworkers. Probably the same folks who polish their gesturing in heavy traffic. Anyone would be depressed.
Is it just me? I don't think so. Our society is heavily flawed. Hell, anyone who's been married can attest to that.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Automobile Art
...
I see dead people.
At least, that's what I assume from the way they drive....like they have a death wish. Nothing whatsoever to lose by ramming each other at 120mph in order to create a solid mass of impenetrable steel and flaming gas tanks. While I can admire the desire to be creative (being artistically inclined myself) I must opine resistfully in the negation of this latest fad. It is not, nor will ever be, cool to build large sculptures of twisted automobile metal and burning rubber. It's not the metal, it's not even the acrid stench of burning rubber...it's the people trapped inside that kind of make me think twice about this particular new "art" and what it entails. Sacrifice for one's art? I think not.
Even with the haze of steel grey smoke, tendrils swirling mistfully and playfully about, lending that tiny bit of eerie atmosphere.
Just. Say. No.
I see dead people.
At least, that's what I assume from the way they drive....like they have a death wish. Nothing whatsoever to lose by ramming each other at 120mph in order to create a solid mass of impenetrable steel and flaming gas tanks. While I can admire the desire to be creative (being artistically inclined myself) I must opine resistfully in the negation of this latest fad. It is not, nor will ever be, cool to build large sculptures of twisted automobile metal and burning rubber. It's not the metal, it's not even the acrid stench of burning rubber...it's the people trapped inside that kind of make me think twice about this particular new "art" and what it entails. Sacrifice for one's art? I think not.
Even with the haze of steel grey smoke, tendrils swirling mistfully and playfully about, lending that tiny bit of eerie atmosphere.
Just. Say. No.
Home sweet home.
This will be my first entry. Up to now I've just been having fun poking around the place, changing things, rearranging furniture, figuring out how things work. I've unpacked, had a nice cold frothy beer, and am ready to kick some posting ass. A couple of things confound me, however, I will work out the bugs and worry about the things under the bed later.
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