Whoop-di-freakin'-do.

I'm irritated today. Don't really know why. I'm just irritated. It probably has something to do with the fact that I'm sitting in this box of an office, looking out the window wishing I was anywhere else but here. It's starting to get overcast, so today won't be nearly as nice, weatherwise, as it has been the last couple of days. I'm on vacation next week because my daughter is off school for spring break. I'd like to get some stuff taken care of around the house, but I'll probably be lazy and not do anything, which is how it normally goes.

We tried taking a family walk last night after dinner, but we only got about half a block because we were also attempting to walk the rabbit at the same time and he wasn't really cooperating. Plus, we stopped by our friends' house and ended up standing outside talking to them for about an hour while the kids chased the rabbit around. But, I'm still really keen on the idea of trying to make the after-dinner family walk a regular thing. Next time, we'll try to get at least a block from home. It's all about the baby steps.

If you look to my blog rolling links at the right, you'll see a link for Korean Celt II. It's another blog I started on xanga.com, primarily to see if I like their blogging tools better than blogger. However, I'd like to use that blog as an opportunity to answer questions you might have about, well, anything. I have a very high opinion of my ability to give really good advice to those in nee. So go ahead and post a question.

But it was such a nice day, can you really blame me?

Yesterday was the first truly nice day of the year. It was sunny and warm and springlike. It was the kind of day where you absolutely cannot spend one unnecessary moment inside and must go out. So as soon as my daughter and I returned home yesterday, I called a friend to see if she and her kids wanted to walk to a park "downtown" so we could get some exercise and enjoy the day. I further suggested that once the kids had tired themselves out on the playground, we could then walk to a chocolate cafe in town for some treats before we walked back home. She told me that, in fact, she and another friend had already talked about going out for a walk, so this would be the perfect solution. You might be wondering why I phrased "downtown" the way I did. It's because our "downtown" is really only about six city blocks in size. We have only one skyscraper, which isn't really a skyscraper. It just looks like a skyscraper in comparison to all the other buildings "downtown." Anyway, our neighborhood is only a few blocks from "downtown," which makes it a pretty quick trip.

Anyway, getting back to the story, we all walk to the park with the kids and watch them play while we stand around and chat and it's all pretty good. A really lovely day, to say the least. After being there for about 45 minutes, I look at my watch and see that it's 4:15 and remember that my daughter has a dentist appointment at 4:30. I immediately scream for her to come over and tell her we have got to run, and I mean run, home to get the car so we can make it to the dentist. I apologize to my friends for the hasty retreat and then my daughter and I take off like a couple of bats out of hell to get back home. As we're running, running through the streets toget home, my daughter tells me she can't make it. I tell her she must. She tells me to carry her on my back and I tell I can't. I tell her I believe in her and she's got it in her to run the rest of the way home. Amazingly, she believes me and we jump in the car and take off. Luckily, I have water with me, so we guzzle the stuff. I don't even have time to brush her teeth. Miraculously, we walk into the dentist's office at 4:30, exactly. I check in panting like a dog trapped in a locked car on a hot day and tell the receptionist that we've literally run to get there on time and could I please have a toothbrush and some toothpaste to quickly clean my daughter's teeth before she sees the dentist. The receptionist very graciously gives me both and directs me to the restroom. As soon as we get into the restroom, I look at the toothpaste sample she's given me. It's cinammon. I know this will not got down well with the child because, despite being a quarter Korean, she really can't take spicy foods or flavors. She asks me what type of toothpaste it is and I tell her. I tell her she's not going to like it, but we don't have any choice at the moment. I start brushing her teeth and she immediately goes into her "it burns, oh how it burns" routine. But, she sticks with it. I'm really glad to say when she really needs to do something, she normally bucks up and takes it on the chin. When we come out of the bathroom, she explains how that was "the hottest thing she's ever had in her mouth." I thank her for being a good trooper. The good news, she doesn't have any cavities.

Happy Dingus Day.

Here in South Bend, they have this tradition called Dingus Day, which is the day after Easter where the democrats have these pancake and sausage breakfasts around town and democratic officials talk to the people about whatever. I don't really understand why it's such a big deal, but it is. Really, I think people want an excuse to say something as ridiculous as Dingus. I don't know what that means, but it's probably a polish word meaning "stuff yourself silly." Actually, let me do a quick Google search and I'll find out. This can be a learning experience for all of us. OK, these are the two meanings that show up at Dictionary.com:
1. An article whose name is unknown or forgotten.
2. A person regarded as stupid.

I don't think that meaning can be what they are talking about; although, it is strangely appropriate if you think about it. Let's do another check, shall we?

Here's an explanation of Dingus Day from coalspeak dictionary: Dingus Day : The day after Easter Sunday. Men would chase women around with buckets of water and the women would hit them with switches. From a viewer: this tradition began in Poland, and involved pussy willows.

OK, obviously, Dingus Day does involve some level of stupidity, which I guess is as good as we're going to get.

Yesterday my husband pulled out our daughter's loose tooth with pliers. He feels supremely proud of himself and believes he's now passed some crucial milestone of fatherhood. I don't know what that milestone would be, exactly, but he's apparently accomplished something really, really important.

Happy Easter!

My title loses some of the effect because it should be said with a sinister voice. You know, in a drippy, spine-tingling Bela Lugosi sort of way. Unfortunately, sound doesn't transfer well to print. Anyway, the phrase "Happy Easter" occupies a warm spot in my heart for the time in high school friends of mine found a dead, frozen rabbit outside our school. (This was in Utah, so it was entirely plausible that an animal could be found frozen at that time of year.) School was out of session when these boys found the stiff carcass of Peter Cottontail and decided the best thing to do with it would be to hang it by its neck from a tree branch right outside the cafeteria window (which basically made up the entire outside wall of the cafeteria) and stick a note proclaiming "Happy Easter" on its underside. So that was that. What made it especially funny is that the next day was an in-service day for the teachers and the first teacher into the cafeteria that morning apparently saw the rabbit hanging outside the window and screamed bloody murder from the shock of it. How we found out about it, I don't know, but it makes for a good story whether or not it actually happened.

Since tomorrow is Good Friday, the university is closed and thank the lord for it because I am officially plagued by a bad attitude when it comes to work. I find I am really developing a strong dislike for academics. Not the people, themselves, but what they seem to stand for, which is basically intellectual elitism and snobbery. It's interesting the authority we give these people as a culture when, in reality, there's nothing especially objective of unbiased about them. You might not realize this, but the modern American university system is probably one of the most closed-minded microcosms in our country. People aren't really interested in new ideas, they just want everyone to agree with their own line of thinking so they can validate their own posturing. Fresh thinking is not really acceptable. I have a bad attitude because I listen to the jibberish and I want to tell them they are all full of crap and that they don't really represent anything and that they don't really do anything worthwhile. Man, this is getting to be a bummer of a post, so I'm signing off for the day.

Snoozer lives to see another day.

Typical, Snoozer is still alive. It was foolish of me to think that anything as sublime as him passing on after his night of freedom would actually happen. Actually, he was looking pretty bright-eyed and bushy-tailed this morning. So, I don't know, maybe his escapade reinvigorated him and filled him with a new joie de vivre. I can tell you this much, his cheeks were packed tight with seed and that hasn't happened for a long, long time. He does seem to be displaying a strange sort of gusto today. Hmmm. Maybe I should escape for the night and see what it does for my energy level.

I just want to put out this little public service announcement while it's in my head: Don't do drugs. A friend and I ran into a brief acquaintance of her's and this guy could not focus on anything. Experimenting with pot in college is one thing, but when you've grown up and you're still toking away at the old pipe, that's really tired and pathetic. And this guy seems to have been puffing away at the weed like a rastafarian looking for God. Really, just say no.

The Great Hamster Escape.

Apparently, our crafty little hamster Snoozer busted out of his cage last night and roamed the house like a king in his palace. My husband and daughter discovered Snoozer snuggled in a blanket on the couch when they went downstairs this morning. After following the trail of poop pellets, my husband deduced that Snoozer got out of his cage, climbed down the chair next to the table where his cage sits, walked through the livingroom, stopped at my daughter's backpack and ate awhile from the reserves in his cheeks before making his way into the diningroom and then back to the livingroom where he climbed up the couch and then settled in for a good night's rest. This was Snoozer's first foray into the big, bad world and we're somewhat amazed he kept to a relatively safe route. There are, of course, numerous other paths he could have taken which would have led to certain death. He doesn't seem any worse for wear, but it gave my daughter quite a bit of fuel for her next book: Snoozer's Midnight Escape.

Snoozer's an old guy. I'm sure he's somewhere around 80 in hamster years. We're a bit surprised he's still alive. He's almost three years old. That's a long time to live if you're a hamster. In my mind, if he were to die tonight, it would be poetically beautiful and perfect. He checks out with a grand adventure. The caged bird that finally gets to fly, so to speak. In this case, the hamster that finally gets to roam. Anything after this would be anti-climatic. If he holds on for another few months, it just won't have the same symbolic meaning or impact and it'll just be crap. It'll just be that time that Snoozer got out of his cage.

If you've been waiting to hear what my daughter's teacher told her about the "talk" she had with the boys involved in last week's schoolyard rumble, join the club. Her teacher didn't say anything to her yesterday. I asked her what the deal was when she got in the car as I picked her up from school and she said, "She never said anything. I was waiting all day for her to call me over, but she never did. I guess she forgot." However, I did see my daughter playing with the boys while they waited in line, so everything must be OK with all of them.

See, what did I tell ya?

Remember how I told ya my family was going to go to the restaurant on campus where I could have my corned beef and cabbage and green beer on St. Patrick's Day? Yeah, well, it didn't happen. First my husband ended up coming home much later than any of us expected and by the time we got to the restaurant, there was an hour wait. So, good-bye green beer. I still did manage to get the corned beef and cabbage, though. We went to Old Country Buffet, which my daughter calls Old Man Cafe. Next to Chuckie Cheese, I think this is her favorite restaurant because she always wants to go there. Of course, the food wasn't as good as it would have been if we could have gone to our restaurant of choice, but beggars can't be choosers. This is actually the first year where I didn't make the St. Patrick's Day meal myself. Now that I'm working close to fulltime, I just don't have the energy to do a big homecooked meal during the week. Anyway, so I'm still running a zero on the green beer. Maybe next year. Maybe next year.

I was out Friday because my daughter was home sick from school, which means either my husband or I is also home for the day. It was my turn this time. Her glands were really swollen and her tonsils were large and inflammed and she had a croupy sort of cough, so I kept her home for the day in the hopes the illness wouldn't be made worse by over-activity. It seemed to work, her glands are much reduced in size and she's not coughing so much. Although, the tonsils are still swollen. When we were out to dinner Thursday night at Old Man Cafe, my daughter told us how she and her friends had been attacked that day at recess by a group of other friends. There's a little bit of background on this one. My daughter and her friends (which are mainly boys) like to have Pokemon battles. They're pretend battles that they make up in their minds, so there aren't any cards or action figures involved. It's just them saying they have a certain Pokemon with certain powers and whatnot. So they battle. One of my daughter's friends (her best friend, as a matter of fact) apparently doesn't always follow the rules and he "uses" Pokemon that aren't allowed or gives them impossible powers. At any rate, he comes up with scenarios that can't be beat, so he always wins his battles. Most of the boys and my daughter have become very frustrated by all of this. We've told our daughter to tell her friend she will no longer play Pokemon if he can't stick to the rules. So it seems on Thursday, this friend defeated one of the other boys with his tricky tactics. Once the battle was over, my daughter, her friend and another boy were walking along when a group of boys led by the recently defeated boy descended upon them like a Hun horde. One boy grabbed my daughter and pulled her away. A couple of the other boys grabbed the second boy and dragged him away, and then the henchboy of the angry loser grabbed my daughter's best friend and started kicking him in the stomach. All these kids are in the same class, and my daughter thinks of all of them as friends. So while she struggled to break free of the boy holding her so she could run to help the boy that was being kicked, she was really freaked out by the entire incident. Eventually, a teacher called them all to her and she reprimanded them, but I don't get the idea that she really saw what was going on. Anyway, as my daughter told us this, it became clear to me that she was afraid this would happen again. She was very upset to be attacked by her friends, but really, she was more concerned about the future. So I called her teacher Friday morning to explain what happened so that perhaps this could be used as an opportunity to explain why organized lynchings on the playground are not a good idea. The teacher said she would pull all the boys aside to find out what had happened and to make sure they understood this sort of behavior will not be tolerated. My daughter is relieved now and is no longer fearful. The teacher is supposed to talk to my daughter today to tell her what was said. As a result, none of the children will be allowed to play this Pokemon game anymore because it's obviously something they get too emotional about. The thing I find really interesting is that even though these kids have established certain rules about how to play, they still let the "cheating" boy win. You'd think they'd say, "That doesn't count because you can't use that Pokemon." They go along with whatever he comes up with. I don't know. Kids are weird but, hopefully, this entire thing is in the past now.

Once my daugther had finished telling us the entire story, she said, "I feel so much better to get that off my chest." My husband and I told her we were very happy she came to us and that she should never be afraid to talk to us. My husband told her if a boy grabs her like that again, she should head-butt him and get away. Basically, he told her that she could do whatever was necessary to get away and protect herself and even if she got in trouble at school, she wouldn't be in trouble at home for defending herself. The other thing my daughter said is that she was very "happy that they didn't kick [my friend] in the weiner."

"That would have been very wrong," she said.

"Yes, it would have been," I agreed.

It was made more humorous by the fact that she put her hands over her heart in relief as she relayed this information. She spent the rest of the evening saying, "I am so glad this day is over."

Happy St. Patty's Day, you drunken mass.

Here's to wishing a pint of green beer to all of you. Drink up, Mateys.

Being half Irish, I relish St. Patrick's Day. However, there is a sad truth about me and St. Patrick's Day: I have never been drunk on St. Patrick's Day. In fact, I've never even had a glass of green beer in my life. I know, it's tragic. It's not been to a lack of trying, though, I should clarify. For some reason, my plans have always fallen through on St. Patrick's Day. Either something came up at the last minute that prevented me from going out or I had to do something important the next day and couldn't risk being hung-over. It sucks, really. And, of course, now that I'm a mother, I can kiss the idea of getting drunk on St. Patty's Day goodbye until the child is gone to college. Of course, it's made more tragic now by the fact that I am in the middle of Irishland. The students get off for the day, you know. (Just joking.) We do have some Guiness in the fridge at home. Maybe I'll drink a bottle tonight. See, see? See how pathetic it all is? Well, we're going to the restaurant on campus tonight for our corned beef and cabbage. Maybe they'll have green beer and I can at least cross that off my list of things to do before I die. Wish me luck.

I'm a WINNER!

Sorry attempt at self-affirmation or am I, in fact, a winner? Oh baby, I am a winner all the way. A few days ago I took my daughter to get her hair trimmed and while I was waiting, I noticed a contest display for a complete makeover. Of course, I filled out an entry sheet because if you're gonna win something, a makeover is a pretty good thing. Anyway, last night I get a call from Jenny telling me I've WON.

"Really?" I screeched. "I actually won the makeover?"

"Yes, yes. You have won the makeover."

"Wow."

So the makeover includes make-up, hair, body massage, facial, and maybe some other stuff I'm not remembering. I'm most excited about the hair, though, because I am in desperate need of a cut. However, there are some catches, as there always are. Apparently, they take a before photo of me and then an after photo and then some judges obviously look at other makeover winners to see who has the most dramatic change. I don't know what that contest is all about, but I'm getting some free beautifying, so I don't really care.

After I got off the phone, my daughter was very excited about the win. She said, "Wow. congratulations, Mom. Good job."

I asked her if she remembered seeing me fill out the form at the salon and she said no. But she was really happy for me, nonetheless. Winning is all that counts in her mind. So Jenny, the makeup girl, is coming to my house on Saturday to "consult." She's asked me to invite friends if I like, which really means she's hoping that she can still make some sales (I think she's a Mary Kay consultant) since she can't really expect me to buy anything off her. So I'll invite a couple of friends over to play with the makeup. My husband asked if it was alright if he left during the cosmetics orgy. But while my luck is hot, I think I should enter the extreme house makeover or something.

Jane Austen kicks major butt.

I spent the afternoon yesterday watching Pride and Prejudice. I've got the A&E production on DVD, so I watched the entire five hours. I love watching Jane Austen adaptations because it makes me wish men and women could still interact with each other the way they did in Regency-era England. I love the verbal play and how elegantly the women dissed the men. Well, and vice versa. It was a time when a strong wit really counted for something. I was telling my husband that that's the time period I would choose to live in. However, I'd have to be part of the aristocracy because it wasn't any fun being part of the working class, I would guess. I love how even the poor aristocrats could still have servants and act like they were something. Although, I do find it odd that they still looked down on those who worked for their money. I suppose it's akin to the same sort of prejudice today against people with "new money." Right? Just because you've got lots of cash doesn't mean you've got the class to match. The other thing about living in that time period is that I'd have to be the daughter of a man who didn't force me to marry someone I didn't want to marry, because obviously, that part had to be a major drag as well.

New link

If you look to the side, you'll see I've linked to a new site that my brother told me about. It's TuckerMax.com. I will let you know ahead of time it's incredibly vulgar, just in case that sort of thing bothers you, but it's pretty funny. I think I've mentioned before my appreciation for the abnormally base. Well, this is about as base as you get. But it's funny. It's funny in the way Maxim used to be funny but isn't anymore because now they take themselves too seriously at Maxim and are getting into trying to be "serious" journalists or whatever. Anyway, I used to think Maxim was really funny and I don't anymore. Is it insulting to women? Sure it is, but anyone who's stupid enough to think what's presented in Maxim is something to take seriously probably deserves to be insulted. I'm not a gender traitor or anything because I will be the first one to hop up on the "Women Kick Serious Ass" bandwagon, but people are stupid and when they are, you've got to laugh. So if you like raunchy humor, go give the site a look-see.

In other news, the child is here with me today. School is out today, so she's in the office. She's typing a book or something right now.

KC: What are you typing?

Little KC: A story.

KC: What's it about?

Little KC: Me and Squeak (Squeak is her Pokemon Ratatat.) It's going to be in black and white, the pictures.

KC: What's going to happen in the story?

Little KC: It's just a story about a kid and Pokemon Squeak, which is a purple mouse, Now I'm going to play Donkey Kong if you don't mind. Do you know what I'm stuck on? I got across once but then I died. Died like I'm a monkey getting squashed by a mouse. That's how I died, by a lizard guy. Isn't that weird? I know lizards are smaller than monkeys but that 's just the Donkey Kong world.

Blast you monkey.


OK, the child is sucked into her gameboy now, so I'm probably not going to get anymore conversation out of her. Which is fine because I've got some work to do.

Round Two

OK, I"m back. I just finished my tomato and mozerella salad and I am going to have some fierce garlic breath for the rest of the day. Good thing there is absolutely no one here. I am completely and utterly alone in this office enjoying my own rancid breath. But the salad was tasty, so that makes it worth it. What I don't get is how some things that taste so good can smell so bad, like kimchee, for instance. It's so good but stinks the high heaven. Actually, I don't mind the smell that much. But Americans really find it repugnant. I don't know why, really, but they do. When I was in college, one of my roomates threw out my jar of kimchee over Christmas break because she said she couldn't stand the smell anymore. OK, rule number one, don't ever fuck around with someone else's food. I was pretty mad when I got back and it was gone. But it was cool, I went to my happy place so I wouldn't beat her senseless, but a certain level of respect was destroyed forever. Anyway, getting back to the stink. I'm sitting here right now smelling my garlic breath, but the taste in my mouth is really a scrumptious to me. In fact, I am sitting here swirling my tongue all around the inside of mouth just to get more of that delectable garlic flavor. You know what does bite the big one, though, is when you wake up the next day after eating really garlicky food and you can smell the garlic coming from your pores. That garlic smell isn't so good. And it doesn't matter how much you bathe, it's just got to work its way out of your system. It's the same with alcohol. The smell of alcohol coming out of the pores is just wrong, so wrong. It's bad enough when you can smelll it off yourself, but it's really bad coming from someone else. I can't even describe it. The problem is that you almost taste the smell rather than just smelling it. So you get that multi-sensory thing going and it's like an overload or something. The brain just can't handle that much information at once. That's my objective opinion, anyway, which has been culled over years of first-hand experience in the trenches of intoxication.

I am sooooo bored.

I'm bored. Is there something weird going on with Blogger or is it just me? Everything looks weird and my blogroll isn't showing on the side. Something is definitely afoot. I'm bored. Did I mention that? I'm literally sitting here watching the tomato and mozerella salad I made for dinner last night warm up to room temperature so I can eat it for lunch. My daughter asked me this morning if I like to write stories and I told her yes. She asked why I didn't choose to do that as a job and I told her that I did choose to do it for a job. "That's what a journalist does," I said. "Write stories." Of course, I'm not a journalist anymore. Well, I'm not a paid journalist anymore, but you can never really stop asking questions and trying to dig up dirt on something. I really wonder what my daughter will do when she grows up. She seems interested in so many things that it's hard to pick out a clear line of interest. She loves animals and says she's going to work at the Australia Zoo with the Crocodile Hunter when she grows up. However, she seems incredibly interested in writing stories. She's always making up stories in her head, but she never expresses an interest in wantiing to write when she grows up. She also loves art. She can sit and concentrate on art projects for hours, which is odd for a kid her age. But she never says anything about doing that either. She only talks about working at Australia Zoo. But she's not interested in being a vet. If people misunderstand her to mean she wants to be a vet, she says, "No. I am going to work with the Crocodile Hunter. That's different than being a veternarian." Actually, what I think she's talking about is being a zoologist, but she doesn't know what to call it yet.

Getting back to why I'm bored. I don't want to be here right now so I'm just sitting here watching the clock. I keep thinking about things I've got to do that I could be doing right now if I weren't here. I've got to finish my daughter's Easter dress. I've also got to replace the screens on our screened-in porch, but I've got to wait until the weather's a little warmer before I really tackle that. Of course, I've still got the sink I have to replace in the half-bath. You see, lots of stuff to do. I don't even want to sit and write here anymore I'm so bored, so I'm signing off for now.

This and That

Hi all. I was out sick yesterday. Every now and again everything catches up and I just have to rest for a day. Anway, I've got a few things on my mind. To start with, my husband and I have been participating in Disciples in Mission, which is a Lenten discussion group. It's basically an opportunity for people to get together in an informal setting and discuss religion. We're doing it with our friends the Loras, who are our neighbors around the corner. I invited some other families to participate, but they decided to pass. So we meet once a week during Lent to go over certain readings and answer accompanying questions. It probably sounds really Holy Roller, but we're enjoying it. Probably because we feel very comfortable talking to the Loras about all of this stuff. As we've been talking, it's been making me realize how dissatisfied I am with work in general. I'm not complaining about it because I've got a pretty good set-up. I only work the hours my daughter is in school, which is something I know a lot of other parents wish they could have. But the more we talk, the more I understand I'd feel more fulfilled if I could volunteer more at the school/ church. Perhaps that will come to pass as my husband and I pay off our debt, which is really our primary financial goal right now. I don't regret the choices we've made or anything, but there's just another added insentive to keeping the eye on the prize, as they say.

After my husband came home from work yesterday, we watched this show called the Gastineau Girls, which is on E!. I've never seen this show, only the commercials for it, so we were sitting there watching and I swear to God it made me sick. If you don't know what this show is about, it's basically a reality show that follows the lives of a rich and overly-pampered mother-daughter combo living la vida loco. What made me sick is that these two have all the time and money in the world and the best thing they can think to do with their lives is run around from store to store buying such essentials as doggie booties and picking up men in hair salons. Now I know you're wondering who am I to judge what other people choose to do with their lives, and really, I'm nobody to judge. We're all free to make our own choices, but it just seems like a shame to me. Maybe it affected me particularly because I've been thinking more about what I can do to make life just a little bit more hopeful for those around me. I don't know. But I got angry watching these chicks drop cold hard cash for cashmere sweaters for their dogs and act like this was something important. I don't want to come off sounding like Mother Teresa or anything, because I'm not an overly altruistic person. I'm really not. I truly only feel sympathy for children when it comes to being in distress because kids have no choice about the circumstances of their lives. Once you're grown, you determine theoutcome of your life and people in desperate situations probably contributed to it in very significant ways by making bad decisions, and I figure if you got yourself into it, you can get yourself out. Which is not to suggest you can't seek help from others, it just means the you've got to be the person spearheading the salvation for yourself. Don't put the responsibility of it in someone else's hands.

Spring break, but not for me.

Hey. How's it hanging? It's spring break here at the university, but not for us poor schlumps known simply as "staff." We don't deserve a break because we actually work, as you can so plainly tell by my regular posts put up here from work. It's OK because everything sort of slows down. It's the same way in the summer, too. Actually, most of time I don't even know it's break until I realize, "Hey, everything has sort of slowed down." At which point I ask someone in the hall if it's break. The only breaks that mean anything to me are the breaks my daughter has because then I have to worry about who's going to watch her. Last year my husband took off during her spring break because he has more vacation than I do. However, with his new job, he lost a week, so I'll probably be the one to take off this year. I'm torn between wanting to stay home for the week or going to DC to see my parents. Maybe I can convince my mother to come here for the week. I'd like to get some work done around the house.

Speaking of work around the house, I finished primeing and painting the wall in the half-bath, which means I was also able to reconnect the tank to toilet. Now all I have to do is buy a new sink and hook it up and then the bathroom will be back to normal. It's weird, though, going to the bathroom without a sink because there's so much open space in the bathroom that you feel kind of exposed when you're on the toilet. The room itself is very small, only big enough for the toilet and sink, but it still feels vast when you're just sitting in there with nothing between you and the door.

I watched Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind over the weekend. I liked it. Generally speaking, I don't think Jim Carrey gets enough credit for his acting ability. I thought he was excellent in A Series of Unfortunate Events. He was pretty good in this movie, too. The only thing is that since we're so used to seeing him when he's being goofy, it's always a little jarring when he does something a little comedic in a serious role because you're suddenly reminded of something else that has nothing to do with the role on screen. Jim Carrey strikes me as being really lonely. I don't know why he and his wife divorced; although, it happened after he just started getting really famous and then he married Lauren Holly. But after he divorced Lauren Holly, he just seems really lonely. I don't get the impression that he handles break-ups very well because everytime he breaks up with someone, he invariably ends up banging away at a piano in some bar singing about how love gone and done him wrong. I personally sympathize with celebrities when it comes to having to deal with the more disappointing aspects of life in the public eye. They should be allowed the courtesy to fall apart in private.

The return of the king

My husband, who's been gone all week on a business trip to Cleveland, returned last night. My daughter and I were already asleep when he came in, but he woke us up and my daughter popped up out of bed and said, "Oh, Dad, I've been waiting for this moment." Have I ever mentioned she's a little melodramatic. Anyway, he had a good trip and feels pretty enthused about his new job. He's still with the same company, just doing something new. But it's nice to have things back to normal. I always feel a little more creeped out at night when my husband's gone because I feel like I have to make extra sure the doors are locked and whatnot. Although, I'd feel pretty sorry for the sucker who tried to break into my house because I'd take 'em down fast with my fierce fighting skills. Did you see that? Those were my hands flashing before your eyes at a hundred miles per minute. That's why you missed it. That's how quick and deadly they are. No, but seriously, I would be pretty pissed off and I think I'd probably want to rip out the eyes of someone trying invade my castle. When I get really, really angry, I have this thing that I call "The Rage" that starts in the pit of my stomach and spreads out through my entire body until I feel like I'll explode if I don't hit someone. Needless to say, I've spent a healthy chunk of my life surpressing this anger when I feel it come on, but it a situation like that, I'd let that sucker loose like a pack of hungry dogs chasing a fat rabbit. One time, my brother and I got into a fight at the mall when some punk who came up to our car at a stop light punched my brother in the face as he sat in the car. Anyway, before I could even open my door, my brother already had him down on the ground. By the time I got around to the other side of the car, my brother was giving it to him pretty well. So I grabbed the guy and pulled him up and off the ground and there was this split second where I saw in his eyes that he was going to hit me and I literally saw red. I mean really saw red. I never knew that could actually happen until that moment. People talk about it, but you figure it's just a saying. No, everything flashed red in my head and I thought, "Go ahead and do it because then I'll have an excuse to help my brother finish pounding your ass." Anyway, he got his senses together before doing anything and the people in the cars around us started yelling at him and telling him that they had his license plate number and were going to call the police, so he took off. But that was the only time that I got just a hair's width away from succumbing to The Rage in all its frightful glory. Ooooh, I get worked up just thinking about it, and this happened about thirteen years ago, just a couple of years after I graduated college.

The Drywall Man Leaveth

So the the drywall man has completed his work on the hole in my bathroom wall and it's looks really good. In fact, that section of the wall now looks better than it did before it was busted out by the overzeaous plumber sent to my house by the American Home Shield Company who is refusing to take responsibility for the fact that they authorized unnecessary destruction of my property. They are continuing to refuse to take responsibiity by not paying for someone to come reinstall my new sink. I'm probably going to end up installing it myself because I'm starting to think I can do a better job than most of these people anyway, but it's all really about the principle of the matter. However, despite all that, I really have to put in another word on how nice drywall man was. Yesterday morning, he actually came out and helped me clean the snow and ice off my car as I was getting ready to leave. There aren't many people who would do that sort of thing and I am a firm believer in publicizing deceny, just to remind all of you that it shouldn't be unexpected in the first place. In fact, as he was helping me clean off my car, I couldn't help but think that he is the sort of person one used to refer to as a gentleman.

Which makes me wonder what happened to all the gentlemen? Why don't men strive to be gentlemen any longer. I actually think this is a result of all the confusion surrounding gender roles. When I was younger, I used to consider myself a feminist, but I don't anymore because I think the primary tenets of feminism promote just as exclusionary a philosophy towards men as they complain of being promoted against women. I think wanting to be treated just like men isn't a good thing because, quite frankly my dear, I've got higher standards than that. Yuk, yuk, yuk. But seriously, in order to elevate one's own worth, I don't think you need to trivialize another's. I don't appreciate that women choosing to take on more traditional roles are somehow seen as lacking ambition in today's culture. And when one looks at the statistics on the number of males and females attending and completeing college--which shows women are now attending college at higher rates than men--I don't think we're really improving society. In focusing on improving the woman's lot, I think a large portion of society has forgotten that the goal should really be to make sure everyone can look to their futures with the same level of enthusiasum and hope.

Now don't misunderstand what I'm saying, I am not saying that the women's movement was unnecessary or wrong. Obviously, women were not given the same level of access to life choices that men had. But the way it's worked out doesn't seem to present a more egalitarian way of life for both sexes, if you ask me. I read an article once on racism that states one of the biggest tricks that's being played upon the American psyche today is the notion that there is no longer a race problem. I don't completely agree with that. I think there are still problems, but I don't think they're nearly as bad as a lot of people like to make it seem. And I pretty much think the same thing with sexism. There's definitely still work to be done, but I don't think it's nearly as bleak as some play it off to be.

Potty mouth update.

OK, all I can say about the swearing is that I am still trying. I am still trying. What this experience has really taught me is that I swear without even thinking about it. It just comes out. But I am really trying to think about what I say before I say it. Somehow when people do stupid things in traffic, though, I just can't help myself. I didn't mention the Oscars yesterday. I love the Oscars but it's harder to justify staying up for the entire thing as time goes on and I know I have to get up early the next morning to take my daughter to school, and go to work. I've always been a eight-hours-a-night gal, but I am just not as willing as I once was to sacrifice my sleep because the next day is just not worth it. It's kind of the same thing with drinking. Sometimes it's really a drag doing the responsible thing. It really is.

Anyway, the Oscars. The Oscars is like my Superbowl. I used to dream about winning an Oscar by the time I turned 30. I still dream about winning an Oscar. If I could make my living as an actress, I'd do it. Even if I could just go to the Oscars one day, that would be a dream come true. Of course, part of the dream includes people dressing me and doing my hair and make-up. I have to say I didn't like the way they had some of the people go onstage to hear if they won or not, and how they gave some of the people their prizes in the aisles. That seemed kind of cheesy to me. I mean, let these people get their awards in a dignified manner. If you were winning an Oscar, would you want to have them just hand it to you while you sat in your seat? No. I'd want to walk down the aisle and wave and act all surprised and overwhelmed. It's kind of like being called up as the next contestant on The Price is Right. You've got to have the aisle walk. That's half the experience of winning the award. As far as Chris Rock goes, I think he's funny. I think he's really funny, as a matter of fact, but I didn't think his whole schpeal about President Bush was appropriate for the Oscars. It's just not the proper forum. I did think his jokes about Jude Law (sorry Jude, you know I love you, but it was funny) and how movie studios should wait for the stars they want was pretty funny. However, it did seem he took the easy route by making fun of people who weren't there. That's because he didn't want anyone to come up and pop him one at an after party. It's understandable. It's the Oscars, after all.