Run Kathy Run!

Methinks there is something awry with Blogger. Either that or my brower's screwed up. But who cares? I'm almost out of here for my vacation. Of course, I still need to do more packing and cleaning before take-off, so it's not a completely worry-free day. It's a gloomy day today. Figures. Friends of ours are keeping the guinea pigs while were gone. They picked them up last night. This morning my daughter woke up, looked at their empty tank and said, "I feel like this big chunk of my heart is broken off and sinking down to my stomach." Naw, she's not melodramatic.

My husband just called me to tell me he mailed the bills. I said OK, then he said, "We're going on vacation." I said OK.

Don't get me wrong, I'm glad to be getting out of town for awhile. I just can't think too much about being gone until we're actually gone. I've still got too much other stuff to check off the list.

What's up Sweetcakes?

I just got off the phone with a man who called the office and ended the call by saying, "Thanks, Hon." He had a southern accent. I'm not saying this explains the use of "Hon," but it probably does. I'm always surprised when men use these type of words when dealing with women in a professional setting. It's no secret that most women don't appreciate being referred to as hon, sweetie, baby, or little gal in the workworld. Why does it still happen? I think it's because so many men can no longer rely on the "old-boy" network to succeed today the way they used to, and they use these terms to create an environment of hostility. They're trying to throw women for a curve and get them all flustered and emotional. Personally, I'm not intimidated by it, but it does get me steaming mad. It makes my eye twitch.

We spent a really pleasant evening at home last night with our friends Chris and Sue from DC. I feel old now, though. The last time we saw them, their oldest son was still a toddler, and the youngest a baby. Now they're 11 and 8. Our daughter had a great time playing with them. They all got along really well. We spent the entire evening talking and reminiscing about the "old days." We laughed particularly hard over the time Chris helped my husband and I move into our first apartment together. It was February and there had been a recent snowfall. My husband lived in Dupont Circle, which is in the city, and this guy who lived a couple of buidlings down asked Chris and my husband to help him get his car out the alley. He couldn't get out because he couldn't get any traction in the snow. Anyway, he got in the car and Chris and TIm tried pushing him out, but it didn't work. He was sliding too much. So they asked him if he had an kitty litter they could sprinkle under the tires. He says sure and comes back with some that he spreads behind the wheels. He gets back into the car and revs the engine. When he does that, the tires spin and pelt the two of them with the kitty litter. They manage to get him out and when they come back to finish moving the furniture out of Tim's apartment, I notice that they smell like shit--cat shit to be exact. The guy and put down USED kitty litter and basically sprayed the two of them down with shit and piss. He was driving a Jaguar, which I think explains his intelligence level. Anyway, we laughed pretty hard remembering that one. :-)

We hit the road tomorrow evening for our two-week vacation. As I mentioned before, I don't know what I'll be doing from day to day as I've left all planning to my husband. However, I do plan on checking in with audio posts so that you can all share in our wonderfully exciting adventures on the road.

No rest for the weary.

Our friends from DC will be in tonight. Should be a lot of fun. I'm debating whether or not I actually want to go to the trouble of putting on make-up. If we end up taking pictures, then I'll wish I put on make-up. Yeah, guess I'll get gussied up. When I was a teenager, I'd rather have my fingernails pulled out by the roots than go out without make-up. Now, it seems like such a hassle most of the time. My mother complains about my laziness: "You used to take so much care with your appearance and now you look like a slob."

I try to rationalize my lack of personal grooming by telling myself, "I'm in Indiana. Even on my worst days, I still come out looking better than 75% of the population here." Of course, when I go to Chicago or back to DC, I feel like a complete backwater hick. I do shower everyday. That counts for a lot. I know some stay-at-home moms who seem to think that's optional. I never shared that point of view. I had friends who stopped showering when they started college and I never got that either. Just because your mom's not around to tell you to clean yourself up, you'll actually let yourself smell like a rank armpit? And as if not showering weren't bad enough, they were proud of it. "Hey, it's been four days since I showered." No kidding. That explains the green haze following you down the hall. I remember when we lived in Germany, people would stink something horrible. That's when I learned about the European aversion to deodorant. What doe Europeans think when they come to America and everyone is so afraid of body odor. Do they think walking around smells like going into a Bath & Body Works shop? Is it offensive to them? I'm going to go hunt down a European walking around right now and ask them.

Does Naked really work?

I've been looking at a blog that suggests one can increase their hit count by merely mentioning a naked celebrity. Brad Pitt Naked. I'm going to see what that does. Sting Naked. Surely someone is interested in seeing Sting naked. Lenny Kravitz Naked. Lenny shows off too much of himself as it is, which would be fine except that he ends up revealing too much of what a freak he is. What's with the nipple rings, Lenny? Is it wrong that whenever I see a man with nipple rings I just want to grab it and rip the thing right out? It's really more out of curiousity than anything else. I'm not particularly offended by them or anything, but there's something about a ring hanging there like that. It's like the ring in bull's nose. If I ever saw one in real life, I'd want to pull on that thing too.

Who are you?

Which Annoying B-list Celebrity Are You?
Brought to you by Rum and Monkey.

Apparently, I'm Pauly Shore, which makes sense in a weird way. For some inexplicable reason, I really like Pauly Shore movies. Don't know why. It defies explanation. All I know is that's the way it is.

T-minus four days and counting.

Well the countdown to vacation has begun. I haven't been on vacation since last summer, so I really need one. My husband has planned the entire trip. I told him I just want to get in the car in the morning and not think about anything. And I don't want to rush. We'll stop off to visit my sister in Missoula, but other than that, I have had no input into the planning of this trip. Should be interesting how it turns out.

I'm wondering about Gillian Anderson. Is she British? I watched this episode of Graham Norton where she was on as a guest and she was speaking with a British accent. I thought she was American. Graham Norton showed her pictures of where she lived as a child in England, but I never totally got whether she's actually British or not.

Man, I am tired. I'm sitting here wishing I could just lie down and take a nap. Maybe I will. I've actually tried that before, but it doesn't work. I lock the doors and turn off the light and lie down but I'm always paranoid someone will coming knocking and the lag time in getting to the door will seem weird and then they'll suspect something is going on and when they see I'm the only one in the office, they'll know I was trying to take a nap. I had a supervisor once who actually kept a camp mat in her office for naps. She'd tell us she was going to snag a snooze and close her door. I used to think (well I still think) that she was a complete moron. And she really used to wonder why none of us in the office had any respect for her. She'd also have to write everything down on a sticky note. Her entire office was decorated with sticky notes. I used to contemplate putting up random sticky notes with any old shit written on them just to create an altered reality. You know, stuff like "Pick up dry cleaning," or "Meeting with Dr. V @ 3:00." I never did it, but I should have. It would've been funny to see if she actually did the things I left on the notes.

Life's little aggravations.

I've really got to get a proper fitting bra. Ever since I had my daughter and finished nursing, I haven't been able to figure out what bra size I should be wearing. Before I got pregnant, I was a 34A. But I can't figure out what I'm supposed to be wearing anymore. It's really frustrating. I've tried 34A, 34B, 36A, and none of them seem to be quite right. Victoria's Secret has free bra sizing, but I'm a little paranoid after watching episodes of "What Not to Wear" that strange women will be manhandling my tits in way that frightens me.

It's strange because there are nameless, faceless strangers walking the streets who have seen parts of my body under the harsh, unforgiving brightness of hospital lights that men I've had sex with never got a good look at, but I don't want strange women touching my boobs just to figure out my bra size.

I suffered fools so gladly.

Today I'm feeling like I'm nothing more than here. I just spent the last hour watching Madonna videos on my computer. I love how modern technology gives you so many ways to screw around at work. Just think, when I first started working, the most I could do was play solitaire, now I can watch music videos. Woohoo. There's a stream of consciousness exercise I've done before in my writing workshops where you listen to music and write whatever comes to your mind. Let's try that right now and see what happens. I'm listening to music. Let's see what it inspires.

Sometimes when I"m jogging I imagine all the paths I could've taken in life. The funny thing about choices is that you only get to see one to the end when the possibilties are limitless. Take today for example: what happens tomorrow follows from what I do today. How many possible tomorrows are there? I wish we could have a television set that would play all the alternate endings to a life, just like a DVD special feature. I'm interested in the fork in the road. Where does it come in a day? Which second presents the possiblity for divergence? We all think our days are pretty predictable, and I guess they are for the most part, but one day the unexpected happens. I'm thinking of my uncle right now. He was up fixing his roof and had a heart attack and died. My aunt had gone to the store when he was on the roof and when she came back, he was on the ground with the neighbor trying to revive him with CPR. I think of my uncle waking up that morning. He figured he'd be putting his head down in the same spot from where he'd just lifted it, and that's not what happened. Who wakes up thinking this is the day I'm going to die?

The other day a commercial came on for the Make a Wish Foundation and my daughter asked what it was. I told her it's an organization that gives wishes to sick children who will probably die and won't get the opportunity to make their wishes come true for themselves. She asked why they die and I told her they die because theire bodies can't keep going anymore. It made her really sad and she said kids don't deserve to die and I said, no they don't, but it happens. So many possible tomorrows and we spend so much time cursing the moment as if it's eternal, as if there's not the possibility for some new thing right around the corner.

New Link

OK, this is just a quick note to point out yet another new blog link. Confessions of an online dater. It's interesting.

And just in case you're wondering, yes, I do sometimes actually work at work.

Just Wondering.

I don't think I'm utilizing my blog's full capabilities. I'm looking at some other blogs and see that people make numerous posts a day and detail every last second of their lives. What I really wonder is how do they have time to make so many posts. Sometimes my husband spends his entire evening on the computer and I often think it's excessive. My daughter has been getting into the act lately and saying,"Dad, don't you want to spend time with your family." Kids are sooooo good at dishing out the guilt. Of course, computer time hasn't been so much of a problem since I got the Gamecube. My husband and daughter are plugged into that thing for a good couple of hours a day. On the one hand, they're spending time together because they play together. On the other hand, I don't want my daughter turning into a vidiot. I'm actually a little surprised at how much she seems to enjoy playing because I always thought girls didn't get into video games the way boys do.

But it's funny to watch my daughter when she hears the video game turn on if she's in another part of the house. Her head jerks up like a prarie dog catching the sent of a coyote and she listens very carefully until she's sure that, yes, the video game marathon has begun. Then she tears into the livingroom screaming, "Dad, wait for me. Don't start without me." Yeah, some real Kodak moments being created here.

We've only got the one television, so when the games are on, that's my cue to go entertain myself. I'm sometimes tempted to get another t.v. for our bedroom. but there have been several studies lately that suggest children become too disconnected from the family when they have the means to hole themselves up and watch t.v. on their own. I'd never let my daughter have a t.v. for her room, but I don't want her being able to watch it anywhere in the house when we can't directly monitor it. Sounds Orwellian, I know, but t.v. today is not what it used to be.

Everything old is new again.

We got some good news last night--friends of ours from DC are going to be in our neck of the woods next week and will stop by for dinner. We haven't seen these folks in years. Chris and Sue and their two sons. Chris was my husband's best man and they used to work together at the bakery. They've never met our daughter, so it'll be great fun catching up with everything and everyone.

It's interesting, I still think of DC as home, although I'll probably never live there again. The traffic there is too crazy for real life. You literally spend half your day in the car trying to get from point A to point B. Not a good way to spend your time. I do miss the variety and sophistication of the place, but I'd rather spend time with my daughter and see her grow. In DC, we'd probably only see her a couple of hours a day between work, school and commuting. Although I sometimes feel as if I'm trapped in Mayberry living here, at least the pace is slower. And that counts for a lot when you've got a family. Also, living in a major metropolitan area tends to be pretty superficial. People are too concerned about the way they look and everyone's too worried about having more than the next guy. It's all just shit and people fool themselves into thinking it's really a life worth living. No thanks, I say.

I'd also like to take this time to put in a special plug for one of the blogs I'm linked to. If you haven't already, go take a look at Desperate Dad. B-day is fast approaching, and I wouldn't want any of you to miss the ride. :-)

P.S. You'll also see that I've been reincarnated as breakfast cereal. What's really odd, though, is that it's not the first time in my life.

Today is the first day of the rest of your life.

There's an ant walking on my window and I'm wondering if it's worth the trouble to get up and kill the little bastard. Oops, now I don't see it. Too late. My brother-in-law's mother passed away last week. I'm not particularly close to my brother-in-law. He's not a bad guy or anything. We're just in-laws, if you know what I'm talking about. At any rate, it's never easy when you lose a parent (not that I know from personal experience, thank God). His mother died of cancer. I'd only met her a couple of times, but she seemed to have a very sad life in that she always seemed to me to just be biding her time. I just can't imagine thinking life is so not worth the effort that you just simply exist. That's what her life was like. Sometimes I think now that the days of my life blur into one big haze, but what if that haze were filled with nothing more than getting up in the morning only to wait until it's time to go to sleep at night. My life's a haze because there's so much packed into it. Her life was a haze because there was nothing to fill it. There's, of course, a lot of background to the whole thing, but it'll take more time to explain than it's really worth. Let's just say she was as much to blame for the emptiness of her life as anyone else. All I know is that when I finally check out, I'd like to think people wake up the next day and realize something's different. I'd hope that my absence is as tangible as my presence.

Hell on Earth.

Walk the walk.

So we have to endure every parent's worst nightmare this weekend and take the child to Chuckie Cheese. (spooky background music here) I hate Chuckie Cheese, which is in direct correlation to how much my daughter loves it. But we told her she could pick the restaurant where we celebrate her good grades. If you've never been to Chuckie Cheese, it's basically a real-life manifestation of Lord of the Flies. It's just kids, loads of crazy kids running around like lunatics. Add to that the fact they're all suped-up on sugar, caffeine and grease from the soda and pizza. The flashing lights, I'm sure, increase their agitation by inducing some sort of hyper-stimulated brain wave activity. It's nuts, man. I'm telling you, it's nuts. I usually just sit and wait it out while my husband and daughter play the video games, but I've been told I WILL be playing games on this visit so that my daughter can get as many tickets as humanly possible. The reason for earning tickets, of course, is to trade them in for useless little toys that only cost a fraction of what you paid for the tokens to win the tickets in the first place. It's genius when you think of it. I'm sure Chuckie Cheese, Inc. is rolling in the dough. Did you know, by the way, that the guy who started Atari is the person responsible for Chuckie Cheese? It's true. He wanted to have a place to put his video games, so he came up with the idea of Chuckie Cheese, not knowing the restaurant would prove a stronger animal than Atari.

I am the down-trodden.

So the books finally came in today and I've just spent the entire afternoon on the mailing. Wow! It was the most fun I've ever had. That's a lie. I'm sitting here thinking about going grocery shopping before I pick up my daughter rather than after. My primary reason for wanting to shop without her is that I get away cheaper for the trip when she's not with me. I remember when my siblings and I were children we'd drive our mother crazy by re-enacting the commercials for every product she picked off the shelves. My daughter doesn't recite the commercials as much as tell me why I should get a certain product.

"Mom, this helps you clean everything really quickly. Like, super quick."
"How do you know this?"
"I saw the commercial, and it worked really fast."
"What do we say about the stuff on television?"
"It's a lie."

Well, I am off to grocery shop sans the child.

Makes you think.

I've linked to a new blog. Life in Debt. Anyway--not to make any of my fellow bloggers nervous by making you wonder what people must think of your deepest thoughts--this guy is seriously messed up. He's 33 and apparently suffers from a spending addiction that has sent him down a very troubled path. Assuming everything on the blog is true, he is tortured. There's no doubt about that. Reading his blog is like watching a car crash. Just go read it for yourself. But my main reason for pointing out this link is because he confesses to his infidelity. The fact that he's cheating on his wife isn't what's necessarily so shocking. Rather, it's disturbing to me how nonchalant the whole thing is. He feels bad about it, but it all seems to happen so casually--as if by accident. "Ooops, so sorry about my penis falling into your vagina like that. Do pardon me." It makes me wonder about men in general. Not that I think all men are destined to wander, but when it does happen, is this how it happens.

I had an anthropology class in college where the professor said the only animals who mate for life are those where the male and female are externally, virtually indistinguishable from each other. Like Gibbons. This means there aren't many species that naturally mate for life. He called male mate-for-lifers 'dads' and the rest 'cads.' Did you know that male chimpanzee have been observed to basically 'gang-bang' female chimpanzee? They rape them. Obviously, they're cads. Anyway, from a stictly biological point of view, human men would be cads. This raises the question, then, whether or not humans fight their internal programming by forcing themselves into monogamous relationships. Just so you know up front, I believe anyone who would try and use this line of thinking as a serious justification for cheating is an ASS. But I'm playing devil's advocate right now. So is this how a person ends up in an extramarital affair? They just fall into it. I do find it interesting how people try to deny their free will by suggesting they "can't help themselves." What does that mean? This is not a topic I spend any time pondering upon, but Debt's blog just got me wondering.

P.S. Although I said I wasn't planning on placing many audio posts, I think I just might end up doing that while we're on vacation next month.

Poor Kid.

I'm trying to determine if my daughter's recent behavior is reflective of her age or her disposition. It seems a couple of girls have been making fun of her name at the summer program she attends. Of course, this hurts her feelings. However, she's not been telling them that it hurts her feelings and is too embarrassed to say anything to the teachers. I asked her why and she said because that would be mean. She seems particularly sensitive to this type of treatment and doesn't seem to have the confidence to stick up for herself. I try to explain to her that letting her feelings and disapproval be known to the offending parties does not constitute "meanness," but she's not interested in listenting to that. My husband just says she should punch them out. Luckily, she's a smart girl and usually responds, "DAD!!! That's not the right answer." Of course, I'm silently agreeing with the old man, but we can't really let her think that's a legitimate coping tool. I just don't know how I managed to produce a child with such a dearth of violent tendencies considering I usually was one of the kids who hit first and talked later. That only happened a handfull of times, but still, I'd hit 'em.

So I'm left trying to figure out how to get her to stand up for herself. I changed tactics a bit and tried to explain to her that she can't control other people's behavior, but she can always control hers. I told her she doesn't need to be hurt by these girls because they have no impact on her life if that's what she chooses. They're vapor and as consequential to her life as dung beetles. Strangely enough, she seemed to grasp that better than contemplating speaking up for herself. Explain that one to me.

Tell me why I don't like Mondays.

Because they suck, that's why. Before I rejoined the rat race of Mon.-Fri., I was fortunate enough to only work Tues.-Thurs. Little did I know what a leisurely pace that was. I always had a four-day weekend. Not that my house is ever as clean as I'd like it to be, it certainly came closer to it when I had the two extra days to work on it. Now I feel like I'm drowning in my own filth. We definitely need to get the vents cleaned. I'm sure that will make my life a little better.

I had a weird dream the other night. I'm in a public restroom pulling down my pants and underwear when I notice a shadow pass over me from the corner of my eye. I look up and there's a man staring down at me from over the stall wall. What's that supposed to be about? I'm sure somebody would say it has something to do with a fear of being exposed, but that's not really a fear for me. But it's weird. I have these dreams that don't seem connected to anything going on in my life and even as I'm dreaming them, in the back of my mind I'm wondering where does this come from. I have dreams sometimes where I'm screaming in the dream and I can tell that my body is actually trying to scream too, but I can't get the sound out of my mouth. I'll be somewhat aware of trying to scream and knowing it's not working. Those are weird, too. When I was studying French in high school and college, I'd sometimes have dreams in French where I understood everything and I spoke it properly, but I knew if I were awake, none of it would make sense as well as it should. How can you speak better French in your dreams than in real life?

I still remember that my first sexual dream was about Rick Springfield. I was in the 8th grade when I had it. Rick and I are walking down a hallway to his apartment. He's wearing a red satin shirt. It's open about three buttons down from his neck so you can see his chest hair. In the dream I thought this was really alluring, but in real life, I hate chest hair. Come to think of it, I don't even know if Rick Springfield actually has chest hair. So we get to his apartment door and he opens it and we walk in. There are candles everywhere and a fire is going in the fireplace. I am wearing a white blouse and tight Jordache jeans. In the dream I was grown-up and not an eighth-grader. So I sit down on the couch next to Rick and we start kissing, very tenderly as first, but then Rick becomes more demanding. I become lost in the heat of it all and I respond quite enthusiastically. It's all basically like a trashy romance novel after that. We don't actually have sex in the dream, but Rick does unbutton my blouse and performs a lot of nipple licking and sucking. At some point I take his shirt off, too, but we never take our pants off. Those stay on the entire dream. Anway, I woke up and had those strange tingling feelings (wink, wink, nudge, nudge) that I just didn't understand. I remeber feeling quite satisfied with myself thinking I was old enough to have sex dreams. I never did dream about RIck again after that, but he always holds a special place in my heart.

TGIF.

I am tired. It's just the end of the week, I guess. I'm sitting here trying to decide if I'll drag my lazy ass to the gym to run after work or not. I love the internal debates I have when it comes to exercise. I really do enjoy it, and I always feel good after I've run. The problem is when I'm sitting here and I fell soooooo tired, I convince myself it's more trouble than it's worth. No, I'll go run because I've been traveling and I haven't gotten into the gym yet this week. Why are all Sinead O'Connor's albums after the first one crap? What happened?

The magazine is supposed to come from the printer today. We'll see if that actually comes to pass. My friend Elena stopped by last night with the girls and the baby. He's only a week old, but he seemed pretty alert in the eyes. He kept his eyes steady and focused. He is a cute little monkey. You just forget how helpless they are when they're that young. You know, just a floppy bag of skin and bones wrapped up nicely in poop. The one thing I've always wondered about with babies and poop is how they get the projectile pooping up the back. Tell me how it's possible from a physics point of view. Seriously, from which angle and at what speed is the poop coming out of their butt so that it ricochets perfectly off the diaper to blast right up their back? In the whole scheme of things it wouldn't be so bad if this incredible projectile pooping happened when you had a change of clothing and loads of wet wipes. But, of course, that's not when it happens. Not ever.

But it is so obvious to me when I see little new-borns that I am perfectly happy with the one child. She really is all I need, And I love the size of our little family. It's the perfect size to me. I never get those odd urgings for another one when I hold a baby. Doesn't do a damn thing for me, thank God. We're at three weeks and counting until we leave for our vacation out to Washington state. It should be a really good time. My husband and I haven't had a really nice, leisurely road trip since our honeymoon. I'm really excited about showing my daughter all the tacky tourist stops. You know life ain't nothing till you've seen the biggest ball of twine in the world and a two-headed snake.