Someone Thinks I Got it ALL Wrong with Yesterday's Post

Hey guys, it's finally happened to me! I got a snarky comment (anonymous of course).

Anonymous has left a new comment on your post "Attending an NFL game: $260, Getting Shot at to De...": First off, all your girlies need to get your panties out of a wad. All I'm hearing is nothing but a bunch of class envy. A bunch of whining that really says "Boohoo, how come I'm not making that kind of money"Professioanal football isn't just a game, its a business. It's neccassary wether u like it or not. Look at all the jobs it creates from the players down to ticket takers.Second, when it comes to OU football, there seems to be a lot of misconceptions. OU football is 100% self funded. Not one red cent of one students tuition goes to OU football. So blaming high tuition cost, low professor salaries on football cost is totally bogus. Coaches salaries, players equipment, travel cost are all paid for with tv and bowl money. Matter of fact there are two of the newer buildings on campus that were built with the gracious donations of OU sports (combined). And the football program donated the funds for all the science equipment in one of the science buildings.So you all get your facts straight before getting on a whine fest.If you want to rant and rail about something, why not the conglomerate of the Oprah Winfrey. A person who does nothing but sell you crap and lies.Or how about that other mega-conglomerate of Martha Stewart. What a fraud.Get your priorities straight

This fella (and call me sexist, but from the tone I'm just assuming it's a man) seems to think I don't have MY priorities straight. Not only that, but it's okay for a state funded university to pay a football coach nearly $6 million dollars a year because, as this guy says "OU football is 100% self funded". Well great! That's makes all the difference. Except for one little, bitty, tiny ol' fact...college sports programs aren't in place merely as recruiting grounds for professional sports. They are supposed to help promote the school. That doesn't mean they have carte blanche to take advantage of the public or to become filthy rich off of the backs of students. And if they can contribute enough money to build 2 new buildings, just think what they could do if they weren't shelling out huge amounts of money to one individual to coach this non-championship winning team. (Which, by the way, proves that OU fans don't necessarily need championships in order to be fans of the school. I've been stupidly spending dollar after dollar on OU merchandise before and after the last championship). Or better yet, imagine how many more scholarships the university could grant to people born without great moves or silver spoons! But nice try, Anonymous. You almost made it sound so...I don't know, what's the word here...legitimate? As to the pro games. Sure it's a business. And it's a business that creates a lot of jobs other than those for the players. So what. Wal-Mart's a business, too. And their industry helps to create other jobs in a multitude of yet more industries. I'm willing to bet you wouldn't advocate paying those stockboys multi-million dollar annual salaries. Or even the store managers. Although I suppose if they entertained you enough you might consider it, huh? Also, I noticed that you failed to address the issue of military pay as it was presented in relation to the atrocious salaries I mentioned in my post. Not much to say there, eh? Can't come up with a snarky comment to demonstrate the reason for such a disparity? Of course you can't. Because there is no reason why we, the American public, see such nonsense and tolerate it with the whole "There's nothing we can do" attitude or even better, the "Professional sports is a business" attitude. I mean come on! I'm all for business being successful. However, professional sports is basically a service industry, the same as any other. And it's up to the customer to decide how much they're willing to pay for a service. I think if we stripped the stars from our eyes and viewed athletes as the entertainers they are and quit paying them as if they were working diligently to cure world hunger, we'd all be better off. One more thing, Anonymous...feel free to slam Oprah and Martha. Can't say as how I'm a fan of either, and to be honest, Oprah gets on my last damn nerve...using her influence to try and garner votes for a candidate (because yeah, Oprah's who I always look towards for my political advice!). If Oprah wanted to provide a service for her viewers, she would highlight all the candidates - pros and cons - and let her viewers decide for themselves. Lord knows she's got the platform to do that.
Now...it's 7:30 in the A.M. and I haven't even had my coffee yet so I'll close for now. Mr. Anonymous got my blood pumping early! Thanks so much for that, sir. Good to know you can provide a service yourself, even if you did manage to sound a bit like a condescending, chauvinistic ass with your "Oprah" and "Martha" references. Thinking that's all us women folk can clutter our sweet little heads with? Hmmm. I think it's safe to say, sir, that you judged poorly.
Peace Baby and See You on the Gridiron of Healthy Debate!

P.S. I'll be doing a post soon about the flagrant abuses of our entertainment dollars by Hollywood, too, Mr. Anonymous. Wonder if it will stir the same reaction in you as my sports one has done? (Just for the record, I'm going with "no".)

Attending an NFL game: $260, Getting Shot at to Defend our Country: $29,000, Playing with a Football for a Living: Priceless

I'm sure you've all heard about our impending recession. Gas prices continue to skyrocket, as does the rate of home foreclosures. Roma tomatoes are going for a whopping $1.68 a pound at Wal-Mart and a six-pack of Mr. Goodbars has gone from $2.50 to $2.68 (let's not dwell on how it is that I'm so painfully aware of that particular fact, okay?). People all across the country are tightening their belts and preparing for the bad times ahead. Well...almost everybody. There are those among us who probably don't need to worry about such trivial things as; "can we afford next week's groceries" or "will winter outlast my heating bill budget". People like Ben Roethlisberger, who is the starting quarterback for the National Football League's Pittsburgh Steelers. Ben's a very valuable guy. He must be. The Steelers recently announced they've signed him to an 8 year, $102 million dollar contract. That's $102 MILLION. That translates to almost $13 MILLION dollars A YEAR. To play football. Yeah, tough times for Ben, huh? Talk about making huge contributions to the human race, right? But wait...there's more. A few months ago, it was announced that Bob Stoops, the head coach of my beloved Oklahoma Sooners football team, will earn at least $5.77 MILLION from the University of Oklahoma in 2008. Of course, that figure could go up, when you factor in the additional income he could gain from various performance bonuses. The man coaches college football. To be specific, he coaches a college team that hasn't brought home a National Championship Title since 2000 (but who's counting championships, right-o?). And he's worth how much? Geez. Just last year, Mr. Stoops earned a paltry little $3.5 million salary (which, by the way, was 36 times that of a professor's salary at OU during the same time). Again, he's a football coach. Period. Just to put this in perspective, let me point out that, in 2005-06, the average cost of attending a year at OU (tuition, fees, books, room and board and related expenses) was $16,790. For out-of-state students, that number was $24,677. Who would have thought these sort of inequities would have ever been excepted by us, the American public? But wait. There's more! Anybody know who Adrian Peterson is? He was a running back for OU back in 2006. A pretty darn good running back, too. In January 2007, he announced that he would forgo his senior year at college in order to play professional football. The Minnesota Vikings signed Adrian for a pitiful little $40.5 million over 5 years (with $17 million of that guaranteed). Doesn't seem like much compared to Ben of the Steelers, eh? But don't fret for Adrian. Like so many of today's professional athletes, he's found a way to scrape up a little extra cash. For example, on the 15th of this month, he'll be appearing at a sports memorabilia store in the Ft. Worth area. And all of us common folk can come by and get an autograph (if we act soon enough, that is). The "autograph tickets" are going fast. Yeah. They sell "tickets" to get an autograph. For a mere $99, you may have a magazine or a card signed. For $129, you can have a mini-helmet signed. For $149, you can go for the gusto and have a full size helmet, a jersey or a ball signed. And just to prevent any confusion, let me clarify...the cost of these "autograph tickets" does not include the cost of the card or the magazine or the jersey or whatever it is you're having signed. Yes, Mr. Petersen is charging us, the people who already pay his salary in one way or another as fans, for the honor and privilege of owning a copy of his signature. What a deal. 'Course, the sports memorabilia store is getting a cut of those figures, too, so it's not like ol' Adrian is completely robbing us blind. At least not single-handedly. By the way, do you know what the average cost of an NFL ticket is? Somewhere between $65 and $80 each. So it will cost a family of 4 at least $260 to go to an NFL game, plus the cost of parking, plus the cost of refreshments, plus the cost of any souvenirs. For one game. Wow. No wonder all these teams can afford to pay these athletes so much money. We keep handing it to them hand over fist. So what in the hell does that make us besides stupid, gullible and starstruck? What does it say about us that we have people losing their homes, we have couples working 2, 3 and 4 jobs between them just to make ends meet, we have high school graduates unable to go to college because the costs are just too onerous to bear...yet we hear about salaries such as this and all we do is shake our heads at the egregiousness of it all as we're forking over copious amounts of money to pay for the tickets to their venues. Here's a thought...why don't we just quit buying the tickets? Why don't we quit buying the merchandise put out by these teams and organizations? Why don't we quit acting like imbeciles and take our power back! The fact that most of us can't afford to attend an NFL game because it costs too much is our own fault! The fact that buying a football jersey to "support" our team of choice will put us back about $80 is our own fault! The fact that our children can't afford college without benefit of their parents savings and/or scholarships is our own fault! Take this power back, people. Quit supporting these organizations that have stopped caring about US. Stop revering athletes and coaches and teams. They are supposed to be entertaining us, not holding us hostage. I for one have decided that I've bought my last Oklahoma Sooner t-shirt, jacket, baseball cap, whatever. Same goes for the Eagles stuff I've bought my sons and the Seahawks stuff I've bought my husband. No more. If they want to pay players and coaches that much for what they do, they'll do it without my support or my money. Oh, and before I end this...I'd like to point out what a real hero makes in our country...a staff sergeant in the United States Air Force brings home somewhere around $29,000 per year. Yep, that's right. Our service members who are fighting a war, getting shot at and/or living halfway around the world away from their families (and sometimes all three!) make about .5% of what a college football coach makes. Shameful. That's the only way to describe it. Shame. Full.

P.S. Meme from Jennifer at Dust Bunny Hostage:

Pick up the nearest book of 123 pages or more (no cheating). Find page 123. Find the first 5 sentences. Post the next three sentences. Tag 5 people.

My computer is located in our "Star Wars" room, which means the nearest book to me is, naturally, a Star Wars novel. Specifically, it's the one I just finished: Legacy of the Force; Revelation. (Yes, I'm a geek. Sue me!)
Anywho, here goes:
"Commit fully to the attack. Don't let up. Don't stop to think. "

These sentences are what Boba Fett was thinking to himself as he went to speak with his ex-wife who had just been released from carbonite after 30 or 40 years. That Boba. Facing personal relationships the same way he faced his bounties - like a chore to be gotten through in order to get a reward. Typical male. I won't tag 5 people to play this, though. I'm just too flippin' tired after my "athletes are overpaid" tirade. Feel free to play along if you'd like, though!

Hold the Cheese. I'm Only Interested in the Whine...

***Edited to Add: Several of you have suggested I contact our congressional representative so I thought I'd better add this: When I said "we have to start a huge, time-consuming, irritating, aggravating and heartburn causing campaign to stop the VA from ruining our financial lives", that's what I meant - that I would be sending a package containing all the pertinent facts to our congressperson. I'm sure we'll obtain relief that way, but man...have you ever had to do something like that? It's effective, but very time consuming to get every little bit of evidence together, write a letter detailing the problems, compile the information in a clear and concise way and then sit around and wait for a reply. Then, usually, that reply entails the need for more information, which you then have to get together and send. Then comes another reply asking for even more stuff. And on and on it goes. I've availed myself of the services of our congressional representatives numerous times in the past (in fact, I'm sure the FBI has a file somewhere with my name on it and the subtitle "Professional Bitcher"). I know I'll feel better once we've sent the initial package off to congress. It's getting that first one together that I find so tedious, time-consuming and aggravating. (See? I am a professional bitcher - I'm even griping about the help I'm going to ask for. lol).
What is "Luck" exactly? Something you're born with? Something you earn? Something you can touch, smell, feel or hear? I have no idea. What I do know is, our "luck" ain't good. Not good at all. Remember the other day when I mentioned something about a $25,000 problem with the VA? Listen to this...then tell me what kind of luck you think we're having.
As a special Happy New Year to Randey and me, the VA sent us a notice saying that they feel sure they've overpaid Randey by $25,444.23 (this overpayment being a result of Randey's switch from the Reserves to Active Duty from October 2001 until May of 2003) and that we can pay the debt in full by check, money order, VISA, Mastercard, American Express, Discover or even Western Union. Sweet, huh? And just to prove what a reasonable entity they are, if we are unable to make payment in full, they will work with us to establish a monthly payment schedule to clear the debt "within a reasonable time frame". Extra sweet. There's just a few problems with the whole thing, however. A) Randey's VA disability entitlement during the time in question was approximately $88 a month. Now I'm no math genius, true. But even I can tell that 21 months @ $88 per doesn't come anywhere near $25K. B) Randey never received any money for his disability until this year because all entitlements for the last 15 years went towards a repayment of the separation pay he received when he went from active duty to reserve status back in 1992. C) The money he has received (he's only been paid since April of this year) in no way, shape or form, totals anywhere near $25K. So, in other words, the VA is requesting a "repayment" of more money than they've ever paid him and they want repayment for a period of time when his total entitlement was less than $2,000.00. Either they have one hell of an interest rate working for them, or there's a problem with their accounting section. I'm going with the problem in the accounting section myself. I say that because Randey has actually requested a full audit of his VA benefits compensation account 3 times in the last 2 years and has yet to receive one. Two of his requests were made prior to any actual payment from the VA. What does all this actually mean to us? It means we have to start a huge, time-consuming, irritating, aggravating and heartburn causing campaign to stop the VA from ruining our financial lives. Randey called the VA "debt office" the other day and was given a fax number we could use to send some documentation to. By documentation, I mean a freakin' financial statement, detailing our assets and debts, so that the VA can decide whether or not to "waive" this debt. Not that we want the debt waived. We don't. We want it expunged because it doesn't actually exist! But sending the financial statement is the only way we can get the VA to put a freeze on the collection activity until this mess can be straightened out. The woman that Randey spoke to said she didn't see where he owed that debt, but then again, there were so many agencies involved that it was just too hard to tell...she saw activity from the Department of Defense (his current employer), his local VA office, his regional VA office, etc., etc., etc. She also said it looked like too many offices were involved and that none of them were talking. Great. ****Oh my gosh. This is too funny. As I'm writing this, Jake brought me the mail and in there is a letter from the VA. It's a form letter that starts "As you transition from the Military, VHA invites you to contact the local VA medical facility" blah, blah, blah. As you transition from the Military???? Say what?? Geez. Maybe the VA knows something that we don't and maybe we'd better check it out. Quickly. Randey is, at this very minute, in Seattle in military status. Sure hope he gets paid for it. Don't think I'm not seriously questioning that, either. After all, the VA seems to think he's out of the military all of the sudden. Do yourselves a favor and place both hands over your ears so I don't damage your hearing with the glass-shattering scream I'm fixing to let loose!!!!!
Does stuff like this ever happen to anyone else? I only ask because this isn't the first time we've been faced with something this irritating and downright unfair! The most recent was back in 2005 when we sold our house in Florida and moved here to Texas. Seems that the title company that handled the closing on the sale of our house in Florida didn't pay our house off. Yeah, you read that right. They didn't pay off the loan on our house. We had no idea until a month later when we received a late notice from what we thought was our former mortgage holder. We called the mortgage holder to tell them we no longer owned the house and that the funds should have been transferred at the time of sale. They didn't care. They flat out said that they did not care who, how or why the error had occurred - their only concern was when payment was made. And since payment for the previous month had not been made, they reported to the credit bureaus that we were 30 days past due on our mortgage. It took months and several letters to the Department of This and the Department of That within the state of Florida to get our credit reports corrected. And you want to know what the real kick in the pants was? The title company that caused all of it in the first place actually asked us to pay them for the additional interest it cost their company for paying our mortgage 30+ days later than they were supposed to. Can you believe that? And yeah. We declined their request. Loudly. So I ask you again...do things like this happen to anyone else? Or are Randey and I just living under some sort of Four-Leaf-Cloverless Cloud? You know, I have to laugh about it a little bit or I think I'll go insane. Personally, I'd just as soon get an attorney to handle the VA, but Randey...well, Randey's an optimist and actually believes he'll be able to get the VA to see that they're wrong. God loves an optimist, eh? And, apparently, so do I.

Just Exactly Who's the Duck Here?

It's not like I'm looking to be ticked off, really. I mean, I'm truly trying to have a cheerful and optimistic view on life in general. This is the holiday season, after all. But sometimes, it feels like there are outside forces working against me. (And before you even think it, let me point out that it's not paranoia if they really are out to get you!). As some of you already know, my husband is a member of the United States Air Force Reserves, a fact that I am extremely proud of. As a member of the reserves, Randey does 2 days of military duty a month. These days are referred to as "UTA's" and are usually performed the first weekend of every month. On average, pay for UTA's is received approximately 10 days after completion. Well. Let's do some math, shall we? The first weekend of this month was the 1st and 2nd. Today is the 18th. That's 16 days, am I right? And the UTA pay has yet to arrive. Normally, this would cause me only a tiny bit of annoyance. But this month is the month where all our money traditionally races out of our personal coffers and into that of every store within a 50 miles radius (we do so like to support our local economy during the holiday season). However, since someone, who will probably remain forever nameless to me (they will if they're lucky, anyway!), failed to do their job properly, the UTA timesheets were not processed correctly and therefore, we gots no UTA mon-nay. This is making me unhappy. Waaaaaaaay unhappy. Upon inquiry, Randey was told that he would probably receive payment the 24th. Woo-hoo! Just in time for the last-minute run to the store for black olives and a roasting pan! So I ask you...just who is the Scrooge McDuck here? Me, for wanting that UTA pay when it was supposed to be here? or Uncle Sam, for dragging his butt and thinking payment on the day before Christmas is, while late, quite effort enough? I'm going with Uncle Sam on this one. 'Cause yeah, missing 2 lousy days worth of pay can make my Christmas experience just that much less cheery. Luckily, I'm willing to put my best foot forward and press on. (Okay, so technically, I'm willing to put my best credit card forward, but you get my point, right?)
Merry Christmas, Ya'll!

What Grinds My Gears, Part Deux

This is what I looked like yesterday afternoon as I left Cracker Barrel. Yeah, kinda "Grinchy", huh? You know, I swore I wasn't going to write one of those posts during the month of December. I just wasn't going to do the full out, can't stop running my mouth, gotta gripe until my lips are sore kind of complaining during this, our most joyful and happy holiday season. But geez. It's almost like I have to or I'll bust. That's right, folks. It's another "What Grinds My Gears" post! So get ready 'cause here. I. go.

These are things that really and truly just Grind My Gears:

1) Being seated at a restaurant and then forgotten. You know, like you've become invisible. You're handed a menu and then Presto! you're all alone. For days. Take yesterday afternoon for instance. I decided to treat myself to a late breakfast at Cracker Barrel. I go in, I get seated at a table, I read the menu, decide what it is I'm going to order, get out my Christmas shopping list to work on until the waiter comes by, dig for a pen, mark something off my list as being done, find my mini-notebook and turn to a blank page so I can rewrite the list in a more legible form, dig around in my purse again for my paperback book (I might want to read a little when my breakfast arrives), set everything up, go over the list of what I need to look for, file for my social security and complete the paperwork for my AARP membership that I started filling out back in December of 2007 - see because, by that time, I still had not been acknowledged by one single Cracker Barrel employee. That's not to say I hadn't been near any employees...why at least a half dozen of the apron-wearing blind bats had walked right past my table. And not one of them so much as said, "I'll be right with you" or "Have you ordered?" or "Piss off, lady. You don't look like you'll tip near enough for me to wait on you". So I put my list and my notebook and my pen and my paperback book away. I put my jacket back on and I headed for the exit. On the way out, I told two employees, who were lounging around in the gift shop waving at customers as they entered the store that they could tell the hostess that my table was available for seating as my seat no longer would be occupying one of the chairs at that table. I said I found it a tad bit annoying to receive absolutely no service because, well gee whiz, if I wanted to sit in an uncomfortable chair and write out a list, I'd of headed to the library, not a restaurant. Since I was looking for a cup of coffee and a little sustenance however, I was taking myself to a different location, preferably a restaurant more interested in customer service. And I flounced out of there with just a touch of Grinch like attitude.

2) Next on the list, forwarded e-mails that contain dire warnings of truly stupid things that the sender has not bothered to verify. For example, I was forwarded an e-mail about the dangers of letting your young children play in the ball pit at Burger King or McDonalds because - gasp! -a young child was bitten by a poisonous snake while playing in one and died! Oh wait a sec. After a minute or so of research, that was found to be false. And then there was the e-mail that told of the horrors a young child experienced after his mother washed his face with a Magic Eraser cleaning pad. Well, duh. The woman washed the kid's face with an abrasive cleaning pad that is used to get crayon marks off of walls. What'd she think it would do to a young child's skin? But the e-mail chose to say that the Magic Eraser contained "dangerous chemicals" and "wasn't properly labeled". People! It is a household cleaning product. Would you let your child play with a bottle of ammonia, too? And just yesterday morning, Randey forwarded me an e-mail about a "Merry Christmas Computer Virus". Very dangerous. No "cure" for it. You open it and your computer is dead. Kaput. No saving it. Yeah, right. One minute of research later (and by research, I mean I actually clicked on the Snopes.com link that was included in the e-mail) and I found that the "virus" was one that had been circulating back in 2004 and is now easily caught and disarmed by most anti-virus software and that the so-called "Merry Christmas Virus" that was supposedly spotted by McAfee and reported on by CNN does not exist. I beg you - don't pollute my inbox with your unsubstantiated scare-mails. Do a little research before you pass something on as fact. It's like cyber gossip, for Pete's sake!

3) Here's something that really twists my knickers. Listening to unemployed little minor children talk about how they (which in actuality means their parents, not them) never buy clothes at Wal-Mart and in fact, only shop in stores such as Aeropostle, American Eagle, Abercrombie and Fitch, blah, blah, blah. Well I got news for you, you entitled, egotistical, arrogant and annoying little snot...you don't actually buy anything from anywhere. It's your parents who are doing the buying and, while it probably seems absolutely wonderful to have nothing but the finest in life now, it might give you a few awkward moments later on in life if you ever have to actually fend for yourself and have to do so based solely on your personal skills and/or charms. Parents, I'm all for showering your children with love, affection and gifts. But how about teaching them the fine art of modesty as well. I don't care what your and, by extension, your children's standards in life are as long as they don't preclude treating the rest of us mortals like we're human and, as such, of the same value. (This particular rant was probably brought about by my Christmas shopping woes more than anything else).

4) This one is a personal favorite of mine...able-bodied young people (my daughter and her boyfriend for example) who can't manage to hold down a job, but feel fairly certain that they deserve the world handed to them on a platter. The boyfriend, who seems to believe that he has a "career" as a truck driver, can no longer drive trucks, namely because he's got too many tickets and wrecks on his driving record (I won't even get into the stupidity of that). And, according to this genius, since truck driving is a "career", he's quite unable to look for work in any other field. Well here's the deal, buddy. I have a career as a housewife. I do. But. Should things change and we require a little extra income, I'm willing to give up my "career" and cross-train into another field. You know why? Because that's what normal people do. They work in order to pay the rent, make the car payments, put food on the table...you know, all those little things in life that some people seem to think should be simply granted to those clever enough to have a "career". Do I sound bitter or just pissed? Hmpf. I'd say it's too close to call.

5) This is another thing that makes my eyes twitch; the news media and their stupid ass remarks, methods and practices. Here's what passed as news during the coverage of the wild fires in California...they showed film of the homes that were burned or threatened by fire followed by a long shot of the fires and then this! a close-up of the reporter saying ever so somberly, "Not quite a nuclear winter, but certainly a fiery fall". Say what? A nuclear winter? I mean, wow. The fires were quite devastating, obviously. And they might have even been caused by an act of man. But I don't see the connection between a jerk with a gas can or a careless toss of a lit cigarette and a nuclear bomb. Really. But gosh, it did sound melodramatic enough, didn't it? But I gotta tell you. I didn't need her dramatic words and delivery to better illustrate the horrors of wildfire. Really, I didn't. And then there's the "new" news...which is to say, not exactly reporting the facts as they used to do back in the day. No, no...this is something much more...oh what's the word?....ummmmm...let's see...how about "inciting". Yeah, that's the ticket. Inciting. Not to be confused with "insightful". I recently listened to this exchange between a news anchor and a reporter: Anchor: "Bob, have you been able to confirm that report?" (This being the very "report" the reporter had just spoken of which, if it hadn't been confirmed, probably shouldn't have been reported on to begin with!) Reporter: "No, but we've been led to believe it was a Belief in God argument". Anchor: "So we believe that this person may or may not have believed in God and the people around him, particularly the teacher, may have disagreed. Is that correct?". Reporter: "Well, that's what we've been led to believe". Okay. So tell me. What factual, beneficial and newsworthy information did the reporter and/or the anchor impart to us, the public? None. Zero. Nada. The entire segment was conjecture, opinions and salacious gossip for an ever increasingly numb public who can no longer tell the difference between news and B.S. because the esteemed (and I very much use that word lightly) Fourth Estate has become more of an outlet for fodder rather than fact. These two were merely filling the airwaves with garbage because they had nothing better to say. And we, the people sitting there watching that nonsense, are why they are able to do it. Our society loves that crap. Hyperbole as news. Perhaps a sign of what our society is becoming.

6) This kind of ties in with the previous rant...I saw a woman up in Colorado way back in October talking to a reporter about why Columbus Day should be outlawed. This woman was a Native American and was quite loud with her protests. Not necessarily cogent, but certainly loud. Why did this person feel Columbus Day should be abolished and made illegal? Because the celebration of that day, i.e, parades thru the streets, talk of it in schools, etc., was "terrorizing the Native American children". Terrorizing? My first thought was "Lady, what in the hell have you been telling your kids about Columbus Day?" Now don't get me wrong. Personally, I'm not sure why we celebrate Columbus Day, seeing as how we've been told for many, many years that Columbus is not the one who actually discovered America. My concern about the reason for this "holiday" is because it seems kind of stupid if it's based in something that just isn't true. But this woman was actually stating as fact that this very celebration was "terrorizing" innocent children. Yeah. Have one of your "terrorized by Columbus Day celebrations" Native American children talk to a child living under the rule of a cruel and murderous despot (and let's face it, Saddam Hussein was by no means the last one of those in this world). Have them compare their definitions of "terrorized". I think you might see a difference.

7) Oil companies. They really get me all kinds of jack-jawed. They had to raise prices after Katrina because it affected their refineries so severely. And then they had to raise prices again after Rita for the same reason. These oil companies are almost innocent bystanders in the whole gas-price-rising fiasco. I mean, geez, if its not natural disasters, then it's our own government, who just keep taxing gas at the pumps like crazy. Yeah - God and government. That's was causing our gas prices to rise. And yet...these poor, pitiful, hands-are-tied oil companies report profits in the billions of dollars every quarter. I'm sorry, but I just don't think it takes a math major or a culinary expert to tell when we're being fed a huge quantity of bullsh*t.

8) And speaking of bullsh*t...let's talk about insurance companies. Did you know some normal, regular, not-living-in-a-mansion people in the Florida panhandle had their insurance rates increased over 4 times what they were paying prior to 2004? My sister actually works with a person who is now paying $6,000 a year for homeowners insurance. Why? Because of all the hurricanes in Florida back in 2004. Didn't you know? The insurance companies took a huge hit from those! Sure, they'd been collecting premiums for years and years without any huge payouts, but well gosh! That year was rough! So they have been legally allowed to extort money from John and Jane Doe Homeowners in order to provide coverage in the event of another disaster. And then there was Katrina and Rita the next year. We all know what happened with them. (Okay, so some of us have forgotten that it wasn't just New Orleans that was affected - large portions of the Mississippi Gulf coast were completely obliterated and I believe even some coastal Texas towns were affected, but that's not the story from most of our trusty Fourth Estate.) Anywho, since the insurance industry had to actually pay out some of that money they've been raking in year after year, they've decided to just stop providing coverage in certain areas. It just costs them too much. But, since they've already had to pay out so much, they're allowed to raise rates nationwide to help them recoup their losses! Yay! And yet, many of those insurance companies that were so devastated by these horrific disasters (geez, imagine how the people who lived thru them felt!) also pay their executive staff, particularly their CEO's, exorbitant amounts of money year after year in the form of bonuses. I suspect that the more they are able to get away with having us, the insured masses, pay for their expenditures with our increased rates, the bigger bonus these CEO's get to take home. So tell me again why it's okay and downright "unavoidable" that our rates went up? Yeah, open wide, America....

WHEW! Okay! Glad that's out of my system. I can't imagine too many of you have hung in there for this whole angry, vicious and tactless post, but for those that did, my apologies. I think I'll be able to post happy, happy thoughts for the rest of the holiday season since I've released all this angst here. Or maybe not. I'm going shopping once more today. No telling what might set me off again! But, in the meantime, here's hoping that the day brings new wonders of Christmas magic for all of us! And if it doesn't, may I be granted the strength to just shut the heck up and press on as if it did!
Merry Christmas Ya'll!

The Dangers of Nagging

Ladies (and gentlemen, if there are any out there brave enough to read my blog), have you ever tried to get your way using the ever-popular "Nag Method"? Be honest now. Admit it - most of you have. Well I'm here to tell you, do not try this method unless your skills are sharp and well honed. If you've allowed these particular skills to lag in the least little bit, I highly recommend that you cease and desist all Nag activity immediately or be prepared to pay the consequences. I am here to testify! Improper nagging can cause unexpected, and sometime frightening, results. For example, as most of you probably know, I'm currently caught in the torturous grip of menopause. This means I'm hot (and not in a good way!). I have nagged repeatedly to my dearly beloved that Texas summers are just too flippin' harsh for me to stand anymore. I mean I have gone on and on and on about it and not just to Randey, but to anyone who will listen. People walk up to me in Target and say, "Excuse me, do you know where the shampoo aisle is?" and I answer with "Can you believe this weather? How much longer until we explode? Are you melting? Don't you feel like your eyebrows are being singed off everytime you put on your sunglasses? I don't think I'm going to survive another day of this! And the shampoo is over by the pharmacy, idiot. Where the heck did you think it would be? Your lack if Target store knowledge has just caused my irritation level to hit the absolute limit. And, by the way, dipstick, do I look like I work here? Do Target employees walk around with giant pink purses and a StarBucks cup? I didn't think so. Now go get your freakin' shampoo and leave me the h**l alone". (That last snarky part I attribute directly to menopause rather than the Texas heat.) Well strangely enough, apparently, Randey got a tad bit tired of listening to me. Yeah, I know. I don't get it either. So he looks at me and asks just where is it that I think I want to live? And, not being prepared for someone to actually acknowledge my endless nagging, I said the first thing that popped into my head..." A lot of my blogging friends say that Ohio is a wonderful place the live. The temperatures are already cooling off and they say they have nice long winters, too". He stopped, turned around, looked at me and said "Ohio? I can't even picture where that's at!". This is the man who has traveled extensively all over the United States and beyond in conjunction with his job for the past, oh I don't know, hundred years or so! I tried to visually map out the location of Ohio for him because it seemed like the thing to do. The poor dear - he seemed so confused about the Mystery that is Ohio. He walked away, shaking his head, muttering to himself. Fast forward to the next day: I stumble out of bed and eventually head upstairs to read my e-mail. I open up my Yahoo and there sits an e-mail from Randey; subject line: Ohio job. What??? I click on it. It says something along the lines of "You're never going to believe this, but when I got into work this morning, I had received an e-mail regarding a job opening in Toledo, Ohio, so I applied." Toledo???? I was thinking Cincinnati or Dayton maybe. Toledo? As in...Max Klinger's Toledo Mud Hen fame? Where the heck is Toledo? Well, as it turns out...it's pretty darn close to Michigan. I know because I pulled up this map that I've posted here. See how far up there it is? Waaaaaaay up there. Yeah. I know it's cooler there! But here's the thing, though. I am an Okie. Through and through. Oklahoma born. Oklahoma raised. Oklahoma is one of the reasons why moving to Texas from Florida was so attractive for me. It was closer to home, i.e, Oklahoma. And now, I may have just nagged myself up to Toledo. How'd I do that? I'll tell you. Unskilled nagging. But - what's done is done. Too late to choke my words back. And maybe it's fate. I said Ohio and the next day, there's a job announcement. But..as Randey was quick to point out...he may not even qualify for this job (civil service announcements are funny that way - there's always a chance that they've worded it in such a way as to exclude 99% of the people who apply. It's their little way of "pre-selecting" without "pre-selecting" because, well, "pre-selecting" is illegal, don't you know!) So. Here I sit. Nervous as can be, wondering what I've wrought with my mouthy, mindless nagging and pretty much convincing myself that what happens, happens. Fate. Destiny. Nagging. It's all the same, don't you think?

The Mystery Rectangle is Solved, Just for YOU, Sophie! And I Hope You're Happy...

Just yesterday (or maybe the day before - my memory is so easily muddled these days!), I was telling Heather at Splaneyo that she shouldn't worry about blogging about the negative things in life...I said I felt that if all we ever blogged about was sunshine and roses, then we were basically writing works of fiction because life just consists of so much more than that. And now, that advice is coming back to bite me in the behind. lol After reading my previous post, Sophie asked about this "rectangle" that she could see in the last picture. She said she was very "intrigued" by it and had even tried enlarging the photo, but even that didn't reveal the "mystery of the rectangle". Sophie, my dear, you have entirely too sharp of an eye and you ask too many questions! You are forcing me to admit to just how b*tchy I can be! People out here in Blogland are not supposed to know these things. I don't mind them thinking I'm crazy or whiny or needy or ignorant. But b*tchy? That was something I was hoping to keep hidden. Forever. But - what the heck. It was bound to come out sooner or later anyway. So here's what that "rectangle" is. It's a note I have taped to the door and it reads: Now - in my defense (like their could be a defense of this)- I typed this note and put it on the door a long, long time ago and only after I had been dragged downstairs to the sound of a ringing doorbell about a 100 times in one day for people selling all manner of things. The final straw was some strange woman who came to my door to tell me that Brad Pitt and those like him were dragging our households down into the pit of hell because we all "worshipped" him and "let him get away with immoral behavior because he's famous". Well I don't know Brad Pitt. I don't even want to know Brad Pitt. I'm still a little miffed at how he handled his "uncoupling" from Jennifer Anniston, although really and truly, in the great big grand scheme of things - I just don't think too much about Brad or Jen one way or the other. I'm guilty of Hollywood Apathy, I admit it. However, this woman, who was representing a religion that I am totally unfamiliar with, wasn't taking a polite "I'm not interested" and leaving. No, no, no. She wanted to come in and discuss this with me. In depth. I wanted to finish my aunt's scrapbook that I had been working on. I know. I'm shallow. Another admission of guilt on my behalf. And I don't much care, either. So anywho, after running up and down the stairs all day that day - and this really wasn't an unusual occurrence in our neighborhood - I mean really, we're like "Door-to-Door Salesmen Central" around here, I typed up this sign. Yes. It is rather unfriendly. (Although, please note - I wanted to be clear to my neighbors that I don't mind their children coming to ask me to buy something for their school fundraisers, etc.). And yes, I should probably take it down now. But it's become something of a joke around here. You would not believe the number of people who apparently can't read because these illiterate weenies still ring our doorbell from time to time (just yesterday, as a matter of fact) so it's not like it does any good anyway. And now that I've confessed to the world just what an anti-social, negative, growling kind of woman I truly am, I think I'll go find my window scraper and see about removing my testy little sign. Thanks, Sophie. While I know that confession is good for the soul, you've really got to figure out how to enable your e-mail so I can reply to these things directly and privately to you! lol

Confusion Reigns Supreme at My House (or in my head, at least!)

Everyone familiar with the phrase "Can't see the forest for the trees"? That's kind of how I've been feeling. I'm experiencing some serious issues, for lack of a better word, and some moments it feels like I'm missing details because I'm so overwhelmed by anything and everything else. I don't know if there truly are some momentous problems in my life or if the menopause is just making me absolutely flippin' nutso. And, while I never thought I'd feel this way, I'm really voting for the menopause at this point. lol I used to rant and rave about things when I was unhappy, but I've come to realize over the years that people don't like that, do they? So now I tend to kind of keep things to myself because I don't want to be a pain in the butt or a downer or just a plain ol' whiner. I tend to avoid talking to people when I'm unhappy. But I don't know if that's the right way to do it. All I've managed to accomplish this week is to deprive myself of the friendship and companionship of all of you that I've been blessed with recently, plus I've upset my oldest son because I couldn't talk to him the other day and guess what? I'm still not feeling any better than I was. So. I'm still searching for answers, I'm still feeling somewhat lost and confused and I'm still wondering what I should do to make some positive changes in my life. But what I'm not doing is forgetting to thank all of you for your kindness and your comments and your thoughts. It helps more than you know to hear from you all. I owe each of you a response to your kindness and I will give it. But first, I'm afraid that my motherly duties call. I've got to go pick up one of my kids from school for his ortho appointment. I wanted to get this post and the ones showing what I've been doing these past few days on my blog before I left, though (mainly so my aunt won't call me with horrible threats of bodily injury if I don't post something soon!lol). Thank you all again for your warm thoughts. I appreciate them more than I can express.

The Following Post is...Disturbing. Or it Shows that I'M Disturbing. Or Maybe Just Disturbed. It's Hard to Tell. YOU Be the Judge.

Yep. That's me. Dufus. You can call me Dufe for short. And let me tell you why....I went to Ross's today, looking for some fall decorations because, as I believe we've all decided here in Blogland, September 1st is an acceptable - nay even a preferable - date to begin autumn decorating and my supply of cool (no pun intended) fall do-dads is woefully sparse. So...I go to Ross's and, lucky me, I see what I'm looking for right when I step inside their door. All kinds of Halloween and fall stuff. Not wanting to look like a total fruit basket, I bypassed the Halloween things and went on over to fall. Oh come on. Halloween? Now??? Christmas on September 1st? Yeah, okay. Halloween? You'd be crazy to even try. (And why does that actually make sense to me? I'm somewhat disturbed that it does. Now stop it. We don't need any "Kari is disturbed" comments just yet. You'll have an even better reason for saying it by the time we get to the end of this tale.) Okay, moving on. I stepped over to the last aisle that featured the aforementioned fall decorations. I picked up a few things. Ooooohhh'd and Aaaaaah'd over a few others. Picked up a huge cornucopia. Saw the price. Put it down. Picked up, oh I don't know...something. I can't even remember what it was. It contained dried flowers, I do remember that much. As I picked up this item, I apparently flipped it over to see the other side. At about the same time, I glanced down at my shirt. Eeeeeck! And I do mean EEEEECK! A spider. A spider sitting on my left breast. I. Damn. Near. Fainted. (Pardon the cursing, I beg you). The world started spinning, I tried to scream, but nothing came out...it was awful. Then I took action. I proceeded to beat my chest with my right arm, as hard as I could. I looked like a one armed Tarzan in heat. I started jumping up and down. I saw something fly off of me, but didn't see where it went. That's when it occurred to me that it might have landed on my head. In my hair. I started shaking my head and rubbing my hair like a madwoman. And I still couldn't scream. I hopped, I slapped, I whimpered, I shook...all the while looking for this horrific creature that had dared to sit upon my bosom. I never did see it. Of course, I was traumatized beyond words. My skin was flushed, I was freaking out, it felt like things were crawling all over me. Yick. Awful. Just awful. So anywho, I twitched and twaddled my way over to a full length mirror on the other side of the store, spun around in front of it a few dozen times, bent over, shook my hair, patted my body down like I was a cop at central booking ...nothing. No spider. Whew. I spent the next 30 minutes perfecting my twitch and trying to think of happier things. And then a stray thought flitted through my mind. I thought, "Hmmmmmm. I don't know that I've ever seen a pumpkin orange and chocolate brown spider before. Was that a spider?" Okay. So here's the thing. When I glanced down and saw that "thing" on my chest, I flipped out pretty quickly. The slapping and shaking started almost immediately, although it felt like I was moving through molasses. But, upon further reflection, I've come to the conclusion that I was beating the T-total fool out of myself over a piece of dried flower that had fallen off "the object" and unto my chest. See? Told you there'd be a better reason to call me "disturbed". Thank God everyone was either too scared or too polite to approach me during my Tarzan moment. I might have had to do my future blogging from the looney bin. And wouldn't that be...uuuhh, what's the word? oh yeah...disturbing.

Another School Year Begins...

It's happened. The boys first day back to school. See their expressions? That's about how I feel. I go from being as blah and unenthusiastic as Kaleb looks, to being as optimistically goofy at the prospect of a new school year as Jacob seems to be. On the one hand...here I sit, all alone. I'll be by myself for about 8 1/2 hours a day. Five days a week. Week after week after week. On the other hand, here I sit, all alone. I'll be by myself for about 8 1/2 hours a day. Five days a week. Week after week after week. Should I be sad? Should I be happy? I just can't figure it out!

My problem is figuring out if solitude is a good thing these days. I used to think it was, now I'm not so sure. What am I going to do all day? I think I'm having an identity crisis. 'Lo these many years, I've only worked when we absolutely needed the money. Otherwise, I stayed home. But now the kids are older. They don't really need me to be at home for them. Nor do we absolutely need the money we'd get if I worked. So where does that leave me? What good am I? What am I worth? I don't feel like I'm contributing much by hanging out at the house all day - it's not like I'm baking up a storm or spending hours cleaning the baseboards with a toothbrush or anything even close. But what skills do I have to bring to the workplace? All my skills are outdated or rusty. What could I put on a resume'? I know I haven't spent the last 18 years sitting around eating bon-bons and watching soap opera's but how do I translate what I have been doing into marketable skills? I'm lost between The World of Stay At Home Mom and The World of the Giant Empty Nest. It seems like Randey's spent our marriage working towards a specific long-term employment goal and I've spent it doing the things that got us through the day to day issues with no thought to what changes the future would require. Randey's still working (and doing quite well in his job - I'm so proud of him), 2 of our kids are grown and living outside our home, the youngest 2 are both less than 3 years away from being legal adults and I'm...well, I'm still at the same spot I was all those years ago except the little people who needed me have become big people who don't. Oh I know they love me and, in some cases, they do still need me, but they don't need me like they used to. And that's a good thing, I know it is. I just wish I'd thought a little more about what my purpose should be after I've fulfilled the Mommy phase of life. How do I get to the next phase? How do I keep from disappearing from the landscape? I want to matter and I want to do things that matter. I've just got to re-learn my life and look past being a mother and look further into being a person. A person who is seperate from her kids because I know that's the way it's supposed to be. Kids grow up, start their own families and their parents become...well, really - just "relatives". See - that's the problem with being a good stay at home mom...eventually, you work yourself right out of a job. lol And then what? What do you do then to fill your days and make your life important?

Hello, World. My name is Kari and I'm looking for a purpose. Anybody willing to hire someone like me?

He's Driving Me Crazy! And Now It's Legal For Him To Do It!

See this kid? This is my baby. My youngest. The last tenant of my womb. See that piece of paper he's holding? I know...it's all blurred and white but so what? You don't need to read the actual words anyway. I can tell you what it says. It says, "Kari Leigh. You are officially an old woman. Your youngest child has been granted a Learners Permit to drive. That means you can no longer pretend you are the parent of a youngling. You are just one more old lady in the world today. Give up the hair color now. Go gray. Completely gray. Your days as a young, hip mom are over, lady. You are now nearing the crest of the hill we call "Mount Middle Age". A couple more steps and you will, indeed, be over the hill. And by the way, your youngest child may not drive without an adult over the age of eighteen (and Heaven knows, Kari, YOU qualify on that score) accompanying him."

Okay. So maybe it doesn't say that in so many words, but that's the general idea. He's had this permit for about a week. I've just refused to grasp the full meaning of it. It wasn't until we were leaving tennis practice (the boys', not mine) last night that I realized...Kaleb will be a junior in high school this year and Jake will be a sophomore. What the heck? Where did the time go? How did this happen? Just the other day, those two were sitting in carseats and stealing each other's bottles. Well, I guess it wasn't just the other day that they were doing that. How funny would that have looked? Two teenage boys, strapped into carseats, their heads smushed against the ceiling of the car while they snatch bottles out of each others mouths...yeah, that's a vision. Still, it doesn't seem possible that my youngest little baby can now drive a car. Sure, sure. Jake getting his permit isn't supposed to be about me and only a narcissistic personality such as mine could turn it into such. Yeah? So? I'm self-centered. Duh.You really think pointing that out to me will change the way I'm viewing this? Please. Look up "narcissist" in the dictionary, then get back to me. Try to see it from my point of view, would you? And the point I'm making is, his getting a permit is just one more indication that my old age is fast approaching. He's my baby! My youngest baby! First menopause, now this! A part of me says I'm looking at this all wrong. But that part isn't dealing with wrinkles, hot flashes and flabby arms. I think I need a therapist. Or a good, stiff drink. Or both. I guess the good news is, now I'll have one more driver to get me home after a drunken session at the therapist's office, huh?

Yet one more reason why I shouldn't own a telephone!

I am so frustrated right now. So frustrated. There has been what I think is a bill collector service calling my house for the past four days. They keep asking for someone named "Linda". There is no Linda at my house. There never has been. And unless Kaleb or Jacob start dating one or Randey throws me over for some bimbo named Linda, there probably never will be. (I say bimbo because what the heck would you expect me to call a little tramp that my husband would throw me over for?). However, this company doesn't seem to believe me when I say Linda doesn't live here. They give every indication that they think I am harboring Linda from their dripping fangs. Which, by the way, after dealing with them for the past four days, I think I would do if Linda, whoever the poor soul may be, did live with us - just to tick them off. And here's the real insult, as far as I'm concerned. This company calls my house...I answer and it's a recording telling me that "this is a very important phone call, please hold". If it's so freakin' important, how 'bout you get your annoying self on the phone NOW, buddy! When we first started getting these calls, I just hung up. I don't hold for people I don't even know. But they were so persistent. So I decided to hang in there one day and see just what on earth they were calling for. I assumed they were some sort of telemarketer and I was all prepared to bless them out for wasting my time with a stupid recording every other day. But nooooo. This wasn't a telemarketer. It was a bill collector. (I think, they never really said.) And it was for some chick named Linda. I kind of laughed at them. So much persistence for naught. Apparently, bill collector's don't like to be laughed at. Who knew? I tried to tell them that I didn't know a Linda, no Linda lived here. The woman got belligerent. Well. Here's the problem. I.Am.Menopausal. 'Nuff said, right? Words came out of my mouth that would make a sailor blush. I mean it. It was mortifying, in retrospect. Randey stood there with his mouth hanging open. Not so much because of the language I used. I think it was more how quickly my demeanor changed. It was fast. Really fast. Unbelievably fast. One minute, I was patiently telling this woman that Linda was no where on our horizon and/or involved in our world. The next second, I was cussing her like I had Tourette's Syndrome. And then I threw the phone. Hmmmm. Wow. Never say that coming. So....after many deep breaths, a quick visit to the freezer (for a fudgesicle and to stick my head in there to cool off), and trying to smooth that look of horror off of Randey's face, I regained my composure somewhat. The next day, they called again. I was ready. I was going to politely ask them to not call my house again. But they outwitted me...the whole phone call was a recording. Not the "hold on" recording, but a "this is so and so and if you're name is (pause) Linda (pause) Linda's last name (don't want to put it in my blog, for Pete's sake) please call this number immediately. It is very important that we talk to you". I was so disappointed not to have a human to talk to. I just hung up without writing down the number! Not to worry however! The next day, they called again. A human this time. I said my schpiel. He seemed to laugh a little. I don't think he believed me. I told him I would call the phone company to report them for harassing us if they didn't stop calling. He pretty much said, "do it". Okay. Well, they called again this very afternoon. Still determined to handle this myself because everyone knows how hard it is to deal with the phone company, right? - I answered. It was the "please hold" recording again. I held. And held. And held a little more. Then another recording came on to tell me that "all our operators are busy and we are unable to handle your call at this time". Say what? They called me! Well to heck with this! I decided to call the dreaded customer service number for the phone company. First...get the phone book. Next...spend 30 minutes looking through the phone book for a customer service number. Next...call a number that might be customer service. Then find out...it wasn't. Okay...get on computer. Go to phone company website. Look for customer service. Find it. Type in question. Find out it's the wrong kind of customer service. That one was for repairs only. Look for another link. Type something in search engine. Get a response and then a multiple choice answer (one of which was "would you like to send an e-mail"). Click on that one. Go nowhere. Start at the beginning. Pull hair out by the roots. Embrace your Tourette's like a long-lost friend. Give up. Sign on to Blog. Bore entire blogging community with your problem. Wait for husband to get home. With him driving, seek out World's Largest Margarita. Drink one...or twelve. Wait for the call to come again tomorrow. Hope for a human. Bore them with details of your drunken night.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is my plan.

P.S. Guess this whole rant would tend to negate that sweet Nice Matters Award, huh? I knew I'd blow it, I just knew it! Sorry, Carmen, Jayne, Aunt Sandi.... Well, technically, Aunt Sandi already knew I was a nutcase so my bad attitude probably doesn't surprise her, does it, Aunt?

Does your dentist carry a large sickle like mine does?

I had to go back to the dentist this morning. Check out his picture. Handsome devil, isn't he? Although I think he looks kinda like an executioner, but that's probably just my imagination, huh? Anywho, last week as we were saying goodbye to Jodie and Moose at the airport, I was chewing gum just like I had good sense, when I felt something...strange. Like my Juicy Fruit had sprouted rocks or something. Upon investigation, I realized that I had lost a filling. A big, honkin' filling , at that. Well you can just imagine my joy. I darn near started flipping cartwheels right then and there, but managed to show restraint. Since this huge gaping hole in my tooth wasn't causing me as much pain as one might have thought, I put off calling the dentist. But then Randey very cleverly took me to eat BBQ after the movie last night. Note to self: one simply cannot eat brisket and cole slaw without opposing teeth healthy and happy enough to crush said items. So okay, Randey. Point taken. I called the dentist. He was happy to hear from me. Truly. He's just moved into a new building with all new gadgets and do-dads and I'm sure the mortgage on that puppy is mind-boggling. Luckily, I'm going to be able to help him out with a payment or two. How many teeth does a normal adult have? 32? Okay. So, at my current rate of payment for all this dental work, I figure I will have a mouth worth approximately $16,000.00 in no time at all. I mean honestly. The cap I'm having replaced on my front tooth (another victim of chewing gum - how stupid can I be?) is costing me $434.00 out of my pocket, after the insurance pays. The crown I apparently need on this back tooth since I chomped the filling right on out, is going to cost me $497.00 out of my pocket (gotta pay for that temp filling, too, don't ya' know). I was thinking about getting another tooth fixed, but came to realize that I simply don't want to shell out the big bucks anymore. How do people get their whole "smile" reworked without filing bankruptcy? Or am I just cheap? (Don't answer that). I offered my first born male child to the people at the dentist's office. (Sorry, Nick - had to do it, babe). I told them he was a good worker, a strong young man with an exceptionally happy disposition and an endless supply of tolerance for grungy jobs...in other words, I fudged the truth just a little. So sue me. I sold him down the river for naught, however. They seem to have enough first born male children already and declined my offer. They want money. How positively...rapacious. Yes, yes. That's the word. Or, to put it in plainer English, those cold hearted, blood sucking, greedy little weenies want all my money. And in exchange, they're offering me a bunch of capped and crowned teeth that don't even make me look like a movie-star when I smile. Ummmphh. You ask me? It hardly seems worth it.

Friendship is an Art Form I have Yet to Master

Is it just me or was making friends and talking to people easier when you were a kid? I can remember way back when (or "back in the day" as it's called now), every day that wasn't a school day and the sun was shining, all the kids in the neighborhood would get together and just play and talk and laugh and fight and then laugh and talk and play and fight some more. Then, as we get older, we weren't as care free as we were before. The arguments got bigger, the playing got smaller and the laughter maybe just a little bit more refined (there were people out there to impress, after all). And then life takes you to other places, the talks get further and further apart, your interests change maybe and before you know it, you and your dear, dear friend are barely exchanging Christmas cards every year. I look back on all the friends I've had in the past and wonder how could I have let them go? There's my friend, Penny, whom I've only recently been in contact with again. We knew each other in junior high school, for Pete's sake. We were lunch time buddies. I figure I owe her about $6,794.75 in borrowed quarters from time spent at the Kerr Jr. High snack bar. I haven't talked to her in over 2 decades when I found her mom's name somewhere on the Internet and contacted her and she put me in touch with Penny (thank you Miss Charlotte!). How did I let that friendship go in the first place? And then there's my friend, Trish, who is also a distantly related cousin. I don't think I've seen her since 1987, the year my grandma passed away. Her life always seemed so perfect. Until tragedy struck. Her little 11 month old daughter was killed that year by a drunk driver. So, so, so sad. I spoke with her a few months after it had happened (I didn't know of it, until then). I will forever feel like I let her down because I just couldn't find the right words to say. If I knew then, what I know now, I would have just said "I'm sorry and I love you". Over and over and over again. But I felt too awkward and too inadequate and so I ended up just losing contact with her. Shameful, isn't it? Then there's my friend, Bobbie, from Wisconsin. We met in Plattsburgh, New York where our husbands were stationed (this was during my previous marriage). Bobbie was hilarious. She could really make me laugh. So why did I lose touch with her, too? What is it with me? Is it only with me or does this happen to other people, too? I'm 43 years old. Even my kids joke that I have one friend and one friend only and that's Susan. We (Susan and I mainly) laugh about it and say that having friends can be just too high maintenance. But I got to say...there are days that I'm so lonesome I could just...well, cry. I wish I could be in person as I am in Blogland. In Blogland, I'm upbeat with others, I'm straight forward with my ills and concerns and I'm eager to hear how others are doing. In real life, I feel awkward. Yes, that's the word. Awkward. I'm a housewife. I'm boring. I don't measure up to those around me. I don't have anything to offer except an opinion and how learned of an opinion could it be if I never get outside of my own little world? So I end up staying closed off. I tell my children that friendships are important, but I don't live by example with that one. I've...squandered...a great many friendships all because of reasons that don't seem to matter so much anymore. I often hear about people who are friends with people they knew back in 2nd grade. How do you do that? Can you teach me? Is it a gift you have and I don't? Or are you just nicer people? And why am I feeling so darn "retrospective" (or is is "introspective") today? Probably from the bad night last night, huh? Well, I'll be darned...it's that wicked menopause thing again, probably. Waking me up with night sweats and making me all blah today. Got to work on these mood swings. Really. Or maybe I should just work on my people skills. Or maybe I should not post on my blog unless I've had at least a good 7 hours of sleep. Or maybe I should just....stop while I'm ahead. This is getting too deep for even me to swim my way out of.

Who the Heck Turned Up the Heat???

Having kind of a rough evening. Seems like every 15 minutes I feel like I'm roasting from the inside out. You know, they say that knowing is half the battle, right? So knowing I'm going through menopause should make living with the symptoms that much easier. However, knowing I'm experiencing a perfectly normal phase of life isn't keeping me from feeling like one gigantic, over-cooked Thanksgiving turkey right about now. I'm burning up, my head hurts, I'm all bloated and just downright grumpy. That reminds me of a story...when The Moose (see previous post for ID) was just learning to talk, she spent the night with us. Back then, she couldn't say Granny very well - it came out as Ninny. The next morning, she got up and came toddling over to where I was sitting in the recliner clutching a cup of coffee like it was a lifeline. After a few minutes of me begging her (in what was probably not a very melodious voice) to "let me wake up, Moose", she finally stuck her little nose up in the air, said "you grumpy, Ninny" and off she went, in search of greener (and sweeter) pastures. Oh and hey, did I mention that one of my menopausal symptoms seems to be that my mind wanders and I have a hard time staying focused on one thing? I start off with describing just how miserable I feel and I end up talking about my granddaughter telling me how grumpy I was one morning over 6 years ago. I guess that's not too far off the subject though, is it? Or maybe it is. I'm too far gone right now to tell for sure. Ah well, the point is, she was right. I was grumpy then just as I'm sure as heck grumpy now. Think I'll head on off to bed, turn the air way down, turn the overhead fan on as well as the big honkin' fan I bought for the side of the bed and wait for this to pass. And if it doesn't pass soon, I'm sleeping in the freezer. See you guys tomorrow.

Country Time Lemonade, Sports Cars and Dean Martin

Look to the right. See that face? That's me, making an effort to claw my way back to being a normal human. Or at least an abnormal human who doesn't whine like a madwoman. At this point, either one will do! (Geez. I've really got to lay off the Country Time Lemonade - I'm looking a little yellow and all that sugar appears to be making me a tad bit...bloated!)

Anywho..."T" at http://tpmom4ever.blogspot.com/ left one hysterical, yet uplifting comment about this whole "phase of life" thing. "Phase of Life". What a phrase. That reminds me, my neighbor, who is all of 26 years old, very kindly explained to me how she was expecting "the change" early because it runs in her family. Okay, so A) I'm sorry to hear that, truly, and B) "the change"? How quaint is that? That sounds like something I heard in that funny little film they showed us in 5th grade. You know the one...it explained how one day, us girls would "become a woman" when we started menstruation. It also explained how that was also called (and I'm quoting here)"the Curse...and here's why..." (all said in a very June Cleaver like voice). "The Curse". Please. Talk about getting something totally and completely backwards. Looking at it from this side of the river, I'm thinking that starting my period should have been called "the Change" and going through menopause should be called "the Curse". You can tell a man came up with these labels. A stupid man. A stupid man who wanted revenge against his mother, probably. A stupid man who wanted revenge against his mother and who was never able to get a date ever in his whole life. Oh Wow! Hmmmm. Where'd that come from? I may be suffering from a little jealousy here. A man hits middle life crazy and he buys a Corvette. A woman hits menopause and all she wants is to fall asleep deep inside a walk-in freezer. Men and women...so very, very different. On so many different levels.

Oh gosh, here I thought this post was going to be happy and cheerful and not about being nutso. How did I get from the Famous 5th Grade Film to man-bashing because men get to drive a sports car while all I'm driving is other people crazy? Must try harder, must try harder. As my childhood heroine, Scarlett O'Hara said, "Tomorrow's another day". I'll work on talking about a different topic tomorrow. (Like the new Harry Potter book. I promise not to give away any of the plot for those who aren't reading it right away, but I know I'll have to say something about it being here!) In the meantime, I think a little Dean Martin music (thank you T) is in order. You can't help but feel great listening to him.

And the hits just keep coming...

I would so very much love to follow up my menopause post with something witty, amusing and deeply insightful. But....that's not gonna happen. I got nothing for 'ya. Today will be the 4th day of my HRT. And you know what? Let's just clear this up right now. I know what HRT is supposed to stand for (Hormone Replacement Therapy). That's what they all say anyway. That's actually a great, big, fat lie. It's somebody's idea of a joke - a really bad, bad joke. Through my four days of first hand research, I've discovered that HRT actually stands for Heat Rants and Tears. It's about time someone was honest about this. There IS no mistake. Just to prove it, I've managed to cover all 3 initials this morning alone. Actually, I did it in record time...I woke up, wallering in the HEAT that is taking over my whole entire life, then I followed up with a RANT to a company I'm having an e-mail war with and ended with TEARS because my son's been delayed a day, this company I'm fighting with via e-mail is getting on my absolute last freakin' nerve, my back is killing me - right between my shoulder blades - and Randey called in the middle of it all and said he'd take me to Barnes and Noble at midnight tonight so I could get the Harry Potter book the second it's released. How sweet is that? Randey, I mean. The rest of it? Not so much. I thought these stupid pills were supposed to help???? I know I'm a little off right now, but I could have sworn that doctor said they'd help with the hot flashes right away. Oh and hey, that's another thing. Flashes? What flashes? Does a tidal wave of heat that rolls over my body and takes up residence from my chest to my head really count as a "flash"? In what universe is constant boiling heat considered a flash? I'm thinking a "flash" is more like..."now you see it, now you don't" kind of quick. Not "oh great here comes another wave - let's hope this one doesn't last the next 6 hours like the last one did".
I think I liked it better before the doctor told me what was going on. At least when I thought I was plain ol' crazy, I felt compelled to try and hide it. Now I'm just angry. I'm angry that this is happening and I'm angry that, in this day and age, they haven't come up with something to make it all better...NOW. Is this normal, people? Aren't these pills supposed to work right away? Is that too much to ask? Anybody else experienced this? And hey, here's a question...when I thought I was just crazy, I was so much more tolerant of the heat. Why is it different now? Does my subconscious think that being menopausal is an excuse for being a terror? Surely not. I think I'm just...scared, worried, panicky...wondering (hoping?) if the doctor didn't misdiagnose me and really, rather than going through menopause, I'm really either crazy or maybe even dying from some dreaded disease that's causing me to cook from the inside out. (Yeah - that dang Drama Queen persona rears her ugly head again!) Most of all, though, I'm wondering if I should even be on HRT. Is 4 days too soon to decide? Should I be noticing a change or am I supposed to give it a week or so? Does anybody know? I think this is the worst part of all. Not knowing if what is going on is normal. Did I expect too much from the HRT right away? Should I go slap the living tar out of my doctor for making me think it WOULD make a difference so soon? Or should I just hang in there, STOP RANTING IN MY BLOG, and just wait for these pills to start their magic? Hello? Anybody?

I swear...crazy is just EASIER...

This is one of those TMI (Too Much Information) Posts but it's MY blog so I'll say what I want (but you should probably read the warning first!)

Warning! Warning! Warning! If the word "menopause" causes you discomfort, embarrassment, and/or a general feeling of unease, DO NOT READ ANY FURTHER! If, however, you are human, possess even the slightest modicum of compassion and/or are, or know of, a woman of a certain age and have any desire whatsoever to develop an understanding of the level of angst, confusion and exasperation this normal condition will have on your loved one at some point in time, feel free to read on. I'm posting this random picture in order to give you an opportunity to stop reading NOW if this subject is just too much for your tender sensibilities (although please note that from this moment forward, you will forever be known as "That Cowardly Nancy-Pants of a Jerk Who Has No Feeling For Anyone Other Than His/Her Own Narcissistic Self"). Okay, welcome to the discussion, all you brave, kind hearted souls who have chosen to read further. As some of you may already know, last week I suffered a bit of an emotional freakout, otherwise known as a wicked case of The Blah's. I thought I had recovered from them, when in very short order, I was stricken yet once more. This was becoming a pattern. Up and down, up and down. Happy, not. Happy, not. Glistening ever so slightly, sweating like a pig. You get the idea. It's been happening for awhile but lately...well, lately, it's almost gotten unbearable. I was sooooooo anxious yesterday afternoon, for no apparent reason, that I called the GYN and made an appointment. My request went something like this, "I need to see the doctor. I'm pretty sure I'm experiencing something that just isn't right. No.....this can't wait. Yes, I've seen the doctor before. No...just for a normal check-up. Yes, I'd like to see him soon. Listen, you don't understand! I can't keep doing this. I can't stand feeling like the whole world is caving in on me. I can't stand waking up at 1 or 2 or 3 in the morning and not being able to go back to sleep, I can't stand these headaches and I can't stand one more unexplained palpitation! I NEED to see the doctor. SOON! Yes, okay, right. Tomorrow at 2:30 will be fine. Thank you so much. Sorry if I seemed a bit tense." Whew! Thank goodness they probably get a few calls like that a year or I might have been facing verbal assault charges in the near future. So anywho, I head on down to the doctor's office today. Half of me convinced I'm crazy. The other half of me not really caring if I'm crazy. Just looking for some help. Some relief. Something, anything. The doctor took me back to his office. We discussed some blood work I'd had done a few months ago. He tells me I have great numbers except for this one little part of my cholesterol figure. No big deal. We can straighten that up with some Omega 3. Yeah, sure, whatever. Let's get to the important stuff, okie dokie? I tell him what's going on. I think I may have even demonstrated my feelings with scary facial expressions because, at one point, the doctor actually kind of leaned away and looked a little leery of me. Like I'd attack the one person who could help me right now. P-u-l-l-ease. Anyway, I told him about the heachaches, the anxiety, the backaches, the insomnia, the heart palpitations, the heat that was boiling my blood every other minute of the day and night and making my skin burn. He then, ever so calmly, asked me if I knew when my older female family members had experienced menopause. I didn't. He went on to say that I was experiencing early menopause myself and he was only asking because it tends to run in families. I'm not that far ahead of schedule, though. No need to panic. Why, by golly, he's treated some women who went through it in their 30's. Huh. That's fascinating. Really. But I'm a selfish wench and, quite frankly, wasn't too interested in their sob stories just right then. Let's talk about me, shall we, Doc? Yeah, I'm a little embarrassed about that attitude now, but at the time....well, at the time, I had about a million things going through my head. My first thought was "Oh my gosh! I'll never be able to have another baby." I actually thought that. Me, mother of 4 whose ages range from 26 to 15. Like I could even face having another baby. I felt that initial reaction just proved I was a little nutty and in dire need of help. Then my second thought (and this one is my personal favorite). "I won't be a real woman anymore. No feminine side, no nothing. I'll never be the same". Okay, so drama is one of my stronger suits. Whatever. I'm just saying what I felt. Mock me if you will. Just don't mock me to my face. You're liable to get a taste of my decidedly unfeminine side when I cuss you like the sailor my uncle once was. Oops, there goes that moody thing again. Let me throttle back some and get back to the subject at hand. Anyway, to make a long painful story every bit as long and painful as it felt, the doctor and I discussed some options and have decided on a few things to help me get through this since I'm obviously not handling it as well as some have. I'm a ninny. Big deal. I'm going to take the medication as prescribed and then we'll revisit the situation in 3 months. Hopefully, things will get better. This rollercoaster ride is wearing me out. And poor Randey. What a rock! He's so sweet and so supportive. He's been taking the route of "Life's hard - wear a helmet" to get through some of the worst moments. And there's been some bad, bad moments for him to get through. Well, it's not like he's the one boiling alive from this freakin' heat while having the worst backache in the world and everything else on the planet going wrong with him...uhhhhhhh, hold it a second. I did it again, didn't I? Moody, moody, moody. Can't let it keep getting the best of me. I'm going to be one friendless, lonely, misunderstood, yet nicely medicated, individual if I can't get a hold of this soon. I think menopause is one of life's little tests to see if you and your dearly beloved are really, really, really meant to be together. And God Bless him, so far, Randey's hanging in there pretty good. What a man! I just hope I can hang in there. Right now, the score is Menopause 1, Me 0. But the game's not over yet...

I've been to Funk City - not a bad place to spend a day or two...

My wicked case of the blahs is pretty much gone...thank goodness! I found that I've been fighting the blahs all wrong 'lo these many years. But now, I know better how to handle these little speed bumps in the road of life. Thanks to my blogging friend Kat, I have been enlightened. I will no longer struggle against the inevitable. When the blah's start knocking on my door, I'm packing my bags and heading to Funk City without an argument. It's just better that way. You see, normally, I try to not give in to the blahs. I tell myself it's wrong! don't do it! put up a fight! Yadda. Yadda. Yadda. No longer will I engage in this futile behavior. I've seen the error of my ways. When I first posted about the blahs coming on, I got this link from Kat. http://justabeachkat.blogspot.com/2007/05/funk-city.html . I clicked on it because...well, because I was nearly comatose with the blahs and, while I held out no hope that this would help, I was still cognisant enough to know that it couldn't hurt to read a little advice. And boy, am I glad I did! It was liberating! I read it once and then read it again. Then...I gave in to the moment. I flounced my grumpy self on down to the store, bought some reading material as well as 3 six packs of Coca-Cola and a bag of Clementine tangerine's plus a pack of Snickers bars. I came home, put on my favorite gown, fluffed up my pillows on the bed, climbed in and prepared for my trip to Funk City. As I had been well on the road to that location, I arrived in basically no time at all. I read my magazines, I drank my cokes, I inhaled my Snickers bars, I munched on my tangerines...I even watched some TV and listened to an audio book (not at the same time...hello - I was looking to relax, not overload). Friday night was gloriously funky! I slept in on Saturday because I could. And then Randey called...he and Kaleb were on their way home. Now I had a decision to make. I could stay on my little vacation to Funk City and greet their return with a "glad you're home - how about grabbing some take-out for dinner?" OR I could get up, sprinkle a little cleaning liquid here and there (not enough to actually clean but enough for Randey to smell it and think I've been cleaning - this is not being deceptive! Well it is, but it's a long standing deception that Randey and I carry on with - we both know it's a lie that I've been "cleaning all day" but we both feel better if we pretend we believe it!). I thought this over for a bit and then realized, I wasn't actually feeling all that blah anymore. I didn't immediately jump up, of course. What if I was wrong? The blahs can do that to you, you know. They can fool you into thinking they're gone and then BAM! right upside your head - they'll take you out again when you least expect it. So I very prudently waited an hour or two. I still felt pretty good after that so I waited a little bit more, just to be sure. Come on! They were driving back from Florida...I had time to decide my path without being foolhardy. I got up, moved around a little. Made a latte'. Ate a Toaster Strudel. And some potato chips. And a little watermelon. Then made the decision. I was back. Funk City was but a memory (a pretty darn nice one to be sure). I got dressed, did my hair, threw on some make-up and was fresh as a daisy and twice as cheerful by the time they pulled up in the drive. Ta-da! All is well. My blahs are gone, my husband's home...and I still got take-out for dinner. Couldn't have worked out any better. Thanks guys, for some great comments, encouraging words (including yours Aunt Sandi - although why you wanted to end my personal little Pity Party is totally beyond me!ha) and sound advice. And while my trip turned out to be so wonderful that I'm almost looking forward to my next case of the blahs...it's still good to be back.