Sick of Sick

Put down the Pepto, and pass the Kleenex. You never really appreciate things until they are gone.. do you? Like, for example, the use of your nose. Though not the most life threatening ailment, well temporarily at least, it just may be the most irritating ailment.

Here are the things I miss which are associated with this:
Knowing when food is cooked - before I see smoke.
Detecting dirty diapers - before my sleeve.
Tasting food - because despite scissors for vocal chords, I am trying very hard to nourish myself but everything tastes like chalk
Hearing...anything at all - because these things are connected, I'm left with a skipping scratched broken record repeating "What?" like an idiot.
Breathing- that's a big one. I must admit I am sometimes quite frightened for a second or so, that I will forget to open my mouth and just stop breathing all together. It's great.
Moisture in my mouth- for those of you out there still capable of swallowing at will, take a second and enjoy that luxury, will ya?
And, last but not least, Sleeping- it would be nice if during the brief interval between the needs of my 2 poor sicky-poo babes, I could breathe and therefore fall asleep. Yup, my friends... no nose= no sleep.

For something with such an obvious lack of function it sure is sore and red. Hell, at this point, I want the fever back- at least then I am blissfully less aware, a total menace perhaps, but who would know?

The Reason I Can't Write

Whoa, is my Writers Block. Literally.

The last few days have had an overall anesthetizing affect on my creativity. Nothing is astronomically wrong or out of the ordinary, but there is a bit of a plague on my conscience. A few problems that, not to be cryptic, I cannot bring myself to air out to the whole world. (And by the whole world I mean the random handful of wonderful people who may or may not take the time to read this.)

This would be fine. I could just vent otherwise, and not write for a few days. I don't suffer from a gigantic guilt created by an even grosser ego that there is an audience out there being deprived by my absence. No, this isn't the dilemma. 

The problem is that I actually want to say the things that upset me. It's all stirring around in my heart and behind my eyes and coursing through to my finger tips just itching to be typed into this white rectangular Blogger post. I do not want to censor whether the words get to the source of my contempt. I desperately want to dish out the shit where it is due, but I have this deep rooted moral issue of trying to be nice, turning the other cheek, etc. I have always, always, tried to be 'nice' even while under attack. 

I really don't like confrontation, but I also can't stand getting treated like garbage. And truth be told, even writing a direct message to the 'source of my contempt' wouldn't change anything. I know this. Perhaps this is more frustrating than anything else. 

Anyway, everything else I try to write about is just dishonest. So I find myself not writing at all, and calling it 'writers block', when really it is most certainly not. It is a little winged and haloed version of me, sitting on my shoulder saying "You can't write that!!!!" doing the blocking. And the one in white? She isn't a writer. Hell, she hardly speaks.

So I am wondering, Writers, Anyone...Do you have some advice for me please? Where does a
blogger draw the line at what is public, and what is private? 

Snippets From My World- Garbage Lady

Six weeks ago, the city's garbage collection did not include mine. No, it wasn't MIA at the curb before 7am. No, it wasn't over 40lbs, nor did it have incorrect content. It was in an intact black garbage bag, in a clean garbage pail with an animal safety lid, the way it always has been.

The city I live in is supposed to put a note on your trash as to why it wasn't collected as the case may be. There was no such note.

So... what was the problem? I called the city and they told me it was likely too heavy. Jim decided that yes, it may have been marginally over 40 lbs. that week. I had done some cleaning and done away with some non-recyclable, non-organic waste. Aren't I a  rebel rouser?

I guess I am a woman of steel and even without one of those handy elevator lift things that they have on the garbage trucks now, I was able to get the beast to the curb without detecting any weight issue.

As I am sure you are aware, having an excess of garbage stinks. This fall has been bloody awful for wasps and the garbage certainly hasn't helped. It took a month for me dispense of the additional garbage that just accumulates and accumulates.

Now I've always tried to reduce, reuse, and recycle, but cutting our household waste by 25% for a month was seriously a pain in the ass of a challenge. I was trying like hell to stay under that 40 lb. mark! My son weighs 41lbs. so I kept picking him up as a human scale.

Needless to say, this morning when the garbage truck pulled up into the silence of my morning and I peeked out the window to check to make sure they were taking my garbage ( I have taken to doing this every garbage day, just in case) and then the figure in the dark did not take my garbage, I was pissed!

I threw on some sandals with my jammies and ran out the door. The figure in the dark turned to look at me and for the first time in six weeks it was not the young guy or the old bearded guy. It was a Garbage Lady.

Now, before I go any further I am in no way a feminist, nor am I a chauvinist, but use your imagination and picture a 50 something garbage lady and this was her. I'll say no more.

I grabbed the can and ran with it, 3 doors down.

Garbage Lady: (Loud at me over the truck. Like she was chewing tobacco at the same time, and dripping with sarcasm) Yes Ma'am?
Me: Um, Hi!! Would you like to tell me why you merely looked at my garbage this morning??
Garbage Lady: Which is you?

OKAY. The house lots here are narrow, and i'm only 3 doors down. How far does she think I ran with this thing with no bra and flip-flops in the pitch dark and frickin cold????

Me: (Slowly, so as not to explode) 1.5.9.. You just looked at my garbage and didn't take it. What is the reason... there was NO note.
Garbage Lady: Oh, yeah, you gotta stop putting the lid on your can.
Me: Pardon? The lid?
Garbage Lady: Yep.
Me: So six weeks ago you didn't take my garbage because the lid was on too? When did this rule come in to effect?
Garbage Lady: Oh, I don't know bout that, but if the lids on, I don't take it. We ain't supposed to.

And why the hell not? She going to break a nail or something??

She detects my inquisition.

Garbage Lady: We wear gloves, see?

Now I am baffled. I do not see how rubber gloves deter a person from opening a garbage lid. And I would love to know, if an animal gets into my garbage over night do they have little sweepers to clean that up?? Hell no they don't!!

Me: It would have been nice to be informed of this new policy... I have kids in diapers! Besides, aren't you supposed to leave a note on the trash if you don't take it? That one with the check mark boxes?

From this point on, Garbage Lady will have a new title.

Garbage Bitch: Must-a ran out. And it's not my problem you use throw-aways... get cloth!!
Me: (In my mind I jump up and down giving her the finger calling her a few choice words) Whatever.

Get cloth. You know what? I had cloth for Elway, and then I stored them at our families restaurant because we had no storage space and someone stole them. The damn things are like 25 bucks a piece! I know diapers are expensive over time, but shelling out close to $300, two times, so that I can do even more laundry, was just not in the cards.

I wanted to kick that woman in her 'check mark box' and then tell her the pain in her ass wasn't my problem! And I would have, if my 'woman of steel' persona hadn't been suddenly reduced leaving me feeling about as strapping as Minnie Mouse beside her.

She got the final word too.

Garbage Bitch: Doin' you a favor takin' it here, not in front of your house, and all...

Gee thanks.

And all this before a coffee.

I called the city. They said they would make a note of it, whatever the heck that means.

Music Snobs

When people say they dont like any other genre of music but their favorite one or few, I can't help but wonder, why do they need to place those kind of boundaries on their preferences? And why does it seem to me that the people who most frequently need to classify their tastes, seem to think that their opinion is the quintessential opinion. These folks deem themselves to be gurus of what is good and what isn't in the music kingdom.

I guess I missed a memo, because I thought that part of the beauty of creative art was that it is subjective. Wouldn't that mean that these gurus are doing exactly the opposite of what a music kingdom's ruler would do?

I love music. I can't name a song from every genre of music out there, but I would be hard pressed to think of a kind of music that I just flat out do not like. There are styles that appeal to me more so than others, and tracks from all that I do not enjoy.

I believe that beyond my own personal taste, I cannot evaluate music. I'll go one further and add that as far as I am concerned, no one else can either.

Don't get me wrong, I can appreciate the need to put value on music. It's one of the most marketable commodities in the world. And so to track the sales of concert tickets, albums, mp3s , merchandise etc...as a measure of popularity, makes sense. It's a capitolist world after all. But if I had a buck-seventy-five for the number of times I have heard a hit, and been irritable, nauseated, even compelled to cover my ears and sing an obnoxious version of Henery the 8th to drown the source of my pending insanity out, I would be having a jolly good Christmas this year, at least!

Yes, I have been tempted to behave like an ass over how much I don't enjoy the music that is playing, but I dont! Sure, my husband will hear about it later, if I am stuck working with someone who won't stop blaring death metal all day, and I might even politely ask if we can change the music at some point to 'something we all like', but I'm not about to go ahead and tell someone that I think their taste sucks. That's rude! And worse still, it's music snobbery!

The point I am trying to make, is that I am tired of hearing people say things like, 'that last album, was soo poorly produced, and their talent disappeared when 'so-and-so' left anyway. Anybody who thinks that 'that band' are worth anything really has no clue about music".

To you; Music Snob,

Who the shit are you to say that someone is talentless? And if it was produced so that it could be heard by you, me, and countless others, then the production did the trick. It is a 'product', ya know? In my assessment, if you had a clue what sounds good, and what does not, then you would not trash the music, or the people who enjoy it for doing so, simply to hear yourself sound important, as your negative spin on what I, or anyone else is enjoying, is pretty much never more pleasing to listen to than the music you are interupting.

Yeah, few things irritate me like music snobbery.

Peace to all non music snobs.

PS. The super cool pic of a 'Sound Wave' by Korean artist Jean Shin I punked from this website.

http://thedjscorner.com/dj-furniture/wave-of-vinyl-records/

Blogging Is A Funny Word

In my wildest dreams I never thought I would get such a kick out of social media networks like Facebook and Twitter, never mind use them effectively for event planning, communication and staying in touch with distant family and friends. I poo-poo-ed the entire internet thing, really. Wow, did I ever have my head up my ass!

Now, I find myself having a go at blogging. Funny word that. I know it's from 'Web Log' that it originated, but it's still a funny sounding word. Especially when you try to be taken seriously using it. Like the other day a pregnant-with-her-second friend asked me what it was like bringing home baby number two.  I said she should read my blog, because it is not something I want my son to hear me talk about. I am pretty sure that I simultaneously scared the crap out of her, and ruined my character in her eyes. She looked at me like, with this disdainful expression that said, 'why do you think that what you have to say is special enough for anyone to want to read it?'.

I have to admit, I can appreciate where she is coming from. I myself have wondered this. About myself, as well as some others.  

Okay. The one I was judge-y wudge-y about was a blog where the woman just took pictures of her extremely mediocre wardrobe on her average physique and commented blandly about her choices. She said things like that she "wore this dress to church but had to put a t-shirt under it so it was appropriate". It was the strangest thing because I couldn't stop looking and then I had to read the comments, because she actually had comments. Oh for craps sakes, here is the link so you can see for yourself. 

http://fashion1psychology.wordpress.com/2009/06/12/what-i-wore-6-12-09/#comments

It is supposedly about fashion psychology but frankly, I found neither. And now I guess I'm being a bitch, but just look. And NO I am not plugging it on purpose.... it's more like I can't help myself. I'm so ashamed.

Oddly this sidetrack that I just rambled on about was kind of my point. Why would anyone want to read what I write? I am guessing this is a common question among writers. 

See? Now I fancy myself a writer, when just a few weeks ago, I was someone who used to write! Then I was someone who wants to write. This is all happening so fast :) Now I am working on several projects at once and blogging as well... and it's great to be writing again. It really is! However, a little daunting. 

I check out all these blogs from writers, and others as well, and I think they are fantastic. Then I read the comments. Wow criticism can be rough! And people are so single minded, and heavily opinionated! The tongue lashings I've read in the past weeks could cripple even the sturdiest ego. 

Fortunately, I am expecting the worst. My outlook on the world is usually sunny, I look for the beauty in everything, but I expect others to find fault with me. It's the way I was raised. 

I Reserve The Right To Screen My Calls

Yes. I screen away and I am not ashamed to say it. Actually, if my husband is home, I barely hear my phone ring to screen it, to be perfectly honest. And there you have it. I do not feel any obligation to a ringing or buzzing phone call or text.  And to me email is designed for people like myself, who would rather be trapped in an elevator with a thousand moths than wear a Bluetooth, (actually that sounded kind of scary, maybe I would prefer the Bluetooth, but you know what I mean) so I actually take offense to people using email to get in touch with me "urgently", and then, say, showing up at my house, claiming to have informed me "twice already" that they would be here at 7 am.  As for letters, well, I know it's nice to respond, so I try, but life is busy, so it may take a little while.

To be clear, it's not that I don't want to speak to you if you call me.  I figure if I have time to talk, cool,  if not go ahead leave a message and when I think of it I will listen to them, and if at that time I feel like, or have the time to return your call, and if it's an appropriate hour to call you, then I will. Texting works better for me most of the time. In fact, we no longer have a land-line, because I never use it. My kids, bless their hearts, are crazy loud. Off the charts loud, really, ask anyone. So a text here and there is far more manageable as a mommy. My BFF and I only ever text                   unless there is an unusual calm to take advantage of.  

If you are angry that "every time you call I don't answer", first,  it's not every time- otherwise how could I know just how much I irritate you? Second, I'm very sorry you feel this way, I know that sometimes it can be very frustrating to not be able to get a hold of someone. And you may wonder, "why do I feel that this is my right?"....well I'll tell you. It is simple.  The reason is, because it IS my right. I pay for the services that allow me to communicate. Therefore, I decide how I use them. I am an adult, and I govern how I spend my time. If I think it is more important to play with my kids, than to chat (though I love a good chat), then it IS more important. I think.

By the way, if your frustration consumes you, and you just must speak to me because you are now concerned for my welfare, do NOT pop in!  Likely, my next rant will be about how much I loathe the pop in....

OK, fine, if you must. But don't beat on the door like the Gestapo, especially not if it's dark and there aren't any lights on, or if it's before 9 am. And for goodness sake, give a girl a minute to lay down her child, or put some clothes on before you bang on the door again. Peace.